The Missing Millionaire

Reaching for her, he yanked the woman down on top of him. The move caught her unprepared. Together, they collapsed on the wide bed.

“Mr. Trent—”

She struggled and he held on tightly. The feel of her moving against his length aroused him. She smelled good. He’d always liked coconut. And she fit nicely. He covered her lips with his own. They were exquisitely soft.

For a startled instant, she lay over him, quiescent. His body hardened. He wanted her. And that was also wrong.

As if in agreement, she resumed her struggle to pull away.

The keys! He managed to dip into the pocket where he’d seen her put the car keys, making the action part of the silent battle they waged. She pulled away and stood as he rolled on top of the keys, praying she hadn’t noticed them fall to the bed. He shifted to cover them as she pulled a roll of duct tape from a different pocket and ordered him to hold out his hands.

“You first.” He tried to smile and felt a foolish grin split his face.

Her mouth firmed. “This isn’t a game, Mr. Trent.”

“It could be.”

“Don’t make me drug you again.”

Drug. She would drug him again. That’s why his head was all mush.

“Let me have your hands.”

In a moment of clarity, he debated taking her down and decided he didn’t have enough dexterity yet. He didn’t resist when she reached for his hands.

“Thank you.”

She wrapped the duct tape securely around his wrists once more.

“Why?” he asked.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Because like it or not, I was hired as your bodyguard and I intend to be exactly that. By tomorrow afternoon you’ll be on your way home. You have my word on it.”

That sounded like a vow.

Vows.

He was getting married in the morning. Why was he getting married? He wasn’t in love with anyone.

“Try to sleep off the drug’s effects, Mr. Trent. You’ll feel better when you wake up. If you need something, shout. I’ll be right outside the door.”

She pulled the lightweight cover over him and turned out the light. In seconds she was gone.

He rested, letting his brain sort through the confusion. Getting the keys from under his body proved awkward, constrained as he was. His coordination was still off and his head throbbed. It wasn’t just a dull headache, either. There was a sharp pain in one spot. Had they hit him with something? Why couldn’t he remember?

Using the longest key like a blade, he attempted to saw the tape binding his wrists. More than once he dropped the keys and had to fumble for them in the bedding. Each time he paused, afraid she’d hear and come in and take them away.

Somewhere in the house a television played loudly. Twice, one of the other women called out. Once, his bodyguard answered back. She really was outside his door. He froze, afraid she’d come inside and check on him. She didn’t, and after a heart-pounding minute he went back to work on the tape.

When it finally parted, he lay there a moment before working it off his wrists. More skin and hair came away with the wad of sticky tape. He was bleeding. He didn’t care. He was free and he intended to stay that way.

His thinking was clearer now and he was coldly furious. Someone had made a very bad mistake.

The room was incredibly dark. Little light filtered past the cracks around the door. There didn’t appear to be a window. So much for an easy escape.

Rubbing at the tender place on the back of his head, he found a raised lump. So they had hit him with something and drugged him to boot. He welcomed the controlled fury that sent adrenaline coursing through him. One way or another, he was getting out of here—even if he had to take on all three of them at once.

They hadn’t displayed any weapons other than the knife the woman had used to cut him free. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t armed, but he’d take his chances.

Grabbing his suit coat from the end of the bed, he went to the door and listened hard. No sound. Even the television had fallen silent. Quietly, he searched the room. He was more unsteady on his feet than he liked. He fumbled putting on the shoes he took from the dresser.

While he was feeling more clearheaded by the minute, the room had a tendency to list, especially when he bent over. A quick search proved his cell had been stripped clean of anything he could use as a weapon. He didn’t even have his belt. All he had were the keys he’d taken from his jailer.

Well, drunk or drugged, he should be able to take on one woman. Three might prove a challenge, but if they didn’t shoot him, he had a chance.

Putting his hand on the door handle, he twisted slowly. The knob turned without a sound. Surprised they hadn’t locked him in, he inched the door open, praying it wouldn’t squeak. Through the slit he’d made, he peered into the hall. A pillow and blanket lay on the floor. There was no sign of his jailers.

