Knight Time

By L.R. Starr

We're all out of chess moves. Only the raw truth remains for Robert and Sara.

Hidden enemies, mistruths, and the misfortune of tainted love are the main dish.

All the players are back on home turf in New York for the final curtain call.

The P.I. has to come to grips with which side of the board she lands on, as her and Robert's fate comes to a head. The decision she makes could forever change her destiny.

The devilish billionaire is hell-bent on regaining his Manhattan throne, but a dark horse and his cavalry lie in wait. He’s the one Elliot doesn’t see coming, and it’s going to be a cold New York winter before he lets Elliot get away with murder.

Evana, his now estranged wife, has a whole set of problems all her own and is busy trying to stay alive.

The stage has been set, get ready for a wild, heart-pounding ride from Paris to Norway and back to New York again.

How will the chips fall? And who will they fall with? Hold on. We’re almost there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.R. Starr
• Release date: Dec 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005130305

L.R. Starr

Welcome to L.R. Starr's author page. She is a romantic suspense writer with a penchant for private investigator heroines, assassins, and complex hot baddies who you hate to love.L.R. Starr is a lover of mysteries, witty dialogue, suspense, romance, and fantasy. If you like to travel through your books strap in for the ride she'll take you across the country.When she's not writing she's usually exploring, and coming up with yet another devious plot or pursuing her other love which is painting and drawing. Enjoy the bedlam friends!If you want to join in the hijinks follow her here onFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/L.R.STARR1/BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/l-r-starr

Book preview

1

Elliot

R obert Elliot? A heavily accented man of short stature queried. I nodded solemnly as my eyes glazed over. A soft Portuguese wind billowed through the curtains as the guillotine of my fate sliced over my neck.

That’s me, I cut back blandly. They’d come for me. The double-cross by that jealous prick Miguel was now in full effect. The Henny I’d been drinking whirlpooled in my system, making me anesthetized. Pity they didn’t know what I had planned. I was unstoppable. The king, waiting patiently to fill his vacant New York throne. Handy to have an insider give me the heads up to unforeseen enemies.

Another official followed the other like a little minion. I stood silently at the alcove entrance to my million-dollar villa in Portugal as the pat-down began. Hands flurrying over my body in search of anything they could pin me with; they found nothing of course. I stood unperturbed by the caustic scene. A droll smirk parked itself on my lips because they knew nothing of what they were about to endure.

You are being extradited to the U.S., Mr. Elliot. The men ran through the particulars. My ears closed over. Nothing uttered from their stupid faces would be relevant in a few hours. I held steady and let them finish their little law-abiding speeches. Understand? I stared hollowly back at them.

Sure, I mouthed simply. Both flashed me looks of contempt. Ironic that years ago a criminal owned this villa. Now, these Portuguese officials were coming to collect one.

Okay, we have all your belongings out. The van is ready for you now. Let’s go, get in, one of them stated, gesturing to the van. They rolled my suitcases out, and into the plain white minivan as the Portuguese sun lifted her skirt over the rolling hills. With silent strides, I moved from the villa - no cuffs, and into the back of the van. A stoic man with a bulletproof vest and lethal rifle poised on the ready at the open van doors to usher me in.

Telefone, he sniped. I reached in my pocket, handing over my cell phone. I swapped over the incriminating one the night before. It had been crushed into a million pieces and thrown into the Tagus river. There was virtually no information on it. I knew how the game went, even if this was my first official arrest.

My newly revised plan wouldn’t come into its own until we were in the air because what U.S. Homeland Security thought was going to happen versus what was going to go down, were two vastly different stories. I was in the driver’s seat and as far as I was concerned, we were just dancing through the formalities. I would arrive in New York City when the fuck I wanted to, not on Portuguese official’s time.

Sara warned me, You need to prepare. You’re going to be called back to the States. I’m warning you. I shouldn’t.

A different time and a different place and we would have been together. I would have pursued her to the bitter end. In that place of wishful thinking, I would have been a man of integrity, a man of honor. Instead, I walked a thin tightrope - shiny and spit polish clean to the public and sadistic and conniving behind closed doors. Worked a treat for a man like me. The official shoved me in the back, propelling me into the van. I rolled my tongue around inside my cheek as I stole a look at his cold features. They would be noted. He would be disposed of in due course. I sat on the right side watching as the two men up front spoke in Portuguese. The other officer in the back stared hard at me with his glass eyes. I flashed him a shit-eating grin as I loosened my top shirt button.

