He found a wall, an open doorway, and thought they probably stood in the hallway, near the front door. At least he no longer felt uncomfortably exposed, or braced for a bullet in his back.
But something about that whole situation bothered him. The goons had missed. Several times.
What kind of paid goons missed?
Answer-they didn’t.
Which meant one thing. The shots hadn’t been meant to kill, but to terrify.
Given the way his pretty little hijacker was gasping for air, he had to concede they’d done their duty. He was more than unnerved himself.
And for more than one reason.
She was holding on to plenty of secrets, which in no way explained why, instead of wanting to ring her pretty little neck, he had the urge to wrap his hands around her hot little bod and not just squeeze.
But stroke.
Lick.
Nibble.
Yeah, he’d lost it completely.
He figured they were far enough away from the windows now and pulled out his penlight. They stood in a foyer bigger than his entire house, complete with vaulted ceilings and a hoity-toityness that was provided thanks to too much money. Not the kind of place where he wanted to come ski, thank you very much.
Next to him, his hyperventilating hijacker shivered violently, reminding him that while she might be a pain in his ass, a gorgeous pain, she was also wet, frozen, and in danger from shock. He wanted to get her back to the Jeep, pronto, and then the hell out of here, but there was one little problem.
She hadn’t gotten what she’d come for.
“Okay, Princess, truth time.”
She didn’t respond. Either she didn’t want to, or she couldn’t because her teeth were threatening to rattle right out of her head. Not good. He moved in, putting his hands on her arms. Christ, she was drenched, her sweater almost frozen into ice. He rubbed up and down trying to keep her warm.
“They-they’re g-going to f-f-find us-”
“Not if I can help it.” Cupping her icy face, he tipped it up so he could see into her eyes. “They could have killed us, but they didn’t,” he said. “Why not?”
She looked away.
“Want me to guess?”
More nothing.
“They’re not going to kill us until you give them what they want.”
Something on the floor simply fascinated her.
Perfect.
He stared at her, waiting, but she’d gone mute. Frustrated, he grabbed her hand and opened the front door.
“W-where are we g-going?”
Somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. Or at least relatively so. He had no idea where until they got out onto the floor and saw a set of double glass doors lined in enough fancy, expensive brass to fund a third world country for a year. “What’s that?”
“A d-day spa. Each r-r-resort has one.”
“With its own separate entry for employees?”
“P-probably.”
It took only a second to get them inside the nearly completed spa, and another to find what he’d been looking for. The employee entrance, which thank you God, led directly to its own set of stairs. With his penlight, he lit the way and pulled her along with him. He made her run the entire four flights without stopping, and when they’d exited out into the night, they were on the far side of the parking lot, squinting into the snowflakes falling big as dinner plates. “Get ready.”
“For what?”
“To run.” Flattening them both back against the building, he searched the area and saw no one. Not that he could see far with the white, fluffy snow. He looked up. There were lights flickering in the…he counted…fifth and ninth floors.
That was the good news. They hadn’t figured out that they’d been on the fourth floor yet, much less that they’d left the building entirely. One thing in their favor tonight.
The bad news? They still had to get out of the lot without being detected. “Now.”
He pulled her with him as he ran toward the Jeep through the snow, holding her against his side with one arm, the other digging into his pocket for the key. He took her to the driver’s side, unlocked the door, shoved her in, and then followed, nearly sitting on her when she didn’t scoot in fast enough.
As it was, her scent got caught up in his nose again, and her hair, her wild, glorious hair tangled in his watch, where he spent a few precious seconds bent over the thing trying to get her free, their faces close enough to share air.
She was panting to draw it into her lungs and shaking hard enough to break bones. Her lip gloss had long been chewed off, and the rest of her make-up was gone. She had a smudge of it beneath her eyes, making her look even more fragile, more vulnerable.
Christ, she was a mess. A heart-stopping, beautiful mess. And he wanted her, wanted so badly he was shaking. Starting the engine, he shoved the Jeep into gear and took them the hell out of the parking lot.
“I n-need to get to-”
“We’re not going anywhere tonight. I’m way too tired to fly.”
“But I-”
“Later.” He drove them down the windy, icy roads at speeds not exactly legal, especially in the snow, but he wanted to get as far ahead of the goons as possible. His eyes were gritty, grainy from exhaustion and adrenaline. Yeah, flying out of here tonight would be suicidal.
So he took them to their only other option-the house Maddie had reserved for him. It was secluded, and better yet, empty.
And no one would think to look for Bailey Sinclair there.
He hoped.
“W-where are we going?”
“Where I meant to go all along.”
“Wh-what if they find us-”
“Not tonight, they won’t.” It took only ten minutes to get there, during which time he aimed all the heater vents on Bailey and hoped she didn’t freeze before he could get her warm. When he pulled up-bless Maddie-the driveway had been cleared, and the house porch lights blazed through the falling snow in welcome. The house was a two-story cabin-style, with snow a foot thick on the roof.
He pulled into the attached garage. “Now,” he said, turning in the driver’s seat to face his soggy, wet, cold passenger. “We need to talk. And when I say we, I really mean you.”
Bailey’s pulse was thundering, her body shuddering from cold and who knew what else.
And Noah wanted to talk.
“I think I deserve to know what’s going on,” he said into her silence.
He did, she knew it. “It…it begins with Alan.”
In reality, it began far before that, with her father, but she didn’t want to sound so pathetic as to have been screwed over by the only two men in her life.
“Alan’s dead,” Noah said bluntly. “He died months ago. An accidental shooting during hunting season.”
“Actually, that’s not quite true.” She knew she had to tell him something. He did deserve to know. “He died months ago, yes,” she agreed. “During a hunting trip. But not from an accidental gunshot.” With a shaky hand, she pushed her wet hair from her face.
Noah caught her hand in his. “What did he die of?”
“He was shot, but it had nothing to do with an accident.”
Noah was quiet a moment. Considering. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not, and was surprised by how much she wanted him to. “Interesting how that missed the news.”
“I know.” She chewed on her lower lip, pulling it between her teeth, wetting it with a nervous tongue. “But it’s true.”
Noah’s gaze was locked on her mouth. “More,” he said, and when she shivered, he ran a warm hand up her arm. Never mind that she knew he was doing it to give her some badly needed body heat, it felt like more. “Alan had a little gambling problem,” she admitted.
His gaze held hers for an interminably long moment, and once again time seemed to do a little song and dance and then stop completely.
Her own gaze didn’t hold steady through that beat. It couldn’t, not with his hand on her, the heat from it seeping into her like a soothing balm.
“Is that how he went through his trust fund?”