Lover Unleashed - J. R. Ward [202]
“There’s nothing to discuss. The St. Francis board all but asked me to resign.”
Jane swallowed hard. “Oh, God . . . Manny . . .”
Christ, he couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth: “It doesn’t matter, Jane. As long as she comes back okay—that’s all I care about.”
She nodded over at the car. “So why are we still talking?”
Good fucking point.
They both ran for the Porsche, strapped in, and took off with Jane behind the wheel.
As she sped over to the Commodore, he was transformed by purpose: He’d blown his shot with his woman once. It was not happening again.
Jane live-parked in front of the high-rise while he jogged into the foyer, shot up the elevator, and hit his place. Moving lightning-fast, he grabbed his laptop, his cell phone charger—
The safe.
Gunning for the closet in his room, he cracked the combo and unlatched the little door. With quick hands and a rock-solid mind, he took out his birth certificate, seven thousand dollars in cash, two gold Piaget watches, and his passport. Dragging over a random bag, he crammed all of that into the thing, along with his computer and charger. Then he picked up two more duffels that were all but throwing up clothes and blasted out of his condo.
As he waited for the elevator, he realized he was checking out of his life. For good. Whether he ended up with Payne or not, he was not returning here—and that wasn’t just about the physical address.
The moment he’d given his keys to Jane, for the second time, he’d turned a corner in a metaphorical snowstorm: He had no idea what was in front of him, but there was no going back, and he was fine with that.
Back down on the street, he tossed his shit into the trunk and the rear seat. “Let’s do this.”
About thirty-five minutes later, Manny was once again in the foggy terrain of the vampires’ mountain.
Glancing down at the near-ruined cell phone in his palm, he prayed to God that this possible link between him and Payne brought them back together again—and gave him a shot at what he’d thrown away—
“Holy . . . shit . . .” Up ahead, emerging from out of the strange haze, a tremendous pile of rock loomed, big as Rushmore. “That’s a . . . fucking house.”
Mausoleum was another word for it.
“The Brothers take security very seriously.” Jane pulled the car up in front of a set of stairs that was worthy of a cathedral.
“Either that,” he muttered, “or someone’s in-laws have a quarry.”
They got out together, and before he snagged his bags, he surveyed the landscape. The retaining wall that led off in both directions rose to a good twenty feet off the ground, and there were cameras all over its exterior, as well as twists of barbwire across the top. The mansion itself was enormous, sprawling in all directions, looking to be four stories high. And talk about a fortress: All the windows were covered with sheets of metal, and those double doors? Looked like you’d need a tank to get through them.
There were a number of cars in the courtyard, some of which, under other circumstances, he’d have had a serious jones for, and also another, far smaller house made from the same stone as the castle. The fountain in the center was dry, but he could imagine the peaceful sounds it would make as the water fell.
“This way,” Jane said as she popped the trunk and took out one of his duffels.
“I’ll get that.” He took what she’d grabbed, as well as the other two. “Ladies first.”
She’d called her man on the way in, so Manny had a pretty good idea that Payne’s people weren’t going to kill him outright. But who could tell for sure?
Good thing he didn’t give a shit about himself right now.
At the grand entrance, she rang the bell and a lock switched open. Stepping inside with her, he found himself in a windowless vestibule that made him think of a jail . . . a very classy, expensive jail with handcarved wood panels and the scent of lemon in the air.
No way they were coming out of this space unless someone let them.
Jane spoke into a camera. “It’s us.