GRIPPED (Romance Mystery & Suspense Box Set)

by Abbott, Alex

  He watched as Melanie mounted the stairs after Magali, her lithe form moving light as a feather. A rush of heat passed through him again at the thought of her naked, in his bed, while he pounded the living daylights out of her, taking her over and over again.

  At once, his cock stood at attention, and he emitted a short groan of desperation. Soon Magali would leave, and he and Melanie would be all alone in this big house. The mere thought of her being here, ready to throw herself at his mercy, quickened his heart rate.

  He gritted his teeth and willed the image of Melanie naked in his bed to go away.

  Not yet, Jack.

  Or, more precisely, not ever.

  Chapter 16

  Jeannine Müller and her reluctant partner in crime Rainer Jarnoff sat in a beat-up maroon Renault out in front of Jack Carter’s house near the Quay d’Orsay. Jeannine still lamented having had to leave her trusty Peugeot in Brussels. And as if that wasn’t enough to sour her mood, there was the exorbitant expense of having to book two tickets to Paris so they could keep track of the Lorgnasse girl.

  Good thing Seth had his contacts and had sent them Jack’s address just in time for them to see his limo arrive and the little wench to exit the car on the fat cat’s arm.

  If only that driver hadn’t looked so formidable, or the Carter guy for that matter, Rainer would have simply walked over there, picked her up and carted her to the car.

  Now all they could do was wait until the twosome emerged again, and hopefully the odds would be more in their favor then.

  “I think we should simply barge in there, snatch her and be done with it,” argued Jeannine.

  “Like we did this morning you mean? Yeah, that went really well.”

  Jeannine snapped her head around. Sarcasm was not something she responded too well to. “If you had kept a leash on the bitch, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.” She shook her head. “I should never have involved a weakling like you. Never ask a boy to do a man’s job is what my father used to say.”

  “And see where that lead him,” murmured Rainer.

  “My dad wasn’t to blame for that botched bank robbery. If everyone had done their part, he would still be with us today.”

  Rainer rested his head on his hand. If he’d heard the story of the fabled Müller bank robbery gone wrong once, he’d heard it a hundred times. And still he couldn’t shake the feeling Jeannine’s dad had been as crazy as his offspring. Why, oh why had Seth ever married into that nutso family he’d never understand. With all the woman in the world, his cousin had to marry this specimen.

  “Tonight, when they’re both asleep, you and I sneak into that house, knock out the guy and snatch her.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “That’s right. You don’t, and that’s your problem right there. I’ll tell Seth to join us. Then it’s three to one. Do you think you might manage at those odds?”

  Rainer sighed deeply. “I guess. I still think—”

  “Just shut your trap, will you. You’re not paid to think. You’re paid to do as you’re told.”

  Fat lot of good the ten grand his cousin had promised him for this ‘operation’ would do him if it landed his ass in prison. On the other hand, if he’d never have to set eyes on Jeannine again, it might be worth it. And in prison he could probably paint as much as he wanted without being disturbed by deranged would-be kidnappers.

  For a few blissful moments he mused on the roseate picture of devoting his life to his art, the burden of his livelihood generously taken over by the state.

  Then he thought better of it. With his luck, he’d probably have to share his cell with Seth, and knowing his psychologically unbalanced cousin, he’d never let him live it down.

  He directed a pleading look heavenward. Oh, God, he thought. Why have you forsaken thy humble servant?

  Before the good Lord could put in a reply, Jeannine intruded on his musings. “Yes,” the crazy bitch croaked. “One good blow to the head should do the trick. Make him think twice about poking his nose into our business.”

  “What about the dog?”

  She shrugged. “Get rid of the mutt.”

  His eyes went wide. He liked dogs. “You mean… permanently?”

  “Off course permanently, bird brain.” A cruel grin spread across her hideous features. “And perhaps we can extend the courtesy to Jack Carter as well. That way he’ll never bother us again.”

