Chayton (4 page)

Chayton picked out the approximate spot ahead, and located a slim figure moving at a fast clip. Parked vehicles at the curb obscured her from view periodically, which meant he needed to keep a close watch so she didn't duck into an alley or building and disappear.

“Got her,” Chayton said. “Anything I should know?”

“Yeah. There's been a silver sedan with black windows that has cruised by three times. I'd bet my next paycheck that someone's about to make an attempt to snatch her right off the street.”

“Fantastic,” Chayton said. “Any news about Anton come back?”

“Not yet.” Leander paused, then suddenly darted into motion. “Chayton!”

Already on the move, Chayton was one step ahead of Leander as they both broke for the street. He only got one glance along the lane to make sure it was clear of cars and then he was running, boots pounding the pavement. Leander, running just as hard, veered away to come in from another angle.

What set both men off was the quicksilver abduction that came not from a car, but from a narrow alley between buildings. One second Penelope was there, another she was not. A small, feminine yelp faded almost as fast as it peaked.

Chayton hit the opposite sidewalk, his body protesting the abuse after the beating he'd taken at the hands of the traffickers. No matter. His body would heal.

Taking the corner three steps ahead of Leander, Chayton saw several struggling shadows perhaps thirty feet ahead. A burst of commotion warned Chayton that he and Leander had been seen. He didn't slow down; the element of surprise was already lost.

“Stop, don't come any--”

Chayton ignored the threat. He made quick work of the distance, knocking a length of pipe from one man's hand before delivering a roundhouse punch. The man went straight down, a heap of unconscious flesh. Leander was on another, fists flying. Chayton engaged two more men, a flash of gray and white in periphery nearly distracting him from his adversary.

Penelope was on the run, shoes slapping over the alley asphalt. Taking her quickly away from the confrontation.

Chayton had no time to go after her. He ducked a punch, landed another, and pile-drove a man into the ground.

“She took off!” Leander stood up, one of the attackers unconscious at his feet.

“Let's go.” Chayton left the downed attackers behind. They would all come to shortly, giving him, Leander and Penelope enough time to disappear.

Exiting the shadowy alley, Chayton emerged onto another street with Leander right behind him. He glanced both ways along the avenue. A car rolled by, which did not match the silver sedan description Leander had given before. The only person in sight was a pedestrian walking briskly on the other sidewalk, away from the alley. The addition of a dark coat threw Chayton momentarily and he paused his pursuit. He didn't think Penelope had time to get her hands on a new garment that fast. In the next few seconds, Chayton discerned the person in the coat was a man, not a woman. The bear-like stalk, hunched shoulders, and overall masculine demeanor convinced him it wasn't the maid-in-disguise.

“She could have ducked in anywhere,” Leander said, scanning the sidewalk.

“Yes. Any number of businesses or residential buildings.” Breathing hard, Chayton paced in front of a few smoked glass windows, attention keen on his surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place or suspicious.

Penelope, it appeared, made good her escape after all.

. . .

Across the street, Kate craned her neck to peer out a tall, tinted window. Standing in the unmanned lobby of a posh residential building, she took refuge while she caught her breath and watched Chayton search the street and sidewalks in vain. The instinct to run during the altercation had been too great to ignore, and while she appreciated Chayton's assistance setting her free, she couldn't bring herself to seek him out for more help. There were too many questions about how he'd known where to find her. He'd been fast asleep when she departed his room and his sudden appearance in the alley was startling to say the least.

Chayton and his companion searched the street for a handful of minutes. Kate didn't know what she would do if they came over this way and tried the door to the lobby. There was no where left for her to go. She had no key to the bank of elevators at her flank, and didn't see any other escape route leading out besides the front doors.

Finally, the men disappeared. Not trusting she had the all clear, Kate remained in the shelter of the lobby. Surprised by the whoosh of elevator doors, she glanced over her shoulder. The well dressed business man who exited looked her over with a wary eye, but said nothing. He stepped out into the darkness and strode away along the sidewalk.

