Chill (20 page)

It was almost dark by the time the cab pulled up in front of Isabella’s old apartment building, the one where she’d been living during college when Marcus had found her. The same one she’d lived in with her mother for so long.

The exterior paint was peeling, and the first-floor windows were still covered with metal grills. She stared up at the gray cement building with a sinking heart. Had it been that depressing and decrepit when she’d lived there?

She knew it had.

She just hadn’t been able to let herself see it. But now, after having been out of it for so long…it didn’t make her homesick for her mother as she’d expected. It made her want to get out. And it reinforced her need to save Marcus, the man who had pulled her out of this life.

“You sure you want to get out here?” the cab driver asked.

“Yes.” Isabella handed him some money. “Please wait for me.”

“Yeah, okay.” The cabbie pocketed the cash and pulled out a newspaper.

Isabella pushed the door open and stepped outside.
The sidewalk was cracked. Littered with trash. A couple of kids were tossing a basketball in the street. She paused, having a sudden memory of playing ball with her mom the same way.

Her throat tightened, and Isabella hurried up to the front door. Her key still worked, and the rusted door opened slowly.

The stench was of mildew and body odor, the walls yellowed and stained. She hurried up the stairs, her chest tight. The second door on the right. Apartment 21.

Her key ground in with a rough protest, and she held her breath as she pushed the door open. For six years, she’d paid the rent on this apartment, afraid to let go of a safety net. Needing to keep a backup in case her situation with Marcus went south.

She felt an overwhelming sense of depression as she stepped inside. The place was trashed, and the odor told her someone had been using it as a place to sleep. The window was broken, and cardboard was taped over it.

The bed she and her mother had shared was still against the wall, next to the kitchenette, and even the sheets were the same. Faded roses. But it was stained and filthy, the blankets half on the floor.

Tears filled Isabella’s eyes. Had her mother really given her life and her soul to provide
this?
What an unfair life her mom had had.

Isabelle bit her lip and picked her way across the carnage. She pushed the bed aside, and nearly gagged at the stench. Beneath the bed was the same floorboard she’d taken the screws out of when she was eleven, after seeing someone do the floorboard stash in a movie.

Isabella pulled the board up. In the cavity was a
black cell phone. New and shiny. Exactly where Marcus had promised it would be. An untraceable phone, linked to his own emergency phone. Put there for her, just in case. In case she ever had to run.

The night he’d asked her to suggest a place he could stash an emergency phone for her, she hadn’t understood why he wanted to do it.

But after Luke’s story about his mother having to take off in the middle of the night, about not being able to call Marcus…she understood.

Despite what Luke thought, Marcus had learned from that experience. He’d taught Isabella to shoot, he’d taken her to the garage and shown her the SUV for a quick escape, and he’d followed through on his promise that there would always be a phone here for her. He had done what he could to keep her safe.

Tears filled her eyes and she carefully reached past the cobwebs and picked up the phone. “You did it, Marcus,” she whispered. She held the phone to her chest.
I won’t let you down.

She tucked the phone into the pocket of her jeans, then reached farther beneath the wood. Inside was a box with a carved lid. She still remembered the street vendor who’d given it to her. An old man, hunched over, smelling faintly of stinky clams. She’d been eight and in awe over the beauty of the flowers engraved on it.

He’d given it to her. No money. No thanks. Just a gift.

Isabella pulled out the box and opened it. She thumbed through the pictures of her and her mother. And then the ring.

She picked up the diamond ring Stan had given her mother. Isabella had found it on the floor the night
she’d come back after her mother had died. Thrown there by her mother after Stan had left?

She’d kept it, as a reminder not to count on anyone. Not to give anyone the power to hurt her.

Isabella turned it over in her hand. The diamond was small, and it had a yellowish tint. And yet to her and her mother, it had been the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen. It had represented freedom, a new life, a gift.

And it had been the biggest trap of all. It represented all the vulnerability her mother had exposed herself to by falling in love.

