But then he turned to her and gave her that sweet, disarming smile. “Let’s make a deal, Jessie.”
The clunk of footsteps on the wooden stairs from the beach almost erased the tenuous memory.
“Go!” Denise pleaded. “He’ll kill you if you’re up.”
Something in her eyes, her voice, told Jessica it was true. Had she underestimated him? Dumping the cup in the sink but hanging onto it to avoid leaving a trail, she hurried toward the back room where she’d been for a week.
As she reached the hallway, the footsteps were louder, closer. Jessica spun around and stared at Denise. They needed a plan. Time. If he thought she was still asleep, maybe Denise could get help. “Get his phone or get to one. Call my sister—Jasmine Adams in San Francisco. Call her!”
She tore the khaki sheath from her body and slid under the covers like a teenager trying to fake that she’d been in bed all night. She jammed the mug under her pillow and turned over to bury her face.
She heard a man’s voice, then a moment of quiet as Denise must have answered.
Sinking under the comforter, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t just feign sleep; she’d have to feign a coma.
Her sister slept like that.
The pleasure that came with unearthing that tidbit warmed her. Her mind suddenly flooded with information about Jazz. She could picture Jazz, sleeping. That was easy—Jazz loved nothing more. Sleeping and laughing and seizing every drop of energy out of her life. That was Jazz. Not weighed down by aspirations, structure, or the clock. And utterly lovable. She welcomed the old pang of envy, just because it felt so good to remember. But then she remembered something else.
Jazz was on her way to Miami. Or, Lord, she had been there for several days. What had she thought when Jessica never showed—
The bedroom door opened.
Jessica willed herself not to move, fighting the need to scream out and demand answers.
Rubber soles squeaked on the varnished hardwood floor as he approached the bed. Her heart punched her chest, pumping blood noisily through her ears. She needed to swallow, but her throat was dry and tight and swollen in fear.
She felt a hand on the comforter and bile rose up in her as she braced her naked body for the inevitable exposure to his eyes. Her fingers closed around the mug handle under the pillow. Could she slam it against his head? Knock him out?
Jazz could have.
He tucked the soft fabric under her chin, like a loving parent saying good night to his child. His fingertips brushed her hair, and she managed not to jerk at the touch.
“Shakespeare called ambition ‘the sin that fell the angels.’” The whispered words were accompanied by a low chuckle. “Isn’t that true, Jessie-belle?”
Jessica concentrated on keeping her eyelids closed lightly enough to be sleeping, not clenched in anger and fear. Not flying open to confront and attack and hurt.
“If you hadn’t been so desperate to get to the top, I could have helped you. I could have gotten you there.” He stroked her head. “And now I can’t.”
A warm breath covered her face as he sighed, the smell of peppermint and spicy cologne. Revulsion rolled through her, tempered only by fear of that needle.
“So, instead of waltzing into the Metro-Net offices with your scathing exposé of a conservative icon that would propel you to the marquis lights you hunger for, I will hand the Yellowstone board a copy of your extracurricular activities.” He tsked like a dismayed schoolteacher. “I’m sure the board will squirm in their chairs, watching you fuck for the camera.”
I’m going to fuck you while you scream at my camera.
That memory was suddenly crystal clear. The threat of a fan that she’d dismissed with a cavalier wave of the hand. There had been no fan—that had been him.
“You laughed at my first attempt, Jessie.” His voice was menacing now. “And you were right—we need the real thing. Because your little sex tape will be carefully scrutinized on the Internet, in the media, on the covers of the tabloids. It’ll be everywhere, Jessie, so it has to be real.” His knuckles grazed her cheekbone. “It has to show the world just what a lying, conniving little hypocrite you are. It has to eliminate any shred of credibility, so that no one will listen to you when you try to put that media glare on someone else.” His vile fingers threaded through her matted hair. “We’ll be sure to keep the spotlight firmly on you. Isn’t that what you want, my ambitious one?”
