The Missing Millionaire
Dani Sinclair
The Missing Millionaire
Dani Sinclair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u61957639-99e4-5ad0-a72e-2d2c5c508ef8)
Title Page (#uf7563779-13b0-59a9-a991-343ac6e34aa4)
About The Author (#u8a9abe43-669c-5a76-b148-49940f9aa7eb)
Dedication (#uba5be2bd-835e-5980-9ce5-f139887c8469)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown up. Dani lives outside Washington, DC, a place she’s found to be a great source for both intrigue and humour!
For Judy Fitzwater, with gratitude and friendship. And as always, for Chip, Dan, Roger and Barb.
Chapter One (#u5fcb7b69-e1d4-5a70-8302-18fb46f04153)
The graceful young woman danced her way to the table and performed an indecent bump and grind right before his eyes. Slowly, in time to the hot beat of the driving music, the blonde slipped the first button from its hole on her whiter than white shirt and tossed her head. A thick cascade of pale wheat hair shimmered under the light.
“Hasn’t anyone told these women sun worship is out?” Harrison Trent murmured softly.
Artie Van Wheeler chortled in response. “You have to admit that getup wouldn’t look the same against bleached white skin.”
While their friends cheered and egged the dancer on, the woman continued to strip, up close and personal. Harrison took a tentative swallow from his glass and let his gaze skim over the lavishly decorated room and the tacky signs that wished the groom-to-be a lot of things, most of them humorous, all of them wicked. Artie and Carter Hughes had gone to great lengths to decorate the party room. Helium-filled condoms hung from crepe paper festooned with naked body parts. Harrison didn’t want to know where his friends had found that particular crepe paper. The ice sculptures on either end of the bar were also graphic and drew Harrison’s gaze right to where it had no business returning.
Tall and slender enough to pass for a man in her black tuxedo, with a cap of short, dark, unruly hair and elfin features, the bartender had drawn his attention the moment he walked into the room. He was struck by the way she surveyed the crowd with an odd intensity. Her eyes were never still and he found himself wondering what color they were.
Now, there was a woman who might be worth watching disrobe, music optional. Unlike those of the mostly naked dancers circulating in the room, the form beneath that tuxedo made him think of a sleek predator.
He watched her bend to mix another drink. She moved with an economy of motion that was unconscious grace. Maybe she was a dancer after all. Unlike his much shorter bride-to-be, she was a woman he’d be able to dance cheek to cheek with if he wanted. And he shouldn’t be thinking along those lines.
Harrison forced his attention back to the performers. There were some stunning women in the room, yet something about the bartender kept drawing his gaze back to her.
He found himself watching her from the corner of his eye. Her unruly hair was definitely in need of a good stylist. It looked as if she’d taken scissors to it herself. And from where he was sitting, it appeared as if she wasn’t wearing an ounce of makeup. Not that her flawless skin needed any enhancement, but that in itself made her stand out. There was a subtle intensity about her, a hint of something dangerous. He was fascinated.
“I’ve got to say, she is gorgeous,” Artie murmured. “And she certainly can move those hips.”
Harrison yanked his attention back to the enthusiastic dancer who, even as he watched, reached for the zipper of those tight, white leather shorts that barely covered a thing. The button at her tiny waist was already undone. Smooth golden skin trailed suggestively downward, yet he couldn’t summon any enthusiasm. He probably wouldn’t have been able to even if she’d been the first dancer of the evening.
His temples were starting to throb in time to the music and his vision was beginning to blur. He would have blamed this on the alcohol, but he was still on his first glass despite repeated toasts.
Harrison lifted the heavy Waterford crystal and took a more generous swallow of the tepid liquid. Maybe if he finished the drink he could get up and find out if the bartender was as interesting up close as she was from a distance. He wondered what sort of voice went with that face and if her eyes were dark blue or brown like his own.
The flying shorts that whistled past his head and into the cheering crowd brought his attention back to the dancer. She was really up close now and a little too personal for his taste. She was also down to a miniscule G-string and a couple of tasseled pasties. The smile plastered on her too-red lips was directed right at him.
At Artie’s nudge, Harrison pasted an answering smile on his own lips. After all, the groom and his best man were the center of attention tonight even if Harrison didn’t want to think about the coming wedding. What would this roomful of well-meaning friends say if they knew the bride-to-be was showing signs of second thoughts and was pregnant with another man’s child?
Were they making a mistake?
He forced the thought aside. From the start, Zoe had been more than a hired assistant. Liking and respect had quickly matured into the sort of friendship that generally took years to form. He trusted Zoe the way he trusted Artie and Carter. They were family to him, and family took care of their own.
It was bad enough that Zoe had watched her baby’s father shot down in front of her, but now his killer wanted her dead as well. Harrison was not going to let that happen. By marrying Zoe, he could offer her the protection of his wealth and see to it that her child was not born a bastard as he had been. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
The dancer reached out, lifted his glass from the table and turned it to place her lips exactly where his had been a moment before. She took a small sip and smiled seductively. The room cheered as she bent down, tassels shaking, and kissed his forehead.
He managed a wink and she giggled.
The other men called out suggestions. Even Carter unbent from his formidable lawyer persona to look mildly amused. Harrison kept his smile pasted in place and wished for a speedy end to the evening. The dancer turned her attention to Artie. He dutifully reached out to put more money in her G-string. In the process, her elbow caught Harrison’s glass and it tipped. The liquid splashed across the table.
One of the scantily clad servers appeared to mop up the damage, fluttering eyelashes that nature had never designed. His gaze drifted to the bar. He had the distinct impression that his bartender was disgusted. Their gazes locked briefly in sympathetic accord before she turned away and handed a new drink to one of the servers. The woman promptly headed in his direction.
Harrison abruptly realized what he should have known from the start. The woman wasn’t merely a bartender. He’d stake good money she was one of Artie’s rent-a-cops for the evening. That explained her constant scrutiny of the crowd. The only way security could mingle was to pose as one of the bartenders, waiters or dancers. Of that group, only the bartenders and Artie’s live-in housekeeper were fully clothed.
Harrison surveyed the room with a more jaundiced eye before gazing at his new drink with disfavor. What did Artie think was going to happen in here? With all his little security gadgets, his place was like Fort Knox.
A glance toward the bar found the dark-haired bartender intently focused on him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. He picked up the drink, tipped it in her direction and pretended to take a sip. She inclined her head in acknowledgment and he immediately lowered the untouched glass to the table. When he looked back a few minutes later, she was gone.
Harrison straightened up. The blond dancer shook a tassel against his ear. Whatever had been holding the tassel in place lost the battle. He hoped he hadn’t sighed out loud.
THE TRILLING OF HIS CELL PHONE pulled Harrison from a dream he couldn’t remember. More asleep than awake, he swiped at the insect biting his forearm as he tried to roll over to answer the summons. A muffled curse brought him all the way out of sleep.
An ominous shadow loomed over him, backlit by the light flooding in through the open bedroom door, which he clearly remembered closing. He had a second to make out an indistinct outline before a slim, firm hand clamped over his mouth.
“Be quiet,” a silken voice urged. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Harrison threw his weight against the body behind that hand even as his cell phone stopped its musical demand.
“Help me!” the feminine voice demanded.
A second person surged forward, cursing the cell phone and the person on the other end. There was a crunch followed by a harsh expletive as the other person grabbed for his legs. Together, they attempted to press him into the mattress.
“I stepped on the damn syringe and broke it!”
“Never mind. Hold him down.”
A knot of fear spiked through him. A syringe, not an insect. Even as he registered that both of his attackers were women, he realized they were making no attempt at silence. Something was very wrong. Numbness was taking hold of his extremities. A dark cloud fogged the edges of his mind.
They’d drugged him!
