Not-So-Secret Baby
Jo Leigh
LIKE FATHER…LIKE SONThe empty crib, the warning note–Jenny Granger recognized the signs that her secret life had been discovered. To save her son, she became the willing captive of a man arrogantly convinced that her baby was his child. But proof of paternity lay in the birthmark on her baby's back. One just like his real daddy…Nick Mason had always seemed too honorable to be a corrupt man's henchman. After all, he'd helped Jenny to escape once…but not before branding her his. Now, Jenny prayed that Nick could be trusted again, especially with a truth that could get them all killed.
“He’s mine, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Nick rolled over on his back. Patrick was his son.
No wonder he’d liked the boy so much. Damn, he was a bright kid. Good-looking, too. He’d be a heartbreaker, that’s for sure. Just like his dad.
He was a father. He had a child with Jenny, who meant more to him than any woman, any person, ever had.
He rolled back to his side and found Jenny staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. He touched her cheek, lifted a tear with his index finger. “We have a kid,” he whispered. “How do you like that?”
“I like it fine. How about you?”
“I’m knocked out,” he said. “Patrick’s an amazing kid. And you. You’re…”
“I’m what?”
Reality set in just then, and his mood darkened. “In danger. We have to get the hell out of here before we’re caught, before they know the truth….”
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
Spring is in the air and we have a month of fabulous books for you to curl up with as the March winds howl outside:
• Familiar is back on the prowl, in Caroline Burnes’s Familiar Texas. And Rocky Mountain Maneuvers marks the conclusion of Cassie Miles’s COLORADO CRIME CONSULTANTS trilogy.
• Jessica Andersen brings us an exciting medical thriller, Covert M.D.
• Don’t miss the next ECLIPSE title, Lisa Childs’s The Substitute Sister.
• Definitely check out our April lineup. Debra Webb is starting THE ENFORCERS, an exciting new miniseries you won’t want to miss. Also look for a special 3-in-1 story from Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor called Desert Sons.
Each month, Harlequin Intrigue brings you a variety of heart-stopping romantic suspense and chilling mystery. Don’t miss a single book!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Not-So-Secret Baby
Jo Leigh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jo Leigh lives way the heck up on a mountain in Utah with her own personal hero and her many chipmunk friends. She loves to hear from readers at http://www.joleigh.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Jenny Granger—She escaped from a madman once, but now he has her baby!
Nick Mason—With the world’s safety at stake, how can he blow his cover and help the woman he loves?
Patrick Granger—Two and a half; the innocent child born in secret.
C. Randall Todd—Casino mogul, billionaire, killer.
Henry Sweet—Todd’s right-hand man, with an itch to get rid of Nick Mason.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Once the coast was clear, Jeannie hurried over to where Kelly was picking up the Lincoln Logs. “Tanya called me this morning,” she said, keeping her voice low so none of the other mommies could hear. “Her Nate got a call yesterday to fix an air conditioner at Mary Pierson’s place. He said she’s just as neat as a pin. Nothing out of place, not even in the baby’s room. He said she’s got one of those leather couches they were selling at The Junction last summer. You know, the leather seconds? And she’s got a ton of books lining the walls in the living room.”
Kelly dumped an armload of pieces into the big cardboard box. “Did he see her bedroom?”
Jeannie nodded. “Double bed. Dresser. An armoire he swears used to belong to Ann Keating before her husband died.”
“I remember that. She had that garage sale. I picked up her old stand mixer. It still works. I made up a batch of butter cookies for the church bazaar just last month.”
“Oh, yeah. They were scrumptious. But here’s the thing,” Jeannie continued. “Nate said she didn’t have any pictures except two of baby Patrick. Nothing on the mantel, nothing in the bedroom. It’s like the woman has no past. Like she came here from outer space or something.”
“My Alan, he says she never talks about herself at work. He says she reads on break or she writes in that journal of hers. Lisa asked her straight-out where Patrick’s daddy was and she wouldn’t say. She said she didn’t like to talk about it. If you want my opinion, I’m thinking he was bad news, you know? Hit her, probably. Like Bonnie’s husband?”
“That, or she doesn’t know who the daddy is.” Jeannie bent to pick up a Barbie doll. “She has that sadness about her. So pretty, and yet, I don’t know…”
“Yeah,” Kelly said. “Like she’s running from something.”
“Heck, why else would a single woman move to Milford? She has no family here.”
“I remember the day she got here. She was driving that beat-up old Chevy.”
“Still is.”
“Right.”
“How long has it been?”
“Got to be two years.”
Jeannie nodded. “Two years, and we still don’t know beans about her.”
“Not that she isn’t nice.”
Jeannie shook her head, a strand of auburn hair loosening from under her headband. “Nice as can be for someone with so many secrets. Lily, you put that down right now.”
Kelly glanced over at Lily, Jeannie’s three-year-old who’d gotten hold of the watercolor paint set. Kelly’s son, Jack, had been born two weeks to the day of Lily’s birth, sealing their already solid friendship. “I surely would like to know what happened to that girl.”
“Me, too.” Jeannie shook her head. “Maybe I’ll do a little research at the library, now that they’ve got the Internet.”
“Oh, good idea. Why don’t we go tomorrow?”
“Can’t. I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“How about Friday?”
“Friday. Okay. We’ll take the kids.”
MARY PIERSON walked down Hill Street toward the market, her young son holding her hand, scurrying on his short legs to keep up. Mary let him step on the mat in front of the grocery store so that the automatic doors would open. He liked that.
Inside, Gary, the butcher, waved. “Getting ready to close shop here. You gonna need anything? I could cut it fresh for you.”
“No, thanks,” Mary told him. “Just grabbing a few things.”
“Okay. Next time.”
“Next time.” She put Patrick in the cart seat and headed down the aisle. Canned corn, tomato soup, bread, milk, butter. She picked through the skimpy produce selection, finally choosing a reasonably fresh head of lettuce and some broccoli. She chose a prewrapped pound of hamburger and, on her way to the register, added a package of spaghetti. Patrick loved spaghetti.
“How are you this evening, Mary?”
“Fine, Marge. You?” Mary lifted her boy from the cart while Marge toted up the groceries and placed them on the belt.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Mary could see the older woman wanted to talk, but it was late and all she wanted was to get home. “Could you toss in a book of stamps, please?”
“Sure, Mary. Sure.”
“Thanks.” Mary smiled, then turned her attention to Patrick pulling on her arm. “Hang tight, soldier. We’ll be done here soon.”
Patrick tugged harder. “I’m hungry.”
“I know, baby. Soon.”
“That’s twelve twenty-five,” Marge said.
Mary paid in cash, as always.
“Wait a second.”
Grabbing her bags, Mary looked back at the checker.
Marge leaned over the counter, holding a red lollipop down to Patrick. “It’s okay, isn’t it, Mary?”
“Of course. What do you say, Patrick?”
“Thank you.”
“Well, you’re welcome, honey.”
“Thanks, again,” Mary said, ushering Patrick toward the door. Mary felt her shoulders relax the moment they were outside.
Patrick chattered the whole way home, which wasn’t very far. After she parked, she took him out of his car seat and handed him the can of tomato soup. He hurried toward their front door, proud to be helping with the groceries. She watched him run up the short path, his blond hair flopping around his ears, his jeans just like the big kids wore. She loved him so much it ached.
Mary’d been looking forward to making a nice meal for the two of them. Not that she didn’t cook every day, but she had Friday and Saturday off from her waitressing job at the Hong Kong Café. That meant she could spend some extra time on dinner, make chocolate pudding for dessert. After, they’d watch a movie, probably The Wizard of Oz, Patrick’s new favorite. After Patrick went to bed, she intended to soak in a hot tub. Scented candles, lavender bath salts and the new Patricia Cornwall novel. Heaven.
“Mommy, come on!”
“Hold your horses,” she said, grabbing the bag of groceries from the trunk of her old Chevy. “I’m coming.”
By the time she got to the door, Patrick had forgotten the can of soup, left squarely in the center of the doormat, and had turned his attention to the wind chimes hanging from a small branch of the elm tree that shaded the front of the house. He couldn’t quite reach the silver tubes, but he was growing so fast, it wouldn’t be a problem for long.
