Taken With Trouble (CAUGHT IN CHAOS #2)

19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Serena

I stare daggers at Liam’s back as he continues to type furiously on the computer. I’m not sure if I’m more angry at him or myself. Why on earth did I kiss him? It was strictly strategic—to exploit his weakness. But the second my lips touched his, I forgot all time and reason. I stayed a second longer than I should have.

I press a hand to my lips where they still tingle. Why didn’t that kiss affect him enough to drop his defenses? He’s such an egotistical man, thinking he can do everything himself. I have resources to help—well, not currently, but I can get them. Though, if I bring in more agents, they’ll arrest Liam, probably before we can get his grandfather safe and insist on doing it their way, which admittedly isn’t always the best.

I care though. Much more than I should. If I don’t help him, if I willingly let his grandfather die, I will never forgive myself.

I clutch my chest, constantly reminded of the deep ache residing there. When did this get so out of control?

I study Liam’s hunched back. The man is the epitome of sophistication and class, but right now he’s sunken in on himself. For some terribly confusing reason, I want to be the one to lift him up. But he won’t let me.

I grab the bag off the floor and stomp to his room. Liam had some necessities ordered for me, and I’m praying it includes sweatpants. I drop the bag on the bed and open it. Right on top sits a black lacy bra, and it’s… in my exact size. Nope. Not thinking about that. I keep digging through the excessive number of undergarments until I find what I’m looking for: pajamas.

I sigh with relief at the lavender silk and pull it out.

Wait, where’s the rest of it? He really thinks I’ll wear this tiny tank top and shorts? In his dreams.

I go to the dresser, taking my time destroying every neatly folded article of clothing until I find a T-shirt and sweats I approve of. Even his T-shirts are classy and boring, all except one. It’s a rough drawing of Van Gogh with the caption ‘Gogh for it’.

I smile to myself as I pull on the T-shirt.

Then I head to the kitchen and make myself a peanut butter sandwich.

Liam never moves from his spot. I could leave and he wouldn’t notice. I don’t think he would care, either. Ever since he found that ransom note, he’s been different. Like he doesn’t want me here. And apparently, I’ve suffered a brain trauma. I want to be wanted. Want to be useful.

I should leave, but for reasons I can’t explain—to him or myself—I can’t. I have to help his grandfather.

According to Liam’s file, his grandfather was the one who gave him his inheritance.

But he also gave him the love he wanted and never got from his parents. My heart thumps loudly and painfully in my chest. I had no parents. Only a grandmother who was forced to raise me until eventually, even she gave up. I wished I’d had his grandfather.

I rub my temples, my head beginning to throb. My job requires me to make sacrifices to save lives and sometimes the rules get blurry. I won’t let his grandfather die if I can do something about it. I’m sure that once I’ve explained it, Agent Ford will understand.

Liam’s computer is still connected to the projector, and as the images fly over the screen, I gather that he’s studying the Lang palace. He switches through images so fast I can barely keep up, but from the looks of things, he’s making a map. That or hacking into their security cameras. Probably both.

His eyes find my chest, and his scowl deepens. “I didn’t say you could wear that.”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“I bought you pajamas.”

I shrug, a hint of my smile pulling at my lips. “I figured we could trade.”

His brow flicks up, but he doesn’t take the bait. It’s mildly disappointing.

No, it’s not. It’s simply unfamiliar territory for him to not be obnoxiously flirtatious.

Because it was all an act. Part of his con. Do I even know the man behind the con? I thought I was starting to, but now I’m not sure.

I sigh, my confusing thoughts only making my head pound harder. I’m not giving up so easily. I settle into the sofa, and as he makes his plan, I make mine. After all, I’ll be there as well, ready to hand Liam off to the authorities after he returns the ring to the Winthrops. Except… I can’t hand him off before he gets his grandfather back. The lines have now officially become blurred.

I rub my eyes, the pain in my head too much for me to think. Tomorrow I’ll have answers. I stand, stretch my neck, and head to Liam’s room. With the crazed way he’s working, I don’t anticipate him sleeping tonight, so I forgo the pillow barrier and lie down.

I don’t know if it’s the time difference, getting drugged repeatedly, or the running for my life, but I’ve never slept as well as I have here. I complete my gun routine then tuck it under my pillow and fall right to sleep.

A sound jerks me awake, and I shoot out of bed. I have my gun in my hand, but it’s too dark and I’m too dazed to know where to aim it. There’s a grunt, but I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from .

Another sound then a curse. I search the dark. “Liam?”

He curses again before clapping on the lights. The light provides me with a picture of him I’ve never witnessed before. His hair is a mess, his eyes wild, breathing hard, shirt untucked and stumbling. Is he… drunk?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, dropping to his knees by the nightstand and pulling open the only drawer. He shoves both hands inside, throwing, things around. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“Pills. I can’t find my pills.” He tugs at his shirt, his breathing coming faster and faster.

He’s having an anxiety attack.

I crawl over the bed and scour the drawer until I find the tiny black pouch. I hand it over.

He opens it, and then I’m able to see what’s inside. It’s not just one pill. It’s a tray, filled to the brim with different pills for each day. He takes them all and swallows them.

