Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) Page 6

  “Easy, Liberty,” he said. He seemed pretty unfazed given the chaos that surrounded us. He was in his late twenties, with thick blond hair and a nice suit that now had wet, black smudges all over it from the floor.

  “Let me go — they’re shooting! I have to tell my friends! We have to get John!” I tried to wrench myself away from him but he took both my hands and held them behind my back so I couldn’t move.

  “John will be fine,” he said and laughed. “Trust me. He loves this! And your friends will be fine. This will all be over in a minute.”

  “You’re hurting me,” I whimpered, and he relaxed his grip a little. Just what I needed. I wrenched my arms free and ran for it, into the smoke and the sounds of shouting.

  “Dammit! Get back here!” Blondie yelled, but I ignored him, ducking when he reached out for me, and booking it towards the center of the room.

  “John! John!” I yelled. I couldn’t see anything. There was smoke and people were everywhere, running for the exit, huddled on the ground. It was like a war zone. I heard more shots and I ducked again.

  “John, PLEASE!” I yelled again, this time huddled on the floor.

  A pair of big strong arms lifted me up and threw me over a huge shoulder. Unfortunately, it was the wrong shoulder. “Are you trying to get me fired?” asked Blondie, obviously annoyed.

  “Matthew!” yelled another voice. “Get her to the car! NOW!”

  I looked up and saw John sitting in the middle of the floor, tying up the guy who had grabbed me earlier. The grabber’s mouth was taped shut.

  “See you in a minute,” John called to me, cheerfully. I didn’t pass out then, like I wanted to, but I did close my eyes and stop thinking. I needed to. Today had to stop. It had been the craziest day of my life, and that was saying something.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the Road

  This is no car, I was thinking, looking through the window at the early morning sky, where there were still a few stars fading into the gray light. This is a tour bus. I was on tour with a group of suits with guns — and a kidnapping victim with olive skin, a firm grip, and a taped-over mouth. Darius was lucky in one respect: at least he knew where he stood. I had no idea if I’d just been saved or if I’d been hijacked.

  John was next to me, sleeping. His hand was on my thigh, which felt wonderful. I was torn between being thrilled that he had survived and that his hand was on me, and being petrified that he carried a concealed weapon, took prisoners cheerfully and had his hand on me — and that I liked it.

  I had no idea what had happened to Alex or the girls.

  Matthew was driving the bus. We were in the second row of seats behind him, where he had put me when we left the club. I had kept my eyes closed and ignored him when he put me down; I hadn’t been able to talk anymore. Maybe I was a little in shock.

  I estimated that there were ten other men on the bus, not including the prisoner, which one of the other guys had carried, fireman’s carry style, onto the bus. That was how Matthew had carried me out of the club. It must have been their signature move. I didn’t look at the prisoner when they carried him past me, struggling; I just looked through half-closed lids at his reflection in the window. His eyes were wild, searching.

  I didn’t know what to make of any of this.

  When everyone else had gotten settled on the bus John went up to Matthew. I was still pretending to be asleep so no one tried to talk to me or ask me to duck and cover. “Don’t ever let that happen again,” John said. He sounded angry. I knew he was talking about me.

  “I know. I won’t,” Matthew said. “She just wanted to get to you.”

  I squinted though one eye and saw John smile a little at this. Then he shook his head. “You’re going to have to take care of her if something happens if I get hurt. I have to be able to trust you. Do you understand?”

  Take care of me? I didn’t know what he meant, and I didn’t know if I should be pleased or petrified. I felt a little of both.

  Matthew was silent so I guessed he nodded. That’s when John came and sat next to me. He didn’t speak, just grabbed my hand and held it. Warmth spread through my body. Even given the weird circumstances, it felt wonderful. I felt oddly safe. Complete. When his breathing got heavy I figured he was asleep. I had never held hands with anyone before, never had anyone fall asleep next to me. I was afraid to move and break the spell.

  Eventually I had the nerve to open my eyes, to watch the sky as we drove through it, the mountains in the distance. A million stars, all laid out like a blanket. Like a map I knew I should be able to read but couldn’t. They were there every night, I mused, finally falling asleep, with John beside me. They were there every night and I wasn’t any closer to knowing what they meant.

  I only slept a little bit, and then I woke to the gray sky and the few stars left. Matthew was still driving, John was still sleeping.

  “Liberty,” John said and sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Um, I think so,” I said, and I realized then that I did feel okay, not shaky anymore, not sore or bruised.

  “You must need the bathroom.” When he said it, I realized it was true. “It’s in the back. Do you want me to take you?”

  “What am I, five?” I asked, and laughed. John laughed, too, and touched my face. I felt that warm heat spread through my body. I really wanted to kiss him. I had never felt like that about anyone before; but right then I understood the need. In that moment, I didn’t care if he had a concealed weapon and I really had to pee. All I cared about were the fading stars, the stark desert, his beautiful face.