She cradled the grocery bag on her hip as she opened the door. As soon as the lock clicked, Patrick pushed ahead of her and raced inside. His energy amazed her.
Her own energy level continued to dwindle. She knew the reason and wished she could do something about it, but… It might do her some good to start her new craft project—making bath salts and selling them at the local flea market. She’d never been a particularly craft-wise person, but there were only so many books one could read, so much time she could focus on her son.
She closed the door behind her, locking both dead bolts. A quick glance at the windows and around the living room showed her nothing had been disturbed.
“Cookie?”
Patrick, at two and a half, was her own personal cookie monster, with chocolate chip being the uncontested favorite. She’d had to put them up on top of the fridge and dole them out or he’d just munch through the whole batch in one sitting. “Yes, but only after we put away the groceries.”
“Okay.” With that, he was off like a shot, waiting in the middle of the kitchen for her to get her act in gear. She smiled, even while she had to chase away thoughts of what Patrick’s life should have been. No use going there. This was a good life, a safe life, and that was all that mattered.
Thank heaven for the activities at the library. And, of course, Alice, who watched Patrick five days a week. Mary sighed. She really should try to make friends with the other mothers in town. She just wasn’t ready. Not yet.
She lifted the bag to the counter. Patrick could put the bread in the breadbox. He had to drag over the little stool, but once situated, he did the job like a fine young man. She, meanwhile, put the milk and butter in the fridge, then pulled out the hamburger for tonight’s spaghetti.
“Now?”
She looked down. Patrick had put the stool away and stood staring up at her, his blue eyes eager, his body bouncing with anticipation.
“Yes, now.”
He thrust his hands up in the air as if he’d just scored the winning touchdown. She reached up and grabbed the cookie jar, then gave him his prize. “Would you like milk or juice?”
“Juice.”
She put the cookies back and took a juice box from the fridge. He was already at the table, his legs swinging back and forth, his cookie the only thing in the world.
She’d make up a batch of bath salts tonight. Use it herself to see if she liked the fragrance.
So it wasn’t a thrill a minute. So what? It was safe. Safe was good.
SHE WOKE with a start, a sudden swell of panic in her stomach, a tightening in her chest. For a moment she held her breath, didn’t move an inch, just listened. There was the tick of the clock on her nightstand. Behind that, the quiet of Milford at four in the morning. But the silence did little to assuage her anxiety.
She threw back her comforter, put her legs over the side of the bed and slipped on her pale yellow slippers. Her robe, the one she’d bought from the Sears catalog, was perched at the ready on a hook by the door. She was halfway to Patrick’s room before she tied it on.
With each step the dread and fear worsened, all her nightmares of the past two and a half years melding together into an unthinkable terror. This wasn’t like the other nights she’d awakened from a bad dream… Her baby. Something…someone…
She flew into his room and the unthinkable became reality.
Patrick was gone.
She called out, but only once. Then her throat closed and the blood in her veins turned to ice. The window—his window, with the locks and the safety glass—open. His quilt on the floor, his Spider-Man sheet balled up, tossed aside. His pillow still held the impression of his head. So small.
And, in the middle of the bed, an envelope. Her hand shook so hard she could hardly pick it up.
When she finally did, it was a note telling her when to be at the Cedar City airport. It wasn’t signed. But then, it didn’t have to be.
THE VEGAS STRIP tried to be glamorous during the day, but it didn’t succeed. Like an aging actress without her makeup, all the flaws came to the fore in sunlight. The sun-baked sidewalks, the desperate bids from the small casinos, begging gamblers to come for the ninety-ninecent, foot-long hot dogs and stay for the video poker.
Nick Mason hated the place. Hated the thousands of lights, the electronic billboards with the perfect pictures and snazzy ads. He hated the heat of the place, which, according to the morning news, was almost one hundred, and it wasn’t even nine. If he’d had his way, he’d live in the mountains. Aspen, maybe, or Boulder. Somewhere green with thick trees and lots of water. He’d have himself a nice little cabin that had no address. Where he could walk to the nearest stream to catch his dinner.
This town wasn’t real. Yeah, okay, so there was Henderson and Summerlin, where there were grocery stores and dry cleaners, but there were poker machines in every damn market, in every gas station, in every drugstore. The ubiquitous machines lent an air of desperation to the most mundane of tasks. Just ask the housewife who spent five hundred bucks on that gallon of milk. Or the bank teller who’d lost the rent…again.
He’d been here too long, that was the problem. Living a nighttime life. If you were a player in Vegas, you slept during the day. Nothing important ever happened before sundown. Which could help explain his crappy attitude. He’d gotten to bed after four this morning, then Todd had called to tell him to make a pickup at the Henderson Executive Airport.
Normally he wouldn’t have to do anything so plebian, but Todd’s driver had gotten some bad sushi at one of those $3.99 buffets downtown and was riding it out at the Sunrise Hospital. As always, Nick had said, “Yes, sir,” keeping his voice even and his attitude go-to. Playing the part as if his life depended on it. Which it did.
He’d started working for C. Randall Todd three years ago. It had taken him all that time to gain a position of trust in the organization. Everybody who worked for Todd had to prove themselves worthy. The tests weren’t for the weak. Despite the fact that Todd’s business practices were impressive enough to pass the rigors of the Nevada Gaming Commission regulations, the man himself was a throwback to the old Vegas. No one double-crossed Todd. Not twice, at least.
Nick himself had done his time as Todd’s hatchet man. No one had ever ended up dead, but they’d been hurt something wicked. It turned his stomach to think about it, so he didn’t. Simple.
Enough. He had to get showered, put something in his stomach and get down to the airport on time. He threw the covers aside and hit the floor for his push-ups. One hundred. Every morning. No exceptions.
When he finished counting, he headed for the bathroom. Part of his incentive for completing his push-ups in good time was this little trick: no john until he was through. Some days were easier than others.
As he went through the rest of his morning routine, he wondered who was coming in. Todd hadn’t told him and he hadn’t asked. But it must be a hell of a whale to call out the boss’s private limo.
He remembered the first time he’d heard talk about whales. It was his second week in Vegas and he was so green he disappeared in front of the MGM Grand. Sweet, Todd’s majordomo, had been talking about this whale and that whale, and it had been everything Nick could do not to ask what the hell was going on. That night he’d done some research and discovered that “whale” was the designated slang for a high roller. A really high roller.
The minimum they had to bank was five million, at least at Todd’s hotel. Granted, Xanadu was as ritzy as it got in Vegas, but most of the major hotels had similar limits. Whales cost big money. But there was one basic fact about Las Vegas: casinos were not in the business of making gamblers rich. Anyone who thought different ought to check out the trailer parks on Main. Most of the decrepit mobile homes had doors. Some had windows. Not many.
Whales, on the other hand, had money to burn. At least, that’s how they acted when they came to his turf. It was like something out of an old Russian novel how these people got treated. It started with the private jet, the limo, the personal butler, the multimillion-dollar private suite complete with grand piano, twenty-four-hour massage service, personal swimming pool, personal chef. The list went on and on. If one of Todd’s whales wanted a purple elephant, he’d get one.
But there were whales and there were whales. This one, the one coming in at noon, had to be a mark in the billions, because Todd was stingy with his toys. Xanadu had a fleet of ten stretch limos for the customers. Todd’s personal limo put them all to shame.
Personally, Nick hated driving the monstrosity. It was huge, longer than a normal stretch, and white. Inside and out. He especially hated the button in the back that let the passenger speak to the driver. The reverb crap on the mike altered the sound so it sounded like the voice of God telling the peon behind the wheel to stop at the Indian smoke shop to pick up cigarettes.
He was, of course, expected to act like Jeeves, which unfortunately wasn’t that much of a stretch from how he was expected to act around the boss. Although Todd wasn’t particularly hung up on the words. “Sir” was good, but not essential. “Very good, sir,” was over-the-top. The important thing to Todd was that when he said jump, his employees already knew how high. Todd didn’t give second chances.
