Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set

by Lisa Jackson

  “Then I’d better be there,” she decided. “Someone—maybe you—might need a bandage.”

  “And soon,” he said, spying Kent Simms, face flushed, plunging through the crowd and heading straight for Marnie. The glare in Kent’s eyes was unmistakable—the territorial pride of the spurned male.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Kent demanded in a voice so low it was hard to hear over the crowd.

  Adam finished his drink. “I was hoping to talk to Victor, but I guess you’ll have to do.”

  “Forget it. Come on, Marnie, let’s go,” Kent ordered, grabbing her arm and propelling her toward a banquet room near the back of the lobby.

  “Let go of me,” she whispered furiously, half running to keep up with his longer strides. She considered making a scene, but thought better of it. No reason to call undue attention to Adam—he’d do enough of that for himself.

  In the banquet room, she whirled around and yanked her arm free of Kent’s possessive grasp. “What is it you want?”

  His expression changed from anger to sadness. “You already know what I want,” he said quietly. “I just want you, Marnie.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. What did it take to make the man understand? “I already told you it’s over! I don’t need to be manhandled or made a spectacle of! Where do you get off, hauling me in here like some caveman claiming his woman?”

  “Caveman?” he repeated. “Weren’t you just talking to Drake? Now there’s someone who’s primitive.” He shook his head, as if sorry that she was so dense. “You know, Marnie, sometimes you can be impossible.”

  “Good!”

  “You enjoy being perverse?”

  “I just want you to leave me alone. I thought you understood that. If you don’t, let me make myself clear,” she said, drawing up to her full height and sending him an icy glare. “I’m sorry I ever got involved with you and I never want to see you again.”

  He glanced to one of the chandeliers high overhead. “I made a mistake with Dolores.”

  She didn’t respond. She’d learned that his affair with Dolores had been going on for over six months. All the time that she and Kent had been picking out china, planning a wedding, looking for a house, sailing in the boat Victor had bought them as an engagement present, Kent had been sleeping with his secretary.

  “You know I still love you,” he said, and his expression was so sincere, she almost believed him. But she wasn’t a fool. Not any more. “Give me another chance,” he pleaded. “It’ll never happen again. I swear it.”

  Marnie shook her head. “You can do what you damn well please, Kent. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I really did a number on you, didn’t I?”

  “I prefer to think that you did me a favor.”

  A light of challenge sparked in his hazel eyes. He leaned down as if to kiss her, and she ducked away. “Stop it!” she commanded, her tone frigid.

  He ignored her and grabbed her quickly, yanking her hard against him. “Don’t tell me ‘no,’” he whispered, his face so close that his breath, smelling of liquor, fanned her face.

  “Don’t pull this macho stuff on me!”

  “You love it.” His grip tightened, and his eyes glittered in a way that frightened and sickened her. He enjoyed this fight.

  Squirming, unable to wrench away, she stomped on his foot in frustration. The heel of her shoe snapped with the force. “Let go!”

  Kent let out a yowl and backed up a step. “What the hell’s gotten into you?” he cried, reaching down to rub the top of his shoe, as if he could massage his wounded foot. Wincing, he turned furious eyes on her. “I thought we could work things out, you know? I thought tonight would be the perfect time. Did you see me with your father and Senator Mann? The man knew my name! God, what a rush! And I come back to share it with you—the woman I love—and what do I get?”

  “Maybe you’re getting what you deserve,” Adam drawled, coming up behind Kent.

  A wave of heat washed up Marnie’s neck. Oh, Lord! How much of their argument had he overheard?

  Kent straightened, resting his foot gingerly on the floor as he eyed Adam. Adam was slightly taller, with harsher features, his hair a little longer, his whole demeanor laidback and secure. Kent, on the other hand, looked military spit-and-polished, his tuxedo crisp, his hair clipped, his spine ramrod-stiff.

  “I thought you were leaving,” Kent said, glowering at Adam.

  “Not yet.”

  Kent straightened his tie and smoothed his hair. “Does Victor know you’re here?”

