Fawkes Sara-Anything He Wants Castaway #3 Read online

  No better than his father. My adrenaline-fueled brain put together the pieces. “You’re Alexander Rush.”

  “Ah,

  you’ve

  heard

  of

  me.

  Rufus

  Hamilton’s bastard, one of many no doubt—is that how they described me? Loki’s friend is very good at gathering information, but guess what?” He leaned forward. “I’m better.”

  The blithe tone as he spoke, the way he ticked off details of my own life to me, cut me to the quick. The danger I thought I was leaving, the deadly intrigue and drama, had followed me. I was being pulled into the snare as surely as any Hamilton, except I didn’t know how to fight this. I didn’t have military contacts, or a spy network, or an armed militia.

  I didn’t stand a chance.

  “You’re very lucky to have left when you did.” Alexander looked at his watch. “I need to make my exit, but it was wonderful talking to you. I wanted to meet the woman who brought both Hamilton men to their knees.”

  Something about the way he said that made me tremble harder. I couldn’t open my mouth to deny it; my body was frozen in place. I sat there unmoving as he stood up, grabbed a jacket from the back of the seat, and walked past me. My brain played out scenarios on how I was about to die, but the seconds ticked past and nothing happened. I couldn’t, however, make myself turn around to see where he’d gone.

  My brain told me I was hyperventilating but I couldn’t stop my racing heart. There was no way I could have imagined all that; the two glasses were still on the counter in front of me. For several seconds I sat there, trying to control my breathing. I had nowhere to go, nobody to call.

  I was alone.

  “Oi, can you turn the telly up?”

  The loud question next to my head startled me. A quick glance around the bar confirmed that nobody was watching me, but I still felt horribly raw and violated. That stranger had known too much about me; to have my life be such an open book, to have him speak of my parents... I had to get out of here, and grabbed my thin sweater off the back of the chair as the bartender turned up the television broadcast.

  Words like nails in a coffin filtered to my ears as I tried to slip out of the airport bar.

  “...bombing in a Dubai hotel...”

  If I thought I’d already reached the end of my chain, those words shattered the links. I whipped around to see images of the Almasi Hotel on the small television behind the bar, smoke all but obscuring the tower.

  No. Please God, no. The newscaster was saying something but I couldn’t hear, through my jumbled thoughts. I covered my mouth in shock, then turned and stumbled out into the causeway.

  I had to get a hold of myself. Danger seemed everywhere; the busy terminal had hundred of eyes, any of which my brain screamed could be deadly. Not knowing where to go, I staggered toward the nearest chair. The gate was all but empty; I shared the space with one other lady, but the rest of humanity poured through the narrow walk-way. I felt trapped inside the tube; taking deep breaths wasn’t helping.

  Something vibrated in my pocket.

  Startled by the sound, I jumped in my seat, then tentatively reached inside and pulled out an unfamiliar cell phone. It wasn’t mine; in fact I had no idea where it had come from. Freed from my pocket, it rang loudly, the display showing a blocked number.

  Holding my breath, I pulled the clamshell open and pressed the green button with a shaky finger. “H-Hello?”

  “What’s up, gorgeous?” Exuberant tones spilled through the phone. “Miss me?”

  “Lucas?” A cold wave of relief rolled over me, and I clutched the phone to my ear.

  “Where are you?”

  “Well, funny story that. Still in Dubai, technically, although I’m not sure how international...”

  “Someone was here.” The words spilled out, the sobs I’d been holding down threatening to rise to the surface. “Somebody approached me at the bar. Lucas, he knew my name, he knew everything about me, talked about my parents’ death...”

  “Lucy, calm down.” The jovial tone was gone, replaced by a much needed calmness.

  “I need you to start from the beginning.”

  But I didn’t care about that, I needed to know information. “The television said there was an explosion,” I asked. “In Dubai, at the hotel. Lucas, the man said I was lucky to leave when I did, what happened? Is Jeremiah all right? What about Amyrah?”

  “There was an explosion, but I need you to get to safety. Where are you right now?”

  I looked quickly around. “I’m at gate B13.

  Lucas, is Jeremiah alright?” I had to know, and his pause after my question only made my heart race faster.

  “Listen Lucy, I’m going to get you help.

  Right now however I’m a little bit tied up with...”

  “What about Jeremiah? ” I hadn’t meant to shout the words, but it felt like my heart was going to burst from my chest. I ducked my head, covering my eyes with my hand to block out the swirl of people around me.

  “Please Lucas, tell me he’s alright.”

  It was several long seconds before he finally spoke. “I’m sorry Lucy, but I—”

  The line went dead.

  “Lucas? Lucas?” I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it. The call had been dropped with no way to reconnect.

  I’m sorry Lucy. In my mind, that only meant one thing.

  I wanted to throw up. Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I leaned forward until my head was between my knees. I kept my eyes tightly shut, struggling to breathe through the icy clamp around my heart.

  No. No no no no. I could have lived my life without Jeremiah. It would have hurt knowing he was no longer mine, but I could have dealt with that. If he was dead however... Moans escaped me, and I put the back of my hand across my mouth.