Nick put on his lightweight black suit, the one that made him look more like a mortician than a chauffeur. His shirt was silk, the tie Hermès. When you worked for C. Randall Todd, you dressed the part.
He took a final look in the mirror, satisfied that he would pass muster, then he headed out. He lived on the fortieth floor of the hotel, the floor below the really expensive suites. It had taken getting used to, living in a place like this, but it had its advantages. Housekeeping was one. He just had to make sure he put everything important in his room safe. There was no doubt in his mind that Todd had the staff search the rooms on a regular basis. Paranoia was the word of the year around Xanadu, and Nick was just as guilty as anyone else. Todd’s basic belief was that everyone was out to get him, including his own family. Probably why he was as successful as he was.
The man was worth billions. And not only from his gaming and hotel interests. He was also incredibly powerful in the military surveillance business. That little sideline had begun fifteen years ago, when Todd’s first hotel had hosted an arms show.
The El Rio had been his maiden venture into the world of Vegas, but the relatively small hotel had outlived its usefulness and was scheduled for destruction. As with everything else in Sin City, the event was being made into a spectacle. Like the Dunes, the Sands and the original Aladdin, the El Rio was going to be imploded. On the Fourth of July, no less.
In its place, Todd planned another luxury hotel, this one smaller but even more exclusive than the Xanadu. It would make the Belagio look like a Motel 6.
Nick got to the elevator and pressed the button, his gaze moving from the ornate flower arrangements on the antique tables to the mirrors on the walls. He did look as though he was about to get into a hearse. At least he wasn’t required to wear a damn hat.
The elevator doors opened and he got in, expecting a long, slow ride down. There were express elevators in the hotel, but not from his floor. He amused himself by counting the stops on the way to the lobby. Six. He always left about ten minutes early to accommodate.
Finally he reached the basement level. He’d go to the employee’s lounge and grab something to eat. Then he’d be on his way. He wanted the airport run over quickly so he could get back. Todd had canceled one important meeting this afternoon with Steve Wynn, but he hadn’t canceled his appointment with Rafe Shaharid, one of his major customers. Everything about the meeting was legal, at least on the surface. But Nick had a feeling there was something more going on.
He had no intention of being left out of the loop on this one. It could be big. Real big.
NICK PARKED THE LIMO on the tarmac and got out. Todd’s Gulfstream IV was already here, just shutting down. Nick straightened his jacket and waited for the passenger to disembark.
The jet door opened and the attendant stepped out first. Gina was her name, and she was as beautiful as any of the showgirls at the hotel. She was a favorite of Todd’s and Nick knew for a fact that she offered more than coffee and tea whenever the boss was on board.
Another woman stepped onto the platform and Nick stopped breathing.
What in hell was she doing back?
Chapter Two
Nick pulled himself together as it registered that it really was Jenny. He would have known her anywhere. God, how many times had he thought he’d seen her in a restaurant or at a gas station? How many nights had she haunted his dreams…?
She’d come back. If he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes, he’d never have believed it.
She walked down the metal ladder to the tarmac, a purse over her shoulder, an overnight case in her hand. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, as if she’d thrown it up in a hurry. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but the thin line of her lips telegraphed her anxiety.
His gaze moved down the rest of her, the long, slender body he’d known too briefly. She seemed awfully thin, fragile. He’d always thought of her as fragile, though.
Her jeans were worn Levi’s, her shirt plain white, short-sleeved, pressed. None of the designer clothes she’d worn when he’d known her before. Why in hell was she back? Surely she wasn’t going to hook up with Todd again. Hadn’t she had enough?
He remembered the last time he’d seen her. She’d been scared. No, terrified. As he had with every other possession, Todd had held on to her with an iron fist. She’d had to plan an escape, as daring as any prison break. Like a fool, Nick had helped her, putting everything he had on the line. He should have stayed out of it. But the welts on her back, the bruises on her legs…
She said something to Gina, then turned his way, walked as if each step cost her, which, if she was headed back to the Xanadu, was sickeningly true.
He opened the back door of the limo, took his place beside it. Waited as she got closer. Wondered…
She stopped about twenty-five yards from the car. Her mouth opened slightly as she recognized him. With a slow hand, she took off her dark sunglasses.
Where she’d looked anxious a moment ago, he now saw surprise furrow her brow. She hadn’t expected him. Was she pleased? Embarrassed?
Moving forward again, her gaze moved down to the tarmac until she was even with the front of the limo. “Nick,” she said, her voice bringing back memories he’d just as soon forget.
“I never expected to see you again.”
She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again he saw a hardness that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. “Things change.”
“Yeah,” he said. He took her overnight bag, like the good little chauffeur that he was, then helped her into the cavernous back seat, startled at how she nearly disappeared against the white of the interior.
He put her bag in the trunk, then got in behind the wheel. The moment he turned on the engine, the bullet-proof Plexiglas that separated the wheat from the chaff lowered a few inches. Not enough for him to see more than the top of her pale blond head, but enough for him to hear her.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Me? Swell. In fact, I haven’t had to be a driver for over a year, with the obvious exception of this trip. I’m moving up the food chain.”
“I see,” she said, although he knew she didn’t see at all.
“What brings you back to sunny Las Vegas? Come to see the new Celine Dion theater?”
She didn’t answer until he’d reached St. Rose Parkway, heading toward 15. “I see you’ve still got that charming wit.”
He glanced in the rearview, but she was staring out her window, hidden once more behind her sunglasses. “I just do what I’m told,” he said. “Keep my nose clean.”
He heard her sigh, and for a moment he felt bad. But only for a moment. She’d gotten away once. He doubted she’d get away again. The woman knew who Todd was, had seen what he could do. And still, she’d come back. Probably for the money. Wasn’t that always the bottom line?
Hell, she’d never had it so good as when she belonged to Todd. She’d been a cocktail waitress working her way through U.N.L.V. when Todd had found her. He’d fallen hard from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her and he’d pursued her with his unique brand of determination. Jenny had been all of twenty-one when he’d begun his campaign. Todd’d treated her like a queen, taking her to the best shows, the finest restaurants. They’d traveled a lot in the jet and he’d even set her up with her own suite at Xanadu. Right down the hall from his.
Nick had been an errand boy back then. He’d just started with the organization and was learning the ropes when he’d been assigned as her driver and bodyguard.
Nick had been attracted to her from the start. Who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t just her looks, although they would have been enough, but Jenny was bright, funny and had a sweetness about her that made him think of his childhood in Wichita. Todd had him watch her like a hawk, not the least bit afraid that Nick would take advantage of the situation. A man would have to be an idiot to touch Todd’s woman.
But during that time Nick had come to know her. He’d understood how she’d found herself in a situation she’d been woefully unprepared to handle. By the time she’d figured it all out, it had been too late. A captive in a glitter palace, she was subject to Todd’s capriciousness and vile temper. That’s why Nick had helped her. Because she’d been a victim. This time, she was walking in of her own free will. She probably thought she had good reasons, but as far as he could tell, no reason could be good enough for someone like Jenny to walk back into the lion’s den.
A soft mechanical whir made him look back just in time to see the window go up, locking them each in their own compartments. He wished she would move so he could see her more clearly in the rearview. But maybe she didn’t want to be seen.
He kept his eyes on the road. She wasn’t his affair. Messing with Jenny Granger was a surefire way to get himself killed.
JENNY LEANED HER HEAD back against the plush white leather of the limo seat. She knew Todd wouldn’t hurt Patrick, but the knowledge didn’t make things easier. There were only three things she loved in this whole world. Her mother. Her son. And the man in the front seat.
At least, she’d thought she’d loved him.
She stared out the window at the familiar landscape. Here, in Henderson, the city looked like any other. There was the Super Kmart, the 99-Cent store, the dry cleaner’s. Of course, other cities didn’t have casinos every few blocks or video poker in the grocery stores. But lives were led here that weren’t connected to the massive gaming industry. Kids went to school, mothers drove in car pools.
