A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

For two days Sebastian’s executive assistants tried to get in touch with the publishing company. No such luck. The paper trail led back to the owner, one Michael Kreitz, last know address, the outskirts of Vienna. Against Ben’s and Gideon’s fervent objections, we headed to Vienna in Sebastian’s private jet with an entire squadron of security in tow, a Bombardier Global he purchased because of the lowest emissions of its kind. I did my best not to roll my eyes when he proudly rattled off the specs of his toy.

It was my first time on a plane, let alone a private jet, couple it with the fact that I was still acclimating to no longer being a fugitive from the law and to call me anxious would be putting it mildly.

“You’re going to punch a hole through the floor of the cabin if you keep that up.”

That was my lover’s voice, the one seated next to me––I think. I barely heard it through the rush of blood in my ears and the pounding of my heart. Of their own accord my toes kept pressing down like they were pushing on the brake pedal of a car.

My gaze slid sideways where I found him focused on the screen of his cellphone, studiously avoiding my glare. His lips pulled between his teeth in a pathetic attempt not to laugh. “I’d offer you my hand, sweet love, but I already have a fucked up knee––can’t afford to lose a hand, too.” When I socked him on the shoulder, he grabbed by fist and kissed the knuckles. Bending closer, he murmured, “I know what’ll relax you,” his rasp, extra-raspy. Then he took said fist and rubbed it up and down the button fly of his well-worn jeans––where he was already hard. Of course.

“That can’t be normal. You need to see a doctor about that,” I said, amusement replacing high anxiety for the moment.

“I am seeing a doctor. She’s doing wonders for it,” the beast answered in a filthy tone. His wiggling eyebrows persisted until I could no longer contain the laughter.

“I’m too anxious to read––or nap for that matter,” I admitted, fingers tapping on the armrests.

My person was raked head to toe with a sulky look. “Ever hear of the mile high club?”

“Is that an American thing? I don’t know how to ski. Besides, what does that have to do with how restless I am right now?”

His brow wrinkled. “Skiing…what?” His voice drifted into nothing. Then too slow blinks and an explosion of laughter filled the cabin. Someone to the left of me cleared their throat and my head swung in that direction. Six large men, including Gideon, stared back at me. Suspicion crept in that this had nothing to do with skiing. I turned beet red. Funny thing though, I didn’t get anxious again until we landed. And on the flight back, I got very good demonstration of what that club was about.

If Geneva is a grande dame, then Vienna is a sophisticated maiden. Against Gideon’s wishes I opened the tinted window of the car and hung out of it panting like a dog in shear awe of the architecture. The Schönbrunn Palace made me sigh, the Vienna State Opera made me oooh and aaah. After which, Sebastian pulled me by the waist onto his lap and kissed me until I was saying those things to him.

The last known address of the publishing house was a modest building in a residential neighborhood. Kreitz Publishing was still penciled into the directory next to the call button. We were the beneficiaries of more than one suspicious glare by the locals. I’m certain it wasn’t every day that two carloads of armed men stood on the sidewalk loitering in that neighborhood. We were about to give up when a thin, middle-aged man clutching a small terrier under his arm walked out of the secured doorway.

“Excuse me, are the offices of Kreitz Publishing still on the top floor?” Sebastian asked him in English.

“Publisher has been closed for years,” replied the man with a thick German accent. The dejected look on all our faces must’ve prompted him to continue. “Michael moved to the third floor.”

Sebastian’s gaze sharpened. “Michael Kreitz?”

The brown and white terrier whined and yelped. “Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, Schatzie needs to do her business.” As the man stepped out of the way, Gideon moved swiftly, smoothly catching it in time before it closed. Single file, the three of us made our way to the third floor.

“Ich komme!” The man on the other side of the steel door shouted after Gideon rang the doorbell at least a dozen times. The door cracked open, security latch still in place, to reveal an elderly man with thin white hair which had been swept from one side of his head to the other. He wore round eyeglasses on his pointy nose. If I actually believed in animal spirits this man’s would definitely have been a mole.