But Isabella didn’t want a life like Luke’s—isolated from everyone, unable to trust. She’d seen inside his soul, and she understood the pain that drove him. She’d seen his heart and knew it was broken. But it was a good heart. A heart she loved, just as she loved Marcus’s.

Flaws and all.

Even if they both broke her heart, she refused to keep from offering it. They had taught her that love was out there, that the life she wanted was out there, and she would find it.

Isabella set the ring back in the box and placed the box in the middle of the bed. Maybe the person sleeping there would use it as a chance to start over.

Then she tucked the photos in her purse, double-checked to make sure she had the phone, and then she headed for the door.

She shut it and locked it behind her, then paused to look at the dirty, worn key. This was the security blanket she’d held on to? The home she could always return to if her new life fell apart?

No longer.

She would never come back.

Even if everything with Marcus went south, she was no longer the girl who would return to this world. She simply wouldn’t. This home…it wasn’t a security. It was her past, and she wouldn’t return. She had come too far, and she’d done it on her own. She didn’t need this anymore.

Isabella squatted and slid the key under the door.

And as she ran down the decrepit stairs, there was a lightness in her heart that had never been there before.

Luke was startled to see his old bedroom was exactly as he’d left it. His graduate diploma still leaned against the wall under the window where he’d stashed it, never bothering to hang it up. His favorite pen was still on the ornate desk he’d bought himself. The bookshelves were lined with his reference books.

Had Marcus thought he would come back?

Was the old man that naive? Marcus changed the decor of the house every six months, and yet he’d left Luke’s room untouched for eight years?

It made no sense.

But as Luke strode across the room toward the door, Isabella’s story popped into his mind. About how Marcus had sat there with that beach photo every night. Something tightened in his chest, and he quickly pushed it away. There was no room for wishful thinking.

Luke eased into the hallway and made his way silently down the corridor. Security cameras winked at him from every corner, but he ignored them, fully confident they weren’t working. Footsteps raced down the hall, and Luke melted against the wall, almost hoping someone would come his way.

He heard someone yell that the security system was down, and then the footsteps thudded down the stairs, no doubt toward Marcus’s office, where everything was controlled.

He reached Marcus’s bedroom suite at the other end of the house with only a couple of close calls with a guard. Twenty-one minutes until the cameras would be engaged again.

Luke knocked on the door.

No answer.

He silently opened it and stepped inside. The room was unrecognizable from the last time he’d been there, which fit with Marcus’s need to redecorate constantly. Another massive bed, huge dresser, ornate blinds that blocked out the sunshine.

Overdone.

Luke shook his head, almost amused at Marcus’s awful taste. He’d forgotten how unappealing his father’s style was.

Luke walked across the room and slid open the trophy case holding Marcus’s most prized possessions. He removed the autographed Red Sox game ball from its case. He turned it over, carefully inspecting the stitching. He grinned when he saw that the coloring of the stitching of a two-inch section was still slightly off. He’d left it that way on purpose. A challenge to see if Marcus was smart enough to notice someone had tampered with his ball.

Marcus had failed.

Luke tossed the ball, but the earrings stashed inside didn’t rattle. There was no indication they were inside. That would have made it too easy for Marcus.

Luke felt a faint hint of sadness that Marcus was so clueless. The man put on such a good show of being
dominating, but Luke knew how weak his father was. He counted on those who surrounded him to back up the persona of power he carried. Inside, Marcus was weak. How did the man expect to survive in this business if he couldn’t notice things like his most prized possession being tampered with? Of course he would have failed to notice signs Leon was planning a takeover…

Luke smiled ruefully at his thought. Isabella was clearly getting to him if he was actually contemplating the possibility that Marcus was innocent and Leon had set it all up. More likely, Leon had floated the idea of shooting Isabella for financial gain, and Marcus had clapped his hands in delight.

But for Isabella’s sake, he needed to find out the truth before he took any action.

The answer would be in Marcus’s office. Leon knew about the passageways leading to the office, and no doubt would have them rigged. It would be impossible to get down the back way. The only option would be the frontal assault, which Leon wouldn’t be expecting.