Harrison didn’t hesitate. He opened the door, stepped through and closed it behind him as quietly as possible, nearly tripping over the pillow on the floor. He caught himself with a thud against the wall. The sound seemed unbelievably loud in the silence of the house. He paused, but no one shouted. There were dim lights at both ends of the narrow, dark hall. The television had sounded as if it had come from his right, so he went left.

A toilet flushed as he reached the small country kitchen. Footsteps moved rapidly overhead. Harrison didn’t waste time searching for a weapon. He went straight to the door, found it unlocked and opened it, half expecting an alarm to sound. Someone was running down the stairs.

He was outside, closing the door at his back. He missed the bottom step and stumbled off the porch, going to his knees. The grass was thick and high, prickling against his hands. He barely noticed. Car keys gripped in his hand, he ran toward the front of the house, heedless of noise.

A large van with tinted windows was parked in front on the rutted dirt-and-gravel strip that served as a driveway. Two smaller vehicles were parked beside it. He debated. She’d said car, hadn’t she? He chose the larger sedan, hoping the key would fit. He had a feeling he wouldn’t get a second chance.

In the dark, the small lock was invisible. He nearly dropped the key twice before he jammed it into the hole.

She came out of nowhere. One second he was struggling with the lock, the next he was falling to the ground in a tackle the NFL would have approved.

And the house exploded.

Chapter Two

While Harrison was still trying to understand what had happened, the woman leaped to her feet, running toward the blaze. Flames licked at the dry wood with greedy hunger. He climbed to his feet, shocked to see the entire building engulfed in flames. The heat was staggering.

“Elaine! Kirsten!”

He went after her as she attempted to get on the porch. The front window burst outward in a shower of glass. Flames shot through the new opening.

“Get back!” He grabbed her, but she pulled free.

“We have to get them out!”

He was pretty sure it was too late, but his gaze swept the grounds, lit by the voracious fire. “Is there a ladder?”

“I don’t know!”

They ran to the side of the house, seeking another way inside. As if the fire anticipated this, every entrance was thick with dark plumes of smoke as deadly as the flames themselves.

Knowing it was foolish, Harrison used the porch railing to pull himself onto the hot roof. The dry wood framing made the old house a tinderbox. Another window popped, sending more tongues of flame licking up the faded wood siding. Thick, black, noxious smoke filled the air.

“Get down!” the woman yelled.

There was no choice. Harrison swung back down and jumped to the grass. His lungs hurt as he coughed up the smoke he’d tried not to inhale.

She gripped his arm. “We have to go.”

“Your friends…”

“They’re dead. It’s too late.” She tugged him between the van and the car, grabbed the keys from where they dangled in the lock and moved past that car to the smaller one. The smaller car had been protected from the explosion by the other two.

“We have to go,” she repeated.

Harrison shook his head. “The fire department—”

“Can only watch it burn.” She opened the passenger door.

His head throbbed. He coughed hard. Coughing as well, she practically shoved him down onto the passenger seat. Slamming the door, she raced around to the other side and slid behind the wheel.

“Where’s your cell phone?” he asked as the engine roared to life.

“In there.” She nodded toward the house.

Surely someone would call. The flames would be visible for miles. Fire lit the surrounding area as it feasted on the house. Without lights, the small car careened dangerously across the choked lawn and down the rutted path that served as a driveway.

Harrison reached for his seat belt as he bounced all around. “Slow down. You’re going to wreck.”

“No.” She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek.

“I’m sorry. Your friends—”

“They weren’t. I didn’t even like them. But nobody deserves to die like that.”

He tried to make sense of her words as she turned the car onto the main road and sped up. “Turn your headlights on. You’re going to kill us.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel fiercely. “Those explosions back there were deliberate, Mr. Trent. Tony lied to me.”

There was anguish in that last.

“Someone wanted you dead tonight,” she continued.

“No.”

She didn’t seem to hear his stark protest.

