Читать книгу The Borrowed Ring - Gina Wilkins - Страница 9

B.J. Samples. Private investigator extraordinaire.

Almost strutting with pride, she climbed out of her rental car and approached the Missouri farmhouse that lay at the end of a long, wide driveway. Actually farmhouse did not do the structure justice. This was practically a mansion. Pillars, dormers, balconies. Fountains and a swimming pool and detached pool house. Landscaping that looked like a photograph from a home-and-garden magazine. There was even a private airstrip behind the house.

Having come from a childhood of poverty and homelessness, Daniel Castillo—now known as Daniel Andreas—had apparently done quite well for himself.

He had not, however, been an easy man to find. She had spent the past week trying to track him down, finally getting a lead that had brought her to this spreading east Missouri farm an hour's drive from St. Louis. It hadn't been effortless, but she had gotten the information. And she couldn't wait to boast about it to her three uncles who owned the private investigation agency that employed her.

Her confident steps slowed as she approached the front door. She had the oddest feeling that she was being watched. She glanced around and saw no one, not even in the many highly polished windows at the front of the house.

Maybe it was just an attack of nerves. After all, she didn't usually do fieldwork. Computer searches were her specialty. The only reason she had been sent on this trip was because it was a low-priority assignment. One that could hardly get her into any trouble.

Maybe it was the place itself that was getting to her. Her hand wasn't quite steady when she reached for the doorbell. Was it any wonder? The only mansion she had ever visited regularly in her middle-class upbringing was her wealthy aunt Michelle's. Yet with Tony and Michelle's four children and assortment of pets, that sprawling estate had always been homey and welcoming.

She glanced down at her olive-green camp shirt and khaki pants. Perhaps she should have dressed more professionally. But it was too late for that now. The front door opened, and a very large, very bald man in a shiny gray jacket, a pale blue shirt and sharply creased jeans growled, “Yes?”

He didn't look like a butler. Nor a farmer, for that matter. He looked more like a bouncer in a low-rent strip joint. Not that she'd ever actually been in a place like that. Drawing herself to her full five feet three inches—still a foot shorter than this man—B.J. tried to speak confidently. “I'm looking for Daniel Andreas. Is he here?”

The man's heavy eyebrows rose toward his shaved pate. “Daniel Andreas?”

Never known as a particularly patient woman, B.J. swallowed a sigh. “That's what I said.”

Comprehension seemed to light in his dull brown eyes. “Oh! You made it. I'm sure he'll be pleased. Come in.”

She didn't have a clue what he was talking about. “I don't—”

“Daniel!” the man bellowed, practically hauling her inside. He glanced toward the staircase. “Oh, there you are. Look who's here. Your missus.”

B.J. glanced in the same direction, then simply stared. She had wondered how Daniel would look in person after thirteen years. Now she knew.

He looked fantastic.

For a moment he stared back at her, no expression at all on his incredibly handsome face. She doubted sincerely that he recognized her. It had been too long, and she was sure she had not made the impression on him back then that he had on her.

Before she could speak, he was coming toward her with swift, graceful movements that were vaguely feline. Just a bit predatory. The smile that lit his face was blinding, but she had a moment to notice that his obsidian eyes were deadly serious before he grabbed her and yanked her toward him. “Darling! I'm so glad you could make it after all.”

A moment later his mouth was on hers in a kiss hot enough to melt the soles of her leather sandals.

When the kiss ended, he didn't give her a chance to speak—even if she had been able to, which certainly wasn't guaranteed just then. Gripping her shoulders hard enough to leave fingerprints, he looked at the bald man, who hovered nearby with an oddly sentimental smile on his broad face. “Bernard, would you give us a minute alone? We have some catching up to do.”

Bernard? B.J. found herself mentally repeating. Was that really that man's name?

The big man nodded. “You and the missus can use that little parlor just behind you. You won't be disturbed. I'll let you know when we have to go. In the meantime, I'll call the boss and tell him your wife will be joining us, after all.”

“Oh, but—”

Daniel's fingers dug more sharply into B.J.'s shoulders, causing her words to end in a gasp. “Yes, do that,” he said to the other man.

Bernard was frowning at B.J. “Something wrong, Mrs. Andreas?”

She glanced up at Daniel in bewilderment. The look he gave her in return had her turning back to Bernard with a strained smile. “I just need to talk to my, er, to Daniel in private for a moment.”

The large man's face cleared, his somewhat scarylooking smile returning. “Right this way, ma'am.”

He ushered them into an elegantly furnished little parlor and closed the door behind him to leave them alone.

B.J. whirled immediately to face Daniel, making no effort now to hide her outrage. “What the hell was that?”

