A Hard-Hearted Hero (Harlequin Temptation)

by Pamela Burford

  Lugh said, “David Trent never mentioned a Beth. How do you know him?”

  Caleb, please hurry! “He was a friend.”

  “Does he have any more friends foolish enough to risk their lives playing junior detective?” Lugh moved the gun downward. Her throat constricted as she felt the barrel tickle her neck. He said, “What about the girl he called the day he died? Lizzie.”

  He must have seen it in her eyes. He gave a startled laugh, then said, “Ah, of course. Lizzie. Beth. Elizabeth.”

  “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

  His tone was one of mock admiration. “Such spirit, in the face of such trying circumstances. I must say, you don’t have much in common with your dear departed friend. David was weak. And so wonderfully malleable.”

  “Not so malleable if you had to kill him to protect your operation.”

  Wayne had taken up a position near them, gun at the ready, his stance tense as if he expected her to leap up at any moment and make a run for it

  Lugh’s gun barrel dug into her neck. “He brought it on himself. When Tessa Montgomery suffered a pang of conscience and threatened to expose my enterprise, we were forced to exercise damage control.”

  “Why don’t you just call it murder?”

  He tipped his head, conceding the point. “Unfortunately, your David witnessed her demise and became quite agitated. He ‘freaked out,’ to put it in the vernacular. Well, he was so unstable, naturally I had him watched. He turned out to be more clever than we gave him credit for. Managed to slip away from my people long enough to find a phone. Of course, I’d had the foresight to have listening devices installed. One cannot be too careful.”

  Elizabeth was sickened with the realization that it was David’s desperate phone call to her that had gotten him killed. They’d hanged him and made it look like suicide.

  Lugh continued, “David was exceedingly useful to me while he cooperated. A brilliant graphic artist. Which is why I targeted him in the first place, of course. He was ambivalent about joining Avalon, concerned about his family’s reaction—there’s some straight-arrow brother somewhere.” He gave a smug grin. “As if I’d let a prize like him slip through my fingers.”

  She squeezed the arms of her chair, thinking of insecure David in the clutches of this master manipulator. “No doubt you exploited his insecurities to make him join the commune and take part in the counterfeiting.”

  Lugh smirked. “I offered the boy counseling, love. I listened to his troubles. Such a needy young man, so...lost.”

  “So loaded.”

  “That, too. David enriched us in so very many ways. But make no mistake, his artistic talent was as valuable to me as his net worth. He was a welcome addition to my private staff. The inner sanctum.”

  “Your counterfeiters, you mean. That’s what Avalon’s really about, only most of the members are oblivious.”

  He shrugged. “I needed a front for my little business. The Avalon Collective was a stroke of genius, if I do say so. We’re an isolated, autonomous community, and the occasional well-placed campaign contribution helps keep the local authorities from sniffing around. To the outside world we look like a bunch of flower-child throwbacks. I simply drew on my natural leadership ability. People look up to me. They always have.”

  “Yeah, it must really stroke your ego to have all these losers looking to you for life’s answers...all those confused and trusting women falling at your feet.”

  “It’s a tough job, but...” He shrugged.

  She tried to avoid looking at Wayne, who stared intently at her. Lugh’s gun dug into her throat, but she concentrated on keeping him talking. Buying time. “What do you do with all that counterfeit money?”

  “My connections with certain, shall we say, pharmaceutical entrepreneurs have proven immensely profitable.”

  “You’re involved in the drug trade?”

  “Such a crass way to put it, but accurate enough, I suppose. My associates find the fake bills quite useful in swindling their associates, the South American drug cartels.”

  “And if you occasionally have to murder someone to keep him quiet, well, hell, that’s just part of the cost of doing business, right?”

  There was a long pause before Lugh said, “David told me all about you, you know. Beautiful Lizzie, so pure, so unattainable.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “The silly boy practically deified you. You know, you’d have been wiser to spread your pretty legs for him—chip away a little of the mystery, the saintly aura in which he’d cloaked you. Oh yes, love, he shared all the tiresome details with me. How he carried a torch for you all those years, without a scrap of encouragement on your part. How shocked and dismayed you were when he finally confessed his love for you. Why, you devastated the poor lad.”

