Page 78 of Dangerous Passion

He understood, completely.

So why did it fucking hurt so much?

It was a pain unlike any he had ever felt before, more than torn tissues and broken bones, much more. Something essential in him felt broken, blown apart, something at the core of his being, something that medicine couldn’t help, and that would never heal.

Grace had left him and he felt completely adrift, untethered to the world. Even in his darkest days as a homeless boy on the streets, he had never felt this … hollow. The life force that had sustained him forever had somehow vanished.

He was probably capable of sitting up, even of getting up and walking. He needed stitches and some antibiotics, but he could function. He’d managed to get out of bad situations before in worse shape than this.

He knew what he had to do. Lack of money right now meant nothing. He had his cellphone and could start the process of accessing his funds. It would take a little time and a little trouble, that was all.

Grigori was waiting for him. The plan was a good one. Fool-proof, almost.

Grigori would be waiting close by the Gulfstream 4, in a small, private airfield not far from the Tampa airport, which had heavy traffic in cargo flights. Grigori had access to all the flight plans out of Tampa. He’d fly them out at night within 750 meters of a cargo flight headed for eastern Europe, keeping it in visual range, directly below the jet blast of the engines, with the collision lights off, completely invisible to radar.

They would fly across the Atlantic tailing the cargo flight and no one would ever know. It was standard operating procedure for Drake’s flights.

They’d land in Montenegro, where the Deputy Premier was one of Drake’s best customers, be carried over by boat to Apulia, the boot heel of Italy, where a car would be waiting to drive them to Rome. Grace had wanted to go to Rome, and by God he wanted to take her there.

That had been his plan—a few days in Rome, showing her the sights, then they would take their jump to the final destination—Sivuatu, a thousand miles from Fiji and a million miles from nowhere.

Even without Grace, the plan was good. He actually needed to go to Rome where the second-best forger in the world lived. He’d had to run without any documents and Signor Caselli could get them for him. A Belgian passport, a Maltese passport and perhaps a Croatian one.

But then again—if Grace had gone, why leave the countryat all, why seek a new life? He was shedding his old life and creating a new existence to protecther. If she was gone, he could go back to his old life.

So okay, his security had been breached. He’d just tighten it. Put stainless steel plates behind the windows, shuffle his bodyguards, hire new ones, upgrade his videoconferencing facilities.

Find the fucker who’d betrayed him and make him pay.

Hole up. Hell, he could do most of his business over a webcam connection, no need to ever leave his premises again.

Drake lay on the filthy bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling, telling himself to get up, get going, yet he lay unmoving on the dirty bed. Why did the thought of going back to New York and living under enhanced security conditions make him feel already dead and buried?

He couldn’t get his muscles to get into gear. He had the strength, but not the heart. For the first time in his life, he had no desire to get going. His chest felt hollow, empty, as if his heart had been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole.

Whatever he decided—move forward to the new life or fall back on the old—he needed to decide fast.

But he couldn’t move. He lay on his back, watching the lights of the passing cars outside the window, flumes of water thrown up by their tires, listening to the sleety rain pounding at the thin window pane, and tried to find it in himself to care enough to get going.

Nothing worked. He lay, thinking of nothing, feeling nothing, wanting nothing, hardly breathing as the clock in his head marked half an hour, an hour.

A heavy vehicle braked recklessly outside the motel room in a shower of gravel. A door slammed.A few minutes later, the motel room door opened and Grace rushed in, arms full of packages.

She was pale, exhausted, completely soaked. Dumping the packages on the chair, she rushed to his bedside, placing a hand on his forehead.

“You’re awake. Thank God. Ihatedleaving you unconscious, but you needed medicine and we needed warm clothes and some food.”

Drake angled his body up on his elbows.

Grace. By some miracle, Grace was here. Tired and bedraggled and worried-looking and more beautiful than ever. Oh God, she washere.

“Came … back,” he managed to choke out through a tight throat.

She threw him a wry glance, hands busy pulling things out of paper bags. Gauze, disinfectant, bandages, cheap warm clothing. From one paper bag came the enticing smell of hamburgers. “Yes, I made it, without killing anyone, too. I know I’m a lousy driver, you don’t have to rub it in. I’ve never owned a car and—“ She stopped, sucking in a shocked breath, turning her head to study him, a frown between her eyebrows. “Oh my God. You don’t mean that. Oh, Drake.” She sat abruptly on the bed, as if her legs wouldn’t support her any more, hand cupping his jaw. “Oh, my darling, you thought I wasn’t coming back atall.” She studied his eyes and he dropped his. “You thought I’d abandoned you.”

He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. Tight bands constricted his chest, clutched his heart, squeezing.

Now that his head was higher, he could see that the trolley was still completely full of money. She’d only taken enough to make the purchases.

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