  Rainer slowly turned his head. Was she serious? Judging from the vicious glint in her eye, she was.

  “Look, I didn’t sign up for this, Jeannine. Kidnapping? Fine. But murder?” He shook his head adamantly. “That’s a whole other business altogether.”

  Jeannine gave him a mean stare. “You’re not just short on brains, you’re a lily-livered piece of chicken-shit as well.” She tossed her gray mane. “Fine. I’ll do it. So you don’t have to get your delicate little hands dirty.”

  He shrugged. He was used to her vile tongue by now, and as long as he didn’t have to get involved, she could do whatever she wanted.

  “Fucking billionaire,” she raged. “We should string him up on the highest tree for all the world to see, along with the rest of his parasite breed.”

  Rainer frowned. Billionaire? Then it dawned on him. “Jack Carter is the Jack Carter? The billionaire?”

  Jeannine cackled. “Welcome to earth, bird brain. Of course he’s the Jack Carter.” She rubbed her hands together with obvious glee. “Let’s kill us a billionaire tonight, shall we?”

  Rainer shivered involuntarily. Killing Jack Carter would open up a huge can of worms, he just knew it.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Shut up! You know what?” She jabbed at the door handle, and shoved open the passenger door, then gave him a vicious push. “Get the fuck out of my car. If you’re not gonna cooperate, buzz off.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t care if you’re Seth’s cousin. My God. I’ve never met anyone like you for whining and moping and generally pissing me off!”

  Shaking his head at so much vileness, Rainer finally shifted his bulk so he could exit the car. Jeannine’s boot in his rear did the rest, and five seconds later he was standing on the sidewalk while Jeannine slammed the door shut again and gave him the finger.

  Morosely but secretly happy, he started down the street, his hands shoved into his pockets and his head down.

  When he’d reached the corner, he glanced over his shoulder at Jack Carter’s house, then decided to put the whole sordid business out of his head, and walked away.

  Chapter 17

  Magali Chambers, Jack’s housekeeper, let her gaze drift across the kitchen, only to find its gleaming surfaces, neatly arranged cupboards and polished hardwood floor returning her scrutiny and meeting her expectations. Even the shelf with Jack’s Disney figurines, presiding over the window, was spotless, as was Rufus’s placemat with his water and food bowls placed near the kitchen door.

  In Jack’s absence she never allowed the house to gather a single mote of dust or sliver of dirt, keeping the place as clean as her own small apartment on the outskirts of Paris.

  Taking care of a place this size demanded the work of three, and luckily Jack didn’t stint on hiring all the help she needed. The cook hadn’t come in today but would do so tomorrow if Jack decided to stay the weekend, and the maid had helped her prepare the guest bedroom in time for Jack’s arrival.

  Working for Jack for going on ten years now, she’d come to appreciate the young man’s quirks and demands. Fresh flowers in every room was not something one usually associated with a bachelor, but it showed that Jack was his mother’s son. Mrs Carter, for whom Magali had worked before taking over Jack’s household, had been an avid fan of floral splendor throughout the house, even if her husband seemed too busy to notice.

  When Mrs Carter had passed away, Magali had felt as if she hadn’t merely lost a fine employer, but a personal friend.

  Going to work for Jack, therefore, had been something o
f a mission to her. Taking care of the young man now that he’d so suddenly lost the most important person in his life.

  Jack had been close to his mother, and when Mrs Carter had passed beyond the veil, Jack had had a couple of very tough years.

  What the boy really needed, though this sentiment certainly wasn’t shared by Jack himself, was a woman in his life. And not just a girlfriend, but a wife, who would turn this house into a real home in ways a mere housekeeper never could.

  For Magali knew her place. Though she loved the boy dearly ever since she’d come into the Carter family employ twenty-five years ago this spring, she could never take the place of a good woman at his side.