Her eyelids fluttered and she worked to control them, to keep them still and closed. He touched one of her eyelashes. “Are you waking up, Jessie?”
She took a long, slow breath, as though to prove she was completely and utterly asleep.
“By the way,” he added, “I have to thank you for making my life so much easier. What a stroke of genius to have your sister take your place. No one ever missed you. And best of all, it looked like you fooled me, too. So how could I be involved? You’ve added to an alibi I had already set up.” He chuckled as though pleased with himself. “After we make our little movie, I’ll let you wake up. And you can remember everything you want. But it won’t matter, Jessie.”
He touched her lower lip, and Jessica had to keep from opening her mouth and biting him.
“Because by then your climb to the top will be all over. I’ll be sure that it ends in a dramatic, headline-grabbing fashion. I know how much you like that.”
Nausea rocked her as his wet lips met her cheek. “You sleep now, Jessie. I’m going downstairs to get our little studio set ready. In a few hours, you’ll be awake enough to cooperate.” He sighed heavily. “Although I wish I didn’t have to operate the camera. It’s so distasteful.”
She sensed him walking away, her heart pounding with every step he took. Leave, leave, leave so I can breathe again.
She searched her memory banks. How long had she known this? Had she told her sister? Did anyone on this earth realize how evil this man was? And Lord, did anyone know she was trapped in a deserted beach house with a madman and an unstable woman?
As she heard the door unlatch, she dared to peek through the slits of her lids. But just then he turned and her gaze met his smoky blue one.
He’d caught her.
He closed the door behind him and dipped his chin. “You’re awake, Jessie.”
Instinct took over and she hurled the mug across the room, squeezing her eyes shut as he ducked and ceramic shattered against the door.
“You lied, Jessie.” He seared her with a look of ruthless determination and accusation as he approached the bed again. “Lying is a sin.”
Fear went to her very bone marrow, because she remembered oh so clearly that the one thing Kimball Parrish wouldn’t tolerate was a sin.
Chapter
Fifteen
A pounding, relentless rain drenched Alex as he tried to bribe the ferryboat captain with water-logged twenties, but no amount of money would get the old man to fire up that pontoon and head into this weather.
“You could rent a motorboat,” the captain said. “Try over at Seedy’s. They might let you take something out in this.” He glanced pointedly to the bills wilting in Alex’s hand. “For a price.”
Alex looked across the harbor to their destination again. God, they were so close, he could swim the two damn miles between Key West and the exclusive little island called Sunset Key.
Turning back to the overhang where he’d left Jazz, a hot rush nearly made him stumble when he saw she’d disappeared. Damn that woman—wouldn’t she ever stay where she was put?
“Alex!” Her voice was barely louder than the rain that thumped around him. He spun, looking in the direction where it had come from.
She stood in the middle of the hotel and dock parking lot, waving to him. He’d have to teach her something about being inconspicuous if they were ever going to have a future together.
The thought made him choke.
“Alex! Come here!”
He jogged toward her, preparing a lecture about the life-saving importanc
e of keeping a low profile. But then he stopped and stared. She’d adopted that hands-on-hips stance, accompanied by as triumphant a look as a soaking-wet woman with hair plastered to her head could manage. He tore his gaze from the glorious things the downpour had done for her T-shirt and stared at the car next to her.
“A Plymouth Reliant,” she said, wiping the rain from her eyes. “Isn’t this the car you saw Denise get out of?”
He nodded.
“What time does the launch boat leave?”
“They’re docked until the weather clears.”
“Then let’s rent a boat.”
He pointed to Seedy’s sign. “Over there.” Putting his arm around her, they jogged through the rain.
Fifty minutes and sixty extra dollars later, Alex had them rumbling through the rain in a shaky nineteen-foot Boston Whaler, sucking in a mix of exhaust fumes and salt water. The canopy over the center console offered little protection and they huddled together, water sluicing down the plastic ponchos Jazz had snagged from the boat rental office.
