“No.” Isabella wrenched herself away from Roseann. “I can’t leave him. He’s my only family. He’s all I have.”
“He’s not your father, Isa! He’s your boss, and he’s going to get himself killed someday by pushing it with the wrong people one too many times.” She gestured at the room full of tuxedos and glittering ball gowns.
As Isabel watched, Marcus’s right hand, Leon Pareil, walked up to Zack and said something. Even from here, she could see the bulge of Leon’s gun. He was Marcus’s enforcer, his best retriever, and the one man who knew every one of Marcus’s secrets and hidden chambers.
Leon was the one Marcus had always told her to go to if something happened to him, and she agreed. He was one of the few people on Marcus’s staff she felt comfortable with. But she knew he was deadly. There was an element of ruthlessness about him that made her shiver.
“This isn’t a home,” Roseann said, drawing Isabella’s attention back to her. “And this isn’t what you want.”
“It’s all I have,” Isabella said.
Leon looked her way and winked, and she waved back. His gaze flickered to her throat, and his face became utterly unreadable when he noticed the necklace she was wearing. Frowning, she turned back toward Roseann. “Marcus takes care of me. He keeps me safe.” From poverty. From being alone. From the ugliness her life would have been without him.
Roseann shook her head in dismay. “Oh, Isa, the last thing Marcus does is keep you safe.”
“Roseann!” The head of the kitchen staff, Opal Mascow, glared at Roseann from the doorway of the kitchen. Her black hair was pulled back so tightly she looked as if she were being tortured, and her thick hands were clenched by her sides.
“Gotta go.” Roseann threw her arms around Isabella and clung to her. “I love you, Isa. I’ll miss you so much.”
Isabella bit her lip to hold back the tears. “I love you, too.”
Roseann released her and ran for the kitchen, without looking back.
Isabella stared after her friend, grief welling in her chest. God, how could she let Roseann go? Roseann was like a sister. What if she went to Florida with Roseann? But the thought made her chest hurt. This was her home, the only place she was secure enough to believe she would never lose her place—
“Isabella.”
Oh, God. It was time.
She stiffened her spine as Marcus walked up to her. She brushed her hand across her cheeks to wipe off any evidence of the near tears. Marcus abhorred weakness, and tears at his birthday party would infuriate him. “Happy birthday, Marcus.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t smile, but he brushed his lips politely past her cheek, not quite touching. He never touched her. Ever.
With his jet-black hair, he was absolutely riveting in his tuxedo. His jaw was hard, his body lean, his eyes a vibrant blue, his posture erect. Marcus Fie resonated with wealth and power, with a ruthlessness that made people crumple before him. A few strands of silver at his temples were his only concession to age.
He nodded at the necklace dangling between her breasts. “I’m glad you’re wearing that.”
The jewelry had arrived at the office earlier in the day, and Isabella hadn’t had time to research it. Marcus had told her to wear it tonight, so she had. It had a large red stone in it, probably a ruby, and it was set in a swirl of gold tendrils cradling dozens of smaller stones of assorted brilliant colors, mixed with dozens of large diamonds. She was very curious as to its origin, and she was itching to have some time to research it. It was rare
for Marcus to go public with any of his acquisitions, and she wondered what was so special about this one to have prompted its display.
Then his eyes narrowed as they fell on her other necklace. “I told you not to wear that tonight. It’s not appropriate for someone on my staff.”
Isabella stiffened as she automatically covered her jewelry with her hand. The small turquoise pendant encased in engraved silver was battered and scratched from three generations of wear. It was the only thing she had left from her mother, and she hadn’t taken it off since she was seventeen. Not even for Marcus. “Yes, you did, but you know how I feel about it.”
He gave her a hard look. “Let go of the past, Isabella. You aren’t the girl you were when you came here.” He gestured at it. “That’s not you anymore.”
Her fingers clamped protectively over it, and she took a step backward.
His face immediately softened. “Hell, Isabella, don’t give me that look. I’m not going to forcibly remove it from your neck. Keep the damn thing if it makes you happy.” His blue eyes filled with the affection she was accustomed to seeing when he interacted with her. “I forget how emotional you are sometimes,” he said.
She knew he was thinking about the time he’d had the photo of her mother taken out of its original frame and reframed in a beautiful, expensive setting that had wrenched her heart from her chest. The frame and photo had been a gift from her mother, and Isabella had been devastated by the loss.
It had been the first and only time she’d ever seen Marcus apologize to anyone for anything, and he’d sent out his top retriever to find an old battered frame like the one he’d had thrown out. He’d found almost an exact
replica of the one she’d had, and he’d even had her mother’s name carved in the back, like her frame had had.
