The Promise of Love (20 page)

Will Paris forgive me enough to marry me?

Cody was as sappy over Sonya as David was over Paris. Heck, even Sonya had softened a little.

The two had fallen in together soon after the Duke operation, then she and Cody had worked together to bring Walters down. He and Will had been called to help, because they’d been in the same area. David had been too drunk most of the time to leave his room, let alone the state. Will had stuck around for who knew what reason. In the end, Walters hadn’t gotten past Sonya, let alone the ex-Ranger, Cody. And David had managed to fall on his bum leg—again.

But seeing the couple on screen, in Carson’s office, could mean only one thing—they needed something. Or, worse, the Sentinels weren’t as over as he wanted them to be.

“Jansen, Will, don’t look so grim. Man, are you two fighting again?” Sonya grumbled.

“Hey, Sonya, Cody, long time,” he called and turned one of the chairs around to straddle it, then carefully leaned his crutch on the conference table. “Kinda thought you two would be on some island honeymooning it by now, ’cause I’m on my way to Canada.”

“Don’t we wish,” Cody grumbled good-naturedly.

“Petrok, Johnson,” Will grunted, taking a chair next to him. “Why are you on screen?”

Carson coughed, the code sign for ‘stop asking questions I’m about to get to’. The guy had to be in his late forties, but with his hard physique David had a difficult time pinning his age. The white hair threw him, but he had a few gray hairs himself, so who knew how old Carson was. What they all knew though, was he was the man to get the shit end of the stick on taking over the special ops team nicknamed the Sentinels. Carson had a record for getting a job done that needed doing, so maybe that was why. The hard-ass even worried Sonya, and no one, to David’s knowledge, did that.

“They’re here because Petrok’s been briefed about the buyers Walters contacted before he was killed. She’s worried about one in particular. She’s also found something out that might concern you,” Carson replied, taking a seat opposite them. He didn’t even bother to move so he could see the screen, which meant he’d already been filled in on whatever the issue was.

“Well, by all means, don’t keep it to yourself. Share,” David said, stretching his knee. The thing still bothered him and the crutch he used made it damn embarrassing. If not for Will offering to drive him to Paris, he’d have been long gone, but on a plane, and he hated flying commercial.

“Leg still bad?” Sonya asked instead of answering.

The redhead was one tough cookie, but David had never tried to take her on. He owed her too much. Right now was not the time to start either.

“Yep,” he admitted. “It’s been what? Two days since you saw me last.”

Cody whispered something to her, which made her grin. The woman had once been a spy—and not for them. David had never seen her happy. She was more than happy now—she was all set. Cody fit her. Kind of like he thought Paris had fit him. As soon as he found her, she would again, too.

“Petrok.” Will leaned forward in his chair and put on his mission face, which meant a total lack of emotion.

Sonya was smart enough to see it, too, and got down to business.

“Right, so that counts you out of this mission, Jansen, you’ll have to wait on the sidelines, but Will, you’re going to have to go in. The man we’re after—”

“Hold it, hold it, what are you talking about? We are done. Out. You were a charity mission, Red, nothing more,” Will said quickly, frowning over at David.

“Explain, Petrok, what mission and why?” David said, instead of agreeing with him.

“Savage.”

The one word stilled the already quiet room in a way only bad news that suddenly got worse could.

“Fuck!” David slammed his hand down on the desk, nearly upsetting the laptop, but he was too far gone to worry. “Now he shows up? You’ve got to be—”

“Settle down, Jansen,” Will muttered.

David spared his partner the briefest of glances. “Walters contacted that slime, didn’t he? It wasn’t Duke. And he has what? The drug? Chung’s or Duke’s?” he asked, although both fucked up the person who took them. “And you want me to settle down?”

Walters had been one sick bastard by the end. David knew from Walters’ autopsy results that most of the man’s sickness was from overuse of Duke’s drug. Chung, the scientist behind the first DNA trial, was examining the results, but David had read them. It wasn’t just the report either. He’d known just from looking at the man he’d been in trouble. Thin wasn’t even close to what Walters had become—hell, he’d seen scarecrows with more meat on them. The guy had once been a rock, if not a bit too buffed for his own good. When David had turned him over, he’d been shocked down to his boots at the changes.

