Last Chance To Run (30 page)

Nowhere Safe

Slye
Temp Series – Book One

CHAPTER ONE

Chelsea was late.

Twelve seconds late.

The kind of late that could cost a life.
 

Josh forced his grip to relax before he crushed the crystal glass of thirty-year-old scotch. It wasn’t as though she’d hit traffic making the fifteen-kilometer drive from
Farmlingham
. Maybe dodge a sheep or two in the road, just part of the country ambience this far north of London.

He expected Chelsea to strut across the polished oak floor of this eighteenth century mansion any minute, chin cocked up as if she owned the place. She could do it, too. Pull off pretending she was one step from British royalty and not a bastard child who made her living as a liaison for touchy deals between dangerous people.

A bastard just like him.
One of those little things they’d had in common from day one. Another was an obsessive penchant for being on time.

Always.
And she demanded it as a nonnegotiable term for anyone wanting her liaison services.

The second hand on his watch marched on with no regard for his sanity. Something had gone wrong.

Service staff in crisp black tuxedos moved through the elegant party carrying silver platters. One of the staff paused next to Josh. “Would you care for something, sir?”

Yeah. I’d kill for a cellular signal for about ten seconds.
Just
long enough to check his phone for text messages. Without a magic wand, even the best staff couldn’t make that happen.

“No, thanks.”
He strolled past floral decorations a foot taller than he was. At six feet, two inches, Josh could see over most of the crowd. He visually swept the partygoers peppered around the enormous ballroom, searching for Chelsea and
Mendelson
, the German guy Josh was here to meet.

Still no vivacious beauty with a head of black hair and eyes green as spring leaves.

Ninety-nine seconds.

Frustration burrowed into the center of his skull. He hated stuffy parties, but
Mendelson
had dictated the location and arranged for the gilded invitation. If Josh closed his eyes, he could be back in the states at the charity ball his parents hosted for five hundred guests every spring.
Same mind-numbing conversations.
Same put-me-in-a-catatonic-state Baroque music played by a string ensemble much like the ones his mother hired.

She claimed the peaceful music kept people calm.

Not doing a damn thing for him right now. His heart hammered like Charlie Watts cutting loose on a drum solo at a Rolling Stones concert.

Come on, Chelsea
.   

She’d never missed a meeting. Not even their occasional casual rendezvous to scratch an itch.

Hell, there’d never been anything casual about the hot sex they shared. They’d burn hard and fast, like a flash fire. Then go their separate ways afterwards. No drama.

The perfect relationship to keep loneliness at bay.

Not a relationship in the true sense of the word, but he did care for her. Needed to know she was safe. He’d never had a more dependable informant or go-between. So where was she?

Had
Mendelson
changed the plans?

Had Chelsea backed out?

No. Not with a man’s life on the line.

And she had just as much investment in extracting a captured CIA agent tonight as Josh did. The CIA asset had information on a terrorist cell planning to detonate bombs in Los Angeles and Dublin.

In two days.

Chelsea’s grandmother lived in Dublin in a nursing home, too ill to be moved without risking her health.
 

Josh’s gut snarled at him to get out of this place, disappear before he ended up in the same fix as Chelsea, who might be imprisoned with the CIA agent right now.

Good advice. That he couldn’t follow.

His gut didn’t get a say this time.

Josh lifted his drink slowly, his eyes trained on the second hand of his watch.

She’d blister his ears for staying. He’d let her if she’d just walk through those beveled-glass doors at the entrance.

If the muscles across his shoulders got any tighter he’d split the seams on this tux the next time he stretched.
Relax a little. Think.
She could
handle herself just as proficiently with a weapon—or in hand-to-hand combat
–  as
he could.

Another commonality between them even if she wasn’t trained as an operative.
She’d gained survival skills on the streets in Liverpool where failure meant a short life.

His hard-times training had been back in New York as a street rat, but it was nothing like the professional training he’d received.

He and Chelsea had one major difference.

His team of hired
mercs
was loyal to the US.

Chelsea pledged her allegiance to the almighty dollar and the highest offer.
 
Strictly business with her.

Or it had been until this op, when she discovered her grandmother was at risk.

Had cool-as-ice Chelsea allowed emotions to rule her actions this once and made a mistake?

If she had and couldn’t contact him, there was no way for him to know what kind of trouble she was in or for him to help her. He should follow SOP at this point and disappear.
 

Especially after the cryptic warning in her last text.
She’d typed that damned XOXO at the end of the text.

When they first slept together, she’d told him two things to never forget. She didn’t do late, so if she ever failed to show on time, he should not wait for her. And if she sent XOXO in a message it meant she might have to vanish.

Might.

A word that would haunt him forever if he left now.
 

The sound of a familiar footstep tapping across polished oak floors reached his ears. He honed in on it, listening as he turned to scan the crowd. There it was, moving toward him. A confident click, click, click that lifted just above polite conversation.

Black hair flashed into view.
Halle-damn-
lujah
.
Chelsea headed toward him with her signature smooth gait on a pair of five-inch black heels.