His efforts hadn’t healed the hole in her heart, but it had shown her a side of Marcus she’d never forgotten.
Marcus cleared his throat. “How is your research on my son going?”
She brightened. “I’ve found him. He changed his name to—”
“No!” Marcus held up his hand to silence her. “I told you, I don’t want to know the details. I just want you to be able to tell me that he’s okay.”
She sighed. Why wouldn’t he want to know how his son was? “He seems to be fine. He runs his own business.”
Marcus smiled. “Of course he would. Adam’s too stubborn to work for anyone else.” He nodded at the necklace. “He would appreciate that I finally found that. It was one of his special projects.”
Isabella narrowed her eyes at his direct comment. It felt forced. “Really? You want me to tell him we have it?”
Marcus laughed softly. “I would like to see his reaction to that news.” His smile faded and his eyes became sharp. “Has anyone else asked you for information on him? Have you told anyone about him?”
Isabella dropped her hand from her turquoise pendant, relieved Marcus had moved on to a new subject. “No, of course not. You asked me to keep it confidential.”
Marcus relaxed visibly. “Excellent. I knew I could trust you.” Then he tensed again. “You haven’t done any of the work on your computer, have you?”
“I haven’t saved anything,” she said. “But I’ve used
my computer to do some research, of course.” She frowned. “You think someone’s going to break into my computer and look for the trail?”
Marcus rubbed his jaw. “You use all the security safeguards, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” What was wrong with him? He was always careful, but bordering on paranoia wasn’t his thing.
He nodded. “Okay, that should be fine. But you let me know if anyone asks.”
Isabella began to tense up at his concern. “What’s going on? What are you worried about?”
He stiffened. “I’m not worried,” he snapped. “Everything is under control. I have someone I’d like you to meet. Be in my office in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.” Obviously, now wasn’t the time to press him. She’d save that for later. “Fifteen minutes?” She checked the time on the diamond-crusted watch Marcus had given her for her twenty-ninth birthday. It was only the second occasion she’d had to wear it, and she cherished it. “I’ll be there.”
Marcus did business whenever the opportunity presented itself, and it wasn’t a surprise he was using his birthday celebration to make a new deal.
“Excellent.” He started to turn away, and she touched his arm.
He looked down at her hand, and she dropped her hand, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry.” She took a breath, then handed him the jewelry box. “Happy birthday, Marcus.”
He smiled as he took the box, his blue eyes gentling ever so slightly. Her heart ached for more. He was a tease to her heart, hinting at softer feelings, but so rarely sharing them. “Ah, Isabella, you probably bought
that months ago, didn’t you?” His tone was softer now, the warm tenor reserved for late nights when they were alone and his guard was down.
The Marcus she alone knew, who no one else saw.
She smiled. “Maybe.”
“You would have liked my wife,” he said as he opened the box. “She always took such care buying presents for me.”
Isabella caught her breath, startled by his statement. He almost never talked about his deceased wife or their son, who’d taken off and disappeared so thoroughly eight years ago. “I’m sure I would have enjoyed her very much,” she said softly, desperate to open the door he’d suddenly cracked. “Do you miss her?”
Marcus said nothing. He was staring down at the bracelet.
Isabella peeked at the box. The inscription was facing up so he could read it.
She waited, her heart hammering.
A muscle ticked in his cheek, and he slowly traced his index finger over the words, as if breathing them in through his skin. There was pain in his brilliant blue eyes.
Raw, emotional pain.
The kind she had to chase down every morning when she first woke up and her defenses were down. The kind she’d sensed in him so many times but never actually seen. She lifted her hand to touch his shoulder. “Oh, Marcus—”
He snapped the box shut and handed it back to her. “In my office. Fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”
Then he turned and walked away.
Leaving the gift in her hands.
Stunned, she stared after him as he walked up to
Zack and gestured toward her. Did he want her to hold on to it for him? Or was that a rejection?
As Zack began to walk toward her, Marcus turned to look at her.
His eyes had become icy blue. Cold. Hard. Ruthless.
Never once had he turned that look toward her.
Never until now.
Dear God, what had she done?
Luke jumped out of the plane almost before he’d stopped it. The minute he stepped out, the freezing rain pummeled him. He had to hunch his shoulders against the wind to keep from getting knocked over. The roar of the river was deafening, and the black rapids were hammering at the edge of the beach.
Shit.
Sam Friedman, a client Luke had been flying for eight years, grabbed Luke in a big-ass bear hug. “Jesus, I’ve never been so glad to see your ugly mug, Webber.” His face was ruddy and drenched. His gray hair was plastered to his head, and his lips were blue with cold.
