“As I’ll ever be.”
Chapter Twenty
Beckham escorted Reyna out of the building and they found a limo idling outside. Unease settled in her bones as the reality of what they were about to do hit her. She didn’t know who this guy was or what he would want or even if he would answer their questions, but they needed any help they could get.
She hated even more being put in a place where they had to wait and ask for help. She wanted to rush into the action and bang heads together. Figure out how to stop Harrington and justdoit. Except that hadn’t worked last time. It wouldn’t work this time either.
She had to outmaneuver Harrington, which meant she had to do things he wouldn’t anticipate. Barreling in and attacking him he expected. But her blood match with Beckham was not on his radar. The anti-vamp cult not something he’d ever consider. This new contact totally out of left field.
She could do this.
A driver got out from the front of the limo and came around to open the back door for them. He handed them each a black hood.
Beckham raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to wear this?”
“Not me. But if you want to meet your contact tonight, you won’t argue.”
Beckham snarled. Reyna put her hand on his arm. The last thing she wanted was for him to go full vamp on this guy. He was just the messenger. They would take it up with their stupid contact later.
“Becks,” she whispered.
“We’re on a tight schedule,” the driver said, and gestured for them to get in the limo.
Reyna slid into the backseat, and after a few tense seconds Beckham followed suit. She took a deep breath, then slid the hood over her head. She shivered as memories of her kidnapping flooded her. The feel of the guy grabbing her arm. Him knocking her out. Blackness taking her over as she was dragged out of Everett’s apartment.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Her breathing was uneven. She was pretty sure she was hyperventilating.
Logically this wasn’t the same. Not even close to the same. She wasn’t being kidnapped. She was willingly moving forward with this. Yet, her brain couldn’t process the two things. It couldn’t move past the horror and violation.
Beckham’s arm swept around her shoulders, and he held both of her hands in his. “Breathe,” he whispered. “I’m here this time. No one will take you from me. Not ever again.”
“Becks,” she gasped.
“I’ll kill anyone who touches you. I’ll protect you. You’re safe.”
“I’m safe,” she repeated.
She took a strangled breath, and then let it out slowly. She did it a couple more times before she finally believed herself. With Beckham’s arms safely around her the panic attack subsided. The residual effects of her PTSD drained out of her.
God, she hated this.
Beckham never released her. He held her the entire drive as they moved through the city and to their contact’s headquarters. Even if she could have seen through this hood, the limo windows were tinted and night had fallen. Maybe Beckham would have been able to discern where they were going, but she sure couldn’t.
It was forty-five minutes before the limo finally came to a stop. Reyna heard the window separating them from the driver slide down. “You can remove the hoods. We’re secure.”
They both tore them off. Reyna finally felt like she could breathe again and Beckham still looked pissed at the indignation of it all. She hardly blamed him. He wasn’t the sort of man who took orders from others well. This should be interesting.
The driver came around and let them out of the limo. He walked toward elevator doors, which were built into the garage wall. Reyna and Beckham followed. When the doors dinged open, he let them inside first, then pressed a button.
“Have a nice time,” he said pleasantly.
Beckham straightened and dropped all emotion from his face in the span of a second. She wasn’t as good at that as he was. She’d hardened because of all the pain, but fear wasn’t as easy to conceal as she would have liked.
When the elevator opened, a butler waited for them—trim build with dark hair and kind eyes. Her eyes moved beyond him to the entrance of the home. A large winding staircase led up several stories with polished hardwood floors, elaborate rugs, and grand artwork in gilded frames with a crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling. Just the foyer was opulent beyond measure. She could hardly imagine what lay within the dragon’s lair.
“Ah, Miss Reyna Carpenter and Mr. Beckham Anderson,” the butler said. “What a pleasure to have you in residence tonight. I am Edgar. May I take your coats?” Reyna swallowed before taking her jacket off and handing it to Edgar, who hung them up in a closet. “Your meeting will be in the library this evening. Would you care for some refreshments?”
