Vivian Arend - High Passion

“Slow down and explain yourself. Vincent threatened you? You’re on drugs or something, aren’t you? Part of your alternative lifestyle as a mountain hippie?”

Alisha clutched the steering wheel tighter but refused to give in to the urge to simply hang up. “I’m not drunk, high, or otherwise incapacitated. Not like I was last week when someone shoved enough painkillers into my drink to send me to the hospital. I’m not calling to get advice, simply as a courtesy. Vincent has been in Banff for the past month and has gone from a somewhat creepy stalker to outright dangerous. I’m going to the RCMP.”

“Vincent’s been here in Toronto, or on the West Coast working on deals,” her father insisted. “I looked into it after you called the last time. Your outrageous conduct has got to stop now, Alisha. I’m getting tired of this twisted, attention-seeking behavior, and—”

“You know what, Dad? You know what kind of attention I want from you? Nothing. Never again. So you can just go to hell.”

She stabbed the end call button and breathed out slowly. It was no use, but at least she could assuage her guilt on that account. Whatever happened in terms of fallout for Bailey Enterprises was no longer her fault. Her father had chosen not to listen or believe her, so now she’d choose her own path.

She’d choose her own family, starting with Devon.

Anger hummed through his body as Devon pounded on the entrance to Vincent’s suite. What he planned might be stupid but potentially very satisfying. It wouldn’t take long. A few minutes, and he’d go home and work on Alisha.

He straightened to his full height as he waited for a response, damn near bouncing on his feet.

The thick door swung open to reveal an elegant room that probably cost as much per night as Devon paid in rent for a month. Vincent peered out, polite confusion on his face. Even in his hotel room the man was dressed in suit pants and a pristine white shirt, cuff links flashing gold against his wrists.

One brow rose as he gazed at Devon. “Well, this is a surprise. I’m sorry, did you get mixed up? I didn’t book any excursions—”

Devon swung, and his fist connected with Vincent’s jaw. A solid, satisfying crack that hurt his knuckles and jerked Vincent’s head back. The man stumbled, fighting to regain his balance. Devon pushed into the room after him. “Shut up,” Devon snapped, “You know damn well why I’m here.”

Vincent rested a hand on the back of the couch to push himself to vertical. With his other hand he gingerly touched his lips before examining his fingertips for blood. “I’d suggest you reconsider before you hit me again. In your position as the enraged ex-lover I can forgive one stupid move, but if you touch me twice, I’ll have you arrested.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You want to go to the RCMP station, let’s go right now.” Devon stood just inside the door, glancing around the suite. A luggage carrier rested to one side of the door, suitcases lined up beside the oversized trolley.

“Going somewhere?” Devon asked.

“I’m headed to Toronto.” Vincent shook himself, gaze tight on Devon now, far more wary than before. “The car is being brought around.”

Shit. Devon didn’t want him to leave, not before he’d persuaded Alisha to go to the police. “I thought your flight wasn’t until Saturday.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. “You are annoying.”

“I’ve been told that before. You have no idea exactly how annoying I can be.” Devon faced Vincent head on. “Alisha’s not going anywhere. I don’t care what fucked-up tricks you played to convince her to give in, but it’s not going to work. Leave, but don’t expect her to follow.”

“Our relationship isn’t any of your business.” Vincent straightened his tie, glancing in the mirror on the wall as if suddenly unconcerned that Devon stood before him with clenched fists. “My fiancée and I will deal with—”

Instinct won over logic. Devon hit him again, this time hard enough that Vincent staggered back and crumpled to the floor. He stared up, eyes unfocused for a moment, before blinking and grumbling his displeasure. “A prudent man would consider his actions more.”

“Leave Alisha alone,” Devon snarled. Warning delivered, he turned to leave.

Motion blurred toward him, a streak of blue below an unexpected but familiar face. Pain exploded in his head, the side of his skull throbbed once, and then blackness overtook him.

A heavy band of agony wrapped around his temples, and Devon took a deep breath to stop nausea from overwhelming him. He lay on his side on a smooth surface, his entire body rocking slightly from side to side. A groan escaped before he could stop it, opening his eyes to discover Vincent staring over the back of a leather seat, his cold eyes unblinking.

