The Getaway Guy (The Blackwell Brothers Bookm #3)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
N othing said more about a woman on her wedding day than how she looked making a run for it.
Well, as much as she could run considering her form-fitting white dress banded around her hips, thighs and knees, requiring her steps to be short and quick like a crazed ballerina. Or one of those zippy little animals escaping a predator on an African plain. What were they called?
Focus, Quinley.
She panted as she tried to step up on the balcony railing, but her foot kept slipping off, thanks to the ridiculous designer heels that cost more than the yearly rent of her first apartment.
God forbid a woman be comfortable on a day filled with stress. All that mattered was how she looked. But she shouldn’t complain because when it came to picking out her wedding attire, she’d let the mothers do it because— Dare she actually admit it?
She hadn’t cared. She hadn’t cared about the dress or the details and let the mothers and Rhys handle everything, telling herself she was busy with work and they liked handling those things, and that should’ve told her whatever she needed to know as to how she found herself here in this moment?
Growling her frustration because she didn’t have the time to spare to take the uncomfortable bejeweled heels off, she grabbed the sun-warmed metal railing and took a fortifying breath before she tightened her grip and flung herself over the side, ever so grateful for those long-ago summer camps that had repeatedly forced her and fifty other girls through difficult obstacle courses with high walls, not to mention her current Pilates and CrossFit classes because of the strength and flexibility they instilled.
She hugged the railing like a sloth to a tree as she crossed over and tried to find her footing on the too narrow ledge.
Just don’t look down.
Had she lost her ever-loving mind?
Seeing as how she hung off the balcony of a high-rise hotel in her wedding dress, the answer was most definitely yes.
God knew her parents were going to kill her when they discovered what she’d done, and her intended would— Well, she wasn’t sure what he would do, but he definitely wasn’t going to be happy about her disappearance. The hotel burst at the seams with very important guests from all over the world. Hollywood celebrities were in attendance along with politicians and the elite of the elite. There was even a sheik wandering around somewhere downstairs.
And the swarms of paparazzi trying to get pictures?
Panic surged and left her heart racing like a thoroughbred’s. The unease she’d fought for months had finally taken over, and now that same sense of OMG run propelled her on.
Please forgive me, she mused, though she wasn’t sure whom she addressed. Her fiancé, her parents, her BFF Ana, or the many guests who’d traveled far and wide to take part in the beautiful day.
All she knew was that she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go through with the ceremony, and if the wrong people discovered her before she could make her escape, she knew she’d be guilted and coerced into going through with the wedding, because that was partially how she’d wound up in this situation in the first place. Because she’d given into them and the awareness of the fact she wasn’t getting any younger and she wanted a family.
Think later. Focus now, she thought as she inched along the outside of the railing to the column between the penthouse suites. Her stupidly tight dress kept catching on the metal and the rough concrete, forcing her to let go long enough to yank loose before moving another inch or so and doing it all over again.
Almost there. So close. Just a few more steps.
The problem was she liked her fiancé. Truly liked him. She even loved him in her own way. He was tall and handsome, funny at times, smart and successful. He treated her like a queen. Though the gifts he bestowed seemed to occur more to placate her whenever he cancelled plans than for any other reason.
So what was the problem?
Why didn’t she feel the way she ought to toward him? Why wasn’t she putting all of this effort and energy into racing down the aisle toward the wonderful man instead of away?
And then there was Ana.
Her best friend and maid of honor was not going to be happy when she got back from getting the drinks Quinley had insisted only Ana could get. Once Ana realized why she’d been sent away and knew what Quinley had asked Ana to do…
Ana had been asking her for weeks to confide in her, but Quinley hadn’t because…
How could she explain the nuances of her engagement? The fact that she and her intended got along well, were compatible in lots of ways, and yet…something was still missing? Something big . Something she’d been content to ignore the lack of because she was realistic enough to know not everyone got a fairy tale when it came to love and maybe this was her version.
But once Cole and Ana had reunited? Once she’d seen what was missing and felt that lack deep in her soul? Knew she didn’t want to— couldn’t —settle down with Rhys because of that missing piece?
How could she explain her parents — namely her father — pressured, demanded and insisted she accept the ring when it was offered? How could she convey the convoluted mess of emotions she felt to be a good daughter because her entire life all she’d wanted was her father’s love and approval? Toss in her supreme hatred of personal bodyguards and trackers and intrusions into her life all in the name of security? Into being the woman expected of a billionaire’s wife?
Quinley inched along the column, one careful slide of her six-inch heels and thoughts at a time, until she was close enough to the neighboring balcony to grab hold of it.
Once Ana had left the hotel suite on the mission Quinley had sent her, the excited chatter of her younger sisters and bridesmaids had shredded the last of her frayed nerves and she’d firmly ordered them out of the penthouse atop the Lachlan Hotel and Resort—owned by said fiancé and his obscenely wealthy family— where they were all getting ready for the big day.
She’d convinced herself that a bit of quiet would go a long way to help her get a grip on the anxiety ripping through her like a tornado. That all she’d needed was a moment alone to catch her breath before she did what everyone expected of her.
