Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
James
Two hours after the rescue, we were back at the penthouse.
Despite my insistence, Evangeline had refused to go to the hospital, so I'd arranged for Dr Reeves to come to us.
I couldn't bear to put her through any more stress, and after everything she'd endured, I wanted her somewhere she felt safe.
The doctor closed his medical bag with a snap that echoed through the silent penthouse.
Evangeline sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, her face pale but composed.
The sedative they'd given her at my insistence was taking effect.
"Mild concussion, dehydration, and residual effects from whatever was in that drink," Dr Reeves said quietly. "Fortunately, no signs of assault or serious physical trauma. I've drawn blood for toxicology, but I suspect a Rohypnol or GHB."
I nodded, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. The thought of that masked bastard drugging her, carrying her unconscious body away... my hand instinctively moved to the knife in my pocket.
"She needs rest. Fluids. Close monitoring for the remainder of today and tonight."
He handed me a prescription.
"For the anxiety, if needed. I wouldn't recommend it unless necessary, given your travel plans."
"Understood."
Dr. Reeves glanced at Evangeline, who stared blankly at the wall, then lowered his voice. "Mr. Banks, I have vast experience treating kidnapping victims. The psychological aftermath can be unpredictable. Unfortunately, her disposition may be... different for a time, because of the recent trauma."
If he only knew what the kidnapper had said to her. What secrets he'd prodded at.
After seeing the doctor out, I returned to find Evangeline exactly as I'd left her, still staring at nothing.
As a precaution, I'd called in additional security—two men in the lobby, one in the hallway outside her door.
More than I usually worked with, but after tonight, I wasn't taking any chances.
Luxembourg police had taken statements at the scene, but a detective would arrive tomorrow for formal interviews.
I moved to the windows, checking the locks for the third time, scanning the buildings across the street for any signs of surveillance.
The rage that had been burning since the moment I realised she'd disappeared from the coffee shop hadn't subsided.
If anything, it had deepened, hardened into something cold and dangerous.
"You should sleep," I said, my voice rougher than intended.
She flinched slightly at the sound, then nodded. "I will. Soon."
I poured a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. The doctor's orders to keep her hydrated gave me something concrete to focus on besides the murderous thoughts cycling through my mind.
"Who is Viktor Kozlov?"
The question had been forming since the moment the kidnapper had uttered that name.
I'd watched her reaction—the momentary flash of terror before she'd controlled her expression.
I'd been professional enough not to interrogate her when she was being checked by medical staff or giving her statement to the police.
But now, alone in the penthouse with security stationed outside, I couldn't hold it back any longer.
The glass slipped from her hand, water splashing across the coffee table.
"W-what?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Viktor Kozlov," I repeated, observing her facial expression on the mention of his name.. "The name your kidnapper mentioned. The one that made you look like you'd seen a ghost."
She moved to clean up the spilled water, but I beat her to it, grabbing a nearby towel and mopping up the mess.
She was crying when I looked up from my knees beside her chair.
This close, I could see her pulse hammering in her throat, could smell the faint vanilla scent of her skin beneath the hospital antiseptic.
"I don't know who that is," she said, the tremor in her voice betraying the lie.
I rose slowly, deliberately, the wet towel forgotten in my hands. "Don't."
She tried to stand, to put distance between us, but I stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. The coffee table pressed against the backs of her legs, trapping her.
"Whoever this Kozlov is, he's connected to what happened today. To the threats. To that dead kitten at your door."
"You don't understand—" She tried to sidestep me, but I moved with her, my body a wall she couldn't escape.
"You're right, I don't," I cut her off, my control slipping.
"Because you won't tell me anything!. You've been hiding something since the day I arrived, and now it's put your life in danger!."
Her breath hitched as I leaned closer, my hands braced on either side of her against the back of the sofa.
"I can't protect you if you keep me in the dark."
She hugged the blanket tighter around herself, a barrier between us that felt pathetically thin. "It's nothing. Just someone trying to scare me."