Panic lent him strength despite the weakness flooding his body. He swung his hands at the shadowy shape nearest his head, feeling only momentary satisfaction as he connected. The woman inhaled sharply, but didn’t release him. She fell across his torso, effectively blocking him from taking another swing.
Harrison bucked hard. His legs tangled in the thin blanket and sheet. Wooziness spread with devastating speed.
“Stop fighting!” the woman ordered. “We’re not going to hurt you!”
“Drugged!”
“Yes. Give it a minute.”
He swore, struggling all the harder, fighting the drunken feeling as much as his captivity.
“How long does this stuff take?” the second voice demanded.
“I don’t know. Hold him still!”
The first woman sprawled across his bare chest as the sheet and blanket slipped lower. She was trying to use her weight to pin him to the bed. Her skin gave off the faintest scent of coconuts. He shook his muzzy head, bucking harder. One bare leg came free of the tangled sheets. The second woman let go as he managed to kick her in the face.
“Ow!”
More curses filled the room as she swore viciously. Her light-colored hair swung about her face.
“That hurt! He’d better not have left a bruise. I’ve got a job on Monday.”
“Will you hold him still!”
“I’m trying.”
With the last of his fading strength, Harrison jerked his body hard to the side and rolled. He carried the first woman and the sheets and blanket to the floor with them. They bounced off the nightstand, sending the lamp and alarm clock crashing down on top of them. His head connected sharply with the corner of the nightstand. For just a second Harrison thought he was going to black out.
Neither moved for a stunned instant. He’d landed on top of the woman, one hand resting on a soft, firm breast beneath the thin material of her black jacket.
As their gazes locked he recognized her—the bartender from the party. She squirmed against his length. Unaccountably aroused, he squeezed the breast beneath his hand. She burst into motion, shoving at him with all her might. The second woman came around the bed and grabbed his shoulders from behind. He twisted to fight with her and the world blurred and faded away.
“JAMIE! Are you okay?”
Jamie Bellman struggled out from under the very naked, partially aroused man and rubbed at the aching spot where the lamp had cracked her head. Her fingers came away dry. No blood, but it hurt like the dickens.
“Calm down, Trent,” Elaine was saying, “or we’ll have to hurt you.”
Harrison Trent didn’t answer.
“Trent?”
“The drug kicked in,” Jamie told her, taking in his vacant expression.
“About time.”
“Help me get him to his feet. We’ll have to get some clothes on him.”
“Yeah. Kind of a shame, though, huh?”
Embarrassed by the way Elaine was ogling his nudity, Jamie tried not to stare as well. Silently, she had to agree that Harrison Trent was an extremely attractive man, dressed or not. Even if he hadn’t been the focus of tonight’s assignment, she would have found it difficult not to watch him.
He swayed unsteadily when they got him to his feet. Jamie looked around for the clothing he’d worn earlier. The tailored suit and conservative hairstyle seemed like so much camouflage on a man she sensed kept a more primitive side reined in tightly.
“Over there.”
An expensive-looking suitcase lay open on a stand near the wall. Elaine gathered up clothes while Jamie continued to support him. He swayed, features slack, eyes mostly shut. Even drugged the man was too good looking for comfort, and potentially dangerous.
She knocked Elaine’s arm aside when the other woman dumped his clothes on the bed and ran a caressing hand down his bare chest.
“Knock it off. We’re running late.”
Angry, and ashamed of Elaine’s actions, Jamie elbowed the woman out of the way.
Elaine merely laughed. “Prude. Can he dress himself?”
Jamie shrugged, wishing she was anywhere but here. “We’ll find out.”
He could, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. He kept trying to lie back down or touch her.
“Soft,” he murmured as his fingers brushed the side of her face.
“Yes. Hold still while I zip your pants.” It was entirely too intimate and she hated that Elaine continued leering.
“Quiet drunk,” Elaine commented. “Two of us, and mostly all he wants to do is sleep.”
“Be grateful. Get his suit jacket,” Jamie ordered.
“What for? Is this a formal kidnapping? It has to be eighty degrees outside.”
“And the van and the house are air-conditioned and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. You want to stand around and waste time discussing this? We need to hurry. Van Wheeler could be back any minute.”
Elaine scowled but headed for the closet. Thinking of Artie Van Wheeler added speed to Jamie’s own actions. Neither of the large men was someone she wanted to tangle with. She should have listened to her instincts and refused to come.
Jamie found Trent’s shoes and got him to sit on the edge of the bed without falling over. They should have been at the safe house by now. Instead they’d been caught flat by the host’s unexpected late-night visitor.
The original plan had been to slip Trent the drug at the party. When he became aroused, Elaine would let him lead her from the room for what everyone would think was a private tryst. Unfortunately, their victim hadn’t been in the mood to drink. Even after Elaine deliberately spilled the contents of the weak drink he’d been nursing all night, Trent hadn’t taken more than a sip from the new glass Jamie had doctored.
As far as Jamie was concerned, it was just as well. She didn’t like designer drugs. A person could never be sure how they would react, especially when alcohol was added to the mix. The last thing Jamie wanted was a dead man on her hands.
“You should have slipped Van Wheeler the mickey at the party like you were supposed to.”
“Van Wheeler drank too much. And Trent barely drank anything at all,” Jamie explained, and wished she hadn’t bothered. She didn’t care what her companion thought and she didn’t owe her any explanations. Mixing drugs and alcohol was never a good idea no matter how safe Tony claimed they would be.
“Yeah? Well, Van Wheeler wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t get it on after the party.”
“For all we know they were just talking.”
“Right. Talking.”
Ignoring her, Jamie urged Harrison Trent to his feet. He staggered heavily. His hand reached for her face once more as she steadied him.
“Nice,” he slurred.
Elaine smirked. “I think he likes you.”
Jamie’s skin tingled under his touch. “Come on, Mr. Trent.” She eased his hand down. “We’re going for a ride.”
“Tired.”
“I know. Me, too. You can sleep in the van.”
Kirsten waited for them at the bottom of the steps in the front foyer near the door. The long-haired brunette was tapping her foot when the three of them appeared on the stairs.
“What were you doing up there, having a private party? Come on!”
“Ha. Not with Miss Prude here dictating policy,” Elaine complained. She shoved aside a spill of hair as they finished maneuvering him down the flight of stairs.
“Then what took you so long?” Kirsten demanded as they got him out the door.
“He didn’t want to come,” Elaine told her. “And we had to get him dressed.”
“Yeah?”
There was a suggestive smirk in her voice Jamie didn’t like.
“He was naked?” Kirsten continued. “I’m really sorry I missed that. He looks prime to me.”
“Oh, he is,” Elaine agreed.
“Let’s get going,” Jamie ordered.
“Now you’re in a rush? We’re home free now, baby. We’ve got all night.”
“And we’ve used up most of it already,” Jamie told her. “Help me get him in the van.”
The drive to the farmhouse would be long and her nerves were already frazzled. She had never wanted any part of this. Even if she hadn’t known the sort of people Tony had once worked for, Jamie’s insides rebelled against the very idea of kidnapping someone.
The problem was, she owed Tony Carillo, and the debt was one she could never hope to repay. Tony and his wife had never asked Jamie for anything in all the years they’d stood in as her surrogate family. Not once had they made her feel indebted.
That didn’t change the fact that she was.
Tony insisted the kidnapping was necessary to save Harrison Trent’s life. Beyond that, he wouldn’t tell her a thing. Jamie’s job was to keep the man safe until noon, when someone would come to the farmhouse and explain everything. After that, Trent would be allowed to leave and no harm done.
She didn’t believe in Santa Claus, but Jamie believed in Tony. She swore under her breath. If only she’d picked a different week to come for a visit. She was due to fly back to the coast in two days. This was not how she wanted to spend one of her last evenings. Jamie took her job as a professional bodyguard seriously. She would never forgive Tony if he had lied to her.
