The Darkest Hour

Chapter 6

Kenzie took a minute to enjoy this moment, even though she felt some guilt that she did. She was in Royce Devereaux's mansion in a bedroom just down the hall from him. She was staying the night in an American castle with a man who starred almost nightly in her fantasies.

Keep calm, girl! She tried to remind herself not to get carried away. She was here because he wanted to protect her, not because he wanted to sleep with her.

She set the pajamas down on the bed and was starting to undress when she heard the strains of an old song drift down the hallway. It was a song she recognizedDinah Washington's "This Bitter Earth." A beautiful, crooning song that was half a century old. Typical Royce. The man could wear a leather jacket, a Van Halen concert shirt, and ride a motorcycle to work yet listen to Dinah Washington. He was a complete mystery to her sometimes. It was as though he was trapped in the past and yet streaking toward the future. It confused and intrigued her, knowing that she'd never be able to predict what he'd do or say next.

She changed into the pajamas and padded on bare feet down the hallway. She paused at the top of the stairs, listening to the song and watching the gilded wall sconces cast gold blossoms of light on the forest wall cloth.

How wonderful it had to be to live in such a house. It wasn't like her tiny apartment a block from the school's campus. This house was a like an old-world dream, a place where princes lived and magic whispered from the walls. Kenzie placed a hand upon the polished gleaming banister and followed the song's notes down the carpeted steps and through another corridor until she saw a door ajar. Pausing at the entrance, she peered inside.

A large wooden desk sat at the back of a beautiful room with pale butter-colored walls painted with creeping vines and blossoming flowers. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves loomed behind the desk, filled with hundreds of books. Various curious objects were used as bookends, such as a saber-tooth tiger's skull, a hadrosaur's leg bone, and a cast model nest of oviraptor eggs. The nest would have been the most valuable piece in his collection if it hadn't been a replica. She'd heard real nest fossils went for a several million dollars at auctions. Everyone loved the idea of baby dinosaurs. And finding intact eggs was rare. Eggs were fragile and rarely survived the harsh conditions that led to fossilization.

Royce was seated at his desk, boots popped up on the edge as he leaned back in his chair. He was brooding, turning a large brown fossilized claw over and over beneath the light of his desk lamp. But Kenzie knew from his expression that he was thinking about something else. This was the way he tackled difficult problems at the university. Beside his desk was an old turntable, which was the source of the haunting and beautiful song.

Royce paused spinning the claw and looked up at her. His eyes darkened as he lowered his legs from his desk and got to his feet.

"Feeling better?" he asked. His voice was soft, a rich rumble that sent delicious shivers through her. She'd never thought a man's voice could sound like liquid sin, but his did, like a glass of bourbon aged to perfection.

"I guess," she replied. "I'm still not sure all this has really set in yet. I'm not used to jumping out of windows or running from psychopaths." I'll probably have nightmares. That part she didn't tell him. It made her feel weak, and she knew he already blamed himself. For a man who had wicked desires in bed, he had an amazingly soft heart at times.

A frown tugged his kissable lips down. "Don't joke."

"I'm afraid I'm going to just break down if I don't."

"It's okay. I'm here, Little Mac. You should try to get some sleep." He came over and cupped her chin, tilting her head back. His warm breath fanned her face, and she trembled. They'd hardly ever touched before, just friendly pats on the shoulder or arm. Always safe. Never intimate. Kenzie thought she could keep herself distanced from him and hide her attraction. Before tonight, she'd done a good job of rebuffing his occasional teasing, but now she was too vulnerable, too exposed, and it would be so easy to get lost in him.

The light from his desk lamp cast a silhouette of their bodies against the wall, and she shivered, her heart racing. Royce's masculine aroma with hints of pine enveloped her. She wanted to rub herself against him to trap the scent on her clothes, let it envelop her completely.

