Читать книгу Contract Bride - Debra Webb - Страница 11

Please, God, Jenn Ballard prayed, don’t let him realize this gun isn’t loaded.

“I said, put your gun down,” she repeated to the large, dangerous-looking man standing on the other side of a bed that would prove less than adequate as a protective barrier.

“I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you put yours away and then I’ll do the same.”

She trembled at the sound of his voice. Smooth but lethal. What should she do? She’d expected him to obey her command. They always did in the movies…the ones she watched anyway.

She had no other choice. Gritting her teeth for courage, she drew the hammer back, cocking the weapon just as she’d seen guys like Clint Eastwood do. The resounding click echoed loudly in the still room. “Put it down now,” she demanded with as much gravity as she could marshal. She sure hoped all those late-night movies she used to watch weren’t wrong.

The man, whom she prayed was really Ethan Delaney, stared at her for two endless seconds before he relented. She let go the breath she’d been holding when he placed his weapon on the bedspread. Thank God.

“Now, the ID,” she reminded.

“Just stay cool, lady.” He opened the left lapel of his lightweight leather jacket wide, showing her he had nothing to hide, and reached with his thumb and fore-finger into an interior pocket. His evaluating stare never left her as he produced a small black leather credentials case. He tossed it onto the bed still eyeing her speculatively. She knew how she looked, but she couldn’t help that. The ragged jeans and the midriff top were the best she could do under the circumstances. The fact that the getup was reasonably clean had been her only concern when she’d bartered for it. With her hair down instead of in its usual neat bun and sporting the funky clothes she doubted anyone would recognize her. Even her beloved fiancé.

Which was the whole point.

Never taking her eyes off the man looming a mere mattress width away, she reached for the case he’d tossed onto the bed. She flipped it open and glanced at the Colby Agency picture ID. Ethan Delaney. Thirty-four, six-four, 220 pounds. Brown hair and eyes. She looked back and forth between the ID and the man himself. The hair was really long, tied back in a ponytail, and the eyes an uncommonly dark coppery brown. Her throat went a little dry. A guy this size could definitely do some damage. Maybe she shouldn’t have begun their meeting in such an unfriendly, distrustful manner.

“Satisfied?” he asked pointedly.

Oh, yes. She’d definitely made a mistake. But what choice had she had?

None.

She nodded, then lowered her weapon. “Sorry about that, but you can’t imagine how frightened I’ve been.” Suddenly feeling too weary, she dropped both her gun and the ID case onto the bed. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He reached for his gun, tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, and snagged hers up next along with his ID. Once the ID was back in his pocket he checked her weapon.

The glare that followed was penetrating, fierce. “Did you know this weapon isn’t loaded?”

She collapsed onto the edge of the bed. She was too exhausted and too emotionally wiped out to explain fully. “Yes,” she admitted. “I didn’t have anything left to trade for bullets.”

That piercing gaze intensified. “Trade? What the hell are you talking about?”

She shrugged tiredly. “I had to make a run for it with no money or plastic. I met a guy in an alley near the bus station who traded me the gun for my Rolex. I’d already traded my engagement ring for a bus ticket out of Chicago and my shoes for these clothes and sneakers. I didn’t have anything left.”

“You are kidding, right?”

Indignant, she shook her head. “I didn’t have any choice.” What was the big deal? Though she couldn’t accurately assess the value of the engagement ring, it could have been as fake as her fiancé. The remainder of the items had been top of the line. The girl who got her shoes certainly got the better bargain. They were Guccis after all. The wedding dress a Vera Wang, but it had been ruined, and she’d had to cram it into a trash bin. The horrible memories she’d kept at bay for nearly 72 hours now spilled one over the other into her weary mind.

Her stomach roiled. There had been so much blood.

Uncle Russ was dead.

She blinked back the tears that threatened. She had to be strong, had to get back to her father. His already fragile life might be in danger, too. No matter what else happened, she had to have help getting her life back. She had to make sure he didn’t hurt her father. Her father’s safety was of primary importance. With his health so poor, almost anything could finish him off. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him yet, and certainly not like this.

The man, Ethan Delaney, looked at her with something new in his eyes…pity, maybe? Anger kindled in her belly and was joined by indignation. She didn’t need his pity; she needed his investigative expertise.

“When did you eat last?” he asked quietly, concerned.

She thought about that one for a moment, then remembered. The last three days were like one big blur of runaway emotions in her memory, some images more vivid than others. She immediately pushed those away. “The man at the front desk gave me a bag of peanuts and a soft drink when I checked in this morning,” she admitted. “Since I didn’t have any money I was profoundly grateful.”