  Adam lifted a shoulder nonchalantly, but his features were set in stone. “I hope so.”

  Instinctively, Marnie stepped closer to Adam, and Kent shot her an irritated glance, his eyes slitting. “Just what is it you want, Drake?” he demanded, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his pants and angling his face upward to meet Adam’s hard glare. “Why don’t you just leave?”

  “Not until I ask Victor if he knows who Gerald Henderson is?”

  “Henderson?” Kent repeated, his expression so bland it had to be false. “Didn’t he work for us?”

  “In accounting,” Adam clarified.

  “I remember him,” Marnie interjected, refusing to be left out of the conversation. “He left because he had health problems—asthma, I think. He had to leave the damp Northwest. And he got a better job with a hotel in San Diego.”

  “Still lives in Seattle,” Adam replied. “Spends a lot of time fishing. If I’m not wrong, I think he’s drawing some sort of disability or retirement.”

  Marnie glanced from one stern face to the other. “Didn’t the job in California work out?”

  “Who cares?” Kent replied. “Henderson’s history.”

  “Maybe,” Adam said, and the undercurrents in his voice jarred her. She was missing something in this conversation, something important.

  Kent swallowed. “I don’t think Victor would be interested,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

  “Not even if Gerald had an idea about the missing funds?”

  “What?” Marnie demanded, shocked.

  “It’s nothing,” Kent snapped. “Henderson couldn’t possibly know—”

  “Adam Drake?” Judith Marx, a reporter for the Seattle Observer who had obviously seen some of the hubbub, walked briskly into the banquet room. “I’m surprised to see you here,” she said, her eyes taking in the scene in one quick glance.

  The understatement of the year, Marnie thought.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Adam drawled. “Can I quote you?” she asked.

  “No!” Kent cut in, his face flushed, a vein throbbing near his temple. “Mr. Drake is an uninvited guest, and if you print that I’ll march over to the Observer and talk to John Forrester myself!”

  “Mr. Forrester would never suppress news,” the woman replied smartly.

  Kent whirled on Adam, his voice low. “Whatever it is you want, Drake, it can wait until later.”

  By now, more than a few guests had drifted into the room. Kent was beginning to squirm. Whispers began to float around them, like tiny wisps of fog that lingered for a second, then drifted by.

  “Mr. Drake?” Judith Marx obviously smelled a story. She wasn’t about to give up. “I thought you vowed vengeance against this company.”

  “What I said was that I’d prove my innocence.”

  From the corner of his eye, Adam saw Kent motioning with a finger to a beefy security guard in the doorway.

  “Wasn’t that all taken care of?” Judith asked Adam, and he turned his attention back to the reporter. “You weren’t even indicted.” She reached into her bag for her pocket recorder. Kent glanced across the room, nodding to the two guards making their way inside.

  Adam was ready for the two sets of hands that collared him and firmly guided him through a back door connecting the banquet room to the kitchen. He didn’t struggle. There was no point. Obviously Victor hadn’t seen him, or had decided to leave hi
s dirty work to Kent. Either way, Adam wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. But his next move would be more subtle.

  Hauling him through the service entrance, the security guards deposited him roughly on the wet asphalt near a delivery truck.

  One of the two guards, a big bear of a man with sandy hair and a flat face, muttered under his breath. “Still gettin’ yourself into trouble, ain’t’cha?” Sam Dillinger had worked with Adam for years before the scandal.

  “Looks that way, Sam.” Adam brushed himself off as he stood. He managed a grim smile.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Drake. You know, I never believed you were involved in any of that thievin’.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  The other guard, a thickset man with short salt-and-pepper hair, snorted. He fingered the pistol strapped to his belt. “Don’t show up here again,” he warned. “Just haul your butt out of here and don’t come back!”

  “Be sure to tell Mr. Simms he hasn’t seen the last of me,” Adam said to Jim before sketching a wave to Sam. “See ya around, Sam.”

  “You bet, Mr. Drake. Good luck to you.”

  But Adam wasn’t counting on luck as he left the two guards arguing about his guilt. He ducked his head against the rain that slanted from the pitch-black sky.

