She frowned, hesitated before she opened the door. “Hi,” she said. Just having returned home from Mass, she had changed into a sweatshirt and jeans—the attire her lover had asked her to wear to the session that afternoon. He’d moved their meeting up by two hours. “What’s up?”
“May I come in?” he asked politely.
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Of course!” she said and stepped aside to allow him to enter.
He gave her a halfhearted smile that did not assuage the growing tightness in her stomach. She went around him and led him into the great room, asked him to take a seat. When he did, she sat across from him on the sofa.
“That looks official,” she said, looking at the briefcase he had set down beside his chair. “Do you have something for me to sign?”
“No, nothing like that,” he said and seemed to be unable to bring a full smile to his lips. “I just wanted… I felt I should…” He bent over the chair arm to open his briefcase. He withdrew a legal-size manila file folder and held it clutched in both hands. He licked his lips then seemed to make a decision. He squared his shoulders. “I like you, Lina,” he said.
“I like you, too, Jake,” she said, baffled by the defeated look on his dark face and the sadness in his eyes.
“We all like you,” he told her. “Jono, Spike, Kit, Craigie and I. Craigie and Kit’s wives can’t stop talking about what a nice person you are.”
She glanced at the file folder then up at him. “That’s always pleasant to hear.”
“None of us want to see you get hurt,” he said.
Her tight stomach sent a wave of discomfort up her chest. “Is there a chance of that, Jake?”
He appeared to waver then extended the file folder to her. “You need to see this.”
She didn’t want to accept it. It felt as though he was handing her a venomous snake and it would strike as soon as she put out her hand to accept it. Too, there was something ominous about the way he was looking at her that added to her unease.
“Please, Lina. This is important or I wouldn’t be here,” he insisted. “You need to be aware of this before this evening.”
Her hand shaking, she took the folder from him. She hesitated before she put her thumb along the edge and opened the file folder, her chest filling with the sour acid that was suddenly bubbling up from her stomach.
She looked down at what was on top.
There was a photograph of a beautiful young woman with long brown hair and green eyes smiling back at her. The woman’s name was Tiffany Gerritson. Her picture was paper clipped to a photocopy of a newspaper ad. She lifted the photo to read the ad.
Wanted: Young woman (American only) willing to engage in domination role play. No BDSM. Salary: $250,000 upon completion of contract. Length of employment: 30 consecutive nights. Qualifications: must be between the ages of 22-28, beautiful with long naturally brown hair and green eyes (no glasses or contact lenses); cannot weigh more than 110 pounds; no tattoos or body piercing (earlobes only okay) no scars or physical imperfections; must be both physically and mentally fit (extensive examinations by accredited physician and psychologist to ascertain physical and mental health will be conducted); Must be a college-educated virgin. Only women who meet all criteria need apply. Send photo and email to [email protected].
She looked up at Jake, her mouth open, her breathing now rapid and shallow.
“There are nine women there, Lina,” he said softly. “There are nine ads—beginning with that ad in September of 2005 in the Houston Chronicle.”
She turned the woman’s photo over. Behind Tiffany was Rachel Conlan. The ad came from the St. Petersburg Times. It was the same ad and Rachel could have been Tiffany’s sister.
Or hers.
Tears filled her eyes as she turned that photo over and looked at Vivian Rasmussen who had answered the ad in the Louisville Courier-Journal.
Another woman who looked like her.
And another: Carolyn Brewster, the Raleigh News & Observer.
And another: Jessica Trout, the Knoxville News-Sentinel.
And another: Brenice Chastayne, the Little Rock Democrat-Gazette.
And another: Danielle Fitzgerald, the Birmingham News.
And still another: the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
She turned Lainie’s photo over to find her own smiling visage looking back at her. The ad from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution was attached to her picture. The only difference between her ad and the others was the amount of money.
Slowly, she closed the file and laid it in her lap, clasped her hands over it.
“I think you need to explain,” she said quietly.
“That is what he does, Lina,” Jake said, leaning toward her, his hands threaded together and dangling between his spread knees. “It all began with a drunken bet he made way back in 2005. We were all drunk that night—shitfaced really—and high on weed. We put our addled heads together and came up with the ad. He sat down and wrote it. He prefers Southern women for his entertainment and each of you looks just like the others.” He reached over to put his hand over hers. “You realize, of course, you all look like Olivia.”
She flinched and a tear rolled down her cheek. She eased her hands from under his.
He cleared his throat and sat back in the chair. “The Club opened in June of 2005 and he placed that first ad in September. He only places the ads in the months of February, April, July and September.”
She looked up. “Why?”
“The February ad runs for the month of April. The April ad runs for the month of June. July for September and September for November. That allows for two months of vetting for each candidate.”
Bile rose up in her throat. “I understand,” she said.
