Читать книгу Perfect Proposals Collection - Lynne Marshall - Страница 26

THE next few hours were the stuff of nightmares.

Jo and Gavin Hastings were tied up and loaded into a van. The second vehicle they were using was almost identical to Jo’s Range Rover. But the crudity of the humour levelled at Jo was appalling and she was in no mood to appreciate that she was completely vindicated in Gavin Hastings’s eyes. She was far too scared to even glance him an I-told-you-so look.

Nor could she do anything other than blink a couple of times when the kidnappers retrieved Gavin’s gun, only to cast it aside in disgust when it was revealed to have no bullets.

Then the humour turned sour when the realization hit the kidnappers that the creek between them and the back gate was not negotiable. A heated argument ensued until it was finally decided they’d have to return to the homestead and take the track from it to the main gate.

But that didn’t work for them either. The van got bogged about a quarter of a mile from the house. She and Gavin had their feet untied and were frogmarched up a winding, tree-lined driveway by two of the kidnappers, while the third, using the Range Rover, attempted to tow it out of the mud.

Her first impressions of Kin Can homestead, therefore, were blurred by rain and fear. All she could say was that it looked vast.

And as they reached the front steps a nasty little fracas developed as one of the men put his arms around her and tried to kiss her. Gavin swung his arms tied at the wrist and clouted the man on the head. He went down like a ninepin, but then so did Gavin Hastings as he was punched in the face by the other one.

Finally, they were manhandled up the front steps and into the house. Again her impressions were over-laid by fear, but she couldn’t help the startled thought that the house was a work of art, spacious, beautifully furnished and the essence of luxury.

After more argument they were locked into a bedroom. As an added precaution, one of the kidnappers untied the cords around their wrists, but produced a pair of handcuffs and manacled Jo and Gavin together. ‘Try sawing that off,’ he jeered.

It was a while before Jo caught her breath. They’d collapsed onto the bed after being shoved into the room. But she sat up eventually, and wondered if her companion had blacked out—there was no movement from Gavin Hastings.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked anxiously and lifted her hand. His came up with it. ‘This is ridiculous!’ She studied their linked hands joined by the shiny silver cuffs.

‘Mmm…’ he agreed. ‘Right out of a very bad gangster movie.’ And with an effort, he heaved himself into a sitting position. ‘But before I say any more, may I offer you my apologies, Miss Lucas?’

Jo opened her mouth, then closed it with the faintest smile curving her lips.

‘That’s being very generous, Jo,’ he said gravely. ‘I would have forgiven you for calling me all the unprintable names under the sun.’

‘Oh, I haven’t had time to work out if I’ve forgiven you or not.’

One eyebrow shot up. ‘So why the smile—it looked like forgiveness.’

‘It may have looked like it but I was actually thinking that all shaved and cleaned up you were rather—pretty. That is no longer the case.’

‘Pretty!’ He looked genuinely horrified.

‘Well, good-looking, then,’ she amended.

‘What’s wrong with me now?’

She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘You have all the makings of a magnificent black eye, but I do thank you for springing to my defence the way you did.’

‘So I should think,’ he retorted, and with his free hand gingerly explored the swollen area around his eye, and he swore freely.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked quietly.

‘I had a thought—’ he ground his teeth ‘—but the bastards are getting more dangerous by the minute. I get the feeling there’s an element of panic beneath the gung-ho attitude—what do you reckon?’

She could only agree but added, ‘I did think one of them, the tallest guy, seemed a little less.. gung-ho, though. Maybe he’d listen to some sense?’

‘Such as?’

Jo shrugged. ‘You could point out that you have no idea who they are and their best bet would be to shake the mud of Kin Can off their boots as fast as possible rather than kidnapping anyone—let alone two people.’

‘Not just a pretty face,’ he commented. ‘My own sentiments entirely. I even thought of offering to help them on their way, monetarily, although that goes supremely against the grain. But now you’re involved—’ He broke off at the sound of raised voices. ‘The thieves have fallen out, by the sound of it.’

