Читать книгу An Heiress on His Doorstep - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

J.P. studied the slender wrist with the handcuff attached. Audrey had suggested he figure out a way to remove it while she found some clean clothes for their guest.

The stranger looked around the room. “Nice kitchen. Lots of counter space with that island in the center. The granite countertops are really beautiful. The different shades of brown and beige are a nice complement to the floor tile.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“And this,” she said, studying the oak table and eight chairs set in the bay area. “This looks like an antique. Did it come with the house?”

“It’s old. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother.”

“It’s in wonderful shape,” she said, rubbing her hand over the wood surface. The cuff scraped against the edge and she quickly grabbed it. “Sorry. I’ll be glad to get rid of this.”

He picked up the bolt cutters he’d found in the tool-shed. “Okay, give me your hand.”

“I’m going to pray you didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Big, beautiful brown eyes stared at the large tool in his hand. “You’re not going to cut off my hand with that, are you?”

His gaze lowered to the button on her silk blouse that held the material together over her firm breasts. “I’m going to cut off the cuff, unless you’ve got a key tucked away somewhere.”

The idea of fishing for it sent a shaft of heat straight to his groin. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, but, unfortunately, that didn’t shut down his appreciation of her attributes.

“Regrettably, when the kidnapper pealed rubber on the highway as he drove off, he didn’t toss me the key.”

“A simple no would suffice.”

“We’d all like things we can’t have. For instance,” she said, “I’d like whoever’s behind this kidnapping in these cuffs.”

“Me, too.” He met her gaze and waited for her to blink. She didn’t.

“He probably didn’t pull it off by himself,” she said, with what seemed like studied casualness.

“I came to the same conclusion.”

“Really? How about that? We agree on something.”

He was just sliding the bolt cutters beneath the circle of metal on her delicate wrist when he looked up and saw her smile. He was struck by the fact that she was quite remarkably beautiful. As those shock waves hit him, his hand slipped.

She snatched hers back. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing with those things? One of us could get hurt.”

“This isn’t rocket science,” he snapped, annoyed with himself for the lapse.

“Neither is kidnapping. What do you suppose the penalty is for abducting someone against their will?”

“Penalty?”

“Yeah, as in it’s against the law. And when a person breaks the law, there’s a cost for it. Like jail time,” she added.

“I suppose so.”

“And what about accomplices? Coconspirators?”

What the hell was she doing? Was it like hiding in plain sight? Throw him off her trail by discussing the transgression? “What about them?”

“Do you think the punishment for a crime is as stiff for the brawn as it is for the brains behind it?” she asked sweetly.

“I have no idea. What do you think?”

“I think everyone involved should pay big time.”

“Me, too.” He let out a breath and started attempt number two to slide the bolt cutters beneath the circle on her arm. This time he didn’t make the mistake of looking at her.

“So you think jail time is appropriate?”

He kept his eyes on the metal. “Whoever hatched a kidnapping scheme to swindle money and anyone who goes along with said scheme should be locked up. And the key thrown away.”

The cuff was closed as far as it would go, but her wrist was so slender he easily had enough room to get the jaws of the tool between the metal and her flesh. The inside of her arm was pale, a stark contrast to the tan on her forearm. Her skin looked soft, smooth. He lined up the blades of the cutter very carefully. In spite of her sneaky actions, he had no desire to hurt her. Then he pressed the handles of the bolt cutter together and felt the stiff resistance. This wasn’t going to be like a hot knife through butter.

“Do you think those things would cut through the bars of a jail cell?” she asked.

“No.” What was it with her and retribution? She was the one flirting with a felony. But if he confronted her, she’d only deny it. No point in wasting his breath.

However, he wished big time that the scent of her skin didn’t remind him so much of twisted sheets, temptation and sin. The perfume she was wearing smelled subtle, expensive. A tool of her trade as surely as the one he was using.

“Hold still,” he warned, exerting more pressure on the bolt-cutter’s handles.

“Like I would make a sudden move when you’ve got the jaws of death on my arm.” She watched his progress in silence for several moments. “It occurs to me that if a felon has enough money, he can hire some high-powered legal counsel.”

“What does that mean?”

“It seemed an obvious statement of fact to me. There are stories in the news all the time about crooks who get off after hiring pricey legal eagles.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She glanced around the large kitchen. “I’d say you have a few bucks.”

“You think?” he asked. She knew darn good and well he did. “What was your first clue?”

He pressed the handles together with as much force as he dared and felt the blades come together as they cut completely through the metal. He put down the tool, then worked the cuff off her wrist.

“Paupers don’t live in palaces,” she pointed out, meeting his gaze.

“No, princesses do.”

She looked startled for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Are you looking for a princess?”

“No.” Heaven forbid.

“Good thing.” She rubbed her wrist, now free of the handcuff. “But if you change your mind, you might try adding diamonds to that bracelet before you put it on a girl’s wrist next time.”

