“Where is she?” Javier turned to his brother, panic tearing through his veins in a fiery chill. Fear threatened to explode him. If Brenner had paid Valjean to hurt one hair on her head . . . the engineer better pray for death because Javier vowed to deliver it, slowly and painfully. He didn’t give a shit if he went to prison for the rest of his life. No one threatened to end the existence of that beautiful girl who’d struggled so much just to begin a new life after her accident.
“With Luc, I assume.” But Xander’s face showed that he was starting to think and piece things together. “Fuck! They would have reached Lafayette already.”
“I’ll call Luc. You see if you can find London’s phone now. Nick, keep tracking Valjean.”
“You got it. I’ll call the second I’ve got anything.”
The line went dead, and Javier didn’t waste a second. But Luc’s phone just rang and rang. That sent a new bout of panic chugging the fiery chill through his veins and tearing into his gut.
Beside him, Xander called out, “Found her! She’s at the office.”
“On a Saturday?”
Xander frowned, silently acknowledging that was out of the norm. He dialed London’s number. No answer. He repeated the action three times, and her voice mail picked up every time.
Dread gnawed on him. Javier wiped a hand over his face. He was breathing, but it felt as if everything stood still—time, his respiration, even the car rolling down mile after mile of road, still an hour away from Lafayette.
As Xander stabbed his finger into the phone to end the call, Javier felt panic sear an icy path through his veins. “Still nothing?”
Javier shook his head, mind racing. “If she’s at the office, she’s not with Luc.”
“If she’s at the office, Valjean might find her there. Fuck!”
He tried to think rationally. “Why would Valjean think to look for her there during the weekend?”
“I don’t know, but better safe than sorry.” Xander grabbed his phone and dialed quickly. Someone answered right away, and Javier had to hope that whoever it was could help them. “Logan. We need help now.”
Quickly, Xander explained the situation. Javier only knew Logan by reputation, but from the sounds of things, the Navy SEAL sprang into action. He said he’d call the police as backup on his way over to the office. Hunter, his brother, happened to be sitting next to him, so they’d tag-team the fucker and save London.
Xander pressed his foot to the accelerator, now going more than a hundred. Javier didn’t say a word. Nothing was more important than getting to their girl and saving her. In the meantime, he could only think of one other call that might save London before Valjean struck.
He rifled through his contacts, thankful that he never bothered to remove this one. He prayed the number hadn’t changed. Knowing his number would have been blocked, Javier grabbed his brother’s phone and dialed.
“This is Brenner.”
“Javier Santiago. Don’t hang up! I want to negotiate.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the engineer drawled, as if the sound of his panic was highly enjoyable.
“Your assassin Valjean. I know he killed my wife. I know he killed Albert Carlton. I know he’s on his way to kill my assistant, London.”
“I’m sure I have no idea where you get these crazy ideas,” Brenner denied, but his tone was playful. The fucker was definitely enjoying his anxiety. “I have seen pictures of your assistant. Pretty thing. Since my wife divorced me over the loss of all my intellectual property and income potential after our court case, I know how terrible it is to lose the woman . . . Oh, silly me. I’m assuming you’re in love with her. You are, aren’t you? I’ve heard whispers. You know how people talk. There’s a whole lot of chatter that you’re not only fucking your pretty assistant, but you’re sharing her with that manwhore brother of yours. I must say, I’m surprised.”
Every minute he let Brenner bait him was another minute that Valjean had to find London. “No more games. What do you want to call Valjean off? I’ll give you everything. I’ll sign over the entire company to you if you’ll call him off London.”
Brenner dragged in a breath, and Javier could hear the happy vindication in his sigh. He gritted his teeth, swallowed his pride, and said nothing. “You sound so . . . humble. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be any less than totally in control. Arrogant, even. I have to say, I’m enjoying this side of you.”
The fucker was toying with him. “What else do you want? My life? It’s yours. I’ll show up any place you want at any time you want so you can have me killed in any way you please.”
Xander leaned into the phone. “Me, too. If you want us off the planet and our family gone, it’s done. Just tell us when and where. We’ll be there.”
Javier glanced at his brother in a moment of true understanding. He didn’t have to guess what Xander was thinking; he knew. Neither of them would be happy or worth a damn without London. She’d given them both hope, direction, and a reason to be better men.
“Well, that’s no loss,” Brenner drawled. “What has Xander ever done with his life, except spread his sperm far and wide? That’s certainly no contribution to society. But it’s interesting that both of you are willing to die for this girl. I guess you’re both—gasp—in love with her. That presupposes that you’re capable of loving another human being, Santiago, which I’m pretty certain your late wife didn’t believe.”
“I was a terrible husband,” Javier admitted, both to appease Brenner and because it was the goddamn truth. “I’m sorry if I was a lousy boss. I swear, you can have the whole company if you’ll just bring London safely back. I’ll sign it over as soon as you can have the paperwork drawn up. Just call off Valjean.”
Two generations of Santiago sweat and innovation down the toilet. The business he’d devoted his life to. The legacy he’d hoped to someday pass on to a son or daughter. Gone in exchange for a woman he’d met a week ago.
But he wouldn’t make any other choice. A glance at Xander told him they were still on the same page.
“Well, as tempting as that sounds, I have no idea who Valjean is,” Brenner said. “I have no idea how your overactive imagination dreamed up this tale. Drinking again?”
“Just tell me what you want from us! You believe I took your life’s work, so I’ll give you mine. No strings. Just return my assistant to me.” My savior, my beloved.
