Dangerous Surrender (3 page)

She tried calling Vadim again from one of the burner phones she’d picked up at a Podunk gas station but it went to his voicemail. Again.

Damn it.

She parked in his driveway and turned off the engine. She’d ended up stealing a beat up, pale blue Pinto. The radio had been sketchy and the passenger door had spots that were almost rusted all the way through, but the engine had been good enough to make the drive to Vegas so she had no complaints. Even if someone reported it stolen—and the owner was probably secretly thanking her for taking it—there was no way to track it electronically.

She’d almost kept Hugh’s SUV because he’d disabled his GPS tracking. The man was—had been—paranoid of too much government power and the ability of so many, not just the government, to track others’ whereabouts. He’d disabled the GPS tracking in anything, even his phone. But in her shock-filled haze she’d remembered that she could be tracked through the OnStar system regardless of what Hugh had done.

God, she missed him and his quirkiness. A fresh wave of pain swept through her and her throat tightened as she opened the driver’s side door, but she refused to cry. Not yet. Not until she had help and a game plan.

On the drive from Oceanside to Vegas she’d stopped twice; for gas and to get supplies which included a first aid kit, burner phones, and new clothes. Considering her current attire was from the first gas station/truck stop she’d stopped at, she looked ridiculous wearing a Golden State T-shirt snagged from the teenage boys’ section. The sweatpants with the word California down the outside of both legs were actually made for women, but they’d only had them in long sizes so she’d rolled them up at the ankles. With her zombie heels she looked as if she was doing the walk of shame.

Whatever, she was alive. The bandage she’d put on over her wound was holding and the ibuprofen she’d taken had helped with her headache and lessened the throb in her wound. Unfortunately she was exhausted and running on fumes. She’d been so eaten up with worry the last few days she hadn’t slept at all. Combined with the shock of seeing her friend killed and being shot herself, she was about to pass out.

Not to mention the freaking cops wanted her for questioning. She’d called two friends from work on the way to Vegas and each of them had said the police wanted to talk to her. One had even asked if she’d killed Hugh. Fucker. She’d used one of her burner phones to call both friends before ditching the phone. And she’d called while she’d still been in Oceanside. So if the cops somehow triangulated where she’d been calling from, they’d have no leads. She wouldn’t be taking any more chances now by calling anyone because she had a feeling they’d be ready to track her.

Besides, she already knew what she needed to. Neal had somehow set her up. She couldn’t figure out how he could have changed the evidence, but she couldn’t think very clearly about anything right now.

After knocking on the front door and ringing the bell with no answer, she had the childish urge to stomp her feet. But she’d come this far. She wasn’t turning around now. And the truth was, she felt safe here.

She tried pulling up the garage door up by hand, but it didn’t budge. No surprise. Fortunately for her, she knew how to release the safety latch. It was completely criminal but right about now she was thankful for her less than savory skills.

Returning to the Pinto, she drove it right up until it was almost touching the garage door. Then she unbent the metal hanger she’d gotten with the T-shirt she was wearing. She was just glad she hadn’t tossed the thing. Climbing onto the hood, she slid her hand through the top part of the garage, breaking a nail as she pulled the vinyl material down as much as she could. Not much, but there wasn’t a foamy seal in place so she was able to slip the thin hanger through. Later she’d yell at Vadim for this lapse in security.

Sliding the hanger around, she wiggled it until it caught on something. On her second try, she felt and heard the latch pull free.

Bingo.

Once upon a time it would have taken her exactly six seconds to do this. Now, it took her fifteen. Not bad.

After reversing the car away from the garage door, she tested it again and breathed out in relief when it slid upward. Leaving the door halfway open, she grabbed her two plastic bags from the vehicle. One held her bloody clothes and the other all the stuff she’d gotten at the two gas stations.

The lock on the interior door was decent, but she picked it. As soon as she stepped from the garage into the utility room the alarm started beeping. She wavered on her feet, but the beeping sound spurred her into action. She had fifteen to thirty seconds to disarm it.

On the third try she got it right. The code was the day, month and year Vadim had gotten his dog Charlie. Not something most people would know, but she and Vadim went way back. She’d apologize later and yell at him for the code too.

Of course he’d probably yell at her for breaking into his house but she was doing him a favor by pointing out his security flaws. She snorted at herself as she opened the utility room door into his kitchen.

Fully expecting to find Charlie bounding toward her, she frowned at the silence. That was when it hit her. When she’d been ringing the bell and knocking on the door there had been no scuffling inside from the dog. Nothing.

Charlie was almost always here unless Vadim took her to work. “Hello?” Taylor called out, her voice cracking from sheer exhaustion.

No response. She tried calling Vadim again on her burner phone as she stepped farther into the kitchen. She slipped her heels off and froze when she saw a pile of about a dozen gifts on the small table by one of the windows.

Holy shit, Vadim and Angel were still on their honeymoon. No wonder he wasn’t answering his phone. Taylor vaguely remembered him telling her they’d be going away for three weeks. Bora Bora or somewhere.

Iciness flooded her as the last of her energy faded from her body. She’d been banking on Vadim’s help. She blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the new wave of exhaustion and despair threatening to pull her under, the invisible sandbags weighing her eyelids down, making her want to fall asleep right on the kitchen floor.

Bags in hand, she stumbled toward the nearest guest bathroom. She needed to change her bandage and maybe close her eyes for a few minutes. And…she grabbed a bottle of vodka from the pantry on the way. She didn’t know what kind of first aid stuff he had and vodka would kill anything.

And she really wanted a swig because right about now, she knew she was in deep shit.

