Say You Will (Trust & Tequila Book 3)

37. Franki

thirty-seven

Istand on the small front lawn of the cabin, wearing comfortable pants and shoes, with Henry’s black fleece jacket over my own long-sleeved T-shirt. It’d be a nice day to be inside with a good book and a cup of tea. We’ve been out here for forty-five minutes already, and my knees, hips, and knuckles ache with the cold.

“Again.” Henry grabs my ponytail and pulls me backward.

I turn rapidly in a quick circle, twisting under his arm. He keeps his fist in my hair, resulting in him yanking his own arm behind his back. When he bends to relieve the pressure on his shoulder, I fake a knee to his nose.

Releasing my hair, Henry straightens. “Good.”

He’s wearing contact lenses, as he often does when we practice, though he’ll take them out the moment we’re back inside because he can’t stand them. He looks naked to me when he takes his glasses off, and Henry naked is hot as hell. The glasses are also a turn on for me. Who am I kidding? I never find him not sexy.

Henry lifts my hands and pulls them to his mouth, blowing on my swollen knuckles to warm them up.

“Am I ready to kick somebody’s butt?” I wink.

He doesn’t smile. “Not even close, but that doesn’t mean you’re helpless. You have tools to escape.”

Henry would protect me with his last breath, but we both need to know that if he’s not with me, I won’t be a sitting duck.

“You don’t think the danger is over now that Lawrence has been arrested?” Henry’s people dug around and found evidence of Lawrence having been into some shady business. According to reports, he was taken into police custody last night.

“It may end up enough for Grandmother to remove him as a prospect for MPD, but we haven’t found any link yet between him and our attack. The crimes he was arrested for are unrelated. More importantly, there are a lot of strings someone can pull from behind bars. So, no. It’s not time to relax.” Henry comes at me, and I evade his grasp.

“Your grandmother will be that upset over his arrest? It’s not like she doesn’t at least have a vague idea that you’re not always on the straight and narrow, yourself.”

He circles me, and I move in response.

“She won’t like it, but it’s not what he’s done or even the drugs or evidence of his violence and temper tantrums. It’s the embarrassment and scandal. Right now, I guarantee she’s grateful he doesn’t share our last name.”

He lunges at me again, and though I don’t manage to avoid his side headlock, I have enough time to lift my shoulders at the last second to improve my chance of keeping my airway unrestricted. I turn my head toward him to make breathing easier and graze him with a fake punch to the groin.

He bends over and loosens his hold slightly but doesn’t release me. “Good. What if I’m a woman?”

I’ve never had a woman come at me physically. But his point is, if the dick punch doesn’t work, keep going. So I slide my arm closest to him behind his back, and reach over to grab his face, yanking his head backward on his neck. The body follows the head, and he bends backward and loses his grip. He twists and changes his hold, yanking me into a different position. I respond.

I take his lessons seriously. I’ve had too many incidents in my own life not to understand the value of being able to defend myself.

When I break away from him, I straighten and shake out my arms.

“Keep going,” I say.

He comes at me again. And again. Different grabs. Different responses from me.

A half-hour later, I’m bent over wheezing. “That’s enough for now. I need a break.”

He runs his hand over the top of my head. “You did well.”

As the distinct reverb of a helicopter in flight slowly reaches my ears, I turn toward the airfield and landing pad to observe Dante and Spencer’s arrival.

Henry checks his watch. “Right on time. I’ll head over to give them a hand.”

“Do you need help?”

“No.” When I shiver, he rubs my biceps in an attempt to warm me up. “You get inside. You could put the kettle on for some tea?”

“If you cut yourself, do you have blood left in you, or do you leak Earl Grey?”

“Let’s not find out.” He drops a kiss to my nose, then indicates the landing pad. “This should only take about twenty minutes.”

Eight minutes after he’s gone, the perimeter security system sends an alert to the new watch Henry got me. Since I expected the alert with their arrival from the airfield, I dismiss the notification. If the guys decided to drive the supplies over in the truck he keeps in the hangar, it would account for the time difference.

As I reach to fill the kettle, Oliver barks at the front door. Every chipmunk or squirrel that catches his attention gets an announcement from him. “Quiet.”

When he responds to my command by subsiding, but remains alert and distrustful by the door, I bend to give him some attention. “Good boy. It’s just Henry and the guys.”

His tail thumps once, and I return to the kitchen. When Oliver doesn’t follow me, I point to his corner. “Bed.”