She couldn't hide here forever. Soon, one of the residents would call security—or the police. She needed another half hour of shelter, and then she could sneak away into the night.

Time ticked by with agonizing slowness. As she waited, Kate wondered if Chayton and his companion had killed the men in the alley. Her memory provided snippets of the confrontation: fists, a swinging pipe, grunts of pain, bodies falling to the ground. Did that make them as bad as Anton's henchmen? It had been in her defense, but that didn't make murder any more palatable. Chayton had already been into some kind of trouble earlier in the evening, indicating he was involved in violent things. Something about a trafficking ring.

Kate hated violence. Better, then, that she'd parted ways with Chayton despite her intuition telling her that things weren't what they seemed. That Chayton wasn't a bad man, just one who got into scrapes more often than others.

From the deep shadows of the alley, two of the three men lurched into view. One held his stomach with an arm, the other looked slightly dazed. They glanced along the street, then staggered northward. The third man emerged a few minutes later, looking rough and ragged. He headed the same direction as the others.

A wave of relief hit Kate, knowing Chayton hadn't killed them after all. It made a difference.

Removing the name tag from the front of the uniform, she tucked it into an apron pocket and opened the lobby doors. At a steady pace—not too fast, not too slow—she walked away from the building, from the alley, on alert for unusual movement or the sound of approaching footsteps. Taking the first street to the right, she put more distance between herself and the confrontation. On the lookout for a smaller, more personable hotel, she found one two blocks away and paused outside the doors to filch from her shoe the one and only credit card she'd managed to snag before leaving her suite. She had no cash left, and now had no clothes. Everything was back in her ransacked room. A room she couldn't go back to because more henchmen would be watching and waiting.

Entering the lobby, finding it clean and neat if not of the affluent nature of the Continental, Kate went straight to the front desk. Leaning her arms on the chest high counter, she sought the night clerk.

“May I help you?” The night clerk, tall and thin with a nose like a beak and puffy lips, stepped up to the desk and peered at her through the thick panes of his eyeglasses. He spoke broken but understandable English, his accent distinctly European.

“Yes. I need a room for the night. And tomorrow night,” she added, considering this night was all but over.

“Certainly. Fill this out, please.” The clerk handed her a short information form and began pecking on his computer.

Using her own name, Kate filled in all the details and pushed the completed form across the counter along with her credit card.

A few minutes later, the clerk frowned. His fingers flew over the keys, tapping away.

“Is there a problem?” Kate asked, watching his face.

“Yes. Do you have another card, perhaps? This one has been declined. I've tried several times.” The clerk set her card on the counter and used one finger to slide it her direction.

Kate picked the card up and glanced at the front. It was the right card, the one she used the most. The expiration date was still three years out, so that wasn't the problem.

“Are you positive? This card worked just last night.” Kate glanced at the clerk.

“I'm sure, Miss.”

“But this is the only card I have with me.”

The clerk frowned, pushing at his glasses with his index finger. “I'm sorry. Do you have cash?”

“No, I don't.”

“Then I'm sorry. We need a valid credit card to process.”

“Thanks for your time.” Kate exited the hotel and stood on the sidewalk, wary of what—or who—lurked on the streets. Sunrise wasn't far off, but for now shadows still cloaked the city. Anton's men could be anywhere.

What was she supposed to do without a credit card, cash, or access to her belongings? Pacing away from the hotel, too nervous to remain still in public, she considered her options: call one of her assistants back home for a wire transfer, appeal to one of her friends for a small loan, or beg for cash on the streets of Singapore until she had enough money to take a flight back to the states.

Each different option had problems. Anton had somehow managed to shut down the credit card and was probably monitoring all calls coming and going from the assistants in the office. Maybe even the phones of her best friends. If she contacted anyone from home, Anton would know. He was attempting to force her hand, taking away all options until she had to submit or be homeless on the streets.

That bastard.