Jo shivered.

‘Can’t put my arm around you,’ he said humorously, ‘but consider it done mentally.’

She smiled ruefully.

‘That’s better. OK, let’s attract their attention and attempt to parley. One, two, stand up!’

Jo stood up with him and moved alongside him to the door. He rapped loudly on it. It was opened after a while by the tall man Jo had taken for being the less gung-ho of the three.

Ten minutes later it closed on them and was locked from the outside.

‘Think he bought it?’ Gavin enquired. The tallest of the three kidnappers had gone away with the expressed intention of consulting his ‘colleagues’.

‘I don’t know. Only time will tell, I guess.’ Her shoulders slumped.

He looked down at her critically. ‘In the meantime—and I think you’ve been wonderful, Jo, most women I know would have had hysterics at least by now—we might as well make ourselves comfortable.’ He indicated the bed.

Jo looked down at the soggy mess they both were. ‘We’ll make a mess.’

He grimaced. ‘Who cares? Now, the key to it is for us both to sit down on it and gradually manoeuvre ourselves into a supine position—boots off, naturally.’

Several awkward moments later they were lying side by side on the bed, propped up by some wonderfully full, soft pillows.

‘I see what you mean about a superior standard of bedding in the homestead,’ she remarked, and looked around the room.

He grinned. ‘My mother has very superior ideas when it comes to, not only interior design, but clothes, cars, the lot.’

Jo could only agree with the interior design bit. Although it wasn’t large, and most probably a spare bedroom, the décor was lovely and no expense had been spared. A crisp cream waffle bedspread, although not so clean any longer, fuchsia-pink walls, cream woodwork and a tall, gorgeous dresser, cream again with brass handles. There were flower prints on the walls and Roman blinds at the window. There were also security insect screens over the window, fastened from the outside.

‘No trapdoor under the carpet?’ she asked.

‘No, sadly. And no likelihood of any helpful implements in the drawers or cupboard.’

‘There could be, surely?’

He shook his head. ‘The room was cleaned out completely prior to being redecorated recently.’

‘Oh.’

He turned to study her profile. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this.’

‘I probably would have got into it anyway, bad timing sort of thing.’ She flinched and stiffened as the level of voices rose outside the door.

He listened for a while, then took her hand, the one manacled to his. ‘Tell me about yourself, Jo Lucas.’

‘I…’ She made an effort to tear her mind away from the kidnappers. ‘I…well, I’m an orphan. My parents died in a train crash when I was six and I went to live with my maternal grandmother. I was twelve when she developed Alzheimer’s Disease so I was transferred to a series of foster homes. She died when I was fifteen.’

His hand tightened on hers.

She gestured with her free hand. ‘There was a happy ending—of sorts. My father had been estranged from his family, well, his father, and they’d completely lost track of each other. He was English and he’d originally emigrated to Canada but came on to Australia.’ She paused.

‘Is this painful?’ he queried.

‘Uh—it’s more like water under the bridge,’ she said slowly. ‘His mother had never stopped trying to find him, though, and she kept him, or his immediate descendants, in her will. When she died it took her lawyers another six years to track me down but they finally did when I was eighteen. So I came into a bit of money and I was able to put myself through art school and support myself ever since.’

‘You’d be middle-twenties now?’ he hazarded.

‘Yep—twenty-four.’

‘So how’s it been otherwise since you were eighteen?’

‘Fine.’

‘I meant emotionally, relationships and the like. Sounds like a pretty traumatic upbringing to me.’

‘It had its ups and downs,’ she conceded.

‘And it left no marks?’

Jo hesitated, then swallowed as a loud crash was heard, and perhaps because of the horror and danger of the situation, she found herself telling him more than she’d told anyone for a long time.

‘Ah, I have a slight problem there. Can’t seem to bring myself to rely on anyone else. Not that it’s a real problem. I mean, I’m perfectly happy as I am.’