  The dock was slick, the wind raw and cold as he strode purposefully back to his boat. Now that he’d come face-to-face with Kent Simms again, he realized that nothing had changed. And since he didn’t have any proof other than Gerald Henderson’s side of the story, he couldn’t very well make accusations that could end up as slander. But from his reaction tonight, Adam was sure Simms knew more than he was telling. Adam had suspected Kent might be involved in the embezzling, of course, but he’d suspected a lot of people within the company.

  Now, he decided, he’d start with Simms. He didn’t like the way the guy was manhandling Marnie, and the thought of giving Kent a little of his own back caused Adam to smile.

  So, his next step would be to have a little chat with Kent before he tackled Victor. The more information he could lay at Montgomery’s feet, the better. And somehow, he sensed, Kent could tell him a lot.

  Fortunately meeting Kent Simms face-to-face would be a simple matter. The Marnie Lee, a gleaming white cabin cruiser, and Simms’s personal vessel, was moored on the second dock.

  Adam wasted no time. He looked over his shoulder to make sure the two guards were still watching as he stepped into his small boat. Unleashing the moorings, he settled behind the wheel and gunned the engine. The boat took off, churning a white wake as the engine roared loudly and he headed toward Seattle.

  Twenty minutes later, when he was sure the guards were satisfied that he’d left the shores of Port Stanton and had returned to their posts in the hotel lobby, Adam circled back toward the Puget West and the docks where gleaming vessels rolled with the tide.

  He wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. Adam intended to board the Marnie Lee and wait in the cabin to have it out with Simms once and for all. As he spotted the showy white vessel he thought of her namesake, the lady herself, Marnie Lee Montgomery. How could a woman as bright as Marnie obviously was link up with a loser like Simms?

  It was a mystery, he thought, then he remembered the tail end of their fight and decided that all was not bliss in the relationship between Victor Montgomery’s strong-willed daughter and the man she’d chosen for a husband.

  Adam felt a twinge of conscience as he lashed his boat to the dock, then climbed stealthily aboard Simms’s expensive cabin cruiser. He didn’t want to hurt Marnie; she’d always played fair with him. Though she’d been raised in the lap of luxury and been given anything she’d ever wanted, she seemed sincere.

  Don’t forget she’s engaged to Simms. Even if they did have a lovers’ quarrel, they were, as far as he knew, still planning to marry. That thought left a sour taste in the back of his throat, but he ignored it. Marnie’s fate was just too damned bad. Any woman who gave her heart to a jerk like Simms deserved what she got.

  * * *

  MARNIE COULDN’T BELIEVE her ears! The minute Adam was escorted out of the hotel, Kent turned the interview with the reporter around and now, with his arm wrapped securely around Marnie’s waist, he was confiding in the woman that Marnie and he were making plans to marry in mid-September.

  “Congratulations!” Judith said, snapping her small tape recorder on. “What day is that, the sixteenth—seventeenth?”

  “No!” Marnie cried, aghast. What had gotten into Kent? In all the years she’d known him he’d never been so bullheaded or downright stupid.

  Kent’s fingers tightened around her. “What she means is that we’re not completely certain on the date. We’ve still got to accommodate everyone in the family—”

  “What I mean is that there isn’t going to be a wedding!” Marnie declared firmly, plucking Kent’s fingers off her and stepping away from him. “Kent and I aren’t getting married, not in September. Not ever.”

  “But—” Judith looked from one to the other.

  Kent lifted his hands and shrugged, as if Marnie’s announcement came as a complete surprise to him. He acted as if she were just some fickle female who couldn’t decide what she wanted, for God’s sake!

  “You explain this!” Marnie commanded, her voice as cold as a winter day. Shaking with rage, she turned on the reporter. “I’d better not read about any wedding in your paper. Not one word!” Spine stiff, she marched straight through the banquet-room doors and to the elevator in the lobby.

