Kept (11 page)

With that thought in mind, she slowed her heartbeat to a manageable pace and pulled her breathing back under control. When she stood up to exit the stall, she still felt a little dizzy but no longer on the verge of a heart attack.

“There you are,” Kimberly called out as Alyssa entered the ballroom.

Alyssa pasted a smile on her face as she recognized the man at her sister’s side. In his early forties, Louis Abbassi was good-looking with his liquid dark eyes and olive complexion, his body lean and muscular under his tailored designer suit. A neatly trimmed black goatee framed a full mouth and gave him a slightly disreputable air despite his tailored designer suit.

Louis smiled, his eyes lighting up in awareness as they raked down Alyssa’s body. “
Chérie,
it is wonderful to see you.”

“You, too, Louis,” she said, wishing again she’d worn a dress that offered a little more coverage. She automatically tilted her face so he could kiss each cheek, forcing herself not to cringe as his lips lingered too long on each side. Louis was a close associate of the Van Weldts, a critical factor in the success of the “Diamonds for All” campaign. A certain amount of ass kissing on her part was required, but Alyssa made sure to keep a certain distance. She hadn’t always proven herself to be the best judge of character, but something in Louis’s cold lizardlike gaze put every instinct on high alert.

Still, the press had speculated about their supposed ro
mance, after they’d been photographed together over the past several months. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Louis would love to add some truth to those rumors.

“We missed you in Saint-Tropez this year,” said Louis, his deep voice laced with a French accent. His smile vanished, and his eyes took on a somber cast. “But I understand you could not get away. I am very sorry to have missed your father’s funeral. He was a good friend.”

Alyssa nodded and tried to pull her hand back, but he tightened his grip and brought her hand to his lips.

“Next time you will join me, won’t you? We can do a photo shoot on the yacht. I can see it now, you draped in jewels as the sun sets behind you.”

“You’ll have to work that out with Kimberly,” she said.

“In the meantime,” Louis continued, his grip still firm on her hand, “perhaps I may treat you to dinner soon. Cheer you from your sadness.” Though his words and tone were innocent enough, there was a hard, speculative light in Louis’s eyes that made Alyssa’s blood run cold.

“I’m sure that would be lovely,” Alyssa replied. He lifted her hand to his lips, and she swallowed a wave of nausea at the feel of them on her skin.

“I will call you this week,” Louis said, as if it were a given. “Before I leave again for Europe.”

“I—” Alyssa looked helplessly at Kimberly, whose look said she expected Alyssa to jump at the invitation.

“I think Marianne is looking for you.” Alyssa almost fell to her knees in gratitude as Derek’s interruption saved her from having to make an awkward excuse.

Louis’s smile dimmed as he locked eyes on the man who would dare interrupt him. She could feel Derek stiffen next to her as he wrapped his hand around her bare arm. The touch of his fingers sent a jolt of warmth through her but still wasn’t enough to extinguish the chill that had suffused her at Louis’s touch.

“Surely you can spare a few more moments,” Louis said to her, but his eyes were locked on Derek. “We have not seen each other in many weeks.”

Alyssa’s eyes darted nervously between the two men. Though not as tall as Derek, physically Louis was hard and lean, and she got the feeling that if it ever came down to it, Louis wouldn’t hesitate to fight dirty.

Derek’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around her arm, and she felt his weight shift next to her. She risked a glance at him, saw that his eyes were locked with Louis’s in a death stare, and knew that if they were dogs their hackles would be up.

“I’m so sorry, Louis,” Alyssa said and laid a friendly hand on Louis’s arm. “But I really should get ready for the presentation.”

“I will call you,” Louis said. “We will make a date.”

Alyssa smiled weakly and allowed Derek to pull her away.

“Stay away from that guy,” Derek said as he led her over to the podium where Alyssa would receive the award.

“I’ll do my best, but he’s a business associate, so I can’t avoid him completely.”

“I don’t like him,” Derek said bluntly. “Don’t go out alone with him.”

Another wave of dizziness hit her, almost making Alyssa stumble in her heels, but she managed to correct herself before she fell. “What, are you, like, jealous or something?” Her teasing lost some of its impact as her tongue slurred the
S
in something.

“Not jealous, just careful. It’s my job to keep you out of trouble. If you have to see him socially, make sure I’m there.”

