Security (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Autumn stood outside the door to her apartment, the electronic key card in her hand. When they’d arrived at the building, and Smithson, the doorman, had greeted her at the entrance, it had felt unnatural and strange. It had only been a few days, but now she felt no connection with her own home.

“I’ll go in first,” Nathan said, taking the card from her shaking hand.

Grateful, she stepped back with Tawanda and let Nathan swipe the card then push open the door.

“I’ll make you some hot chocolate,” Tawanda offered as Autumn played with the catch on her purse.

“I…I don’t think I have any,” Autumn answered.

“Then I will go to the supermarket and get some. I don’t need iPhone to do that,” Tawanda said with a laugh.

Nathan began to methodically check every room, left then right, making sure they were clear. He opened up one door, and two faces shot up from under the duvet, scrambling to cover body parts.

“What the fuck? What the Hell are you doing here?” Juan questioned as he reached to the nightstand for his sunglasses.

“I could ask you the same question,” Nathan retorted as he watched Janey fastened a silk robe around her body. “This is Autumn’s apartment, isn’t it? I thought she made her feelings about you perfectly clear the other night.”

Juan put his sunglasses on and snaked an arm around Janey’s shoulders.

Nathan shook his head and shouted, “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you? You cheat on her with her best friend, and the minute she’s out of the country, you move in.”

“And what about you
, huh? Aren’t you supposed to be her new guy? Some millionaire owner of a software company,” Juan scoffed with a laugh.

“Supposed to be?” Nathan queried, narrowing his eyes at the rapper.

Janey got out of the bed. “Juan, just shut up. I told you it was a mistake coming here,” she said.

“Yeah, you weren’t wrong about that. Get out,” Nathan ordered.

“I know who you are,” Juan stated with a self-satisfied smile that spread across his face.

“Juan! I said shut up!” Janey ordered.

Nathan ripped his gun out of its holster and aimed it at Juan’s head.

“What the fuck?” Juan said, his hands in the air.

“Get out of the bed and get up against the wall,” Nathan yelled.

“What? Come on, man, I’m naked,” Juan protested.

“Get out of the fucking bed now! And you!” Nathan pointed the gun at Janey. “Get over there with him!”

She
let out an exasperated sigh. “This is ridiculous.”

She was annoyed, but unafraid, an unusual response for someone who had been threatened with a gun.

“Mr. Nathan!” Tawanda’s voice called from the hallway.

“Draw your weapon, Tawanda, and bring Autumn in here,” Nathan said, his eyes on Juan and Janey.

“Autumn’s here?” That was the first sign of shock Janey had shown in her tone.

“You sound surprised. Where were you expecting her to be?” Nathan queried.

“Nowhere, I...”

She stopped talking the second Autumn entered the room.

They were both there, in
her
king-sized bed. Not in Janey’s room, but in
her
s. Her ex-boyfriend and her ex-best friend, barely clothed, in her bed. The sight of them, and the thought of what they’d been doing, sent bile shooting up into her throat. She held it down, didn’t let the emotion show on her face.

“So, who’s the brains in this duo, Autumn? Him? Or her?” Nathan asked as he moved the gun from one person’s head to another.

“Mr. Nathan, put the gun down,” Tawanda said.

“What are you doing in my room?” Autumn asked Janey.

“Nothing, I was... I thought you were—”

“Who arranged the van and the men and the bungled attempt to take Autumn in Michigan?” Nathan demanded.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Janey responded straight away.

“Talking for him, are you?” Nathan hissed.

“What? What are you asking
them
for?” Autumn asked.

“Don’t say anything, Juan,”
Janey ordered, narrowing her eyes at him in warning. “Keep your mouth shut for once.”

“I should have realized it at the time. She was the first one you told about the party,” Nathan continued. “She arranged it all, including the amateur kidnappers.”

Autumn felt coldness sweep over her as she looked at Janey and Juan. Neither of them said anything. They just looked ahead, avoiding her scrutiny, no emotion on their faces.

“Somehow she knew about the threats to you, and she used that to her advantage. She was going to use you for more than a meal ticket. She was going to get her hands on a million pound ransom,” Nathan carried on.

“What exactly are you saying?” Autumn stuttered, then started subconsciously counting up on her fingers. “Those men who came for me weren’t part of the terrorist group?”

Nathan sneered. “No. They were men arranged by Janey and Juan. They’d planned to kidnap you for money. So, which one of you is more broke?”

She settled her eyes on Juan, remembering his desperation for a big record deal. “He is,” Autumn said, her voice shaking.

