Fraser, page 12
“You’re making breakfast.” She picked up the plates. He gathered the glasses.
Overhead, the stars blinked down at them, and for a moment, in the wind, he thought he heard the soft whisper of a voice.
He just couldn’t make out what it said.
Seven
“You’re not such a bad tagalong, Captain.”
What. On earth? She had practically flirted with the man.
Worse, she’d meant it. She liked having him around. Liked his bad jokes.
Liked his fierce focus.
Liked the man who wasn’t afraid to tell her the hard things.
Pippa sat in the darkness of Iris’s guest bedroom, the moon shining in along the wooden floor, dressed in her yoga pants and a T-shirt, staring at her phone.
Gunner still hadn’t texted back after her update. She’d finally sent him another text, telling him she was going to Portofino. It made sense, really.
If Creed hadn’t brought Imani to his family, maybe she’d bring him to hers.
Imani, where are you?
Pippa’s entire body longed for sleep, but her brain simply wouldn’t shut off. And it didn’t help that Fraser kept invading her brain. Fraser, helping her wash dishes, the simple task of wiping them dry and putting them away feeling so…easy. Fraser, sitting at the table, nursing his glass of wine, his arms folded across that too-amazing chest, looking at her with those pensive blue eyes as she told him about her father. “Pip.”
He’d said her name so softly it felt like a whisper in her soul, and the look in his eyes, compassionate—she’d felt it right to her bones. And then his words, spoken from a place where, honestly, he understood, given his own story. “Things happen. People get the drop on you, even on the best of days.”
Yes, they did. But she lived her life anticipating the what-ifs. Fearing them.
And now she was living inside it. But tonight, weirdly, she’d stopped panicking. Stopped, really, thinking.
Just enjoyed dinner and the moonlight and a conversation with someone who didn’t look at her through the lens of judgment. “You’re not such a bad tagalong, Captain.”
She lay back on the bed, dropping the phone, putting her hands over her face. What was she thinking? Focus!
It was then that she heard it. Deep growls, the kind that emanated from inside someone’s soul. Or deep in their dreams.
She sat up, then moved off the bed to the door.
A shout, garbled—so not a word, but probably something important, trapped inside Fraser’s nightmare.
Hopefully a nightmare and not him taking down an intruder, someone who had followed them from Geneva.
Which seemed farfetched, but not impossible, because who knew what Imani was caught up in.
She ascended the stairs, and the growling persisted along with another shout, and by the time she got to the open door of the room, she knew.
He was fighting his memories.
“Fraser.”
He lay on his back, twisted in the covers, his shoulders moving, his body tensing, and the sound persisted, deep and feral inside him.
“Fraser.” She stepped closer, not wanting to wake him too fast.
He stopped moving.
She took another step.
“I’m okay.”
He pressed his hands to his face, sighed, then sat up. The covers fell to his waist. He was shirtless. Oh.
“The Boko Haram?” she said quietly.
His breathing came fast. “Yeah.”
“Shake it off. C’mon. Get up. I’ll make you some tea.”
He nodded, then turned, put his feet on the floor, and reached for his pants on a nearby chair.
She turned away while he put them on. “I’ll go—”
“I dreamed that Abu was here. That he took you.”
The floor creaked, and she turned back.
He was standing there in the moonlight, draped in shadow, and she got a glimpse of a toned midsection, the jeans low on his hips.
“Me?”
He made a wry face.
“Probably residue of the train crash.” She turned again.
“Don’t go.” The soft voice froze her, and she turned back. He still stood in shadow, but the starlight illuminated his face, his gaze on her. “Did Gunner text you back?”
Gunner? Gunner—who? No, she got it, but frankly, right now…somehow, she managed to shake her head.
He took another step closer. “We’re going to find her. I promise.”
She nodded, found his gaze. “I know.”
His hand slid down to hers, something in his eyes.
She felt his gaze shiver through her entire body.
Oh, no, no— “What are you doing?” she said softly.
“I’m not sure. I just…um…”
She couldn’t—no. Bad, bad idea. “It’s just the last thirty-six hours of crazy, right?”
He nodded slowly. “Right.”
“Right.”
But she’d taken a step toward him too.
He lifted his hand and pushed her hair back, behind her ear. “I like it down. It’s pretty.”
His touch turned her skin electric, and her breath caught.
“Pippa.” He drew in a breath. “Okay, yeah, maybe we need some tea.” He pulled his hand away.
Tea? No, she didn’t want tea.
In fact, right now, the only thing she wanted was—
“What’s that?” He grabbed her arms, holding her away. “Shh.”
She stilled and heard it too.
Someone was breaking in. As in, jimmying the sliding glass door, just like they had, given the scrape and popping sounds.
She sucked in a breath. “Someone’s inside.”
“And if it was Iris, she’d use her key.” He moved her aside. “Stay here.”
He was kidding, right?
He tiptoed to the door, then held out his hand to her, another stay here.
Which she refused to heed. Hello. He wasn’t the only one trained to confront trouble.
He scooted down the stairs like a deer, noiselessly, and then along the landing of the second floor. It overlooked the ground level, and indeed, someone had come into the house. A man, given the shape and size.