  Of course I chickened out. I stood up to walk down the aisle. “Oh, wait!” I said, and plopped down in the seat opposite him, ignoring my bladder. “What happened at the club? Did anybody get hurt? Are my friends okay?”

  “The only person who got hurt didn’t get hurt enough,” John said, gesturing towards the back. “I spoke with Cruz. Everyone got out fine.”

  “I thought our passenger was friends with Cruz,” I said. “Does he know you have him?”

  John laughed. “We are being paid to babysit him as we speak,” John said. “Now, go have some privacy. When you get back we can talk about logistics.”

  I made my way towards the back of the bus, nodding at the guys who made eye contact with me. They were mostly young, in their twenties and thirties. They were all well dressed, although most of them had undone or abandoned their ties at this point. The hostage was in the third to the last row, seated next to the window, with two guys behind him, next to him and in front. He glared up at me with a filthy stare, hate in his eyes. I was glad his mouth was taped shut. I looked down until I made it to the bathroom.

  When I said this was a tour bus I was right: the bathroom would have been fit for a major rock band. There were granite countertops, a stall shower with ceramic tiles, and a huge gilded mirror. It was the nicest bathroom I had ever been into in my life. The soap smelled fantastic. Best of all was the fact that there were baskets full of new supplies on the vanity — toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, deodorant and some sort of organic cleansing wipe that probably cost a gazillion dollars and smelled like heaven. Nina would have known what it was. I used all of it and then fluffed my hair out. I felt infinitely better now that I had an empty bladder, clean teeth and organically wiped body parts. Now I just had to figure out what the hell was going on.

  I didn’t look at the hostage on my way back. It was barely six am and I’d been glared at enough already for one day.

  John was waiting for me, a patient smile on his face.

  “Nice bathroom,” I said, sitting across from him so I wouldn’t touch him and get all warm, fuzzy and confused again. I had finally gotten my thoughts together.

  “Don’t you want to sit here?” he asked, and patted the seat next to him. His eyes sparkled with mischief and he gave me a wicked smile. “It’s nice over here. I think you like it.”

  I had to laugh at him. “Not yet,” I said,
willing myself not to jump into his lap. “I have some stuff I need to figure out.”

  He sighed, leaned back in his seat and looked resigned. His tie was off and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. I could just glimpse the top of his tanned, muscular chest. I had to take a deep breath and close my eyes. I really needed to calm down. I was starting to lose it.

  “Okay,” I said, clearing my throat, trying to clear my head. “I have three questions to start with: (1) Why is Cruz paying you to babysit his friend while his mouth is taped shut? (2) Who are you, really? and (3) Where are we, and how fast can we get back to Vegas? I have to work at four tomorrow.”

  “Liberty is back to business, I see!” John laughed and rubbed his face, which was starting to show a little bit of scruff. Very hot scruff. I fought the urge to sit on my hands so I wouldn’t reach over and rub it.

  “How about some coffee?” he said, and when I nodded, trying to recover myself, he waved towards the back and a young guy with spiky black hair stood up. “Corey, can you get us two coffees, please? And some food?” Corey nodded and headed for the back of the bus, past the bathroom, to what I assumed was the kitchen.

  My stomach grumbled. Thank goodness there was food.

  “Okay, back to your questions,” John said. “I’ll address them in order — I’m guessing you’ll appreciate that.” He mock-rolled his eyes at me and I had to laugh again. “Number one, our taped-up guest is named Darius, and he is no friend of Cruz’s. Cruz has retained my company’s services to take Darius back east, to see if we can acquire any interesting information from him. We are to await further instructions.”

  I sat there with my brow furrowed. “You said you were in ‘acquisitions and repurposing,’” I said. “I don’t know what that means, but I remember you saying it. It intimidated me, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with kidnapping.”

  “That’s exactly why I say acquisitions and repurposing! No one knows it includes kidnapping.” He smiled again, but noted my disapproving look. “To answer your second question: I am really named John. John Carter Quinn. I run Quinn and Son Enterprises, which is my father’s company, of which he is the President and CEO and I am the Vice President.”

  “And?” I asked. “Your company does what?”

  “Well, it was true what I told you — acquisitions and repurposing. We acquire assets, like Darius,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the back, “and we repurpose them.”

  Just then Corey showed up with a tray filled with large mugs of steaming coffee, cream, sugar, croissants, scones, bagels and cream cheese. My stomach howled and I felt a blush starting. Just perfect.

  John pulled down a tray table from the seat in front of him, reached across the aisle and did the same for me, and started serving us both. “Corey, like me, is a Retaliation Operative. All of us are. We are hired by private clients and sometimes the odd government to capture assets.”