‘A loner,’ he said after a long moment.

‘A loner who loves it.’

‘But you do have friends?’

‘Of course. I went to school with my flatmate, Leanne Thomson. I keep in touch regularly with two of my foster families, as well as one of my art teachers, and so on.’

‘What about men?’

Jo opened her mouth, then closed it and stared at the ceiling briefly. Surely there were some things you couldn’t tell a perfect stranger even in these circumstances?

‘I’m not good with men,’ she said at last. ‘They—I don’t know—seem to find me too independent. I have thought I was in love a couple of times but it came to nought.’ She shrugged.

‘You—’ He stopped as there was another crash, followed by a gunshot and a crescendo of angry voices.

Jo closed her eyes and turned her face into his shoulder as she trembled down the length of her.

He stroked her hair, but she could feel the tension, and the anger in him as well.

‘Tell me about you,’ she said shakily.

‘Me? Well, I thought my life was perfect. I inherited Kin Can, I married the girl of my dreams, we made a baby and—it all fell apart because of an obscure medical condition no one realized my wife was suffering from that took her life just after Rosie was born.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Jo clung to him as there was another shot and two crashes. It sounded as if they were wrecking the house. ‘Go on.’

‘There’s not a lot more to tell. Rosie is the light of my life, I can’t see myself ever marrying again—and do you think the bastards are killing each other?’

‘I hope so, but why wouldn’t you ever marry again?’

‘I guess, once you’ve had perfection you just know it’s an impossible act to follow. I guess I know myself well enough to know that I’d be holding every other woman up against that…happiness and finding her wanting. I suspect part of me will never forgive fate for what it did to me—and I’m a bad loser.’

‘Do you have friends?’

He grimaced. ‘I used to. All my friends are married now and they seem to specialize in trying to set me up with blind dates so I’m a bit wary of them. But, actually, my best friend married my sister, so I now have him as a brother-in-law.’

Jo opened her mouth, then shuddered against him as the fracas outside continued.

‘What are your favourite things, Jo? Other than drawing? I—’ he paused, then grinned ‘—for example, can’t resist roast beef—never, ever eat lamb if I can avoid it. I’m particularly attached to my dogs, an ice-cold beer on a hot day and Nicole Kidman.’

Jo had to smile. ‘Let’s see, Hugh Grant and Colin Firth run a dead heat for me, chocolate and, above all, I love drawing kids.’

‘Why? Don’t they squirm and scratch?’

‘Yes, but if you get them talking, they tell you wonderful things, their imaginations are marvellous. Although their parents would be horrified at some of the things you hear.’

‘I can imagine. Have you had much to do with kids?’

‘Uh-huh, especially foster-kids. I—have a very soft spot for them, of course, but all kids really. You often learn a lot from them.’

He hugged her hard, then sat up, drawing her nearer as the noise outside drew closer to their door. ‘Time to remember I’m not a good loser,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve just had a spark of inspiration. Why the bloody hell didn’t I think of it earlier?’

‘I don’t know. What is it?’

He released and looked upwards. ‘There’s a manhole in the ceiling.’

Jo followed his gaze. It was an old, iron-pressed ceiling with floral wreaths all over it, beautifully restored. ‘Where? I can’t see it.’

He pointed to a corner and gradually she made out a square cut into the iron, but her first instinct was that it would be impossible for them to get through it, manacled together as they were.

‘We can do it, Jo,’ he said when she voiced her concerns. ‘All we have to do is push the dresser underneath and climb onto it. If you just follow my orders, we’ll be fine.’

She gazed at him, then blew her fringe up with a smile in her eyes. ‘Orders?’

‘Well, instructions.’

‘That’s better. But,’ she added as he grimaced, ‘assuming we do, and don’t get caught in the process, how will it help us? Surely they’ll hear us moving about the roof? And what if they decide to accept your offer?’

