My heart lurched. Yes, they’d left. With Q. Hell, this was awful. My mind raced with thoughts of stealing a gun. I could hold one of them hostage to get out of the building.
But Franco couldn’t run. Shit.
“Arrest the woman. Take her for questioning. Take the man to the hospital.”
Franco and I yelled at the same time: “No! I have to go with him.” “She has to come with me.”
The detective pursed his lips, deliberating. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. Take them both to the hospital. I expect to be able to interview them in a few hours.”
I bit my lip, fighting the horror that had become my life as my arms were wrenched behind my back and the cold lick of handcuffs settled around my wrists. Franco wasn’t cuffed, only barred by two large policemen, caging him in with black uniforms and unclipped guns.
“Come on,” a policeman grumbled. I trembled, fighting another wave of nausea. Once again—this was my fault. It was my br**sts strangers had seen. My little exposé that ended with us being marched away like heathens.
Then livid anger filled me. If these men turned out to be the reason Q died, I would hunt down every last one and murder them in their sleep.
I wouldn’t let them stop me from finding him. I’d become a wanted fugitive before I let that happen.
Franco looked over his shoulder. His emerald eyes looked like terrible glinting gems. “Ne dis rien. Tout est sous contrôle.”Don’t say a word. I have everything under control.
I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe that whatever plan was in action it would save Q even while we rotted in some Italian cell. But pessimism was my new friend and the black void of grief tempted, called to me.
We were stuffed into the lift side by side. Franco bent his head to my ear. “He isn’t lost, Tess. He put a tracker in your engagement ring—did you not think he’d do the same precaution for himself? Especially when he knew he’d stirred up the attention of f**kwits who would try to kill him?”
I froze, his hot breath on my ear giving me much needed information.
I kept my voice low, aware of the six other men in the lift with us. “He’s got a tracker in a ring?” Q didn’t wear jewellery. And we weren’t married yet so he didn’t have a wedding ring.
Franco shook his head. “Not a ring. Deeper than that.” He tapped the underside of his wrist, raising an eyebrow. The puzzle slotted into place.
Oh, my God. Q wore a tracker.
Not in jewellery or clothing or something that could easily be removed. He’d gone further than that. He’d given himself the best chance at being found even if they stripped him na**d and threw away all his possessions.
He’d tagged himself like a pet—micro-chipped his body so his army of guards could follow his trail and bring him home.
He wasn’t lost.
It was just up to us to find him before it was too late.
Time had become my number one nemesis.
Four hours.
Four long, excruciating, teeth-clenching hours.
Every second drifted me further away from Q. Every minute built a wall I would have to clamber over to find him. Is this how he felt when searching for me? This crippling helplessness?
Tick…
Tock…
Franco had been rushed to surgery to reattach his thumb. He refused to allow them to put him under, settling instead with a local anaesthetic to endure the procedure.
His list of injuries curdled my stomach.
Mild concussion. Dislocated shoulder. Twisted kneecap. Missing thumb. Not including the multiple contusions, bruises, and scrapes from the ass**les who’d almost killed him in order to get to Q.
I lived an entire lifetime in those four hours. More than one. Multiple.
I went insane—hemmed in a private room, barricaded by two police officers waiting for Franco. At least they’d removed the handcuffs, but I was no less a prisoner.
My mind was my enemy, constantly flinging horror and torture of Q’s demise. I finally gritted my teeth, humming nonsense under my breath, just to keep my brain occupied and not conjuring such awfulness.
Three times the officers tried to question me. Three times I refused. I wouldn’t talk—not until I knew what Franco wanted me to say. I wasn’t privy to what was in motion outside our sad little group. I didn’t want to ruin Q’s chances any more than I already had by being so reckless in a foreign country and getting arrested.
I looked up as the white door swung open. Franco was wheeled into the room by an orderly. One arm was in a sling, leading to a thick bandage around his hand. Only the tips of his fingers showed.
His face was black and yellow as bruises painted him like a watercolour.