  Corey nodded and walked quickly towards the back. I made myself take a sip of coffee. Black. Normally I took cream, but I needed as high a concentration of caffeine as I could get right now. My stomach growled again and I shoved some croissant into my mouth gracelessly. I couldn’t be worried about how I looked eating while I was being told that my first-ever love interest was some sort of bounty hunter.

  “And the repurposing?” I managed to whisper out, past my croissant. I was starting to worry about what that might mean.

  “It’s not what you might think,” John said sympathetically, generously spreading raspberry jam on a blueberry scone. “Well, sometimes it is. But we only take cases that we believe in. We screen them carefully. The cases we accept involve what we believe is a real injustice, where the asset has done something really wrong. So we believe that punishment is necessary.”

  I finished chewing before I asked my next question. “What about just leaving it to the proper authorities? The police? The FBI?”

  “We don’t interfere with their work,” John said. “We take cases that they might not be able to prosecute for various reasons, and also cases where they can’t properly make arrests. Clients come to us when they can’t find justice through the normal channels.”

  I sat and finished my croissant, drinking more coffee. I had a lot more questions about this, but I wasn’t sure if he would answer them. I wasn’t really sure I wanted the answers.

  “As for question number three, we are in Colorado, heading east. Cruz has agreed to give you a paid leave of absence as part of his arrangement with us.” John smiled at me and finished his scone.

  “Colorado?” I asked. “Huh?” I shook my head, confused. “I have to work tomorrow. I don’t want to lose my shifts — and I have to pay rent at the end of this week,” I said, starting to panic. “I need to go home.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that,” John said, sitting back in his chair with his coffee. He looked gorgeous and relaxed. “Everything is taken care of.”

  He was starting to irritate me. He didn’t understand. There were no vacations when you lived paycheck to paycheck, and there were plenty of hungry girls in Vegas who would love my job.

  “I don’t want everything to be taken care of,” I said, my voice rising. I was becoming totally overwhelmed. “I want to take care of everything. That’s what I do. Not ride around in a tour bus with a hostage and a bunch of vigilantes.”

  The rest of what he had said was just starting to dawn on me. What had Cruz and John done, striking a deal involving me? Like I was some sort of trading card? Yes, I had held John’s hand. Yes, I had used my stripper pose on him. Yes, he had made me throb down there just by looking at me with those sexy eyes. None of this meant I was for sale.

  “You have the wrong idea about me, John,” I said, my voice loud. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression — but I’m not going to be some part of an arrangement where Cruz is paying me to be your escort.”

  I stood up. “I may be a stripper,” I yelled, “but I’m not a prostitute!”

  Then I turned and saw that the other guys on the bus were studiously not watching us, except Darius, who looked like he might be smiling underneath the duct tape. I quickly sat down.

  “No, no, Liberty! Of course not. You don’t have to say that,” John said, reaching across the aisle to grab both of my wrists and almost knocking all the food to the floor. The plates clattered but then settled. “Please.”

  Corey appeared with the tray and within a moment, everything was cleared away. I was still barely breathing.

  “Come here,” John said, and pulled me into the seat next to him. His eyes were pleading.

  “I would never think of you like that. I would never treat you like that, ever,” he said, and he pulled me to his chest. I stiffly let him hold me for a moment, then I pulled away.

  “You have to understand,” he said. “You’re a special case. I wasn’t just in Las Vegas for Cruz’s job.”

  I looked at him blankly. “I don’t understand,” I said, and despite the coffee, I felt tired. I wished I could go back to last night, when I hadn’t peeled back this next layer of madness. I wanted to go back to holding John’s hand before I knew he was a bounty hunter and God knew what else.

  “It’s complicated,” John said. “I told you that everything happens for a reason, and it’s true. It was no coincidence that I was in your club. In addition to Cruz, I was in Las Vegas for another client.”

  I shook my head, still not understanding.

  “Liberty,” John said, “I was sent for you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thinking of Jumping

  I froze in fear. If John was sent for me, that meant ... that meant I was an asset. An asset to be acquired and repurposed. That meant that I would probably be finding myself with duct tape over my mouth soon, being seat-mates with Darius.

  I looked around for help, an exit, anything. The pit in my stomach was fear, but there was a boulder in there, too. A big boulder of disappointment. I thought I’d meant something to John; de
ep down, that’s why I thought he’d rescued me and brought me here. Not because Cruz was paying him. And never in my dreams would I have thought that someone had paid him to capture me.

  “I thought you liked me,” I whispered, ashamed. To my absolute horror, I felt hot tears spill down my cheeks. I was an idiot beyond belief. A stripper, just one step up from a whore, believing in stupid dreams.

  John sighed and rolled his eyes back into his head. “You know, I am royally fucking this up,” he said. He pulled me onto his lap. Ridiculously, my body lit up like it was on fire.