The engine started as the van rumbled to the airport. Sara’s admission gave me the extra edge. I wasted no time calling in the cavalry as soon as I hung up the phone from her that day.

Mother.

I know, her cold tone rippled through the phone. She wasn’t a woman to cross.

How?

You should know by now; nothing gets past me. I’ve set the wheels in motion. There’s going to be a detour. Norway. Stand by for the next set of instructions. Make sure you introduce yourself to the pilot. Two others will be there. You will know who. We’re working on your criminal defense team back here in the meantime. I would strongly advise you to let go of Clope, otherwise, he’ll drag you down. You stored the photos as I told you? she asked.

Yeah, I did. Mostly, it was me listening. You didn’t question Gillian Elliot, you simply followed instructions. I spent all my life trying to forge my path, and she was still engulfing my decisions like a dark filthy cloud.

Good. When they start trying to nail you, you’re going to need an ace up your sleeve, her icy monotone voice filled the other end of the phone line.

I shook my head in compliance, shrouded in the darkness of the villa. I was the offspring of one of the most underhanded billionaires in New York City. My father understood when he was alive. He knew how to make shit go away too. He knew how to end people, things, and circumstances like a ninja thief in the night.

They're in the safe. I’m the only one with the code, I replied.

"Like I told you. Good. Good. Clope has been sloppy. I warned you," she added in a chastising tone.

I’m aware. I thought we had it under control, my voice trailed off. I was uninterested in the lecture bruising my eardrums. All I wanted to imagine was the satiny, smooth skin of Ms. Sara Clemens. The caramel-hued beauty entered my life bringing hell and ecstasy in the same breath. The thought of her brought a distant smile to my face. I stroked my stubbled chin at the memory of tasting her sweet nectar. If I closed my eyes, behind them I saw her hourglass figure as her sundress dropped to the side of the bed.

Are you listening to me? They’re going to be watching you on the plane. But a man is going to show you a text with the instructions. That’s all you need to know presently.

I got it. I’m out. Click, and my phone went dead. My mother didn’t suffer fools, at times I wondered if she thought her son was one.

The Portuguese official sitting across from me, kicked my toe waking me up from the memory as we bumped along the road in the van.

I glanced at him. What? I bit.

Manequim, he answered simply with an evil smirk.

A slow-burning smile slithered across my face. I ain’t no dummy. You’ll find out. I knew enough Portuguese to let me know the insult. The women I’d bedded in the eclectic city over the years taught me the crux of the language.

Shock flushed his face as I watched his tawny cheeks turning red. Shut up, bitch.

The two at the front reprimanded him. One of them slapped the back of the seat in response. I didn’t understand what they were saying, but I understood the body language just fine. I rocked from side to side as the view of Portugal flashed by. I still had my watch. I peered down at it as the vehicle halted. One hour later at what I presumed to be Lisbon airport. The stony-faced official made his way to the back of the van first. He poked me with the butt of his gun as I stepped out the back of the van. Immediately, the other two flanked me on either side tightly. All of them were speaking in their native tongues. We were on the tarmac, and a large Boeing 747 was right in front of us. I was going to be escorted directly to the plane with these two-armed baboons.

Passport. Where is it? One of them beckoned with urgent fingers.

Front pocket of my suitcase. There’s a pouch in there, I nodded in the direction of the bags.

One of the officials yanked open my luggage pulling my passport out. It was mixed in with several other documents. He waved it in my face with his thin fingers and I snatched it from him. I pulled my sunglasses out of my pocket ready to slide onto the plane, incognito.

The tiny official reached for them, folding them over in my hands. No glasses, Señor. I exhaled an irritated breath as I looked at the tangerine brushstrokes painted in the sky. I let the slippery slope of controlled rage pulse through my system waiting for it to slow down. All three of these pawns had to be eliminated, and quickly.

One of the officials drove off in the van, stopping near the bottom of the plane where the baggage handler was loading luggage into its hub. He dropped my suitcase off to him, jumped back in the van, and drove off to the other end of the airport. The other two guarded me closer than I would have liked. I looked around to the other end of the tarmac, and another plane was parked ready for an impending take-off. We walked the short length to my flight as one of the officials shoved up the stairs. I kept my cool, but inside I wanted to turn and choke the living daylights out of him.