“Please keep your voice down.” He had dropped the smile, and his face was an expressionless mask again as he studied her. “You have no idea how you've complicated everything.”

Her jaw almost dropped. She had complicated everything? Had she just walked into an expensive madhouse?

Because she needed a moment to collect herself or she would end up shrieking at him, she studied the man who stood in front of her, comparing him to the boy she had once briefly known. He had fascinated her when she was fourteen and he was sixteen. Even then he had been striking looking, with his thick black hair, classic features and lazy-lidded dark eyes.

Some of her cousins had been a little afraid of his flash-point temper, but B.J. never had been. There had been something about him that had drawn her into girlish daydreams and amorous fantasies. He had been her first big crush, and she had never forgotten him.

Now he was a man of almost thirty. Still handsome but seemingly more comfortable in his skin now. The jeans, T-shirt and boots of his youth had been traded for a dark jacket that must have cost a small fortune, worn over an open-necked white shirt, charcoal slacks and expensive-looking shoes.

He looked rich, powerful and more than just a little dangerous. Still, she refused to let him see that she was at all intimidated.

Lifting her chin, she placed her hands on her slim hips and spoke firmly. “Obviously there has been some mistake. I don't know who you and Bernard were expecting, but you have the wrong person. My name is—”

“Brittany Samples,” he cut in coolly. “I recognized you as soon as you walked in.”

For the second time since she arrived, he had rendered her speechless. How on earth had he identified her that quickly? It had been more than a dozen years, for crying out loud. The last time he had seen her, she had been a shy fourteen-year-old with braces and no figure at all.

Well, okay, she still didn't have much of a figure. She had long ago given up on naturally growing big breasts or voluptuous hips. But still, she was a grown woman of twenty-seven now. She wore her brown hair layered in a choppy short cut that she'd been told was flattering to her lamentably gamine face and she had applied her makeup in a way that played up her blue eyes.

The fact that she had recognized him so easily didn't lessen her surprise. After all, she had been expecting to find him. She had a fairly recent snapshot of him in her wallet. And she had carried a mental picture at the back of her mind for years. She doubted he could say the same about her.

Finally recovering, she stammered slightly when she said, “I, um, really didn't expect you to know me. How did you—”

He made a silencing movement with his right hand. “We don't have time for this now. We've got to figure out how to get you out of this mess you've created without putting either of us in any more danger.”

“The mess I've created?” she repeated incredulously. And then the rest of his words registered. “Danger?”

Daniel put a hand to the back of his neck and squeezed, his brow creased in concentration. “Maybe we should tell them…”

“The truth?” she suggested when his words faded.

“That's not going to work.”

“Look—” She took a step toward him, bringing her close enough to jab a finger of her left hand into his chest. “I don't know what's going on here, but I've had enough. All I came here to do was—”

He caught her hand in his, absently pulling it away from his chest but not releasing her. “Bernard thinks you're my wife. If he has any reason to suspect either of us is not who we've said, he'll kill us. And, by the way, he's not the only armed guard surrounding us. The house is crawling with them—and every one of them answers to him.”

She felt her stomach clench. “I don't believe you.”

“Believe it, Brittany.”

Focusing on that name rather than the fear that was suddenly trying to overtake her, she scowled. “I answer to B.J. Any husband worth his salt would know that.”

Ignoring her heavily sarcastic remark, he continued, “We don't have much time, so you must listen. How did you get here?”

“I drove from St. Louis. Why?”

“Your own car or a rental?”

“A rental. I don't—”

He seemed to be concentrating on his own thoughts rather than her attempts to turn the questioning back on him. “Do you have any luggage with you?”

“No, I left it all at my hotel. Daniel—”

He studied her left hand, which he still held. “No rings. Not married?”

“No.” She couldn't help noticing the gold band on his left hand. “So where is your real wife?”

“I'll explain later.” Reaching inside the collar of his white shirt, he fished out a thin gold chain, which he swiftly unfastened. A moment later he had her left hand in his again. His eyes locked with hers as he slid a ring onto her finger.

Dazed, she looked down at the simple, aged-looking gold ring. “This is a wedding ring,” she said stupidly.

A sharp rap on the door barely gave warning of Bernard's abrupt entrance. He caught them still standing close together, seemingly holding hands. “Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but we really have to get under way.”

“There has been a problem, Bernard. My wife was just telling me she can't join us.” Daniel's voice held a touch of regret as he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Bernard's heavy face settled into a frown. “What's the problem?”

“Her luggage has been misplaced by the airline. The only garments she has with her are the ones she's wearing.” He spoke so smoothly B.J. almost believed him herself.

Bernard scanned her casual camp shirt and khakis, nodding as if something had just been explained to him. “That's not a problem. You can buy everything she needs when we get there. We've got several of those fancy boutiques the ladies like.”

