CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FRANKIE THE DOORMAN seemed more afraid of Rupert Hemmer than he did Uncle Sam. Nick began to lose patience as the doorman stared at his phony FBI ID and warrant, clearly reluctant to let them in. Nick sighed. “Let’s go,” he told his team.
As Nick walked to the elevator with his team, Frankie ran to the phone.
Nick sighed again. How dumb could a doorman be?
“Hold the cage,” he said to Kit. He turned and strode back across the lobby in about one second flat.
He smiled at Frankie, who held the lobby phone, before ripping the telephone and its cord from Frankie’s hands and the wall at the same time.
“Now, that was downright oppositional,” he said. He started to frisk him.
The thirty-two-year-old Latino blanched. “Hey, what are you doing! For all I know, that warrant is a fake. For all I know, you’re a fake!”
Having found the jerk’s cell phone, Nick dropped it on the floor and stomped on it, making certain that the loyal doorman could not call his boss.
“Frankie? I swear to reimburse you. Now you need to swear that you won’t run down the street to the closest phone.
Otherwise I’m gagging you, tying you up and sticking you in the janitor’s closet. ”
“It’s Freddie,” he gasped, eyes bulging. “Fine! But he’ll fire me, you know that, right?”
“I think we can make things right with the union and get you another job really, really fast.”
Frankie calmed. “Okay,” he said.
Satisfied, Nick hurried to his team. They were holding the elevator, not fazed by his little bout of violence.
He stared impatiently at the floor indicator as the private elevator went right up to the penthouse.
The clock was ticking and he knew it. There was no point in bouncing around 1527 when he didn’t even know if Sam was there.
Hemmer had taken her back in the first place.
He’d have to come home sooner or later, and he’d sure as hell know where she was.
Nick itched to get answers. He itched for a raw, dirty fight.
Hemmer was going to pay for touching his agent. Oh, yeah.
He kept thinking about Jan, who’d forgiven him for Alex, and Katie and the kids, who were too dead to forgive him for anything. He kept seeing the faces of the Twelve.
Kit Mars was first out of the elevator.
Having read her mind without even trying, he knew she was really worried about Sam. Did Sam even know that she had a loyal friend in her coworker? She was beyond determined, but that was why he’d recruited her out of the NYPD. The kid was fierce. Untested, really, but fierce.
One of the guys, Cardozza, tried the doorknob first. “It’s locked.”
Nick tried not to roll his eyes. “Ring the bell. Missus is at home. So’s the help.”
Kit was already ringing the doorbell. “So what’s the plan, Nick?” she asked. “I mean, Hemmer isn’t here and when he gets back, I don’t think he’s going to tell us what we want to know.”
“You’ve never seen me at my most persuasive.” Nick smiled at her.
Kit didn’t smile back.
He was expecting a butler or housekeeper to answer the door—not Becca Hemmer in her La Perla bra and panties.
His eyes widened. He’d seen photos of her, of course. She was on magazine covers, celebrity rags, the Enquirer. He knew she was a knockout, but she was better in the flesh. In the five-inch pumps, she was almost as tall as he was.
“We were wondering how long it would take you to come over, Nick,” she purred.
He refocused. “Gee, I don’t recall us having met…Mrs. Hemmer.”
“We haven’t.” She smiled. “But Rupert is expecting you and you’re more than welcome to wait until he comes back. We can even amuse ourselves, if you’d like.”
He told himself not to get distracted. His surprise visit wasn’t very much of a surprise, apparently.
She stepped up to him so his groin brushed her cute panties. “You will come in and wait, won’t you?”
Cardozza snickered.
Nick slid his arm around her waist and handled her ass. He looked at Cardozza and Putney. “You know what to do,” he said.
They barreled past Becca, heading across the entry hall for Hemmer’s private office, Cardozza taking a drill out of his backpack. Kit followed them.
“What are you doing?” Becca cried.
“Well, since this is an official visit, we’re going to break into dear Rupert’s office and seize his computers and all his files.”
“He won’t like it,” she finally said.
“But he doesn’t mind his little trophy shagging the cop?” Nick asked.
She shrugged. “Are we shagging, Nick?” Her smile returned; she’d recovered.
He smiled back and blasted the chandelier that wasn’t very far from their heads.
Becca cried out and jumped as it crashed to the floor, breaking into a million tiny pieces. The marble floor didn’t look so good, either.
