ensemble, complete with sky-high heels.
My phone alerts a text, and I force myself to ignore it. I can’t talk to Ryker right now. I need to get through this appointment—the man I’ve blown off more times than is professional—and then I can break down.
And then I can be weak.
And then I can ask Ryker what I should do.
“Get it together, Vaughn,” I mutter to myself as I check for lipstick on my teeth before lifting my head high and walking from the room.
The lobby bar isn’t crowded, but it’s New York City at ten o’clock on a Thursday night, so it isn’t exactly dead either. I’m not immune to the glances that shift my way, the nudges between men as they debate whether to approach me or not, but I make sure to stare at them with my resting bitch face to let them know I’m nowhere near interested.
A man slides next to me at the bar on my left. A few moments later another on my right. I catch the eye of the man to my right and offer a smile. His hair is reddish brown, his freckles prevalent.
“A gin and tonic, please. Bombay Sapphire,” the man to my left says, pulling my attention to the phrase we’d agreed upon over the phone. The one that lets me know he is the man I am supposed to be meeting.
“Noah?” My voice is throaty, my smile warm as I turn to face him. He has dark hair with a subtle wave to it and killer gray eyes highlighted by his light-brown skin tone.
His eyes flicker to the other patrons of the bar, and his fingers fidget on the glass that is pushed in front of him before he finally turns to face me. “Vee?”
“Mmm.” I in turn take my own sweep of the bar crowd, looking for anyone who gives me bad vibes, fooling myself into believing that I’d know a cop or a setup if I saw one. “Would you like to head somewhere a little more private to discuss what needs to be discussed?”
He takes a sip of his drink and nods slowly. “Yes, I would.” He slides two twenties across the bar to pay our tab without ever asking the total. “There’s a sitting area in the lobby, just to the other side of the elevator banks. It’s private. We can talk there.”
I lick my lips and nod. I’d prefer to stay where we are, but he’s explained to me how crowds unnerve him, so I oblige.
We move from our spot at the bar, and Noah places his hand on the inside of my elbow as if we’re a couple and he’s escorting me on our date. Nothing out of the ordinary. Laughter echoes across the lobby and accompanies the click of my heels on the tiles.
Just as we pass the bank of elevators, I’m more than startled when he tightens his grip on the inside of my arm at the same time as someone takes my other one. It’s the freckled man from the bar.
I try to jerk my elbows away as fear and panic and confusion course through me. “What—”
“FBI,” Noah says beneath his breath, flashing a gold badge he holds in the palm of his hand. “I suggest you don’t fight us.” I stiffen my arms as my mind tries to catch up with how this is happening. With how I’ve let this happen.
“This is a mistake—”
“All we want to do is talk,” the freckled one says as they both steer me toward the elevators.
They push the button to summon the elevator. One of them nods at a couple who glance our way. Another pulls out his phone as if he’s reading messages.
But me? I stand between them with my pulse pounding so loudly in my ears that I don’t think I could hear a thing if they said it. My legs feel like they are going to give out—my knees act as if I have no tendons holding the joints together.
My chest hurts in the elevator. My hands tremble. My breath is shallow and doesn’t draw in enough oxygen to give my body what it needs. My head swims to the point I feel like I’m going to faint.
“Steady there, Vaughn,” Noah murmurs as we exit the car, and the sound of my name on his lips—the fact that he knows who I really am—makes my breath catch. “Here we are.”
Within seconds, Noah and Freckles have me in a hotel room much like