After only a momentary pause, Daniel said, “She has some things in her luggage that have sentimental value. She's reluctant to leave without tracking it down.”

His frown deepening, Bernard shifted restlessly. Suspiciously. The movement made his ill-fitting jacket gap just enough for B.J. to catch a glimpse of the shoulder holster beneath. “I'm sure the boss can take care of everything. Why don't we get going and I'll make some calls on the way.”

B.J. thought she detected the slightest hint of apology in the look Daniel gave her then. “There's really no need to go to that much trouble. You have our home address on your luggage tags, don't you, sweetheart?”

Remembering the chilling sight of Bernard's weapon, B.J. nodded mutely.

“Then I'm sure it will all be sent to our home as soon as it turns up. In any event, there's really nothing all that valuable involved, is there?”

She shook her head, as he clearly expected of her.

Daniel gave her an encouraging smile.

Bernard's face cleared. “That's okay, then. You'll see, Mrs. Andreas. Everything's going to work out just fine.”

She wished she could believe that.

Daniel could almost feel months of scheming crashing around his ears. Not to mention that his life was pretty much flashing in front of his eyes. One significant memory from his past had apparently materialized and was now sitting right next to him on Judson Drake's private jet.

She looked pale, he noted. And no wonder. Her head was probably spinning.

He knew his was.

He had thought himself prepared for any eventuality on this trip. He had not been at all prepared for Brittany Jeanne Samples to walk through that door—and directly into his arms.

She hadn't really changed in thirteen years, he mused. Oh, there were definitely signs of maturity. She had worn braces the last time he'd seen her. Now her white teeth were perfectly straight. Her glossy brown hair had fallen almost to her waist back then, and it was now cut into a short, shaggy style that suited her.

Her figure hadn't developed significantly since her teenage years, but rather than the gawkiness of adolescence, she now moved with the lithe grace of womanhood. And her eyes were still an amazingly rich blue, still framed in ridiculously long, lush lashes.

Some might call her cute or even pretty. However one defined it, her look appealed to him as strongly now as it had when he was sixteen.

He had never expected to see her again—certainly not under these conditions. He hadn't had a chance yet to analyze how he felt about having her here, other than fear for her safety and concern about the plans he had spent so long putting together. Still, at the back of his mind was the uncomfortable awareness that Brittany Jeanne Samples was the only living soul who had ever seen him cry.

Thirteen years ago, she was the only one he knew, other than his foster parents, who hadn't been at all afraid of him. She wasn't afraid now. Quietly furious, yes. Healthily cautious, definitely. But not afraid.

Yet he reached out to pat her hand, giving her a bracing smile. “I know how much you hate flying in these small planes. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Don't you worry, Mrs. Andreas,” Bernard said with a heavy-handed attempt at sympathy. “Mr. Drake hires only the best pilots.”

Her strained expression didn't change. “I'm sure he does.”

“Can I get you anything? Soda? Bottled water?”

“No, thank you.”

Daniel trusted that Bernard would attribute B.J.'s terseness to a fear of flying, as he had intended when he had mentioned it. Bernard wasn't the sharpest pencil in the cup, but he wasn't entirely unobservant either. B.J. was hardly acting like a loving wife on her way to a luxurious resort with her husband.

He was going to have to be on his toes every minute to cover for her. He really hadn't needed this complication.

They were in the air for almost four hours. While Bernard played a video game built into a console in the private jet and Daniel read what appeared to be a book about the Spanish-American War, B.J. simply stared out a side window.

She declined the magazines Bernard offered her and had no interest in watching the television he pointed out to her. She was unable to doze. She spent the time wondering where they were going and why and what to expect when they got there.

Had she made a huge mistake going along with this charade? Should she have made it clear that she was not Daniel's wife? Perhaps treated it as a joke? But he had given her little time for that option and he had looked deadly serious when he'd told her that her very life was in danger.

Seeing the gun tucked beneath Bernard's jacket had seemed to illustrate that warning quite clearly.

Still, was she any safer now, flying toward who knew where for who knew what purpose?

Daniel spoke to her occasionally, using a lovingly solicitous tone that made her back teeth set. She had to make a real effort to respond in kind, but apparently her acting skills were better than she had thought, since Bernard didn't seem to notice anything unusual between them. Maybe because Daniel mentioned several times her supposed fear of flying and commented about how brave she was being, even though he knew she must be anxious.

She hadn't been afraid of flying, but this nightmare trip could definitely leave permanent trauma, she decided.

When they finally landed, it was on another private airstrip. From what B.J. could guess from peering out the window, this strip was a part of a luxurious ocean-side resort. She had seen swimming pools and cabanas, sprawling buildings and cozy cabins. Private beaches. Two golf courses.

