Love Found Me (A City Love Novel, Book 1) (17 page)

Her gaze narrowed when she zoned in on Barton's left hand. Shellacked to it was a slick metal briefcase he clutched with a grip that tore his nerves, as his knuckles turned hastily from pale to red. 

Seconds later, the seven-foot brute dollied a keg-sized barrel behind them.

She looked back at the flanking yacht in time to see it motor closer, as it moored along shore with its glittering strings of light fading into a sea of burnt orange and crimson.

As Danielle knelt, the third muscle sporting his usual dark glasses, joined the two brutes as they soldiered pilings of boxes and barrels toward the lift shaft. Watching the behind the scenes unfold, her eyes darted to some cognac perched under the bar counter.

Danielle's eyes widened with insatiable thirst. It had been hours, since she'd craved the hydration aside from her earlier snack fest. But the chocolate kindled some moisture meltdown to quench her parched mouth at the time-- that now yearned for something smooth. She took a couple swigs that incited her breastbone ablaze. Her skin was warm everywhere, as she groaned a little bit of bliss the moment after she hiccupped.

As the cognac settled, her eyes drew languid as she merged the familiar.
They're loading this stuff to the other yacht, but why? And what's in those crates. I bet it's the—

Her thought was interrupted when suddenly a roar ripped through the ascending moon. Barton's light brown hair whisked around like hay in a wind tunnel, while the pleat in his plaid overcoat started to ripple.

Barton glided his way up to the helipad with his briefcase still groped to his left hand.

Danielle ambled to the next deck for a birds-eye view. Her long curls whisked a rhythmic dance in the air, as she'd tried to bottle her breath blending the smoky vapors. Her cheeks swelled to a choking cough as she'd impulsively wrenched her arm over her mouth and nose the very next second.

Instinct told her to wait, as their scheme unfolded. What she didn't know was that she enfolded the central main mast, several feet above them.

Barton and his crew now looked like scavenger ants. She'd managed to tuck behind a large steel platform, still wrenching her arm, as the wind submerged her into its breezy tunnel-- until the force suddenly stopped.

Barton's phone beeped discreetly, the moment he and his crew reached the helipad. Just after his call, she'd overheard Barton when he'd said, "It's time." Barton's snarling climbed the summit of the yacht where Danielle stood, as she clung to the mast, just before she saw him gesture underfoot. Danielle's eyes widened like saucers, as she unshielded her nose and shook off a lingering shiver.

Danielle knew it was a matter of seconds before they'd discovered she had escaped. So, she had to think fast. But, what good would it have done knowing she'd be hung out to dry without proof. She needed evidence to sink those scum to the depths they'd belonged, and she wasn't about to leave empty handed.

Chapter Fifteen

The sun boasted a coral reef sky, as the winds started to howl a fierce cry. Roman was startled for a second time when he'd thought he saw Danielle. But, it was just a fashionably chic woman in love, walking arm-in-arm with a young man.

Roman's eyes scanned the thousand acre park encircling the gardens, just like he had done hours before. He never left. Ever since their parting, he couldn't see his way back on course again. All that kept threading his mind were her silken hands in his, their juicy kiss, and the simple little way she'd managed to flutter her dreamy lashes, dropping his gut to its knees every time.

Tasting her pink peony kiss was the delicious highlight that had him quivering with every sultry image that leapt to his mind. Roman's romantic musings were starting to ruffle his nerves. He drew a long breath, as he slowly pushed a hand though his dark locks, reminding himself that he wasn't the man he had pretended to be for so long.

The cobblestone trail winded its way along the pond, sweeping gently rolling emerald lawns against groves of century year old oaks and silvery spruce evergreens. Neither friend nor foe could argue the beauty of an English garden. It was absolutely tranquil and gorgeous.

And now there he was, wearing his black angora sweater, donning leather and stylishly frayed jeans, his chestnut hair windblown, his eyes filled with tears. Roman leaned backward, still poised on the same deck chair, as he rolled his neck and shoulders, relaxing his stiff collarbone until relief shattered his bones.

Closing his eyes, his hands started trembling as he forced himself to unclench his muscles. He’d already been tense for so long. Ever since she’d left, Danielle was all that swirled his mind and emotions. At that very moment, his eyes rolled open as Danielle's silhouette laced a fluffy contour in the silver lining thickness of the clouds.

In his gut, he knew that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. He knew she wanted the kind of love that wouldn't turn its back on her or the tough times--a man that could live up to the word,
Trust
--always. The same sentiment he'd hoped she'd placed in him, rather than suspicion. 