  She’d eyed Melanie Harper with curious interest, therefore, knowing full well that she was the first girl Jack had brought into this house in ages. If Jack wanted to fool around with the fairer sex, he always did so in Brussels, where he had a running tab at the Carlton. Magali didn’t know if he did it out of respect for her or simply for reasons of discretion, but she did appreciate not having to clean up after one of Jack’s hussies when they spent the night.

  And now this Melanie. At first glance, she’d pursed her lips appreciatively. The girl was beautiful, albeit it a bit on the thin side. But even though she could use some fattening up, she was clearly not one of Jack’s usual photo model types. This one had a head on her, and spoke and behaved in a way that had led her to believe she’d enjoyed an excellent education and a fine upbringing in a fine home.

  She could but guess at the reason Jack would bring her here, though the fact that he put her up in the guest bedroom, and had her put the doctor on call in case Melanie needed medical help, had her tingling with curiosity.

  It wouldn’t be long before Jack would confide in her, she knew. He always did, considering her a loyal part of the family. For now, she merely did as she was told, and was gratified when Melanie rewarded her kindness at pointing out the ins and outs of the house with a radiant smile.

  Whoever she was, she liked the young woman already.

  After a last glance around the kitchen, she hitched up her coat, took a firmer grip on her pocketbook, and stepped out the back door, locking it behind her.

  Reaching the street, she walked away fast. She still had plenty of errands to run, and darkness was already descending on Paris.

  She hadn’t walked ten yards, however, before a man fell into step beside her. Looking over, a sense of dread filled her at the sight of him. He was broad, tall and ugly as hell, and hazarding a guess, she immediately pegged him as one of Paris’s growing band of lowlifes and other scum.

  Picking up speed, she threw nervous glances left and right, looking for a shop to disappear into before this man dragged her off into some dark alley and had his way with her.

  “Madame?” the man said, also picking up his pace. “You work for Jack Carter, don’t you?”

  She clasped her purse closer to her body, and didn’t respond. Of course. Work for a billionaire and people start to think you’re loaded with the stuff yourself.

  “No, I don’t,” she quickly lied.

  “I saw you leave his house. Look, I just want to warn you.”

  “Leave me alone!” she trilled with tremulous voice. “Or-or I’ll scream!”

  “Don’t be scared, Madame. I just want to do what’s right. Tonight, some very bad people are going to break into Jack Carter’s house to kidnap a woman.”

  At this, Magali gasped in horror. “Kidnap!”

  “Yes, kidnap,” the man repeated patiently.

  They’d stopped at the corner, and since the man kept a respectable distance, Magali felt her apprehension fade, only to be replaced by a different emotion altogether. Anger. “What’s all this nonsense? What are you talking about? Who are you?”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter who I am, and if you tell the police, I’ll deny everything. Just make sure Jack and the Lorgnasse girl are out of the house.” His face turned grim. “These people... They’re planning to murder Mr Carter and string him up from the highest tree.”

  Chapter 18

  Jack entered the room just when I was testing the mattress.

  “Is it to your liking, Mademoiselle Harper?” he grinned.

  I pursed my lips. “It will do for now, Monsieur. Though I’ll have you know I’ve experienced better.” And what was up with all the Disney figurines? I’d seen them scattered all around the house, the bigger ones safely locked inside glass display cases. They reminded me of that first night in Brussels, when he’d been wearing those funky Donald pajamas…

  I tossed my hair and gave him a seductive look. I’d just emerged from the shower and felt reinvigorated. Standing under the hot jets for what felt like hours, the fatigue that seemed to have settled in my bones had slowly dissipated to give way to a feeling of utter relaxation.

  My hair was still wet, and I was only dressed in a towel, and for a moment I played with the idea of dropping the flimsy excuse of a garment and revealing myself to Jack. The only thing stopping me was Jack’s theory that I might have a husband somewhere, even children perhaps.