Alyssa nodded and then swayed as the small action caused her head to swim and her vision to blur around the edges.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked. His voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” she said. Or thought she said, because it seemed
to take about a year for the words to travel from her brain to her lips.

“You’re freezing,” Derek said. Through her haze, she could feel him chafing her arms.

“I’m fine, just a little dizzy,” Alyssa said. But panic pierced through her suddenly blurry senses. What was wrong with her? This was just like the other time. One minute she was fine, the next she was so sick she could barely walk.

She took a deep breath, felt cold sweat film her legs and arms and struggled to keep from shivering. Marianne approached, her smile melting into a look of concern when she saw Alyssa. “Is everything all right?”

Alyssa’s vision swam, her stomach sinking as she focused on the other woman’s face. Alyssa knew that look. Shock, mingled with disgust, with a dash of “what kind of disaster is this girl going to cause me now.”

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” she said, willing it to be so. “I must be coming down with something.”
Just make it through the speech. Then you can leave.
She forced her face into what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “But maybe we should move along with the presentation.”

“We should leave,” Derek said. “This is going to be bad.”

Kimberly rushed over, looking worried. Her uncle Harold was close behind, his face an angry mask. Alyssa’s vision closed in until all she could see was his face, his features taking on an exaggeratedly evil cast.

The Devil.

“What is wrong with you?” Kimberly said, her voice laced with shock, and Alyssa realized she’d said it aloud.

She could hear a voice echoing in the background. Marianne was at the podium introducing Alyssa.

“I’m fine,” Alyssa said, feeling like she was chewing through cotton to get the words out. “Just a little dizzy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I think we all know,” Harold bit out in a low whisper.
“How badly you must want to humiliate us to do this to yourself tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she protested weakly. Even in her haze, she knew what he meant. He thought she was on something, that she’d chosen tonight to get high in public. “I don’t feel well. I think I’m sick.” She looked at her sister for support but could see from Kimberly’s ashamed, almost pitying look that she didn’t believe her.

“And now I’m pleased to introduce Alyssa Miles to accept this award to thank her for all the support she and her family have shown the WhiteLight Foundation.”

She turned to mount the stage, felt her heels give way under her feet.

“Don’t.” Derek’s warm grip and low voice cut through the fog. She wanted to turn into his chest and beg him to take her away, somewhere away. Somewhere safe.

But she had to get through this. If she fell apart, the whole world would use it as proof that she was nothing but a vapid idiot who didn’t have enough sense not to get wasted at a charity event benefiting troubled young girls.

The tabloids would have a field day.

She turned away from her uncle’s judgmental glare and her sister’s disappointed frown. Alyssa took each step with exquisite care, placing her feet squarely in the middle of each step as she fought for balance in her too-high shoes. She murmured a thanks to Marianne, her own voice muffled in her head.

She tried to remember her prepared speech, but her brain was working at quarter speed. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but her tongue lay like a bloated slug in her mouth. Faces in the crowd tilted, people started to whisper, the hissing growing louder in volume until Alyssa’s brain echoed with white static.

What’s wrong with me?

The spotlight was hot, burning its white light into her
eyes. Her knees started to buckle as a wave of vertigo smacked her to the ground.

Strong arms grabbed her before she hit.

She knew that touch, knew that smell. Derek. She let him help her offstage, clinging to him like a lifeline as her uncle’s angry voice cut through the hiss of voices buzzing in her head.

“Get her out of here before she makes an even bigger spectacle of herself.”

“Help me,” she whispered and felt Derek’s arm close around her waist as he half dragged, half carried her through one of the doors behind the stage. Her eyelids drooped, and she struggled to stay conscious as he walked her down a long hallway.

By some miracle, there was no one in this hallway, but even in her half-conscious state Alyssa knew the press would be all over her in an instant. Her vision started to go dark.

“Stay with me,” Derek said. “Stay with me till we get to the car.”

She shook her head to clear it and had the vague impression of being in an elevator. Then cold air hit her skin, making her shiver even harder as Derek carried her to his car.

“You’re okay. I’m going to get you home.”

Tires squealed as he whipped out of the parking space and slammed the car into gear. “No,” Alyssa said, swallowing back her nausea as he screamed down the ramp of the parking garage. Black fog suffused her mind. She was going to pass out. She hoped she passed out before she threw up all over Derek’s leather upholstery. “Too many press,” she managed to slur out. “Not home.”