“If you hadn’t knocked that syringe aside…If you’d gotten a full dose of the drug, or hadn’t escaped when you did…” She stared at the blackness beyond the windshield, never once looking at him. She drew in a shaky breath. “You were supposed to die in there.”

Harrison tried to absorb words that made no sense. Nothing that had happened tonight made any sense.

“We all were.”

It took him a second to realize she meant they were all supposed to die. “That’s crazy.”

“I only realized my keys were missing when I went to the bathroom, or I’d have been inside that house along with you. We probably wouldn’t have had time to know what happened.”

“No one wants to kill me.”

“Wrong, Mr. Trent.” Bitter acid dripped from every word. “Someone hates you enough to kill anyone in your vicinity.”

He wanted to tell her she was insane, but the inferno behind them said otherwise. Thinking was hard, but he knew that fire hadn’t been accidental. He’d heard the explosion. More than one. And he’d felt the concussion of the blasts.

Either a gas main had ruptured, or she was right, someone had deliberately blown up the old farmhouse.

His brain felt stuffed with cotton and his head throbbed. He was a businessman. He’d made some enemies, sure, but he prided himself on being ethical. How could he have not known he’d made an enemy willing to commit murder? If only he could think clearly.

“What did you drug me with?”

Her quick glance was troubled. “It’s supposed to be a compound similar to Rohypnol.”

“Supposed to be?”

Her expression was uncomfortable. She faced straight ahead once more. Her hands continued their death grip on the steering wheel.

“I was told the drug would make you docile and agreeable so we could get you out of the house without an incident.”

“You stuck me full of a drug and you don’t even know what it is?”

She shifted as though uncomfortable and didn’t respond.

Despite the effort it took to keep his rage in check, he strove to keep his voice level. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“To protect you.”

Her tone was laced with irony, but there was also anger below the surface. Surprised, he realized she was as furious as he was. “By tying me up in an exploding house?”

“It wasn’t supposed to explode.”

“How comforting.”

“Look, I was asked to guard you until noon. Someone was supposed to explain everything to you then. After that, I was promised that you were going to be set free.”

“I hope you got that promise in writing, because you should definitely sue.”

Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

“Who was coming to see me?”

“I don’t know.” The sharpness of her tone didn’t disguise a thread of deeper emotion he couldn’t identify.

“What do you know?”

“We need to get away from here.” Her eyes wandered between the empty road in front of them and the rearview mirror

that showed the empty stretch behind them.

“Are we being followed?”

“No.”

Not yet seemed to be implied. He shifted on his seat and stared at the side mirror. There was nothing to see. “Who promised you I was going to be set free?”

He didn’t think she was going to answer, but after a moment, she did. Pain laced her words. “Someone I trusted.”

He swallowed a scathing comment. She was angry and afraid, he realized. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Jamie. And until noon tomorrow, I’m your bodyguard.”

“I don’t want a bodyguard.”

“Too bad.”

Silence filled the car. He studied her stiff posture for several seconds. He thought there was a sheen of moisture in her eyes, but he couldn’t be certain.

“Why noon?” And a wave of cold spread through his belly as an answer presented itself. “I’m getting married at eleven. Zoe! They’re going after Zoe! Find a pay phone,” he commanded.

Fear knifed his thoughts. This wasn’t about him. This was about Zoe. She’d been the target of a killer at least twice. Her condo had been ransacked and destroyed. When she refused to move in with him before the wedding, he’d had her move into one of his apartment buildings to protect her. Someone wanted him out of the way so they could strike at her!

BLINKING BACK furious tears, Jamie glanced at the man. She couldn’t see his features clearly in the darkness of the car, but she could feel the tension that radiated from his still form. He was more alert and competent with every second. Despite the gun strapped to her ankle, she didn’t like the odds if it came down to a struggle. Short of shooting him herself, she wouldn’t win a physical contest.

“We need a phone,” he repeated angrily.

“Do you see a telephone anywhere?”

“He’s going after Zoe.”

“Who is?”

“I don’t know!”