  She glared at him, his image wavering before her burning eyes. “David might’ve had his problems, but he had integrity. He was a good person.”

  He affected a wounded air. “Unlike moi?”

  “You’re not even in the same species, Graham.”

  “The name is Lugh.”

  She studied him, as if contemplating that. “Come to think of it, Lugh does fit you better. Isn’t that what you British call the john? The loo?”

  She watched his scowl twist into a rictus of hatred, and tensed as his free arm swung back to strike her.

  She hadn’t even seen Wayne move, yet suddenly there he was, gripping his boss’s wrist.

  Lugh blinked up at his bodyguard in bemusement and wrenched his arm free. He shoved his gun harder against her throat. “Don’t fret, Wayne. I won’t mess her up too much before you get a crack at her.”

  Wayne squatted in front of Elizabeth and peered at her from behind his bear-head mask. Reflexively she turned away, wishing she were stronger, braver. She felt his callused fingers on her jaw, brutally forcing her to face him.

  The fearsome mask was inches from her. Her stomach had turned to jelly, but she put steel in her spine and made herself look at him.

  Her heart stopped and she choked back a strangled gasp. Silver gray eyes stared back at her from the mask’s eyeholes.

  Caleb’s eyes!

  Lugh said, “She’s a pretty little thing, no? A pity really.” Obviously referring to her impending death.

  Caleb grunted, Wayne-style. Without moving his head, he directed his gaze pointedly to the gun barrel pressed to her throat. She got the message: overpowering Lugh right now would be too risky. She could end up dead.

  With her eyes she sent a silent message. I’ll take my cues from you. But do something!

  “Well?” Lugh asked, obviously amused by the big man’s intense scrutiny of Elizabeth. “Does she pass muster?”

  Caleb grunted in the affirmative and stood up.

  Lugh caressed her cheek with his free hand. “It’s party time, love. Come now. Don’t be shy.”

  He pulled her up out of the chair. Reflexively she cringed away from him, and he pressed the gun barrel into her neck till she winced in pain. She heard her own whimper and bit her lip to keep from pleading with him.

  Lugh said, “Don’t fight me, Beth. If you do, I’ll be forced to make this exceedingly unpleasant for you. As entertaining as that prospect is, I did promise Wayne there’d be something left over for him.”

  Caleb stood a few feet away, his stance tense, his own gun at the ready. She hazarded a glance at him and saw the mask nod. Ever so slightly. Go along with him—for the moment. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. And forced herself to relax slightly.

  Lugh turned to Caleb. “Feel free to stay and watch if you’d like, Wayne.”

  Caleb nodded.

  Lugh chuckled. “Well. Still waters run deep. And you’ll return the favor, of course, dear boy. I wouldn’t want to miss that—sort of an X-rated Beauty and the Beast, I should think. Now, Beth...” He fingered the lapel of her jacket. “Let’s get these clothes off you and see what we have, hmm?”

  “Umm...” She l
icked her dry lips and angled her eyes to the gun at her throat. “It would be easier if you could just move that.”

  “No. Now, give us a good show, love. Make me want to keep you around for a while.”

  As he spoke, he slowly trailed the tip of the gun barrel down her throat and chest, into the V of her open shirt collar. His green eyes were mean and taunting as the barrel slid between her breasts. She held her breath, praying he wouldn’t find—

  Click.

  She jerked as steel met the hard plastic casing of the Firefly. Lugh froze for a second, his frigid gaze boring into her. He said to Caleb, “You should’ve patted her down a tad more thoroughly. Now, what could this be? A little snubby, perhaps?”

  When he thrust his fingers into her cleavage, she saw Caleb stiffen. His knuckles gleamed white on the grip of his gun.

  Lugh lifted out the small electronic device. He turned it in his hand, examining it with interest. And smiled. “Ah. Yes. I’ve come across this doodah in the spy shops. A cunning little device, really. Have you ever seen one of these, Wayne?” He handed the Firefly to Caleb, who studied it with a perplexed grunt. “It’s an infrared marking beacon. Which means, of course—” his expression chilled Elizabeth to her bones “—that the young lady has an accomplice.”

