Page 32 of Romancing Rayne

He had to be out of his mind; it’d been hours. Was he still wandering around the Tower trying to pick me out of the crowd?

A black town car drove by, and I wondered how dangerous hitchhiking in London was. It was the first car I’d seen in over a half hour. As the car passed by, I thought better of it. With my luck, the driver would be scarier than the cabbie. No way was I flagging down a car. Ghost was already going to kill me. I’d known better than to leave the security of the shop. Not only was I a seasoned traveler, but Ghost and Chase had preached about personal safety and situational awareness over the years—neither of which I used. The barrette Chase had given me and had saved my life back in Egypt wouldn’t be any use now…not that I was even wearing it. I had no excuse, but self-recrimination wouldn’t help me find a phone. There would be plenty of time for that later.

I had very few options at that point, none were good, but they were all I had. Find my way back to the main road and locate a business, or wait until the workday ended and people started exiting the gates. The cabbie had also driven through a residential area; maybe I could knock on doors until someone opened and let me use their phone.

Setting out in a new direction, I was determined to find help—and Ghost.

I rounded a corner and wanted to scream in frustration, industrial buildings as far as the eye could see. I stood on the corner, debating turning back, trying to retrace my steps for the third time when the town car slowly passed again, rolling to a stop not too far from me. A man stepped from the driver’s side door and called out to me.

Shit. What would Ghost tell me to do? What would Chase say? Run! Never get into a car with a stranger. That was exactly what they’d tell me.

I turned and at the risk of looking like a crazy woman, I started to jog away from the car. I only made it halfway down the block when the car turned around and followed me.

Panic started to set in, and I looked for someplace to hide. I flashed back to Egypt and the dirty mattress I’d been tied to. My wrists started to itch at the memory and sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down my face. I could taste the saltiness as I licked my now dry lips. Or were those tears? Between the lack of food, water, and my racing heart, my head started to swim. I couldn’t let the man catch me. I wouldn’t survive being hurt. Ghost would never recover. I had to keep running.

“Ma’am!” the man yelled again.

Shit. I needed to pick up my pace. My vision started to blur, and I couldn’t go any faster. I tried to push on, but my legs were too heavy. I was light-headed and scared I’d fall and hurt the baby. I slowed to a stop and held onto a newspaper dispenser trying to catch my breath.

“Ma’am!” The man’s voice was too close.

This was it. I was screwed. I couldn’t do anything but scream, hoping someone would hear me and help.

I’m so sorry, Ghost!

* * *

Ghost

“Where’s my wife, motherfucker?” I banged my fist on the worn, metal table and leaned in closer to the man who was the last person to see Rayne.

“I don’t bloody know,” he told me.

Oliver was standing next to me, his arms crossed over his wide chest and he, too, eyed the taxi driver. It’d taken him one call to the cab company to have the driver called back to the office. By the time Oliver had picked me up at the Tower of London, and we’d driven to the garage where the taxi service was housed, the driver had been waiting—unaware the wrath of Satan was about to rain down on him.

“Does this belong to your wife?” the manager asked, entering the break room.

Rayne’s new leather purse dangled from his outstretched hand.

“Son of a bitch,” I cursed.

Before I could move, Oliver had the driver out of the chair and pinned to the wall by his throat. Gone was the high-class gentleman he’d been the other night, and back was the lethal soldier I knew him to be.

“I think you may want to rethink your last statement and start talking. You have sixty seconds to tell my friend where his wife is. After that, I’m walking out the door and leaving him alone with you. I guarantee he will not be civil.”

Oliver released some of the pressure from around the driver’s throat, allowing him much needed oxygen.

The man sputtered and coughed before he started to speak again.

“A woman left that in my cab. I was going to place it into lost property.”

Oliver stepped away, and I looked to the manager, who was shaking his head.

“It was in his locker,” the manager informed me.

“For safe—”

“Shut the fuck up. Where is she?”