"Bullshit!" The word came out harsh, explosive. She flinched, but I didn't step back. Couldn't step back. "That wasn't a random threat. He knew things about you—specific things about your past. About what happened five years ago."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with panic. "You were listening."
"Of course, I was listening. I'm your security detail. It's my job to know what threats you're facing." I straightened but didn't move away, keeping her caged between my body and the sofa.
"Princess, this isn't a game. These people drugged you. Kidnapped you. They could have—"
I couldn't finish the sentence. The possibilities of what could have happened whilst she was in their custody had been haunting me since the moment I realised she was missing. Every time I looked at her, I saw how close I'd come to losing her forever.
"I shouldn't have left the coffee shop," she admitted quietly, her voice breaking. "It was stupid and reckless."
Something in her tone—defeat, self-loathing—made me want to pull her against me, to tell her it wasn't her fault. Instead, I forced myself to maintain the pressure. "Yes, it was. You deliberately evaded your security. You put yourself directly in harm's way after receiving explicit threats."
She wiped away a tear, the gesture so vulnerable it nearly broke my resolve. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?…sorry doesn't cut it. Not this time." I reached out, unable to stop myself, and brushed the tear from her cheek with my thumb. Her skin was silk beneath my fingertips, and she leaned into the touch for just a moment before catching herself.
"You NEED to tell me who Viktor Kozlov is and why his name terrifies you."
For a heartbeat, I thought she might break. Her lips parted, and I could see the words forming, the truth hovering on her tongue. My hand was still against her face, and she turned into it slightly, her eyes fluttering closed.
"I told you, I don't—"
"Stop lying!" The words exploded from me, and my other hand slammed against the sofa beside her head. She jumped, eyes flying open, and I immediately hated myself for frightening her. But I couldn't back down. Not when her life was at stake.
"Whatever happened five years ago—the incident that led to all those palace cover-ups—whatever this secret is you're keeping, it's made you a target."
For a moment, I thought she might finally open up. Something shifted in her expression—a crack in the facade. Her hand came up to cover mine, which still rested against her cheek, and the touch sent electricity through my entire system.
But then she straightened her shoulders, the royal mask slipping into place with practiced ease.
"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Banks, but I'm exhausted. The doctor said I need rest." She ducked under my arm, putting the coffee table between us as she stood. Despite her ordeal, she looked regal even in her torn dress and bare feet. "We can discuss security protocols tomorrow."
"Evangeline—" I started, using her name instead of her title, desperate to reach the woman beneath the princess.
She paused, and for a moment, the mask slipped again. I saw longing, fear, and something that looked dangerously like love, but then it was gone.
"Goodnight, Mr. Banks."
"This isn't over," I said as she turned toward her bedroom. "Whatever you're hiding—whoever this Kozlov is—I will find out."
She paused at her bedroom door, her hand on the handle. For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged, heavy with everything we weren't saying.
"Some secrets aren't yours to uncover, Mr. Banks," she said finally, but her voice lacked conviction.
"They are when they put your life at risk." I took a step toward her, then another, until I was close enough to see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. "And when they're destroying the woman I—"
I caught myself before the words could escape, but we both heard them hanging in the air, anyway.
Her hand trembled on the handle of the door. "James, please. Don't."
"Don't what?" I moved closer, close enough that she'd have to turn the handle and flee or face me.
"Don't care that you nearly died tonight? Don't care that you're carrying something that's eating you alive?"
She turned, with her back against the door, with nowhere to run. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and the sight of them made my chest tight.
"Don't make this harder than it already is," she whispered.
"What's hard about trusting me?" I braced one hand against the door beside her head, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. "What's hard about letting me help you?"
"Ev-eryth-ing." The word came out broken, desperate. "You don't understand. If you knew—if anyone knew—"
"Try me," I said roughly. "Tell me what's so terrible that you'd rather face it alone than trust the man who would die to protect you."
Her breath caught, and for a moment I thought she might break. Her hand rested against my chest, over my heart, and I could feel it hammering beneath her palm.