“What is wrong?” Kyo asked as he rushed toward her.
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her face. “I’m going home. Can you please call me a cab?”
“Cab?” He looked confused. “Why you crying?”
“Abby!” Gregori ran downstairs, wearing a pair of jeans. “Don’t leave like this. We can talk it over.”
“There’s nothing to say!” she yelled at him. “You don’t trust me enough to give me a sample of your blood. And I can’t trust you anymore!”
“The devil take it.” Angus strode into the foyer, a bottle of blood in his hand. “What is everyone fashed about?”
“I need a cab.” Abigail sniffed. “I’m going to the airport.”
“No!” Gregori walked toward her. “We’ll work this out.”
She yanked on the door handle. “I want to go!”
“Miss Tucker,” Angus said. “There’s no record of you entering this country. If you wait, I can teleport you west. It will take a while—”
“I don’t want to wait.” She wiped tears from her face.
“I have private jet,” Kyo suggested. “Mortal pilot.”
“Ye do?” Angus asked.
Kyo nodded. “I like it. I ride in back and sleep in coffin. I don’t have to wait for sun to set.” He turned to Abigail. “I get you out of Japan. My jet take you to Hawaii. Then you get plane home.”
“No!” Gregori shouted. “She’s not leaving. We have to talk this out.”
“Let her go and think things over,” Angus muttered.
“Yuki is my chauffeur,” Kyo said. “I have him take you to airport.” He punched some buttons on the intercom, then opened the door.
“Thank you, Kyo. You’ve been very kind.” She stepped outside.
A black Town Car drove up, and she climbed into the backseat while Kyo gave the chauffeur instructions. As Yuki drove away, more tears streamed down her face.
She was leaving Gregori. After he nearly died to save your life. She pushed that thought aside.
He’d also screwed with her mind. Erased her memory. She might not have gone on the mission if she’d found something useful in his blood. When she thought about all they’d suffered through—Gregori’s wounds and Howard’s torture—more tears ran down her cheeks.
He refused to give her his blood. Refused to trust her. Refused to help her mother.
But he loves you. You love him. He almost died to save your life.
No. She wouldn’t think about that. She couldn’t.
He might have saved her life.
But he’d broken her heart.
Chapter Thirty
Gregori paced in his office at Romatech. Desperate times called for desperate measures. And he was desperate.
Time for Plan C.
He squeezed a stress ball. He’d devised the plans on the way back to New York. There’d been several layovers, while he, Angus, and Robby had waited for the sun to set at the next destination. He’d had plenty of time to figure out how to get Abby back. Angus and Robby had offered their advice—beg and grovel—but he hoped to avoid that. After all, he’d saved her life. He deserved some respect, dammit.
But it wasn’t going well. Plan A had been a miserable failure. He’d based it on the premise that their squabble had been unimportant in the big scheme of things. They loved each other, so any minor disappointments could be easily smoothed over.
He called to see if she’d arrived home safely. She wouldn’t pick up his calls. He left cheerful messages and sent flowers to her at the White House. Sent candy to her office. Sent more flowers and a fruit basket to her mother’s room at the hospital. Left more cheerful messages with assurances that he loved her and had every confidence they could weather this minor storm.
He got an inkling that it wasn’t working when the flowers were returned ground into mulch.
Undeterred, he moved swiftly on to Plan B—holding her plants hostage until she agreed to meet him. He sent more text messages, reminding her that her Tiger Paw plants were at Romatech. He was taking good care of them. And she could come pick them up some evening. Or he could deliver them to her personally at her lab.
No response.
He’d felt sure Plan B would work. Didn’t she want the damned plants? Didn’t she want to help her mother? He saw on the news that the first lady was failing fast.
Abigail felt betrayed. He realized that now. And his only hope at winning her back was Plan C.
He dropped the stress ball on his desk, picked up the small package he’d prepared for her, and slipped it inside a coat pocket. He’d waited till it was three in the morning, assuming the hospital would be quiet and free from visitors.