“On the last night, he takes the women over to Savannah in his corporate jet. There will be a sailing yacht waiting to take them out to sea for a dinner cruise along the coast. The check will be in an envelope lying on the table beside the woman’s plate. He will hold her chair out for her then look at his watch as he pushes the chair up to the table. The reason he looks at his watch is because he places side bets with us on just how long it will take for her to open the envelope after seeing it. The soonest was eight minutes and Spike won that bet. The longest was twenty minutes and I won that one.”
“What happens after they open the envelope?” she asked.
“I imagine he fucks them since that is what it’s all about for him. The evening concludes around eleven as the captain takes the yacht back to the marina in Savannah. The woman leaves and Synnie never sees her again.”
“Have any of the women tried to see him again?”
“No. Once he’s done with a woman, he’s done with her. That’s it. He’s paid her and he expects her to get the hell out of his life and stay out. He tells them if they try to contact him, he will have Kit pay them a visit. Since Kit has never had to be sent we can only imagine what kind of threat Synnie made. He can be a dangerous SOB when he wants to.”
“I see,” she said. Her entire body was beginning to seize up.
“There’s something else you should see,” he told her. He leaned over to pluck another file folder from his briefcase. He hesitated then handed it to her on a long sigh.
“I am sorry, Lina. I truly am.”
She wanted to open the folder even less than she did the first one. The little voice in the back of her mind warned her not to. As soon as she did, she drew in a ragged breath—a little moan of abject hurt escaping her lips.
In the folder was the mockup for another ad. This time destined for the Columbia, S.C. State. A note in the Kiwi’s handwriting was clipped to the mockup. It read Contact Janice Layne Jan. 2 for run Feb. 1.
“You thought you and he had something special, didn’t you, love?” he asked gently. “You thought he had fallen in love with you as you’ve fallen in love with him. You really thought there would a morning after tonight, didn’t you?”
Her lips began to tremble.
“I
’m sorry, Lina,” Jake said. “I am really sorry. I hate the way he plays with peoples’ lives. There won’t be a morning after tonight, love. It will all be over for you.”
She put the file in her hand on the table beside her then handed him the one with the photographs. “Thank you for telling me, Jake,” she said then got to her feet. “I’d like you to leave now.”
He glanced at the file she’d set aside. It seemed as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it. He searched her eyes then nodded. “Of course,” he said then put the file she’d handed him back in his briefcase and stood. He gave her one last, commiserating look. “I really am sorry.”
She nodded, the tears choking her.
She did not walk him to the door. She held in the misery and the hurt and the deep sense of betrayal until she heard his car start then she covered her face with her hands and sank to the floor.
* * * * *
“I’ve got a surprise,” he said as he drew her into his arms. “The chopper is waiting to take us to the airport.”
It was all she could do not to stiffen as he held her against him. “Sounds mysterious,” she said, trying to sound as normal as possible.
“I’ve got a special evening planned for us.”
As soon as his lips touched hers she thought of Judas in the garden and the betraying kiss that had netted the traitor thirty pieces of silver. She almost laughed thinking what her betrayer would be paying her for her kiss in return.
“God you smell good,” he said, nuzzling her hair. His arms banded tightly around her. “You do things to me that should be illegal.”
“It looks like rain,” she said, easing out of his arms. “Should I get a jacket?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said.
They were standing in the alcove of the apartment Jono had moved her to when the press had invaded the home she’d rented for so long. She went to the closet and took out a waterproof jacket. When she returned to him, he offered her his arm.
“Your chariot awaits, milady,” he said. “Don’t worry about the reporters. There are only two out there and Kit’s men will see to them.”
They’d found out where she lived two days ago and when he’d dropped her off that morning, all of a sudden they had multiplied like rabbits after he’d gone.
She reluctantly hooked her arm through his and he took her to the Veyron. As chariots went, it was certainly top of the line and the most expensive. He helped her inside, shut the door and went around to the driver’s side.
Her insides were quivering as she looked at her watch. It was just a little past five p.m. and he said they would be at their destination by seven. She had seven more hours with him. At the thought her heart ached and twisted inside her chest. She wanted to bury her face in her hands and sob as she had earlier in the day. When he got into the car and reached for the key she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him not to throw her away.
She loved him, she thought as she looked over at his strong profile. Loved him so much it hurt. He was such a handsome man yet he had a boyish allure. His crooked smile made her melt all over. She loved the man but she adored the boy in him. His wicked sense of humor, his thoughtfulness might well be contrived but they were qualities she admired and he utilized them to perfection. He was going to break her heart into a million pieces.
“You’re awful quiet,” he said as he turned to look behind him as he backed out of her driveway.
“Just tired, I guess,” she said, forcing a smile she did not feel.
He shifted into gear, casting her a sideways glance. “I kept you awake. I’m sorry.”
She had to look away from his earnest face. It cut her to the quick to see the feigned admission of guilt in his eyes. He was as two-faced as they came yet she loved him with all her heart.
“I thought I’d go with you to visit Drew tomorrow,” he said.
She was looking out the window. What he said made her close her eyes. She now knew there would be no tomorrow for her. He would be rid of her tonight.
