Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 3

  She pulled off her heels, tossed them and her clutch onto the stone balcony of the adjacent suite some four feet to her left.

  No Jimmy Choo got left behind.

  She hiked her skirt all the way up to her waist and grabbed onto the vine creeping up the side of the building to have an anchor as she stood. It wasn’t that far of a jump, but it was high enough to make her stomach pitch. And she had to be quiet, because for all she knew, Wenck had rented this next-door suite for his staff. She heard movement in the bedroom behind her—that Wenck was premature was not a surprise.

  She leaped the gap and grabbed the banister, her breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh as rough stone grazed her fingers. She gripped tight as she found her balance, then swung her leg over the railing as Cecil started calling her name. The balcony doors to this room were open, so she snatched up her belongings and ducked inside, remaining hidden behind the flimsy drapes. She froze when she heard Cecil come out onto his balcony looking for her.

  “Where are you, you conniving, bloody bitch?”

  She held her breath, sensing his presence even when he stopped cursing her out. His anger was palpable—a man not used to being thwarted. Her heart hammered in reaction to everything that had happened. As soon as he was gone, she’d jump to her balcony, one room over, and lock the doors until morning.

  Strong arms wrapped around her, trapping her arms at her waist and covering her mouth, pinning her against an unyielding, male body.

  Panic seized her heart. Oh, god, no. She knew what happened next. She wasn’t sure she could stand it.

  She began to struggle, but she didn’t even begin to break free of the man’s iron grip. She kicked out behind her, but her bare feet made little impact.

  A voice whispered softly against her ear, “Quiet, or he’ll realize you’re in here.”

  She stiffened, then sagged in relief. She recognized the voice of the tall, dark-haired federal agent who’d given the keynote lecture, the same guy she’d seen in the bar earlier. Quentin Savage.

  Those strong arms of his released her, and she reached out for the wall to steady herself.

  Savage was staring at her with those intense, dark eyes she’d noticed in the bar. His features were too sharp for him to be called pretty, but he was utterly compelling and fiercely attractive. He gave her a slight smile of calm reassurance before sauntering outside onto the balcony and casually lighting a cigar.

  How had he figured out what was going on so quickly? Was he spying on the billionaire in the next room? Or was it the logical conclusion from the fact she’d obviously escaped Wenck’s clutches via the freaking balcony?

  Sweet aromatic smoke drifted toward where she remained immobile next to the wall, trembling. Adrenaline probably. Not fear—not anymore. Somehow being in the FBI agent’s company made the fear evaporate.

  “Is there a problem?” Savage asked Wenck in an unruffled voice. His tone held a different kind of arrogance to the scumbag Australian, one drawn from lawful authority rather than greed and power.

  “Yeah right, mate,” Wenck replied in irritation. “Just taking in the view. How ya going?”

  Haley wondered if Savage could hear the underlying anger and suspicion in Wenck’s words.

  Duh, he was a hostage negotiator. Of course, he could hear it. Words were his bread and butter, his currency.

  Haley looked around. A single bedside lamp lit Savage’s room and showed her the massive four poster bed—similar to the one she’d been sleeping in—surrounded by mosquito netting. The furniture and layout were similar to that of her room, but Savage didn’t have a sitting room. There was a gorgeous antique chaise and a giant sweeping fan that stirred the air like a lazy hand trailing through water.

  His carryon luggage was open on a chair beside the bed. It looked like he was packing to leave, even though the conference wasn’t officially over until tomorrow at noon.

  She heard a door bang as someone entered her suite on the other side of the wall, and her bottom jaw dropped. Son of a bitch! Wenck must have bribed one of the hotel staff for a key or used a social pretext to get inside her room.

  Fury washed over her. That they thought she was some sort of object to be taken and possessed. A thing to be used by men who figured they were powerful enough to do whatever they wanted without consequence.

  It wasn’t the first time. Old shame reared up inside her in a rush.