  I was holding my breath, and I forced myself to exhale, then take another breath.

  Another

  small

  moan

  came

  with

  the

  exhalation, and I felt tears spill over my hand.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to get myself together, before I realized I had company. A deep, shaky breath later, I looked up to see three men in suits surrounding me.

  “Ms. Lucy Delacourt?”

  Two of them were in uniform and looked poised for action, their hands on their belts. I couldn’t see any guns but had no doubt they were there. The third man stepped out in front of me, flipping up a badge. “I’m agent Atwater with Interpol. Ma’am, we need you to come with us.”

  Chapter 12

  When I was escorted out of the airport terminal and taken to a very stark interrogation room, I didn’t imagine I’d be left alone long enough to get bored.

  As time passed with nobody coming into the room or checking on me, the fear bled away into nervousness, then annoyance. I cast the large mirror on one wall questioning looks, not sure what to do with myself.

  They’d already confiscated the phone Lucas had slipped into my pocket but a simple clock on the wall ticked off the seconds as they passed. What I needed was answers, and the nothing I was getting made me anxious.

  I stood up and paced the room, not knowing what else to do for myself. Several times I passed by the mirror, then finally knocked on the glass. “Hello? Are you going to question me or something?” I called, feeling fool-ish for talking to my own reflection. “Am I free to go?”

  The door to the room clicked open, startling me. An older woman in a suit stepped inside, holding a notepad and several files under her arm. “Hello, Lucy,” she said, her voice tinged with a French accent. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  I wasn’t interested in idle chitchat.

  “Where’s Jeremiah?” I blurted, not believing for an instant she didn’t know to whom I was referring.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head to the side. “You’re not a col-league of his brother Lucas Hamilton?�
��

  So that was who got me in this mess.

  “I’m an acquaintance,” I hedged, not sure how much I could tell her.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “An intimate acquaintance?”

  There was no way for me to stop the flush that rose over my cheeks, which of course gave me away. “I need to know what happened to Jeremiah Hamilton,” I emphas-ized. “I saw the news but didn’t get details before your men showed up. What happened at the Almasi Hotel?”

  “Miss Delacourt, why don’t you have a seat...”

  “Dammit, stop pussyfooting around!” I was getting pissed off at the nothing that was being accomplished. “Some stranger bought me a drink in the bar, listed off intimate details of my life, and told me I was lucky to have left when I did.”

  “Do you know who this man was?”

  She didn’t seem at all phased by my outburst. I pressed my lips together, not sure whether to answer any more questions.

  “Who are you anyway?”

  The woman held out her hand. “I am Marie Gautier, an agent for Interpol. I’ve been in close contact with your friend Lucas, or Loki if you prefer.”

  I shook her hand cautiously, not knowing what to say. Lucas had said he’d get me help, was this woman a contact of his? “I need to know what happened in the Almasi Hotel.

  Please,” I added when her lips pursed, “I saw there was an explosion, and some people I knew were in there.”

  Marie nodded. “There was indeed an explosion, and several people were injured. I can get details in you’d like, but I’ll need something from you.”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know, work with a sketch artist, whatever you need. Just please get me some information about my friends.”

  Her gaze went to the mirror, as if silently communicating with whoever was behind there, and then she again indicated the table and chairs. “I’m eager to hear anything you have to say, Miss Delacourt.”

  Despite my assertion to tell them everything, I left off a few bits of information. Mostly it related to sex, the name of the boat we used in the Caribbean and any mention of Matthews and Franks directly. But everything else I laid bare, glad to finally get a chance to unload everything I’ve bottled up inside. If this woman or the people listening outside that mirror were at all untrust-worthy, or decided to pin any blame on me, I’d be in a world of hurt.

  “So you acted as a translator for the ori-ginal deal, then were coerced onto the ship?”

  The agent seemed very keen on discuss-ing this, which made me nervous. By answering truthfully, I was also essentially incriminating myself, but I was so tired of secrets. “Lucas kidnapped me from his brother’s estate, then brought me to that meeting. So yes, I participated, but it wasn’t by choice.”

  The agent looked poised to ask me another question when there was a sharp rap on the mirror beside us. She glanced over, and then stood to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”

  Once again I was alone. This time I knew I was being watched so sat still, fiddling with the table, until Marie came back to the room.

  She didn’t look happy by whatever news she’d been given, and sat back down at the table across from me. “Miss Delacourt,” she said, pulling pictures out of one file and spreading them before me, “do you recognize any of these men from your time with Lucas?”

  I studied the images, wracking my brains to place any of the faces. “Him,” I said finally, pointing to a picture of an older gentleman. “Lucas called him Mr. Smith, I think the shipment was his. But I don’t know any of the others.”

  If the agent was going to say anything else, she didn’t get the chance before the door opened, and I looked over to see a man enter the room. He had a no-nonsense look on his face, and his eyes briefly flicked over to me before fixing on the other agent. “My name is Evan Rothschild and I will be rep-resenting Miss Delacourt in this matter.”

  I squinted up at the smaller man, not sure what was happening. His accent was American, and his round face was red as if he’d run here.

  “I didn’t know Lucy had retained a lawyer,” Marie stated.