I don’t want him accidentally underfoot if the men enter with armloads of groceries. Oliver trots to his bed, head bopping side to side as he goes, then settles himself down, but he keeps his attention firmly on the entrance to the cabin.

Less than a minute later, a knock sounds, and I frown. Oliver barks, and I reissue the quiet command in a low voice, as I eye the door with suspicion. Henry can’t have locked himself out again. He made changes, so he and I both can override the manual locks with a combination of a keypad at the door and a coded digital “key” we can access from our watches.

He has his own company with a Research and Development Department that works exclusively on creating tech and what I call “nifty spy gadgets” for his family’s personal use.

According to Henry, it’s a perk of the “billionaire vigilante lifestyle.” I’d told him he was “super badass” then handed him the toilet bowl cleaner and reminded him he was on bathroom duty today.

The knock sounds again and then a familiar voice. “Ms. Lennox?”

I peer out the window to see Spencer standing on the porch. When he sees me peek through the window, he lifts a vase full of yellow roses to show me.

I open the door. “Spencer. Hi. Where are Henry and Dante? I thought they’d be with you.”

“They’re only a few minutes behind me. They’re bringing the . . . what do you call it? It looks like a miniature open truck?”

“The Gator?”

“Yes. It only seats two, and since Henry knows I wanted a moment alone with you, he sent me ahead.”

“You wanted to be alone with me?”

He shivers. “Brrr. It’s quite frigid today.”

I step back to allow him to enter. When he does, I close the door behind us. Spencer extends the flowers to me, and I accept them with a small smile of confusion. As Spencer removes his overcoat and leather gloves, I place the vase on the kitchen table.

“I owe you an apology, Ms. Lennox. I didn’t fully comprehend Henry’s commitment to you. I consider him to be a friend, as much as an employer. I’ve known him for a long time, and I’d never seen him express any interest in a romantic relationship.

“I believed his desire to find a spouse and request for information on courtship to be a practical consideration. I based my assumptions on years’ worth of his previous behavior, but, obviously, I was very wrong.”

He wrings his hands together, his expression sincerely distraught.

“It’s all right, Spencer. Henry and I have worked out our misunderstanding. I know you weren’t trying to sabotage us. Neither of us blames you.”

He straightens. “You’re too kind, Ms. Lennox.”

“Please call me Franki.”

At the small shake of his head, I plow on before he can protest. “Please. I call you by your first name.”

His brows lift.

“Spencer is your last name?” I ask in realization.

He dips his head with a smile. “My given name is Noah. I’d be honored if you used it.”

“Franki?”

We both startle at the sound of a strident woman’s voice, then a series of hard knocks at the door. Oliver barks in a frenzy and leaves his bed to stand between me and the door.

“I know my daughter is here. Open this door!”

My heart lurches into a drumbeat in my chest and pounds in my ears. I knew I’d end up speaking to her one way or another again. I had the last word when I hung up on her.

I step toward the door, and Spencer places a hand on my forearm. “Ms. Len—Franki, I don’t think it’s wise to let her in. At least not until Henry and Dante get here.”

“I’m calling the police if someone doesn’t open this door!” Mom shouts.

I shake my head. “I have to get this over with. She’ll have the cops up here trying to arrest Henry if I don’t talk to her.”

“At least make certain she’s alone.”

An iPad sits on the counter, and I tap on the exterior cameras. She’s not alone, but I’d have been shocked if she were. A driver sits, partially obscured, inside a black SUV with tinted windows, and one of her regular bodyguards, a humorless man named Nick, stands beside her.

“It’s fine.”

I open the door and slide through to stand on the porch, shutting Oliver and Spencer inside. Mom stands there, a look of shocked joy on her face. She lifts a hand to my cheek. “I was so afraid. Your boyfriend made those threats, then you disappeared. Your friends wouldn’t tell me where you were. I thought he’d killed you.”

“I told you he’d never hurt me, and I told you I didn’t want to see you again. How did you find me?”

She throws herself against me, holding me and sobbing. “I’m here now. I have you.”

I try to step back, but she clings like Saran Wrap. “Stop it.”

She shakes her head and sobs. “You have Stockholm syndrome. I’m getting you out of here.”

For as much as Henry and I have made light of my “abduction,” we both know it was never that. He’d never force me to do anything.

