“Who?” Melodie asked barely above a whisper.
“Chandler. What does he want from me?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Who are you?”
Melodie shook her head slowly. “No one.”
The woman licked her lips. “If there’s an ounce of humanity in you, find Commander Josh Hunter. He’s in San Diego. Works at NAB Coronado.” Her voice cracked as if overwhelmed by her predicament but trying to keep it together. “Tell him where I am.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Gethsemane Reynolds.”
Melodie chewed on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t connect with the woman’s distress, her emotions sheered down to a thin layer of numbness from a lifetime of grooming. Not like other women of wealthy families, but with the art of subterfuge. A carefully crafted façade to hide the truth. Protect her brother who emulated their father in every way.
Melodie stared at the pebbled surface of the slate tiles. She loved the varied colors of green.
“Please…” the woman pleaded, attracting her attention.
She yawned and rolled her head to stretch her tense neck. “In this house, you don’t have a name.”
The woman’s brow creased not understanding. “Where am I?”
When Chandler had brought the unconscious woman home a couple days ago, he didn’t offer an explanation before securing her in the wine cellar. Melodie didn’t ask questions.
“Eat.”
The woman nudged the plate away in defiance. “You look like Chandler. Is he your brother?”
“Miss Reynolds, as far as you’re concerned, this is the end. Since you’re here, you only have so many breaths left. I suggest you make peace with whatever demons you have.” Melodie blinked and looked around. “This place looks like a wine cellar, but really you’re sitting in the pit of Dante’s Inferno.” She flicked her gaze to meet the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” In reality, she wasn’t able to feel anything. Empathy led to pity. Pity led to regret. Regret would lead to her own demise. Just like her mother. “You’re going to die.”
****
Chandler paced behind the desk in his bedroom while his father watched from the computer monitor.
Senator Gavin Kallis sat at his own desk in the family’s upscale apartment located near the White House. “Is she dead?”
“Of course.” Chandler ceased his repetitive trek, casting an uninterested glance his father’s way.
His old man’s expression wrought with concern. The depth of creases crisscrossing his sixty-year-old face was a slow evolution toward something akin to Dorian Gray’s portrait. A multitude of sins hidden behind a well-groomed exterior. The good people of New York had no clue to the depths the senator went to protect his image and the Kallis name. An empire of lies and ruined lives, with a few corpses thrown in for fun. Chandler admired his skills.
“Who attacked the house?” his father asked.
“I don’t know.” Chandler shrugged to show disinterest. He’d underestimated the SEALs’ ability to find him so quickly. “Punk kids. Melodie’s drug dealer. Who knows?”
“Don’t lie to me.” His father’s shoulder’s stiffened.
Fate had delivered a gift to Chandler. Eventually, he’d give the old man what he wanted, but not until Chandler had what he wanted first. If the SEAL commander knew who he was, had he told Dixie?
Doubtful.
“Don’t I always do as you ask?” Chandler responded to ease his father’s angst. “Family comes first. I know what’s at risk.”
His father settled back in his chair. “If she’s dead, there is no risk.” He paused to sip his morning coffee. A silver serving platter with a full breakfast of sausage and eggs sat by his right elbow untouched. It was five in the morning in DC. “When will the San Diego office open?”
Although Chandler ran the Ardon Corporation operation, his father still held the majority of shares and a seat on the board of directors.
“Peg Gleason completed the hiring. Department heads from New York will be here Monday to coach the new staff. I have a meeting on Friday with five interested parties looking to immediately expand their products to Asia Pacific.”
“Good,” he said gruffly. “Once they’ve signed our contracts, you can relocate a percentage of our containership fleet to the west coast.”
Chandler nodded in agreement. “Is there anything else?” He glanced at the bedside table where his cell lay. The phone had beeped with numerous messages earlier, but he had to deal with the mess that fucking SEAL had left in his office. Although he hadn’t seen him, Chandler knew CDR Hunter had something to with the assault on his house.
“Get some sleep, son,” his father ordered. “Call me Monday.”