“Yes,” Sonya said, “he did. Savage received several samples, and the footage from Duke’s compound.”

Will leaned forward. “What footage is that, Petrok?”

David gave Sonya credit. She didn’t back down when confronted with an angry Will, she simply said it like it was. “All the footage, Will. Every room was filmed—except the apartments you two were given. Outside of that and the garage, the entire compound was rigged for show and tell.”

She let that settle only for a minute before she added, “But that’s where this gets worse, fast. He has names to go with the rooms. Your names were fake. So no worries. But someone put Paris Masters down on that guest list, and it wasn’t Duke.”

A chill, as if a goose walked over his grave, rushed David at her words.

“Who would have done that?” she asked.

“Are you telling me Savage has Paris’ ID and location?” David asked so quietly most wouldn’t had realized how angry he was. But everyone present knew, and by the serious frown on Carson’s face, he’d expected nothing less.

“I am,” Sonya said, with sympathy. “He’s had this list from the start, but now he’s collecting the people on it. My guess is he wants to discover for himself what the drug was like before he markets it.”

“Fuck,” David groaned. He grabbed his crutch and would have stood if Will hadn’t laid his hand on his shoulder.

“No. Sit.”

“What? Are you insane? He knows where Paris lives!”

“But my guess is he hasn’t collected her.” Will turned at the finish to face the screen.

“No, he hasn’t. We had men go…well, fetch her. From all accounts, she’s not happy.”

“What? What do you mean you sent men?” David demanded.

“When you two went off radar, this all exploded on me! I did what I thought you’d want! They picked her up yesterday,” she added with a bit less heat.

“Where—” He paused and swallowed. Off radar? They’d gone to get a new truck so his damn leg would fit in it all stretched out. Less than twenty four hours and they were off the radar? “Where is she, Sonya?”

“Back at Duke’s. We have the entire perimeter secure and she’s safe, but somewhat vocal about how unhappy she is. Didn’t see that coming,” she muttered. “She seemed too nice, or,” she added with a glance at him, “way too patient for that.”

She isn’t happy
.

The last day, at Duke’s, she’d asked him to stay, cried for him to stay, but he’d had to go. He’d promised to come back. She had to believe he’d broken that promise, or worse, he’d died.

“I have to go to her,” he said, then louder, “I’ll go take care of her, you get me if you need me—”

“Or when your leg heals,” Carson said. “Get that taken care of, Jansen. You don’t want that kind of thing hassling you all your life.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood.

Will got to his feet as well. “Just be honest. It might help, and remember, she’s not used to this—any of this—so just be honest, like you were before.”

“Just get this bastard and hurry up on it, too. She’s not safe until you do.”

With that he turned and, leaning on his crutch, made it out the door before they saw him sweating in a panic.

Hell, panic?
I’m a mess.

What if she wasn’t just vocal, but pissed off at him and already settled down with some big Canadian Mountie?

She’ll just have to forgive me, that’s all.
Then he could see about making a promise that was going to last a hell of a lot longer.

Chapter Twelve

“There is only one answer that’s going to please me right now,” Savage said, making certain the man in front of his desk understood him. “Bring me the drug. And, this time, I want David Jansen’s dead body at my feet.”

“Yes, sir,” Murphy said on cue, nodding to reinforce the affirmative.

“If you find me Petrok and Bryson, your fee is doubled. But Jansen’s the man responsible for this shit,” Savage shouted and threw the empty bottles of Duke’s sex drug at Murphy’s face. “You and your men have had six months. Six fucking months. If I have to show you how to run this operation I pay you to run, than why would I need you?”

Murphy shifted but kept his Irish mouth shut.

Behind him, Marcus, his South African killer, also stayed silent, but Marcus wasn’t stupid. He’d let Jansen get the mark on Martinez, so his days were numbered simply because he’d been there when Martinez had died. He’d been instructed to protect one man—Savage’s brother—and he’d failed. Failure wasn’t tolerated.