  After a minute or so, the door to her room slammed shut. Haley tensed. Would they break in here too? She edged behind the velvet drapes in case the baboons were foolish enough to trespass on an FBI agent’s domain—the way she had.

  Savage spent a full ten minutes out there, unhurriedly smoking that expensive cigar and chatting to Cecil Wenck, never hinting he knew a woman had run away from the man only moments before.

  Haley retrieved her cell from her clutch and turned off the recording app. Had it captured his threats? Would the words without the actions be enough to convince people she’d been in real danger? She wasn’t sure. She needed to listen and think. To figure out how to handle the traumatic incident. She texted Alex and Dermott that the meeting had been a bust. She didn’t want them to worry.

  Savage’s tone never changed as he made small talk that drew information out of the rat bastard like toothpaste from a tube. Wenck was married with a young daughter. Savage said he didn’t blame the man for not bringing them to this country, even though it was relatively safe at the moment. Religious extremists, small pockets of revolutionaries, corrupt officials, pirates were always active. The Fed made it sound like a hot bed of terrorist activity, which, considering they were staying in the height of colonial luxury, seemed a stretch.

  “Want to join me for a nightcap?” Savage asked, finally stubbing out the cigar into a handy plant pot.

  “Nah, mate. I appreciate the offer though.” Wenck sounded genuinely regretful. Savage had charmed the beast. “Think I’m gonna turn in. Call the missus.”

  “Sounds like a great idea. Goodnight, Cecil.”

  “G’night, Quentin. Good talking to ya.”

  The Fed came inside and locked the balcony doors behind him.

  His eyes glittered when she stepped out from behind the curtain. She opened her mouth to say something, but he stopped her by placing a finger on her lips. The move felt shockingly intimate. He smelled like tobacco and tropical paradise.

  “Keep it to a low whisper, Ms. Cramer,” he murmured. “The walls are thin, and my badge carries no legal authority here.”

  He stepped back.

  She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, which were now covered in goosebumps. “Thanks for helping me,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry this happened. If you give me a few minutes, I’ll head back to my room.” She pointed at the wall behind the enormous bed.

  “That wouldn’t be smart.” He didn’t try to stop her though. He headed to the bathroom, and she heard him wash his hands and brush his teeth.

  He came back into the room and flicked on the TV, leaving the volume low enough to provide soft background noise. He poured two glasses of scotch and carried one over to where she stood like a mannequin against the wall. He held out the glass.

  She took it, their fingers brushing but both pretending there hadn’t been that little shock of electrical activity that woke up all the dormant nerves in her body.

  “I really am sorry.” She sipped the amber liquid, grateful for the warmth that flooded her mouth and spread down her throat as she swallowed.

  “Did he hurt you? Do you want to press charges?” His dark eyes burned.

  She heaved out a sigh and finally moved away from the window. She sat on the edge of Savage’s chaise. “He invited me to his room to discuss business and then made it quite clear I wasn’t leaving until I fulfilled a few sexual services, after which my company would win the contract up for tender, and we’d all be happy.” She grimaced, and nausea burrowed deeper into her stomach.

  “Did he touch you?” Savage’s eyes
were obsidian, gaze like a razor blade.

  “When reason failed, I let him kiss me to give him the impression I agreed to his proposition.” Did that mean it was her fault for leading him on? It had been a survival mechanism, pure and simple.

  Wenck had scared her, more than she wanted to admit. She sucked in her bottom lip. She’d been a fool to trust the man. “I’m sure you think I had it coming to me for being so naive as to go to his room alone.” It was hard to contain the resentment that spilled over, or the past that had shaped her.

  Savage sat heavily beside her on the chaise. “Because you’re a beautiful woman who wears heels and lipstick in a way that makes men fantasize about sex?” He gave a short huff of a laughter. “Pretty sure that isn’t illegal.” His voice firmed, even though he spoke barely above a whisper. “Attacking and trying to force someone to have sex with them is a crime. You are an American citizen, and I’m a federal agent. Do you want me to initiate a report and investigation?”