D
EREK BALANCED ALYSSA’S inert form against his leg, supporting her weight with one arm as he unlocked the door that led from his garage to his house. Even though she was dead weight, he didn’t have much trouble carrying her. How much of what had she taken to get herself in such a state?

Anger pulsed in his veins. At her, for being so goddamn stupid to do this to herself. At himself, for all the messed-up, protective instincts she inspired, even when her stupidity could cost Gemini a valuable client.

He carried her into his bedroom and laid her across the bed, trying really hard not to think about the last time he’d had Alyssa Miles in his house, in his bed. “Why do I bring you home with me when it’s nothing but a guaranteed disaster?” he asked. Not that he expected her to answer. She was out cold, having drifted in and out of consciousness on the drive to his house. He wondered again if he should have brought her to the hospital. But he could still rouse her, even if it took some doing, and he knew that was a good sign. And he knew that as soon as she was admitted, some nurse or orderly would be on the phone, alerting the world that Alyssa had shown up in a drugged-out mess, accompanied only by her bodyguard.

He shook her again, just to be sure. Her eyelids fluttered open. “Derek,” she whispered, and the sweetest goddamn smile spread across her pale face, kicking him square in the gut, before she turned on her side and snuggled into his pillow with a soft snore.

Anger rose up again. How could she be so reckless? She’d almost OD’d in the past—she should fucking well know better. She was so small, it wouldn’t have taken much of anything to mess her up. How much more would it have taken to kill her? He wanted to punch his fist through a wall at the thought of her stupidity. He seized the anger, nurtured it, because anger was easier to deal with than the terror he felt at the thought of her accidentally overdosing.

When he’d felt her go ice cold, seen her start to waver, he’d been overcome with a storm of unfamiliar urges. The need to protect her had overshadowed everything, and all he’d wanted to do was get her away from the crowd to someplace safe. Her whispered plea for help, the way her fingers clung with a desperate grip, had just about brought him to his knees.

Now cold reality smacked him in the face. He was no knight in shining armor, and she was no damsel in distress. What she was was an out-of-control starlet who was so beyond common sense she couldn’t keep from getting high, even at a high-profile public function.

He was such an idiot. This whole week, he’d been thinking that maybe she wasn’t as bad as the press made her out to be. Deluded himself into thinking she was misunderstood, misrepresented. Despite his resolve to keep his distance, he’d thought maybe there was a chance he’d met the real Alyssa the night of the charity auction. Maybe his instincts weren’t completely haywire, and maybe he’d recognized a funny, intelligent, surprisingly innocent woman the rest of the world couldn’t see behind the party-girl front.

He shook his head, his lips pulling tight in disgust. He
was just seeing what he wanted to see. More to the point, what his dick wanted him to see. Jesus Christ, of all the women to threaten his unflappable control, why did it have to be her?

Even now he couldn’t quite squash the tender emotions. She looked small and vulnerable lying in his big bed. And pretty. So damn pretty it made his chest hurt.

She shifted in her sleep, raising her leg up so her knee almost touched her chest. The short skirt of her slip dress rode up her hip, giving him a mouthwatering view of one ass cheek, left bare by her thong underwear.

Fuck him. First the spa, then the photo shoot, and now this. If he’d known this job entailed seeing Alyssa in various states of undress on a daily basis, he would have told Danny to go fuck himself.

Derek’s mouth went dry as blood rushed to his groin. She shifted again, and the heel of her silver stiletto sandal snagged on his bedspread. He unbuckled one shoe, and then the other, slipping them off her small feet. He held her foot in his hand, absently stroking the arch with his calloused thumb. Her skin no longer had that terrifying chill, but she was still cold.

He yawned as a wave of exhaustion washed through him. The mattress of his king-size bed called to him, tempting him to lie down and rest.

Alyssa shifted in her sleep, gathering a pillow close as she curved her arm around it, cuddling up to it as if it were a lover.

Bad idea. Do not get in bed with her.

He yawned, a jaw cracker that made his eyes tear. Sleep had never been easy for him. Too many faces in his scope. Too many heads exploding as he pulled the trigger. And the one who tormented him most, the one who got away.