But there was a hell of a risk of running into someone and being forced to act before he was ready. Luke paused on the landing of the main staircase and listened to the muted sounds of voices from below. Seventeen minutes until the cameras went back on.

Despite the risk, he needed to know what was really going on. For Isabella. For himself.

The baseball in hand, Luke headed straight for the men who’d been trying to kill him.

Isabella hurried up the stairs to their motel room, her heart pounding at the thought of using the phone Marcus
had left for her. Would Luke think of it as a betrayal for her to call Marcus directly?

But Luke could be hurting Marcus even now. She had to do something.

She slid the key card in the lock. Would Luke really hurt his own father? In her heart, she didn’t think so. She knew how much he valued human life, and she couldn’t believe he would sacrifice his own standards. He’d suffer forever.

But what would he do to save his friends?

That was different.

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Luke?” She almost hoped he was back, so she wouldn’t have to make the choice now. She wanted him to step out of the bathroom and tell her Marcus was safe, that all was well.

But the room was empty.

She threw her purse on the bed and walked into the bathroom. Flipped the light switch, but it didn’t come on. She tried again.

It took the third attempt before she realized the lightbulb had been removed and was sitting on the edge of the sink. She stared at the white globe, and became aware of a faint breeze ruffling her hair.

She spun around to see that the window was open and the curtain was drifting in the breeze. The window had been closed and locked when she’d left. Luke had made dead certain the place was impenetrable.

And now it was open.

Her muscles twitched with the urge to race for the door, but she didn’t move. She didn’t know if someone was waiting for her in the room, preparing to pounce the moment she raced for the door.

Isabella swallowed, hooked her toe on the bathroom door, and ever so slowly began to pull it shut. There was a good lock on it, and Luke had augmented it when they’d arrived. If she could get it closed, she might be safe.

There was the faintest whisper of movement from the room, and Isabella slammed the door and threw the deadbolt.

The metal latch hit the casing and bounced back open.

Shit! The door wasn’t closed all the way!

“Come on!” She slammed her hip against the door, and then the door flew open. She was flung into the opposite wall.

Leon stepped into the bathroom. “Welcome back to Boston, Isa.”

Luke eased down the hall toward Marcus’s office. He could hear voices coming from within and recognized one as Nate’s.

But no Marcus.

The office door opened, and Luke ducked into the next room. He shut the door and waited.

Footsteps hurried past, but no one came in.

Luke’s eyes adjusted to the interior and he frowned. This had been his office, right under Marcus’s nose. But it had been completely redone. It was still an office though…

He quickly moved to the desk and sat down at the computer. The dim glare from the streetlight outside cast a small glow across the desk, and a photo of Isabella and another woman was propped right next to the monitor. He realized he was in Isabella’s office, and he scowled when he saw the camera was still mounted in the corner. He didn’t like the idea that Isabella had been kept so closely under Marcus’s thumb. Had she known her every move had been on camera?

He didn’t want her to come back here. He wanted her to be free.

He picked up the photo and peered more closely at it. Isabella appeared to be around sixteen, and the other
woman didn’t look much older. They were clearly related, with the same dark coloring and the same smile.

Her mother.

Isabella’s eyes were dancing, and she had her head on her mom’s shoulder. She looked young and vibrant. No makeup, no hardship in those beautiful eyes.

Her T-shirt was faded, and she was wearing big, gaudy earrings that looked as though they’d come from a street vendor. The peeling wallpaper behind the women was an ugly beige. The kitchen cabinet didn’t fit quite right, and the counter was old linoleum.

But the two women were holding on to each other as though they were best friends, and nothing else mattered.

Isabella’s mom wore ratty clothes similar to Isabella’s, and there were lines around her mouth. But there was a sparkle in her eyes, a liveliness, and Luke suspected the picture had been taken while Isabella’s mom was in love with Stan.