  Lamp light struck that angular face of his, emphasizing the perfect bone structure. A heavy five o’clock shadow formed on his jaw, suggesting he probably needed to shave daily. The dark brows and sharp slice of a nose spoke of natural authority. Soft lips hinted at something more sensual.

  She blinked, trying to concentrate on what he’d said. It was difficult. Her thoughts were jumbled. The fright Wenck had given her had her second guessing all her actions, which in turn made her angry.

  Did she want to report Cecil Wenck to law enforcement? Sure she did. Did she want to go through hell and get her company blackballed? Hell, no. “Aside from some ugly threats and that disgusting kiss, nothing much happened.”

  “Enough to have you leaping across a balcony thirty feet up.” Savage sipped his drink casually, although the energy he gave off was anything but relaxed.

  “I’d rather not go through the wringer of making an official complaint.” She had the audio recording to use as a safeguard should Wenck decide to try and smear her name. But what if he did this to someone else, and she didn’t try to bring him to justice?

  She bit her lip. She didn’t know what to do.

  “I understand. The process isn’t easy—”

  A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

  Those eyes assessed her critically. “He wasn’t pleased you got away from him and even though I de-escalated some of the anger, I suspect he’s a man who doesn’t like to be bested.” Savage glanced down at his drink and then back up. “You can stay in here tonight with me. You have my word you’ll be safe from any sexual advances. I highly recommend you leave with me on the first flight to Jakarta in the morning. How long will it take you to pack?”

  Haley’s head spun at the ramifications of what he was saying to her. She still wasn’t safe…

  She didn’t want to stay here with Savage like a fugitive, but she wasn’t dumb enough to head back to her room alone either—not if Savage thought it would be a foolish idea. The idea of running away pissed her off, but she wasn’t on home ground and had no idea how much pressure Wenck could exert on local authorities. Accepting help and leaving with a federal agent seemed like a smart idea.

  “I don’t need long, just a few minutes to throw everything into my case.” She looked down at her pretty dress. It was one of her favorites, but she’d never wear it again without thinking of Cecil Wenck and his repulsive proposition. She’d leave it behind and hope someone here got some use out of it. “I need to change.”

  Savage’s brows pinched together as he stared her up and down. “I can lend you some running shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in. In the morning, we can go quietly grab your belongings and come back here to get ready.”

  “There are thousands of women who might enjoy what he had to offer,” she said. “Why chase one who isn’t interested?”

  One side of Savage’s mouth twisted in a smile that held no humor. “We both know it wasn’t sex he was hungry for. It was power and domination. The thought of keeping you fearful and off-balance every time he saw you in a business meeting. Of repeatedly assaulting you. Of letting all the other guys in your sphere know that he was fucking you as if that would somehow make him more of a man.”

  Haley’s stomach cramped, and she thought she might throw up. Cecil Wenck would have gotten her firm on the hook with a contract and then attacked her every chance he got. That’s what he’d imagined, anyway.

  “We will not be taking that contract,” she said firmly.

  Savage looked unconvinced.

  “We don’t need it.”

  “But you wouldn’t mind shoving it down the throats of all your competitors?”

  The imagery conjured by those words had her shooting to her feet and dashing to the bathroom. Thankfully, she made it to the toilet before she threw up. Despite all the years of fighting for her place in this world, there were still people, lots of people, who thought she was nothing more than a walking sex toy designed for their pleasure. And that hurt. That really hurt.

  She sat on the bathroom floor, holding her hair back with one hand, waiting for her stomach to settle.

  Savage gave her privacy.

  Thank god.

  All these years, and she was back to this. It made her so mad, so angry. She spent a lot of time proving she was as capable and effective as any guy in this business. Proving she was an equal. Here she was running away and, worse, accepting help from the first man to cross her path. Fed—she corrected quickly. She was accepting Savage’s help because of his position, not because he was a guy. It was his badge and his professionalism that were the draw, regardless of his gender. Feds were supposed to help. Supposed to protect.