And maybe a shot of something strong to steady her.
But when the breath turned into gasping inhalations and the shot of booze hadn’t worked, panic had really kicked in, and she’d dazedly scribbled out the message for Ana to give to the man who was supposed to be Quinley’s husband in a matter of minutes. She’d removed the gorgeous, ridiculously expensive ring, whispered one last apology no one could hear, and bolted for freedom out the only door that didn’t have guards stationed outside of it.
Her grip tightened on the railing of the next balcony, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of her side. Wind whipped the sheer edge of the train embellishing her tight dress, and she glanced down long enough to confirm that when Webster’s updated their definition of “crazy,” a picture of Quinley Anders, runaway bride, was going to be included.
Because who else but an insane woman would risk falling to her death by shimmying over a penthouse railing and around a pillar to the next balcony in a wedding dress that, now that she’d had time to reconsider, fit her like a mummy’s wrapping?
What had she been thinking agreeing to this design? Was the tight fit a subconscious thing about how she’d felt trapped?
A shrink would have a file full of notes from this.
Maybe she should write a “how to run away from your wedding” guide for brides but skip the part about balcony scaling from twenty stories up.
Now or never, Quinnie. Stay or go. Do or…die.
Body shaking, she took a deep, salt-air filled breath as she looked out at Carolina Cove from her sky-high perch in case it was her last and then shifted her weight to her right foot before firming her grip on the hot metal and yanking herself from one side of the concrete support pillar to the balcony next door.
Her left foot slipped when she tried to find purchase, and a muffled cry left her lips before she glommed onto the railing like a succubus. Once she found her footing, she rail-flopped once again, uncaring of how she landed so long as she wasn’t dangling off the side of the building.
A stream of rapid-fire Spanish sounded, and the very surprised maid Quinley had seen cleaning the adjoining suite and balcony next door rushed out of the suite onto the balcony toward her. Quinley panted for breath, a near hysterical laugh bubbling out of her chest when she realized she’d done it. She’d made it to the other suite without doing the swan dive of death.
The maid helped her stand on wobbly legs, and once upright, Quinley pressed a finger to her lips to beg the housekeeper’s silence. The housekeeper’s expression revealed her shock because she undoubtedly knew Quinley’s identity and what her sudden appearance meant, but the woman nodded weakly.
Quinley swallowed hard and made her way across the living area to the suite’s exterior door, pressing an ear to the surface to listen for voices out in the hallway.
When she heard none, she opened the door as quietly as possible and noted that this suite opened into a different corridor than hers, a definite bonus because it meant her security detail, stationed outside her penthouse door, were none the wiser.
Yet.
After a last glance and shushing motion at the wide-eyed maid, Quinley slipped into the hallway and quick-stepped to the service elevator, wondering how such a tight dress could make so much noise when she moved and praying all the while the security guards downstairs monitoring the many cameras were too busy studying the arriving guests to notice the bride escaping.
She shrank back into the corner of the elevator by the numbered panel and tapped her fingers rapidly against her hips, tap, tap, tapping her anxiety out in frantic movements.
A bell dinged, the elevator stopped and the door opened into a back hallway leading to the kitchen, maintenance, and service rooms that kept the hotel functioning. One peek showed her that hotel staff were everywhere. As was more security. She swallowed hard, about to give up hope of escape, when a chance break in the flow of foot traffic allowed her to rush from the elevator to hide behind a monstrous pillar disguised as a faux palm tree.
Sweet baby Jesus, thank you.
She leaned her forehead against the scratchy surface and tried to catch her breath and slow her heart rate.
Had the alarm been sounded? Were her bodyguards searching for her? Had security noticed her in the footage from the hallways and elevator? Were they currently rushing toward her?
What would they do if they caught her?
Stop her. Of that she had no doubts whatsoever.
Their job was to protect her, not keep her from running away. But when the bride was leaving the billionaire who employed them… Well, the writing was on the wall, so to speak.
She really should’ve planned her escape. Not that she’d planned to leave her fiancé at the altar. But every girl needs a Plan B for situations such as this. That would’ve come in handy right about now.
Five or so minutes ago, the wedding was still a go, but considering her current predicament, all she could do was go until she couldn’t anymore.
So why are you just standing there? Escape, escape, escape!
She sucked in a shallow breath. Dear God in heaven, why was this dress so tight?
Her heart pummeled her chest as though trying to break free from her like she was the hotel. She peeked around the pillar for her next move and thankfully she spotted a side door. An emergency exit.
Oh, the irony, she mused.
Freedom was in sight and so close she could almost taste it. But the moment she shoved open that door, the alarms would sound for certain, and no doubt security cameras would immediately flash to the area breached. If security hadn’t seen her yet, they’d know in that instant.
It wasn’t too late. Not yet. She could turn around. Go back upstairs. Pretend she’d only been looking for one of her bridesmaids or something. Make up a story about needing Ana or— something .
She could marry a billionaire in a dress looking more than a little worse for wear now that she’d belly flopped over railings, but it could still happen.