Florida? South Carolina? She really had no clue.

Maybe the place would have looked more beautiful to her had she been arriving for a voluntary stay. As it was, the only thought on her mind was wondering how soon she could leave.

“See, Mrs. Andreas?” Bernard asked jovially. “Back on the ground, safe and sound.”

She would have liked very much to smack him right in the middle of his condescending smile. Instead she merely nodded.

Once again Daniel spoke for her. “My wife is exhausted from so much traveling today. I hope we can be shown to our suite quickly so she can get some rest.”

B.J. hoped that suite had a back door she could dash out of as soon as no one was looking. At the very least, she would be on the phone at the first opportunity telling her uncles to get busy rescuing her. Well, she would make that call as soon as she figured out where she was.

Bernard ushered them off the plane. A man stepped forward immediately to greet them. In marked contrast to the beefy and belligerent-looking Bernard, this man was handsome, slender and suave. Yet something about his smile made B.J.'s blood run cold.

His heavily moussed hair was sun-streaked blond, and his eyes were a glittering green. He had a perfect profile, a perfect tan, perfect teeth and a perfect physique. She would have bet hard-earned cash that none of those attributes had been bestowed upon him by nature.

As her cowboy uncle Jared would say, this fellow was so slick she could have slid him through a keyhole.

“Daniel,” he said, shaking Daniel's hand. “It's good to see you again. And this—” he turned to B.J. “—must be your lovely wife.”

His voice practically coated with pride, Daniel replied, “Yes, this is B.J. Darling, I'd like you to meet Judson Drake, the man I've told you so much about.”

Judson Drake. If that was his real name, she would eat her shoe.

She nearly flinched when Drake took her hand, holding it more snugly than necessary. “It's my pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Andreas.”

“Mr. Drake,” she murmured. As much as it unnerved her to be called Mrs. Andreas, she didn't encourage him to use her nickname.

“Bernard tells me that you've had a difficult time. I understand that your luggage has been misplaced.”

He was still holding her hand. B.J. gave a slight tug, freeing it, before she replied, “Yes. I suggested that I should stay behind…”

“Nonsense.” He waved a hand dismissively. “We have everything you could need in our shops here. I'll make arrangements for you to select whatever you like. Just give the shopkeepers your name, and anything you need is yours.”

“That's very generous of you, but I can provide for my wife's needs,” Daniel said with a hint of bruised pride. “If you'll make arrangements for her to charge her purchases to our suite, that will be sufficient.”

Drake eyed Daniel with a speculation B.J. couldn't quite analyze. “Consider it done. I'm sure you're both tired and hungry. Perhaps you would like to take advantage of some of my resort's amenities for the remainder of the day. We can talk business tomorrow, Daniel.”

Daniel seemed to give the suggestion some thought, and then he inclined his head. “Thank you. For my wife's sake, I think that would be best.”

If he said “my wife” in that smugly possessive tone one more time, B.J. was going to kick him. Hard. And she didn't care who was watching.

“Let me escort you to your suite. Bernard will see that your bags are delivered to you, Daniel.”

Tucking her canvas tote bag beneath her arm—and thinking wistfully of the cell phone tucked inside it—B.J. allowed herself to be led to the main lodge of the resort. They passed other people, mostly wealthy-looking and highly maintained couples, but other than smiling genially, Drake did not allow himself to be detained.

He led them through an exquisitely decorated lobby, merely nodding to the young woman behind the reception desk. He kept up a congenial-host monologue during a brief elevator ride, listing some of the resort's many attractions.

Drake stood much closer to B.J. than she thought necessary; the elevator car was not so small that it required that proximity. When he escorted them into a luxurious suite, his hand rested casually at the small of her back, just above the very slight curve of her hip.

Drake was so vainly assured of his appeal to women that he seemed to expect her to fall at his feet—even with her “husband” standing right next to them. She wondered how he would react if she informed him that his touch made her want to scrub her skin with bleach.

Telling them he was leaving them to relax, he made a swift exit, pausing only long enough to remind Daniel that they would schedule a meeting for the next morning.

The moment the door closed behind him, B.J. whirled to face Daniel. “If that man touches me one more time, I'm going to punch his capped teeth in.”

Daniel gave her what could only be described as a wryly warning look before saying, “I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, darling. He's just the friendly sort.”

She watched in disbelief as he pulled a small electronic device from an inside pocket of his jacket and began to walk around the room with it. Having spent the past eighteen months working for her uncles, she figured out immediately what he was doing. Did he really think the rooms were bugged with listening devices?

Just what had she stumbled into here? What exactly had Daniel gotten involved with since he had left the Walker ranch foster home for at-risk teenage boys?