She hadn’t seen her own mother in more than two years. Like someone in the Witness Security Program, she’d cut off her ties to the past, because she’d known Todd would stop at nothing to find her. She still couldn’t figure out how her cover had been blown. She’d been meticulous in her deception, covering every base. She had a birth certificate and social security card, both in the name of Mary Pierson. She’d moved to Milford knowing Todd had never heard of the place and that she had no ties to the tiny city whatsoever.
So where had she slipped up? She shook her head. What difference did it make? He’d found her. Discovered Patrick. And now, she was sure, he’d demand his pound of flesh.
She’d done the one thing Todd couldn’t tolerate—she’d tricked him. She’d run off with no warning and no word. Risked everything. He hadn’t known she was pregnant. But he had decided to marry her. In those last few weeks, she’d been witness to Todd’s astonishing ego, his taste for luxury and glitz.
No one belonged in Las Vegas more than C. Randall Todd. He was the epitome of conspicuous consumption, and for Todd more was not enough. Nothing was enough. God, the money he’d spent on her. She could have lived for a year in Milford on the diamond he’d given her for their first month anniversary. If she’d taken it with her. She hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted anything of his, no matter how high the resale value. He was the most purely evil man she’d ever met.
Stupid, stupid and naive. She’d never believed anyone could be that evil, not in the flesh. She’d been so blind, so trusting. There was no one to blame but herself, and now Patrick was in the bastard’s clutches.
She would not cry. Her gaze moved back to the man behind the wheel. Big mistake.
Nick Mason. The one bright light in what had been the worst year of her life. Yes, he’d been a part of Todd’s machine, but he wasn’t like the others. Not like Henry Sweet, Todd’s right-hand man who frightened her almost as much as Todd himself. No, Nick had been human toward her, even kind. For a long time she’d even thought he’d felt more. It didn’t matter. He’d helped her escape despite the terrible risk.
She’d tried to convince him to leave, too, but he’d been stubborn. Adamant that staying with Todd would ensure his future, even though he knew the kind of man Todd was. But he’d clearly succumbed to Todd’s philosophy: get what you want, no matter who it hurt or what it cost. The moment she’d seen Nick’s face she realized whatever tenderness he’d felt for her had evolved into something bitter and harsh. What she hadn’t counted on was how much that realization would hurt.
He must know that Todd had Patrick. How could he possibly be a part of that? She yearned to ask him about it, to find out if her boy was okay, but she knew better. The limo was undoubtedly bugged. Todd never let an opportunity pass to trip someone up. If she said the wrong thing, it could cost her more than she could afford.
Clearly the years had not been kind to Nick, at least on the inside. The facade had held up, though. Time hadn’t changed the fact that he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen.
His dark hair was shorter, parted on the side, debonair with just a hint of gray at the temples. He had that damn cleft in his chin that had held her fascination for countless hours. He had thick, expressive eyebrows designed to bring attention to his amazing eyes. His body still made her think of tightly coiled strength, powerful beneath the silk shirt, the elegantly simple suit.
He’d worked his looks to his advantage, knowing he projected the perfect image of a high-powered, sophisticated big wheel. Just as Xanadu was the most opulent hotel casino in Vegas, the people closest to the man had to look like a million bucks 24/7. The only time she’d seen Nick out of a designer suit was when he’d jogged in the morning. And when he’d lain naked in her bed.
She shifted her gaze, unwilling to think about that time. Even though the repercussions continued to reverberate, it was history. She’d cut herself off from any part of Todd’s world long ago, and this nightmare didn’t change anything. She’d find a way to escape again. And to take her boy with her.
Looking down, it occurred to her that she wouldn’t be wearing her jeans again, not while she was here. Todd had always wanted her to be as elegantly dressed as his staff. More so. It had taken her too long to understand that one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to let her go was that she looked like a cross between a showgirl and a schoolteacher. She’d been every bit as much a showpiece as the diamonds and the designer gowns he’d had her wear.
She caught Nick’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He’d donned sunglasses, but his expression was hard as stone. Why? What had she done to him? More to the point, what kind of a horror story had Todd concocted to taint her?
She’d been so sure that beneath Nick’s facade beat a good heart; held that notion close through almost three long years of isolation and strain. But now that she’d seen him again, she knew it had all been smoke and mirrors. She didn’t really love him. She’d just built an elaborate fantasy out of loneliness and fear. Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t make her feel any better.
She not only ached with worry for her baby, but the slender thread of hope that she’d have someone on her side had snapped when she’d first seen Nick. She was on her own. Which would have been okay if it hadn’t been for Patrick. What kind of life would he have under the wing of such a vicious hawk?
Her eyes filled with hot tears and though she tried to blink them back, it was no use. Watching the Strip grow larger as they sped down the freeway turned the nightmare into reality.
Never before, not the whole time she’d been in Milford, had she felt so alone. Her wet gaze moved back to Nick, to his tense shoulders, his hand gripping the steering wheel. All the way to Las Vegas she’d staved off hysteria by thinking about Nick. Once again, she’d proved to herself that she was nothing more than a naive fool. Wrong in the most fundamental ways. Hell, she’d been wrong since the day she’d first met C. Randall Todd. But even so, some prices were too high to pay.
She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and prayed to a God she no longer believed in. She was heading to hell in a white chariot. Alone. Completely alone.
LOCATED BETWEEN the Flamingo and Balley’s, Xanadu was more of a palace than a hotel. With more than three thousand rooms, seven world-class restaurants, one of the largest casinos on the Strip, and a reputation for customer satisfaction unparalleled in a city known for indulgence, Xanadu far exceeded anything Kubla Khan could have imagined.
The building itself was silver and in the bright June sunlight it seemed molten and fluid, which was exactly what Todd had wanted. Using the old Coleridge poem as his guide, Todd had built the stately pleasure dome, complete with sunless sea, more than a mile of meandering river through woods and dales, leading to the mystical caverns below, where designer shops were carved out of rock and the music of the dulcimer floated in the purified air. All of it skillfully, masterfully, designed to part guests from their money.
As the limo approached the porte cochere, Jenny’s stomach clenched as the fear she’d been keeping at arm’s length sunk into her very bones. She had to swallow hard to keep from being sick and it was only thoughts of Patrick that kept her from running.
The window separating her from Nick lowered as they moved into the valet lane. “No place like home, eh?”
His sarcasm was as bitter as the bile in the back of her throat. “You’ve certainly made it yours,” she said, struggling to keep her voice cool. “You must be so proud.”
He parked the limo on the far side of the entrance, near the private elevators for the high rollers, then turned back to look at her as if she were something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. “I am. But then, I never said I wanted out.”
The valet opened the back door. She shot a look at Nick. “You bastard.” She got out, blasted by the furnacelike heat of desert sun. The hotel was busy, as always. Taxis waited like schoolchildren to be called into service by the costumed bellmen. Limos stretched long and private in their own lanes. The glass doors leading inside were huge and thick, double doors meant to keep the real world firmly outside.
Nick walked to her side, holding her overnight bag. She hadn’t brought much with her. Makeup, pictures, vitamins. Everything else would be provided for, down to her bra and panties. Oh, God, she couldn’t do it.
She had to. Patrick was up there, scared to death, wanting his mommy. They’d never been apart this long. She had to see him—now.
“Come on,” Nick said, his hand on the small of her back.
The contact made her shiver as it always had. Her foolish body didn’t know any better, but it would learn. She stepped forward quickly, breaking the contact. She wanted nothing to do with him.
He led her inside to the atrium, twenty stories high, capped by a blanket of mirrors and hanging crystal in a flash of glitter. The sound of the casino was muted here. In fact, one of the conditions for having slots in this hotel was that there were no bells and whistles. People threw away their money quietly in Xanadu.
They walked past gardens, gazebos, pergolas lush with foliage. It took a staff of more than a hundred people to maintain the gardens in Xanadu, and in all the time she’d spent here she’d never once seen a brown leaf.
The smell of the place brought back too much. Of course, there were no unpleasant odors. The air, along with everything else, was strictly controlled, manipulated. There were no clocks anywhere, the sky inside was always blue in the perpetual daylight. There was no breach of the fantasy where any guest might catch an inadvertent glimpse.