Royce leaned his head down ever so slightly as she rocked up on her toes, their lips just inches apart

A distant door chimed, and Royce blinked, pulling back. He cleared his throat. "That will be Hans." He stepped around her to get to the study door.

"Who's Hans?" Kenzie asked as she trailed after him, her body deflated with disappointment. They had been so close only to be saved by an actual bell.

"Hans is a friend. A bodyguard. He's here to help us with our little problem."

Little problem? Kenzie snorted. I had a gun shoved in my face. I wouldn't call that a "little" problem.

When Royce opened the door, Kenzie saw a tall muscled man in his early fifties standing there, rain dripping off his coat. A black duffel bag hung from his shoulder. He was handsome, with dark brown eyes and dark hair with a threading of silver near the temples.

Royce grinned and welcomed the man inside. "Hans."

Kenzie couldn't take her eyes off the bodyguard. There was a lethal grace to him that made her pause. All her instincts were telling her this was a dangerous man. With a polite and warm smile, Hans came inside and set his bag down.

"Hans, this is MacKenzie Martin, my TA."

"Just call me Kenzie." She blushed as Hans shook her hand while glancing curiously between her and Royce.

"Nice to meet you, Kenzie." Hans set his bag down with a heavy thump. Whatever was in there was definitely not clothes. "So, are you ready to fill me in?" Hans asked as he wiped his boots on the mat and slipped his coat off.

"Why don't we make some coffee first, then we'll tell you everything." Royce nodded toward the kitchen.

Soon the three of them sat at the table. Kenzie shared her story, and Hans interrupted a few times with questions.

"Three men?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, plus whoever they have in the police force, but I'm pretty sure they were all working for someone else."

Hans stroked his chin. "Makes sense. Usually it's hired muscle who do the smash-and-grab jobs." He looked at Royce, his face solemn. "She's lucky to be alive. People like that don't have qualms about silencing whoever isn't crucial to their plan."

A shiver racked Kenzie's body. She'd known those men intended to kill her. The evil in Gary's eyes when he'd pointed the gun at her head was something she'd never forget. She buried the memory in the back of her mind and focused on Royce and Hans.

"So what do we do?" she asked them.

"I'd suggest having the police dust for prints at your office. Even if they have someone on the take, the department still has to follow protocol. You said they weren't wearing gloves. It might give us a match for aliases. If we can figure out who hired Monte and Gary or who they have ties to, it might give us some answers. We'll have to be careful about whoever they have on the inside helping them, but I suspect the most they'll be able to do is let the perps keep tabs on what the police are up to. Tonight we should secure the house and try to get some rest."

As exhausted as Kenzie was, she couldn't imagine sleeping, not when she knew three men were out there looking for her and Royce.

"Are you okay?" Hans asked.

The bodyguard was too perceptive. "Probably," she muttered, embarrassed that she'd revealed her fears so openly without realizing it.

"I've got a Jacuzzi if you want to warm up and relax," Royce suggested. "Hans and I will be busy securing the house. You will be safe. I promise."

A hot bath did sound nice. "Okay."

Hans and Royce headed for the hall, but then they both suddenly halted, their large bodies blocking her view of what was ahead.

"Did you?" Royce whispered softly.

Hans shook his head. "Those aren't mine. I wiped my boots on the mat."

"Shit." Royce stepped back and turned to Kenzie.

"What is it?" she whispered. Every hair on her body was standing at attention.

"Wet footprints. Someone else is in the house." Royce's lips formed a hard line as he gave a nod to Hans before looking at her again. "I need you to stay right here. Hide in the walk-in pantry. Don't come out, no matter what. I'll come back for you. You hear me?"

His eyes burned straight through her, and the command in his tone was undeniable. She couldn't disobey, not when he used that deep dominant voice. She shivered, half from her reaction to him and half from fear of what might happen in the next few minutes.