Realizing a mirage of thoughts running rampant, he closed his eyes again and took in a few deep breaths to realize, what was his mind thinking and his heart feeling. What was his heart trying to tell him? His thoughts had enfolded him all across the garden. He couldn't escape them. No sooner than he could escape himself.

He couldn't stop shivering as orange, pink and blue sky quickly mingled cobalt. Wrapping his hands around his torso, he could have forced a smile. But, knowing she was out there somewhere in a foreign land alone drove him frantic.

As he'd observed the panorama, Roman kept an eye on the mesmerizing figment of illusion in the sky. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't realize the whispering of the hour.

Luckily his expensive handcrafted watch could find the time anywhere in the world. Because in that brief moment, he realized it was well past five o'clock this side of the continent. He bolted to his feet and ran his hands through his hair, not before rubbing his neck to release the day's tension.

"What have I done? What kind of man am I?" he murmured with a long sigh, as he stomped the edge of the beaten path. The trail spiraled at least a few miles long, and the immense acreage climbed a jigsaw. He knew it would be like finding a needle in a haystack, and thus-- a miracle.

Roman paused for a moment, and stretched his arms from the core as he watched the sun crest over the tops of massive oaks, sifting an auburn glow between their spiny branches. He could see several ribbons of ripples bubbling across the pond. As he focused closer, the glittery veil appeared to lace Danielle's mirrored reflection to his eyes.

He shied away with an ache in his heart. At that instant, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and huddled inside his leather jacket. His eyes still full of tears. This was the only place he could breathe and collect himself.

At that moment, he thought about how she'd made him feel, and his denial of wanting anything and everything but steady commitment. And then instantly, he knew what he had done. He knew why he'd shunned commitment and feared breaking any woman's heart. He swallowed, and then he felt his muscles suddenly stiffen again. Maybe it was his overactive imagination... Or maybe not?

The sun radiated a faint metallic in his peripheral vision, as he looked over his shoulder and saw a small piece of shiny metal blaring back at him. Conveniently, it was hidden behind a columnar shrub in the grass at the edge of the trail.

Roman squinted as he leaned in closer and ladled a thin round object in his palm. He examined it closer and noticed, "Oh, God... her mirror." Danielle's overpriced version of a compact mirror, with her initials, "D.P." finely cursived atop the beveled surface.

Suddenly, he'd remembered her luggage and bolted back to where they'd sat earlier. She'd left in such a hurry that didn't surprise him, although the fact that she hadn't come back for her valise-- worried him. His gaze came closer to the same ornate scrolling, "D.P." slicking the alligator texture.

Roman knew they both hadn't stopped at the hotel. He'd recalled when Danielle insisted that they hang out in the lovely weather for a while, although he had insisted they get going.
But maybe she's--
Before he had finished the thought, he'd remembered her flinging the hotel key to him in her all out rage. There were too many possibilities to consider, but one thing was for certain...

Instinct told him something wasn't right. He didn't have to find her compact or alligator valise to figure that out. Only would she ever want to see his face again after the way they'd parted? But would she have the hope to forgive him?

He drew a small breath, reminding himself that she was safe. That she'd probably been sightseeing and zoned out just as he'd been for hours. Although he'd frantically called her phone that kept going to voice mail, he didn't know if she just didn't want to talk and was screening his calls. But, for one thing-- he wasn't about to give up.

Roman groped his notched collar to his neck, and curved his shoulders as he made another quick call. The moon had begun to shadow the sun, as worry and panic targeted his nerves with a vengeance.  And a woman alone at this time of night in a foreign land didn't make matters any better.

But only one thing he was certain about-- was that Danielle could more than take care of herself.

Roman sprinted back toward the edge of the path, jostling the valises over his rippled biceps. As he weighted down the path and reached the edge of the cobblestone trail, his eyes widened and his mouth opened.

The valises rolled off his shoulders when he noticed a glint of rose behind a row of the darkest evergreen hedges. It popped at him under the streetlamp, as he pricked his arm on the bushes. "Oh, my god," he rubbed his temples, "What's her purse doing here?"

His gut clenched when he knew her brushed suede would've never left her side. An expensive hobo bag just lying around, electrified the frightening terror that nearly pummeled his nerves to a breaking point.

And now there she was, nearly hanging on for her life along the mast, her hands clutching the massive optic white aluminum like a paper doll dangling off a flagpole. Her heels were steady on the narrowed platform beneath her-- just enough for her slender body to take a spectator's position, as she stood zoning in on the scheme in operation.