Fraser skulked along the landing, then headed for the stairs.
She ducked into her room, went to her backpack, and retrieved the stun gun.
A shout sounded, then a thump and another shout—she ran out, spied two men grappling. Hard to tell them apart in the darkness, but Fraser was shirtless, so that helped.
He was on top of the other man, who then decked him, a fist to the face.
Fraser fell off, and she pointed the taser at the attacker. This model had a fifteen-foot range, and she could put him down with just the…right…shot—
The attacker got up, towering over Fraser. “What’s the—”
Fraser hooked his feet around the man’s ankles—
She fired.
No, oh no—
The man fell, and Fraser jumped on him.
The prongs landed in Fraser’s back, and his entire body stiffened. He let out a shout, then fell back, his body convulsing.
“Fraser!” She threw down the gun and ran down the stairs.
“Fraser?” The other man stood up, staring down at poor Fraser.
Through gritted teeth, Fraser clawed at the prongs in his back, fighting the electricity that surged through him.
Then suddenly, his attacker turned him over and yanked them out.
Fraser let out a shout, but collapsed back, breathing hard, his entire body shaking.
“Fraser!” She hit the landing, not sure—
The man stood over him, kneeling, one hand on his chest. “Just breathe, bro. Just breathe.”
Bro?
Fraser reached up, grabbed his wrist. He still shook, although it had diminished.
“You’ll be okay. Give yourself a minute.”
He leaned up. “Jonas. What…are…you doing…here?”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
Jonas? As in his storm-chasing brother?
That seemed right, though. Similar build, same angular jawline, short hair.
“It’s a long story,” she said when Fraser simply lay back, breathing. She knelt next to him. “I’m so sorry.”
He looked at her. “We had…a deal.”
“I know. But you moved…” She looked over at Jonas. “Sorry.”
“No, I get it. Strange guy, breaking in. Great shot, by the way.”
“She was…aiming for you.”
“Was she though?” Jonas grinned, looked at Pippa and winked. “I think she put the right man down.”
“Get off me.” Fraser pushed Jonas away. Sat up, shaking his head. Looked at her.
So, gone was the heat she’d felt earlier. Or maybe replaced with a different kind of heat. “Seriously? I thought you were a sniper.”
“You’re a sniper?”
“Was.” She turned back to Fraser. “And you moved.”
“I didn’t know you were shooting at me! I told you to stay put.”
She blinked at him. “Right.” Shaking her head, she stood up. “That does help, mate. I forgot for a second who you were.”
He frowned, his mouth tight.
“Who is he?” Jonas said. “And who are you?”
“I’m Phillipa Butler, private security for the House of Blue. And he…” She stepped away as Fraser found his feet. “He’s Captain America.”
Jonas raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wrong.”
Fraser glared at him. Back to her. She held up a hand and headed to the kitchen. Turned on the light and grabbed a kettle and filled it with water.
“But what is the House of Blue?”
“It’s the royal family of Lauchtenland,” Fraser said. “She’s Princess Imani’s bodyguard.”
“Who?”
“Just…a girl. An important girl. That Creed has apparently run off with.”
Jonas let out a low whistle, and she turned on the water on the stove.
The two men stood there. Fraser still bare-chested—she blinked away the memory of them moments before, upstairs. Yeah, that was a close call.
Jonas wore a jean jacket, cargo pants, boots. But she was right—the two looked very similar, except for Jonas’s lighter hair. Fierce, bold, and painfully handsome.
Maybe she had gotten her aim right, because there wasn’t a hope of Fraser again looking at her the way he had upstairs.
Which was good. Very good. Because that guy was trouble. Distracting. Downright dangerous.
She turned to Jonas. “Her Royal Highness—and your little brother—are in big trouble. They’re implicated in a murder in Geneva and have been on the run since. And the longer they’re gone, the longer…” She drew in a breath. “We need to find them, and pronto.”
“Which brings you here?” Jonas said. He’d dropped a satchel inside the sliding door and now set it on the sofa.
“We thought maybe he’d come here. Which begs the question—why are you here?” Fraser pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. He bore a red mark on his jaw that he seemed to be oblivious to.
“I’ve been working in a town about an hour east of here, Brescia, but I’m headed out to Slovenia in a couple days, and I’ve been camping out here between projects.”
“And this is a thing—breaking in?” Fraser said.
Pippa couldn’t help but smile.
“I left my key here last time, so I thought I’d do dad’s trick.” He lifted a shoulder. “And it’s not really breaking in.”
Fraser looked at Pippa. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the kettle, now shrieking.
She took it off, grabbed three cups, and searched for tea. She found a tin of bags as well as instant coffee and set that on the counter.
Jonas walked over and grabbed the coffee, ladling in a heaped tablespoon. “So, Creed did what?”
She set the kettle on a hot pad. “He and Imani hit it off on a gondola ride near Mont Blanc. They went out to a club, and I’m not sure what happened. I think there was mention of getting ice cream—”
“Ice cream.”
“Imani has to have gelato wherever we go, so my guess is that it was her idea. But along the way, they got caught up in a murder—”
“A murder.”