With some concern, she studied the man on the backseat beside her. She hadn’t gotten much of the drug into him before he’d batted the syringe out of her hand, so there was no telling how long the effects would last. Jamie was thankful he was docile for now. While she was strong and knew some tricks, Harrison Trent was a trimly muscled man who emanated a sense of power even drugged.
And Elaine’s leering comments aside, his body went with his face. Trent was incredibly good looking and wealthy enough to be a target for all sorts of people. His bride was going to be very upset come morning.
Debt or no debt, Jamie heartily wished Tony had found someone else for this assignment. On the other hand, if she could prevent Trent from being killed, it was worth doing.
She sighed as the two women in front of her continued their bawdy discussion. No wonder Tony had wanted her in charge. Whether Trent liked it or not, she was going to do her best to guard his ruggedly handsome body until noon.
HARRISON FOUND HIMSELF swaying, groggy and confused as he stood on uneven ground. His back was pressed against a tall vehicle. He stared at the porch of the ratty old house in front of him, trying to make sense of where he was. He felt drunk. But he hadn’t drunk much and he never drank to excess. What was wrong with him?
“Come on, Mr. Trent.”
He wasn’t alone. Three people surrounded him in the humid darkness. Overhead, the sky blazed with stars. What had happened to all the city lights? He shook his head, willing the muzziness to go away, and nearly fell. Where was he? Who were these people? “Wha—?”
A woman took his arm. She was nearly as tall as he was, willowy and surprisingly strong for such a lean woman. He could barely see her features beneath the cap of short dark hair. She guided his shambling steps up the three stairs of the worn old porch.
This wasn’t right. He tried to tell her so, but the protest got all jumbled in his mouth. A second woman moved forward with keys. He reached for the door to hold it open for her and discovered his wrists were taped together. “Wha—?”
“It’s okay,” the woman holding his arm assured him. “Don’t worry about it.”
That didn’t seem right, either. He thought he should be upset.
The long-haired blonde finished unlocking the door and turned to stroke his cheek. “Hey, handsome, how’d you like to get it on?”
The woman holding his arm knocked the other woman’s hand aside. “Leave him alone.”
“Hey, I’m not territorial. We can all have some fun.”
“Don’t touch him.” Her voice was cold and filled with warning menace. Her fingers tightened on his arm.
“You aren’t in charge here.”
“Yes,” she told the other woman, “I am. I’m his bodyguard.”
“Ha! Nice work if you can get it.”
“I did, so back off.”
“Chill out. He won’t remember any of it.”
“But I will.”
The words were spaced and deadly calm. Even Harrison’s befuddled mind registered the threat and the challenge behind her words and stance.
“Fine, Miss Priss. I guess you want him all to yourself. C’mon, Kirsten, let’s go see what they have to drink in this place. Dancing makes me thirsty as well as horny.”
“I need my car keys,” his bodyguard told the other woman.
“What for?”
For an answer she held out her hand and waited. The brunette with the ponytail fished a set of keys from her pocket and tossed them in his direction. The woman holding his arm caught them out of the air before he could flinch away.
“Where do you suppose Tony found someone like her?” the blonde asked.
If there was an answer, Harrison didn’t hear it. His captor led him down a hall into a small room. A single overhead bulb revealed a neatly made bed that took up most of the available floor space. There was nothing else in the room. Seeing the crisp white cover, he realized how tired he felt. He struggled to free his hands.
“Take it easy, Mr. Trent.” She pulled down the cover.
“M’hands.”
“It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Have a seat.”
Even sitting on the side of the bed as she’d instructed felt wrong. His head hurt, and his brain couldn’t seem to sort out what was happening.
She pulled off his shoes and set them on an old dresser. A knife appeared in her hand. Her features were unreadable as she slit the tape binding his wrists together and quickly pulled it off, making him wince.
“Sorry. Let’s get your jacket off.”
There was a sense of déjà vu as she divested him of his suit coat. His movements were oddly disconnected. His hands fumbled and didn’t work right, but bit by bit his mind was starting to clear. This was definitely all wrong.
He considered trying to overwhelm her, but his body still felt too uncoordinated. Mentally, he struggled to put the pieces together, getting a jumble of confused images. One thing was clear, he needed to get away from these women.
Reaching for her, he yanked the woman down on top of him. The move caught her unprepared. Together, they collapsed on the wide bed.
“Mr. Trent—”
She struggled and he held on tightly. The feel of her moving against his length aroused him. She smelled good. He’d always liked coconut. And she fit nicely. He covered her lips with his own. They were exquisitely soft.
For a startled instant, she lay over him, quiescent. His body hardened. He wanted her. And that was also wrong.
As if in agreement, she resumed her struggle to pull away.
The keys! He managed to dip into the pocket where he’d seen her put the car keys, making the action part of the silent battle they waged. She pulled away and stood as he rolled on top of the keys, praying she hadn’t noticed them fall to the bed. He shifted to cover them as she pulled a roll of duct tape from a different pocket and ordered him to hold out his hands.
“You first.” He tried to smile and felt a foolish grin split his face.
Her mouth firmed. “This isn’t a game, Mr. Trent.”
“It could be.”
“Don’t make me drug you again.”
Drug. She would drug him again. That’s why his head was all mush.
“Let me have your hands.”
In a moment of clarity, he debated taking her down and decided he didn’t have enough dexterity yet. He didn’t resist when she reached for his hands.
“Thank you.”
She wrapped the duct tape securely around his wrists once more.
“Why?” he asked.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Because like it or not, I was hired as your bodyguard and I intend to be exactly that. By tomorrow afternoon you’ll be on your way home. You have my word on it.”
That sounded like a vow.
Vows.
He was getting married in the morning. Why was he getting married? He wasn’t in love with anyone.
“Try to sleep off the drug’s effects, Mr. Trent. You’ll feel better when you wake up. If you need something, shout. I’ll be right outside the door.”
She pulled the lightweight cover over him and turned out the light. In seconds she was gone.
He rested, letting his brain sort through the confusion. Getting the keys from under his body proved awkward, constrained as he was. His coordination was still off and his head throbbed. It wasn’t just a dull headache, either. There was a sharp pain in one spot. Had they hit him with something? Why couldn’t he remember?
Using the longest key like a blade, he attempted to saw the tape binding his wrists. More than once he dropped the keys and had to fumble for them in the bedding. Each time he paused, afraid she’d hear and come in and take them away.
Somewhere in the house a television played loudly. Twice, one of the other women called out. Once, his bodyguard answered back. She really was outside his door. He froze, afraid she’d come inside and check on him. She didn’t, and after a heart-pounding minute he went back to work on the tape.
When it finally parted, he lay there a moment before working it off his wrists. More skin and hair came away with the wad of sticky tape. He was bleeding. He didn’t care. He was free and he intended to stay that way.
His thinking was clearer now and he was coldly furious. Someone had made a very bad mistake.
The room was incredibly dark. Little light filtered past the cracks around the door. There didn’t appear to be a window. So much for an easy escape.
Rubbing at the tender place on the back of his head, he found a raised lump. So they had hit him with something and drugged him to boot. He welcomed the controlled fury that sent adrenaline coursing through him. One way or another, he was getting out of here—even if he had to take on all three of them at once.
They hadn’t displayed any weapons other than the knife the woman had used to cut him free. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t armed, but he’d take his chances.
Grabbing his suit coat from the end of the bed, he went to the door and listened hard. No sound. Even the television had fallen silent. Quietly, he searched the room. He was more unsteady on his feet than he liked. He fumbled putting on the shoes he took from the dresser.
While he was feeling more clearheaded by the minute, the room had a tendency to list, especially when he bent over. A quick search proved his cell had been stripped clean of anything he could use as a weapon. He didn’t even have his belt. All he had were the keys he’d taken from his jailer.
Well, drunk or drugged, he should be able to take on one woman. Three might prove a challenge, but if they didn’t shoot him, he had a chance.