She looked at her ex-boyfriend. His bald head was lowered, and his naked, tattooed body shivered with the cold. Then she looked to Janey. Her head was held firm, and she met Autumn’s eyes, unashamed.

“They killed Blu-Daddy,” was all Autumn could manage to get out of her throat.

“Mr. Nathan, we should leave,” Tawanda suggested. “We should go somewhere else, a hotel or something.”

“You killed my friend,” Autumn said. Tears filled her eyes and she struggled to keep them in check.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Juan blurted out.

“Juan!” Janey exclaimed.

Autumn flew at Janey, dragging her away from the wall and down onto the floor where she began to pummel her with blows.

“You bitch! How could you do that? You’re a murderer! You killed my friend!”

Nathan grabbed hold of her arms and pulled her away.

“Blu-Daddy wasn’t your friend!” Janey swore as she straightened herself up. “You don’t have any friends, Autumn. You have acquaintances. People you talk to now and then, who use your fame to get what they want. No one likes you. No one wants to be friends with you, unless you can promise them a re-tweet on Twitter.”

Nathan pushed Janey back against the wall. “Shut your mouth,” he ordered.

“Autumn, babe, I needed the money,” Juan began. “You know I needed the money, and Janey, she said—”

“Tawanda, get me something to tie them up, whatever’s handy—rope, tape, couple of flexes from the bedside lamps. You choose,” Nathan said.

Shivering, Autumn left the room and went out into the hallway. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, something else happened that sent her reeling again. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t think, let alone comprehend what she had just found out. All those wasted years of so-called friendship with Janey, all those months with Juan. What was it all about? They put her life at risk for money. Money!

Tawanda put a hand on Autumn’s shoulder. “Listen,” she said, “what that...that excuse for girl say, it isn’t true.”

Autumn shook her head, her eyes still closed. She knew what Tawanda was going to say, and she didn’t want to hear it.

“We will find a nice hotel, a very nice hotel, and we will get you nice hot bubble bath,” Tawanda carried on.

“What she said is true, Tawanda. I don’t have friends,” Autumn said robotically. “I had her, Janey. She was my closest friend, and look what she wanted to do to me.”

“You are not to worry about people like her. She has a bad heart, a bad, black heart, and she will get what she deserve
s.”

“Oh Tawanda, what a mess! What a big, horrible mess.” Autumn opened her eyes and wiped at them with the sleeve of her dress.

Nathan appeared from out of Autumn’s room, brushing his hands together.

“Right, shall we go? I thought the Marisson might be appropriate,” he stated.

“What are you going to do?” Autumn asked.

“Book us some rooms and organize food.”

“I meant, with them, in there,” she said, indicating her bedroom.

“Bound and gagged. Thought we could call the police on the way out. Is there anything you need?” he asked.

His manner was so cool, like this sort of thing happened in his life every day. Of course, it probably did, and it had become part and parcel of her life every day since she had been with him. What did she need? She looked into the lounge, saw the huge television, the leather sofa, the Jo Malone candles, and a rug she had paid almost five-thousand pounds for. What was by the window was the only thing she wanted.

“Just my keyboard. We don’t have to bring the stand. Can you carry it?” she asked him.

“No problem,” he replied, putting his hands together and flexing them.

Chapter Thirty

There were paparazzi outside her apartment when they’d left. She’d dipped her head, let Tawanda and Nathan shield her from the flashing of the camera bulbs. She wasn’t in the mood to pose or pout. She just had to be photographed. The kidnappers would know where she was from that
, and from whatever message her mother was going to pass them. That would be enough.

Once in a suite at the Marisson, she got her first chance to reconnect with the world. She ordered three different newspapers and read them from cover to cover before passing them on to Tawanda for the crosswords.

Blu-Daddy’s memorial service was scheduled for the next day. It was being held at an evangelical church across the city, near his home, with a private burial afterwards. Just seeing his photo and details of his death there in black and white made it all come home to her. His death was her fault. Greed and envy for the life and money she had had caused it, not terrorism, not evil, just money-hungry fools she’d brought into his path. How was she going to live with that?

He put the bottle of lager to his mouth and took a large mouthful. He was tired. It had been a long flight, and the jetlag was kicking in, but he needed to stay alert. He was mad. Mad with himself for not realizing that the first attempt to snatch Autumn had been nothing but a PA and boyfriend making the most of a shit situation. It had been so slack, so unprofessional, he should have seen it. As-Wana was a tight unit. They left nothing to chance. They weren’t the drawing-up-in-a-van-in-public sort of organization. They were slick and careful. The fracas outside the Ricardo Hotel had been anything but slick, and it had caused the death of an innocent. He blamed himself for that, and he regretted not being able to do anything about it, especially when he saw Autumn’s expression drop every time her record producer’s name was mentioned.