  “I’m here on behalf of my employer, Jeremiah Hamilton.”

  That got my attention. “You’ve spoken to Jeremiah?” I asked.

  The lawyer nodded at my question but kept his attention on the agent as I reeled at that news. “I’d like a moment in private to address my client.”

  Marie looked like she was sucking on a lemon. “Your client has information on a potential terrorist,” she started.

  “And she has been cooperating fully with Interpol officials,” the lawyer interjected. “Is she being charged with anything?”

  “Does she need to be to make her stay?”

  “Hey!” They were talking as if I wasn’t right there in the room. I glared at the lawyer. “Can the client butt in for a moment?

  I’m here to help.”

  Marie glanced at me, then back at the lawyer. “She needs to work with a sketch artist,” she said after a moment. “It isn’t safe for her to leave...”

  “My employer is taking care of that already, and would like Miss Delacourt to be released into his custody.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “Can I use the bathroom?” My bladder was fine, but I’d had enough of being talked over. I stood up. “It’s through this door, right?”

  The agent gave an exasperated sigh, then nodded. I didn’t wait but tried the knob, eager to leave the small room. The door was locked, but as I jiggled the handle it turned and opened out toward me. A large man in a dark suit similar to Marie’s stepped aside, allowing me to pass back into the narrow hallway. He indicated a direction and I turned, and then stopped in my tracks.

  Jeremiah stood not twenty feet away, a dark wall in the well-lit corridor. My feet were rooted to the linoleum as I drank in the sight of him, adrenaline coursing through my body. He stared back at me, silent as the grave, his face as closed as ever. I wanted to look away, knowing he wasn't mine any more, but my brain needed more proof he really was alive.

  What was he doing here? One wrong word from him could have shattered me, but he did nothing, only stared back. Gone was the uncertainty I'd seen in him the last few days; he was back in familiar settings, once more in charge of his world.

  What I'd give to have even an ounce of that strength right then.

  I took a step forward, then stopped and curled my hands into fists. "I thought you were dead."

  Emotion spasmed across his face, gone too quickly for me to identify. "Would that have made your choice easier?"

  The kernel of hope in my heart died an agonizing death. I looked away quickly, blinking back tears. Behind me, Marie and the lawyer stepped into the hall, continuing to bicker. I shut out their voices, too miser-able to deal with them. Across from me I heard Jeremiah curse, then arms stretched around my shoulders, pulling me into a solid embrace. I was completely caught off guard; my hands splayed across his chest, ready to push him away. He only tightened his grip however and I breathed in through my nose, that familiar scent washing over me.

  Deep inside me, a small dam broke and emotions came spilling free. A sob escaped me, and I wrapped my arms around his torso, burying my face in his suit. "I thought you were dead," I whispered again, and knew he heard me when his arms tightened around my shoulders.

  There were so many things I wanted to say but all I could do was cry and cling to his solid frame. I didn't want to be the needy damsel in distress, it hurt my pride, but oh, it felt so good to have some help.

  “If we’re done here,” I heard the lawyer say behind me.

  “Not so fast.” Marie’s words were like a cracking whip. “I have two people before me who were both at a bombing, do I really need to tell you what this looks like?”

  “We’ll cooperate fully with your depart-ment,” Jeremiah interrupted from above me.

  He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by her threats; his cool gaze never wavered.

  His words however seemed t
o mollify the French agent. "Miss Delacourt? Can I count on your help identifying the man you claim you saw?"

  A thin rivulet of anger snaked through me at her insinuation that I lied, but I nodded, too tired to fight. Clenching my fists, I let Jeremiah go and stepped away, turning to face the agent. “I’ll help you, but I don’t know myself what’s going on.”

  “However you might think yourself innocent, you’re tied to this.” Her words reverberated through my brain as two more agents flanked us. Marie whispered to the man beside her, who disappeared through another

  door.

  “We’ll

  need

  to

  know

  everything you saw and heard, anything he may have touched, whatever you remember.”

  “I’m here to help.”

  My mouth was dry, my body trembling from the stress, and then I felt hands slide down my arms. Jeremiah leaned down and whispered, “I won’t leave you alone.”

  Oh, how I wanted to believe that.

  We were there for another three hours, and when they finally released us it was very grudgingly.

  I worked with a sketch artist to get a picture of Alexander, half-expecting someone to come in and say they have video of him from the airport monitors. From the way they were acting however, it didn’t sound like they had any real images. I couldn’t figure out why that would be – we’d been in a very public place that I knew had more than a few cameras—but they seemed very interested in getting as detailed a sketch as possible from me.

  It was a face that was etched into my brain. I wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

  By the time we were done, I was feeling fuzzy and mentally drained. Jeremiah never left my side, even when I was doing the sketch, and his presence bewildered me.

  Even though he sat quietly, his presence was like an elephant in the room. My mind kept flashing back to our last conversations, the words that were spoken and secrets laid bare. It was distracting to say the least, and worry over what this meant made me nervous and jittery.

  “We will be giving you a security detail and placing you into protective custody,”

  Marie said as the artist packed up her pencils and exited quietly.