Putting his hand on the door handle, he twisted slowly. The knob turned without a sound. Surprised they hadn’t locked him in, he inched the door open, praying it wouldn’t squeak. Through the slit he’d made, he peered into the hall. A pillow and blanket lay on the floor. There was no sign of his jailers.
Harrison didn’t hesitate. He opened the door, stepped through and closed it behind him as quietly as possible, nearly tripping over the pillow on the floor. He caught himself with a thud against the wall. The sound seemed unbelievably loud in the silence of the house. He paused, but no one shouted. There were dim lights at both ends of the narrow, dark hall. The television had sounded as if it had come from his right, so he went left.
A toilet flushed as he reached the small country kitchen. Footsteps moved rapidly overhead. Harrison didn’t waste time searching for a weapon. He went straight to the door, found it unlocked and opened it, half expecting an alarm to sound. Someone was running down the stairs.
He was outside, closing the door at his back. He missed the bottom step and stumbled off the porch, going to his knees. The grass was thick and high, prickling against his hands. He barely noticed. Car keys gripped in his hand, he ran toward the front of the house, heedless of noise.
A large van with tinted windows was parked in front on the rutted dirt-and-gravel strip that served as a driveway. Two smaller vehicles were parked beside it. He debated. She’d said car, hadn’t she? He chose the larger sedan, hoping the key would fit. He had a feeling he wouldn’t get a second chance.
In the dark, the small lock was invisible. He nearly dropped the key twice before he jammed it into the hole.
She came out of nowhere. One second he was struggling with the lock, the next he was falling to the ground in a tackle the NFL would have approved.
And the house exploded.
Chapter Two (#u5fcb7b69-e1d4-5a70-8302-18fb46f04153)
While Harrison was still trying to understand what had happened, the woman leaped to her feet, running toward the blaze. Flames licked at the dry wood with greedy hunger. He climbed to his feet, shocked to see the entire building engulfed in flames. The heat was staggering.
“Elaine! Kirsten!”
He went after her as she attempted to get on the porch. The front window burst outward in a shower of glass. Flames shot through the new opening.
“Get back!” He grabbed her, but she pulled free.
“We have to get them out!”
He was pretty sure it was too late, but his gaze swept the grounds, lit by the voracious fire. “Is there a ladder?”
“I don’t know!”
They ran to the side of the house, seeking another way inside. As if the fire anticipated this, every entrance was thick with dark plumes of smoke as deadly as the flames themselves.
Knowing it was foolish, Harrison used the porch railing to pull himself onto the hot roof. The dry wood framing made the old house a tinderbox. Another window popped, sending more tongues of flame licking up the faded wood siding. Thick, black, noxious smoke filled the air.
“Get down!” the woman yelled.
There was no choice. Harrison swung back down and jumped to the grass. His lungs hurt as he coughed up the smoke he’d tried not to inhale.
She gripped his arm. “We have to go.”
“Your friends…”
“They’re dead. It’s too late.” She tugged him between the van and the car, grabbed the keys from where they dangled in the lock and moved past that car to the smaller one. The smaller car had been protected from the explosion by the other two.
“We have to go,” she repeated.
Harrison shook his head. “The fire department—”
“Can only watch it burn.” She opened the passenger door.
His head throbbed. He coughed hard. Coughing as well, she practically shoved him down onto the passenger seat. Slamming the door, she raced around to the other side and slid behind the wheel.
“Where’s your cell phone?” he asked as the engine roared to life.
“In there.” She nodded toward the house.
Surely someone would call. The flames would be visible for miles. Fire lit the surrounding area as it feasted on the house. Without lights, the small car careened dangerously across the choked lawn and down the rutted path that served as a driveway.
Harrison reached for his seat belt as he bounced all around. “Slow down. You’re going to wreck.”
“No.” She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek.
“I’m sorry. Your friends—”
“They weren’t. I didn’t even like them. But nobody deserves to die like that.”
He tried to make sense of her words as she turned the car onto the main road and sped up. “Turn your headlights on. You’re going to kill us.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Her fingers gripped the steering wheel fiercely. “Those explosions back there were deliberate, Mr. Trent. Tony lied to me.”
There was anguish in that last.
“Someone wanted you dead tonight,” she continued.
“No.”
She didn’t seem to hear his stark protest.
“If you hadn’t knocked that syringe aside…If you’d gotten a full dose of the drug, or hadn’t escaped when you did…” She stared at the blackness beyond the windshield, never once looking at him. She drew in a shaky breath. “You were supposed to die in there.”
Harrison tried to absorb words that made no sense. Nothing that had happened tonight made any sense.
“We all were.”
It took him a second to realize she meant they were all supposed to die. “That’s crazy.”
“I only realized my keys were missing when I went to the bathroom, or I’d have been inside that house along with you. We probably wouldn’t have had time to know what happened.”
“No one wants to kill me.”
“Wrong, Mr. Trent.” Bitter acid dripped from every word. “Someone hates you enough to kill anyone in your vicinity.”
He wanted to tell her she was insane, but the inferno behind them said otherwise. Thinking was hard, but he knew that fire hadn’t been accidental. He’d heard the explosion. More than one. And he’d felt the concussion of the blasts.
Either a gas main had ruptured, or she was right, someone had deliberately blown up the old farmhouse.
His brain felt stuffed with cotton and his head throbbed. He was a businessman. He’d made some enemies, sure, but he prided himself on being ethical. How could he have not known he’d made an enemy willing to commit murder? If only he could think clearly.
“What did you drug me with?”
Her quick glance was troubled. “It’s supposed to be a compound similar to Rohypnol.”
“Supposed to be?”
Her expression was uncomfortable. She faced straight ahead once more. Her hands continued their death grip on the steering wheel.
“I was told the drug would make you docile and agreeable so we could get you out of the house without an incident.”
“You stuck me full of a drug and you don’t even know what it is?”
She shifted as though uncomfortable and didn’t respond.
Despite the effort it took to keep his rage in check, he strove to keep his voice level. “Why did you kidnap me?”
“To protect you.”
Her tone was laced with irony, but there was also anger below the surface. Surprised, he realized she was as furious as he was. “By tying me up in an exploding house?”
“It wasn’t supposed to explode.”
“How comforting.”
“Look, I was asked to guard you until noon. Someone was supposed to explain everything to you then. After that, I was promised that you were going to be set free.”
“I hope you got that promise in writing, because you should definitely sue.”
Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
“Who was coming to see me?”
“I don’t know.” The sharpness of her tone didn’t disguise a thread of deeper emotion he couldn’t identify.
“What do you know?”
“We need to get away from here.” Her eyes wandered between the empty road in front of them and the rearview mirror
that showed the empty stretch behind them.
“Are we being followed?”
“No.”
Not yet seemed to be implied. He shifted on his seat and stared at the side mirror. There was nothing to see. “Who promised you I was going to be set free?”
He didn’t think she was going to answer, but after a moment, she did. Pain laced her words. “Someone I trusted.”
He swallowed a scathing comment. She was angry and afraid, he realized. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Jamie. And until noon tomorrow, I’m your bodyguard.”
“I don’t want a bodyguard.”
“Too bad.”
Silence filled the car. He studied her stiff posture for several seconds. He thought there was a sheen of moisture in her eyes, but he couldn’t be certain.
“Why noon?” And a wave of cold spread through his belly as an answer presented itself. “I’m getting married at eleven. Zoe! They’re going after Zoe! Find a pay phone,” he commanded.
Fear knifed his thoughts. This wasn’t about him. This was about Zoe. She’d been the target of a killer at least twice. Her condo had been ransacked and destroyed. When she refused to move in with him before the wedding, he’d had her move into one of his apartment buildings to protect her. Someone wanted him out of the way so they could strike at her!