  She wiped her mouth and stood up to wash her hands. Her face was stark white except for her blood red lips. Her skin clammy. She used a tissue and some hotel soap to wash most of the makeup off her face, but she couldn’t get it all. She eyed the gold dress and was suddenly overcome with hatred for the vibrant material, the plunging neckline, thigh high slit and everything it represented.

  She needed to scrub away the feel of Cecil’s eyes and hands along with the humiliation of what she’d gone through. She wished she could go smack Wenck on the nose, but that would be foolhardy under the circumstances.

  She closed the bathroom door and eased down the zipper on her dress, stripping her underwear at the same time and tossing it in the corner of the room. She climbed into the shower, letting hot water wash away the shame and agitation of the ugly encounter.

  Savage would understand. She knew that without asking.

  Maybe she should be worried about the guy coming in here and helping himself, but she knew he wouldn’t. Did that make her foolish to possess such blind faith in another stranger? Or did it mean she wasn’t as jaded as she sometimes feared?

  She found a bar of soap and lathered her skin, used the hotel shampoo and conditioner on her hair until her scalp tingled. The words of that old song came back to her as she tried to remove even the memory of the man. “I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair.”

  She sucked in several deep, calming breaths so she didn’t laugh hysterically. She didn’t dare make a noise in case Wenck heard her and broke into Savage’s room. Then someone was going to get hurt and, no matter who it was, she didn’t want to be responsible. And maybe she would report the asshole once she got safely back to the States, but the idea of facing those people downstairs again if she did… Of admitting she’d bitten off more than she could chew and that Wenck had attacked her rather than treat her as an equal… She didn’t think she could handle that. Her pride wouldn’t allow it—except, there were more important things than pride at stake.

  Anger had her jaw clenching. She’d like to kick Cecil Wenck from one side of this island to the other. Reveal to his wife that her husband was a pig. But what she really craved was to forget what had happened or, better yet, take back control. Regain autonomy of her mind and body. Make her own choices. Follow her own desires.

  Thoughts of the attractive federal agent in t
he next room made her skin flush and her pulse begin to throb. Her nipples hardened, and she cupped her own breast and imagined him doing the same.

  It was an erotic fantasy, but one that could be a reality if she had the nerve to go after what she wanted. They were both leaving in the morning. She never had to see him again.

  No one had ever said she lacked nerve, but if he wasn’t interested…well, it would be an uncomfortable night for both of them, but it was a choice he’d get to make.

  Chapter Four

  Quentin went over to his luggage and dragged out his running gear and gave it the sniff test. He’d worn it briefly, but his workout had ended before he’d even broken sweat when he’d received news of Darby O’Roarke, the volcanologist’s abduction. He hadn’t planned on sharing his clothes, but he didn’t have a lot of options. Haley Cramer had even less.

  If she was too prissy to wear his workout gear when her personal safety was on the line, then he couldn’t help her.

  He heard Haley climb into the shower and sighed deeply, dropping his shoulders, wondering how he’d got himself into this situation. He didn’t mind providing assistance, not at all, but he was pissed with not being able to do anything except apply a temporary Band-Aid.

  He understood where she was coming from regarding pressing charges, especially as she seemed to have avoided the worst. That Wenck had been intent on pressuring her into sexual intercourse was appalling. The guy obviously got off on power. And it probably wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. Quentin would do some digging of his own when he got back to Quantico. Men like Wenck tended to exhibit a pattern of behavior that left a trail of victims in their wake.

  He went over to the bathroom door, knocked, then opened the door an inch without looking inside. He hooked the clothes on the inner doorknob before closing it again.

  It was possible Haley Cramer was playing him. She could have jumped the balcony and intentionally found him, a senior FBI agent, to act as a witness, crying sexual assault in order to blackmail the billionaire into either damages or signing what was presumably an extremely lucrative business deal.