“Really?” Ethan said, clearly skeptical. He lifted an eyebrow in punctuation. “How’d you pay when you checked in if you didn’t have any money or plastic?”

He probably wasn’t going to like this part. “I told him the man I was expecting would pay. Apparently that’s customary at this establishment.”

Ethan puffed out an impatient breath, then massaged his chin trying to decide what to do with her. Finally, as if he’d fought his own better judgment and lost, he shook his head. “Let’s go get you something to eat, then we’ll talk.”

She swung her head side to side in adamant disagreement of his suggestion. “I don’t feel leaving the room would be a wise move until we come to an agreement. Can’t you call for something to be delivered?”

His facial features set in grim lines, he stalked over to the table next to the bed and jerked the single drawer open. She tried not to dwell on the fact that she’d already alienated her only hope and they’d barely met. She had to work seriously on her people skills. But first, before anything else, she had to convince him to believe her. Success depended solely on that one step.

After checking the yellow pages, he asked, “Pizza okay?”

Her stomach clenched in anticipation. “Yes.” It wasn’t the cuisine she usually preferred, but it would certainly do. She was starved.

After he’d placed the order, he sat down in the only chair in the room, his expression unreadable. “The pizza’ll be here in twenty minutes.” He leveled that dark, analyzing gaze on her once more, making her tremble in spite of her best efforts not to. “I know who your father is and most everything I need to know about the company, BalPhar. But I need you to start at the beginning and tell me why you think someone is trying to kill you.”

His apathy infuriated her. “I don’t think,” she said hotly, “I know.” She glared at him, though she was confident her killer stare was not nearly as effective as his.

He lifted one shoulder and let it fall, the gesture as nonchalant as his tone and all the more infuriating. “Then tell me how you know.”

She drew in a deep, bolstering breath and started at the beginning as he’d requested, but opted for the abbreviated version. “Five years ago my father began a new research project with another scientist, Dr. Kessler. As the research progressed, Dr. Kessler made extraordinary advances. Then two years ago another scientist came on board with the project. With his help, the results rocketed to a whole new level.”

She was so tired. None of what she was about to say could be proven. How could she expect an outsider to accept it? How could it even be happening? Her father had always been so careful. How would she ever make this man believe the unbelievable tale she was about to relay? It was real and she had to have his help. Her father trusted Victoria Colby. If Victoria had sent this guy, Jenn had to trust him. But she couldn’t tell him everything—not yet. If she told him too much too fast, he would never believe her. Some things a person had to see with their own eyes.

She rubbed at her temples and stretched her neck in a bid for more time, then went on, “About a year ago there was a falling out between the two lead scientists and Dr. Kessler left. Now, the project named after him is ready to move to the next level—testing on human subjects.”

“Kessler is out of the picture completely?” Delaney wanted to know.

She nodded. “He won’t have anything to do with BalPhar. He even refuses his share of the stocks.”

That revelation made headway with her so-far unimpressable guest. He looked somewhat more interested.

He asked no questions, so she continued. “The drug created is a chemotherapy agent that literally neutralizes cancer cells. It’s called Cellneu.”

She noted another almost imperceptible change in those dark eyes. Even she felt amazed at how the drug worked. “Astonishing, isn’t it?”

“And very valuable,” he suggested.

“Very.” That one drug would make BalPhar a fortune a dozen times over and has the potential of saving countless lives. “There’s only one problem,” she added, but hesitated before going on. She had absolutely no proof of what she was about to say.

He studied her for a moment, considering what she’d told him so far. “Is that why you think someone is trying to kill you? To steal your new drug?”

She shook her head. “Someone is trying to kill me,” she explained, “because I know something he doesn’t want me to.”

Delaney gestured with his hand for her to continue. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Jenn moistened her lips. She knew how this was going to sound. She could only hope that he would believe her. “There’s something wrong with the drug. It may be dangerous to humans in the long run. I think maybe that’s why Kessler got out.”

“Can you prove it?”

She sighed. There was the one sticking point. She stood then, hands on hips for emphasis. She had no evidence, just the word of a dying man. “I can’t prove it, but I know it’s true.”

“And how do you know this?” he asked calmly. So damned calmly she wanted to scream.

“Because my uncle, who worked on the project, whom I trusted implicitly, told me with his dying breath.”

One of those dark eyebrows quirked. “His dying breath?”

“My fiancé killed him. He would have killed me, too, but I got away.”