Barton was still at the helipad as she'd struggled to watch from her towering perch. The wind was starting to pick up speed, as she propped herself against the icy metal. She'd felt every chill, slapping through the frayed rips in her jeans whipping across her legs, thighs and the curves of her butt cheeks.

Although, Barton and his crew were marked in scandal up to their eyeballs, she'd hit the jackpot if she could recover cash as evidence to link to her research, which she was certain Barton had in that metal attaché case that shellacked his side at all times. She'd already had the guts of a paper trail indicting them. But, Danielle knew these guys were no fools in finagling their way out of corruption.

Skirting from the fiends scathing clutches earlier had apparently wired her slender frame into a pliant surge of tenacity. That, coupled with defiance and guts to go plunging into the target with a solo defense, pummeled any thought of vulnerability.

"Oh no," she muttered, as the seven-foot-man pointed toward his own giant feet and mouthed a signal to Barton's pale expression. Barton nodded and stepped away from the helipad. Danielle could only assume they'd already noticed she was gone or either they'd been ready to board the other yacht.

Still, she had no idea how the helipad rendezvous played into the scheme.

Barton had apparently signaled a check of Danielle's whereabouts, contacting the beastly brute that had evidently returned to his post outside the cabin door beyond her notice. When suddenly, he'd raised out from the lower decks daggering his meaty finger below deck, just before he'd said, "Gone." The one word roared so loud in her ear, that she'd spun on the mast, nearly losing her grip.

Barton daggered his eyes, "What?" His frown mounted the scowling that echoed the boundaries of the yacht.

As the brute stomped closer to the stern, he confirmed in his gravelly voice, "The lady's gone."

Oh, God
. Danielle heard the roar of a militia force pummeling the makassar wood. The sound of hurried footsteps spiraled louder and then echoed wistful calm beneath her moments after-- as if the quickly approaching steps had suddenly vanished.

For a moment, she suffered the intense feeling that maybe she'd gotten in over her head. Roman had cautioned her to let the experts handle it. But when did she ever listen-- instead of gambling with reason. She was crazy not to get involved, or was she?

But she was involved.

The whole mess infused her life in vapid stormy clouds. A storm she'd yet to come to terms with. This insidious invasion of her life jeopardized every mistake she'd made in defiance of her instinct.

Later, she would recall that feeling.

The wind was ruffling her jacket with fierceness, drawing her hair like silken ribbons to the sky. She could hardly breathe through its suction tunnel, drawing her towards its breath like a magnet, when suddenly she'd gasped in a burst of air that suddenly smacked her from behind.

"Ow! S---!" she said, as her eyes snapped shut the moment she reeled backward. She'd felt like a pound of bricks had just hit her while the frigid aluminum was starting to take its toll on her nerve already battling the in and out squalls.

She'd nearly caught her breath when another quick blast of wind had her fumbling for footing again. Danielle skated across the slick platform in an awkward crisscross motion, when she'd quickly grabbed hold of a metal pole attached to the mast.

Amazingly she'd held her grip that long, as the cognac still buzzed her veins swimming in reposed intoxication. There was little to see, as the sky was merely an illusion in her eyes from this climax, a blank sea of cobalt rather than star-filled opulence.

Danielle had no idea where Barton or his brutes were. Obviously, her concern was dangling a few inches from her-- The metal rod in her hand that was severing from its hinges. And then suddenly, her grip loosened, as the rod did little to break her fall.

As she boosted herself up from her elbows, she'd been careful not to catch her heel in the cord lighting that flanked the yacht in a dangling parade of lights. But then out of nowhere, she'd heard the sound of loud footsteps re-ignite. The quickening rhythm paced and spiraled nearer by the second.

Danielle knew one of the fiends was just yards away. They'd probably scoured the yacht. It had been a few minutes now. And this was one of the few places they'd never figure she'd have the nerve or guts to be.

She twitched the corner of her lip at the thought. Could she wait it out much longer?

"Whoa," Danielle said, blowing out a long breath. She'd closed her eyes, as her body spun against the mast like a paper doll, shellacking her glitter knit like wet spandex to her skin. Her pulse quickened while her heart began to run rampant.
Maybe the cognac was taking its toll
, she'd thought, as the exhaustion in her voice still fought the wind's dominance, grappling every ounce of strength within her.

Suddenly, another blast slapped her straight in the face. And then she was moving slower, her legs parted slightly. The pulse at the hollow of her neck throttled frantically as she bowed and spun around, grazing the aluminum. Danielle reeled back blinking, and then her eyes snapped shut with a vengeance-- as her breath suddenly compressed in her chest. Tears sprung to her eyes as she hit the deck floor, with a shaky uncertainty that she'd split her head in two.