  Pounding on the button for the fourth floor, she bit her tongue so that the invectives forming in her throat would be kept inside. The elevator doors shut softly, cutting off the sounds of the party, and the car ascended. Furious, her insides shaking with anger, Marnie leaned her forehead against the cool glass. “Calm down,” she ordered to herself. “Don’t let that bastard get to you!”

  The elevator stopped and she stepped through the opening doors, storming into her father’s suite. What was Kent trying to do? He’d been acting strangely all night! How had she ever been foolish enough to think she wanted to marry him?

  She stalked into the smaller bedroom. Her suitcase, packed and waiting, was where she’d left it near the foot of the bed. Good. She peeled off her gown, threw her jewelry into a case and stuffed the velvet box back into her father’s safe.

  By the time Victor knocked softly on the door to her room, she had changed into faded jeans, a sweatshirt and a down-lined jacket. “Marnie? You in here?”

  “For the moment.”

  He opened the door and shook his head at the sight of her. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  She sent him a chilling glance. “I’m leaving. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” he said, holding out his palms as if to forestall an argument, “but I thought you might change your mind and wait a bit. Kent just told me he had Adam Drake thrown out of the party while I was wrapped up with Senator Mann. God only knows what’s going to be in the papers tomorrow! I need you to talk to the press—”

  “I just did.” Marnie wasn’t about to be sidetracked by her father’s ploy. “That was a dirty trick, Dad,” she said, yanking her suitcase onto the bed and snapping it open to double-check the contents.

  “What?”

  Satisfied that she’d packed everything she needed, she clicked the case shut. “You told Kent to give the press a wedding date, didn’t you?”

  “Of course not—”

  “He never would have done it without getting the okay from you,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t do anything that might threaten his precious career with Montgomery Inns.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Dad! It’s belittling to both of us.”

  Her father seemed about to protest, then let out a long, weary sigh. “Okay, I suggested that Kent—”

  “Oh, Dad, how could you!”

  “We needed a distraction. I saw Adam Drake and knew he was here to stir up trouble and then t
hat reporter woman, Judith Marx…” He shuddered. “She can be a barracuda.”

  “Then why didn’t you confront Drake?” she asked, astounded.

  Her father shook his head. “Only cause a worse scene. Anyway, I saw Drake and started to follow him into the banquet room when Senator Mann came up to me. Then the reporter started snooping around and I put two and two together. Instead of a big spread about opening this hotel, tomorrow’s edition of the Observer would probably just bring up Adam Drake and all the problems we had getting this damned hotel built! Believe me, Marnie, we don’t need any more bad press.”

  “Great. So I became the distraction,” she whispered, exasperated beyond words.

  “When Kent talked to me earlier I wasn’t for it, but then I saw Drake and the reporter and I gave him the high-sign to go ahead and announce your wedding plans.”

  “You’re incredible,” she whispered in exasperation. “Absolutely incredible!” Hooking a thumb to her chest, she added, “We’re talking about my life, Dad. Mine!”

  “Marnie, you have to understand—”

  “Oh, I do, Dad,” she said, feeling sad as she realized that the company meant more to him than her happiness. “You can give Kent a message for me. Tell him that I’m taking the Marnie Lee. If he throws a fit, remind him that half of it is mine. So I’m taking my half—too bad his half is attached.”

  “Wait a minute—at least tell me where you’re going.”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “You don’t know?” he repeated. “You can’t just leave without a plan.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. The next few days I’m going to figure out just what I want to do with my life. Take some time to think about it, then, when I get back, I’ll let you know. Goodbye, Dad.” More determined than ever, she headed out of the suite and down a short hall to a private elevator, which took her to the underground parking lot. From there it was only a few steps to the back of the building.

  Outside, the wind ripped through the trees and the black water of the sound moved in restless waves. Marnie followed the path beneath the line of dancing Japanese lanterns.

  Reaching the dock, she spotted the Marnie Lee and smiled faintly. Wouldn’t Kent be tied in knots when he learned she’d taken the boat he’d come to think of as his? Kent had used the boat for the past six months. He’d be shocked to his toes when he found out she had taken command of the sleek vessel Victor had given them as an engagement present. Let him stew in his own juices—September wedding indeed!