Jamie shook her head. “You were the one in the house that exploded, not your bride-to-be.” But hadn’t she wondered all along if his bride was the intended target?

Except, he was the one they’d tried to incinerate. So why the charade to protect him? And why try to kill him in such a spectacular fashion?

She needed to find a phone more than he did. But the twolane road was dark. The houses and barns that flanked it were set well back from the street. Tony’s people had chosen the location for its remoteness.

“We’ve got a ways to go yet before we reach the highway,” she added.

“Where are we?”

“Southern Virginia.” She turned on the car headlights. There had been no sign of pursuit, so likely the explosive devices had been on timers. Yet she couldn’t be sure that someone hadn’t hung around to trigger those blasts. This was not the time to start taking chances.

Jamie shuddered as she thought about how close an escape they’d just had. She would not believe that Tony had set her up to die. Therefore, someone had lied to him. The person had to know he wouldn’t take this lying down. Whoever had set this in motion had a second set of victims in mind. Jamie needed to get to Tony before the killers did.

If only she hadn’t panicked and left her cell phone on the sink when she’d discovered her keys missing. Stupid. Now all she could do was race against time and the unknown enemy.

If she was going to have regrets, she should start with the fact that she hadn’t followed her instincts from the start and flatly refused Tony the minute he proposed this insanity. But if she hadn’t gone along, her mind whispered, it would have been his wife, Carolyn, in that farmhouse tonight.

“As soon as we get to a phone you can drop me off,” Trent told her. “I won’t tell the police about you.”

“Even if I believed that, what part of my being your bodyguard don’t you understand?” she snapped. Fear and frustration made her tone sharp. “I agreed to keep you safe until noon and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“I don’t need or want a bodyguard.”

“Two dead women say otherwise. I’m a professional, Mr. Trent. When I agree to do a job, I see it through.”

There was a beat of silence. She could feel him studying her.

“You really are a bodyguard?”

“Licensed, bonded and everything.” No need to tell him that was in California, not Virginia.

It was subtle, but she sensed him relax a bit.

“Do you know James Wickliff?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Mark Ramsey? Of Ramsey Incorporated?”

“No.”

His tension returned. “I hired Ramsey’s firm to guard my fiancée. Wickliff was assigned to Zoe.”

“Then she’s probably safe enough.”

“As safe as I was?”

His bitter words silenced her.

“Were those other two women bodyguards, too?”

“No. What they wanted to do with your body had nothing to do with guarding it. They came with the assignment.”

That gave him pause. “Who are you working for?”

Jamie debated. What would he say if she told him she suspected a man involved in organized crime had arranged to hire her? Her foster father’s former boss had his fingers in any number of pies, though he kept a low profile. His name probably wouldn’t mean a thing to someone like Harrison Trent, but if it did, the less said the better.

“I’m working for a friend,” she said.

“I’d hate to meet your enemies.”

Jamie tensed. “He was set up as much as we were!”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do.”

“That’s helpful.”

She didn’t bother to respond.

“This makes no sense,” he muttered under his breath.

“What doesn’t?” She felt his stare return to her.

“Why would Drake’s killer come after me?”

“Who’s Drake?”

The silence lengthened. She sent a glance in his direction and found him studying her in the darkness.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Listen, Mr. Trent, if you know who tried to kill you—”

“I don’t. Zoe dated a man named Wayne Drake a couple of times a few months ago. He turned out to be a professional thief. He was gunned down outside a restaurant in D.C. last week.”

“So?”

“So Zoe was with Drake when he was killed. The story made headline news.”

Jamie could have told him she hadn’t been paying attention to the news while she was here. Instead, she sent him a quick glance. “Your fiancée was dating another man a week before your wedding?”

“No! It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like it. Must have been a big story what with her being engaged to you.”

Harrison took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing calmly. She had to give him full marks for control.

“The police don’t know if Zoe was the intended victim or Drake was.”

“He’s the one who died,” she pointed out.

“But someone had tried to kill her a couple of months earlier.”