  He gripped her arm hard. “Who?” When she said nothing he twisted her arm behind her back. It hurt like hell and she couldn’t suppress a groan. “You will tell me. Make it easy on yourself.”

  When she remained mute, he said, “Wayne, get a couple of the others to fan out and search the grounds for interlopers. Discreetly, of course.”

  The pain in her shoulder was blinding. Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s face and she willed herself not to pass out.

  Lugh tapped her temple with the gun. “Have you ever had a dislocated shoulder, Beth? You’re about to find out what it feels like. Then I’ll begin breaking your ribs, one by one,” he added pleasantly. “After that, well, I can be very imaginative. Of course, that sort of activity can be like eating potato crisps. Once you get started, it’s a devil to stop. As I said, you will tell me what I want to know.” He pulled hard on her arm and she screamed. “Sooner or later.”

  Suddenly he noticed Caleb was still there. The gun swung away from her as Lugh gesticulated with it. “What are you waiting for, Wayne?”

  “That,” Caleb said, and squeezed off a shot.

  Lugh shrieked and grabbed his hand as his gun went flying. Elizabeth leaped away from him and threw herself at his weapon. Rolling into a crouch, she drew a bead on the commune leader, wordlessly daring him to make a move. Spears of pain shot down her arm, but she held the gun steady.

  Caleb’s voice was filled with admiration. “We could’ve used you in the Delta Force, sweetheart.”

  Lugh’s incredulous, pain-filled gaze darted from one to the other. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “She’s found herself a bloody commando.”

  Caleb drew Elizabeth to his side. She said, “That gunshot’s going to bring em running, Caleb. I bet they heard it at the bonfire.”

  “I know. Get something for his hand.”

  Lugh’s wound was spurting blood onto the abstract carpet under his feet Crimson spatters decorated his white robe.

  As Elizabeth pocketed her gun and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, Caleb said, “We’re all going to walk out of here together. You’ve suffered an unfortunate accident, Graham. Your bodyguard and your devoted follower—” he nodded toward Elizabeth as she returned and began wrapping the injured hand “—are taking you to the emergency room.” He nudged Lugh’s nose with his gun. “That’s the story, and if you want to live, you’ll stick to it”

  “Bravo, Mr. Schwarzenegger,” Lugh sneered. “I’m positively quaking in my boots. Pardon me for not applauding. Ow!”

  Elizabeth had tightened the makeshift bandage with a touch more enthusiasm than was strictly required.

  “You don’t think I’d kill you?” Caleb asked with chilling calm.

  Lugh’s spontaneous bark of laughter made her want to shoot his other hand. Still, she had to admire his aplomb. Cradling his injury, he said, “I may be going out on a limb here, but I’d wager that summary executions of wounded, unarmed men are not quite the thing among you Delta blokes.”

  Elizabeth kept a close eye on Caleb’s tense trigger finger, wondering if Lugh’s smirking arrogance was about to earn him a third nostril. Suddenly they heard shouts and running feet entering the building. Triumph glittered in the commune leader’s eyes.

  Caleb tapped Lugh’s nose with the barrel of his gun. “Oh, did I happen to mention? David Trent was my baby brother.”

  As the words sank in, Lugh’s face sagged and lost all color. He mouthed what looked like bloody hell.

  Caleb loosened the top of his robe and slipped the semiautomatic into his shoulder holster, where it would be instantly accessible. He adjusted his mask.

  Three men and a woman, all armed, stormed into the room. The guy in charge—long hair, shaggy beard, trailer-hitch bald spot—demanded, “What was that shot?” His eyes zeroed in on Lugh’s hand and the bloodstained towel.

  Elizabeth said, “Lugh’s gun accidentally went off. We’re taking him to the emergency room.” She and Caleb each took an arm and started pulling him toward the door.

  The storm troopers exchanged uneasy glances. Baldy moved to block the exit. “Lugh...?”

  She said, “Can’t you see he’s in shock? Move, dammit!” She patted Lugh’s injured hand consolingly—ending with a good hard squeeze.

  Lugh jumped. “Move, you bloody fool!”