He stared at her, surprised at her boldness. “I didn’t put that bracelet on this time. The kidnapper did.” He studied the gleam in her eyes, the rebellious lift of her chin. “For a woman who’s been recently traumatized, you seem to be taking it all in stride.”

“I suppose the silver lining of amnesia is that you can’t remember trauma. It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself,” she said calmly.

“It just seems to me that someone who’s gone through a kidnapping then lost her memory over the whole thing would be more shaken up from the experience. You seem to be handling it very well. Pretty scrappy.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a scrappy sort of gal.”

“Is that a memory returning?”

“No. Probably just my natural personality coming out. Trauma may have stolen my memories, but it won’t keep me down.” She stood and touched the twisted metal he’d just removed from her wrist. “Next time remember diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

He opened his mouth to retort when his mother walked into the room.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Mission accomplished,” the mystery woman said, holding up her now naked wrist.

Audrey stood beside him. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous prospect,” he said.

“Don’t be disrespectful, J.P. I brought you into this world. I can take you out.”

“Yes, Mother.” He thought it wise to hide his grin.

“As I was saying, we can’t keep calling our guest ‘hey, you.’ Until you remember your name,” she said to the woman, “I think we should call you Jane Doe.”

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “That’s what all the books and movies do.”

Audrey shrugged. “Well, it is.”

“Jane works for me,” said the mystery woman.

“Good.” Audrey nodded with satisfaction. “J.P., why don’t you show Jane upstairs to the window seat room. I think you’ll be comfortable there, dear. You can clean up. Everything you’ll need is there, and I’ve left some clean clothes on the bed. You’ll probably want to rest so I’ll send up a light supper for you.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Jane said, absently rubbing her wrist. Or was it nerves making her do that?

“It’s no trouble. I want you to relax and feel safe.”

“You’re very kind,” Jane said.

J.P. moved toward the kitchen doorway. “Follow me.”

He thought about blowing her cover, pointing out the flaws in her plan. Then he figured there was no point in a confrontation since she would be gone by morning. And he wouldn’t upset his mother. But “Jane’s” comments about princesses, palaces and precious stones proved that she was no different from all the other women who had gone to great lengths to meet him.

It wasn’t him she was after him. It was all about his money.

The next morning Jordan left her lovely room. Audrey was right. She’d been very comfortable tucked away there, although she’d felt like the princess in The Princess and the Pea, in a bed that seemed as if it was several stories off the ground. She’d had to climb a wooden step stool to get in it. But the velvet curtains at the beveled-glass windows, heavy, carved cherry-wood furniture, gold fixtures in the attached bath—it was all very wonderful.

She marveled at the rest of the house as she came downstairs. It made her interior decorator’s heart beat a little faster. The graceful arches and stained-glass windows high in the brick walls were spectacular. Twin oak staircases curved from the main floor to the second story. Reverently, she touched the bannister as she descended. Then she used it for real to keep from tripping. Audrey had loaned her a T-shirt and sweatpants that were too long. If she wasn’t careful, she’d go down the hard way. How would J.P. explain her broken neck to her father?

There was a certain irony in the fact that her father was throwing her at J. P. Patterson, a man who lived in a castle. She’d become an interior decorator over her father’s protests. Now, she would give her eyeteeth to redo this place; what a plus for her resume. But if she’d gone into the oil business with her father, he wouldn’t be so insistent she marry a man who could run it when he was gone.

She walked into the kitchen and found J.P. sitting at the table with coffee and a newspaper. What was his game? she wondered. Last night she’d been ready for his come-on. But he was barely civil when he’d removed the handcuffs. Then he’d made no protest when she’d gone upstairs right after dinner.

She’d expected him to suggest a walk in the garden. A visit to her room under the pretext of making sure she was comfortable. Something. But she hadn’t seen him again. Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security before he slithered in for the kill? There was an aura of intelligence about him, and she reminded herself to be on her toes. Until the sheriff arrived.

He would be there sometime this morning. J. P. Patterson didn’t know her father’s rent-a-thug had spilled his guts to her about everything. In just a little while, she would expose him for the snake he was in front of local law enforcement. The prospect made her decidedly cheerful.

“Good morning,” she said.

He looked up. “Good morning.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“I’m not sure. If you’re hungry, there’s a buffet set up in the dining room.”

“Why aren’t you in there?”

“I prefer the kitchen.”

So did she. And Jordan found she was hungry. She went into the room, which had a table long enough to land a 747 on, and picked up one of the two remaining plates on the sideboard. Then she lifted lids on the array of chafing dishes. She took some scrambled eggs, a Belgian waffle with strawberries and a dash of cream, a slice of ham and some fruit. There was a lovely silver carafe of coffee, and she settled a delicate china cup beneath the spigot then pushed back the handle to let it flow. It smelled wonderful.

