by Rebecca Deel
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
About the Author
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
About the Author
MIDNIGHT ESCAPE
Rebecca Deel
Editor: Jack Williams
Cover by Melody Simmons from ebookindiecovers
Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Deel
All rights reserved.
To my amazing husband.
CHAPTER ONE
Brenna Mason jammed her key in the lock and shoved open the door. “Dana?” The knob banged against the wall and bounced back, slamming her suitcase against her knees. She scowled, shouldered past the door, and dragged her luggage into the living room.
She set her laptop case by her feet. The blinds were drawn, the room gloomy. The cream colored couch glowed in the dimness. Her throat tightened. Maybe she had overreacted and nothing was wrong. Her sister could be mad at her since their last conversation ended on a sour note. Brenna had told her sister the truth, even if it was unpleasant to hear.
Dana’s bedroom door remained closed. Had she been out late last night? If so, she was dead to the world. Brenna shivered. Bad choice of words, no doubt a result of her chosen occupation. Usually her sister woke at the slightest sound. “Dana?”
Brenna opened the bedroom door and peered inside the darkened interior of her sister’s room. The room was empty, bed made. As usual, nothing out of place.
Could Dana have forgotten Brenna was supposed to fly in this morning? Her lips curved. Better chance her sister left her waiting at the airport to find her own way to the apartment as a way of making her point. She didn’t need or want her big sister meddling in her life.
Brenna noticed the message light flashing on the answering machine and pressed the playback button. All ten messages were from her.
Her stomach knotted.
Where was Dana?
Eli Wolfe shifted the camera, pressed a button and zoomed in on the woman giving Marcos Sartelli a piece of her mind. He would love to hear the words spilling from her gorgeous pink lips. The whiskey-colored eyes sparked, a scowl dominating what would have otherwise been a cover model’s face.
“Well, Marcos,” Eli muttered, “What did you do to tick her off?” He snapped another series of pictures, captured the woman’s image for later identification. If she wasn’t the type of woman who operated in Marcos’s world, he’d track her down and warn her off. She didn’t want to play in the Sartelli sandbox. This one was a step up from his usual arm candy.
Sweat trickled down Eli’s forehead. He wiped his face with the bottom of his untucked shirt and flexed his cramping arm muscles. The spunky brunette reappeared in his camera lens, her cheeks flushed from more than the killer mid-July heat in downtown Nashville.
Yet again, Eli wished he’d learned to read lips. Movement to his left snagged his attention and, shifting the camera, he sucked in a silent, steamy breath. Great. “Nice going, beautiful. Marcos’s guard dog is on your six.” His favorite guard dog, too. Juan Mendoza lumbered into Eli’s line of sight, 300 pounds of muscle and mean on a six-foot body topped by a cue-ball head.
Mendoza stepped closer to the woman, his hand slipping into a drooping pocket. Oh, this wasn’t going to be good. Eli scowled in the woman’s direction. Did she realize the danger she was in? The guard probably had his favorite weapon of choice, a .357 silver-plated magnum, secreted in that pocket, a gun which could blow a hole a mile wide in that gorgeous body.
Eli hadn’t wanted Sartelli to know he’d returned to town just yet, but he couldn’t stand to see the brunette’s furious expression dissolve into one of terror. Mendoza crowded into her personal space enough she stepped closer to the black limo waiting at the curb for Sartelli.
“Not that way, beautiful,” Eli said. He sighed. No help for it but to distract the construction magnate and his two-legged canine and hustle the woman out of the line of fire.
He slipped around the corner of the building, tossed his camera into the glove box of his black Camaro and locked the car. He tugged on his Nashville Sounds baseball cap, retraced his steps and sauntered up the sidewalk toward his quarry, whistling “You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog.” Who didn’t love Elvis?
He drew within a few feet of the trio, and the woman’s words drifted on the humid breeze to Eli. “The last time anybody saw her, she was in your company, Mr. Sartelli. I will find her, even if I have to go through your yard ape to do it.”
Yard ape? Eli whistled louder. Yep, perfect description of the leg breaker five feet in front of him. The men swiveled in his direction. The woman’s attention shifted to Eli, curiosity etched on her face.
“Wolfe.” Sartelli sneered. “Didn’t realize you were back in town.”
“Miss me, Marcos?”
“About as much as I miss my mother-in-law.”
“Oh, that hurts, man.” Sartelli hated the 85-year-old Sicilian native. If he didn’t need the old woman’s money, Eli doubted the owner of Sartelli Construction would still be married to the old lady’s daughter.
Sartelli eyed Mendoza and inclined his head toward the waiting vehicle. “Escort Ms. Mason to the car. We will continue this discussion in cooler surroundings.”
Eli stepped up beside the lady and slid his arm around her waist, pressing his fingers into her side. He hoped she understood his silent message to play along with his charade. “Now, Marcos, you can’t take off with my girl. You already have a wife and a woman on the side. Go poach on someone else’s territory.”
Ms. Mason drew in a startled breath. “But . . .”
