Afterglow (4 page)

“I have faith Rand. His guys
will
find the person responsible
and
bring them to justice. And yeah, it was all as embarrassing as shit, but nobody died. We’ll all go home, go about our business, and never mention it again.”

Amanda nodded from the safety of his embrace. He tightened his arm around his bride as he addressed the room at large. “Nobody can say we didn’t create
the
most memorable wedding.” He smiled his number-one box office, top-grossing actor smile, but Rand saw the strain around the new groom’s eyes. “And thanks to Rand and his team, we’ve managed to pull it off without the paparazzi getting wind. Of
any
of it.”

A soft chorus of voices rose in sour counterpoint to his little speech.

“… appalling.”

“I’ll never be able to face my friends again.”

“No way to keep this quiet once we all go home.”

“Monica will talk first.”

The bridesmaid who’d gotten up close and personal with the priest’s genitals bristled at the accusation. “I will
not
, you skanky bitch!”

“
Nobody
talks.” Seth Creed’s voice carried clearly as he rose from the sofa and faced the crowd. “Not only will I sue anyone’s ass who’s stupid enough to want to get a little publicity for themselves, I’ll see that you never work again. This was no one’s fault—we’re all victims, even Maguire Security, so shut the fuck up and listen to Rand.”

Rand tuned them out as his Bluetooth headset beeped in his ear.
Give me a clue. Just one small fucking thing to go on so I can get this unraveled.
“Talk.”

Oddly, with the one, curt word addressed to his caller, the room dropped once again into a thick silence. The tension was palpable, all eyes fixed on him. Unconsciously, Rand’s attention snagged on Dakota. While he knew it was only skin-deep, her beauty made his teeth ache. Her vibrancy assaulted his senses. She’d always been Technicolor to everyone else’s black-and-white. He scowled and turned away, pacing across the room to stare blindly out at the sparkling Mediterranean through the closed French doors.

“Found our missing waiter,” his section leader, Mark Stratham, informed him, crisp and to the point. “Dead. Hotel room’s been wiped. Ready for the address?”

“Go.” Rand listened, committing the unfamiliar street address to memory. “Stay put. I’ll be there ASAP.” He disconnected as he turned to address the room at large. “We have a lead. Everyone chill. Don’t leave this floor. And do not, I repeat, do
not
leave the hotel under any circumstances. And, yes, Mike, the no-outside-calls rule is still in effect.” The teenage brother of the bride had been bugging to get his phone back for hours. Teenage angst was the least of Rand’s problems.

He cut off the kid. “I don’t care who anyone wants to talk to stateside. If the paparazzi get even a hint of this,
everyone
is screwed. We don’t know if this was an act of terror, or if there was a specific target or agenda. This floor is secured tighter than Fort Knox. You’re self-sufficient up here with your own chef and staff, and members of my security team are stationed outside everyone’s doors. Nobody in or out until I get back with answers.”

He scanned the room, seeing the challenge in Creed’s eyes. “
All
the answers.”

The director gave an imperceptible nod; his eyes said,
Don’t fuck this up, your ass is on the line
.

Rand addressed Cole. “Make sure everyone has what they need. You.” He pointed at Dakota, who’d pushed away from the wall when he took his call. “Come with me,” he ordered in a flat, measured voice that brooked no argument.

TWO

D
akota considered tall, intense, and surly for a heartbeat before following him out of the room. Rand hadn’t snapped his fingers, but his terse command was close enough.

Lovely. His loathing for her hadn’t diminished in twenty-five months. If anything, it looked as if he hated her even more; she hadn’t thought that possible.

The last time he’d talked to her, he’d called her some nasty names. She didn’t care what they said about sticks and stones and about words never harming you. She’d rather he’d struck her than have him believe half of what he’d called her and accused her of doing. She probably would’ve recovered faster.

She straightened her shoulders and kept up with him. Clearly, he hadn’t changed clothes since the wedding. His powerful legs were clad in custom-tailored tuxedo pants, paired with shiny black shoes, and a crisp white shirt with pin tucks down the front. The top two buttons were undone, the tie long gone. Rand never had liked formality, but God, he wore it well. He looked lean, and elegant and sexy enough to have all those little starlets looking at him with lust in their eyes.

This man, with his grim mouth, cold, intense eyes, and clipped speech was a stranger, and she’d treat him as such. Once, they’d been all heat and flash. Passion and need. Connection with little communication. When they’d been together she’d never seen him either cold or disinterested. Just the opposite.

Now …

Now she didn’t know him anymore. Maybe she never had.

Despite her jacket, Dakota shivered. A primitive instinct for survival screamed for her to run like hell. As far and fast as her legs—or a private jet—could take her. But she wasn’t going to run. Not from Rand Maguire, and not from what was happening here.

She’d fought hard to get her life on an even keel after he’d dumped her, but maybe if she’d seen
this
expression on his face when he’d done it, instead of just hearing his voice, she would’ve gotten over it faster. There was no room for interpretation, seeing the disdain in his eyes when he looked at her now. Rand wasn’t even making a pretense at civility.