When she sat down across from J.P. in the kitchen, he glanced at her plate. “I see yesterday’s ordeal hasn’t affected your appetite.”

“Nothing like a kidnapping to stimulate a girl’s palate,” she said.

“I would expect someone who can’t remember their own name to be more agitated.”

If it wasn’t Mr. Happy. She studied his narrow-eyed expression and thought about his distrustful tone. Was this the best he could do? If his goal was to make her dislike him, he was wildly successful.

“I sense a lack of trust. Are you suspicious by nature? Or merely projecting your own character onto others?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my character. But I don’t trust you,” he admitted.

“Really?” This was good.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you.”

“Honesty is the best policy,” she said virtuously. His eyes darkened a fraction, and she knew he’d caught her sarcasm.

“You noticed that I’m a wealthy man.”

“Yeah. Like I said, the castle is a clue.”

“Because of that, women throw themselves at me.”

“You mean they’re not attracted by your looks and sensitivity?” she asked sweetly.

“It started in high school and escalated from there.”

He was probably telling the truth. She was an heiress; she knew all come-ons weren’t sincere.

“Women do outrageous things to be noticed,” he continued.

“So do men,” she said pointedly.

“They do things like staking out the road to my home and pretending to be a victim,” he finished, staring at her.

“Then why did you stop yesterday?” she asked, trying to trip him up.

“That’s a good question. I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

“Did you come up with a good answer?”

He shrugged. “Probably the one in ten chance that you really did need help.”

Jordan stared at him, searching for a chink in his facade. He was good, she thought. She almost believed him. At least her father had picked a man smart enough to keep the game interesting. If he’d come on to her in a smarmy way, she’d have shut him down faster than Miami in a hurricane. But clearly he was playing his part to the hilt. He was probably telling her this for sympathy, trying to bond so that they’d have something in common when her memory came back. He had no reason to know she was on to him and faking the amnesia.

“I really did need help,” she said. “Thanks to you—”

Audrey walked into the kitchen and smiled. “Good morning, Jane.”

“Mrs. Patterson.”

“J.P., the sheriff arrived while I was out in the garden. I’ve shown him into the parlor. If you’ll both join us there when you’ve finished eating?”

Jordan glanced at the half-eaten food on her plate, then stood. “I’ve had enough, thanks. It’s time to get this over with.”

“I agree.” J.P. came around the table and looked down at her.

Jordan would swear he was trying to intimidate her. It wouldn’t work.

They walked through the house to a room near the front door. In the parlor stood a tall man about J.P.’s age and height wearing a beige shirt and matching trousers with olive-green and tan stripes down the leg. If the uniform hadn’t been a clue, the badge on his chest said loud and clear that this good-looking man with light brown hair and green eyes was the sheriff.

When he saw them, a wide grin revealed very white teeth and laugh lines around his eyes. “Hey, J.P. It’s been too long. We were supposed to have a beer together.”

“Rick.” J.P. grinned back and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you. I’ve been busy with work.”

“Me, too,” the other man said. “We’re going to have to put a date on the calendar.”

“I’ll have my secretary call you.” J.P. looked at her. “Rick and I went through school together.”

“How nice,” Jordan said.

“From kindergarten through the twelfth grade,” Audrey added.

Jordan smiled tightly. “It can’t be a bad thing to have friends in the sheriff’s department.”

Rick looked at her. “I wasn’t always in law enforcement. I managed to get into trouble a time or two. In high school, J.P. was voted most likely to take over the world. I was voted most likely to wind up in jail.”

“And you did,” Jordan commented. “In a manner of speaking.”

Audrey gave the sheriff a hug. “How’s your mother, Rick?”

“Doing fine, Mrs. P. I’ll say hello to her for you.”

“Let’s all sit down,” Audrey said. She took Jordan’s hand and sat beside her on a green-and-gold brocade love seat. J.P. stood beside them.

The sheriff remained standing, backlit by the beveled-glass window. He looked at Jordan. “Sorry I couldn’t get out here last night. The department was swamped. What’s this about a kidnapping?”

J.P. should be the one answering that question. But her dream of humiliating him in front of the sheriff had gone down the tubes. They were boyhood buds, which explained how Audrey Patterson knew the sheriff had the sensitivity of a gnat. Under the circumstances, revealing J.P.’s part in this conspiracy would be a waste of time. Number one, she was on his turf and unlikely to get any support. Number two, his mother was obviously not in on the plan. Audrey Patterson was a sweetie. Jordan had no wish to hurt her by exposing her son in her presence.

“A lot of it is a blur.” That part was true. Terror had a way of blurring the facts. “Then I remember riding in a car for what seemed like hours. I don’t know how long it actually was. I was handcuffed to the passenger handle.”

“Then what?”