Around her mom’s neck was the turquoise pendant Isabella always wore. Luke ran the pad of his finger over the necklace. The two women had had nothing but each other, and it was clear from their faces that had been enough.

Until Stan had ripped them apart.

Anger rumbled inside Luke, and he set the photo down. Isabella’s childhood hadn’t been so different from his: a loving mom taken away by a cold bastard who didn’t appreciate what he had. Isabella deserved better than to put her lot in with the kind of man who would do it to her all over again. She needed someone who would stay by her side and love her, someone she could count on.

In another life, in a world where he didn’t have hell
on his heels…who knew? Maybe he could try to be that man—

Shit. What was he thinking?
Pull yourself together, Webber.

Luke pried his attention off the photo and began to inspect her desk. Countless folders on various artifacts, but nothing of interest. Her computer was on, as if someone had been using it. Had her notes on Luke been in there?

He checked his watch. Six minutes until the cameras kicked back on. It would take him four minutes to get back upstairs to the tunnel. Shit. He didn’t have time to spend poking around her office. He moved to the door again. Listened. Heard nothing. Slowly, he opened the door and eased out into the hall.

The door to Marcus’s office was open, and Luke crept toward it. He reached the doorway and crouched so he was below eye level. Then he peered around the corner.

What he saw made anger roil deep inside him.

Marcus was sitting behind his desk, wearing a suit. Ruling the fucking show.

So much for the kidnapping theory.

But Luke couldn’t take his eyes off Marcus. The man looked
old.

Luke was shocked by the slump of Marcus’s shoulders, by the heavy lines on his face. Yeah, he still had his classy haircut, expensive clothes and a coldness to his face. But there was something else he hadn’t remembered. Weight. Burden. Illness? Why hadn’t Isabella told him there was something wrong with him?

Marcus wasn’t the powerful man he used to be. Luke could see it in the weariness of his expression, in the sagginess of his skin. It was as if the weak man Luke
had always known he was had finally broken through the facade Marcus tried to carry off, as if the spirit were too heavy to be disguised anymore.

Hell, he almost felt sorry for the old man.

Luke worked his jaw.
I will not care.
Marcus was still a ruthless bastard who deserved whatever harshness life had dealt him.

“You have three minutes to get those cameras working,” Marcus snapped at a tech guy sweating it out over the security system.

Ah, yeah. The tone was the same. So much for Luke’s brief moment of concern about poor Marcus. Spirit intact. Probably just up too late celebrating the fact that he’d lured Isabella and Luke back to Boston.

Nate was slouched in a chair, looking pouty and tired, while three other men stood around the office. Men who were clearly armed. One was the New York Yankees guy from the airport.

“So, start over, and tell me exactly what happened at the airport,” Marcus said to Nate. His voice was harsh and laced with anger. “When you lost Isabella and my son.” He gave Nate the cold stare that had made Marcus Fie legendary in his business circles. The stare no one ever fucked with. “Need I remind you exactly how long I spent planning that before you screwed it up?”

Son of a bitch.

It
had
all been a setup. Marcus had betrayed Isabella to try to get to Luke.

“You bastard,” Luke whispered.

The betrayal sliced like a knife in his gut.

Not for himself.

For Isabella. He thought of the love in her eyes in that photo with her mother, and he finally understood
why she’d latched on to Marcus. Isabella needed to love, and Marcus had filled that void in her life.

And the bastard had used her.

Luke set his hand on his gun. One move now, and it would be over. He pulled out his weapon, a dark coldness settling over his body.

No one was ready for him. He could simply walk in there, and they would all be dead within a minute.

Isabella would be free.

Then he closed his eyes. Jesus.

This was why he’d left. So he wouldn’t become the cold-blooded murderer Nate had become.

“You will not win,” he muttered. Killing Marcus in cold blood would leave the old man dying with a smile on his face because his son had finally joined his team, and Luke wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Marcus would pay.

Marcus would suffer.

But not now. Not by the Fie method. It would be Luke’s way.

He holstered the gun. “I’ll be back for you.”

Marcus stopped talking and looked toward the door.