“Goodnight.” Chandler disconnected their call and wandered to his bed, retrieving his phone, then rolling onto his back to scan through the texts. “What the fuck?”
Text after text of women’s pussies saturated his phone, and not what he considered his preference. What the hell was this? Maybe Hunter’s lowlife SEALs having a little fun. They had the military’s technology at their disposal. They’d probably tracked the phone. He’d have to dump it tomorrow.
He deleted the images and sent a text to Dixie. Instead of the colorful prose he often delivered, he asked a simple question.
Would you give your life to save another?
He pressed the send button, but didn’t expect a response. Often, she ignored his texts. Soon, she’d change her number and soon after that, he’d have her new number. The cat and mouse game satisfying. He controlled Dixie’s life. Once, long ago, he’d experienced ecstasy. Tasted her spoils.
Somewhere buried in his popping synapses, he questioned why he hadn’t crossed the bridge to collect what was his until now. That night twelve years ago was riveted in his mind. No matter who he screwed, he’d never achieved the same erotic high.
Now, that fucking SEAL walked into the picture and threatened to cut the ties that bound Dixie to him.
That wasn’t happening.
He didn’t give a shit what his father wanted, or the threat Miss Reynolds posed to dear old dad. Gesem was the bait Chandler needed. Depending on whether Dixie knew he was the man who’d sent her the notes would depend on how he deployed his next move.
When his phone beeped, he stared at Dixie’s response, and smiled.
Yes
****
“No way. I’m not letting you go!” Rayne blocked the front door.
She’d wake the whole house up. “Shhh, I have a lease and bills to pay. I have to go,” Dixie reminded her friend, standing in the luxurious front entry of Marg Cobbs’ home.
Before last night, Rayne, who was a little younger than Dixie, was her only real friend in San Diego. Because of her, she’d found a tribe of interesting women.
“I’m not letting you go to work.” Rayne crossed her arms. “Until CDR Hunter catches Chandler Phallus,”—they’d shortened the name Nina came up with—“it’s dangerous just walking to your car. Which, I might add, you don’t have.”
“I called a cab.” Dixie adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder.
“You heard him on the phone last night. He’s crazy.”
Quiet footsteps on the polished tile meant Rayne had woken someone up. The pajama party last night had been fun and she appreciated the women’s concern, but Dix couldn’t hide out at Marg’s lavish home forever. Although that’s what was offered.
“Morning,” Kayla said, combing her fingers through her thick curls.
Dixie narrowed an eye at Rayne. “Sorry for waking you, Kayla.”
She waved her off. “Rayne is correct. Cancel the cab.”
“I have a business to run. Unfortunately, I don’t have the means to sit on my laurels.”
Kayla nodded and swung around when Nina staggered into the entry.
“Wow.” She pressed the heel of her palm to her temple. “One too many tequila shooters last night.”
Kayla grinned. “Just one?”
/>
“Critic,” Nina fired back.
“Tell her she can’t go,” Rayne said, still standing in the way of Dixie’s exit route.
“Sure.” Nina blinked. “Don’t go.” She paused. “Don’t go where?”
“Dixie thinks she’s opening the Erotic Bean this morning.”
“Hmm.” The tall, lean redhead, whose hair was tied up in a ponytail, wrinkled her brow. “Yeah, coffee. Great idea. Let’s go get some. But I need a quick shower first.”
Dixie watched, amused at the women’s relaxed banter. “It’s on the house whenever you come by.”
Kayla nodded. “Not a bad idea, Nina.”
“Huh?” She sniffed her pits. “I don’t stink.”
Kayla snorted. “That’s debatable. No, I’m talking about hanging out at the Erotic Bean. In fact, Dixie is going to hire me. You and Rayne will saunter in for Sunday morning java soon after opening.
A new face appeared. Her strawberry hair with silver streaks a sign that Kate, Fox’s wife, was the oldest of the women. “And what am I doing?