“He parked on a road in the middle of nowhere. And we waited.” That was true, too. “I told him I had to go to the bathroom.”

The sheriff nodded his understanding. “Then what happened?”

“He unlocked the cuff, and I got out of the car.”

“Can you remember what the perp looked like?”

“Early twenties. Brown hair.”

“How tall?”

She tried to remember. “Not so tall that I couldn’t give him a knee to the groin.” Both men winced at that, but it was small satisfaction. “Shorter than both of you.”

“Any tattoos? Distinguishing marks?”

She thought back and realized she really couldn’t remember. “Not that I can recall.”

The sheriff looked up from the notebook where he’d been jotting down her comments. “I did some checking, and there are no reports of a kidnapping and no one missing who fits your description.”

No surprise there. It wasn’t really a kidnapping, and she wasn’t missing. J.P. had probably been in touch with her father to let him know the plan was working perfectly.

“What does that mean, Rick? In non-sheriff terms,” Audrey added.

“It means I have very little to go on to learn her identity.” He put his hat back on. “So, I’ll take her back to town with me. Put her picture out there and see what we can come up with.”

Jordan decided going with the sheriff would be best. She’d tell him her side of what happened and maybe he would help her find transportation back home. Somehow she would come up with a way to get through to her father that this stunt was an incredible invasion of her privacy.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said. “I’d appreciate any help you can give me.”

“Rick to the rescue,” J.P. said.

The smile of satisfaction on his face really rubbed Jordan the wrong way. Along with the word rescue. Her hero seemed relieved to be getting rid of her. She just didn’t get it.

“I won’t hear of it,” Audrey said. “Jane, I think it would be best for you to stay here with us.”

“Mother, we don’t have the resources to help,” J.P. pointed out. “Rick has computers and contacts within the law-enforcement community.”

“And if he can’t find her identity, what then?” Audrey asked. “Where will she go? Where will she stay? Who will take care of her?”

“Mrs. P., there are agencies to help out—city, county and state. She’ll be well taken care of.”

“Bureaucracy? I don’t think so.” Audrey shook her head. “She remembered more details today about what happened to her than she did yesterday. Obviously being here overnight helped. Rest and relaxation is working. It proves my theory that if she feels safe and secure her memory will come back.”

“Mrs. Patterson,” Jordan said, “It’s very kind of you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your concern. But it’s probably best if I go with the sheriff. I’ve imposed on you too much,” she said, then slid a glare in J.P.’s direction.

“Jane, dear,” Audrey said, taking her hand. “It’s no imposition. We enjoy having you here.”

“Mother, she’s a stranger. It’s Rick’s job to help strangers. Right, Sheriff?”

“J.P.’s right, ma’am,” the sheriff said.

Audrey glared at her son. “J.P., I’m surprised at you. You, too, Rick Michaels. No man is an island. We need to reach out to each other.”

“But she’s not a man, and we don’t know anything about her,” J.P. pointed out.

“I know all I need to. And you’re very well aware that I’m an excellent judge of character. I absolutely won’t hear of her leaving. And that’s final.”

“It’s not really up to you, Mom.” He looked at Jordan. “Are you going to drag this out?”

Drag it out? Her? Anger roared through Jordan and settled in her chest until she could hardly breathe. He’d started this. Him and her father. She’d been bullied and terrified. Ripped from her life and dumped in the middle of nowhere. And this bozo had the nerve to imply this was her fault? He acted like he wanted her gone. Then what would he do? Another kidnapping? Something worse? In cahoots with her father? The two of them had to be stopped.

Talking to her father about his previous stunts hadn’t worked. Words weren’t enough. She needed a statement—something big. Something the two of them would understand. But what? Her father obviously wanted her with J.P. Sooner or later he would make a move on her. This suspicious act was no doubt a psychological ploy to keep her off balance.

Well, she would turn the tables on him and her father. Take them both down in one fell swoop. For men like Harman Bishop and J. P. Patterson, failure to achieve a desired objective was not an option. If she let on that she knew what they were up to and went quietly, it was nothing more than a bump in the road. If she stayed and played them like a finely tuned fiddle, failure would be bigger and more humiliating. That would scuttle their plans and teach them not to mess with Jordan Bishop.

When J.P. came on to her, she would cut him off at the knees. She would teach him and her father not to meddle in her life.

“Jane, are you all right?” Audrey squeezed her hands. “What do you say?”

She’d planned to spend her vacation relaxing. Her spirit could relax better after a bit of retaliation. She felt safe. Her father knew J.P., probably through business. But no matter how angry she was with Harman Bishop, she didn’t for a moment believe he would harm her or choose a man who would hurt her physically.

Although she felt guilty taking advantage of Audrey’s generous nature, she needed time to plan. Jordan would find a way to make it up to her.

She met Audrey’s gaze. “You’re very kind. I gladly accept your hospitality.”