  Jack swallowed as he let his hot gaze rake my body. The tingling sensation I always felt in his presence quickly returned, and I was on the verge of throwing myself into his arms, damn the consequences, when he announced, “The inspector is here. He’s waiting downstairs for you to join us.”

  “Oh. Right. I’m sorry. I’ll be down in just a second.”

  He lingered by the door. “Take your time.” Then, after a last look of longing, he turned away and softly closed the door behind him.

  I’d completely forgotten about the inspector Jack had contacted. A close friend of the family, the man had promised to take us over to the Rue Notaire mentioned in the GSM found on my person to see if it didn’t jog a memory.

  The theory was that whoever had abducted me had held me there for a while, before transporting me across the border into Belgium.

  Why they would take me from Paris to Brussels was one of the many mysteries confronting us.

  I quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and shirt Magali had laid out for me, and slipped into a sweater. Paris was even colder than Brussels today, and I still wasn’t feeling too well, my head still intermittently hurting from the hit I’d taken.

  Joining Jack and a small man with a drooping mustache in the kitchen, I introduced myself as Melanie Harper for lack of a better name, and the man gave me a pleasant smile.

  “Jacques Gustave Formelle, Mademoiselle Harper. I’ll be helping you to discover the truth behind your disappearance.”

  “Jacques is a friend of the family,” explained Jack. “He’s actually my godfather.”

  “Yes. Jack’s father and I are childhood friends. He even named his son after me.”

  Jack laughed. “Nice try, Jacques.”

  The police inspector held up his hands. “The story could be true, no? Jacques. Jack. Not so much difference, hein?”

  I looked from the diminutive man with the enormous mustache to Jack and nodded sagely. “You know? I clearly see the resemblance.”

  Both men had to laugh at my little joke, and by the time we set off for the Rue Notaire, the three of us were on the best terms.

  Jacques drove his bright red Citroën CS through the worst traffic I’d ever seen, and when he finally steered us into a small cul-de-sac, my heart was beating in my throat. The prospect of revisiting the scene of my kidnapping suddenly filled me with dread.

  I clasped Jack’s arm. “What if I don’t remember a thing? What are we going to do then?”

  He gave my hand a tight squeeze. “We’ll figure something out, Mel.”

  Jacques maneuvered his car between two dilapidated old jalopies, making sure he hit both the rear fender of the one in front and the front fender of the one in the rear.

  “Parisian custom,” whispered Jack when I eyed the maneuver with wonder. “This is the way we like to park. Always leaving a little souvenir.”

  Finally, having squeezed his Ci
troën between the two other cars, Jacques quickly checked our surroundings. “The coast, it is clear,” he announced before stepping out.

  I joined him in front of a house that had clearly seen better days. If once people had lived here, it was obvious they’d left it in such a state of disrepair no one in his right mind would want to live there now.

  Graffiti had been sprayed all across the ravaged facade, and all windows had been smashed. We stepped up to the front door, which consisted of a plywood panel, fixed to the jamb with electrical wire.

  Stepping over the rubble liberally strewn across the porch, we entered the premises, Jack making sure he stayed right behind me, while Jacques did the honors of leading the way.

  A single room opened up to the left, half-rotted mattresses, empty beer bottles and fast food cartons indicating this might have been the living room. Across the wall the slogan ‘Cochons Riches’ had been sprayed, its author clearly not a fan of the rich.

  “Don’t take it personally, Jack,” quipped Jacques, pointing at the slogan.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t. Contrary to some, I work hard for my money.”

  I rolled my eyes at the quaint conceit, but decided not to get embroiled in a political discussion when on the verge of finally discovering my identity.

  “You recognize any of this?” spoke Jack in my rear.

  I took in the room searchingly, but nothing stirred. I shook my head.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” suggested Jacques. “We have reason to believe that’s where you were actually held.”

  My heart skipped a beat at these words, and I followed Jacques to what was left of the staircase.

  He pointed to a hole in one of the stairs. “Be careful. The wood is not very strong.”