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1012 Words
I exhale a ragged breath, drop my head into my hand, and close my eyes.
He takes pity on me by not pursuing that any further. His tone turns businesslike. “The only thing I’m going to do with the information I have is help keep you safe.”
“Safe? What do you mean?”
“You’re in no immediate danger, but the Serbs will send more men for you—”
“I’m being hunted by Serbians?”
While my voice has gone up an octave, Killian’s drops one. “They won’t touch you. They’ll never get near you. I promise you, Juliet, I will keep you safe.”
His voice rings with conviction, but it doesn’t help my nerves. My hands have turned clammy. I grip the phone, trying to keep my breathing under control. “Why are they after me?”
“Apparently, your father has escalated a skirmish over drug trade routes into a war. The Serbs are looking for collateral.”
My mind struggles to make sense of this distressing new information. “But they shouldn’t have been able to find me. I don’t go by his last name. I haven’t lived with him in more than a decade. I’ve covered my tracks.”
He says gently, “Anyone can be found, lass. Everyone has a digital footprint, no matter how hard they try to erase it. Credit cards, internet use, cell phones, surveillance cameras, bank accounts, utility bills, airline manifests, satellite images, drones…I could go on. There are a million ways to find someone. Most of them are easier than you’d think.”
He pauses. “You did a good job of covering your tracks, though. I erased what was in your FBI file, but it wasn’t much.”
I spend a while blinking rapidly to try to clear my vision. “I’m sorry, did you say I have an FBI file?”
“Had,” he corrects. “It’s gone now.”
When I don’t say anything, he continues.
“I’m also working on wiping any other digital remnants of your existence, but we should talk about what you want to do with your bank accounts and driver’s license. A new name might be in order. You mentioned Seraphina, but personally I think that unless you’re a circus performer, it’s a little overthe-top.”
“I…I…”
“I know. It’s a lot. Think about it and let me know.”
He could be making it all up. This could be some kind of elaborate mind f**k, a way for him to gain my trust. Some weird game he’s playing.
Or maybe he’s just really good with computers?
“Killian?”
“Aye, lass?”
“Did you follow me to this hotel?”
“No.”
“Are there any other trackers on my clothing?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know I was here?”
“The card I gave you with my telephone number on it has a microscopic geo-locator device embedded in the stock.”
Of course it does. Because that’s completely normal. There are also probably tiny robot cameras swimming around in my veins. “I see. That’s very cool.”
“It is. I agree.” He pauses for a moment. “You’re freaking out again.”
“I think so, yes.”
“Open the door.”
Startled, I look at the closed hotel door. “Why? Is there another stuffed animal waiting for me?”
“Something like that.”
His voice is warm and amused, as if he’s enjoying a private joke. It makes me nervous.
“Did you get me a bunny rabbit or something? A potbellied pig? One of those fainting goats? Oh god, don’t tell me it’s an aardvark.”
“Open the door and see.”
He disconnects, leaving me hyperventilating.
I set the receiver back in the cradle and head to the door, feeling as if my arteries are about to explode from the extreme pressure they’re under. I peek through the peephole…but no one is there.
I glance up and down the hallway. There is no evidence of a person, a potbellied pig, or anything else. All is still and silent.
I crack open the door and look through.
A big hand reaches out from beside the door and flattens over it. Then I’m pushed back into the room by the large and imposing presence of none other than Boston’s mob king himself.
Before I can make even a peep of surprise, he kicks the door shut with his foot, grabs me by the upper arms, spins me around, and pins me against it.
“Ask me to kiss you, lass,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over my rigid biceps. My hands are flattened over the hard expanse of his chest. I’m pushing against it, to no avail. The man is built like a mountain.
I manage to eke out a No. Even he doesn’t think it sounds too convincing, because his smile turns smug and his eyes start to smolder.
In an attempt to gather my wits, I drag in a deep breath through my nose. Unfortunately, along with it comes the heady smell of his skin, some intoxicating combination of musk and spice and virile male in his prime.
It’s quite possible I have just become pregnant through osmosis.
Get it together! Kick him out! More firmly, I say, “No.
Why are you here?”
“Because I want a kiss.”
I pretend his look of intense longing directed at my mouth doesn’t affect me one bit. “Don’t you have an evil empire you should be out running?”
“Aye.” He adds softly, “This is more important.”
Oh no. He’s decided to be charming. Where’s a chastity belt when you need one? “I want you to leave.”
He shakes his head and tsks. “One more lie, sweet little thief, and I’ll take you over my knee.”
- Writer