Oh, man. So much for understanding his telepathic message to keep quiet. Must be out of practice. Yeah, he’d get right on that as soon as he rescued the gorgeous brunette from Sartelli and Mendoza. Time for Plan B. Though turning his back on the two went against all his training and made the nape of his neck itch, Eli swung around and gathered the woman into his arms. “Don’t worry, sugar. Marcos won’t mind talking to us later. Right now, I want someplace quiet and private. I missed you.” His hands tightened on her arms as his lips brushed her ear. If she fought, Eli would have a much harder time pulling off the scam. Might work anyway if he begged her to forgive him for their fight before he left town. He could plead stupidity which he figured Marcos would buy into in a heartbeat.
Always assuming, of course, the lady didn’t expose the game by claiming he was crazy. Silent lau
ghter rolled through his mind. Some nights he’d agree with the assessment, afraid of losing his mind to the ghosts walking in his dreams. At least they no longer haunted his days. Progress of sorts, he supposed.
A city bus pulled to a stop beside the limo. Under cover of the engine’s roar, Eli whispered in the woman’s ear. “Play along, sugar, or we’ll leave this street in matching body bags.”
As he hoped, his warning shocked the woman into silence.
“She’s your woman?” Marcos’s voice was ripe with suspicion.
The lady in question stiffened in his arms. Probably objected to the tone and terminology unless she objected to being manhandled by a stranger, even one known for his charm with the ladies. Eli tossed a grin over his shoulder at Sartelli and turned back to the woman in his arms and kissed her tempting pink lips. Despite the danger making his skin crawl, the Mason woman’s sweetness captured his attention. He lingered longer than he’d intended for the effect. Even if she slugged him later, the pain would be worth the taste of pure, warm honey.
Eli lifted his head. He smiled at her stunned expression. Hand cupping the back of her head, he gently pressed her face into his neck to hide any telling expressions. A quarter of a turn and his gun hand was hidden by their bodies which were still plastered together. A perfect fit, too, although this was a lousy time to notice that fact. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”
Sartelli’s eyes narrowed. “You are lying.”
“Lying?” He grinned, though the muscles in his body tensed. What if Sartelli didn’t buy his story? Eli calculated the odds and decided he’d better convince the man of his sincerity, fast. Marcos was sure to have at least one weapon and his yard ape more than likely had two on him with more stashed in the car. Mendoza might be dumb as dirt, but the man liked hurting people and carried weapons to enable his hobby. “I’m hurt, Marcos. Do you think a woman as gorgeous as Ms. Mason would allow a total stranger to kiss her on the street in broad daylight?”
“Ms. Mason?”
The light changed and the bus engine revved as it pulled away.
The woman shifted her head so her mouth rested just below his ear. “My name is Brenna,” she whispered.
Sartelli’s tone sharpened. “Why do you call her Ms. Mason? You don’t use her first name? You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Mr. Wolfe?”
Eli relaxed a tad. The lady was gorgeous and smart. “I call her a lot of things. Sweetheart, sugar, honey, beautiful, but her name is Brenna.” His voice hardened. “And she’s mine, Marcos.”
“So you’re looking into her sister’s disappearance?”
Her sister’s disappearance? “You are going to help us find her, I’m sure. So like you to show civil responsibility.”
Sartelli laughed, his reptilian eyes cold. “I wouldn’t help you find your own grave, Wolfe.”
Eli shook his head. He didn’t believe that for a minute. Sartelli would like nothing better than to see him and his teammate six feet under. “You sure about that, Marcos? I have a lot of friends on the force. Would only take one phone call to make your life a whole lot harder than it is right now.”
Mendoza eased forward a few steps and dug deeper in that pocket.
Eli visualized that beefy hand curling around the weapon’s grip, his finger stroking the trigger. Nothing appealed to the Texas native more than playing with his favorite toy. He maneuvered Brenna behind him, keeping his hand on her wrist. He checked out her shoes with his peripheral vision. Satisfaction curled through him. Flats. Good. Shoes she could run in if she had to. And that might turn out to be the case if he couldn’t bluff the construction tycoon and his guard dog.
“Juan.” Sartelli nodded toward the limo. “Ms. Mason has delayed us long enough. I’m sure our paths will cross again soon, Wolfe.” He got in the back seat and slammed the door.
Mendoza glared at the two a moment longer before he slid behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb in a cloud of exhaust.
Brenna yanked her wrist free. “Okay, buddy. Who are you?”
He turned her toward his car and, hand on her lower back, urged her along the sidewalk. “My name is Eli Wolfe. I’m a private investigator. Do you have a car close by?”
“I hired a cab.” She slowed her steps. “Where are we going? I still need to talk to Sartelli and now I’ll have to track him down all over again.”
“We can’t talk on the street, Ms. Mason.”
“Ms. Mason? Kind of formal, isn’t it, since you told Sartelli I’m your girlfriend.”