“I want this done. As quickly and quietly as possible. Now.” He turned and buzzed in the man he’d left to wait outside. A few seconds later, Ashton Potter walked in. He lifted an eyebrow at Savage, most likely for the plastic surgery he’d had done after the Duke fiasco. The heat surrounding his club had been too much for him to retain his own identity. The new face was just shy of Hollywood and resembled an assassin he’d killed last year for double-crossing him on a deal. The irony was possibly only understood by him and Martinez—if his brother had still been alive to enjoy it.

“How’s the new drug coming along?”

The chemist sat and crossed one leg casually over his knee. Not much dismayed the MIT graduate, not even, it would seem, Savage’s new look.

Savage leaned back in his chair. The younger man pulled a file out of his briefcase and placed it on the desk.

“So far the subjects have tested well. Now that we are picking up the people who were on the Duke drug, the process should be much smoother. By the end of the month, I think we’ll have a product.”

That surprised Savage, but he didn’t show it. Potter was good at what he did, and charged a fortune for it. He wasn’t a wimpy college kid, but a genius, who, Savage gauged, had no morals or conscience. The kind of man he dealt with, but from a distance. If Savage went after someone, he killed the man—sometimes face to face, other times using the same methods as Murphy and Marcus. But Potter wouldn’t go for someone like that. He liked suffering, and the more he caused, the more interested he became.

A serial killer in the making. Or maybe already made. Didn’t matter to Savage. One way or another, he was getting what he wanted, and Potter seemed more than happy with what he received each week in subjects to work on and digits in his bank account.

“That soon,” Savage murmured, cutting off his thoughts about the oddity of the man and shifting his focus to where it should be. Making money. His new club was run on high-priced women who did whatever the client wanted, but this drug would make him a billionaire if it did half of what Duke’s had done.

Inhaling, he tapped his desk with a pencil and nodded. “Good. Send me an update when you have one,” he added, standing.

Potter stood as well. “There’s just one more thing I’ll need.”

Savage paused from pulling out a Cuban cigar from the box on his desk.

“And that is?” he asked, nodding for Marcus and Murphy to leave. As soon as they had, he offered a Cuban to the kid. Potter took it, staring at it as if it were a science experiment, then pocketed in the front breast pocket of his suit. As always, he was dressed in the latest fashion from his hand sewn shirts to his handmade Italian shoes. Every detail of his appearance was neat and orderly, down to the part in his brown hair. Savage knew he also kept his home and lab the same way—OCD off the charts, one of his girls had told him after a night with Potter. Kayla had also threatened to quit if he ever let Potter near her again. If even half of what she’d said he’d done with her was true, none of his girls were ever going near him again.

“I need these women.” Potter flipped the file open. “Paris Masters and Sara Stevens.”

Savage clipped his cigar and lit it, drawing on it deeply before he answered. They’d already brought in almost all the other ‘volunteers’ from Duke’s compound. Masters was on the list but in Canada, a stretch for him right now when he had a new club to organize, a drug to get on the market and some scores to settle. But the other girl, she was an unknown.

“Get me both of them, and you’ll have your drug.”

“Leave the file. I’ll see what I can do.”

The sick bastard smiled tightly. “Good. I’ll see that your drug is ready.”

With that, the little prick walked out.

Savage contemplated the doorway Potter had walked through. If so much wasn’t riding on the drug, he would have killed Potter for what he’d done to Kayla. Business wasn’t good though. A full shut down and bust hadn’t helped his clientele feel protected, neither had his promises for more of the drug, then not delivering.

If Potter wanted Paris Masters and this other girl in exchange for the drug, he’d have Murphy bring them both in. Two women’s lives weren’t worth losing billions. Not even close.

* * * *

Paris paced the length of the room, giving the mirror, which she knew was a window that someone was behind
and
watching, a dirty look as she did. It wasn’t her first experience with two-way glass after all.

Or this place.

No one had come back in, but then, she’d thrown their water at them when they had. It had to be illegal for them to snatch her from her home in Canada, cross the border and bring her here—this place of all places.

She heard footsteps leading up to the door and turned, arms crossed. Whoever it was, she was ready to snap someone’s head off. It opened and the last man she expected to see stood—or leaned on a crutch—giving her a somewhat tentative, but cocky grin.