The security guard at Bronwyn’s house would have tried to stop him if I hadn’t winked at him when he’d peeked around Henry. Gabriel would have stepped in. “Remain loyal” doesn’t mean blind faith to a person, even a family member. It means loyalty to what the McRae family stands for. “I’m not a prisoner. I’m here because I want to be. How did you find me?”

“I used the location services on your phone before he made you block me.”

“Henry didn’t make me do anything.” I don’t even know what she believes is true and what is deliberate manipulation.

“Why didn’t you call me when you knew you were in danger? I’d have taken care of you. I’m the only place you have to go that’s safe.”

She tries to guide me off the porch, but I balk and refuse to budge an inch. “Stop. I said I’m fine. I’m not in danger. I’m happy here.”

“Where is he? Is he standing behind you telling you to get rid of me? Is that it?”

I scoff. “He’s not even here right now. This is me, telling you, for the fiftieth time, I’m not coming back with you. I’m not going to remain in contact with you. I blocked you for a reason. Get back in your car and leave.”

She stares at me, her sobs miraculously drying as she narrows her eyes. “You need me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t.”

Her expression turns pitying. “Are you going to leech off your friends and Henry McRae indefinitely?”

“I’m not leeching—”

“They’ll get frustrated eventually. They let you hang on to them because they pity you. Is that what you want? To be a burden to these people?”

I shake my head. “It won’t work.”

“It’s the truth.”

“None of what you said is the truth. You’re not even consistent. Henry wants me because he wants you? You disgust him. He wants me out of pity, but he’s also holding me prisoner? I have a job, and I’m good at it. I’m capable of taking care of myself. Henry loves me. He doesn’t care that the shape of my face or body is different. He doesn’t even care that I may change over time. He won’t love me less because of it.”

She gives me a pitying look, her big gray eyes limpid and filled with tears. “I know you believe that, and I wish it were true.”

“I’ve been the one taking care of you,” I snap. “If I’m so incapable, how is it I managed your life? Your schedule? How was I able to go to school and still be there to cater to you? Why is it so damned important to you that I feel unlovable?”

She steps back with a wounded expression. “I never said you’re unlovable. You’re putting words in my mouth. He poisoned you against me.”

I take a deep breath in through my nose. There’s no point in continuing this conversation. “Leave.”

“Even if I believed you that he wouldn’t hurt you, just being near that man puts you in danger,” she says desperately. “When I heard someone shot at you, and you were in a car chase on the highway, I’ve never been so afraid in my life. Every time you try to go off without me, something horrible happens to you. How are you not terrified? Because I am. You’re my child. I’m trying to protect you.”

The world goes still around me. I no longer hear the wind in the trees or Oliver’s frantic barking behind the door as I look at my beautiful, manipulative, awful mother. “How did you know I was in a car chase or that someone shot at me?”

She blinks in bewilderment. “What?”

“How did you know?” I repeat slowly.

“One of your friends told me.”

I shake my head. “Try again.”

“I don’t know. I must have seen the car chase on a news report.”

“You pretended you had no idea where I was, but you were using location services on my phone. You’re here now because I turned the phone back on long enough to block you last night. You knew before I answered your call that I was in Pennsylvania. It was you.”

She shakes her head, her face contorted in pain. “How can you believe that?” she whispers.

“Were you responsible for every time someone came after me or assaulted me? Or was the first one a happy accident that gave you the idea to keep going?”

“You’re insane.”

“What did you give Oliver to make him sick so I wouldn’t leave?”

“You’re mentally unwell,” she says.

“I was assaulted by your unhinged fans three times, nearly four if you count the one in the hotel lobby, but always managed to escape by pure, dumb luck without any real injuries. You convinced me every time not to contact the police. Not a single bullet made contact with our car. It didn’t make sense. He drove like a professional, but couldn’t hit his target even once? Credit where it’s due, at least you weren’t actually trying to kill me. Though you’re clearly escalating. You could have killed someone in that car chase. It probably wouldn’t even have been me. Henry and I were in an armored vehicle. Do you have any idea how close we came to hitting a minivan with a bunch of kids in it?”

Her eyes flare briefly before her lips tighten. “You need help. You’ve completely lost your grip on reality,” she says.

“So, if I go to the police, and a judge subpoenas you and and your boyfriend’s phone records, or your plane tickets to Pennsylvania, they aren’t going to show any evidence that you and David Vance—”

“Nick, take her.”