She looked up as they crossed to the private elevators, built slightly behind the public facilities, and saw the hundreds of smoky-glass domes in the ceiling and along the walls. Domes that hid security cameras. No hotel was more carefully monitored. The security staff outnumbered the garden staff.
Nick called for an elevator. Once they were inside, he slipped a key into the slot that would allow them passage to the upper floors, to the suites for the whales and Todd’s enclave. It felt like forever to climb the forty-one stories. All she could think of was holding Patrick. Keeping him safe.
When they finally reached the penthouse, Nick walked with her down the hallway, her boots sinking into the thick pile of the burgundy carpet. The theme continued even here in the lofty heights, with Chinese and Mongol influences in the wall sconces, the paintings and the wallpaper. She’d been awed the first time Todd had brought her here. No detail left unattended, everything had a beauty and a serenity meant to soothe and to comfort. It didn’t work on her. All she could think about was the fact that she’d need a key to get into any of the elevators on this floor. A key he’d never give her.
They stopped at the double doors to Todd’s suite. It was, of course, the most extravagant room in the hotel. More than fifteen-thousand square feet, it was larger than a lot of the motels on the side streets of the city and more decadent than a rock star’s dreams.
Nick knocked and the door opened. A butler she didn’t recognize bowed slightly, took her bag from Nick, then led them into the dragon’s lair.
Marble floors, glass walls, Picassos, Renoirs, antiques; there wasn’t an inch of the suite that wasn’t detailed and designed to be the best of the best. Six bedrooms, twelve baths, a private swimming pool, spa, massage room, grand piano, private dining room and kitchen. It made her physically ill.
But she kept her expression neutral as they neared the master bedroom. He was going to test her—punish her. It would be horrible, but she could take it. She had to take it.
Patrick.
At the door, the butler knocked, then she heard Todd’s voice. She gripped her purse, stood straight, focused. Feeling Nick beside her should have been a comfort, damn it.
The butler led them inside, and then she saw him. Patrick. Sitting on the lap of the man who would own her. Todd’s hair, thick and shockingly white, was immaculate, as was the suit on his tall, muscular frame. A devilishly handsome man, he hid his wickedness behind hypnotically beautiful blue eyes.
“Mommy!”
She tore her gaze from Todd and hurried forward, her anxiety to hold her child stronger than any fear. Patrick squirmed, trying to escape. When he couldn’t, he cried, screamed, his panic loud and shrill in the cavernous room.
She reached the bedside chair where Todd held her son. Just as she was about to fall to her knees and beg, Patrick escaped. He leaped into her arms where she hugged him tight, her tears falling unheeded, his tears fueling her hatred drop by drop.
She looked up briefly, long enough to see that Todd was watching her intently, so she turned. But then she could see Nick. Was that shock in his face? Surprise? Had he really not known that Todd had kidnapped her baby?
Their baby?
Chapter Three
Nick struggled to keep the surprise off his face. A kid? It explained so much. She’d wanted to get away from Todd for a long time before she’d actually made a move. Subtle hints, questions. But then, she’d gotten panicked, insistent. She’d come to him that night…
Nick took a deep, slow breath as the realization washed over him. She’d come to him, to his bed, even though it could have gotten them both killed. She’d known then, had to. She was carrying Todd’s child. Damn it, what a fool he’d been. He’d thought…
It didn’t matter. It was his own damn fault that he’d let himself care about her, that he’d put everything in jeopardy. So what if her reasons had been more complicated?
His gaze went to the boy. How had he gotten here? Nick hadn’t heard a word about it. Why not? Why hadn’t Todd filled him in? Sweet had clearly known, but then, Sweet knew everything. Almost everything. He hadn’t known Nick had helped Jenny escape, or Nick would have been a corpse a long time ago.
Where was he, anyway? Todd couldn’t itch without Sweet scratching, and yet, here was this tender reunion scene and Henry Sweet was nowhere to be seen.
This whole situation stunk. And with what was coming down, Nick had better get to the bottom of it damn fast.
“You look like hell.”
Nick shifted his attention to Todd. It was like old times, the way the man looked at Jenny. Todd was made of granite, except when he was around her. Nick had never met anyone who could master his emotions like C. Randall Todd. It was one of the things that made him so dangerous. And yet as he sat there on the edge of his bed, his face showed his lust, his need, his anger. So vividly, Nick had to stop himself from grabbing Jenny and the kid and running like hell.
Had she really come back to this of her own volition? Impossible. Obviously, Todd had found her, found out about his son, and from that moment there wasn’t a force on earth that could have stopped him from getting the boy.
Todd considered himself the ruler of all he surveyed. And what could be more important to a ruler than an heir to the empire?
Jenny stood, holding fiercely to her son. “What I look like is no concern of yours.”
Todd smiled. Nick felt his blood chill. Damn it, what was she thinking? She knew better than to provoke him.
“Get out, Nick. But don’t go far. You’ll be helping Jenny move into her old suite.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. There was nothing else he could say. He glanced at Jenny, but her attention was fully on Todd. It didn’t matter. He had to go. Now. He was in no position to help her. Not today. Not at all.
Jenny was on her own.
SHE HEARD THE DOOR behind her open and close behind Nick. Her bravado faltered, badly. Todd’s gaze was enough to put the fear of the devil in anyone, but she knew, she remembered too intensely, just who she was facing.
“When we met, I thought your impertinence was charming. That was a long time ago.”
“I’m still me, Todd. That’s something you can’t change.”
“No?” He rose. She’d forgotten just how formidable a man he was, as if her memories could only hold so much of him and no more. At six foot two, he was a little shorter than Nick, but his attitude made him seem huge. He’d kept trim, which didn’t surprise her. He had a personal trainer, played tennis and golf, swam daily. He took pride in his body and, just like everything else of his, it had to be a little better, a little stronger. He looked years younger than fifty-eight, something he never tired of hearing.
“No. I wish I could have been more…forthright about leaving, but the fundamental reasons haven’t changed at all. I don’t want to be here, Todd. You can have anyone. Anyone at all.”
“That’s right. I can. And I want you.”
He reached her side and it was all she could do to maintain her ground. She couldn’t give in to her terror. Not that he didn’t already know she was quaking inside. But she didn’t want Patrick to see. He was scared enough as it was.
“Mommy, I want to go home.”
She kissed his pale forehead. “I know, sweetie. Me, too.”
Todd smiled at the boy, showing off his even, white teeth. Perfect. Fake. “You are home. This is your new home, son.”
“He’s not—” Jenny stopped herself. She’d gone over it and over it since the moment Patrick had disappeared. She didn’t dare tell Todd that Patrick wasn’t his. He wouldn’t believe her; he’d insist on proof. Once he discovered that Nick was Patrick’s father, the two of them were dead. What she didn’t know, and didn’t dare find out, is if it would also mean Patrick’s death. Unthinkable, but Todd was just vicious enough to do something that heinous.
“He doesn’t understand,” she said feebly.
“Then we’ll help him understand, won’t we?” Todd declared, reaching out with his long fingers.
She flinched, but he only touched the side of her cheek. She closed her eyes, held Patrick tighter.
“Before you arrived, I explained to Patrick that I’m his father. That we’ll become very good friends. That he’ll have the best of everything from this moment forward. The best tutors, the best toys. And you, Jenny, will pull yourself together.” He looked her up and down, shaking his head as if her jeans were a personal affront.
“You’re back with me now.”
She bit back a smart-ass retort. It wouldn’t help things. God, the helplessness was like drowning. How could she take it? “I didn’t bring any clothes.”
“There are some in your suite, and we’ll get more when the time comes.” A moment passed with his gaze burning into hers. He arched a white brow, waiting.
“Yes, sir,” she said, making sure her voice sounded small, weak.
“Good. Now, go with Nick and get settled. I’ve put the boy next door to you, along with his nanny. I’ll expect you back here in an hour. Alone. We need to set some ground rules.” He smiled at her, but not with the warmth he’d shown Patrick. This was a feral smile, filled with the cruelty she’d learned to dread. “And we have some unfinished business to take care of, yes?”