He picked up the remote for the television and began flicking through the channels. He couldn’t concentrate and really needed to sleep, but his mind was working overtime, wondering what was going to happen next and how this was all going to pan out.

And then he stopped on a channel as a familiar face came into focus on the screen. It was Autumn, her music video for her biggest hit
“Walking Away,” the song she was to perform at the International Music Awards.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the television, watching her flirt with the camera and the male dancers, her costume changes, the dance routines. It barely resembled her. This person on screen was thinner, sharper, confident and assured. The person in the room next door was a shadow of that, but not necessarily worse for it. The Autumn he’d grown to know was vulnerable, yes, but lately, she had shown an inner strength, strong values, a fierce loyalty, and a desire to do the right thing. She was a good person who had been blighted by her life in the spotlight, but underneath the outer shell of Miss Showbiz was a beautiful woman—a beautiful, intelligent, brave, and perceptive woman.

There was a knock on his door. He got up and approached it, looked through the peephole then unfastened the lock.

“May I come in?” Autumn asked.

He moved the door open a little farther and let her enter.

“Tawanda’s asleep, and I didn’t want to be on my own,” she stated, putting a bottle of champagne and two glass flutes down on the dressing table.

Nathan eyed the alcohol. “Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Room service,” she said as she kicked off her shoes. “It’s the cheaper stuff. The best bottle they have is over five hundred pounds, and...well, it seemed extravagant.” She sat on the bed and tucked her legs underneath her. She looked at the television, saw herself on screen, did a double take
, then looked to Nathan. “You’re watching me,” she commented.

“I couldn’t find anything. I was channel hopping and it came on.”

“Turn it off,” she said with a sigh.

He picked up the remote and switched it off.

“Shall I open this?” he asked, indicating the bottle.

She nodded.

He tore the foil from the neck of the champagne. “I heard you playing earlier, the keyboard,” he remarked.

“Tawanda wanted me to,” Autumn admitted. “She made me. I’d been sitting at it not knowing what to do for twenty minutes, until she came out of the bathroom and demanded a song.”

“Things are unsettled, but they’ll get back to normal when all this is over,” Nathan said.

She locked eyes with him. “Will they?” she asked. “Because that sounded like a line you’ve trotted out to potential kidnap victims over a number of years.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, grabbing hold of the cork and ripping it out of the bottle. It popped, and he quickly aimed it into one of the glasses.

Autumn looked into the mid-distance. “It’s Blu-Daddy’s memorial service tomorrow.”

“You want to go?”

“Yes, of course I’m going. I need to be there, for him and for his family. I have to tell his wife how sorry I am.” Her voice came out firm and determined. She held her hand out for a glass just as Nathan finished pouring.

“Then we’ll go,” he told her, passing it along.

“That’s okay?” Autumn queried.

“We agreed, things go back to normal, and we wait for whatever’s going to happen.”

She nodded and took a sip of the champagne. It fizzed on her tongue, slipped down her throat, and left her with a warm feeling all over.

“You never talk about yourself. I don’t know anything about you,” she said. The alcohol gave her the confidence to ask.

“You want to talk? We could run through a few do’s and don’ts about being safe in public for tomorrow,” he suggested, avoiding the question.

“I want to talk, but not about kidnap plots or politics or pop music. I want to know about you.”

“Come on
, Autumn, that isn’t how it works,” he said and downed his glass of champagne then picked his beer bottle back up.

“It isn’t how what works? Conversation?” she asked. “It is. You said I was bad at it. Well, Mr. Regan, you’re worse.”

“I’m not allowed to tell you anything about anything.”

“About missions and secrets and hit lists and terrorist activities, no, maybe not. But I don’t want to know any of that. I want to know something about you.
” She pulled in her stomach, held a breath. “Tell me about Marie.”

At the mention of her name, Nathan’s expression froze, and he stood still, like a sentry on guard. It was as if the mention of the name had sent him into some sort of quantum leap. Then, after the moment had passed, he moved. He put down the beer bottle and re-filled his champagne flute.

“I know she’s your wife. Tawanda didn’t tell me. I just guessed, from the tattoo and from other things she said.”

He reached for his wrist and ran a finger over the inscription there.

“She isn’t my wife...wasn’t my wife,” he said, his words charged with emotion.

“Wasn’t?”

“Why d’you want to know, Autumn? What’s Tawanda actually said to you about me?” he questioned, his eyes wild.

“I...nothing. She’s said nothing. I just—”

“My wife’s dead. She died five years ago.”