She gripped the metal railing, focused on their destination, and a wave of affection rolled through Alex with the same power as the white water that surrounded the little motorboat.
He blinked some rainwater away. Once again, he was running straight into harm’s way with the one person he should be most concerned about protecting.
Yet this was the right thing to do. If Yoder wanted inside character information on Kimball Parrish, Alex had a feeling he was about to get it. And that should be enough to earn him the assignment in Cuba, and the chance to bring fifteen more Romeros to this country.
The fact that it made Jazz happy was a side benefit. Wasn’t it? Or would he be on this boat in the pouring rain even if Lucy hadn’t told him what was at stake?
She suddenly grabbed his arm, squinting in the wind to look at him. “Kimball knew.”
“What?”
“He knew I wasn’t Jessica,” she said, her silvery blue eyes looking troubled. “He made all those vague comments about changes and change being good. He wasn’t talking about Jessica’s job. He knew I was posing as her from the moment he laid eyes on me in the newsroom.”
“There’s only one way he could know that for sure,” Alex said, reducing their speed as they neared the dock. “And that’s if he knew exactly where Jessica was.” At her horrified look, he added, “Is.”
“But he hired a bodyguard to protect her,” she replied. “Why?”
They looked at each other and he knew by the look on her face that they’d reached the same conclusion at the same time.
“To create the perfect alibi and cover.” He steered the boat toward the dock, the whole scheme crystallizing in his mind. “If he wants to do something to stop Jessica from exposing his stream of pornography revenue, what better way to cover himself than by footing the bill for her personal protection?”
“And then I showed up and made it even easier.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “but Jessica was already missing when you arrived. In fact…” He could still hear Lucy’s words when he’d first been given the assignment. “He asked that I wait a day or two so that he’d have time to tell Jessica about his plans to provide protection.”
“Then he never told her,” Jazz said, the worry creasing her brow. “But what would he do to her, Alex? Why not just fire her for some bogus reason?”
“Because she could take the story to another network,” he said, cutting the engine as they reached a dock slip.
The rain had slowed to a fine mist and they tied up in silence. As Alex climbed onto the dock and held his hand to help her, Jazz froze and looked at him. “I know exactly what he could do. He could ruin her career.” He pulled her onto the wooden planks. “A film like…the one we saw would ruin her career.”
“But she could weather that storm. You have enough evidence on your computer to prove it was her face edited onto someone else’s body.” He draped an arm around her and started toward the cluster of buildings on the island.
Her steps slowed. “He’s the stalker, Alex. He wrote the letters, setting it up so he could provide protection, but he’s going to release that film and then…make it look like she committed suicide before anyone had the chance to prove they are fakes.”
Reaching under her poncho, Alex searched out her hand and threaded his fingers through hers with a nice, tight grip. She wasn’t leaving his sight or his side again. “Let’s see if we can rent a golf cart”
But Jazz’s attention was straight ahead, toward a tiny market that bore the name “Island Outpost” on a worn wooden sign. “Look who it is.”
A blond woman huddled under the partial overhang at a pay phone, digging through a handbag for change. She dropped a quarter into the phone and dialed frantically.
As Jazz’s cell phone beeped from her purse, the woman spun around toward the noise, then gasped.
“Denise,” Jazz said, walking toward her. “Do you know where my sister is?”
All color washed away from the woman’s face as she dropped the phone with a clunk. “He’s going to kill her,” she sobbed. “He’s going to kill her for sure.”
A weaker man would take advantage of a naked, unconscious woman.
But Kimball Parrish was no rapist. He was no sexual deviant. And he was anything but weak.
He hadn’t amassed nearly a billion dollars and an international broadcasting empire by giving in to temptations of the flesh. His focus had always been on his objectives, and his objectives had always been lofty.