So be it.

She’d be as polite and nonconfrontational as humanly possible, even if it killed her. The past was the past. Water under the bridge. The bridge blown to hell, Dakota thought grimly as she practically jogged to keep up with his ground-eating strides.

He was wearing a shoulder holster with a very large black gun in it. James Bond had nothing on Rand Maguire, with his dark hair and flashing eyes, and a charm that was sorely lacking at the moment. Even the new scar here and there on his face and hands didn’t detract from his sexiness. Probably added to his allure, Dakota thought as she matched his pace.

Just looking at him made her chest ache. She knew every dip and crag, every scar, intimately. She didn’t want to remember, but being this close to him stole her breath and made her foolish heart pound. Her body’s reaction to him hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart. Annoying but true.

The spacious hallway was lined with expensive-looking objets d’art and buff, black-garbed, well-armed guys standing guard outside various doors. Dakota was impressed. His company had grown and he was doing well, very well. The non-grudge-holding part of her psyche was glad.

Nobody in the room they’d just left appeared to have gotten much sleep. She’d bet he had even less. But other than needing a shave, he looked as fresh and sharp as a newly laundered shirt. Heavy on the starch.

The only plus was that he’d been taken unaware when he’d first seen her. Small satisfaction under the circumstances.

His dark hair was too long; he never could be bothered to go to the barber. His long-lashed dark eyes seemed to bore into her brain as he glanced at her when she caught up with him, halfway down the carpeted hallway. She felt a small hum of irritation in the back of her throat.

Don’t let him get to you. This isn’t personal. Remember that.
She’d been lecturing herself since she’d left Seattle.

Not. Personal.

He paused to examine her face with a dissatisfied frown, his anger running icy, not hot like hers. “What the hell are you doing here, Dakota?”

Since she was here to
help
him, his irritation pissed her off, but she said evenly, “You know that the drug everyone in there was given was DL6-94, don’t you?”

His frown deepened, the cold mask slipping for a fraction of a second as he grabbed her upper arm in the vise of his fingers. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The warm touch of his hand after so long was a shock. Dakota jerked her arm out of his grip and stepped back out of his unwanted magnetic force field. “The drug your father and I were working on at Rydell Pharmaceuticals.” She strove for calm, but her insides were in revolt. “The drug formula that was supposedly destroyed in the explosion. The drug that one of my lab assistants referred to as Rapture.
That’s
what your wedding party was dosed with.”

His face hardened. “First of all.” If his tone had been any icier, it would’ve caused permafrost on the crystal chandeliers overhead. “You were in that room for all of ten minutes, so you’re basing your diagnosis on an erroneous assumption. Unless
you
—”He gave her a suspicious glare from hostile, narrowed eyes. “When
did
you hit town, Dakota?
Yesterday?
” He took an aggressive step forward, invading her personal space again. “Was this a sick experiment? Did you do it as some kind of perverted form of payback because I broke it off with you?”

“Don’t be an ass.” Her temper caught fire, and she curled her nails into her palms to keep from hitting him. She wanted to. Hard. And often. She wasn’t surprised to discover that now Rand Maguire brought out the absolute worst in her. It hadn’t always been that way, but it was that way now.

Heart thudding erratically, she lifted her chin and glared right back. Damn. She’d forgotten how big he was. He towered over her even though she wore heels. She stood a little taller and stared him down. He might be in an awkward situation with his clients, but she wasn’t going to tolerate being intimidated when she was here—like it or not—to help him. “Cole picked me up at the airport and brought me directly here. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Pathological liar
was the least offensive thing he’d called her in their last phone conversation.
Slut
,
bitch
, and
opportunist
had been some of the others. Based on
what
, she wasn’t sure. But he’d acted on his convictions by telling her he never wanted to see or hear from her again. Ever.

Since he lived in LA and she in Seattle, that hadn’t been hard to achieve. He’d refused to explain or to listen to reason. He’d rushed to judgment without a damned backward glance.

She’d learned a long time ago not to bother trying to explain herself to anyone. But it had hurt her deeply that Rand believed all those crappy things about her. She’d thought he knew her better than that. Obviously not.

She started walking—heading, she presumed, to the private elevator at the other end of the mile-long hallway. “
You
were the one who called Zak Stark and asked for help, Rand. I’m the best kind of help you have. I know what you’re up against.”

“I don’t need any more of your brand of ‘help,’ Dakota. Wasn’t killing my mother enough for you? Did you want to up your body count and kill off half of Hollywood as well?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that crap with a response,” she told him evenly. “You need me, and if you weren’t so pigheaded, you’d be grateful that I put everything on hold to come. I’m one of the few people left who knows everything there is to know about this drug.” She’d had nothing whatsoever to do with the drugs his mother had been given. Nothing. He hadn’t listened then, and she wasn’t going to try to convince him of her noninvolvement now. That wasn’t the issue at hand.