Читать книгу The Missing Millionaire - Dani Sinclair - Страница 7

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.