The pilot tipped his hat as I reached the top of the stairs. He was tall and broad across the shoulders, Caucasian; looked American, not Portuguese with bright blue eyes, salt, and pepper hair, and a rueful smile.

Welcome aboard, gentleman. I’ll take your passports there. I frowned, unusual for the pilot to want to look, usually, it was the staff that checked before they guided you to your seat.

He studied it and looked up at my face. Make sure you rug up, you’re in 14D you got the aisle seat. Your buddies are either side of you, he winked at me. He looked at the two Portuguese men with their blank faces. One of their palms was in the small of my back as a reminder for me not to try anything. Both had no idea what he meant, but the exchange I had with the pilot spoke volumes. A cute airline hostess standing by gobbled up the length of me as I flashed a winning smile at her. She was a real cutie pie with dimples. I figured she might come in handy later.

One of the officials seemed pissed as he spoke. No, we requested two either side, no aisle. He pressed his finger into the ticket.

The pilot smiled broadly showing all of his teeth. Ah, sorry fellas, that’s what it is. That’s the tickets and there’s no movement. We got a fully stacked plane today. He tipped his pilot’s hat as more passengers waited patiently behind us to get on.

We made our way down the plane aisle. Families, young couples, and elderly people, who were to be traveling were talking amongst themselves. Appeared to me that I was on a standard commercial flight. None of the passengers knew they were sitting with a man being extradited to his home country to await a trial that would never come to fruition. Two men in Hawaiian shirts throwing back peanuts and guffawing threw me off guard. They appeared out of place in the scene. I couldn’t figure out why. Our eyes locked momentarily. I was seated across the aisle from one of them, while the other two Portuguese officials sat in next to me on the left. If we were detouring to Norway, the Hawaiian dudes were dressed for the wrong season. The man closest to me had a swept comb-over and was gravitating towards his mid-fifties I guessed. His craggy face gave me the once over. His eyes were a warm golden brown and he seemed like a nice normal guy by all appearances. I sat in my seat locking in my seatbelt. My pea-brained escorts were watching my every movement. I felt relaxed even though I knew we were now sitting in a high-flying powder keg that could explode into action with one wrong move.

I wondered how long it would take people on the plane to realize we were detouring. I smirked as I tapped my fingers together in a temple shape. I counted six crew members appearing for the standard safety announcements, including the cutie brunette. She stopped a few paces short of my seat as she demonstrated how to put my oxygen mask on.

You can put one on me anytime. Especially, if that’s how you do it.

Her high cheekbones were highlighted with blush, her full lips coated with berry-stained lipstick. She snuck a glimpse at me with her slanty emerald eyes. Her shapely thigh was right near my arm. The temptation to reach out and caress her leg was strong, instead, I slyly looked up at her. My cock rose as an involuntary reaction. I had to force it down with my mind. I didn’t want the officials next to me to get a show that wasn’t designed for them. My hooded eyes lingered on her curvy waistline as she lifted her arms pointing out the exits just in front of my seat. She made me want to sit up and listen. It ran in the Elliot bloodline. The flirting, the mistresses, the drip-fed supply of women. Sometimes, that shit got boring. The women were too easy to get. Funny what money and power can do. I never cared for those. The thrill of the chase is what made the red river of my lusty blood pump through my veins. The game of seduction was one I ran on the regular. The real game of love was one I never allowed myself to participate in. Except this time, it was playing me. I tore my eyes away from the hot flight attendant as my heartstrings strained; reminding me they belonged to Ms. Sara Clemens.

The Portuguese officials eyeballed me, their faces searching for any signs of erratic movement. I let them have that grin again as I clasped my fingers together on my lap like a good boy. I knew they both wanted to slap the shit out of me but couldn’t. All I faced was extradition for trial. No crime, just the return home for questioning, so their stank attitudes must have been enhanced by Miguel’s loose tongue. He was a sneaky man who needed his tongue cut out. I would find a way to deal with him down the line but given the circumstances, I had more pressing matters on my mind.

The plane took off in the air and I rested my head letting the altitude do its thing. Once the plane was on its flight path, the pilot’s voice filtered through the speakers.

"Good morning folks, my name is Chris Weyfield and I’ll be your pilot taking you across the friendly skies today. We are now cruising at 45,000 feet. It’s nice and smooth. We are scheduled to arrive at our destination just after lunchtime. The weather is crystal clear and there’s minimal cloud cover. We expect a little turbulence midway through the flight, but no need to worry, we have everything under control. You can now take off your seatbelts