Benjamin
Morgan’s face is so white that I’m tempted to give her time to calm down, but we can’t stay here. Security has been alerted, yet they have not responded.
Something is very wrong with this entire situation.
I grab her arm, my grip harder than I mean for it to be. “Let’s go.”
For the third time in my life, I’m scared shitless for another human being. The first time was for my brother, when I thought our father would kill him and the second… well, the second was for a woman who the Bratva thought was getting too close to me. But Kate managed to save herself by breaking things off with me. I hadn’t been the most understanding, then.
“It will be okay,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?” she asks, licking her lips.
I’m not sure at all, but confidence is what she needs right now. “Yes.”
She smiles at me. It’s watery, sweet and grateful. The kind of smile a woman would give a man for rescuing her.
“Have you ever seen him before?” I ask, knowing it’s a long shot but figuring it’s worth a try.
“No. Never,” she says, her voice strained. “I need—”
Whirling her around, I push her against the wall and lean in. “You need to keep going, love. Later, I promise you can rest.”
While there is every need to hurry, there is no need for me to look or act guilty because I shot a man. If anyone should see us, they would assume that I’m throwing her out for sharing company secrets. More likely than not, they would send up a silent thanks to God that it’s not them, that they’re going home for the day with the security and a paycheck that a job brings.
She eyes the place where I’ve hidden my gun. “By killing me?”
“I’m not going to kill you, Morgan,” I say, disgusted with her assumption. While my brother had a strict policy of only killing the guilty, I have a strict policy of killing those who are trying to kill me. Or in Morgan’s case, killing those who would kill her. She’s innocent in this. She has to be.
A gun to one’s head will make most anyone spill their guts.
“You’re going to kill me for sleeping with Ben?”
There was no mistaking the pure terror and disbelief in her voice. She actually thought that was why he wanted to kill her. Morgan isn’t dumb and she’s not a ditzy blonde either. She simply doesn’t realize that evil lives, hell, thrives, in the world, at least not the kind I’m used to being up close and personal with.
The majority of the people on this planet go through life like that, thinking that the guy who took their parking spot deserves the ninth circle of hell, or the woman who stole their man away should rot. They don’t worry about things that go bump in the night. They think their governments will protect them. Their military and law enforcement.
But in the world I left behind, everyone has a price. Everyone will look away for the right incentive. Honestly, I hate that she’s had to experience even a little of that, but it’s better this way. She will be better for it.
I’ll make sure of it.
“I really don’t know what’s going on, Ben.” Her voice is whisper thin.
“I know you don’t.” Grabbing my key card, I scan it, triggering elevator. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” she asks as the elevator doors close.
“To the top.”
She sags against me.
I can’t help but put my arms around her. It’s not the best position to be in, but I’m not expecting another attack. The shooter acted alone. The gun and the bullets he used were made of the same kind of plastic used in 3-D printing—so neither would set off an alarm. It’s how I get through security every day as well. The little metal required in the making of each is no more than the amount of jewelry a woman wears each day.
“I’m scared,” she admits, tipping back her head to look at me. “What if they did mean to kill me?”
“Who would want to kill you?”
She shrugs. “Rival moonshiners.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m from the mountains of Georgia. My family was the preeminent family in the production and selling of moonshining, which is illegal in the states.”
“Was?”
“I’m all that’s left… well, along with a few cousins.”
“Your government did this?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Some guys from a Tennessee family, who thought we were poaching on their territory, dressed up as Federal Agents. My mother had turned my dad in and wanted protection for me and her, so she let them come on our land.” A tremor rolls through her. “It was a massacre. No survivors.”
“You witnessed it?”
“No.” I hear her swallow. “I found them. I was twelve.”
“Fuck.” I gather her tighter to me, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m… I don’t know what to say.”
“Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction, but you can Google it.” The elevator stops. “It was twelve years ago. I’m mostly fine… now.” Her voice wavers at the end, but she takes a deep breath, as if girding herself against the past and possibly the not-so-distant future.
The doors swoosh open, and I push her behind me, palming my gun at the same time. After checking the hallway and finding nothing but the usual hustle of employees, I grab Morgan’s arm.
“Why are you holding on to me? I’m not going anywhere,” she says under her breath.
“I have to have a reason for bringing you up here. Hauling you to the boss’s office means that I’ve caught you in the act.”
“Act of what?”
“Selling company secrets.”
“Oh.” Her arm goes limp. “That’s embarrassing.”
“Perhaps, but once we get everything sorted, I’ll make sure to let everyone know that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Story of my life,” she mutters.
David’s personal assistant, Patrice, greets us. Her gaze bounces between Morgan and me.
“You actually did it, eh?” This she directs to Morgan.
Morgan gives her a wan smile. “Yeah.”
“All for a pair of sparkly pink shoes with butterflies on the toes.” Patrice laughs. “You’re hard core, Mr. Romanov. I’ll let Mr. Pinter know you’re here.”
As soon as she disappears into his office, I turn my attention to Morgan.
“Did what?”
Color blooms on Morgan’s cheeks. “I took the bet.”
“What bet?”