He’d been seeing her in his dreams lately. Walking across the courtyard, sandaled feet kicking up dust as she walked
up the walkway to Massoud’s house. The view through the scope of his M21 so clear he could see individual pebbles, a stray thread hanging from her veil, even from a distance of eight hundred meters. The feel of the trigger against his finger so familiar it was like part of his hand. His hesitation to kill a civilian, a woman, even if his instructions had been to kill anyone approaching. Then the explosion, all hell breaking loose. In his dream sometimes she reappeared, walking away from the burning building. Even though Derek couldn’t see her face through the burka, he knew she was smiling. Mocking him and his moment of weakness.

Two nights ago, he’d had the dream. When the woman had walked out of the burning house, black smoke billowing behind her, she’d done something she’d never done before: she removed her veil.

Alyssa’s face greeted him, smiling, mocking him, daring him to let down his guard one more time.

Derek wasn’t big on psychobabble, but he didn’t need Dr. Freud to help him figure out what that one meant.

He blinked hard, almost asleep on his feet. He thought of the lumpy double bed in the guest room. Too small for his frame. His feet would dangle off the end, and he wouldn’t get comfortable. Besides, he wanted to stay close to Alyssa in case anything happened. He still didn’t know what she’d taken or how much. What if she had a seizure? Threw up in her sleep and aspirated?

He left her long enough to change into a T-shirt and gym shorts. The bed was big enough that even with her sprawled, there was still plenty of room for him to sleep without even brushing up against her. Ignoring the voice that asked him what kind of idiot he was to get back in bed with Alyssa Miles—no matter how noble his intentions—Derek lay down on the bed. Careful to keep a good two feet of distance between them, he closed his eyes, asleep in seconds.

Martin Fish paced the trash-strewn alleyway, compulsively checking his watch for the fifth time. Oppressive heat drew a toxic sweat to slick his skin. The numbers on the digital readout and his head throbbed as he struggled to focus. Marie Laure still had four minutes before she was officially late. To his relief, she’d shown up for their meeting two days ago. After what he’d witnessed on the video, he’d resigned himself to the fact he’d never see her again.

Still, he went to the meeting, swallowing back bile as the malafu he’d consumed threatened to blow back up on him. And shoved aside the relief he’d felt when she finally appeared.

He couldn’t afford to have a soft spot for the beautiful, softspoken girl-woman who had agreed to help him. But that didn’t stop him from hoping everything worked out. Because if it did, today was the first day of the rest of Marie Laure’s life. Now that he had proof of Abbassi’s link to the PFM, he could get out of this godforsaken hellhole. And he was taking Marie Laure with him—to Kinshasa anyway. He’d secured her a spot in the UN refugee camp outside the city. If he got her there, she’d be guaranteed food, shelter, and help caring for her baby. The camp was no paradise, not by a long shot, but it was a hell of a lot better than what Marie Laure had dealt with for the past year.

His own daughter would be fourteen on her next birthday, only two years younger than Marie Laure. Katie’s world was all about malls and boys. Or at least it had been the last time he’d seen her over a year ago. That’s the kind of life a beautiful young girl should live. Going to school, chasing boys. Not kidnapped, raped, impregnated with her enemy’s child.

He paced up and down the alley, his brain racing with the pieces and parts of this story, which was getting crazier by the day. Just last night another odd bit had appeared, an interview with Alyssa Miles in some women’s rag his friend
Charlie had sent in a link. Everyone was quoting the story because it contained Alyssa’s first public commentary about the beaver shots that had shown up on the Web a while ago.

But Martin didn’t give a shit about it. Another subhead caught his eye. Alyssa had said she thought she may have seen someone that night. Was it possible? Could she have seen something that night and not realized it, something that would prove his hunch that Van Weldt’s death wasn’t the result of a wife pushed too far?

Maybe he needed to rethink his strategy. Instead of taking Alyssa down as collateral damage in this story, she could help him fill in the missing pieces. She was an outsider in her family, but she still had access. He’d felt it before, but now he was certain. She was the key. The link that tied together this godforsaken place and her glittering, meaningless life of luxury.

He was still trying to wrap his throbbing brain around everything when Marie Laure appeared. Martin tried not to wince when he took in her condition. Her left eye was still swollen nearly shut, and her right arm was suspended in a ragged sling. Her right forearm and hand were swollen to nearly twice their normal size. From the way she moved carefully, taking shallow breaths, he knew she had a couple broken ribs.