Not unlike Jessica Adams, he thought with a wry smile as he looked at her. They really had so much in common. It was a damn shame he felt no attraction for her because they would have made a formidable couple. But her inch-deep cleavage and fake red hair had never appealed to him; he preferred more reserved and understated women. Flat-chested, tight-lipped women like his dearly departed wife, who turned the lights out and knew better than to gasp or moan when she did her duty.
Anything else was whorelike.
Anything else was pornographic.
Jessie let out a shuddering sigh and a low groan. He pushed himself off the foot of the bed and opened the blinds to see the rain weighing down the palm trees and turning the snowy sand a brownish yellow.
He hated that he had to stab her with so much GHB, but he’d done enough research to know the gammahy-droxybutyrate wouldn’t kill her. The permanent brain damage it could cause wouldn’t matter, because she’d be dead in another way. As soon as the video shredded her career, no one would question her suicide.
However, now he had to be extremely creative. He’d have to wait until she began to wake up, then somehow get her alert enough to participate in—his stomach rolled—a sex act with that whore he’d just sent for props in Key West. He’d tried to buy them himself, but the very act had nearly brought him to tears.
If only she’d taken his first warning. Yes, it was amateur and clumsy, but a smart girl like Jessie should have picked up the message. All of this could have been avoided if she’d given up on her exposé.
Miles Yoder would love nothing more than crushing him, ridding their incestuous board of a newcomer and a Christian. If she had succeeded, Jessica would get her promotion to Metro-Net and he would be scorned by the media. They’d never give him a chance to explain that the only reason he’d allowed Satan’s filth to be distributed through his empire was to stop it. Once he controlled it, he could stop it.
And that meant letting the business flourish for a few years. He fully intended to donate the millions he’d made to the church. If he had any doubts that this was God’s will, they disappeared when her twin sister showed up to provide him with the time and means he needed.
Howard Carpenter believed in the cause—that’s why he helped him. At first, he thought the fat man just believed in money, but when Howard learned the truth about what Jessica was after, he’d proven himself to be a real man of God. He’d immediately informed Kimball, then helped him by feeding misinforma
tion to Denise, who passed it on to Jessica. That dragged things out long enough for him to write the letters and cover himself by arranging for a bodyguard.
But Howard was a little too aggressive, which was why Kimball hadn’t told him about the twin switch after he’d brought Jessica down here. The man’s clumsy attempts to stop Jessica—running her off the road and putting a bomb in her car—were pitiful. Kimball was much more subtle than that.
Like slipping into her apartment—God had smiled down on him by putting the security guard who recognized him as a regular visitor on duty that night, after he left Jazz in the restaurant. He’d left the cell phone so that it could never be used and traced to Key West, and made it appear that Jessica had been there. More importantly, he made sure the wineglasses were thoroughly cleared of any traces of the drug he’d given Jessica the night he’d come over for dinner. The dishwasher, the phone, picking up some “wardrobe”—all graceful and brilliant cover-ups.
Then flying up to Crandon Park in the middle of the night to scare the life out of her, proving that he still cared and thought she was Jessica. More of God’s handiwork to help him on his mission.
He reached down and picked up the dress Jessica had discarded. Smoothing the expensive fabric, he gazed at her. Was this why she was so ambitious? To buy overpriced clothes and things?
She didn’t know what was important. Shaking the dress, he glanced around for a closet, then walked to the bathroom in the hall to hang the garment on the door. She didn’t even take care of her expensive things.
Or herself.
That’s why no one would question it if she took an overdose of GHB to kill her pain—permanently. And God would understand. Satan must be stopped, and Kimball Parrish was God’s instrument for making that happen.
Lucy sauntered through the lobby of the Biltmore, well aware of the heads that turned as she walked by. A six-foot woman with a snow-white streak in yard-long black hair usually snapped a few necks. Add in her penchant for eye-catching colors, like today’s royal purple, and the fact that she was flanked by two jaw-dropping bodyguards who had just escorted her from a limo to the door, and it was inevitable that the staff and clientele at the Coral Gables hotel would take a good, long look.
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