She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling as she nodded.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, his breath a combination of mint and cloves that resurrected more of her past. She’d tried so hard to forget. But some horrors are not forgotten, ever.
He patted Patrick on the head. “Go. You haven’t much time. And, Jenny, I want your hair down.”
She turned, too fast. His hand was jolted from Patrick’s head. She’d pay for that sin, too.
NICK LEANED against the open door of the last suite on the private floor, next to a middle-aged woman he’d just met, waiting for Jenny and Patrick. The woman, Regina Norris, was a professional nanny, British, who, she’d just told him, had once taken care of William and Harry, when the princess had been alive. Of late, she’d overseen the three children of a British Lord, and had come to America after being lured by an unimaginable sum by C. Randall Todd. Nick was faintly surprised. He’d have figured Todd would find someone more malleable for the job of watching his heir. Someone, say, from an old European family, but then again, it was his only son. Never settle for anything but the best, that was Todd’s credo.
She looked like a nice woman. Well-kempt, prim. Sort of a Maggie Smith type. He quelled the urge to tell her to get out before it was too late. Before she made a mistake that could cost her everything. It wasn’t his business.
Unfortunately, Todd had made Jenny Nick’s business once again. He’d had to hide his shock at being assigned to her. It had been a long time since his bodyguard days. But when Nick thought about the other close associates of Todd’s, he couldn’t come up with anyone he’d trust to watch her.
It wasn’t a question of loyalty. No one on the inner circle would dare make an inappropriate move. It was about intelligence. His men weren’t exactly geniuses when it came to thinking on their feet.
Independent thought wasn’t conducive to slavish obedience. Which, Nick had learned early and well, could be faked. But this assignment wasn’t going to work at all. Not just because of their past, which would have been enough, but because of his future. Unfortunately he couldn’t approach Todd about either of his reasons. So he’d have to come up with something else. Something compelling enough to get him back to his old routine without sending up any red flags.
The only thing he could think of was to have Jenny insist that he go. It wasn’t a solution he cared for. He couldn’t tell her what he was doing, that would put her in too much danger. So he’d have to be a schmuck.
Damn. As if things for her weren’t terrible enough. But what was his alternative? Things were coming to a head here and he couldn’t afford to have it all blow up in his face. That would be very, very bad.
Todd’s door opened and Nick pushed off the wall, straightening his cuffs as he watched Jenny walk into the hall. She held her son tight and he watched her soothe the boy, touch him, hug him. He wondered who was more comforted.
Jenny had a kid. A son who looked just like her. Would Patrick grow more like Todd as he got older?
Nick still had a hell of a lot to think about, to work out. That he hadn’t known about Patrick or Jenny returning bothered him almost as much as Jenny’s return itself. At least he understood why she hadn’t rushed to tell him about her boy when he’d put her in the limo. She’d known he’d figure out the dates. That she had to have been pregnant when they’d gotten together.
Would it have stopped him from helping her? No. Would it have stopped him from making love to her? He had no idea. And he couldn’t afford to think about it now. His personal life was so far away from a priority, it had its own zip code. He’d given all that up when he’d taken the job with Todd. Nothing mattered but the gig. Not even Jenny.
What did matter was that his place in the organization was still safe. That Todd still trusted him. Henry Sweet didn’t, but then, he never had. Sweet didn’t trust anyone except Todd. Period. It had taken too long, at too great a cost, for Nick to get this far. He couldn’t blow it now.
“There’s my boy,” Mrs. Norris said, stepping out to meet Jenny.
Nick held himself back as Jenny and the nanny met, sized each other up. Jenny held on to Patrick as long as she could, but in the end, she had to let him go. Patrick, of course, didn’t care for that at all, and he let out a wail that was at once piercing and pathetic. Which wasn’t nearly as bad as the sudden silence that descended when the nanny closed the door.
Jenny looked inconsolable. Damn it to hell, he couldn’t have consoled her if he’d wanted to.
“So you’re back to being my watchdog, eh, Nick?”
She’d turned to him slowly, walked away from her son, her ponytail swaying behind her as if her pale green eyes weren’t half-dead with sorrow.
“Looks like it.” He accompanied her back up the long hallway, past Todd’s suite, to the room they both knew well. He opened the door to her suite, pocketing the key before he let her inside. She brushed by him quickly, but he still caught a whiff of her perfume. His body reacted quickly, but he ignored it.
“My God,” she said as she gazed around the room. It was half the size of Todd’s, but that still meant it was enormous. He’d redecorated since she’d gone, taken the once vaguely Persian decor and run with it. Pillows on the floor, silk curtain swathes hanging from the ceiling, great overstuffed chaise longues and ornate tables festooned with antique hookahs and cast-iron figurines. It was beautiful in a way, but so unlike Jenny’s character as to be laughable.
“It looks like something out of Scheherazade’s nightmares.”
Nick smirked. “You managed to come up with enough tales to keep your head on.”
Jenny whirled around, took a step toward him, her eyes fierce, her hands fisted. “What is it with you?” she said in a whisper that carried just to his ears and not the microphones studded throughout the suite. “Why are you being so horrible? It’s not enough I have to put up with him? You used to be human. What happened?”
He froze his expression. “I wised up.”
“You mean, you sold out.”
“I’d sold out long before I met you,” he said in that same strange whisper.
“So why did you help me? Huh? What was in it for you?”
He gave her a smile he’d perfected under Todd’s tutelage, then leaned in so his lips nearly touched the perfect shell of her ear. “I got you in the sack, didn’t I?”
When he leaned back, the fire had left her eyes to be replaced by nothing so much as utter defeat. He hoped… God, he hoped, the fire wasn’t gone forever.
EDWARD POTEREIKO SWORE and stamped his feet to keep his circulation flowing. He glanced at the stainless-steel watch he’d gotten as a retirement gift after twenty-five years in the GRU, and saw that it was two-fifteen.
Late. His contact was late. The breakup of the Soviet Union had, in the former colonel’s opinion, also broken much of the vigor and discipline of the Ukrainian army. Now they were just so many ragtag costumed clowns playing at being soldiers. In his day, Edward would have had a number of them shot. The remainder would damn well have been on time.
He peered across the frozen moonlit fields toward the lights of Kharkiv, trying to ignore the condensation of breath on his glasses. He willed himself to see a figure struggling across the tundra in the rising fog. Still nothing moved.
Cursing again, he considered sitting in his four-door Volga sedan with the engine running and the heater blasting, but decided the risk was not worth the comfort. He turned his back to the lights and stuffed a Bogatyri cigarette between his lips, his American lighter shrouded by his greatcoat.
He’d barely puffed the hot ash to incandescent redness when he heard the crunch of boots approaching. He cautiously moved to place the sedan between himself and the sound. A dark silhouette stumbled into view, visible breath rasping in the misty silence, the telltale peak of the Russian army cap obvious against the distant twinkling lights.
As the figure moved closer, Potereiko could see the reason for the shadow’s stumbling gait; the man was carrying a large metal suitcase that hit his leg with every step. “Colonel?” he whispered. “Colonel?”
Potereiko stepped from behind the sedan and puffed on his cigarette before speaking, blowing smoke in a thick cloud that drifted sinuously over his shoulder. “You’re late, Vanko.”
Vanko dropped the suitcase at the rear of the Volga sedan with a sharp crunch that made the other man start involuntarily, although he knew it would take more than that for the case to begin its deadly work. Vanko pulled his gloves off and blew on his bare hands to warm them. “The security guard at the factory demanded extra money, just as I was leaving. He thinks I’m stealing computers.” He laughed, then sniffed at the smoke from Potereiko’s cigarette. “Hey, let me have one of those.”
“You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Potereiko said. “I’ve got to be back at the border before the shift changes at three.” He fished out one of the unfiltered Bogatyris and handed it to Vanko, then lit it for him.
“The guard—”
“Forget the guard.” Potereiko waved his arm dismissively and opened the trunk of the Volga. As the lid opened, a light came on inside. “Let’s see it.”
“Ah, Colonel.”