In her left hand she carried a small satchel. All her worldly possessions fit inside.

“We have to hurry,” he said, ignoring her wince when he grabbed her left arm and steered her down the alley. Two blocks away a jeep waited. The UN driver would take them to the meeting point where the helicopter would pick them up, along with twenty-five others lucky enough to make the list this time around.

“Monsieur—my brother, you have a spot for him, too?” Marie Laure’s breathing was labored, both from the pain in her side and the fast pace he forced her to keep.

“Sorry, kid, I couldn’t swing it.”

She tripped. Martin’s grip on her arm kept her from going down. “I promised him. I cannot go without my brother—”

He yanked her to a halt and gave her a little shake, ignoring her cry of pain. “I didn’t promise shit. I told you I’d try. Your brother is a soldier for Mekembe. You knew it was impossible.”

He took off again, dragging her behind him. The jeep idled half a block away. He shoved her in and climbed in next to her. Though hardly anyone was about this early in the morning, he had a tight, anxious feeling in his gut telling him to get the hell out of Dodge before his luck ran out.

He put his hand over the zipper pocket in his cargo pants, and his finger traced the outline of the computer flash drive. The proof he needed, the risk Marie Laure took, was right there on that small piece of hardware.

The jeep bounced along the rutted excuse for a road, and Martin swallowed back vomit. Fuck, he needed a drink. He felt the anxiety ease a degree when he saw the helicopter waiting.

Soon.
He’d be in Kinshasa, in a hotel that stocked a full bar, and then on a plane enjoying all the complimentary booze he could handle.

A line of people waited to board, refugees anxiously checking in, ensuring their names were still on the list. Poor souls who actually believed they were going somewhere better. A crowd formed around them, yelling, shoving, trying to convince the aid workers to take them, too. They were held at bay by heavily armed guards keeping a tenuous hold on the crowd.

Martin grabbed his backpack and duffel from the back of the jeep and motioned Marie Laure to walk in front of him. They were among the last to arrive. Most of the other passengers had already boarded the helicopter. The rotors started a lazy spin, kicking up red dust. Martin held up his hand to protect his eyes.

Suddenly a vehicle came screeching around the corner—a rusted-out Hummer Mekembe had converted into a makeshift tank, complete with a machine gun mounted at the top.

Martin’s blood went glacial when he saw Mekembe himself in the driver’s seat.

Seated next to him was Marie Laure’s brother, Charles.

“Marie Laure!” Mekembe shouted.

“Don’t stop. We have to go.”

“Shoot her!” Mekembe shouted. “You wanted us to stop her, so shoot her yourself.”

Martin tried to hurry Marie Laure to the helicopter, but she wouldn’t move.

“Charles!”

Charles held his AK-47 loosely in his hand, aimed to the side, his eyes wide as Mekembe held his own gun to the boy’s head.

“Kill her,” Mekembe said. “You wanted me to keep her from escaping. Now show me you are loyal, or I’ll kill you and her next.”

“I didn’t mean for you to kill her,” the boy said, starting to cry. “I don’t want you to go, Marie Laure.” His body heaved with sobs; mucus ran from his nose. Despite the lethal weapon in his hand, in that moment he was nothing but a boy who wanted to stay with the sister he loved.

Marie Laure lurched toward the vehicle, but Martin kept a tight grip on her uninjured arm. “We have to go, or you’re both going to die.”

Mekembe was screaming at Charles as he sobbed, “No, no,” over and over again.

The soldiers guarding the helicopter hefted their weapons, warning Mekembe to lower his weapon, or they would open fire.

The helicopter rotors sped up as the pilots, anxious to flee the quickly unraveling situation, prepared to take off.

Martin yanked Marie Laure’s arm, dragging her, screaming, to the helicopter.

Gunfire erupted, barely audible over the helicopter blades.

Marie Laure’s screams turned to wails as her brother’s body crumpled.

The crowd scattered as the soldiers opened fire on Mekembe’s vehicle. Bullets pinged off the sides as he whipped the Hummer into reverse and sped back in the direction of the mine. Charles was shoved from the moving vehicle, his lifeless body rolling several feet before it came to a stop in a heap in the middle of the mud road.