“Liam?” My voice is barely a whisper. “What are all those?”

He chugs a drink of water then rips off his shirt before falling flat on his back on the floor. His chest rises and falls much too quickly, the skin pulling in around his ribcage as it does. He’s completely helpless right now.

“Liam?” I whisper again. “What do you need?”

He still doesn’t answer, though his chest continues to move rapidly. Did he pass out?

I jump to the ground and kneel above him. His eyes are closed, but his breathing is still heavy. I grab his wrist and count the beats of his heart. 125. Is that too high? Why isn’t it dropping? Do I need to call an ambulance?

Now my heart rate is too high.

“Liam?” I grab his cheek, a note of desperation clinging to my voice but I don’t know why. “Liam,” I say louder, gently shaking him this time.

He twitches, and his left eye cracks open before closing again. He drags in a breath, and after he does, his chest seems to relax .

Relief floods my veins, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Why won’t he open his eyes? I sit beside his head, gently lifting it into my lap. He shouldn’t be lying on the hard floor right now, but being on my lap is even worse. My fingers are cradling his head, but my right hand has gone rogue, playing with errant curls around his ear. He has the most luscious brown hair, and it’s been infuriating me ever since I first laid eyes on him. His hair has always been thick. In the States, it was tamed into submission, but here in the humidity, it is wild and tempting. I slip my other hand into his hair.

“You were worried about me.”

I jerk, ripping my hands away. But I’m still stuck under him. A very curious look rests in his blue irises.

“I was concerned for your well-being.”

He smiles lazily from where he remains on my lap, completely relaxed, and something about it puts me more at ease. “Or, in other words, worried .”

I shake my head, refusing to admit it. “What just happened? That was more than a little anxiety.”

He closes his eyes again, and my gaze drifts to his chest, watching the rise and fall to confirm it’s slowed. “I have an irregular heartbeat… and a few other, minor heart problems. That coupled with anxiety… leads to this sometimes.”

I shake my head. “Heart complications aren’t on your medical record.” I poured over his file when he first showed up in the States.

“No, but it is on Owen Shipp’s medical record.”

Owen Shipp? That wasn’t one of his listed aliases.

Liam curses. “I shouldn’t have told you that.” His perpetual smile fades from his lips. “Now you’ll use it against me.”

“I won’t.” It’s clear he needs this medicine, and if the only way he can get it is by being Owen Shipp, I won’t put his life in danger by outing it. I suppose this is another area where lines are blurred.

He laughs. “Sure you won’t. You just hate me so much you want to kill me every day. But you won’t give my name away.”

The words sting, as they should. I get why he doesn’t believe me. I’ve been against him at every move. And I have secrets I refuse to share. He has no reason to trust me.

But I don’t hate him anymore, and that’s part of the problem. I gently scoot from under him and stand, holding out a hand to him. “You should sleep.”

He grabs my hand, and at first I think he’s trying to pull me down, but he’s so out of it I have to steady him around the waist.

“No, wait. I need to save my grandpa,” he mumbles.

“We’ll do that tomorrow,” I say, helping him reach the side of his bed before shoving him onto it.

“We?” He looks up at me.

“Yes. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to let me.”

“I like when you’re bossy,” he whispers lazily.

“I’m always bossy.”

“I know.” His eyes rove down my body. “That’s my favorite shirt by the way. It looks better on you.” Then he rolls to his stomach in the middle of the bed and falls asleep in seconds.

I snatch a pillow and take it to the couch. The computer is asleep, and I try to wake it, but it requires a password. Why did I think it wouldn’t? This man has a fingerprint scanner on the espresso machine and the TV remote. Which is just plain rude.

I lean back in the chair frustrated, when a crumpled piece of paper in the trash catches my attention. I pull it out, pressing the edges down. My heart stops as the image takes shape. It’s me. It’s almost perfect, except my lips are too thin and my cheekbones are not high enough. My hands tremble, and I crumple the paper up, shoving it in the trash. That’s not me. It’s not. Why would he draw me?

But I don’t even believe myself. I leap out of the chair, putting as much distance as I can between me and the forgery.

On the table there are about fifty sheets of paper that weren’t there when I went to sleep. I step closer and realize it’s the layout of the gala. It’s covered in red lines and plans. Every potential exit, every blind spot. Despite my better judgment, I study it into the wee hours of the morning.

I told him I’d help, and I won’t be the weak link. After tonight, I’ll have to figure out what to do. But I’ve just been recruited for a mission, and I’ll complete it successfully.

I wake up to Liam’s face directly over mine.

“What do you want?” I grumble.

“Not a morning person,” he says, as if he’d been discussing it with someone and now it’s determined.

“I’m not a ‘wake up with another person’s face in my face’ kind of person.” I shove him away. “What time is it?”

“Nine. I would have let you sleep longer, but you were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

He raises a brow. “Yes, you do.”

“No. I trained myself not to snore just like I trained myself to never get sick. If I snored, it was because your uncomfortable couch made me sleep in a weird position.”