Gavin Hastings rubbed his jaw. ‘I could do it on my own,’ he said reflectively. ‘I’ve had a bit of practice at crawling around confined spaces soundlessly.’

‘How so?’

‘Spent some time in the SAS,’ he said briefly. ‘OK, we’ll reserve it for desperation tactics at this stage.’ He stopped as footsteps approached the door, and Jo clung to his hand.

‘Listen—’ he lowered his voice ‘—whatever happens now, do exactly as I say, Jo. Promise?’

She swallowed and nodded.

‘The other thing is, there only seems to be one gun between them so whoever is toting it is the guy to be specially wary of, OK?’

She nodded again as the door was flung open.

There were only two of them—no sign of the tall man they’d attempted to bargain with, and that struck more terror into Jo’s heart. Had they shot him when he’d tried to talk reason to them?

‘Well, Gav,’ the man who’d shot his way into the hut jeered, ‘how much loose cash do you have stashed here?’

Jo breathed a tiny sigh of relief, although she felt a tremor of savage emotion course through the man she was manacled to.

But he said coolly enough, ‘About three thousand dollars.’

The man jerked his head. ‘Lead us to it, lover boy!’

Five minutes later, in what was obviously his study, Gavin Hastings unlocked a cabinet and removed a cash box from it. He took a wad of hundred-dollar bills out of the box and laid the money on an impressive oak desk.

There was a short interlude while it was counted then shoved into the spokesman’s pocket. The other man had said nothing and was clearly having trouble staying on his feet.

‘Right. Hold up your hands,’ the first man said, and when they did so he unlocked the handcuffs. ‘There.’ He stood back for a moment as they freed themselves but Jo knew that something was wrong. She could only see his eyes, but they had a glazed, un-with-it look that was terrifying and his whole stance was suggestive of a suppressed, horrible glee.

It only took a moment for her instinct to be proved right as their tormentor raised his gun and aimed it squarely at her.

And he said, not taking his eyes off her, ‘See here, Gav, we decided there was no reason only you should be so lucky in…lurve, so we’re taking this bit of hot stuff with us. Now don’t you try and stop us, mate, otherwise she’ll buy it.’

There was an instant of awful silence. Then Gavin erupted like a coiled spring. He knocked Jo backwards so she fell against the other man and knocked him off his feet. Then he launched himself at the first man—and the gun went off.

Jo shrieked in despair as she picked up a heavy marble antique inkwell and threw it at the man on the floor behind her. He’d been trying to get to his feet, but as the inkwell caught him on the temple he went out like a light.

Jo grabbed it up off the floor and turned to the melee struggling in front of her, which comprised Gavin Hastings and the man with the gun, and she bore down on them with the inkwell raised above her head and something like a banshee cry issuing from her lips.

But Gavin sat up abruptly and put out a hand. ‘It’s all right, Jo. I’ve knocked him out.’

She lowered the inkwell. ‘Oh, thank heavens,’ she breathed. ‘So who got…?’ Her voice rose as she noticed the blood dripping down his fingers. ‘You got shot! Oh, no!’ She sank to her knees beside him. ‘No, no, no!’

‘I think it’s only a flesh wound in my upper arm.’ He grimaced and felt through his jumper cautiously.

‘But you saved my life! You actually threw yourself in front of the gun. How can I ever repay you for that and what will I do if you die?’ she gabbled, her face paper-pale and her grey eyes dark with disbelief and emotion.

‘I’m not going to die, Josie.’ He pulled his jumper over his head and Jo winced at the sight of the wound in his upper arm. But she immediately pulled off her tracksuit top and then the long-sleeved vest-top she wore beneath it, which she ripped into strips with her teeth and fingernails, then applied them as a pad and pressure bandages to his wound.

Gavin Hastings flinched but there was a suggestion of humour in his eyes as they rested on her, her upper body clad only in a bra as she worked on the dressings.

‘What can you do to repay me, Jo? I think it would be a damn good idea if you married me.’ He swayed suddenly, and blacked out.