“I want to make sure it’s what you say, Vanko.”
“Would I try to cheat you?”
“You’re already trying to get a few extra rubles for the greedy guard. Open the case.” Potereiko stood back, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from between his lips.
Vanko flipped a pair of latches, not unlike a briefcase, and carefully raised the lid, exposing a neatly machined panel containing an array of readouts and switches, barely visible in the dim trunk light. “You can set a code to open it. Here.” Vanko indicated a spot near one of the latches on the inside of the case.
Edward moved closer and peered in. “Ah, yes. I remember when we were designing these.” He reached out a hand and caressed the panel, almost fondly. “We were going to destroy the Americans.” He closed the case, then the trunk.
“Those were the days, eh, comrade?” Vanko said.
Potereiko puffed on his cigarette, regarded the hot ember, then dropped the butt and ground it out with the sole of his shoe. “There’s much more opportunity now,” he said.
“Speaking of opportunity…” Vanko puffed his own cigarette, hands in his coat pockets, gloves tucked beneath an armpit.
“Of course. The money.”
“I had to give the guard an extra fifty rubles.”
“Let’s see,” Potereiko said as he reached inside his coat. He pulled out a pistol.
Vanko’s eyes widened and he backed up a step, pulling his arms from his pockets, gloves falling to the ground. “What is this?”
“This is a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber Police Special,” Potereiko said calmly. “Made in America. New Jersey, I believe. Nice, is it not?”
“Edward… Colonel… Please.”
“You are a symbol of all that’s gone wrong with the Soviet Union, Vanko. And a petty thinker, to boot.” In one smooth motion former Colonel Edward Potereiko raised the weapon and fired, striking Vanko in the forehead. As the roar of the gun died, his face, only slightly marred by the entry wound, took on a startled look. The cigarette fell from his lips, lodging on his heavy coat before he fell backward.
Potereiko put the gun back inside his coat and checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes to get back to the border, and it was only six or seven miles. He was, in fact, far more concerned with the nearly six thousand miles he’d have to drive in the next week. He stepped over Vanko’s body.
“Das vadanya, comrade.”
Chapter Four
Jenny turned away, unable to look at Nick. God, had she made it all up? Had this man ever truly been kind to her?
She ran her hand over the cold relief of a standing screen, her fingers tracing the edges of a reclining jaguar as she ran through a dozen quick memories, Nick gentle in all of them. He’d been tough in front of Todd and Sweet, of course, but when they’d been alone…
She remembered the first time he’d kissed her. They’d been in her bathroom, of all places, standing by the Jacuzzi. He’d found a narrow window where Todd’s hidden cameras couldn’t see, and he’d led her there, positioned her just so. They’d had to whisper, although the sound of the bubbling water had masked their voices. And in that tiny space of freedom, that narrow gap between the nightmare of her life and the promise of something too good to be anything but a dream, he’d caressed her hair with trembling fingers, searched her gaze for secrets, then leaned down and touched her lips ever so softly with his own.
He’d lingered there, just brushing lips to lips, breathing his breath into her, filling her with desire. He’d been patient, maddeningly so, and finally she’d been the one to deepen the kiss, to open her lips and take a forbidden taste of this man who was her protector and her prison guard.
He’d moaned, so loudly she’d been afraid, but then the fear didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but his arms around her, the hard warmth of his chest, his tongue doing wicked, wonderful things that made her forget reality.
It had only lasted a few minutes. A few precious, dangerous minutes. But in that time, she’d felt a connection that had given her the strength to do the unthinkable. She’d decided, at that moment, when she couldn’t distinguish between his breath and hers, that she would escape. And that someday, when they were both free of the monster in the other room, they would meet again.
The man behind her bore no resemblance to the man in her mind’s eye. They looked the same, but they were complete opposites when it came to the heart.
What had happened to him? Was being around Todd enough to kill that humanity? She closed her eyes. Of course it was. If she’d stayed, who knows what would have happened to her? What was of much more concern now was what would happen to her baby. How could he ever come out of this unscathed?
“What did he tell you?”
She turned to face Nick again, hardening herself against the cool disdain in his gaze. “I have to dress. Go back to him.”
“Then, what are you waiting for?”
He was actually more beautiful when he was like this. When his lip had that hint of a sneer and his eyes burned right through her. But she knew better than anyone that beauty was nothing. A trap. A web.
Without giving him the satisfaction of an answer, she headed for the bedroom. Todd wanted her hair down. She’d have to wear full makeup, which she hadn’t done since the day she’d left him. And wear the awful lingerie that was sure to be in her dresser.
The bedroom, as large as her living room and kitchen combined, had been redecorated in the same motif as the rest of the suite. The four-poster was swathed in sheer white drapes, the posts themselves sturdy brass. Looking at the bed made her stomach clench as other memories came back, piling in her head like a car wreck.
When they’d first met, Todd had been a perfect gentleman. He’d courted her with respect, giving her all the time she’d needed to make her decisions. Even after they’d made love, he was patient, showing her a side of him she knew now to be a complete charade.
Only when she was well and truly trapped did he come out, show her his true colors. Sick colors. His cruelty became masterful in the bedroom. What he’d done to her, made her do…
She took a deep breath as she thrust the thoughts from her consciousness. Striding to the closet, she flung open the doors, determined to think of nothing but the task at hand.
The wardrobe was far sparser than she’d imagined. Half a dozen dresses, another half dozen negligees. High heels, of course, and gaudy accessories. Furs, jeweled handbags. Not her taste, not her style. They made her feel cheap, despite their astronomical price tags.
She picked out the skimpiest dress. The night was going to be horrible. Painful. She’d do well to mitigate her circumstances wherever she could, beginning with the slit-up-to-there gold lamé dress that hardly covered her breasts and bared her back completely. There would be no bra, not with this dress, and no hose. In the top dresser drawer she found several pairs of the tiniest thongs she’d ever seen, mere teasing of fabric. She put on the white ones.
As she dressed, she turned it all off. Her repulsion, her fear, her worry for Patrick. She turned it off and went as far deep inside as she could. It had been a long time since she’d taken refuge there, but she found her safe zone waiting, as if she’d never left.
She took her hair down as she walked to the bathroom, there to painstakingly put on the makeup of a showgirl. No. Of a whore. By the time she was finished, with only five minutes to spare, she hardly recognized herself.
Which, she supposed, was a good thing.
She checked her reflection, made sure he’d approve, then grabbed a gold handbag and slipped on the four-inch heels that hurt with her first step. It didn’t matter. That would be the least of her discomfort tonight.
NICK HAD MADE a few phone calls while Jenny was dressing, one of them real. Jed Tyler, his mechanic, told him his Porsche was ready, after having the brakes relined. During the call, and the other two, one to find out the correct time, and the other to a number he knew had been disconnected, he walked around the living room as if studying the decor. His real quest was to find the hidden cameras. As he’d suspected, they had all been moved during the redecoration. It had taken him a long time to find the six cameras before, and so far he’d only identified three.
He’d ferret out the bugs later. He’d be spending a lot of time here while he made Jenny uncomfortable enough to insist he be replaced. Which needed to be damn soon. He had to be free to find out what the hell Todd was planning. It was big. Bigger than anything he’d encountered so far and it had nothing to do with the casino.
Todd was one of the wealthiest men in Nevada—in the world. And still he wasn’t satisfied. What he wanted to be when he grew up was an arms dealer. Like Adnan Khashoggi at his peak, only richer. He wanted to sell big toys like F/A-18 Hornet jets and Black Hawk attack helicopters, but the U.S. government had restricted his ability to play in the billion-dollar playgrounds. Oh, he could sell arms, but he’d have to get out of the casino business.
Todd continued to host the world’s largest arms trade shows, however, with representatives from all corners of the globe. He was the world’s leading exporter of signals intelligence. The interception, exploitation and jamming of electronic communication; a multibillion-dollar enterprise designed to eavesdrop on the conversations and data traffic of U.S. adversaries anywhere on earth. Real James Bond stuff.
