James glanced at me sharply, and I fought to keep my expression neutral despite the ice that shot through my veins at the name. My hands trembled slightly, and I hoped he hadn't noticed.
More security personnel arrived, taking Nikolai into custody. As they led him away, James turned to me, his face a thundercloud of barely contained fury. But when his eyes met mine, I saw something else there, too—raw fear, now hardening into fierce determination.
"Hospital. Now!." His voice was a rough command as he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders. There was no room for argument in his tone.
"I don't need a hospital," I protested weakly, though my trembling legs betrayed me. "I'm not hurt."
"Someone drugged and kidnapped you!." "You're seeing a doctor. End of discussion!."
"James, please." I grabbed his arm, suddenly desperate not to be surrounded by more strangers, more questions.
"Just take me home. You can bring a doctor there."
For a moment, I thought he would refuse. His eyes scanned my face, cataloguing every detail as if searching for hidden injuries. The adrenaline was fading fast, leaving me unsteady, and I must have swayed slightly because his arm instantly went around my waist, steadying me.
"Fine," he growled after a moment. "However, the doctor will come to you immediately."
I nodded, too exhausted to argue further. As he guided me toward a waiting car, I couldn't help glancing back at Nikolai being loaded into a police vehicle. His words echoed in my mind: Ask your mother about Viktor Kozlov. What did he know? And how long before James discovered the truth I'd been hiding?
"This isn't over, is it?" I asked quietly.
James's arm tightened protectively around me, his body a wall between me and the rest of the world. "No, princess," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "When I find who's behind this, they're going to wish it was."
Chapter Sixteen
James
Two hours after the rescue, we were back at the penthouse. Despite my insistence, Evangeline had refused to go to the hospital, so I'd arranged for Dr Reeves to come to us. I couldn't bear to put her through any more stress, and after everything she'd endured, I wanted her somewhere she felt safe. The doctor closed his medical bag with a snap that echoed through the silent penthouse. Evangeline sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, her face pale but composed. The sedative they'd given her at my insistence was taking effect.
"Mild concussion, dehydration, and residual effects from whatever was in that drink," Dr Reeves said quietly. "Fortunately, no signs of assault or serious physical trauma. I've drawn blood for toxicology, but I suspect a Rohypnol or GHB."
I nodded, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. The thought of that masked bastard drugging her, carrying her unconscious body away... my hand instinctively moved to the knife in my pocket.
"She needs rest. Fluids. Close monitoring for the remainder of today and tonight."
He handed me a prescription.
"For the anxiety, if needed. I wouldn't recommend it unless necessary, given your travel plans."
"Understood."
Dr. Reeves glanced at Evangeline, who stared blankly at the wall, then lowered his voice. "Mr. Banks, I have vast experience treating kidnapping victims. The psychological aftermath can be unpredictable. Unfortunately, her disposition may be... different for a time, because of the recent trauma."
If he only knew what the kidnapper had said to her. What secrets he'd prodded at.
After seeing the doctor out, I returned to find Evangeline exactly as I'd left her, still staring at nothing. As a precaution, I'd called in additional security—two men in the lobby, one in the hallway outside her door. More than I usually worked with, but after tonight, I wasn't taking any chances. Luxembourg police had taken statements at the scene, but a detective would arrive tomorrow for formal interviews.
I moved to the windows, checking the locks for the third time, scanning the buildings across the street for any signs of surveillance. The rage that had been burning since the moment I realised she'd disappeared from the coffee shop hadn't subsided. If anything, it had deepened, hardened into something cold and dangerous.
"You should sleep," I said, my voice rougher than intended.
She flinched slightly at the sound, then nodded. "I will. Soon."
I poured a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. The doctor's orders to keep her hydrated gave me something concrete to focus on besides the murderous thoughts cycling through my mind.
"Who is Viktor Kozlov?"
The question had been forming since the moment the kidnapper had uttered that name. I'd watched her reaction—the momentary flash of terror before she'd controlled her expression. I'd been professional enough not to interrogate her when she was being checked by medical staff or giving her statement to the police. But now, alone in the penthouse with security stationed outside, I couldn't hold it back any longer.