BLINKING BACK furious tears, Jamie glanced at the man. She couldn’t see his features clearly in the darkness of the car, but she could feel the tension that radiated from his still form. He was more alert and competent with every second. Despite the gun strapped to her ankle, she didn’t like the odds if it came down to a struggle. Short of shooting him herself, she wouldn’t win a physical contest.
“We need a phone,” he repeated angrily.
“Do you see a telephone anywhere?”
“He’s going after Zoe.”
“Who is?”
“I don’t know!”
Jamie shook her head. “You were the one in the house that exploded, not your bride-to-be.” But hadn’t she wondered all along if his bride was the intended target?
Except, he was the one they’d tried to incinerate. So why the charade to protect him? And why try to kill him in such a spectacular fashion?
She needed to find a phone more than he did. But the twolane road was dark. The houses and barns that flanked it were set well back from the street. Tony’s people had chosen the location for its remoteness.
“We’ve got a ways to go yet before we reach the highway,” she added.
“Where are we?”
“Southern Virginia.” She turned on the car headlights. There had been no sign of pursuit, so likely the explosive devices had been on timers. Yet she couldn’t be sure that someone hadn’t hung around to trigger those blasts. This was not the time to start taking chances.
Jamie shuddered as she thought about how close an escape they’d just had. She would not believe that Tony had set her up to die. Therefore, someone had lied to him. The person had to know he wouldn’t take this lying down. Whoever had set this in motion had a second set of victims in mind. Jamie needed to get to Tony before the killers did.
If only she hadn’t panicked and left her cell phone on the sink when she’d discovered her keys missing. Stupid. Now all she could do was race against time and the unknown enemy.
If she was going to have regrets, she should start with the fact that she hadn’t followed her instincts from the start and flatly refused Tony the minute he proposed this insanity. But if she hadn’t gone along, her mind whispered, it would have been his wife, Carolyn, in that farmhouse tonight.
“As soon as we get to a phone you can drop me off,” Trent told her. “I won’t tell the police about you.”
“Even if I believed that, what part of my being your bodyguard don’t you understand?” she snapped. Fear and frustration made her tone sharp. “I agreed to keep you safe until noon and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”
“I don’t need or want a bodyguard.”
“Two dead women say otherwise. I’m a professional, Mr. Trent. When I agree to do a job, I see it through.”
There was a beat of silence. She could feel him studying her.
“You really are a bodyguard?”
“Licensed, bonded and everything.” No need to tell him that was in California, not Virginia.
It was subtle, but she sensed him relax a bit.
“Do you know James Wickliff?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Mark Ramsey? Of Ramsey Incorporated?”
“No.”
His tension returned. “I hired Ramsey’s firm to guard my fiancée. Wickliff was assigned to Zoe.”
“Then she’s probably safe enough.”
“As safe as I was?”
His bitter words silenced her.
“Were those other two women bodyguards, too?”
“No. What they wanted to do with your body had nothing to do with guarding it. They came with the assignment.”
That gave him pause. “Who are you working for?”
Jamie debated. What would he say if she told him she suspected a man involved in organized crime had arranged to hire her? Her foster father’s former boss had his fingers in any number of pies, though he kept a low profile. His name probably wouldn’t mean a thing to someone like Harrison Trent, but if it did, the less said the better.
“I’m working for a friend,” she said.
“I’d hate to meet your enemies.”
Jamie tensed. “He was set up as much as we were!”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do.”
“That’s helpful.”
She didn’t bother to respond.
“This makes no sense,” he muttered under his breath.
“What doesn’t?” She felt his stare return to her.
“Why would Drake’s killer come after me?”
“Who’s Drake?”
The silence lengthened. She sent a glance in his direction and found him studying her in the darkness.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Listen, Mr. Trent, if you know who tried to kill you—”
“I don’t. Zoe dated a man named Wayne Drake a couple of times a few months ago. He turned out to be a professional thief. He was gunned down outside a restaurant in D.C. last week.”
“So?”
“So Zoe was with Drake when he was killed. The story made headline news.”
Jamie could have told him she hadn’t been paying attention to the news while she was here. Instead, she sent him a quick glance. “Your fiancée was dating another man a week before your wedding?”
“No! It’s complicated.”
“Sounds like it. Must have been a big story what with her being engaged to you.”
Harrison took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing calmly. She had to give him full marks for control.
“The police don’t know if Zoe was the intended victim or Drake was.”
“He’s the one who died,” she pointed out.
“But someone had tried to kill her a couple of months earlier.”
That was interesting. Jamie tapped the steering wheel with her index finger. Was his bride-to-be involved with Victor DiMarko somehow? DiMarko was reputed to be a good-looking man, if a lot older than Trent’s bride must be. On the other hand, if her dead boyfriend had been a thief, maybe he was the connection to DiMarko. Or maybe there was no connection whatsoever.
Jamie shook her head. Even if someone had a reason to go after the thief and Trent’s fiancée, why try to take out a man like Harrison Trent? He was a millionaire several times over. His murder would stir a hornet’s nest of activity for sure.
“Why would Drake’s killer come after you?” she asked. “Were you at the restaurant, too?”
“No.”
“Then the attempt on your life must be about something else.”
“There has to be a connection.”
She shook her head. “You’re a businessman, Mr. Trent. You’ve probably ticked off a number of people.”
He tensed. “Being a businessman makes me evil?”
“Being a successful businessman makes you a target,” she corrected. “Did you win any big deals lately? Maybe fire someone with a temper? Step on the wrong toes?” Like Victor DiMarko’s? “Start thinking, Mr. Trent, because someone doesn’t like you.”
“I’m sure a number of people don’t like me, but blowing me up is extreme. I don’t make that sort of enemy.”
“Obviously, you have now.”
She drove in silence while he contemplated her words. Abruptly, he pointed toward the windshield. “There’s a gas station up ahead. It’s closed, but maybe it has a pay phone.”
Jamie slowed, considered the spot and then sped up again.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s too isolated. We’d be too exposed.”
“Stop the car! I have to warn Zoe!”
“And I have to call someone as well, but I’d like us both to survive the experience. We’re too close to the house, Mr. Trent. This is the first phone I’ve seen. I suspect our bomber knows that. I don’t want to take the risk.”
“I’m willing.”
“But you aren’t driving.”
For a moment she thought he’d make a grab for the steering wheel. Fortunately, he wasn’t a fool.
“We’ll be on the highway in a couple of minutes. We’ll find a place to stop after that.”
“If Zoe dies because you wasted time, I’ll make it my full-time goal to see you spend the rest of your life in prison.”
Her scalp prickled. She didn’t doubt him, but she couldn’t afford to let his words stop her. “I prefer positive incentives myself.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Didn’t think you were.” She forced her voice to remain level as fear churned in her belly. “I don’t know who’s coming after you. Maybe they will go after your fiancée next. Maybe they already have. What I do know is that they tried to kill you and now they’re going to go after my friend because he’s the only one who can nail their hides to the barn door.”
“Assuming your friend isn’t behind the bombing.”
“That’s a given.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
His voice tightened. “Why should I trust you? You drugged me, kidnapped me and planned to hold me against my will.”
Her patience gave out. “That’s right, so don’t mess with me. I’ve got nothing to lose. When we find a safe pay phone, you can use it after me. In the meantime, be quiet and let me drive.”
HARRISON EYED HER with a grudging respect. Her elfin features were determined. He sensed she was telling him the truth as she saw it, but that didn’t soothe his impatience to reach Zoe and be sure she was unharmed.
“Is it possible the explosion was meant for you or one of the other two women?” he asked after a few minutes.
Jamie hesitated as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her. “Unlikely.”
But there was a thread of uncertainty in her tone. The more he considered the idea, the more he liked it. Drake’s killer would have no reason to kidnap or kill him, yet if Jamie was telling the truth, someone wanted him to miss his wedding. Why? Drake was dead. Where was the motive?
He squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the throbbing pain in his head. The drug had left his mouth cottony dry and his stomach churning. Exhaustion tugged at him, both physical and emotional. As they rocketed down the highway, he wondered what would happen if a cop tried to flag them over. Would she stop? Would she tell the police what had happened?
Would he?
He was used to making snap decisions about people, but Jamie confused him. His initial attraction to her lingered despite what she had done. He couldn’t define what it was about her that had intrigued him from the start. But after she sped past the third possible exit ramp, any attraction he might have felt dissolved as he realized she had no intention of stopping.
“We could have found a pay phone at that exit.”
“I know. I also know you don’t have any change. I dressed you.”
Disconcerted, he couldn’t decide which was more disturbing, the fact that she was right about the change, or the fact that she’d dressed him. He always slept in the nude.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any change, either,” she added.
“You don’t need change to dial 911.”
She cut him a look. “I have no intention of dialing 911.”
That answered the question of what she’d say to the police if they were stopped.
“You could use a credit card.”
Her scornful expression deepened.
“Where are we going?”
She said nothing for so long he decided she wasn’t going to answer.
“We should get rid of this car,” she told him finally.
“What, you don’t like the color?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “It’s been sitting outside that farmhouse all evening. We’re lucky it wasn’t rigged to explode, too.”
“Now, there’s a cheery thought.” He shifted at the memory of those horrific explosions.
“It could also have a tracer on it in case one of us did escape.”
“Just who do you think is after me?”
“Someone willing to kill four people without remorse.”
Put that way, he couldn’t think of a thing to say.
JAMIE DEBATED HER OPTIONS. She could steal a car, but the minute she stopped, Trent was apt to take off. Part of her thought that would be just as well, but she couldn’t leave him undefended after promising to guard him.
Tony wouldn’t be happy when she showed up on his doorstep, but what other option did she have? She wasn’t about to ask Harrison Trent if he was involved in organized crime. He might say yes, and she really wanted to like him. He knew how to keep his head. Despite the drug messing with his system, he’d been quick to seize an opportunity when she’d inadvertently presented one. And he’d actually tried to save the other women even though they’d drugged and kidnapped him.
Ruefully, she realized the millionaire was handling the situation better than she was. Jamie didn’t want to discover he’d made his money in the same line of work as Tony’s former boss.
Whoever was behind the explosions would expect her to go to Tony if they knew she’d survived. But did they know? It all came down to whether the devices had been remotely triggered or on timers.
Her knowledge of bombs was rudimentary at best. Still, it galled her that she had walked into that farmhouse like a sheep last night. Not one of them had thought to check the place over when they returned, and she knew better. Foolishly, her chief concern at the time had been defending Trent’s questionable virtue from Kirsten and Elaine. She wasn’t altogether sure he’d thank her for that, but he and his friend hadn’t ogled the dancers that evening. In fact, Trent had almost looked pained at times.
Except when she’d caught him looking at her.
The memory provoked a tiny shiver. He’d been curious about her. She’d seen it in the way his eyes had followed her. Jamie had been surprised and more than a little flattered. She was blessed with attractive, if average, features, but certainly not the sort that normally drew a man’s gaze in a roomful of half-naked women. And more disturbing, she wasn’t immune to him, either. Even now, knowing he was engaged and possibly a member of organized crime, she found him extremely attractive.
Hastily, she shoved the thought aside. She needed to concentrate. She’d seen no sign of pursuit since they’d driven away, but that didn’t mean no one was back there. Most likely, the explosives had been on timers. They’d been well planted to effectively block all the main exits. Someone had wanted to make very sure no one escaped that inferno. The chilling thought brought a shiver straight down her spine. Would she have found the devices if she’d done her job right?
Jamie turned her mind from useless speculation.
“Mind telling me where we’re going?”
She hesitated at his question, but what was the point? “We’re going to try and stop another murder.”
“Laudable goal. How many of us did you kidnap tonight?”
She sent him a glare.
“Okay then, who else is going to be murdered?”
“The people who set up your kidnapping.”
“You want to share a little here?”
“No.”
“Right. How are we going to prevent them from being murdered?”
Jamie inhaled. “I have no idea.”
Only the barest hint of light streaked the horizon. The fatigue tugging at her brain told Jamie daybreak was fast approaching. The suburban streets were still empty as she steered the car into Tony’s subdivision.
Harrison Trent had fallen silent after their last exchange, for which Jamie was grateful. He didn’t need to know how rattled she was. None of her extensive training had left her prepared for the reality of almost dying on the job. The stench of the smoke clung to her hair and clothing despite the windows she’d opened to air them out. The knowledge that Kirsten and Elaine had died because she hadn’t done her job well enough was a weight on her soul.
So far, she’d managed to keep the shakes at bay. Unfortunately, she knew she was heading for a meltdown. The only thing that kept her going was the certainty that it wasn’t Tony who had set them up to die. Tony and Carolyn were in deadly danger from whoever had.
Turning the corner onto their street sent a new surge of apprehension pouring through her. Their house was near the middle of the block, and it glowed like a Christmas tree. Lights blazed behind the curtained windows on the first floor. Tony and Carolyn were early risers, but not this early.
Harrison Trent straightened in his seat. “It’s the house with the lights on, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like we’re expected.”
Jamie cruised past slowly while her heart hammered in her chest. Carolyn’s dark SUV sat in the driveway. Tony’s fancy sports car was probably inside the detached garage along with his souped-up sedan.
“The SUV belongs there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure.”
She circled the block looking for anything out of place. Every parked car was suspect. She watched for the slightest motion. Nothing. Not even a stray cat or dog disturbed the stillness.
She stared at the house as she drove past again at a crawl. “It’s too quiet.”
“It’s early Saturday morning. What do you expect? Most people sleep in on weekends.”
Jamie pulled over at the end of the street. She turned off the headlights, but left the engine running. “Wait here while I check this out.”
“Not going to happen.”
Her body hummed with tension. “Then take the car.You can leave.” After all, there was nothing she could do to stop him.
“As tempting as that offer is, I believe I’ll stay with you for now.”
“Mr. Trent, I’m serious.”
“So am I. I deserve some answers.”
She exhaled loudly. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Then turn off the engine and stop arguing.”
Her hand shook as she obeyed. “The people who blew up the farmhouse may be inside there.”
“I got that, but you’re going in, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going with you. I have a few things to say to these people.”
Jamie growled. “You aren’t going to be reasonable about this, are you?” She pulled the gun from her ankle strap. He eyed it and her, but didn’t appear intimidated.
“I’m a businessman, Jamie. I’m always reasonable. Let’s go.” He opened the car door.
Jamie saw no option. She couldn’t force him to wait, and panic hovered, a mere breath away. Something was badly wrong inside, she sensed it.
“Let me lead,” she ordered. “If anything goes wrong—”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
She shook her head.
“You wouldn’t have another gun, would you?”
“No.” The last thing she wanted was a person she couldn’t predict at her back armed with a weapon.
Without another word she began running toward the house. Hopefully, anyone seeing them would take them for a pair of early morning joggers trying to beat the August heat and not notice the gun she tried to conceal in her hand.
Passing Tony’s house, she saw no sign of movement inside. She went up the driveway of the silent house next door. Trent got points for not asking more questions as Jamie led him around to the back and cut through to Tony and Carolyn’s yard. Their kitchen light tossed shadows across the porch and down onto the manicured lawn. Nothing moved inside or out. Fear pulsed with every beat of her heart.
Skipping the back door, she went around to the side entrance where it was dark. Trent remained silent as she pulled out her keys and inserted one in the lock. Jamie stiffened. The door swung open at the first touch without the turn of the key.
Her heart threatened to explode as she eased inside. Muted voices came from the living room. Jamie paused to listen.
The television, she realized when background music started to play. Tony wouldn’t be watching television at this hour. Something was horribly wrong.