Chapter 3

Roman scanned Vadim’s property as he pulled up behind an unfamiliar Pinto with a California plate. Frowning, he snapped a picture of the license plate before getting out of his truck. Vadim lived on the outskirts of town with no neighbors for miles. That car had definitely seen better days. Other than the unfamiliar vehicle, everything else looked normal. Just wide-open desert for miles around greeted him. There was no way in hell someone had accidentally stumbled on his place.

No one was supposed to be here. Hell, he hadn’t even planned on coming by. He’d just wanted to get one of Charlie’s favorite chew toys he’d forgotten the other day. He’d brought her by Vadim and Angel’s place a couple days ago because ‘Angel’ was worried about Charlie getting homesick while she and Vadim were on their honeymoon. In reality, Roman knew it was Vadim worried about the mutt. For such a hard ass, V had two soft spots: Angel and Charlie the German shepherd.

Withdrawing his weapon, Roman felt the hood of the Pinto with his free hand. The engine was cool. He ducked down and glanced under the partially open garage door to look inside.

No one was there and Vadim’s Mercedes S-Class sat untouched. Roman crawled under, not disturbing the position of the door before heading to the interior door. If someone had broken in, he’d have them arrested.

Weapon out, he slowly turned the handle then nudged it open with his foot. The door chime dinged, announcing that someone was entering the house, but the alarm didn’t go off, making him tense. Disabling Vadim’s system would take skill unless someone had the security code. The utility room was also empty. Moving on silent feet, he swept through the kitchen.

A pair of high heels with…zombies on them sat haphazardly next to one of the island chairs in the otherwise pristine kitchen. A woman had broken in? Some gifts from the recent wedding were still unopened too. Vadim and Angel had left so quickly after their ceremony they hadn’t been able to open the gifts people had brought to the wedding.

Pausing, Roman listened intently. It sounded like running water coming from one of the bathrooms. He’d been in Vadim’s home on multiple occasions, especially back when he’d been giving Angel self-defense lessons. There were three bedrooms on the east side with the living room connecting the kitchen, dining room and library. Vadim’s office was connected off the living room, more or less a separate entity from the rest of the house.

The water had to be coming from one of the bathrooms. Since Vadim had good insulation in this place, Roman guessed it was the nearest one. Moving quickly but quietly, he made his way through the kitchen, then the living room, wondering how the hell someone got past Vadim’s security system.

As he neared the closest bedroom the sound grew louder. Bypassing it, he swept the rest of the house to find it clear before returning to the first guestroom.

The door was ajar so he slipped inside without having to move it. Empty.

His breathing and heart rate were steady. If an intruder thought they could fuck with his friends’ home while they were gone, they were in for a surprise. For a brief moment he contemplated calling the cops, but he was a former Marine and now personal security for one of the wealthiest men in the world. If he couldn’t handle one intruder, he needed a new fucking job.

Steam billowed out from the open bathroom door, but he didn’t hear the kind of change in the water’s rhythm that went along with someone showering. He frowned and gently pushed the door open.

All stone and tile that looked like sandstone, there were sparkly pieces of glass on the wall that made up the shower enclosure. The room seemed to shimmer. A shadow was behind the enclosure, but it was unmoving.

Stepping to the side, he brought his weapon fully up and swept around the shower entrance to find a naked woman slumped on the built-in bench, a bottle of vodka grasped loosely in one hand as blood trickled down her side. Long, dark hair was plastered around her face and over her shoulders and breasts.

Shit.

This could be some sort of trap but he doubted it. Holstering his weapon, he stepped inside the enclosure, ignoring the pulsing jets and water splashing him as he twisted the shower knob off. Crouching in front of her, he felt the pulse point at her throat.

Steady.

Leaning down, he inspected the open wound along the woman’s ribcage. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was a—the woman shifted suddenly.

Screaming, she swung the vodka bottle at him. Roman ducked and grabbed her wrist, yanking it downward. She released the bottle. It crashed to the tile floor, glass shattering.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” the woman screamed, trying to wiggle away from him as he hoisted her off the bench, holding her around the waist—and tried to ignore how soft her lush body felt against his. He tried to be careful with her wound but was more concerned with subduing her so she didn’t hurt herself.

“Damn it, stop!” he ordered as she swung a fist at his head. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close and pinning one arm to her side, but she was moving around like an eel. “You’re going to cut yourself if I drop you.”

At that, she stilled. Breathing hard, she looked up at him. “You care if I cut my feet?”

He blinked once, mesmerized for a moment by the shocking blue of her eyes against her beautiful, almost caramel skin tone. Her eyes were like the Mediterranean on a clear day. “It’s not like I want you to slice yourself up.” What was the matter with her? And who the hell was she?

“Oh. Okay.” She was still tense, her body coiled like a snake, waiting to strike, but she didn’t try to punch him in the head again. Instead she held onto his shoulders and went semi-lax against him.

“I’m going to step out of the shower and put you on your feet. Okay?”

She nodded, her expression wary. Her eyes were wide and her teeth chattering, though she tried to hide it as she clenched her jaw tight.

His boots crunched over glass as he carefully moved backward. He didn’t stop until they were on the tile of the bathroom and far away from the glass. “I’m going to put you down, but if you attack me, I will restrain your hands behind your back.” He still might restrain her if it turned out she was a thief.

She swallowed hard, fear flickering in her gaze. Damn, he hated the sight of any woman being afraid of him, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think women couldn’t be dangerous. Just because she was petite and so fucking gorgeous it almost hurt to look at her, didn’t mean he’d be letting his guard down around her. “I won’t attack you.”

As he placed her on her feet, he tried not to look but damn, his gaze dipped down to her breasts. Lush, full, a little more than a handful, he wondered what it’d be like to cup them…

“Pervert,” she snapped, wrapping an arm around her chest before turning and grabbing a fluffy, white towel from one of the nearby racks.