I shot off the bed where I’d been going mad with waiting. The door swung closed behind the man in scrubs. “Are you okay? Did it work?” I looked at the bandage, eyeing it for any sign of a thumb tip. My eyes widened. “But there’s no…”
“They tried, but the way the cocksuckers smashed the joint means it’s pretty much useless. Plus, this is a local hospital. They don’t have too many specialists on call unless I’m flown elsewhere.”
I was torn. Completely cleaved down the centre. I wanted to run after Q but I didn’t want Franco to live a thumbless life. Hell, that was the most important finger. I would be on my own. “Well, go. Tell me what the plan is and leave. I’ll do the rest.”
He shook his head. “I signed the paperwork already. Even if they did manage to attach it, I’d have to stay in for observation for a week. This way, I only have to pop in for a check-up in twenty-four hours.” His eyes flashed. “I refuse to sit on my broken ass. Not while he’s out there. A thumb can wait—we don’t know…” his voice trailed off, filling me with terror.
We don’t know what they’re doing to him.
The sentence was left unsaid but it might as well have been scrawled in permanent marker and left to drift around like a haunting banner. It was undeniable which made it all the more awful.
“As much as I’m grateful for your loyalty to him, you can’t throw away your thumb.”
He shrugged. “I’m a millionaire thanks to Q’s generosity. Plus, he’s f**king loaded. If I save his scrawny ass, I know he won’t mind forking out for some crazy expensive, new-fangled robot thumb.” Franco locked the wheelchair with his good arm, flipped up the footholds, and held out his hand. “Now help me up. We’re leaving.”
Going to the side, I grabbed his elbow. I did the best I could to hoist his bulk from the chair. The moment he stood, he limped to the wardrobe where the doctors had put his clothes and with no embarrassment whatsoever untied the backless hospital gown and let it fall.
I coughed, averting my eyes. But not before I got an eyeful. He was built bigger than Q. Stocky, hard-packed muscle that wasn’t as elegant as Q’s sleek sensual form. But what he lacked in sexual appeal he made up for in sheer power.
He hopped and cursed, wrangling his trousers up over the bandage around his knee to his hips. With his face scrunched in concentration, he zipped his fly one-handed. Once that part of him was covered, he turned, holding out his blood-stained shirt.
“Help me. I can’t do it.”
Keeping my eyes downcast, I took the clothing and moved to his side to carefully remove his arm from his sling. “Did they put your shoulder back into place?” I kept my voice low, distracting him as I pushed the cuff over his hand, drawing it upward.
He gritted his teeth. “Yes, it’s workable, just sore. It’ll swell soon, and it’ll get worse before it gets better, but I’ll live.”
“You’ve done it before?”
He chuckled, wincing as I wrapped the shirt around his back. “I’ve been with Q for a while, Tess. I’ve been in worse condition. He’s been in worse. And we’ve both walked away, while the ones who challenged us didn’t.”
His body vibrated with dangerous tension; I allowed his strength to wash over me. Being around him half-naked made me extremely uncomfortable, but also strangely calmed me. I trusted in his abilities to bring Q home.
Franco placed his arm back for me to slink up the other cuff, settling the shirt into place. Once it clung to his shoulders, he faced me with a quirked eyebrow. “Do it up, please. Missing a thumb over here.”
I laughed which turned into a weird snort-sob thing.
Q, I’m missing you so damn much.
I wanted someone to reassure me. I wanted a crystal ball to know he would survive and stay in one piece until we found him. It felt so wrong doing such normal things when every instinct inside wanted to hunt and murder.
Franco dropped the quip in his voice. “We’ll find him, Tess. You’ll see. The only one losing any body parts is me. After all, I’m the bodyguard. I take the hard hits so he doesn’t have to.” His large knuckles brushed under my eye, catching a renegade tear. “Believe me. I’m not going to let him die.”
Franco was strong; I had to trust him. It was just easier thought than done.
The door swung open just as I finished securing the last button. A doctor, with hair so black it looked like polished obsidian, blinked in surprise. “What do you think you are doing? You’re not discharged. Get back into bed, sir.”