I have less than a second for my mother’s words to penetrate before her bodyguard gets his beefy arms around me and lifts me over his shoulder as I kick and scream. I try the evasive maneuvers I practiced with Henry, but I can’t think through my panic, and when I do try, he compensates too quickly.

“I’m doing this for your own good, Franki. You’ll see that when I get you home,” she says. “This is an intervention.”

Nick has me down the steps before I’ve even oriented myself.

“Remove your hands from her this instant.” The words are shouted in a crisp British accent, as Oliver barrels down the steps and straight for us.

The driver, whom I can make out in my peripheral vision, has exited the car and drawn his weapon. “Call him off, or I’m shooting the dog,” he says in a hard voice.

“Stay!” I scream.

Oliver skids to a stop and snarls at Nick, his growl malevolent.

Nick turns to face the cabin, and in his distraction, I hit him in the kidney with my elbow, then reach up and grab the back of his hair, yanking his head back as fast and hard as I can. The body follows the head, and he fights to stay on his feet as I drag him into a back bend.

Nick loses his grip, scrabbling to keep hold of me. I slip from his hands when my momentum drags us both backward and, rather than lose his own balance, he lets go. I land hard on my right hand and arm, then my face and shoulder, before crashing onto my back.

Pain radiates from my right wrist and up my arm. My left leg sprawls at an angle briefly before I scramble away from Nick. My cheekbone throbs and my hip burns like fire as I hang onto the car handle and drag myself to stand, whirling to face the others.

Nick doesn’t look back at me, his attention on Spencer as Henry’s PA advances toward us. I reach beneath the oversized fleece jacket I’m still wearing and manage to unsnap my holster. With stiff fingers, I attempt to wrap my hand around the butt of the Sig Sauer P365 Henry gave me, but I don’t draw it. I’m not certain I can even lift it. My wrist is sprained or broken. Either way, gripping the gun, even one that is smaller and lighter weight, isn’t something I want to try yet. I can barely feel my fingers making contact with the weapon and have no idea if I can maintain my grip on it to pull it from the holster. Even if I weren’t afraid it would fall from my nerveless fingers the moment it cleared the holster, I need to de-escalate this scene, and drawing another weapon, especially one I may not be able to control, could make things worse.

“Give me the gun,” Mom says.

Heart in my throat, I turn my head her way, but her attention isn’t on me. It’s on her boyfriend David, the stuntman who conveniently “saved” me from the supposedly obsessed fan who tried to kidnap me.

He passes his weapon into her waiting hand.

“Get in the car, Franki.” She’s not pointing the gun anywhere in particular. Instead, she waves it around like it’s one of her movie props.

I shake my head slowly. “Just go, and we’ll forget this happened. It’s not too late for you to leave without getting hurt.”

“David, go get the dog. If we have him, Franki will cooperate.”

David shoots her a look that couldn’t more clearly express “Do I have to?”

Her lips tighten. “Do it.”

“Don’t touch him,” I say. “Oliver, run.”

Chaos ensues as Oliver attempts to get to me, David attempts to catch Oliver, and Spencer bravely inserts himself between Oliver and his attempted captor.

“Get out of my way,” David says.

Spencer shakes his head and swallows hard. “I will not. You’re not taking Franki or her dog.”

“How are you going to stop me? Butler me into submission?”

Spencer lifts his fists in a boxer’s stance. David laughs, then throws a punch, but Spencer dodges it and nails him with a right hook.

David’s next strike makes contact in a glancing blow to Spencer’s jaw, but Spencer counters with an uppercut that sends David reeling and punch-drunk into the gravel.

Then Spencer draws a taser from beneath his suit jacket, directs it at David, and lifts his chin. “I’m not a butler. I’m Henry McRae’s personal assistant.”

David scrambles back toward me, and Spencer shocks the shit out of him. When the charge is complete, he says, “Stay away from her.”

For the first time, Nick speaks. “You said this was a rescue mission. I didn’t sign on to be an accessory to kidnapping.”

Mom lifts her hand to her chest. “It is a rescue mission. She’s confused. Franki, I know you want to come with me. Remember when you were little, and I had to leave, and you cried like your heart was broken? All the cards you’d send me. All the pictures.”

Spencer speaks again, his steps crunching on the pea gravel as he moves closer and closer. “Ms. Jones, you have no idea what a mistake you’re making. If you take her, he will kill you.”

“Oh,” Henry says coldly from somewhere to my right, “he absolutely will.”