The arms shows were more exciting to him than any poker tournament could hope to be. His contacts were world-class, although the meetings were never in Nevada. Rio, South Africa, Kashmir; Todd jetted all over the globe in his pursuit of the highest bidder for his wares. His presence at defense conferences were high-ticket events, where he would dine with presidents and kings, many of whom where high on the U.S. government’s list of unfriendlies.
Nick had gone to several arms shows with the boss and had seen his share of what went on in the world of covert ops. Gambling, even at the level played at Xanadu, couldn’t hold a candle to the stakes that were played on that field.
What Nick had also seen was that Todd was not a man to give up easily. His goal was for the big score, the billions that would make him untouchable. Since the powers that be had told him he couldn’t sell weapons, Nick knew that was exactly what Todd would do. Not conventional weapons. He’d take that extra step, that mass-destruction step that would tell the world exactly who they were messing with. C. Randall Todd was going nuclear. Nick knew it, he just couldn’t prove it. Not yet.
What Nick did know was that Todd had found a supplier, an ex-military from the defunct Soviet Union, and he had two buyers in the wings. Both of whom were enemies of the state, both of whom would have no compunction about using the nuke on American soil. The bidding continued as Todd maneuvered his players. The deal was coming to a close, time was running out.
And what Todd didn’t know, what Jenny didn’t know, what Nick’s own mother didn’t know, was that he was the man responsible for stopping it. So to say baby-sitting Jenny was inconvenient was something of an understatement.
He heard a footstep, turned from the Persian tapestry above the fireplace. Jenny walked in from the bedroom, totally transformed from the woman who’d cradled her son.
She looked like what Todd wanted her to be: the world’s most expensive mistress. The gown looked painted on, what there was of it. The neckline was so low, he was afraid for her to move, and yet when she did walk, nothing showed but what she intended. Her face—God, that beautiful face—was so made up she was almost unrecognizable behind it. Her lashes were so thick he wondered how she could keep her eyes open, and her scarlet lips were as deep and wet as fresh blood.
“You look—”
“Like a whore?”
“Cold.”
She shifted her gaze to his, but she’d shut herself down, made herself unreadable. “Right. Cold.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
She turned her gaze to her handbag. “I have no idea.”
“Wasn’t there something else in there? Something a little more discreet?”
“Yes. But I’m better off in this.”
“Why?” he whispered, ever mindful of hidden microphones. “So you can show off to all his cronies?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear as she turned to skim his cheek with her warm breath. “What do you care? We all know what Todd likes, and what he likes is what I’m here for.”
“What he likes?”
She stepped back. “Come on, Nick. Surely you can’t have forgotten all of Todd’s little games. It hasn’t been that long.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I can’t afford to be late.”
He was once again hit by the scent that had haunted his dreams. Her scent. “Let’s go,” he said as he opened the door.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she lifted her shoulders, straightened her back and headed down the hall.
It felt as though he was taking her down the Green Mile, right to the executioner’s block. He didn’t know details about Todd’s private life, but he’d heard rumors. The one thing Nick did know was that Todd wanted complete obedience from his women. How he got it was what troubled Nick.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his business. He only wished he could offer her hope, or even comfort. At the very least he wanted to tell her he was more than he seemed, that he wasn’t a bastard. But that could end up very badly. For lots and lots of people. So he kept his expression neutral, his body several steps behind her, his gaze just over her left shoulder.
All he could do was look forward to the end, to the day he put Todd down once and for all. Todd was going to pay for a multitude of sins, and Nick would take great pleasure teaching him the error of his ways.
Until then, he couldn’t afford to be distracted, not even by Jenny.
UP UNTIL THE last second, the very moment before the door to Todd’s suite opened, she hoped Nick would stop it. That he’d reach over, touch her, save her.
By the time it was too late, she’d gotten it. Gotten the truth about Nick. The reality of her situation. She was on her own. No one was going to help, no one was going to care. She had to get Patrick out. And she had to do it alone.
But first she had to get through the night.
“Ah, that’s my girl.” Todd stepped into the foyer, dressed in an Armani tux, his silver-white hair shining in the lights of his chandelier. “That’s the beauty I fell in love with.”
She forced a smile. “You look very handsome.”
He came close, his scent assaulting her, making it hard to keep her smile steady. “Thank you, my love.” He stood in front of her, lifted her chin with the back of his hand until their eyes met. She gasped when she saw the malice in his gaze. He was enjoying every second of this, her knowing he was going to hurt her. Hurt her badly.
He leaned down, touched her lips with his.
She let him kiss her, forced herself to kiss him back. The moment she increased the pressure, he pulled back, keeping the contact light, almost tender. And then he nipped her.
She gasped, stepped back.
Todd laughed. Turned away. “Nick, my man. Go on, get the hell out of here. Find that pretty dancer you like so much.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills, tossed them to Nick. “Take her somewhere nice. I won’t need you till tomorrow.”
Nick grinned, put the money in his pocket. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be here first thing.”
“Make it about nine. I have a feeling we’ll be sleeping in.”
“You got it. I’ll have the cell with me if you need me tonight.”
But Todd wasn’t listening. He’d turned his attention back to Jenny, dismissing Nick as effectively as if he’d shown him the door.
Jenny watched Nick out of the corner of her eye. He never looked back. The door closed with a click and Todd’s hand landed on her shoulder. He squeezed her there, squeezed hard enough to make her moan.
“You know where I want you,” he said, his voice low, soft, almost purring.
She swallowed. “Yes, sir.” Then she turned, headed toward the bedroom. She kept her head high, willed herself to stop trembling. But each step was more difficult than the last.
NICK WENT RIGHT to his room, to his bathroom, and started the shower. When he’d locked the door, he stripped, but before he got under the water, he pulled a small black pouch from under the sink. It looked like an iPod. He put the earphones on, pressed Play. But instead of the sounds of music, he heard a guttural laugh. Todd’s laugh.
The bug was in Todd’s living room. It was an extraordinary piece of equipment, built specifically to get by the sweeps of one of the world’s most efficient and sophisticated counter-surveillance experts. It, and three others, were the only microphones like it in the world.
Nick listened for all he was worth. He hoped they wouldn’t go to the bedroom. There were no bugs there. He’d put one inside Todd’s limo. The other was in Todd’s outer office. Nick had one more, but that bug hadn’t been successfully planted. It was to have been in Todd’s private office. The inner sanctum. But every time Nick had tried to put it there, something had stopped him. Something in the form of Henry Sweet.
He didn’t care at the moment. Not when he had to listen to Todd’s footsteps. Todd’s laughter.
Damn. Was that whimpering? Crying? Damn it, whatever he’d heard was gone. Todd had taken her out of range.
Nick couldn’t do a thing. Not at this stage of the game. But when it was over, the bastard would pay. Nick would kill him with his own two hands if he so much as raised a hand to Jenny.
Chapter Five
Jenny shifted on her seat, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt, but that wasn’t possible, even on the overstuffed chairs at Samarkand, Xanadu’s most exclusive restaurant, where Todd had taken her on their first date.
The waitresses, none of whom she recognized, still wore what they used to call Jeannie costumes: gold-brocade bras, white-silk harem pants, pointy-toed shoes. None of the women were more than a size six, and they were all stunning. The competition to work here was fierce because unlike most of the gourmet restaurants on the Strip, this place hired primarily women and the tips were astronomical. Only the cocktail waitresses in the high-roller suites made more.
Jenny had been right to wear her own horrifying outfit. The admiring glances from the mostly older men in the room gratified Todd, which mitigated his temper. Still, she felt naked, vulnerable in a way that would have brought tears to her eyes if she let it. But she had to be strong. For Patrick.
As the evening progressed and she adjusted to the truth of her captivity, she realized that what hurt the most was Nick’s complete turnabout. It just didn’t make sense. She couldn’t have been that wrong.
Somehow she had to get him somewhere they could talk. Somewhere outside of Todd’s reach. It wouldn’t be easy. God, it had taken so long for them to find all the cameras and microphones! And even when Nick was sure they’d found them all, it was still such a huge risk. To both of them.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jo-leigh/not-so-secret-baby/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.