Delaney leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his widespread knees. “Where exactly did this take place? Were there any witnesses?”

“In the chapel where I was about to be married.” She tried to blink away the images again, but couldn’t stop them. Her blood-stained gown. Russ lying lifeless on the floor. The sinister look in David’s eyes. Jenn pressed her fingertips to her closed lids and tried to banish the ugly pictures her mind conjured. Russ was dead. Was her father dead already, too? “There weren’t any witnesses. We wanted to keep things quiet. The others present worked for my fiancé. Even the minister.” She remembered vividly his doing nothing to help her as the man dragged her away. The minister simply stared at her, a passive expression on his face.

Delaney stood and started in her direction. Startled, Jenn tensed. In a protective move, she wrapped her arms around her middle. Be strong.

He towered over her. Intimidating, commanding. A little hitch disrupted her breathing as her senses absorbed his nearness. His scent. The heat he radiated. The restrained power behind all that muscle. She fought the fear. He was supposed to be on her side. No fear.

“So you were at this chapel, garbed in full wedding attire,” he clarified as emotionlessly as if he were inquiring about the time of day, “ready to walk down the aisle and your fiancé tried to kill you. But you got away. Is that what you’re saying?”

He didn’t believe her. Fury swept through Jenn, evaporating the last of her fear. She had no reason to lie. Couldn’t he understand that? “Basically, yes,” she returned tightly. “Except that he ordered one of his men to kill me. He dragged me from the chapel, then drove deep into the woods.” She shivered, knowing for the first time in her life how Snow White had felt. “He made me watch while he dug a shallow grave. When he decided to have himself a little fun before he killed me, I managed to get a grip on the shovel. I hit him hard, then ran as fast as I could.” She shuddered. “I didn’t look back.”

“All right.” Delaney still looked ambivalent. “Why don’t you give me your fiancé’s name and I’ll call a detective friend of mine in the city and have him pick the guy up. It shouldn’t take us long to sort this out.”

Fear rocketed through her. “We can’t call the police!”

Delaney inclined his head, studying her from another angle. “Why not? You said he murdered your uncle and that he attempted to have you killed.”

She chewed her lower lip. She couldn’t let him call the police. “He…he has my father. If I call the police and they investigate, but don’t lock him up, I know he’ll kill my father.” Panic tightened her chest. Though her father was gravely ill, on the verge of death really, she didn’t want him suffering. “Please.” She advanced on Ethan Delaney and grabbed him by his jacket. “Please don’t risk making things worse for my father. You have to help me.”

Those dark eyes softened just a fraction. “Tell me the name of this fiancé that you’re so afraid of and I’ll see what I can do.”

She nodded and swiped at the tears welling. “His name is David Crane. Dr. David Crane.”

TWO AND ONE HALF hours later and Ethan was sitting in the reception area outside Dr. David Crane’s plush tenth-story office at Ballard Pharmaceuticals.

It had taken Ethan a full half hour to convince his client to go along with his plan. She’d done everything short of crying to dissuade him, and she’d been damn close to doing that. Once he’d explained exactly what he intended to do, she’d reluctantly gone along with him. He’d asked her a few more questions about the Kessler Project as she wolfed down half the pizza he’d ordered. Though he was still skeptical of just who she was, he recognized that she was extremely intelligent and appeared to know almost everything about the company.

Her resourcefulness surprised him. He’d expected a spoiled rich kid who couldn’t fend for herself outside a closely structured environment. If all she said was true, she’d outwitted a would-be killer, run for her life, found a way to disguise herself and gotten the hell out of Dodge all on her own.

Impressive, he had to admit.

But, damn, she looked so young. Especially dressed as she was. He gritted his teeth and forced away the things he shouldn’t think about…like that smart and too sexy mouth of hers. Her lips had a daring little pucker to them…one that begged to be kissed, even if it was clearly unintentional. She was small, but emanated an air of strength. She’d sure surprised the hell out of him. In more ways than one.

On a more professional note, if she wasn’t Jennifer Ballard, she was certainly someone high up at BalPhar or a well-trained spy for one of their competitors. In his estimation, she knew far too much not to be from the inside. And if she wasn’t Jennifer, where was the real Jennifer Ballard?

Necessity had never posed the occasion for him to visit Ballard Pharmaceuticals before. He was impressed with the place. The building sat in the middle of a large compound, fifteen or twenty acres at least, a good twenty miles from any real civilization to speak of. Security was top-notch. Ten floors and a basement defined the structure. The architecture presented a very futuristic feel with sleek lines and angles, but with an underlying cold, stainless-steel edge.

