Читать книгу The Redemption Of Rafe Diaz - Maggie Price - Страница 9

Annoyed, exhausted, Allie Fielding whipped her Jaguar into the driveway of the two-story condo in one of Oklahoma City’s poshest neighborhoods. The dinner meeting she’d attended with board members of the investment empire she’d inherited had run late. She could have headed home after that, if only Mercedes McKenzie had shown up as scheduled when Allie closed her shop before the meeting.

I should have gone home, Allie thought as she studied the condo. She frowned when she found herself comparing its dark windows to sightless eyes. In reality, she knew that going home hadn’t been an option. Not while she still had the hot pink garment bag that held the silk robe, red beaded bustier and two come-and-get-me sexy lace teddies she’d designed. The order had been rushed due to Mercedes’s needing the lingerie before she and her lover left for Paris at midnight. Allie felt certain if she didn’t drop off the items now, the long-legged redhead with a practiced pout would call, claiming some catastrophe had prevented her from showing up at Silk & Secrets, and from returning Allie’s phone calls. Then she would wheedle Allie into making a delivery to the airport.

“No problem,” Allie muttered. She was determined to prove herself in a career that had no ties to the Fielding empire her father had amassed. Some people might think Franklin Fielding had willed his fortune to his sole biological child out of love. Allie knew better. The idea of his money falling into the hands of someone with no Fielding blood coursing through their veins would have struck him as even more reprehensible than leaving it to the daughter he’d never wanted and had shunned.

As for the empire, her father’s name was the one investors, board members and bankers related to, and his was the one they trusted. So she used it—grudgingly. Her own business, however, was her baby. She’d put all of her skill and experience and creativity into building it from the ground up. She would tend and nurture—and, yes, deliver items to the recalcitrant mistress of some wealthy man willing to buy her drawers full of lingerie.

But Mercedes had morphed into more than just a client, Allie reminded herself. The woman was dead-on savvy about fashion. At Allie’s urging, Mercedes had begun designing the line of jeweled evening bags that were currently flying off the shop’s shelves.

Allie climbed out of the Jag’s cool comfort into the hot night air that was as dry as old bones. While she retrieved the garment bag off the Jag’s backseat, the wind gusted, dragging strands of her blond hair from its sleek chignon.

The garment bag draped over one forearm, she headed up the drive, promising to treat herself to a glass of cold wine and a hot, frothy soak in sea salts as soon as she got home.

Although the neighborhood had private security patrols, she couldn’t bring herself to abandon her one-of-a-kind designs on the front porch. So she continued toward the rear of the condo, the click of her heels echoing against the driveway, mixing with the sound of a car’s engine thrumming to life.

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the gleam of ruby-colored taillights as the car sped past.

She followed the lighted walk around the side of the condo to a patio furnished with iron tables and cushioned chairs. Overhead, tree branches swayed. In one corner of the patio, a fountain gurgled, its water bubbling into a brass sea shell. It was hard, in the middle of so much motion, to believe she was entirely alone.

The thought raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She skimmed her gaze across the patio. Then quickened her steps toward the back door.

There, Allie noted a dim light glowing behind one of the condo’s closed shutters.

She draped the garment bag over a chair, then opened her purse. After jotting a message on a sticky note, she pressed it against one of the glass panes in the back door.

And gave a startled gasp when the door slowly swung open.

“Mercedes?” Allie stared into the dimly lit kitchen. In the shadows, just visible across the room, the refrigerator groaned, cycling through a new tray of ice cubes. The clatter as they fell into their bin was as startling as a gunshot.

Allie pressed a hand to her throat. Her pulse pumped.

“Get a grip,” she whispered, even as the sudden sensation of being watched spread goose bumps over her skin. While the shiver worked down her spine, Allie caught something out of the corner of her eye.

She turned her head, looked down. Froze.

She was being stared at, all right, although it seemed the eyes watching her saw nothing.

Mercedes was sprawled inside the doorway, her well-toned body awkwardly turned on one side. Her pale face was propped on one outstretched arm as if she’d settled down for a lazy nap in the mint-green silk robe Allie had designed. But her eyes were open. Wide and unblinking.

Allie’s body went numb. She stopped breathing but realized it only when black cobwebs began to encroach on her vision.

Reaching out, she gripped the edge of a counter and forced air in and out of her lungs. Had Mercedes slipped on the marble floor? Allie wondered as her gaze flicked to the four-inch stilettos strapped to Mercedes’s feet. Fallen and hit her head? Did the blank stare signify death? Or could she just be unconscious?

The possibility the woman was alive propelled Allie forward.

“Mercedes?” Allie dropped to her knees. With trembling fingers, she nudged aside Mercedes’s diamond bracelet and pressed her fingers against the inside of the woman’s wrist, searching for a pulse. Allie felt no sign of life.

“Oh, God.” Confirmation the woman was dead tightened the knots in Allie’s stomach. Her blood pounded through her ears and she imagined she could hear the swish of it in her veins. Nine-one-one, she thought, her breath going shallow with the panic she felt closing in on her. She had to call 911.

Pushing herself up, she backed toward the open door while tugging her phone out of her purse.

The door’s sudden swing toward her was her only warning she wasn’t alone.

The heavy wood rammed against her shoulder. The force of the impact knocked the phone from her grasp and shoved her sideways.

A shriek rose up her throat when a dark form lunged from behind the door. She had less than a heartbeat to react before something hard slammed against her left temple.

The blow exploded stars behind her eyes. She landed hard on her side, the pain in her head a brilliant orange and red. Her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs while the marble floor seemed to tilt crazily beneath her.

Then everything went black and the world ceased to exist.