Staying against the wall, she moved up the stairs to the softly glowing kitchen.
Chapter Three (#u5fcb7b69-e1d4-5a70-8302-18fb46f04153)
Harrison gave her space and followed quietly. Jamie was obviously spooked at finding the door unlocked. He was more than a little spooked himself. What was he doing here? He should have taken the car and gone for the police.
Maybe it was the drugs still in his system, or maybe he was punchy from exhaustion, but the night had taken on a surrealism that made thinking straight difficult. This was quite possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his life.
The smell hit him even before Jamie stilled so abruptly that he bumped into her back. Beyond her shoulder he took in the scene with a detached sense of horror.
A crumpled form lay on the tiled floor surrounded by a pool of dark blood. The microwave door gaped open above the body. An unpopped bag of popcorn was still clutched in lifeless fingers.
Harrison forced himself to study the scene and his brain went numb with shock. Ceecee. Impossible. That couldn’t be Ceecee. Not here. Not lying dead like this.
Ceecee was vibrantly alive. She’d always been an attractive woman, and yes, she’d be in her late fifties now. And her hair had always been dark and soft, her body trim, but always in motion. The summery yellow slacks and casual shirt were so typical of what he remembered, but this couldn’t be her.
Ceecee had an infectious laugh. She had a way of listening to someone as if they were the most important person in her world. She’d been his mother’s best friend since before he’d been born.
When he was a boy, Ceecee Carillo would call or turn up every so often no matter where they lived. Their home was always brighter for her visits. His mother was laughing constantly during her stays even when they only sat around the kitchen table, chatting and giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. And Ceecee had always had a present for him when she came. She treated him as if he were another adult, not some boring little kid.
Until the year he turned fourteen. After his kidnapping, she didn’t come anymore. He’d thought it was because they’d moved and his mother was afraid to have visitors. He knew she still talked to Ceecee on the phone after that, but she didn’t laugh and she always seemed sad afterward.
He’d never asked why Ceecee didn’t come anymore. Now, staring at her lifeless body, Harrison realized it was one question he should have asked.
The kitchen was neat and clean. There were no signs of a struggle. It appeared as if someone had walked up behind her as she went to place the popcorn in the microwave and had shot her through the back of the head. Either she knew her killer and didn’t fear him, or she never heard him coming.
Harrison glanced at Jamie. She stared at the body through a film of moisture. He had known the dead woman as Ceecee, but Jamie had called her Carolyn. Carolyn Carillo. Ceecee. It must have been his mother’s nickname for her.
The gaze Jamie turned to him held a dark well of pain that trapped his tumbling questions in his throat. Ceecee had been important to her as well.
Oh, God, surely not her mother.
Before he could utter a word, Jamie’s gaze hardened. She held up a palm, indicating he should wait. The smell of death made his stomach roil. Ceecee was stiff and utterly lifeless. She had been dead for some time.
Apparently, Jamie agreed. She made no move to cross the room. Instead, she glided cautiously toward the entrance beyond the kitchen.
Harrison turned from the scene more slowly, still reeling from the shock of recognition. He watched where he walked as he followed in Jamie’s wake. The last thing he wanted to do was step on anything in a crime scene. His stretched nerves screamed at him. They should call the police and leave the scene, but he wasn’t going without Jamie. He wanted answers.
Harrison found her in the living room beside a plush leather recliner and the slumped body of an older man. Even from a distance Harrison could see that the man had been killed like Ceecee. The killer had walked up behind his chair and shot him through the temple, no doubt using a silencer.
Jamie lightly touched the man’s cheek with a fingertip. Once again, the eyes she turned toward Harrison brimmed with unshed tears. Who were these people to her?
Had Ceecee been married? How could he not even know that much about his mother’s oldest friend?
Once more he started to speak. Once more Jamie shook her head sharply and motioned him to stay put.
She flowed up the staircase on silent feet. His stomach twisted at the thought that there might be more bodies up there. He didn’t want to follow her up those stairs. He didn’t want to see her find more death.
He scanned the cozy living room. Two glasses partially filled with dark liquid sat on the table between the two chairs. If the glasses had once held ice, it had long since melted. The chairs were side by side facing the television set, where an old movie was playing on one of the cable stations. The dialogue and spurts of music were the only sounds in the silent house.
The couple had obviously settled down for the evening to watch television together. At some point Ceecee had gotten up to make popcorn. The killer had probably entered through the side door they had used and shot one after the other.
His gaze fell on the table behind the couch, where several framed photographs held prominence. The couple appeared much younger in most shots, and so obviously in love. The two wedding photos had been taken sometime in the early sixties. His stomach clenched when his mother’s face stared out at him from the group shot. Vibrantly lovely in her youth, she posed beside the bride, obviously Ceecee’s maid of honor.
How? Why? All sorts of wild conjectures swirled through his head.
There were several photographs of Jamie as a teenager with her hair long and thick and curling past her shoulders as she posed with the couple. Another showed her in a military dress uniform, looking crisp and solemn. The final photo appeared to be more recent. She stood between the couple in front of a Christmas tree with her hair short and choppy, the way she wore it now. There were no shots of her as a child.
Were these her parents? Some other relatives? He saw no physical resemblance between them, but they appeared to be a family unit.
Abruptly, he realized Jamie had stopped being silent. She was moving about rapidly overhead as if speed was of the essence. He mounted the stairs quietly.
“Don’t touch anything,” she ordered, leaving a room at the end of the hall with a duffel bag in her hand.
Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the house, despite the muted irritant of the television in the background.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
He followed her into what appeared to be the master bedroom. Inside the closet she opened a gun case with a key and pulled out several weapons and ammunition.
“Here.” She handed him a 9 mm. “Do you know how to use this?”
His eyes narrowed. “Point this end and pull here. Most five-year-olds have the gist.”
“You’ve never fired a gun.”
She said it flatly as if it was a stupid omission.
“Shooting a gun never made my to-do list.”
“Maybe you’d better give it back.”
“I don’t think so. Is there a safety on this thing?”
She muttered something under her breath and indicated the switch. “Move this. The gun is fully loaded, so leave it on for now. I don’t want you shooting me by mistake.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
He jammed the heavy metal object into his waistband, the way he’d seen it done in the movies. Hopefully the gun couldn’t go off on its own and blow away something vital.
Scowling, she shoved another weapon in her duffel bag. “If they know we escaped, they’ll come back here. They’ll know this is where I’d head.”
“Who will know?”
“That’s what I plan to find out.” Her voice was brittle, underscored by anguish. She suddenly whirled on him, her features a mask of pain. “Who are you? What makes you worth all these lives?”
Stunned, Harrison gaped at her. “You’re blaming me for this?”
“You’re the focal point.”
He struggled to bank his answering swell of anger as she shoved another gun in the back waistband of her pants beneath her shirt. Boxes of shells went into the duffel bag.
“Let me remind you that you kidnapped me.”
Leaving the bag open, she ignored that and sized him up with eyes that were haunted by grief. “Thirty-six-inch waist?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Thirty-four.”
“Close enough.” She reached in and pulled out a pair of men’s jeans and added them to the bag that already held clothing.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She tossed in a couple of shirts as well.
“I have my own clothes.”
“Not with you.”
He shook his head as she added more items with no wasted motions. “I’m six-one.”
“So?”
“The man downstairs—”
The look of pain on her face rocked him back. “His name was Tony. He was five-eleven.”
Tony, not Dad. “Who—?”
“Later. We need to move. I don’t think they rigged this house to explode or it probably would have by now, but I don’t have time to be sure.”
Cold swept him.
“Let’s go.” She closed the duffel bag and handed it to him. “You carry it. I’ll take point.” She reached the doorway in two strides.
“Why aren’t we calling the police?” Why hadn’t he done that instead of standing around like a brain-dead fool?
