“Whatever it takes.”
“As long as it takes,” Blake finished and tapped his earpiece, muting it again. He drew a deep breath and stared down the road that, if followed far enough, would lead to Zajac’s demise.
CHAPTER 12
Elise woke leisurely and stretched, turning over to look out the window. She opened the window without opening the shutters. The sun was high in the sky, and the breeze was cool, almost cold. She could see the tops of the reeds across the lake through the slats in the shutter. They swayed with the wind in a dance of their own. Her quiet lull fractured when she remembered that she'd been targeted last night and that Blake had been the one to get her to safety. He’d been the strength she hadn’t known she’d needed.
The thought drew a shiver from her, though whether from fear or the memory of his protective touch, she couldn't say. Still, the feelings aside, there were so many questions she hadn't asked. Questions she needed answers to, and Blake would have to give them. The shock of their hurried retreat from the Budapest hotel had kept her mind spinning, but now that she'd had a few hours of rest, the questions boiled to the surface alongside something more dangerous: the awareness of how completely she'd trusted him and how right it would have felt to collapse against his chest.
She couldn't ignore either feeling. What she felt was her reality, her facts. She thrived on facts, on chasing small detailsuntil they connected into truth. It was how she built her stories. It was how she honored her mentor. And it was how she would make sure Étienne's memory lived on. He’d believed in her when no one else had given her the time of day. She couldn't let him down. Even if that meant keeping her guard up around the one man who made her want to relax and to believe that he was her hero.
Elise flipped the thin quilt off her body and looked down. She was still wearing her pajamas and her shoes. The adrenaline had carried her until she’d abruptly crashed, and exhaustion had claimed her. She was grateful Blake had let her sleep, though part of her wondered if he'd watched over her, if he'd been tempted to brush the hair from her face. Or was the attraction only on her part? She’d seen his looks, the desire in his eyes. It couldn’t be one-sided, but she would tread carefully.
After shutting the window, she rummaged through her bag until she found jeans and a shirt, then padded to the small bathroom. The clawfoot tub gleamed under dim light, the white ceramic chipped along the rim, the cast iron cool beneath her hand. She twisted the faucet, and water gushed, steaming and fragrant as she sprinkled in a handful of bath salts left beside the tub.
As she sank into the warmth, letting it seep into her tense muscles, she couldn't help but let her mind wander to Blake. The way he'd moved through the hotel with lethal grace, the way his hands had felt on her shoulders. They were firm, possessive, and protective. A light lavender scent enveloped her, but it couldn't drown out the memory of his scent, masculine and intoxicating, or the way her pulse had raced when he'd pulled her close.
When she finally dressed and made her way downstairs, the scent of woodsmoke and the muted pop of the fire greeted her. Blake sat in an overstuffed chair near the hearth, and when he looked up at her entrance, something flickered in his dark eyes.She thought it was desire, maybe even hunger, but he quickly masked it with a neutral expression.
"Feeling better?" His voice was rougher than before, and she noticed how his gaze lingered on her damp hair and the way her jeans hugged her curves.
"I didn't realize how tired I was," she admitted, moving to the couch across from him. She was acutely aware of his stare as she curled her legs under her. "Although I think most of it was emotional exhaustion, not just physical." She drew in a breath, trying to ignore the way her body responded to his proximity. "We need to talk."
Blake leaned back in his chair, lips curving in a faint smile that made her stomach flutter dangerously. "I figured you'd want to know."
Her frown deepened, though she couldn't ignore the way his smile made her pulse skip. "What do you mean?"
"You're a reporter." His eyes never left her face, studying her with an intensity that made her feel exposed. "I was wondering when the questions would come."
"Now." She tilted her head, fighting the urge to look away from his penetrating stare. "Who came to the hotel?"
"Two of Zajac's men. They posed as police officers. Their fake IDs were convincing."
Her pulse spiked—not just from fear but from the way Blake's voice had turned deadly serious, protective. "And what did they tell the hotel clerk to get our room number?"
Blake rubbed his chin with forefinger and thumb, then leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. The movement brought him closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, smell the faint scent of his soap. His fingers steepled as he stared at her, his gaze sharpened to a blade's edge. The intensity rolling off him made her chest tighten, her breath quicken. She would hate to go against Blake in any fight, but Godhelp her, she was drawn to that controlled violence like a moth to flame.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low, steady, intimate. "Zajac is trying to frame you for the murder of the private investigator and the two men at the dock in Antwerp."
Elise shot to her feet, the blood roaring in her ears. "What?" Her voice cracked with fury. "How could anyone think I had anything to do with that?"
"Calm down," Blake said, rising with fluid grace, and something about the command in his voice sent heat spiraling through her even as rage consumed her.
Her anger snapped. "Excuse me? Calm down? Are you the one being charged with murder? No, you are not. I need to prove my innocence. I wasn't anywhere near there. What kind of evidence do they think they have? They can’t have any!"
Blake closed the distance in two strides, his hands settling firmly on her shoulders, grounding her even as she trembled with fury. The touch sent electricity racing along her nerves, and when his stare pinned her, her breath caught, and her chest heaved for reasons that had nothing to do with anger.
"They’re making up documents," he said, voice sharp as a knife, his grip tightening on her possessively. "The original report that mentioned two guns at the scene has been deleted. A new report claims there was only one gun bearing your fingerprints."
Her mouth dropped open, lips parted in shock, and she saw his gaze flicker down to them before snapping back up. "That's impossible. There's no evidence. They can't prove that."
"Exactly. But they’re trying. Guardian is already on top of it. The bigger problem is the use of a deepfake video. It shows you pulling the trigger. Killing all three."
Her stomach lurched as nausea rolled through her. "They have a video of me that isn't me? Showing me murderingpeople?" She would’ve collapsed onto the couch, but Blake's hands held her steady, his warmth seeping through her shirt. "Where did they get my fingerprints? I've never been arrested. My passport didn't require them. How can they do this? They can't, can they?"
"They can, and they are." His voice was grim and unyielding, but his thumbs traced small circles on her shoulders, making her shiver. "That's why we're staying here. No one knows our location. We can't be tracked. Guardian is working the forensics, dismantling the evidence, but until then, we stay here."
He guided her down to the couch, then crouched in front of her, his presence filling the space between her knees, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Elise, I've never lied to you. Guardian is doing everything possible to prove this is a setup. You will tell your story. You will expose Zajac. And you will live free of his bullshit accusations. I promise you."