Luke stepped back out of sight. Just before Marcus’s gaze landed on him.

Isabella scrambled to her feet, and Leon grabbed her hair and yanked her across the bathroom. She yelped and dug her nails into his wrists, but he didn’t release her. “Let go of me!”

Leon dragged her across the room and threw her on the bed. Before she could move, he was straddling her, his gun in her throat. “Where’s Fie?”

Isabella closed her eyes so she couldn’t look into the face of the man she used to trust. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I thought you were our friend.”

“Shut the fuck up, Isa. This isn’t about you.” He pressed the gun tighter. “I need the necklace and the earrings. Where are they?”

Screw that. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

She opened her eyes and stared into Leon’s blue ones. She wanted to force him to see whom he was pointing a gun at. They’d been friends for so long. “Luke has them,” she lied. “He has them all. He’s going to trade them for Marcus.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

Isabella’s heart began to pound. “Fine. He went to Marcus’s house to kill everyone. He’s pissed.”

Leon swore, and she knew he believed her. This was the man who knew Luke from his old life, and he actually believed Luke would go to Marcus’s house and murder everyone? She felt a sudden sadness for the man Luke had once been.

“Give Luke a message for me,” he said.

She shrank back from the coldness in his eyes. “What message?”

“Tell him I want the necklace and the earrings. That this time, I’m calling the shots.”

Isabella tensed, already guessing Luke wouldn’t respond to threats. He wasn’t in victim mode. “He won’t care—”

“He will.” Then Leon flipped the gun around and slammed the butt into the side of her face.

Luke was halfway up the stairs when he realized the door to their hotel room was ajar.

Cold dread seized his gut. “Isabella!” He whipped out his gun and vaulted up the steps. “Isa!”

He sprinted for the door and slammed it open with his shoulder. Gun up, ready.

Wind was whipping through the room, and it was pitch-black. “Isa?”

He heard a whimper.

“Fuck!” His heart was pounding, but he didn’t dare run for her. Gun still up, he edged over to the light switch and flicked it.

Light filled the room, and he had to fight not to close his eyes against the sudden glare. He kept his weapon up and ready, listening intently for any movement.

His eyes adjusted within a split second, and the first thing he saw was Isabella on the bed. She was bound with a cord, arms and feet tied behind her. Blood streamed from the side of her face and over her shirt.

“Jesus.” His heart nearly stopped, and he forgot about any possible threats.

He just lowered his gun and tore across the room to her. “Isabella!”

Her left eye was swollen. There was a gag across her mouth. She made another desperate sound that cut at Luke like a dagger.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.” Luke grabbed a knife from his belt and sliced through the gag. He pulled the torn pillowcase from her mouth.

“It was Leon,” she gasped.

“Leon?” His body went cold at the thought of Leon in the same room, and he shot to his feet, gun up. “Is he still here?”

“No. He went back to the house to keep you from killing Marcus.”

“Good girl.” How the hell had she kept her cool enough to think of the one thing that would have gotten Leon away from her before he had time to kill her?

Kill her. Jesus.

Anna’s face flashed in Luke’s mind, and he was suddenly frantic to cut the binds that held Isabella. He needed to free her. To take her away. “Hey, baby, I’m here now. I’ve got you. It’s over.”

“Luke.” She groaned as he freed her arms, and Luke caught her as she rolled over. She was trembling and he pulled her into his arms. He crushed her against him, his mouth so dry he could barely talk. How close had he come to losing her? It was Anna all over again. His mother. Dead. Both of them. His mother bleeding to death—

“Shit!” He pulled back and frantically began to touch her. “Where are you hurt? Where’s the blood coming from?”

She touched her face. “He hit me with his gun.”

“Son of a bitch.” Darkness rooted deep in his core, and Luke knew Leon had to die.

Luke Webber couldn’t do what needed to be done. But Adam Fie could.

He cradled Isabella to his chest as he carried her to the bathroom to clean off the blood, and he opened his heart and invited Adam Fie back to life.