She didn't even have enough money on her person for coffee. What had the world come to when a person couldn't even buy coffee? Anton's men, during their ransacking of her suite, had likely found the cash she'd left behind and taken it, along with her cell phone and other credit cards. She'd been in such a frantic rush to leave the suite—unsure if the men were still inside or not—that she'd left everything else behind.

Rubbing her forehead, disconcerted, she followed the sidewalks in a zig-zag pattern, alternating course often to help keep anyone off her tail.

She didn't know what she was going to do.

. . .

Chayton poured himself a drink. Water over ice, nothing more, nothing less. He listened as his brethren discussed the situation, remaining quiet while he absorbed what information he'd missed being out on the streets. Back in his suite for the last hour, he'd waited for Mattias to join him and Leander while the Prince of Latvala sent scouts through the city on the off chance someone spotted Penelope.

“All right, here's what they know,” Mattias said, ending the phone call he'd been on. “Anton Bertini is a multi-millionaire who apparently made the bulk of his money from some decent investments. His mother and father aren't wealthy or notable—insofar as they don't mingle with the elite and they're not royalty. Anton isn't married, doesn't have children, although he
was
dating a woman of means. She passed away two weeks ago.”

“What was her name?” Chayton asked.

“Anna Fairchild. The same Anna Fairchild who inherited her family's pharmaceutical empire. I've heard her name in our circles now and then, though I don't recall meeting her,” Mattias said.

Chayton didn't recall the name. Not being of royal blood, he didn't run in all the same circles as Mattias. He couldn't figure out what Anton had to do with Penelope. Then, he said, “How old was Anna?”

“In her middle fifties,” Mattias replied.

Chayton grunted. So much for the theory that Penelope was really Anna and had attempted to fake her death.

“You think this girl might be Anna?” Mattias asked. “I can check the age again, in case I'm mistaken.”

“No, you've probably got the right information. I wondered at first, but that's not the connection.”

“Also, Anton is in his early thirties. Perhaps this Penelope was his mistress, could have even been secretly married to someone else and said nothing. Then, when Anna died, maybe Anton pressed his hand and found out Penelope was married after all. Or she ran because she was afraid Anton would tell her husband, or something of that nature.” Mattias, leaning against the wall near the door, smoothed his fingers along his clean shaven jaw while he speculated.

Chayton's brows arched, hearing Anton was so many years younger than Anna. “You could be right. That's a plausible scenario, especially if Anton regularly hires thugs to do his bidding. If I had to guess, I'd say that Penelope was no more than twenty-five, so she's the perfect age.”

“Did she look pregnant? She could also be his mistress and he found out she's carrying. Maybe that's why she brought up him demanding marriage,” Leander added.

“She didn't look pregnant, but it doesn't mean she isn't.” Chayton considered all the options. He sank down into a chair, sprawling his legs. “The problem is that she could be anyone, from anywhere. I'd bet anything her name isn't really Penelope, and that she's not a maid at this hotel. I thought about inquiring, but that might get the real Penelope into trouble.”

“That's definitely a problem, not knowing her name or anything about her except some vague connection to Anton Bertini.” Mattias straightened and pushed his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks.

“I guess it doesn't matter any longer anyway. She's gone. Let's just hope she finds her way without too much trouble.” Chayton needed to put the woman from his mind. She'd chosen her path.

“I'll have the scouts keep an eye out, at least. If you hear anything else, or need anything more, let us know,” Mattias said. “I'm heading back to my suite for some sleep.”

“Same here. Let us know.” Leander got up from his chair and up-ticked his chin Chayton's way.

“Thanks for your help. I'll call you later today.” Chayton needed sleep of his own. It had been more than twenty-four hours and he was starting to feel the effects.

“Take it easy.” Mattias led Leander out.

Chayton stared at the closed door and finished off his water. After, he set the glass aside and got up. Determined to put the evening from his mind, he toed off his boots and unbuttoned his shirt. Heedless of the bruises discoloring the skin of his ribs, he stripped the garment off and tossed it into a chair.