  Baldy shuffled out of the way. He turned to the female guard. “Bring the Bimmer around.” As she ran out of the building, he unhooked a walkie-talkie from his belt and instructed the guards at the compound entrance to open the gates. Elizabeth and Caleb hauled Lugh down the corridor and out into the chilly night. Distant sounds of music and laughter told her the revelers were still going at it

  A minute later Lugh’s BMW pulled up and the female guard hopped out, leaving the motor running. Caleb grunted at Elizabeth, indicating she should drive.

  Baldy said, “Hey, Wayne. Better lose the mask before you get to the hospital.” Caleb ignored him and reached for the back door handle.

  All heads turned at what sounded like the bellow of a wounded animal, fast approaching from around the building.

  “Get in!” Caleb hollered, yanking open the driver’s door and shoving Elizabeth into the car.

  The running figure turned into a battered-looking Wayne, loping toward them with surprising speed for a man his size. Snarling with rage, he wrenched a gun from one of the guards as they stood gaping from him to the big masked, robed man now throwing open the BMW’s back door and hurling their leader inside. Caleb ducked and returned fire as Wayne’s first shot pinged off the car. The bodyguard jerked and tottered a bit with a chest wound that would have dropped a rhino. Caleb leaped into the car just as Wayne squeezed off a few more rounds.

  Elizabeth knew immediately that Caleb had been hit. She screamed his name.

  “Drive!” he yelled. “Go go go go!” She stomped on the accelerator as he pulled the door closed and tugged off the mask.

  The guards finally grasped the situation enough to begin firing at the retreating car, but the bullets failed to penetrate the vehicle’s body or the rear windshield. She glanced into the rearview mirror. Baldy was yammering into his walkie-talkie, probably alerting the guards at the entrance.

  “You!” Caleb barked at Lugh. “Don’t move a goddamn hair.”

  Elizabeth raced along the twisty-turny road toward the gate, trying to keep control of the wheel with sweat-slick hands. “Caleb, where are you hit?”

  “Leg,” he rasped. “And my side.”

  “Oh God.” Silently she mouthed a string of profanities. She glanced over her shoulder to see crimson stains spreading fast on his white robe and the car’s buttery leather upholstery.

  He held his gun to Lugh’s ribs. “Keep your ey
es on the road!” he barked at her.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears. “How bad is it?”

  “Just drive.”

  Now she mouthed a string of prayers.

  The compound’s entrance came into view, illuminated by floodlights. As they sped toward it, the motorized gate slid closed. Two guards dashed out of the gatehouse, crouched and began firing on the car. She yelped and ducked her head, skidding to a stop, but the bullets merely thunked into the windshield, embedding themselves in the thick plastic.

  Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “This kind of custom armoring must’ve set you back a fortune in phony-baloney bucks, Graham. Very nice.”

  “Thank you,” Lugh said through gritted teeth.

  “Tires reinforced, too?”

  “Naturally.”

  The guards stopped firing as it became clear the vehicle was impregnable. A van came tearing up behind them. The storm troopers tumbled out and took up offensive positions. The BMW was blocked in.

  Caleb seized Lugh in a headlock and pressed the gun to his temple, quivering with pain and blood loss. Sweat beaded on his ashen face. Nevertheless, he kept a firm grip on the commune leader, making sure the guards had a good view.

  “Tell them to open the gate.”

  Lugh’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Open the gate.”

  “Louder!”

  “Open the gate! Open the bloody gate!” Lugh screeched, choking on terror and impotent rage. His eyes bulged in their sockets.

  The guards eyed each other and, as one, looked behind the BMW to where Baldy had his assault rifle trained on the car. Glaring malevolently, he shook his head no.

  Caleb jerked Lugh around to face the obstinate headman. He said, “So, Graham. Tell me how it went with David. Did my brother beg for mercy? Did you stay to watch? I know you like to watch.”

  “Open the gate, you idiots! Open it!”

  With a venomous curse Baldy lowered his rifle and signaled to the guards. The gate slid open and Elizabeth gunned it. As they raced toward the highway, the assault rifle spat a few last harmless rounds.