Page 38 of Stolen By the Billionaire
“Mary Varvara Bell sent them to kill you.”
“Dude, or Blaze, or Mr. Robinson—”
“Definitely not that,” he muttered. “Call me Blaze.”
“My aunt Mary Varvara is a historian. You’ve got her mixed up with someone else. You probably messed with someone else, and then they sent some other people who were after you but unconnected to my aunt to follow you to my farm.” Sarah nodded. “That’s probably what happened.”
“No,” Blaze said, keeping his eyes on the road that stretched eastward through the rolling hills and cornfields.
His speed had crept up to over a hundred miles per hour, so he lifted his foot and let the car coast down to something more reasonably near the speed limit.
The steering wheel was biting into his finger pads and palms even through his calluses, so he loosened his grip.
A little.
Blaze inhaled and measured his words. “Your aunt Mary Varvara Bell is a Russian mafia kingpin. Queenpin. Whatever. She’s blackmailing me. I threatened you so she would leave me alone. She sent a hit squad to murder you to show her enemies and the world that she can’t be threatened. I came back to protect you from the murderers.”
Her glance at him was an eyeroll crossed with an accusatory stare. “So it’s your fault. Your actions caused whoever you pissed off to attack me, then.”
“Yes,” Blaze admitted.
“And you know that she sent the ‘hitmen’ to kill me, how?”
“Your brother, Logan, told me she’d sent them.”
“So my long-lost brother, Logan, somehow knows this mafia queenpin who happens to have the same name as my aunt—”
“Is your aunt,” Blaze corrected.
“—and he told you that this other woman sent mafia hitmen to kill me. Logan hasn’t given a flying,” she bit her lip and snarled like she was struggling with words, “frappuccino about me or my parents or the farm for fifteen years, but he just happened to know that hitmen were coming to kill me.”
“Yes.”
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Sounds like Logan thought he’d inherit the farm if I died so he sent someone to kill me, and you’re working with him. And I’m stuck in your dang car. Pull over right now and let me out.”
Blaze let the car coast faster, up to ninety.
Ninety wasn’t that fast.
If a highway patrol officer pulled Blaze over, Sarah would accuse him of kidnapping her, though. Being arrested would impact his mission.
Blaze lifted his foot until the Aston Martin Vantage was putting along at seventy-four, but it was psychologically hard on him to rein in the car like that. The engine wanted to run.
Taking the drive and the discussion slow and easy would be in the best interests of everyone. He said, “Logan didn’t send people to kill you. He sent me to rescue you.”
“Yeah, sure. Pull off the highway at this exit right here. Right here. Dang it, right here.” The exit whipped past the car’s window. “You missed it!”
“I understand you’re having difficulty accepting the recent turn of events. If you’ll just speak to Logan—”
“No!”
“Or allow me to call your aunt and talk to her without your interference. She will corroborate my version of events.”
“Yes. You call my aunt right now. Call my Aunt Mary and talk to her right now from this car.”
Oh, that little minx was trickier than Blaze had given her credit for. “When we get to Chicago, I’ll go somewhere private and have a conversation with her, which I will record for you.”
“I won’t believe a word of it,” Sarah said, looking out the window. “You could make a deep fake with AI.”