He raises a brow. “You trained yourself to not get sick? I’m pretty sure that’s impossible. Unless all the cells in your body are as stubborn as you are.”

I frown. “I need coffee if I’m going to be forced to work with you all day.”

“Funny, I had the same thought.” He holds up the tiniest cup I’ve ever seen. It’s barely bigger than a thimble.

“That’s not going to cut it.”

“Just try it.”

I tip the liquid into my mouth, and… my eyes roll back in my head. It’s the perfect temperature, and oh, so heavenly.

“I need fifteen more. ”

“Done.”

I pop my eyes open to find Liam holding an actual mug. I eagerly take it, cradling it to my chest like it’s my first-born child.

“Ready to get to work?” Liam asks.

“Lay it on me.” I lean into the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest.

His eyes spark for just a moment before he shakes his head. “All right, here’s the plan. We’re going to bring the box to the gala, find the Winthrops, and retrieve my grandfather.”

I raise a brow. “Is that as far as you got?”

His eyes spark. “No, I was just trying to work up to the good part. How are your dancing skills?”

I spew brown liquid all over his stupid couch. “None. I have no skills.”

“I knew you were going to be dead weight. Do you think you can follow my lead?”

I clench my jaw. Can and want are two different things. “Why must we dance?”

“It will look suspicious if we don’t. We need a cover, a real reason for being there, and I’ll need to get a look at all the guests.”

“I still don’t see why we need to dance.”

“Maybe I want to.” His eyes fall to mine, something warm and heady growing in their blue depths. “Maybe I want to dance with the most beautiful woman there and don’t want anyone to be able to steal her away.”

My breath catches in my throat. My head knows he’s playing me, but my heart is dreaming about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Liam’s arms. “We can dance. But not all night. Only long enough to assess the risks from all possible angles.” That’s a believable excuse, right?

“As you wish,” he says. “I want to get the Winthrops alone when we do the handoff, so I’ve arranged for the security system to go down at exactly nine-twenty-seven. If it’s a trap, we’ll be able to get out before they take us.”

“And then what? The Winthrops pull your grandfather out from behind the curtains?” I don’t know much about the Winthrops. According to S-A-C Ford, they tend to stick their noses—and their money—where it doesn’t belong, but this doesn’t make sense. Why force him to bring the box and ring to the gala with tons of people there? A high-power couple like that would perform their nefarious schemes in private.

“I don’t believe it’s the Winthrops, but rather someone working for them who knows about the treasure.”

That would make more sense. An underpaid security guard looking for an easy cash-in.

“I don’t know where they’re keeping my grandfather,” Liam continues, “but it must be near the house. I won’t make the trade until he’s in my sight.”

“ Our sights,” I correct.

He pauses, his eyes trained on me, but I avert my gaze.

He continues. “We need to leave the box in place at 9:30, which means someone will most likely be waiting near the staircase to snatch it or me. Which is why I’ll make the lights go out the second we drop it off. We’ll be able to slip back onto the dancefloor and watch who takes it. Then we’ll follow him.”

I nod, working through it in my head. The stairwell is only ten feet from the dancefloor it will be easy to slide in an out of the dance while the lights are off and make the drop.

“I looked at the plans,” I say. “Security is going to be tight going in and out. What if there’s a problem? How will we get out with your grandfather without being detected?”

“This is the part you’re not going to like.”

“You think there’s a part of this I do like?”

“How do you feel about cliff jumping?”

I fight the excitement flooding my veins. “I prefer that to dresses.”

He smiles. “You’re full of surprises, Agent Cruz.”

He doesn’t know the half of it.

“So, we jump off the cliff into the sea, and what? Swim to Paris?” I look at him.

“Of course not. I have a yacht. Someone is moving it in place as we speak. The palace is near Dover. We’ll jump onto the yacht then take a little night cruise up to Norwich. ”

Of course he has a yacht. I try not to think of the last part of his plan. A nighttime cruise sounds incredibly romantic, but I won’t be taking it with him. I can’t.

“Do you really think your grandfather will be cliff jumping? He’s pretty old.”

“Of course not. That’s Plan B, remember? Plan A is to simply get in the car waiting to take us and him somewhere safe.”

My chest deflates a little. I was excited to jump off a cliff.

Seems he’s thought of everything. Everything except…

I clear my throat. “Do you have access to the guest list?”

He types something, and a document pops up on the screen. I scan the row of over a hundred names. My blood turns to ice in my veins. Sebastian Sanchez.

I swallow the lump in my throat and continue to read the names, convincing myself it’s fine. It’s been years, and I’ve changed. He won’t recognize me. But what if he does? I pinch my eyes closed. I don’t have a choice. I’m not going to let someone from my past get in the way of saving Liam’s grandfather.

“Looking for more criminals to lock up when this is through?” Liam asks. “Or are you looking to fall in love?”

I don’t bother answering either question.

“Are you all right?” Liam asks.

No. But I swallow the remaining fear, convincing myself it will be fine. “Yep.”

“Okay. Let’s practice.”

I lift a brow. “Practice cliff jumping?” That’s just the kind of distraction I could go for right now.

“The dancing.”

That’s what I feared.