That was interesting. Jamie tapped the steering wheel with her index finger. Was his bride-to-be involved with Victor DiMarko somehow? DiMarko was reputed to be a good-looking man, if a lot older than Trent’s bride must be. On the other hand, if her dead boyfriend had been a thief, maybe he was the connection to DiMarko. Or maybe there was no connection whatsoever.

Jamie shook her head. Even if someone had a reason to go after the thief and Trent’s fiancée, why try to take out a man like Harrison Trent? He was a millionaire several times over. His murder would stir a hornet’s nest of activity for sure.

“Why would Drake’s killer come after you?” she asked. “Were you at the restaurant, too?”

“No.”

“Then the attempt on your life must be about something else.”

“There has to be a connection.”

She shook her head. “You’re a businessman, Mr. Trent. You’ve probably ticked off a number of people.”

He tensed. “Being a businessman makes me evil?”

“Being a successful businessman makes you a target,” she corrected. “Did you win any big deals lately? Maybe fire someone with a temper? Step on the wrong toes?” Like Victor DiMarko’s? “Start thinking, Mr. Trent, because someone doesn’t like you.”

“I’m sure a number of people don’t like me, but blowing me up is extreme. I don’t make that sort of enemy.”

“Obviously, you have now.”

She drove in silence while he contemplated her words. Abruptly, he pointed toward the windshield. “There’s a gas station up ahead. It’s closed, but maybe it has a pay phone.”

Jamie slowed, considered the spot and then sped up again.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s too isolated. We’d be too exposed.”

“Stop the car! I have to warn Zoe!”

“And I have to call someone as well, but I’d like us both to survive the experience. We’re too close to the house, Mr. Trent. This is the first phone I’ve seen. I suspect our bomber knows that. I don’t want to take the risk.”

“I’m willing.”

“But you aren’t driving.”

For a moment she thought he’d make a grab for the steering wheel. Fortunately, he wasn’t a fool.

“We’ll be on the highway in a couple of minutes. We’ll find a place to stop after that.”

“If Zoe dies because you wasted time, I’ll make it my full-time goal to see you spend the rest of your life in prison.”

Her scalp prickled. She didn’t doubt him, but she couldn’t afford to let his words stop her. “I prefer positive incentives myself.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Didn’t think you were.” She forced her voice to remain level as fear churned in her belly. “I don’t know who’s coming after you. Maybe they will go after your fiancée next. Maybe they already have. What I do know is that they tried to kill you and now they’re going to go after my friend because he’s the only one who can nail their hides to the barn door.”

“Assuming your friend isn’t behind the bombing.”

“That’s a given.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

His voice tightened. “Why should I trust you? You drugged me, kidnapped me and planned to hold me against my will.”

Her patience gave out. “That’s right, so don’t mess with me. I’ve got nothing to lose. When we find a safe pay phone, you can use it after me. In the meantime, be quiet and let me drive.”

HARRISON EYED HER with a grudging respect. Her elfin features were determined. He sensed she was telling him the truth as she saw it, but that didn’t soothe his impatience to reach Zoe and be sure she was unharmed.

“Is it possible the explosion was meant for you or one of the other two women?” he asked after a few minutes.

Jamie hesitated as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her. “Unlikely.”

But there was a thread of uncertainty in her tone. The more he considered the idea, the more he liked it. Drake’s killer would have no reason to kidnap or kill him, yet if Jamie was telling the truth, someone wanted him to miss his wedding. Why? Drake was dead. Where was the motive?

He squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the throbbing pain in his head. The drug had left his mouth cottony dry and his stomach churning. Exhaustion tugged at him, both physical and emotional. As they rocketed down the highway, he wondered what would happen if a cop tried to flag them over. Would she stop? Would she tell the police what had happened?

Would he?

He was used to making snap decisions about people, but Jamie confused him. His initial attraction to her lingered despite what she had done. He couldn’t define what it was about her that had intrigued him from the start. But after she sped past the third possible exit ramp, any attraction he might have felt dissolved as he realized she had no intention of stopping.