“The ladies and I had a pool going on who would be first to break company policy by asking you out. As of yesterday, it was up to three hundred pounds. I’ve had my eye on a pair of shoes in a Covent Garden’s shop for a while now.” She lifts a shoulder. “Obviously, I won. Go me.”
“You only asked me out because of a wager?”
“Not only because of that.”
Patrice appears in front of us. “Mr. Pinter will see you now.”
As we pass by, Patrice whispers, “You won’t tell him I nicked the laptop from the break room, will you? It was only for the night.”
Morgan shakes her head as I lead her into David’s office.
He is standing at the windows, his hands clasped behind his back. A man against the world, or so he wants to project to his employees, as well as clients.
“Ms. Tanner. It’s such a shame to see you in my office.” He turns, facing us. Streaks of grey are at his temple, but there are no laugh lines around his eyes or mouth. In fact, he has no wrinkles at all, due to his weekly appointments with one of the company’s on-staff dermatologists. It baffles me as to why he would go to so much trouble to keep his face young while allowing the grey to come through. Perhaps he likes the contrast.
I shut the door.
“That’s not why we’re here.” Steering Morgan to the closet chair, I indicate she should sit. “Morgan’s done nothing wrong. In fact, it’s your security team that should be in here. I was forced to kill a man in your lab. I’m nearly one hundred percent certain that he acted alone, but I texted an alert to security as soon as I found him. They didn’t respond.”
David’s eyes widen. He grabs his phone and puts in a call to security. “Patterson,” he all but barks. “Are you aware we’ve had a security breach?”
A long pause.
“Right. Yes, Mr. Romanov took care of it, but you can pack your bags.” He ends the call by slamming the phone into the cradle. He eyes me a moment. “Once again, I’m in the position of thanking you.”
“It was no problem at all, sir.”
He smiles gently at Morgan. “And you, my dear. How are you holding up? I can only imagine how you must feel to survive imminent death. Damned guns are a menace to society.”
My gaze sharpens on him for a moment.
“F-fine, sir.” She shrinks into her chair, her hands working in her pockets. What is she doing? “I just want to go home.”
“Romanov, why don’t you escort her home?”
I nod. “Of course. Ms. Tanner?”
She stands, pulling her hands out of her pockets. They’re clenched into tight fists.
“Ms. Tanner,” David says and she freezes.
“Yes?” her voice is barely a whisper.
“Leave the lab coat.”
Wordlessly, she nods and shrugs out of the coat, then drapes it across the chair. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why she takes my hand, but David doesn’t seem to notice. Most likely, he thinks she’s still recovering from—
Oh fuck me.
“Ben?” Her chest rises and falls so rapidly that I’m surprised she’s not hyperventilating.
“Yes.”
The door closes behind us. Patrice is no longer at her desk and the hallway is deserted.
“How did he know that the shooter tried to kill me with a gun, or that he had a gun at all?”
There’s only one answer to that. David sent the killer himself.
A group of men dressed in black with guns drawn, round the corner.
“Run.”
“What?” she asks.
I shove her in front of me. “Move your arse!”
We haul ass to the stairs just as bullets begin to spray the hallway. I kick open the door and pull her behind me. There’s an emergency water hose by the door, something that’s installed on every other floor. I break the glass and wrap it around the handle and stair railing.
A barrage of bullets ping against the metal door, pushing out indentions. However, since each entrance/exit inside the PharmGen building is a potential security risk, they are nearly impenetrable.
“Up or down?” she asks, then shakes her head. “Stupid question.” She starts down the stairs, but I grab her arm. “Would you stop grabbing me?”
“Up, my love. Not down.”
She blinks up at me. “How can we escape on the roof?”
“Trust me.” Letting go of her arm, I hold out my hand. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Once more she takes my hand and we dart up the flight of stairs that leads to the roof. The air is blistering cold and a heavy wind is coming in from the north. It won’t be the most rash decision I’ve ever made, but it comes pretty damn close. Unfortunately, I have no choice.
“Please tell me you know how to fly a helicopter,” she says, eying PharmGen’s sleek, silver model.
“I don’t, actually, and my cousin who does wouldn’t get here in time to help us.” I pull her to the west side of the roof, where I’ve hidden a bag for such emergencies as this in an underused air vent. “So plan B it is.”
An assassin is always prepared.
My brother’s teachings are always with me. Having learned from the best, I have an emergency bag stashed at the top of every building I’ve ever spent a length of time in, including the one I live in.
Releasing Morgan, I yank the outer grate off and reach inside. My bag is still there, hanging from a metal hook that I installed on my first day of work, under the guise of installing security cameras.
“What’s in there?”
I pull out the tandem BASE jumping equipment from the backpack and shake it out. “Our exit strategy.”
“We have to jump?” Stark fear widens her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
I shrug into the harness, double-checking it for safety before I make her turn around and secure her to me. “I know, but please be a brave girl for me, yes?”
She gazes up at me. “I don’t have any other choice, do I?”
The door bursts open, men spilling out.
“No.”
We run for the side of the roof, and as we get closer, I worry about Morgan freezing up. “You can do this,” I assure her.
She trips.
We stumble.
The men see us.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan cries, pushing against me. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t answer her. In tandem BASE jumping, one would step off the side of a building or bridge, but I don’t have time.
I launch us into the open air.