“I’d like that,” she said quietly. “He would too. Drew likes you. He asks about you all the time. He may not remember me, but he remembers you.” She hoped he would continue seeing her brother but she very much doubted that would be the case.
“I like him and I asked Mrs. Holloway-Lutz about the reason for that and she said it was because he didn’t know me before the accident. His memories before then might have vanished but he has no trouble making them now.”
“I guess that makes sense,” she said.
They had pulled onto the interstate and he merged into the lane then reached for her hand.
“I am really looking forward to tonight,” he said, squeezing her fingers.
She supposed he was. He would be ridding himself of her tonight.
Her silence was beginning to concern him. He kept glancing over at her as he drove out to the airport. In the glow from the dashboard lights her face looked lost, so devoid of expression it frightened him.
“Baby, are you all right?” he asked.
She looked at him and there was nothing but emptiness staring back at him. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She eased her hand from under his.
“Just asking,” he said. Even her voice was without inflection. It was almost as though he were talking to a cybot, barren of heart and soul. “Is everything okay with Drew?”
“Drew is fine,” she replied. “Thank you for asking.”
“Thank you for asking?” he repeated. He looked over at her but she had already turned her attention to the passenger window once again, effectively shutting him out.
He briefly closed his eyes and felt a moment of utter panic. The sour taste of fear was hovering in his esophagus. He was terrified she was going to take the check and walk out of his life. That thought stabbed at him like a red-hot blade. He didn’t want to lose her.
He couldn’t. She had become as dear to him as the air he breathed and he wasn’t sure he would—or could—survive without her now.
He knew he didn’t want to.
Sitting on the private runway was a sleek, black jet. Eight portholes gleamed with muted gold light along the body and on the tail was the MI logo. The upswept tips on the ends of the wings reminded her of something from a Star Trek TV show.
“It’s a Gulfstream G650,” he told her. “It’ll do Mach 0.925. We can fly seven thousand nautical miles nonstop. I’ve taken her over to Dubai several times. It’s choice, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
She felt his gaze hard on her. “That’s all you’ve got to say about it?”
“Boys need their toys?” she inquired. She was watching two male crew members in black-and-silver uniforms boarding the jet. Pilot and copilot.
“I guess that put me in my place in the grand scheme of things, eh?” he asked, his voice a tad sharp.
She shrugged and heard him sigh heavily.
He stopped the car, turned off the ignition then got out without another word. She saw him wave at the last crewmember climbing the jet gangway. The woman was tall and willowy with dark hair pinned into a French twist at the back of her head and a figure lovingly molded into her flight attendant uniform.
“I wonder if you’ve fucked her,” she whispered as he opened her door.
“Eh?” he questioned, extending his hand to help her out of the car.
“Just talking to myself,” she replied. As much as she hated to touch him she took his hand.
“They say that’s the first sign of senility,” he joked.
She glanced up at him but didn’t reply. She pulled her hand free and a tight frown replaced his smile of a moment before.
“There’s something bothering you,” he said then turned his head to look at the jet for the engines were spinning to life.
“I told you I’m fine,” she said, a bit snappier than she intended.
“Well, excuse me if I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Where are we going?” s
he asked as if she didn’t already know.
“Savannah.”
Hearing him say the destination was like having the heart torn out of her body. She nodded. “How long will it take?”
“Flight time is fifty-seven minutes,” he said and she could tell he was getting annoyed with her. He ushered her to the jet with his hand at the small of her back. He only removed it as they climbed the steps to the open hatchway.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. McGregor,” the beautiful woman standing beside the hatch greeted him.
“Evening, Maven,” he said, removing his jacket. “Miss Wynth will be traveling with us tonight.”
“Very good, sir,” the woman said taking his jacket from him.
He helped her take off her own jacket then handed it to the flight attendant.
The flight attendant’s green eyes bored into her with dislike—sealing the answer to the question in her mind as to whether or not the Kiwi had slept with the woman. “I hope you have a pleasant trip, Miss Wynth.” The coolness in her gaze belied the warmth in her cultured voice. She flicked those cold orbs to her boss. “Would you like a drink before departure, Mr. McGregor?”
He looked at her and she shook her head. The last thing she needed on an empty stomach and with such a heavy lump sitting in her chest was booze.
“No thanks, Maven,” he said and put his hand to the small of her back once again to escort her to their seats.
The interior of the jet was luxuriously decadent. The carpet was black and the upholstery on the wide seats was a medium gray though the sofa at the rear of the cabin was done in black. Settling into the port side seat, she felt as though she were being cradled in a marshmallow. The leather was so comfortable she couldn’t help but sigh.
“Nice, huh?” he asked, taking the seat across the aisle from her. “The sofa makes into a double bed.”
She looked at him and he wagged his brows. She looked away from him to stare out the porthole.
“Fuck, woman,” he snapped. “What the hell is your problem tonight?”
The pilot announced they would be taking off shortly—saving her the need to reply. She reached down to buckle her seat beat as instructed. By the time they were taxing down the runway, tears were falling down her cheeks.
30DaystoSyn Page 36