Only a few steps behind Kate, Marg appeared wearing turquoise satin pajamas. “Babysitting, by the sounds of it.”
Kate grinned. “And have the run of your palace…don’t have to ask me twice.”
Marg Cobbs rubbed her neck, then stretched. “Lumin is checking on the kids. Think they were up later than they should have been. The girls are sleeping on the floor in what looks like a blanket tent. Boys are out cold.
Dixie had to laugh when Lumin appeared with Marg’s daughter, Kelsey, and Nina’s daughter, Gabbs. The girls leaned against her sides, walking with a sleepy stagger while rubbing their eyes.
“I’m hungry, Mom,” Kelsey griped.
“You’re not even awake yet, young lady.” The girl wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist in a lazy familiar way. With deep-chocolate locks like Marg and piercing silver eyes that Dixie had noticed in the photos of Patrick Cobbs that lined the fireplace mantle, it was easy for her to see the girl would be a stunner when she grew up. Kelsey’s gangly legs hinted she’d be tall like her mother. “Want to help Kate babysit today?”
Kelsey grinned up at her mom. “Do I get the going rate?”
Gabbs poked Nina. “Mom, I’m older than Kelsey. Shouldn’t I babysit?”
“It’s up to Marg. Her house. Her rules.”
Marg’s beautiful smile broadened. “You can both babysit. Your payment is food on the table and a swimming pool.”
“Moooom.” Kelsey groaned all the way out of the entry.
“Where’s your brother?” Nina asked Gabbs.
“Sleeping,” she said, then yawned. “I’m going back to bed.”
Dixie was already thirty-three-years old. At the rate she was going, she’d be lucky to have a dog, let alone children. “You’re all welcome to come to the Erotic Bean, but I highly doubt my demented stalker will be waiting outside.
“You’d be surprised,” Kayla said.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the cab parked out front. “I have to go. Thanks, Marg. Been a long time since I enjoyed myself so much.” She carefully opened the door. “See you all later.”
Rayne begrudgingly stepped out of the way. “I’ll be there soon.”
Dixie slipped out before there were any further arguments.
****
After escaping her well-meaning new friends and taking a twenty-minute cab ride, the taxi pulled up to the front door of the Erotic Bean. A man stood waiting, but wasn’t her stalker.
He shook his head when she got out of the cab. Dix fingered through the contents of her purse for the keys. Showered. Shaved. Her SEAL waited by the door, wearing a pair of jeans and blue button-up shirt.
“You didn’t call me last night,” Josh chastised.
“Was I supposed to check in?”
“What do you think? The only reason I didn’t go looking for you is because Admiral Austen assured me you were safe.”
He followed her into the coffeehouse after she disarmed the security system. Once inside, she locked the door behind him. Dix had thirty minutes to prep for opening.
Sweeping down the hallway, she entered her office and tossed her purse into the bottom left desk drawer. On the way out, she grabbed her apron that hung on a hook. Josh leaned against the wall in the hallway with his arms crossed, his expression perturbed.
“I have to get ready for my customers, Josh.”
“Somebody else was supposed to open the shop.” He followed her back to the customer counter.
Behind the coffee bar, she opened the fridge and pulled out the plates of premade breakfast sandwiches and placed them on the display shelf. “Last time I checked, I owned this shop. Not you. I make the staff schedule.”
Josh shook his head. “I’m not trying to take over your business, Dix.”
“No. You’re trying to take control of me. I’m not one of your SEALs.”
Dix glanced toward the front window. Avis would arrive soon with fresh muffins and baked goods.
He exhaled sharply and glared at her. “Jesus Christ, woman. I’m trying to help you. I’ve got a lead and Det. Dean is investigating. We’re getting somewhere.”
She had to put her foot down or he’d be ordering her around like his team. “I know.”
Josh eyed her. “You do?”
She nodded. “You think it’s Chandler Phall…Kallis.”
He cocked his head. “How did you…wait a second. Who told you?”
“None of your business. Where did you and your SEALs go last night? We heard you left the barbeque like your asses were on fire.”
