Chapter 11
I ’ve made a huge mistake. It was all Ethan could think while his date chattered endlessly over supper. Her voice was like what donkeys must sound like if they could talk—overly loud and braying. This is what happens when you pick up women at the gym. She’d seemed so perfect when he’d caught sight of her lifting massive weights beside him. But it turned out she was a health nut who had spent the last forty minutes talking about the amazing benefits of whey and protein powders.
“How about chocolate cupcakes? Do you ever eat those?” he blurted, interrupting a fascinating comparison of peanut butter and almond powders.
“I don’t eat refined sugars,” she replied, her lip curling in distaste.
“Huh,” he said, purposely tearing open a sugar packet and dumping it into his iced tea. His head hurt, and he was exhausted. On a date with Shrek’s sidekick was the very last place he wanted to be. Yes, she was very pretty and, yes, she could probably beat him in an arm wrestling contest, but he didn’t care. She was fundamentally lacking in…something. Maybe everything.
She’s not Amelia, the annoying little voice whispered in the back of his head. It had been doing it all night, hence the headache. He’d tried to make up to Amelia last week at Shimmer’s house, but she had been oh-so-polite, distant, and cool. He missed her warmth, her laughter, her orneriness, the way she looked at him with such tenderness that it made his insides ache with longing to be worthy of such emotion. Amelia made him want to be a better man. His date made him want to shove breadsticks in his ears to drown out the sound of her incessant bleating.
When at last the painful meal was over, she suggested they go back to his place. What he wanted to say was that he would invite her into his inner sanctum over his cold dead body. What he said instead was that he had an early morning. He had no desire to kiss her goodnight, but she took the decision out of his hands by standing on her toes and shoving her tongue down his throat in what had to be his grossest, worst kiss since fifth grade when he was still learning how. Even worse was the fact that she tasted like the beets she’d eaten for supper. His mouth felt like he’d licked an anthill.
Once home, he plopped into bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing for sleep. He hadn’t been doing much of that the last few days, not since his spat with Amelia. Had it been a spat? That word implied they’d both been at fault, but Amelia had done nothing wrong. It was he who made a cutting remark and hurt her feelings, his usual M/O. He couldn’t seem to get close to a woman without pushing her away, not even a friend, as Amelia had been. Was, as Amelia still was. They were still friends because she had said so. Just because he had created a rift between them didn’t mean it had to be permanent. He would charm her out of her hurt; he was good at that.
When his phone rang and he saw her name, he wondered if he was dreaming. Had he conjured her by the power of wanting? Whatever the reason, he wasn’t about to waste the call. He pressed the button to connect, but before he could utter a word, he heard her scream.
He sat up. “Amelia?”
“Ethan, help me.”
He could hear the sounds of a struggle in the background, and he gripped the phone tighter. “Amelia, I’m really not in the mood for a prank right now.”
“Help me, two men are taking me. They’re Russian…” she said, and the line went dead. Ethan tried to call her back, but there was no answer. He tapped his fingers on his knee, trying to decide what to do. Obviously she was pranking him again. He shouldn’t fall for it. It would teach her a lesson if he refused. But on the teeny, tiny off chance something had actually happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
He came to this decision approximately ten minutes after he holstered his gun, hopped on his bike, and started to drive. Even if it was another prank, which it undoubtedly was, it was a foot in the door, a way to talk to her and make amends.
Traffic was blessedly light as he wound his way to her house, speeding like all demon fire was behind him. He reached for his phone, intending to text Maggie and Ridge to see if they knew what was up, but then he remembered they were in France on assignment and Amelia was watching their new puppy. She’d been incredibly excited about it, had spent a long time talking to Jordan about it on Tuesday as she carefully avoided him.
She didn’t answer his buzz when he arrived at her building. No one else would let him in, so he broke in, annoyed at the thirty second delay. He sprinted up the stairs to her apartment. When he saw the puppy wandering aimlessly around the hallway, he knew something was wrong. She would never, ever put Maggie and Ridge’s puppy in danger, not even for the best prank in the world.
He pulled out his gun and quickly swept her apartment. Signs of a struggle were apparent. He picked up the dog and pounded on her neighbor’s door.
“What?” Larry the fake cop ripped open the door, frowning.
“Amelia’s gone. Did you hear anything about thirty minutes ago?”
“Uh,” Larry said, scratching his head, blinking in confusion. It was clear Ethan had just woken him. “I heard stuff, I thought it was a different neighbor, the noisy one who screams.”
“She screamed?” Ethan pressed.
Larry nodded, his face paling.
“What else, what did you hear, anything at all?”
“Just screaming, bumping, and men speaking words I couldn’t understand. It was some other language, something rough.”
“Russian,” Ethan said, and Larry nodded.
“Probably.”
“Here.” Ethan shoved the puppy into Larry’s unwilling arms. “Watch the dog until either Amelia comes back or her sister, Maggie, comes to get him. His name is Smokey, food’s in Amelia’s apartment. Lock it up for me.”
“Ethan, what is going on?” Larry asked, shoving his head out of his doorway to call to Ethan’s retreating backside.