Someone else is in the house? Oh God, oh God

Kenzie struggled to calm her panic and nodded to show Royce she would do as she was told. She backed up, her gaze seeking the doors of the walk-in pantry by the fridge. Her heart was hammering so hard it felt as though it was bruising her ribs.

Everything became quiet. Silent. She closed the pantry doors, her breath shallow and harsh in the confined space, a rasping whisper that grated on her ears.

Moments later, gunfire erupted somewhere in the house. Glass shattered. A scream ripped from her lips before she could stop. Kenzie clapped her hands over her mouth. An animal instinct to hide drove her to her knees and then to her stomach as she flattened herself completely on the floor.

More silence, then the crunch of glass beneath booted feet. She heard shouts, low and guttural, followed by another deafening round of gunfire. The noises were drawing closer, the crashing, the guns, all of it. She covered her ears and prayed silently for it all to stop.

Jars and cans exploded above her, food raining on her along with shards of glass. Splinters of wood showered down as pinholes of light broke through the thick pantry doors. The handle fell to the floor. Kenzie stared in horror as the doors slowly creaked open. Straight ahead lay a man on his back. Monte. His face was turned up as he snarled at the man who stood over him, his booted foot pressed into Monte's chest. An automatic pistol was aimed at Monte's forehead, and the man holding the gun was Royce.

"Your one partner is dead, and the other just drove off in your ride. You're all alone, you piece of shit." Royce leaned heavily over the man, pressing more weight on his chest.

"I don't give a f**k. I'm not talking." Monte spat, and blood painted his teeth as he smiled coldly.

"You will," Royce promised and jerked his head toward Hans, who had just entered the room. "Or my buddy here will start cutting off your fingers in creative ways. He's trained in half a dozen forms of torture. Did you know that? He's one badass motherfucker." Royce's smile was dark and frightening. "But hey, if you do talk, I won't shoot your nuts off for hitting Little Mac, you get me? No one touches her." He pressed his boot harder until Monte wheezed.

"f**k you," Monte said. "If I talk, my boss will kill me."

Royce exchanged glances with Hans. "Maybe. But we would give you a head start. Sounds like your boss won't."

Monte gasped for breath a moment longer before he nodded. "Fine. I'll talk."

"Good. Who is your boss, and what does he want with me?"

"Vadym Andreikiv. He lives in Moscow. He hired me and Gary. Sent along one of his own men for backup, Jov Tomenko. He wants to bring something out of Mongolia. He said you're the man to help him get it out. All he said was that we have to get you and bring you to Ulaanbaatar."

"Ulaanbaatar? Why there?"

"I don't know. Something about smuggling fossils," Monte said.

"Nice. This fucker sounds like a Bond villain," Hans muttered. "What does he do, twirl his mustache in his f*****g yurt?"

"That's all I know, I swear." Monte started to lower his hands, but Royce cold-c****d the bastard with his gun. Monte's head hit the floor, and he lay unconscious at Royce's feet.

"At least I didn't shoot your nuts off. Hans, would you take out the trash? I need to check on Little Mac."

"Sure." Hans bent and grabbed Monte's legs and started to drag him out of the kitchen.

Kenzie was lying flat on her stomach, staring up at him. Her body was locked in place, every muscle frozen. Royce slowly set his pistol down on the table before he approached her.

"Kenzie, it's okay, honey." He knelt down and gently helped her get to her feet. She swayed a little, and he caught her by the waist. Her heart was sprinting inside her chest, and she was having trouble breathing.

"Easy there," he said.

She stared up at him, confused by his separate personalities. The man who joked about torturing someone and pistol-whipped a man was not the same man who held her now and called her Kenzie in that husky and gentle voice. She knew she had to be in shock again. But she just couldn't seem to snap out of it.

"Why don't you sit down?" Royce's eyes were laden with concern. "You're really pale."

She looked back to the pantry, where splintered wood and shattered glass showed her just how close she'd come to dying.

"Dr. Devereaux I don't feel so good"

It was all she got out before she collapsed in his arms.