Devon bit back another groan of pain and glanced around as he pulled himself to vertical. He swore softly as he spotted the driver’s face. The same woman who’d already made his life difficult and was probably to blame for at least one of the accidents at Lifeline.

The one who’d hit him with something hard in Vincent’s room.

“You found a new employer pretty quick, didn’t you, Lana?” he asked.

She adjusted her hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white she gripped it so hard, but didn’t respond.

Devon did a quick physical check to assess his injuries, other than the headache that was making him see stars. His hands were tied behind his back, and an additional rope was twined around his ankles.

“Are we nearly there?” Vincent had turned his back on Devon, staring out the front window at the narrow road the rental car was skimming down. Tall spruce and rocky outcrops passed on either side. The mountaintops towered over them as Devon searched the trees trying to identify a familiar landmark so he could figure out where they were, but they could have been anywhere on the outskirts of Banff, or into the Kananaskis Valley.

There was no traffic, though, the road clear and void of all other vehicles, and Devon’s confusion grew.

Lana spoke softly, answering Vincent’s question. “Ten minutes to the trailhead.”

“Park to one side when we get there,” Vincent ordered.

“There shouldn’t be anyone around. It’s too late in the season for many people to want to hike the trail and too early for ice climbers.” Her voice shook, her uncertainty and fear clear.

Yeah, just because she worked for Vincent didn’t mean she could afford to let down her guard.

Devon tugged at his bonds, but they were seriously well fastened. Damn climbers and their knots.

All his earlier frustrations returned, only now twisted toward himself. He’d made a huge mistake in judgment, and now he was out of his league. Kidnapping had never entered his mind when he’d stormed over to the hotel. Did he tease for details? Stay silent and wait for a break?

They hadn’t covered this one in SAR training.

Except . . .

They had been taught how to deal with irrational victims. Vincent might not be a victim, but he wasn’t thinking straight, or not what the average person on the street would consider normal.

Don’t antagonize—stay alert. Look for opportunities when they come, then act.

Devon rolled his shoulders and tested the ropes again. Tightened and relaxed his legs muscles to keep them from falling asleep. When the moment came he had to be ready to take it.

He had no idea what the hell Vincent had planned, but Devon knew one thing. He had to get out of this alive. Needed to be there for Alisha, for a future spent together discovering how much they could drive each other crazy.

Years of it.

A lifetime.

As long as he lived through the next couple hours.

The car rocked to a stop under the overhang of an ancient pine, the lowest branches high above the car roof. Gravel crunched underfoot as Vincent and Lana left the car, the shelter of the tree preventing the snow from piling up.

The trunk opened and closed. Lana appeared outside his door carrying two backpacks. One she lowered to the ground at Vincent’s feet; the other she settled over her shoulders.

“Give me the keys.” Vincent held out his hand. She dug in her pocket, pulled them out, and dropped them into his palm.

She stepped back quickly to face Devon’s door, swinging it open.

“Get him out and ready to walk,” Vincent ordered.

She swallowed hard and pulled out a switchblade, opening it to a serrated blade. “Turn and put your feet on the ground.” Her words barely whispered out.

Devon took in her big eyes, the fear shaking her hands. She didn’t say anything else. He took his time, careful not to scare her into anything rash, twisting uncomfortably until he’d done as she asked.

Lana knelt and put the blade against the thick fibers, sawing with large, exaggerated motions that made her right elbow swing in and out of the doorway.

Devon frowned. The knot was right there. She’d tied him tightly, but there was no reason to cut the ropes. Climbers hated to cut ropes, always preferring to loosen off and save the lengths for another time.

He glanced up at Vincent, but the man was pulling on a jacket, watching Lana from a few steps away. Her body was between Devon’s feet and Vincent—all the other man would see was her back and her supposedly working like crazy to cut the rope.

Only she wasn’t cutting anything. Her right hand was empty even as she continued to swing her arm. Faint hope rose as her left hand snuck around Devon’s hip, and he schooled himself to not move as she slipped the closed switchblade into his back pocket.