Franco growled under his breath. “I’m done. I’ve allowed you to poke and prod me. But now I’m leaving. I thank you for your expertise, but you can’t hold me against my will.”
“He might not be able to. But I can.” The detective with black hair and silver temples appeared behind the doctor. His smooth jaw was stiff with authority; his body pompous and full of power granted to him by the badge over his heart. “Seeing as you’re well enough to check yourself out, you’re well enough to come in for questioning.”
Nodding to a few of the men standing outside, he ordered, “Please escort these two to the station. I’ll interrogate them myself.”
Two policemen entered the room, pushing aside the doctor who clutched a clipboard to his chest. He didn’t protest as one man came for me and the other beelined for Franco.
Franco shoved the scrawny cop away and made a show of shrugging into his blazer unassisted. Once the black jacket was in place, he gingerly looped his sore arm back into the sling. “If you want to start questioning, I have one. You have something of mine. Two things actually, and I want them back. My guns. Where are they?”
I jerked away as a pudgy baby-faced cop took my elbow. “Take your hands off me.” I glowered. I had no intention of being separated from Franco. I didn’t care who they were and what law they were upholding. I would fight all of them.
The detective bared his teeth. “Yes, and it’s another reason why we are going to talk. Bringing weapons into Italia is a serious offence. I hope you have the necessary international paperwork, otherwise it could be a long holiday for both of you behind bars.”
My heart sped up as panic filled my stomach. “Please, this is a terrible misunderstanding. Let us go. We’ll come back for questioning when we’ve done what we need to do.”
When I’ve got my fiancé back. When he’s in my arms and home. Then they could lock me up and torture me for all I cared. At least Q would be safe.
The detective laughed—obnoxiously loud. “You think you can just pop in whenever you feel like it? Who the hell do you think you are? Some uppity tourist thinking they can flaunt the rules. I’m sick of your kind coming to my country and not respecting our laws. You’re coming with us. And there is nothing you can say to prevent that.” He nodded at the man beside me.
I cried out as he shoved me forward.
Franco swore as he suffered the same treatment.
Corralling us through the door, we were pushed down a long white corridor reeking of bleach and medicine. Bright lights pained my eyes as my brain worked overtime.
Think! I had to get out of this.
A wash of hot anger stole my panic, leaving me clearheaded and completely in control.
Q gave me his company. I was his intended. He’d given me nine billion pieces of power.
Money was power.
Use it.
Straightening my back, I planted my feet onto the linoleum and swung around.
The detective jerked to a halt. His badge was at eyelevel and I latched onto his name. Sergio Ponzio.
“Listen here, Mr. Ponzio. We’re not criminals. We don’t have time to explain but you’re making a big mistake.”
Sergio’s black eyes flashed with a mixture of annoyance and mirth. “Really? And why is that? To me it looks as if I’m doing my job.” Rubbing his chin, he tapped his foot dramatically. “Please…by all means. Enlighten me.”
“Tess…don’t,” Franco hissed.
I wasn’t going to mention Q. I didn’t want pompous asshats getting in the way of whatever plan Q had in motion to find him. But I wouldn’t put up with being manhandled and kept from doing my part in saving him.
Standing as tall as I could in my scruffy ballet flats, I snapped, “You’re to let us go this instant. This man is my personal protection, and we have urgent business to attend to back in France. You do not want to delay me.”
I wished I oozed wealth like Q. I wished I knew how to wield something so ostentatious but powerful. I was a fraud in jeans and a jumper but conviction radiated in my eyes.
Sergio’s face darkened. “Was that a threat, miss?”
Oh, shit.
I cried out as an officer grabbed my arms, twisting it behind my back. Handcuffs snapped around my wrists, bruising the bone beneath.
“Wait!”
No. Please no.
Franco yelled, “Get your hands off her. She’s the owner of Moineau f**king Holdings. Do your homework and you’ll find out she’s about to marry Frances’ most powerful CEO.” Franco cursed as a cop grabbed his unslinged arm, handcuffing him to his belt.