Chapter 9
Nine
As I step out of the elevator, I shield my eyes against the glare pouring in the glass building from outside.
The sun is high and the lobby is busy, bustling with hotel customers.
A curvy young woman stands in the lobby.
Her back is facing toward me and she wears an oversized, floppy white sun hat.
But there is no mistaking her umber skin and long, dark hair.
Her light pink sundress is the icing on the cake.
Ella.
She turns and spots me, removing a pair of dark sunglasses. Her glossy mouth is a bewitching slick of red. She frowns a little as I approach her.
“Ella.”
“Keir.”
God, her voice is still strained from calling my name over and over again into the early morning hours. My body responds to her voice like a siren’s song.
I jerk my head toward the front door. “I’m just on my way to meet our new friend. I think it would be best if we weren’t seen together. Don’t you?”
I make my way to the lobby door. She follows, silent. I push the door open and turn back to her.
“I think we got started on the wrong foot this morning. I thought we could talk about it. Maybe before you leave?”
I narrow my gaze on her face. “Can it wait until I pay our blackmailer off?”
Her cheeks pinker. She slides her sunglasses back on and nods. “Of course.”
Pushing outside into the unforgiving sunlight, I pinch the bridge of my nose. A part of me, the most immature part that I never listen to, is very glad to see her.
But the louder, more grown up voice in my head demands to know why the fuck she’s here. And why somewhere that she could be spotted?
It’s impossible to say. But it is hard to leave her behind and not look back as I try to focus on the task at hand. One thing at a time… I have to pay off the journalist before I can even think of whatever lovely, soft, sweet-smelling Ella has to offer.
I take a tiny flash drive from my pocket. On it are all the codes and bank numbers needed to access the ten million dollars that the journalist demanded.
I glance back, unable to help myself. Ella followed me half to the street, her expression unreadable. I motion for her to get back but she doesn’t so much as move a muscle.
Fucking stubborn girl.
I glance away and see a sleek black sedan pull up to the curb across the wide New York City street. The journalist hops out of the back on the opposite side, shading his eyes against the sun. He makes a small show of jaywalking, crossing the street in a messy zigzag pattern.
I look down for a moment, growing impatient.
And that’s when it happens. I hear the car accident before I look up. Horns blaring, tires skidding, a shouted male voice.
I glance up just as a huge black SUV collides with the journalist. The journalist is struck and his whole body becomes a rag doll, his head hitting the ground and his frail body rolling away seconds later.
Everyone that is watching freezes, unable to look away, unsure of what they should do.
It doesn’t look like the SUV hit its brakes. In fact, it looks an awful lot like it swerved, intentionally hitting him.
My mouth opens. For several seconds, I open my mouth like a trout out of water, gasping for air. My heart hammers inside my chest.
What the fuck did I just witness?
The SUV never slows down at all. In the moments after it hits the journalist, it speeds up, tires squealing as it disappears.
Ella suddenly appears by my side, her expression fearful. She clutches at my elbow. “Is… is he…?”
Gathering my wits about me, I notice a lamppost only a few feet away. I haul her over by her upper arm, pointing at her with all the intensity that I can manage.
“Stay here,” I command. “Do not move. Do not even think about running into the fucking street. I’ll be right back.”
Her eyes go wide but she nods, her throat working.
I turn and sprint toward the journalist. As I get closer, I realize that his head looks wrong.
It’s misshapen from hitting the road, held at the wrong angle for his body.
There is a good bit of blood and gore on the ground behind his head, enough to convince me that he is gone with a capital G.
If I had any question before, I am now a hundred percent certain that he’s dead.
He is splayed out, his brown leather satchel still clutched in one lifeless hand. Before anybody else can snatch it, I pluck it away from his body, putting it on my shoulder. Everyone is looking at the journalist’s body right now so I feel pretty secure in just openly stealing his bag.
If anyone has a problem with it, I will just scowl at them and bark about how I’m a very rich man with no need to steal. It’s worked before and I know that I will use that song and dance again in the future.