The words hung in the air, like a barrier between them, and Autumn didn’t know what to say. He paced back and forth across the expensive Marisson Hotel crest-emblazoned carpet. It was then she noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes. He creased up his feet as he walked, as if making contact with the fiber helped him somehow.

“I’m sorry,” she offered. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not a secret. You can’t keep something like that a secret. I just don’t talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it,” he made clear, stopping and taking a drink of the champagne. As he held the glass, his hand trembled.

“How did it happen? Was she ill?” Autumn asked.

“Fucking hell, Autumn, which bit of I don’t talk about it didn’t sink in?”

“Sometimes talking about it helps.”

“You think so? You don’t think I’ve had people a lot more qualified than you try to get me to talk about it? Talking doesn’t help. Trust me,” he spat.

“
They
can’t help. I agree with that.
They
think they know you because they’ve seen countless others in a similar situation. You’re just a case to them. They don’t know
you,
and they don’t want to know you. They just try to fit how you feel into their charts and theories,” Autumn said.

Nathan snorted in agreement. “Tell me about it.”

“No, tell
me
about it,” she suggested.

She watched him flex his feet into the carpet. The idea of speaking about something that was obviously painful to remember, let alone talk about, flitted across his face.

“I can’t,” he answered and let out a breath.

“Whatever happened, it hurt you, and it’s still hurting you.”

“Do you want a fucking white coat? You’re sounding just like them,” he told her.

“I’m not like them.”

“Don’t like me, Autumn.” He put his glass down. “I don’t want you to like me.”

“Why not?”

“It just makes things complicated, and things are complicated enough right now, aren’t they?”

“I do like you,” Autumn admitted.

She held her breath. He was a few yards away from her, but she could feel him. His presence was close, she could sense his heat.

That feeling was there again, not just in his groin, but in his stomach, knotted up as he tried to ignore it, push it away. She sat on his bed, her legs tucked beneath her, the cheap dress she’d brought with her from Michigan barely covering her thighs. He wanted to take her in his arms and rip the dress off her, have her sun-kissed skin pressed against his. He remembered how she tasted—sweet, soft, vanilla. He tried to control his breathing, tried to avoid directly looking at her, but it was impossible. He shouldn’t feel like this about her. She wasn’t his type. Did he even have a type? All he knew was, she wasn’t Carolyn.

She wished he would say something, but she knew he wasn’t going to. She could see he was struggling with just being in the room with her now. No matter what they’d both said, being intimate together had changed things. She was even more attracted to him, and she knew he felt the same. She could see he felt the same.

“Tomorrow, theoretically, we both could be dead,” she said, breaking the silence.

“That isn’t going to happen,” he responded.

“But it could, theoretically speaking.”

“I don’t think that way.”

“No, I know, but what I’m trying to say is, this could be it, for both of us. This could be it, here tonight.” She slowly uncurled her legs and edged herself across the bed.

“Don’t do this, Autumn.”

She stood and stepped toward him. “What are you afraid of?” she asked.

“What am I afraid of?”

“Yes.”

She stood facing him, so close her chest almost touched his. She could feel the heat radiating from him now. His skin was aroused with color, and she could practically feel his heartbeat.

“I can’t be all you want me to be,” he stated in no more than a whisper.

“What do I want you to be?” She reached out to touch him. Her fingers opened the first button of his shirt, the tips of them touching his skin, before moving down to the second button.

He closed his eyes. “This can’t turn into anything. There’s no future in it,” he told her.

“We might not have tomorrow,” she answered, parting his shirt and easing it down off his shoulders.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked as she pulled the shirt away and discarded it.

She didn’t answer him, but moved her hands across his chest, his abdomen. She found the scar on his left-hand side and stroked her fingers across the jagged skin.

“What was it?” she purred.

“Knife wound, a Russian,” he responded softly.

Her hands moved to a circular mark near the middle of his stomach. “And this?” she asked.

“Bullet, Iraq.”

A smile formed on Autumn’s lips. “See, Mr. Regan, you can talk about yourself.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s enough talking now, don’t you?” he asked, feeling her pull at his belt buckle.

She met his eyes then responded, “Oh, yes, quite enough talking.”

The thin material of the dress ripped apart in his hands as he tore it from her. He let out a groan as he saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her breasts were fully exposed right away, the nipples peaked and hard, as if waiting for his touch. He paused, admired her beauty, watched her shiver in anticipation, naked, longing.

She took hold of his hands. “Nathan,” she pleaded.

He placed a thumb on one of her breasts, and, with a feather-light touch, began to circle the outside, slowly moving closer toward the center. He moved his mouth to her other breast and unhurriedly began to moisten each inch of skin with his lips.