“Chandler’s old man owns an estate northeast of San Diego. We conducted a quick recon op.”
Dix kneeled and opened the milk fridge to check her supplies. With the temperatures soaring, folks liked cold drinks this time of year. Especially the blended, tongue-extravaganza with ice: a shot of expresso, cream, and dark chocolate ice cream. Dix shut the fully-stocked fridge. She checked the ice maker, which had plenty of cubes to start the day.
“And what did you find?” she asked, shifting to the counter to prepare some juice base for her flavored teas.
Josh’s eyes followed her movements. “Chandler choking a high-priced whore while he fucked her.”
The juice forgotten, Dixie’s gaze dashed toward the SEAL.
“Then he put a ball gag in her mouth, yanked on her hair and fucked her from behind.”
Josh’s choice of language spoke volumes. “Okay, he likes rough sex.”
“No, Dix.” He took two thundering steps toward her. “Not okay, because the entire time he shoved his cock in that woman, pictures and videos of you streamed across his seventy-two-inch TV monitor.
What? Her pulse galloped and her headache thumped with the rush of blood through her veins.
“He’s practicing, Dixie. Playing out his fantasies of you, with other women.”
“Whatever. He can fantasize all he wants. That’s not against the law.”
Josh’s expression darkened with concern. “You’re right, it isn’t. But he’s a sick, sadistic sonofabitch and one day those fantasies aren’t going to be good enough. He’ll want the real thing.”
She put her attention back on spooning flavored powder into large plastic containers, then filled them with cold water and gave each one a good shake. “Any word from Gesem?”
His brows tucked together in question. Was he expecting her to freak out?
“Not yet,” he answered.
Dix wiped down the counter, then turned on the cash register. “By the sounds of it, she should be your primary concern.”
“Sweetheart, you look tired.”
She snorted. “I look hung over.” She swished her hand to make him step back, but he didn’t give her any space.
“You’re acting strange. Explain.”
Dix didn’t feel like getting into another argument. “No, Commander, I’m not acting strange. I’m running a business. It pays my rent and allows me to eat. Serio
usly, what do you want me to do? Hide in a safe room for the rest of my life? If it is Chandler, he’s been playing this game with me for twelve years. I’m not exactly shocked by his actions, and there’s not a lot I can do about it.”
Last night, after she’d gone to bed, Josh’s conversation with her stalker rambled around her mind on a continuous loop. He’d told Chandler that he loved her. Should have married her. Should have, would have, and could have all belonged in the place she put her used coffee grains. The garbage!
Josh palmed her upper arms, stopping her prep work and made her turn to face him. “I’m not asking you to hide, Dixie. I will stop him.”
She came to the conclusion that Josh loved the challenge of hunting her stalker. “You told Chandler you still love me, but I think you love the hunt and you’re provoking him.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Josh said, without confirming or denying her comment.
Dixie ran her fingers through her hair. Bone-tired, she wanted to sleep for a century. “He’s not going to fall for it. Chandler’s smart.”
Josh’s brow creased even deeper. “He’s a psychopath. End of story. I’ll be back by closing time to pick you up. You’re spending the night with me.”
Not likely. “What is it with you SEAL people? I have a place to live.”
He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “You’re making a stand. That’s got him worried. His phone call to me last night was a challenge. I’m concerned—but mostly pissed—that you didn’t tell me he’d texted you. I want to see those texts.”
After she’d gone to bed, Chandler texted her with a strange question. Once she’d answered, she’d asked if he’d enjoyed the pictures. Instead of threatening her or freaking out, he’d sent laughing emojis. Then followed with texts that were almost sensitive.
“He said it was time for us to meet.” That wasn’t the entire truth. The tick in Josh’s jaw stopped her from divulging anything more.
“Did you get a burner phone?” he asked.
“I did.”
“Then turn the other one off. It’s a sign of defiance. Every time you do something he doesn’t expect, he’s going to react.”
Dixie Under Siege (A Warrior's Passion Book 2) Page 17