“I don’t like surprises,” Nick said easily, “and I bet Rupert doesn’t like them, either.”
She wet her lips, looking at him with new respect. Raw lust shimmered in her eyes. “Men with white power are always the best,” she said roughly.
“He has my agent,” Nick returned flatly. He leveled the walls in the room. Then he kicked a piece of crystal from the chandelier out of his way. “And I am not a happy camper.”
WHEN SHE STOPPED HURTING, Sam sat up. She found herself in a medieval great room she instantly recognized, in spite of the newer furnishings.
She glanced at Ian in surprise. He was standing above her, glowering, arms crossed.
He’d apparently recovered from the leap a bit more swiftly than she had.
“We’re at Castle Awe,” she said, becoming excited. “Are we still in 1527?”
His gaze was cold. “Yeah. It’s the next day. August 10, 1527.”
She stood up. His gaze went to her legs and Sam looked down. She had quite a few silly scratches, and one huge gaping tear on her calf. Now, she became aware of the pain.
“The dog bit ye,” he said harshly.
He was blaming himself, she thought, for not rushing to leap away.
She cursed and limped to the trestle table and sat down hard on the bench.
“Can you do something about it?” The last time she’d been at Castle Awe, she’d been with Nick and they’d been looking for Brie.
It had been 1502. She’d seen Tabby, too.
She really hoped her sister was still around.
The odds were in her favor, she thought.
Ian’s answer was to walk over to where she sat.
He knelt and he put his hands on her bloody leg.
Sam realized that he didn’t want to heal her.
Maybe that was because he’d have to admit to himself that bad boys didn’t heal, making him one of the good guys after all.
When would he give the rebel act up? She gasped at the sensation of his healing warmth flooding into her.
Instantly the pain dimmed. The warmth intensified, creeping up her leg into her thigh.
She stared at him, becoming a bit breathless.
His eyes were on her knee, his huge hands wrapped around her calf. The pain was like a dull headache now. She couldn’t help it—the feeling of his hands had become sensual. She wondered what it would be like to have those hands elsewhere, flooding her with their white heat.
She wouldn’t mind him moving those hands higher.
He slowly looked up at her.
“I can’t recall,” she said softly, “if I ever got around to saying thank-you for the rescue.”
His eyes had changed during the healing, telling her that he was getting off on it, too, but his face was hard. He was angry, but controlling it. Sam didn’t know why. “Forget it.”
What was wrong with Maclean? His comeback should have been provocative, rude and sexual.
“No, I’m not going to forget it. You’ve come to my rescue a few times.
I am not used to being a damsel in distress.
I’m used to playing hero.” When he didn’t speak, she said seriously, “I owe you, Ian, and I always repay my debts.”
“The monk took ye captive to get at me,” he said abruptly, moving his hands to her thigh.
She inhaled, her heart thundering now. But she focused on what he meant. He was blaming himself. “Hemmer captured me,” she said. “It isn’t your fault. We’re in this together. What are you doing?”
He took her arm in his hands. “Getting rid of the scratches and cuts.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said thickly. How far was the closest bedroom, she wondered. Was he truly upset because he thought that he was to blame for what she’d just gone through? “I’ve been through a lot worse. It’s part of the job.”
He moved to her other leg, running one hand up and down it, ignoring her comment.
“You’re getting awfully good at this,” Sam joked, really on fire.
“I want him dead,” he said, finally looking at her.
Okay, she thought, both of her legs and one arm now unblemished. “Is that why we’re here? So we can go back to Carlisle and nail him? Because I want a piece of the action.”
Ian stood. “He needs to pay,” he said abruptly. “And for the last time, there is no ‘we.
She got up, taking his wrist. “He needs to pay for what he almost did to me, or what he did do to you for about a decade?”
He wrenched away. As he did, Tabby ran into the room with Brie. “We were hoping you’d come here!” Tabby cried.
Maclean walked away from her, arms crossed over his chest. Sam was worried.
It couldn’t be easy, coming face-to-face with one of his captors.
He was going to confront the monk and she couldn’t blame him.
Vengeance was a great idea. But going it alone was not.
She understood that he dreaded this particular battle.
She wanted—needed—to know why. That meant she needed to know the details of his relationship with Carlisle. And she dreaded that.
But she smiled at her sister and cousin as they ran up to her.
“Okay,” Brie said. “Now we can catch up!”
“SO WHAT COMES NEXT?” Brie asked.