She didn’t bother responding. His gut coiled as he realized she really did think the house might explode. They exited the way they’d entered with no last glance at either body. If it hadn’t been for her obvious grief, he’d have thought she didn’t care.
His own mind was numb with what he dimly recognized as shock. He couldn’t help the accompanying fear that this house might blow up at their backs as well.
Instead of running back to her car, Jamie ran to the two-car garage behind the house. She bypassed the zippy bright red sports car and unlocked the large black sedan beside it. “Get in.”
“What about your car?”
“It’s a rental. We need to get rid of it. Toss the bag in the back.”
Harrison obeyed. He climbed in as she opened the garage door with a remote clipped to the visor. “What about the SUV in the driveway behind us?”
“I’ll go around it.”
He looked back through the darkly tinted windows and swallowed a protest. He’d have sworn there wasn’t enough room between the house and the big SUV for this large sedan, but he’d have been wrong. She drove with an impressive precision, scraping neither the house nor the car and barely slowing down in the process.
She braked as soon as she reached her rental car. “Here.” She handed him the keys.
“What’s to stop me from leaving?”
“Not a thing. I almost wish you would. But you won’t survive another twenty-four hours on your own. You seem to be a slow learner, Mr. Trent. Someone wants you dead and they don’t care who else they have to kill to make it so.”
There was cold certainty in her voice. Harrison didn’t understand what was happening here, but he could tell she believed every word she was saying. “Pretty sure of your abilities, aren’t you?”
Her expression didn’t change. “There’s a good chance neither one of us is going to survive the next twenty-four hours, but I have the expertise to try. What about you?”
There was nothing he could say to that.
“There’s a gas station not far from here where we can leave the rental.”
“You know who’s behind these attacks.”
She didn’t flinch at the accusation. “No.”
“You’ve got some idea.” He could see that she did.
“Either follow me or go, but get out of the car.”
It was her inner anguish that decided him. “I’ll stick with you.” He wanted answers and she was going to give them to him one way or another.
Harrison stepped from the sedan and moved to the smaller car. He stayed right behind her as she drove the speed limit out of the development. Obviously, she didn’t want to draw any attention to them.
His mind mulled over the little he knew, trying to fit pieces together. There were too many pieces missing, too many answers he might never know. He wished his mother was still alive so he could ask her all the questions filling him.
Pulling into a closed gas station, Jamie motioned him to park along the side where similar cars were stacked two deep. He did and got out of the rental. She left the sedan’s engine running, got out, took the rental’s keys from him along with the paperwork that sat inside the glove compartment. Dropping everything in a slot in the door of the gas station, she ran back to the sedan. Only then did he see the discreet sign that the station acted as a rental place as well.
“Let’s go,” she called to him.
He joined her in the sedan. “Where?”
Jamie’s response was to pull the car out into the early morning traffic. Harrison saw her fatigue now that the adrenaline rush had begun to fade. “How long have you been up?”
She darted a surprised glance his way. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not and I got some sleep before you attacked me.”
“I didn’t attack you.”
“Drugged, abducted, taped and secured in a strange location. What would you call it?”
“My job. We can sleep later.”
“You’re right about the sleep, anyhow. We need to go to Zoe’s apartment.”
“Not a chance.”
“Stop the car.”
Her glare was quelling. “You still don’t get it!”
“I get it fine.” He interrupted the start of her next tirade. “Someone wants me dead. And that same someone may want her dead as well. It’s the next place they’ll target. We both know that. I’m going there with you or alone. They already believe they killed us,” he added over the objection she started to make. “And if they don’t, it doesn’t matter. I am going to Zoe’s.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive here.”
“Try keeping us all alive. Zoe’s pregnant.”
He didn’t know what had made him add that last, but she stilled.
“We’re getting married this morning,” he reminded her.
“No. You aren’t. And before you jump all over me again, your wedding is scheduled for eleven. I was supposed to keep you safe until noon. That should tell you something, Mr. Trent. Someone does not intend for your wedding to take place.”
Harrison forced his fingers to uncurl. “Why not?”
“I don’t know! Maybe Tony knew, but Tony’s dead.” Pain laced her words.
“Who was Tony to you?”
Jamie released a slow breath. “The closest thing I had to a father.”
Her voice broke. Automatically, his hand started toward her to offer comfort. He lowered it without touching her. “I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry about Zoe.”
“Zoe isn’t dead.” She could not be dead.
“I hope not. And you did say you hired a bodyguard for her. Is he any good?”
“Ramsey Inc. is the top security firm in the area.”
“Then she has a chance.”
His mind relived the barrage of shots in the parking lot over three months ago. Zoe, Artie and he had just split up after leaving the office for the night. He remembered running, throwing himself over Zoe as she went down, terrified he’d been too late to protect his friend.
“I’m going to her apartment.”
Jamie swore softly. “This is stupid.”
“I’m still going.”
She glanced at his face and sighed heavily. “You’re a fool. We’re both fools,” she muttered, conceding defeat. “Give me directions.”
Harrison rubbed a hand across his gritty eyes as she turned the car toward Zoe’s. Jamie scowled at the early morning drivers starting to make their way onto the roads.
“How is it you don’t know of Ramsey Incorporated?” he asked. “They’re the most prestigious security firm around here.”
She hesitated, then shrugged as if she’d decided the answer didn’t matter. “I live and work in California. I was only in town for a visit when Tony asked me to help out.”
“And he didn’t tell you why?”
“Only that we were protecting you.”
“You must have some idea who’s behind all this.”
Her hesitation was confirmation. “Tony wouldn’t say.”
“But you have a suspicion.”
“That’s all it is.”
Harrison waited. She muttered something succinct under her breath and turned to look at him as she stopped for a red light. “What do you know about Victor DiMarko?”
The unexpected name rocked him almost as hard as seeing Ceecee dead on her kitchen floor. He jerked as if physically struck. All the air seemed to leave his lungs at once.
Victor DiMarko. Wealthy businessman. Philanderer. Restaurateur. Crime boss. Husband and father. Coldhearted, vicious son of a bitch.
“I see you know the name.” Her features went inscrutable once more as she pulled into the intersection. “Tony and Carolyn worked for him until they retired.”
It was as if Jamie had thrown a light switch. Ceecee had worked for Victor DiMarko. No wonder his mother had had little contact with her after his kidnapping all those years ago. With DiMarko’s name, everything changed. “You work for Victor DiMarko?”
“No! The company I work for has nothing to do with him or his kind of people.” She drew in a deep breath. “I take it you do know him.”
Somehow Harrison kept his voice even. “I know who he is. We’ve never met.” He’d gone out of his way to see that never happened.
“I thought…”
“What? That I’m in the same line of work?” His jaw muscles worked as anger flashed in his eyes.
“Are you? Glare all you want. Tony said he was helping a friend by arranging your kidnapping. I know he kept in touch with DiMarko. The logical conclusion is that Tony got involved because his former boss asked him for a favor. But maybe I guessed wrong. If you and DiMarko have never met…Were you competing for something? Property? A—”
“No. Nothing.” But Harrison’s mind continued to whirl with possibilities.
“What about your…Zoe?”
Mentally, Harrison swore. He’d just come to that same possibility. “If there’s a connection, it has to be through Wayne Drake.”
“How did Zoe know him?”
“She met Drake at a party at my place. He crashed the party, but neither of us knew that at the time because he came in with a group of expected guests and everyone thought he was with someone else. After he was killed and the police told us his background, they theorized he came there to steal something that night and instead latched on to Zoe as a means of getting close to more targets, including me.”
“Drake worked for DiMarko?”
“I’ve no idea.” And the thought had never occurred to him until now.
“What would DiMarko gain by killing the two of you?”
“Not a thing.” He rubbed at his jaw tiredly. “We’re missing something.”
“A whole lot of somethings,” she agreed. “Where do I turn?”
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