Page 94 of Illicit Temptation

I wrap up my call and hoof it across the street to pick her up. Outside the building, I nod to the doorman who doesn’t ask me any questions. After looking up the floor, I take the elevator up right into Lagerfeld Events’ reception area. Something I wasn’t expecting. A woman sits behind a long counter, the company logo over her head.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her jaw quivering at my height and dark shades.

“I’m here to pick up Shea O’Rourke. She’s meeting with Mrs. Lagerfeld.”

She points over my shoulder. “Oh, you just missed her.”

I spin around and see a second elevator bank. For fuck’s sake.

“Thank you.” I hop back into the elevator I took up heresince the doors remained open.

I check Shea’s tracker on her phone, but it’s not finding her. What the hell?

Panicking, I quickly consider my choices if she isn’t in the lobby.

Call Balor, who will find her in a matter of seconds using a stronger satellite. But he and Ella just got married yesterday.

I could call Lachlan, but that will end up with my head being ripped from my body. Guards are punished severely, but she’s thirty-seven, not eighteen. They won’t overlook it as an act of a rebellious youth. They give her the freedom she has because she’s smart.

This will get her into as much trouble as me.

Fuck, I won’t risk what we have. She’s my wife, I’ll fucking find her. Even if I have to do it the old-fashioned way. She couldn’t have gone far if she just left.

In the lobby, the tracking dot comes back to life, and I nearly shit myself in relief. I rush outside, following it, figuring the cement walls and solid steel construction of the old elevator in an even older building blocked the signal.

Looking in the direction the dot went, my heart stops.

Shea is being forced into a car.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Trace

Nothing was ever clearer to me. No instinct ever stronger. Not in the military or working for the security agency. I have never had my gun out and pulled the trigger faster than I did to take out the tires of that car when it tried to speed past me.

With my fucking wife inside, her face drained of color in the backseat with a man’s hand over her mouth.

My anger and worry boiled over to an impossible level that I’ve only felt fighting for my life in Syria. Popping a tire, the car swerves, and I jump on the hood, using my smoking gun to break the windshield.

“Stop the fucking car, mate, or you die.” I grip the broken windshield with one hand, ignoring the pain. With jagged glass slicing my fingers, I aim my gun at the driver’s face. “Is that man in the back worth your life?”

The driver slams on the brakes, and I barely manage to hold on, the blood gushing from my hand making it slippery. Keeping my gun aimed at the driver, I slide off and rush to the rear passenger door. It’s locked.

“Open this fucking door.” I bang my fist on the window and change the aim of my gun from the driver to the ugly mug of Shea’s captor.

The fucker wisely releases Shea and pushes her toward the door. “Get the hell out,” he yells.

I meet his eyes, committing every feature to memory. He goes white like he can read my thoughts.You are a dead man.

That unlocking click noise ramps up my adrenaline, and I yank the door open. Shea jumps into my arms, her entire body trembling. Knowing the police will show up any minute, I lean in to the car. “Two things. Her purse. Andwho the fuck are you?”

He throws me her bag. “Fuck you.”

“Who the fuck do you work for?” I scream at the driver, pointing the barrel back at him.

“C... Crest,” the guy stutters and puts his head down.

“Archer Crest sent you to kidnap Shea fucking O’Rourke?” I ask the asshole in the back. “Do you know who her brothers are?”

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