If Jennifer Ballard had grown up in this cool, seemingly untouchable environment he wondered how she had developed any emotions at all. The austere feel of the place didn’t sit well with him. But he was still collecting data, physically and mentally. He wouldn’t make any judgments just yet.

“Mr. Delaney,” the well-polished, efficient-looking secretary said, her voice a perfectly modulated pitch, “Dr. Crane will see you now.”

Ethan wondered if she’d taken voice lessons to achieve that flawless inflection. “Thank you.” He stood and nodded once in her direction, then turned toward the door a few feet away that opened into the junior VP’s office. He wondered then if Crane would remember him. He almost laughed. Ethan supposed he would. It was difficult to forget the man who’d saved one’s life. He should know, Crane had saved his as well. The three days and nights they’d spent together making their way across that desert were permanently imprinted upon his brain. No way he could ever forget. Death had stalked them both in more than one form. Ultimately, they’d saved each other.

Crane was standing when Ethan entered his office. “Ethan, what an honor to have you here. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He clasped Ethan’s hand and shook it heartily the moment Ethan had extended it. “How long has it been?”

“Too long.” Ethan smiled. Crane had done well for himself. He still looked fit and had aged well. Lots of men in his line of work would have grown soft and maybe even gained a spare tire. But not Crane. He looked in excellent physical condition, seemed very much in charge. “It’s good to see you, too, Dr. Crane,” Ethan said after his quick visual assessment.

Crane waved him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Call me David. After what we’ve been through together, formalities are a slap in the face. Have a seat. Please.”

Ethan sat down in one of the lavish leather chairs facing Crane’s desk. “Looks like you’ve moved up in the world,” he commented as he glanced around the luxurious office. A wall of windows presented a picturesque view near the long conference table on the other side of the room. From this level, everything for miles around sprawled across the landscape in a sea of lush green forests interrupted only by a narrow, curving road that led back to the city. The office furnishings were ornate, the decorating classic. It was nothing like the rest of what Ethan had seen in the building.

“From a desert in Iraq,” Crane nodded “I’ve definitely moved up.” He leaned back in his chair. “I have to say, I like it a lot better here.”

Ethan laughed. “I’ll bet you do.” An expensive-looking abstract oil painting hung on the wall behind Crane’s desk. The colors were so vivid it almost looked three-dimensional. The artwork nagged at Ethan, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on precisely what it was that bothered him.

“May I get you something to drink?” Crane offered, gesturing to the tray on the massive mahogany sideboard near the conference table.

Ethan dragged his attention back to the man and said, “No. I’m good.”

Crane propped his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers. “My secretary tells me you’re with the Colby Agency now. BalPhar has done business with Victoria Colby for years. Sounds as if you haven’t done so badly yourself.”

“It’s not that different from what I used to do,” Ethan allowed, and that was true to an extent.

Crane nodded. “I can imagine.” He frowned then. “You know, I have a meeting in a few minutes that I, unfortunately, can’t reschedule, I think we should have dinner this evening and talk about old times,” he suggested, his frown reverting to a smile. “You can tell me what you’ve been up to since you saved my life all those years ago.”

Ethan searched Crane’s expression and posture for any sign of deception, but found none. “I wouldn’t have been able to get you out of that desert if you hadn’t saved my life first.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Crane admitted with a nonchalant lift of one shoulder. “But I would never have gotten out of there, period, without you. I was a dead man.” He pressed Ethan with a fiercely sincere gaze. “You saved my life. I owe you for that.” He smiled again, pushing aside the intensity he’d just displayed. “So tell me what I can do for you. Anything. Name it.”

Crane looked straight at Ethan, his gaze open, honest. The man Ethan had known all those years ago would not have been able to conceal lies so well. Surely he had not become a master of deception in the intervening time. Jennifer Ballard had to be wrong. Or maybe this was some sort of setup. There was no way to tell yet who was setting up whom.

“I’m investigating a small research facility for one of your competitors,” Ethan explained, laying out the cover he’d assured his client would prevent any questions as to why he was at BalPhar. “Alexon wants to buy out Camden, but they’re not certain it’s a wise investment. I’m sure you’re familiar with Camden.” He paused for effect. “Do you know anything that might make a difference as to whether Alexon proceeds? I know I’m taking a risk letting you in on what Alexon has planned, but I felt I could trust you.”