“Is he okay?” A young man in a tweed jacket asks. He looks at me, like I’m the authority here. I’m used to radiating a sense that I should be here so I just shrug.
“He’s pretty clearly dead.”
There are several people pushing in now, trying to see what’s going on.
One older woman speaks up. “I called the police. Does he have a pulse?”
Grimacing, I make a show of trying to check for a pulse while not actually touching his rapidly cooling skin. I do, however, feel his pockets.
“Looking for identification!” I announce.
But really, I’m checking to make sure that there aren’t any flash drives hidden on his person that might contain information that I don’t want leaked.
I just shut down the obtrusive thoughts about the fact that this journalist was probably just killed, much like I refuse to pay attention to the tense, quick drumbeat of my heart.
Not finding anything in his pockets except a set of keys, I stand up and back away. “He’s definitely dead.”
The woman that spoke before shakes her head. I shoulder the journalist’s bag and back away, turning my eyes to the street. It’s nearly empty, which is unusual for this part of the city at any time of day.
Sprinting back to the curb, I return to Ella. Ella looks pale and has pressed her hand against her mouth.
She looks at me, her eyes glistening as she holds back tears. “Did we have something to do with this?”
I grab her hand and tug her toward the street corner. “Come on. Not here.”
Soon enough, I spot my limo driver pulling up to the curb. Not waiting for him to get out, I open the back door myself and practically push Ella inside.
“Move over.”
She obeys without question, looking as though she is overwhelmed. I don’t blame her.
I am having a million thoughts and questions flying through my mind at this exact moment. But I’m trying to prioritize.
It’s hard, because I can’t stop remembering the sickening thud of the journalist’s head hitting the pavement.
“Driver?” I say the second I close the door. “Take us to the Teterboro Private Airport.”
Ella grips my hand. I look at her.
“Take a breath.”
“You take a breath!” she snaps. “We just watched a man die!”
“Look at me.” I hold her gaze, taking exaggerated, steady breaths. “I need to make sure that we are on the same page.”
She takes off her sunglasses, her eyes pinning me in place. “What do you mean?”
“When anybody asks… and I do mean anybody. We will say that we both happened to be finishing up your second interview for the au pair position. It went well. We were just leaving the building when we saw that black SUV strike an unknown passerby.” I cock a brow. “Do you understand?”
She looks bewildered. Her nervous glances toward the driver lets me know to raise the partition. As soon as it’s up, she whispers harshly.
“Do you mean that I should lie?”
I forget how young and naive I was at twenty years old. Cocking my head at her, I ask her a question.
“Would you rather admit that you knew the guy? That he was blackmailing you? Would you rather tell people that you fucked me and I was about to pay for it all?”
She shakes her head, three quick movements.
“So stick to the story I gave you.”
Ella reels back, looking extremely stressed out.
“I’m hoping that once I get home, no one comes knocking, asking questions about that guy.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Her eyes snap to my face. Her expression tightens.
I grip the satchel with one hand and her upper arm with the other. “You think I’m going to let you go right now? No. I’m going to hold onto you until I figure out what the fuck is going on.”
She hesitates. “You’re staying in New York?”
“No, sweetheart. You’re coming home with me. Until this mess gets sorted, I’m going to keep you close. To anyone who asks, you are my new au pair.”
“But I’m not! Just because the word nanny was thrown around—”
“Relax. I may need a nanny, but you’ll just be pretending to fill that role. And when I figure out why the fuck that journalist was just run over, you can come back here.”
Her look of shock couldn’t be more complete. “What? I can’t just leave for London now.”
“You’re coming with me whether you like it or not. Get comfortable, because there is a long ride ahead of us.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking? I’m busy trying to figure out how we are going to keep the journalist’s dead man’s trigger from blowing up my entire life. You are way down on my list of priorities.”
Her mouth opens and closes as she struggles to find a way to push against my will.
I forestall her arguments by putting my hand up.
“Stop trying. There is no other way out. There is only my way.”
“You’re a fucking prick.”
My mouth curls up at the corners. “That’s not a no.”
Sitting back in my plush leather seat, I look out my window, smirking as we are driven toward the airport.