Realistically all she had to do was dump something down the front of her dress to hide the stains she’d acquired during her little jaunt to freedom and make an excuse, and she’d have a boutique with at least ten decent options at the door in a matter of minutes. That was the power of Rhys Lachlan’s money. Of being his almost wife.
If she were going to change her mind and go back, though, this was it.
The moment of truth.
Was she really leaving her beautifully gorgeous, perfectly fine, billionaire fiancé at the altar?
His handsome face came to mind, and her heart squeezed in her chest. Rhys wasn’t a bad guy. Not at all. He was smart and generous as well as a bit ruthless, because one didn’t get to be a millionaire or a billionaire’s heir by not being a little cutthroat when needed.
Those qualities were some of the many reasons her father demanded she accept Rhys’s proposal. But when she thought of the future. Her future…
Love was a fickle, elusive fairylike creature who disappeared like wine in an open bottle whenever Quinley considered life with him lately.
So run already, her mind screamed. Run before it’s too late and you marry someone you don’t love enough!
After a last look to make sure the hallway was relatively clear to either head toward the exit—or back to the freight elevator she’d taken from the penthouse—she took a breath, picked a direction, and wiggle-ran her designer-covered behind toward the sunlight streaming into the tinted exit door, shoving it hard and wincing at the shrill scream of the alarm while sucking in an anxiety-ridden inhalation that was a mix of horror and a soundless sob.
No turning back now.
The door opened to a one-way street lined with parked luxury vehicles on both sides, a narrow lane between, and she ran with the laughable speed of an inch worm as she made her way toward the very end of the street after spying the broad back of a limo driver unlocking his vehicle as he approached it.
Hurry, her mind screamed. He’s leaving!
The man dropped behind the steering wheel and seconds later the vehicle roared to life. Quinley pushed herself to go faster, the lack of air making her head whirl. She made it to the limo and ripped open the passenger door before mermaid-diving inside.
The driver’s “Hey!” fell on deaf ears as she fish-flopped on the leather seat until she could twist her legs and feet inside, and shut the door with a slam, uncaring that the train probably dragged the asphalt outside.
Every breath was a too-shallow pant due to the tight dress, but air stalled completely when she managed to get a look at the limo driver.
“You’ve got things out of order, sweetheart. First you marry the dude, and then you get in the limo for the honeymoon,” the man said.
The getaway guy looked to be around her age and had a devilishly handsome face, but that wasn’t the alarming part.
No, he had Blackwell genes etched in every molecule of his inky dark hair and fathomless dark eyes, and she reeled from the impossibility that of all the vehicles there and available to aid in her freedom flight, she’d chosen this one.
Ana was going to kill her a second time over for dragging her fiancé, Cole, and the rest of the Blackwell brothers into her debacle of a wedding escape. “Please tell me you’re not Gage.”
All the Blackwell siblings operated an umbrella of businesses between them, but the black car and limo service was the brainchild of Cole Blackwell, Ana’s fiancé, who’d partnered with his brother Gage to expand their rentals business. A few months back, she’d even helped Ana come up with a social media campaign to get the car service off the ground.
This couldn’t be happening. But maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t?
“I’m not Gage,” he repeated in a gravelly voice that would sound sexy reading a boring tech manual. He’d canted his head at her query, his gaze sliding over her panting, sweaty and mummified form. “I’m Elias. Gage is covering the rentals building, so I offered to drive for him and Cole, so Cole could attend your wedding.”
A near-hysterical huff bubbled from her chest. Not anymore. “Yeah, about that. We can go now,” she urged, trying to sound breezy and flippant, but the words emerged shrill and high-pitched.
Sooty black eyelashes blinked twice at her and looked more than a little pissed at her words, though she wasn’t sure why. She also wondered dazedly if he had any clue how much women had to pay for that kind of lash thickness.
That thought brought another, this one leaving her choking down a panic-ridden sob.
Her makeup for today had cost a fortune in and of itself, and while Rhys was supposed to cover all the expenses of the wedding, being the billionaire he was—would that still be the case if she didn’t walk down the aisle? And her father— He certainly wouldn’t pay a penny of it after this.
Like you need something else to make you panic right now?
“You don’t want to stay and…talk to someone? I’m sure your groom might appreciate a heads-up.”
Elias’s voice was irritatingly calm and controlled, his expression and chin-lifting nod toward the door making it clear he’d prefer that she do as he suggested and oust herself from the limo immediately.
When she didn’t move and even went so far as to lift her chin to a stubborn, I’m-not-budging angle, he muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t make out. But he still didn’t get them moving either. No, he shifted on the bench seat and draped his muscular and veined wrist casually over the steering wheel, the overall impression making for a GQ -like pose that left her heart skipping erratically for an entirely different reason.
Yeah, so not what you should be noticing now, her mind argued, horrified . “I left a note. I-I left a note.”
She heard a shout echo off the sides of the tall buildings and twisted on the seat to look behind them. Security guards rushed down the alley toward them, her personal bodyguards not far behind. “ Please , I’ll pay you. Just get me out of here,” she begged in a breathless, desperate rush as she searched for the button to lock the doors. “They’re coming! You can judge me all you want later, but for now just drive. Go, go, GO!”