He caught himself before his face revealed a reaction to the punch of relief slamming his solar plexus.
Showtime.
He shoved cold disregard into his eyes.

What had been the delay?

Shiny black hair fell past her shoulders, a long strand dipping to touch the enticing hint of breasts he’d spent hours appreciating on their stolen encounters. She’d showcased them nicely tonight, in a strapless black sequined dress that sparkled under the crystal chandeliers. Sexy-as-hell
body, but that hadn’t been what he’d noticed when they’d first met. It was the sparkle of Irish in her husky voice that had turned his head.

She wasn’t the love of his life. He couldn’t have one. Neither could she, with their career choices. But even though they sometimes went months without a word from each other, he’d realized tonight that she’d carved a spot in his world he didn’t want vacated.
 

She played her role, too, chilly expression in eyes he’d seen laughing only a day ago. She ignored the admiring gazes snapping in her direction as servers opened a path for her.
 

Ludwig
Mendelson
followed a half step behind Chelsea, his shoulders back, body square and thick like a wrestler. His hair was short and too silver for a man only in his forties. Pale skin stretched across a pudgy face punctuated by two unforgiving, ice-chip blue eyes. An inch or so shy of six feet tall, he strode as if the world should drop at his feet and pay homage.
 

If that were true he wouldn’t need the two bodyguards following close behind, both stuffed into tuxedos tailored for the Hulk.
 

Mendelson
had a reputation for being unpredictable.

He’d chosen this party, but could’ve just as easily demanded a meeting at a location that required mountain climbing gear. Josh had the German’s file memorized and had come to England prepared to do pretty much anything required to finalize this exchange on
Mendelson’s
terms.
 

He knew more than he wanted to know about a man with a preference for over-the-top, perverted styles of interrogation.

Just seeing
Mendelson
walk so close to Chelsea twisted a fist inside Josh’s gut, but she’d built one hell of a reputation in the international crime community for arranging meetings like this one, and for punishing anyone who tried to harm her.
 

Still, something was amiss or she’d have been on time.
 

When she reached Josh, she waited until
Mendelson
stepped up next to her before speaking first to Josh. “Mr. Taylor, meet my associate, Herr
Mendelson
.”

Offering neither his hand nor any verbal acknowledgment, Josh announced, “You’re late.”

Mendelson
moved his chunky shoulders in a slight shrug then glanced over at Chelsea who didn’t bat an eyelash. His German accent came out as blunt as his face. “Beauty is not a rushed process. Men have always waited on women.”

Had she really been the reason for the delay?
Or not?

If so, had she done so on purpose?

Cognizant of
Mendelson’s
close scrutiny, Josh swirled his scotch and took a sip. He tinged his words with just enough irritation to hide the concern that brewed in his gut over Chelsea. “I came here to retrieve my client’s asset and deliver your payment.” He targeted Chelsea with his next verbal shot. “You were chosen as liaison because of your reliability
and
your reputation for being punctual.” 
Tell me what’s going on. Any sign.

“You could have gone on your way if
waitin
’ was a burden,” Chelsea warned with just enough venom in her Irish lilt to sell the deadly glint in her eyes.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Had she
wanted
him to leave?

She pressed on. “We’ve all an investment in tonight’s meeting. The sooner we stop
natterin
’ on, the sooner we’ll each be
enjoyin
’ the spoils.”
 

Josh leveled
Mendelson
with a let’s-get-to-the-bottom-line look. “Satisfied that I’m here alone?”

“If I were not, you would no longer be standing here.”

Meaning Josh would be dead already.
Mendelson
believed Josh had a transport of weapons waiting nearby to exchange for the CIA agent, so he pointed out, “I can’t keep someone mobile in this area for long without drawing attention.”

Mendelson
smiled,
his eyes eager. “Then I suggest we get moving and complete our transaction.”
 
 

“Lead on.”
 
Josh lifted his glass in a subtle gesture that said
get on with it
,
you’re wasting my time.
He knew the exchange wouldn’t go down here.

Mendelson
didn’t disappoint. “My car is waiting.”

Sucked to be right sometimes.

Following the
Mendelson
entourage, Josh held his blank mask in place, but unease clawed at the back of his neck. In spite of the XOXO message, Chelsea hadn’t vanished but neither could they discuss anything now that the game was on.
 

He was just glad to know she’d be close enough for him to snatch along with the CIA captive tonight, because he wasn’t leaving this country without both of them.
 

If she needed to disappear, he could make that happen and keep her safe at the same time. His body might take a beating if she didn’t see it his way, but he didn’t think she’d purposely kill him, so he’d heal and she’d be alive.

All other details could be worked out after that.

Outside the lavish home, attendants rushed through the crisp fall air, opening car doors for late arrivals and retrieving vehicles for early departures. Josh had driven here in a rented Mercedes, but Chelsea wouldn’t be riding with him. That meant there wasn’t a chance of talking before they reached the location where
Mendelson
held the CIA agent, Len
Rikker
.

It had taken five days of intense negotiations to convince
Mendelson
that Josh represented black market weapons dealer Puno de
Hierro
, known as Iron Fist, who operated out of Nicaragua.