And across the aisle, watching me with those unnerving green eyes, was the man who'd taken me.
He'd changed clothes since the alley. Now he wore a charcoal suit, perfectly tailored, his dark hair swept back fromhis face. He looked like a businessman heading to a meeting, not a kidnapper flying his victim to God knows where.
"You're awake." He set aside the tablet he'd been reading. "How do you feel?"
How did I feel? I stared at him, my mind struggling to form coherent thoughts through the fog of whatever drug they'd given me. My mouth was dry, my limbs heavy, and my wrists—I looked down, half-expecting to find myself bound, but my hands were free.
"Where—" My voice came out as a croak. I swallowed and tried again. "Where are you taking me?"
"Somewhere safe."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters right now." He gestured to a uniformed woman I hadn't noticed standing near the galley. "Water. And check her vitals."
The woman moved toward me, and I shrank back against my seat. "Don't touch me."
"She's a medic," he said calmly. "The sedative can cause dehydration and disorientation. You need fluids."
"What I need is to go home!" The words burst out of me, shrill and desperate. "You can't just—you kidnapped me! You drugged me and put me on a plane, and I don't even know your name!"
Something flickered in his expression—not guilt, exactly, but something adjacent to it. "My name is Vasily Chernov. And I understand this is frightening for you, Gabrielle. But you need to understand something too." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes locked on mine. "You were in danger. Real,immediate danger. Men who would have done terrible things to you to get to me."
"Why?" The question came out smaller than I intended. "I don't understand. I don't know anything about you. I've never even spoken to you before tonight."
"That doesn't matter to them." His jaw tightened. "I made a mistake. I became... interested in you. I watched you when I should have stayed away. And my enemies noticed. They were building a file on you, photographing you, learning your routines. If I hadn't taken you tonight, they would have taken you tomorrow. Or the day after."
I shook my head, trying to make sense of his words. "Enemies? What are you talking about? Who are you?"
"Someone who protects what's his."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a chill down my spine. "I'm not yours."
"No," he agreed quietly. "Not yet. But you're under my protection now. And I take that responsibility very seriously."
The medic approached again, holding a bottle of water and a small medical kit. This time, I was too exhausted to fight. I let her check my pulse, shine a light in my eyes, murmur something to Vasily in Russian that I couldn't understand. Then she pressed the water bottle into my hands and retreated.
I drank mechanically, my mind racing. This couldn't be real. Things like this didn't happen to people like me—ordinary people, boring people, marketing analysts who worried about font consistency and demographic overlaps. I was nobody. I had nothing that anyone could possibly want.
Except, apparently, I'd caught the attention of this man. This stranger who watched me without my knowledge, whodecided I belonged under his protection whether I wanted it or not.
"I want to call someone," I said. "My friend Lisa. She'll be worried when I don't show up for work."
"No."
"My father, then. He needs to know—"
"No one." Vasily's voice was firm. "You can't contact anyone from your old life, Gabrielle. Not until the threat has been neutralized."
"The threat." I laughed bitterly. "You keep talking about this threat, but the only person who's actually hurt me tonight is you."
Something shifted in his expression—a crack in the controlled facade. "I know. And I'm sorry for the fear you've experienced. But I'd rather have you afraid and alive than comfortable and dead."
I turned away from him, pressing my forehead against the cold window. Below us, I could see the first hints of dawn on the horizon—pink and gold bleeding into the darkness. We'd been flying for hours. We could be anywhere.
"Where are we going?" I asked again.
This time, he answered. "I have an island. In the Mediterranean. It's private, secure, completely off any map that matters. You'll be safe there."