“All right. Brenna, then. We still can’t talk on the street.” He scanned the pedestrians passing by on either side of them as they approached his Camaro. He clicked the remote and hustled her into the passenger seat. None of Sartelli’s usual goons appeared to be hanging around, but then again Eli and his partner had been out of town for a few weeks. Maybe his thugs had come up the evolutionary scale a few notches.
Eli sank into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine, air conditioner going full blast.
Brenna moaned. “Oh, that feels so good. I’m not used to this heat.” She adjusted the vent so that the air blew her black curls all around her head.
“Where do you live?”
“Virginia, a little place called Pound. Look, Mr. Wolfe, I don’t know you. Why should I trust you enough to let you drive me anywhere in an unfamiliar city? You could be a serial killer or something.”
“Sugar, the killer just pulled away from the curb in a stretch limo. You’re lucky I happened along when I did and rescued you.”
Brenna’s head jerked away from the air vent and turned in his direction, her eyes narrowed. “Rescued me? Like I’m some helpless little female who doesn’t have enough sense not to get into cars with strangers?”
Eli’s eyebrow rose.
She sighed. “Okay, point taken. No rides with strangers aside from this car and some guy claiming to be a PI. I had no intention of going anywhere with Sartelli. I only wanted information.”
“He wasn’t giving you an option, Brenna. I know Sartelli and his goon. You were seconds away from a ride to nowhere.” Eli dug into his pocket and grasped his cell phone. “Here.”
“A cell phone? What’s this for? I have my own.”
“Yeah? Bet yours doesn’t have Metro police homicide detective Cal Taylor on speed dial. He’ll vouch for me.” He punched the number to his friend’s personal cell and handed the instrument to Brenna.
His friend answered on the second ring. “Homicide. Taylor.”
“Detective Taylor, this is Brenna Mason. I’m sitting in a car with an Eli Wolfe. He says he’s a private investigator and that you will vouch for him.”
The rumble of Cal’s baritone voice carried across the car’s interior. Eli checked for traffic in his mirrors and pulled out. If the lady still didn’t trust him after talking to Cal, he’d pull into a restaurant and talk to her in a public setting. But standing on the street where Sartelli’s thugs had another chance to snatch her? Not going to happen. No one deserved what he suspected Sartelli was involved in. Brenna’s side of the conversation consisted of “Uh huh” and “I see” for several minutes. What was taking so long? Cal must be giving Brenna his life story. Ticked him off and made him uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Detective Taylor. Here he is.” Brenna handed him the phone.
He pressed the phone against his ear. “Hey, Cal.”
“What’s going on, Eli? New client doesn’t trust you?”
“Not exactly. I stumbled into something while tailing Sartelli.”
The teasing note dropped from Cal’s voice. “Anything I should know?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.”
“You better. Watch your back, Eli. Sartelli’s painted a target on it. Later, man.”
Eli slid the phone back into his pocket. “Are we okay now, Brenna?”
“Dream on. Where are we going?”
“My office.”
Eli shoved open the frosted-glass door with
Wolfe Investigations stenciled across the middle. The first thing he noticed was the receptionist desk. Empty. Again. Eli rolled his eyes. What did his partner do this time?
He stepped aside and motioned Brenna to the office on the left. Behind the closed door on the right, the sound of the computer keyboard clicking at high speed clued him in to the mood of his cantankerous partner. Wondered if he should look for a body. “I’ll be with you in a minute. Why don’t you take a seat in my office. Can I get you anything? Water, Coke?”
“Water, if it’s cold.”
“Coming right up.” He detoured to the small kitchen at the back of the office suite, grabbed three bottles of refrigerated water, and pounded on his partner’s door.
“What?” a deep voice snarled. “I thought you left. And good riddance, too.”
Eli threw open the door and leaned against the frame, arms folded across his chest. “Not the way to get a date, Jon.”
Jon Smith glared at Eli, his face red. “If you’re offering, forget it. You aren’t my type.”
“Not me, man. You’re too scary.”
His partner snorted. “What are you doing back here? Thought you were tailing Sartelli. Lose him?”
“Nope. Got distracted.”
A sardonic look crossed Jon’s face. “What’s her name?”
Huh. Been friends with Jon too long. He grinned. His teammate knew him well. “Brenna Mason.” Eli inclined his head toward his office. “Come meet her.”
“Better not be another receptionist. I’ve had enough of the air heads on stilts.”
Eli gave a mock sigh. “Jon, what am I going to do with you? Can’t keep good help in the office. You chase them off before noon every time we try out a new one.”
After a few more keystrokes, Jon rose. Eli tossed a bottle of water his way. His partner snagged it in mid-air. “Good help? The last receptionist, Candy or Cindy or some other C name, had to sing the Alphabet song every time she filed anything. Drove me insane after the first ten minutes.”
“Is that all?” He glanced at his partner. “Not like you to toss a poor young lady out of the office for just one flaw.” Couldn’t resist needling his partner. Too much fun to watch Jon’s temper spike even further. “How long did she last?” When Eli had left the office at 9:00 this morning, Cissy was sitting happily at the front desk, a wide smile on her lips.