“A nuclear physicist,” Fraser said, grabbing another cup. He, too, added coffee.
Americans.
Jonas took his cup to the table. “Creed isn’t the type to murder anyone.” He pulled out his phone and typed in something.
“What I said.” Fraser also joined him. She noticed the red marks on his back. “But he was seen running from the scene with her. And now there’s a BOLO out on him.”
“There’s more than that.” Jonas showed his screen. “Apparently your House of Blue has listed him as a possible kidnapper of Her Royal Highness Princess Imani.” The picture showed a formal shot of Creed in his track uniform, probably pulled from a college roster page. He turned back and flipped the screen. “Yeah, she’s cute.”
He turned the phone back around.
Imani. A paparazzi shot, taken in Athens. If he looked hard, he’d probably see Pippa standing not far away, trying to shoo away the photographers.
Imani didn’t have a huge following, but her fame was growing.
Pippa closed her eyes, pressed her hands to her face. Gunner, what are you doing?
“We’ll find her,” Fraser said softly, a hint of the man from upstairs.
Pippa nodded. Raised her head. “We’d better. Before the royal guards do. Because even if your brother is innocent, Gunner and his team won’t ask questions before they use lethal force to get her back.”
Jonas stilled, as did Fraser. He got up, walked over to the sink, and poured out his coffee. Then turned to her. “We leave at 0400 for Portofino. Get some sleep.”
Then he headed upstairs.
“Now, that guy I recognize,” Jonas said. “May the force be with you.”
Americans. So obsessed with their cinema. But yeah, that guy, the shirtless guy who didn’t back down from a fight…that guy she needed.
Exhaustion, the release of the adrenaline after being tased—again—shut down Fraser’s brain for a good three hours.
He slept like a stone, no more nightmares of Pippa being shot, her beautiful blue-gray eyes widening as he stood, unable to move, tied up and helpless as Abu held a gun to her head.
Yeah, no wonder he’d lost his common sense there when he woke to her standing there in the semidarkness. But she’d been the one to run into his room with her brown hair down, all wild-eyed and caring and—
He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up. The dawn had just started seeping over the far mountains, cascading onto the surface of the lake like molten fire. Ringing the lake, the mountains had turned purple, the place serene, an enclave.
No wonder Iris had settled here. In her busy, challenging life, she needed a place for a time-out.
Maybe that’s what the last twelve hours had been. A time-out. But now he needed to find Creed and get him to safety. And it did not include wrapping Pippa into his arms—and especially his life.
“You taking off?”
He turned, and Jonas was sitting up in a chair at the foot of his twin bed, reading on his phone.
“Don’t you sleep?”
“Most of my work is done in the middle of the night, so…no. I usually grab some shut-eye after breakfast, get up around three. You still snore.”
“No, I don’t.”
Jonas lifted a hand. “Sixteen years of sleeping next door to you. Trust me on this.”
Fraser scooped up a pillow and threw it at him.
Jonas batted it to the floor with a smile. “How are you, man? Dad gave me the 411 in Geneva. Said you came home pretty wrecked.”
“One day at a time.” He flexed his hand. No change. “Just trying to get back in the game, you know?”
“Because?”
He had reached for his jeans and now looked at Jonas. “Because it’s what I do. What I’ve always done. Who I am.”
“But maybe it doesn’t have to be.”
He said nothing as he buttoned his jeans, reached for his shirt.
“Dude, you were taken captive. By terrorists.”
“It’s the job.” Fraser tucked in his shirt, grabbed his socks.
“It was the job. But…maybe it’s time to switch gears.”
He’d sat down on a nearby chair and now looked up. “And do what? Make wine?”
Jonas shrugged. “Dad was acting sort of weird in Geneva.”
This stopped him. “What?”
“We had dinner with them, after Creed’s race. A couple times it looked like Dad wanted to say something, but Mom stopped him.”
“Really.” He sat back.
“Do you think he wants to sell the winery?”
No, that didn’t make sense. “He has this guy, Neil, working for him. He’s been working on new recipes for the La Crescent Gold, and the Marquette Crimson. Says they might be award-winning. I don’t think…no. It’s not that.”
Jonas nodded. “You’re probably right. It was just…something didn’t feel right.”
Fraser reached for his boots. “I’ll talk to Dad about it next time I see him.”
“By the way, does he know you’re over here in Europe, chasing after Creed? I mean—does he even know what Creed is in to?”
“Nope and nope, I think. Creed called me on a burner phone, so I don’t even know how to get ahold of him. And my guess is that he doesn’t have my number. Our call got cut off—I told him to find Ned. I think he did, but Ned’s off-the-grid, so…”
“You need help?”
“No. Pippa’s pretty capable.”
“Yeah, she is.” He laughed.
“Funny. Again, she was aiming for you.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Fraser got up, grabbed his backpack.
“What’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah. Right. I’m trained to look for weather patterns. Anomalies. To forecast storms and especially lightning strikes. From where I’m sitting, that strike has come and gone, and you’ve got some sort of storm raging inside.”
“No storm.”
“It’s Camy Simpson all over again.”