Luke managed a grim smile. “Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet.” He shot a grimace at the stack of equipment piled up on the beach. After spending twelve years as a scientist traipsing around the world doing research, Luke knew how important that equipment was to these men. But any additional weight would add distance to how long it took to get airborne.
A plane roared overhead as Cort came in for a landing. He left maybe twelve inches of clearance between the planes. Crazy fuck. With all of Luke’s money hidden…or tied up…in their business, he hated when Cort pulled shit like that.
Cort stopped next to Luke and leapt out. He was bundled up in rain gear, and his black hat was tight around his head. He was saturated within seconds. He didn’t bother to ride Luke’s ass for landing. Right now was about survival.
“Can you take two?” Luke asked. The three scientists had fallen silent, as if they’d figured out their rescue didn’t mean shit until they were in the air.
Cort glanced down the beach, and Luke could see his partner calculating the weight of the two passengers and the length of the beach, the speed of the rising waters and the odds of being able to come back in time for a second rescue. “Yeah.”
“Then do it. I’ll take the equipment.” Luke snapped his fingers at the scientists. “Six minutes to load the plane and then we’re going airborne. If you can live without it, leave it. Every pound counts.”
His clients were already running for their stash of equipment by the time Luke finished talking. Cort jogged over to help them while Luke jerked open the baggage compartment of his plane.
The rain was horizontal now, slicing through his pants like thousands of miniature daggers. Hail hammered into his cheeks. Luke leapt into the plane and grabbed the first box as one of the scientists handed it up.
The men worked in silence, hauling ass across the drenched beach.
Luke turned down three machines he knew would drag them to their death. Too damn heavy. One he knew was worth a couple hundred grand.
But his client had merely shot Luke a grim look and set it aside. Cort appeared and handed up a box. “Water’s getting higher.”
Luke nodded. “We have to call it.”
Cort gave him a nod and gestured to the scientists to climb on board. “You take off first,” he said. “You need the distance, and every minute steals you more space.”
Luke shook his head. “With two passengers, you’ll need more room as well. You’ve got two lives counting on you. I’ve got one. You first.”
Cort gave him a hard look, but then he nodded. “Done.” He turned and sprinted back toward his plane, shouting at his passengers to buckle up.
Luke swung down and latched the door, well aware of how lucky he was to have Cort as a partner. They’d both made the right decision for the clients, and there’d been no time wasted with asinine posturing about who should be the martyr and go last.
The job came first, not ego or accolades.
It was one of the things Luke liked about Alaska: people were too focused on survival and doing their jobs to be bothered with crap like killing each other off for financial gain. It was a world of basic humanity, of raw earth and honesty, and the kind of integrity that came with depending on others for food, water, companionship and survival.
He settled into his seat and began to strap himself in.
“Are we going to make it?”
Luke looked over at Sam, who had apparently chosen to put his lot with Luke. Of course he would. Sam was that kind of guy. Loyal. Luke appreciated that trait in a person. “Odds are on.”
Sam raised his brows as Luke began to taxi toward the end of the beach, following Cort’s SuperCub. “You ever lie to a client?”
“No.” Luke flexed his jaw. “Liars piss me off.”
Sam nodded and settled back in his harness. “Good. Let’s do it then.”
Luke flashed his friend a glance. Yeah, any wonder he liked this job? Scientists were too into their work to bother with anything but doing their jobs, and they comprised most of the lot he carted around. In addition, being in the air gave Luke freedom. If his past ever came after him, he could simply take to the air before they could track him, before they could try to leverage him by taking out the people he cared about.
Which was no one.
His job made it easy to live a life without connections. Cort was his partner, and he liked the guy, but he’d intentionally kept a distance between them. To protect Cort, and to protect himself.
If Luke had no ties, no one could be killed because of him, and he couldn’t be forced to do anything in the effort to keep them safe. Not that he expected anyone from his past or his dad’s circles to find him in Alaska. He’d made damn sure there was no way to find him, and after eight years of silence from that lifetime, he was pretty confident he was officially lost.
Cort’s engine roared, and the little plane took off down the sand. Luke circled around at the top of the beach, and he and Sam watched intently as the little plane rumbled down the inadequate runway. Closer and closer to the rock outcropping at the end of it—
And then it was in the air, the wheels barely skimming over the whitecaps. The plane was low, so low, but it was airborne and starting to climb.
Luke let out a breath. He knew Cort had been pushing it to take two passengers, but even with two bodies, his odds were still better than Luke with one passenger.
Sam had flown enough to know the bigger plane was the riskier ride, and yet he’d still chosen Luke’s plane.
Why? Because he’d put the safety of his younger teammates at a higher priority than his own, and Luke appreciated that.
Luke positioned the plane at the very end of the beach, so his rear wheel was actually in the water. Every last inch could make a difference.