Crane pressed his chin to his steepled fingers and considered the question as well as Ethan’s final profound statement. “We’ve worked with Camden from time to time and never had any problem. Their reputation is solid, but financially they’re on the rocks.” A frown furrowed Crane’s brow. “However, financial woes aside, I didn’t know they were for sale. I am surprised at that. Howard Camden always swore he’d never answer to anyone else.”

Ethan smiled. “Camden doesn’t know it just yet.”

“Ah-ha.” Crane nodded knowingly. “A hostile take-over. Interesting.”

“Alexon wants the heads-up on a new cancer drug Camden’s got in the works.” Ethan shrugged, feigning disinterest. “You’d know more about that kind of thing than me. It’s some sort of cell-neutralizing agent related to cancer treatment. Big money-maker, I’m told, for the company that comes out with it first.”

Crane stilled, but showed no other outward indication of uneasiness or suspicion. “Really? I hadn’t heard about that either. Do you know if they’re ready to go public?”

There was the ever-so-slightest hint of wariness in Crane’s last question. Ethan had struck a nerve. Ethan flared his hands in feigned innocence. “Nah, that’s all I was told.” He narrowed his gaze on Crane. “So, you think Camden’s a good investment?”

There was something different in Crane’s eyes now. Ethan considered vaguely that maybe Crane was calculating how he could buy Camden first. Too bad it wasn’t really for sale. And Camden definitely didn’t have the cell-neutralizing drug in the works. The head of security at Alexon, an old friend of Victoria’s, had suggested this fishing expedition. One quick phone call was all it had taken. Next to BalPhar, Alexon was the biggest pharmaceuticals corporation in the country. Ethan had been right to mention the new drug, the one from the Kessler Project. He definitely had captured Crane’s attention—or suspicion—now.

“If Camden is on the verge of some sort of major breakthrough, it would definitely be a wise investment,” Crane advised. “However, you have to consider that many times rumors are started to make a business look attractive when it really isn’t,” he said, his tone direct. “If Camden actually were on the precipice of something that big, I doubt there would be any rumors. There would be tight control. Very tight control,” he emphasized. “You might want to reevaluate your sources.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Ethan lied. “I suppose if Camden is having financial woes, this sort of rumor could definitely be to their benefit.”

“Absolutely.”

Ethan stood. Crane did the same. Oddly he offered no objection to Ethan’s leaving, nor did he bring up dinner again.

“Thanks for your input.” Ethan extended his hand once more. “Maybe I can do the same for you sometime.”

Crane shook his hand. “The Colby Agency already takes very good care of us, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ethan hesitated before he turned to leave. “By the way, Victoria asked me to inquire about Mr. Ballard’s health.”

Crane’s expression grew somber. “Not well, I’m afraid. He’s rarely lucid these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ethan said. “And his daughter, Jennifer, how is she, under the circumstances?”

“She’s holding up as well as can be expected,” Crane responded without hesitation.

“Perhaps I should stop in, offer the agency’s support.”

“She’s in Boston on business,” Crane said quickly, too quickly. “I’ll tell her that Mrs. Colby asked.”

Ethan nodded. “You do that.”

Ethan left the office. He took his time strolling to the elevator. Though he still wasn’t sure Crane was hiding anything earth-shaking and certainly didn’t believe him to be the monster Jennifer Ballard had drawn, Ethan had the distinct impression that he was being watched as he made his exit.

DAVID CRANE stood silently at his desk for several moments after Delaney left. David watched him leave the building on the private monitor that was usually disguised as a rather expensive oil painting. He had a very bad feeling about his old friend’s visit. David clenched his jaw to hold back the fury whipping through him.

Someone knew. But no one—absolutely no one—was supposed to know. Only one of two people could have set this afternoon’s events into motion. Kessler possibly, but David doubted it, though he would certainly have one of his men look into that prospect. Kessler hadn’t opened his mouth in all this time, why would he do so now? He knew the consequences if he did. Kessler enjoyed his family…enjoyed life. He knew enough about this business to know that running his mouth off would get him killed. David would have killed him months ago, but that would only have aroused suspicions.

Kessler knew better than to talk. And if it wasn’t Kessler, then it could only be one other person.

But she was supposed to be dead.

David pressed the intercom button for his chief of security. “I want Ethan Delaney followed. I want to know where he goes and with whom he speaks.”

“Yes, sir, Dr. Crane.”

David sank back into his chair, a muscle flexing rhythmically in his tense jaw. Delaney couldn’t know anything…not really.

Because she was dead.

He was sure of it.

He’d ordered the contract personally.