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out,” Ethan said. Panic threatened to creep in, but he pushed it away. His first thought was that she had been taken because of him. Someone somewhere had connected him to her. It was every agent’s worst fear, that the job would endanger the people closest to him. But he hadn’t worked with the Russians since he was a newbie SEAL. Most of his work since he joined the agency had been in Africa and the Middle East. There were plenty of Russians in Africa, but none connected to him. So he discounted himself from the equation and went to the next logical source.
Piedmont Bonvoy answered the door wearing a fluffy bathrobe, as if he were a ninety-year-old man and Ethan was some type of scout selling magazines door to door.
“Why are you pounding on my door?” Piedmont demanded.
“Do you work with the Russians?” Ethan blurted.
“What? Who are you?”
“Do you work with the Russians?” Ethan repeated, taking a step forward as Piedmont took one back.
“I’m going to call the police,” Piedmont said. His hand reached into his robe. Ethan grabbed him by the fluffy lapels and slammed him against the door.
“Just answer the question. Do you work with the Russians?”
“No, I have no Russian clients,” Piedmont said, pushing Ethan’s hands off him. “What’s this about?”
“They took her, they took Amelia,” Ethan said. He doubled over and struggled to get a deep breath. If the Russians weren’t connected to Piedmont, he might never figure out who took her or where. To his surprise, Piedmont stumbled backwards and did the same thing, his chest meeting his knees, gasping as the air seemed to leave his lungs and his legs failed him.
Ethan straightened. “What do you know, Bonvoy?”
“They sent me a letter, threatening to take her,” Piedmont said.
“Who?”
“The Russians,” he exclaimed.
“You said they weren’t your clients.”
“They’re not. You think I have thugs and gangsters for clients? They’re on the other side, in an all-out war with my clients. They threatened to take Amelia unless I made the case disappear.”
Ethan stared at him, speechless. “You put her in danger, and you never said anything?”
“Of course I did. I went straight to the feds. They said the threat wasn’t legit, that there was no way they could get to her or take her out of the country.”
“Did Amelia know she was in danger?”
Piedmont shook his head, straightening. “I didn’t want to worry her. I hired private security to watch her. They were supposed to start tomorrow morning.” He bent over again. “What am I going to do, what am I going to do, what am I going to do?” He straightened again. “I have to call the feds.”
Ethan plucked him back. “Forget the feds, they’re useless. Tell me who these guys are, every detail.”
“The Russians are trying to start a new diamond trade in the CAR. They’ve been trying to goose step the conflict diamond laws, and that’s what my case is about. I represent the company that has the legitimate claim to the mines in the area, but in addition to trying to fight the war on the ground, they’re trying to fight it out in court here. They’re going to lose, obviously, and they’re getting desperate.”
“The CAR?” Ethan repeated. When he thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.
“The CAR is the Central African Republic,” Piedmont explained.
“I know what it is,” Ethan snapped. “Is that where they took her?”
“It’s where they threatened to take her,” Piedmont replied. “But the feds said they couldn’t get her out.”
“Would you forget the feds?” Ethan said. “They’re worse than useless now.” He crouched and put his hands over his face, breathing deep.
“What are you doing?” Piedmont asked.
“I’m making a mental list of everything I’m going to need,” Ethan said.
“What are you talking about?” Piedmont asked. “Why would you need anything? What do you have to do with this whole situation?”
“I’m the person who is going to go get her and bring her home. Shut up and let me think a minute.”
“Amelia said you work for an indexing company,” Piedmont said.
Ethan dropped his hands from his face to look at him with a wry smile. “Oh, so you do know who I am.”
Piedmont blew out a breath. “Can you tell me what’s going on without being so cryptic and condescending?”
“The CAR is a hot spot, off the charts crazy, a total no-go zone. In addition to the Russians and their diamond lust, there’s Boko Haram, Isil, and local gangs who look for any opportunity to kidnap and pillage. There is no way the government will consent to sending in a team for one civilian. But they’ll send a ghost, someone who can get in and out unseen. Someone who can go in and retrieve her with minimal noise and damage. That’s where I come in, but I’m going to need your help.”
Piedmont blinked at him, digesting the glut of surprising information. “I’ll help, whatever you need. Name it.”
“Give me a piece of paper,” Ethan demanded. Piedmont did so, and Ethan scribbled a small list. “I need money, twenty thousand cash, and I need you to call these congressmen to clear a path. I’m going to be breaking about a hundred international laws, and I need you to get them to make it all okay. Don’t get off the phone until you get them to agree, otherwise it’s all going to be useless and we won’t be able to get back out of Africa once I retrieve her.”
Piedmont took the list and read it. “This guy lives next door. I had dinner with him last night,” he noted.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Okay, Richie Rich, get on it. Use those famous lawyer skills like you’ve never used them before. Amelia’s life depends on it. I’m going to get the ball rolling on my end, and I’ll be in contact when it’s set.”
They didn’t say goodbye. Ethan turned and sprinted to his bike. He wanted to hop a flight right now, to singlehandedly take on the entire country, if that was what it took. But that was emotion talking. He had to be rational, to use his training and think like an agent. First thing first, he needed to confirm Amelia had actually been taken out of the country. There was only one person who could help him do that as quickly as he needed it to be done. Pulling out his phone, he searched his contacts and sent a text.