“I don’t want your company, Santiago. Anything I invented when I worked for you is now on the verge of being outdated and I can innovate again. That’s what I do. Thankfully for me, United Velocity is more than happy to pay me in both cash and stock for all the genius I give them.”
Javier gripped the phone tighter, his nerves strung so tight, he could feel every beat of his heart as a pounding in his head. His world narrowed as he focused on the nearly empty road in front of him and the sound of Brenner’s voice.
“Do you want money? A public apology? I’ve offered to die for her. What else do you want?”
“Oh, you’ve given me everything I could want now.” His voice sounded just shy of gloating laughter. Normally, that would rub Javier like industrial sandpaper, but his pride didn’t matter at all now. “There’s really nothing more you can give me. I hope you find your girl before it’s too late. I’ll be thinking of you and watching.”
There was a click, and the call went dead in his ear. A cold panic rushed through his veins. He’d failed. London was innocent of all wrongdoing. Her only crime had been in not trusting their love. He froze. No, the crime had been his. How could she trust in a love he’d never professed to her? God, she couldn’t pay with her life and die thinking he didn’t love her all the way down to his soul. He and Xander would suffer guilt and anguish for the rest of their miserable fucking existences. In the back of his mind, he was already lining up the bottles he’d consume—and mentally taking in hand the .38 he’d hidden from Xander in the back of his closet. For a year, guilt over Francesca had raged through him, hollowing out his life until he’d become a shell of his former self. Grief for London would end all will to live. But before he ended it all, he’d hunt Brenner down like a dog and kill him slowly, with maximum pain.
“The fucker hung up?”
“Yes.” His voice sounded almost calm, and Javier didn’t know how he managed when everything inside him was panicked, railing, screaming . . . dying. His breath started coming too fast. He fought the urge to hyperventilate, to allow his thoughts to disintegrate into chaos.
With one hand on the wheel, Xander used the other to slap his thigh. “Stay the fuck with me. No checking out, brother.”
The stinging pain burned his skin and brought him back to focus, and Javier nodded gratefully. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Saving her is going to take both of us.”
His brother was right again. “We’re in this together.”
Xander grabbed his phone back and tried Brenner’s number again. It went immediately to voice mail. The engineer was done talking. The man he felt was responsible for all his suffering would now suffer with no recourse, so he’d had his revenge. In the most poetic way, it was an eye for an eye.
“Fucker!” Xander looked like he wanted to throw his phone, but he didn’t dare. “Try London’s number again. Maybe she’ll answer.”
Javier’s stomach tightened. They were still about thirty minutes out of town. In thirty minutes, it might all be too late. Hell, it might be too late now, but he had to keep hope.
Maybe Valjean hadn’t gotten to her yet. Maybe they could save her. Maybe . . . One ring, two, three, four—voice mail. He barked into the phone, hoping she listened to this message, even though he’d keep trying to call. “London, call Luc. Get to safety. Someone is coming after you. He means to—” Javier couldn’t say it. The words would make it all too real. “He means to hurt you. Please stay safe for us. I love you.”
“I love you, too, belleza,” Xander shouted into the phone.
Given no choice, they ended the call. A painful two minutes later, they tried again. One ring, two, three, four . . .
LONDON blinked in the shadowy room at the stranger as her phone buzzed again in her pocket. She couldn’t quite reach it, and couldn’t try with her assailant bearing down. As that rope came closer, she knew that if he got it around her neck, she was as good as dead. With her keys still biting into her palm and her heart pounding, she jabbed them into the killer’s stomach.
He anticipated her movement and jumped aside just in time to avoid her.
She reached for the door and grabbed the handle, but he fastened a cruel grip around her arm and yanked her back. As she stumbled, he jerked the keys from her hand and tossed them across the floor.
“Leaving so soon?” His accent was thick.
Looking around for a weapon, she swayed on her feet. A telltale light-headed feeling crept up, and she gasped. With everything that had been going on, she’d missed her last two doses of medicine. What if she passed out?
She’d have no way to put up a fight, and he’d kill her without compunction.
No! Her life had been so short already, having lost so many years to injury, rehab, and pain. She was finally living, damn it.
All because of Javier and Xander.
No way she’d let herself go down now. They were probably somewhere thinking she was a coward. Or worse, not thinking about her at all. But as blackness began to claim her vision and her knees buckled, London couldn’t stand the thought that the Santiago brothers might move on before she’d been brave enough to tell them that she loved them. Damn it, she should have stayed with them, shown them her back. Maybe they wouldn’t have run screaming. Maybe they would have still wanted her. She could be cuddled in bed between them now, sated and smiling.
Instead, she was fighting for her life.
As London fell, she stumbled into her attacker. He tripped and grunted before landing on the industrial carpet with a thud. He cursed, and London sucked in a breath, struggling to find her feet, and stumbled forward. She had to keep herself conscious, use all her energy and will to fight.
Digging her nails into her forearm and focusing on the pain, she felt her consciousness floating. A dizzy haze swam in her head. She lurched a step, hoping it was toward the door, but her sense of direction was gone, and she nearly took a nosedive into her desk.
London latched onto the edge, desperate to keep herself upright. Her fingers bit onto something cold and metallic. Behind her, she vaguely registered her attacker wrap his hand around her ankle and tug, trying to pull her to the ground. The feel of him, the malice in his touch, made her scream. But no one was here. The only business open today was the copy and mailing place three floors beneath her. No one would hear her. No one knew she was here.
