Morgan nodded with satisfaction. “We can stop there on our way to the police. If the journal incriminates Lashner further, we’ll take it to Paxton with the file.”
“Paxton can arrest Lashner and his thugs,” he said, “and we can get back to our lives.”
At his last words, a familiar wariness etched Morgan’s features. Ben longed to discuss their future, to clear away doubts, but there wasn’t time. They had to move before Lashner’s men realized their prey wasn’t returning to the cottage and came searching for them.
THEY NEARED the condominium, and Ben checked the rearview mirror, then relaxed. They were almost home free. No one had followed from the bar or fallen in behind during the thirty-minute ride. Soon Morgan would have Frank’s journal, and the police station was only ten minutes away.
He slowed to turn into the condo entrance.
Headlights flashed suddenly, blinding him, as a car speeded toward him, head-on. Morgan screamed and Ben slammed on the brakes.
From a side street, more headlights flared as another vehicle accelerated into the street and rammed Morgan’s side of the car.
With the glaring lights obstructing his vision and his breathing jolted by the collision, Ben heard the passenger door open and Morgan’s exclamation of defiance. He was fumbling blindly for his gun when someone jerked open the driver’s door and pulled him out.
Before he could raise his weapon in self-defense, a blow to the back of his head drove him to his knees. Darkness closed in, and he fought unconsciousness.
“Ben!” Morgan’s desperate cry pierced the fog descending on his mind.
Shots blasted, and Morgan’s cries ceased abruptly.
Unable to ward off the blackness, Ben slumped to the pavement. Resistance no longer mattered.
Morgan was dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Morgan’s ears rang from the blow across her face.
“That’ll teach you to kick me,” the bald-headed thug muttered in a gravelly voice. “Don’t get me riled, lady. That dumb security guard just shot my friend. One more peep outta you and I’ll waste you right now, to hell with orders. You understand?”
She nodded numbly. The unknown man had struck Ben with the butt of his gun. Horrified, she’d watched Ben drop to the pavement. His attacker had toppled when the bullet from the security guard’s gun hit him, and the other kidnappers had tossed their companion into the black van and sped away.
The bald-headed man on the back seat beside her had dragged her into the blue Buick, and now they were miles from the condo. She didn’t know if Ben was dead or alive.
Knowing tears would irritate her already-surly captors, she choked back a sob.
“Where’s the file?” the driver demanded.
She recognized his voice, the man from the airport. “What file?”
The thug beside her wrenched her arm. “Does Wells have it?”
She bit her lip to staunch a cry of pain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The driver punched numbers and mumbled into a cell phone. When he’d finished, he spoke over his shoulder. “Blindfold her. The boss says take her where we planned.”
Without resistance, she allowed the larger man to tie a covering over her eyes. She slumped against the seat and prayed Ben wasn’t badly injured.
If only she could go to him. She had to find a way to escape. Ben had come to her rescue so often, she’d used up all her luck and couldn’t expect him now. She was on her own.
Tears glided down her cheeks beneath the blindfold. Ben had risked his life for her so many times. How could she ever have doubted his love? Images of his irresistible smile, his broad, muscular chest scarred with honor, the unruly hair that persisted in falling over his broad forehead, the strength of his embrace and the intoxication of his kisses drove away the darkness in her mind.
Unwilling to risk rejection, she hadn’t told him she loved him. Only the intensity of that love sustained her now. She had to stay alive, if only to let Ben know how much she cared.
The car phone rang and the driver answered. She listened for some clue to where they were taking her, but the driver said nothing before hanging up.
“Hey, lady,” the hated voice called from the front seat. “That was a message for you.”
“What?”
“Ben Wells is dead. You might as well tell us where the file is.”
Shock robbed her of speech. Ben couldn’t be dead. She had to apologize for doubting him, to tell him how much she loved him, how she couldn’t live without him….
The cold fact hit her like a speeding train.
She couldn’t live without him. But Ben was dead. Lashner’s men had killed him.
“Go to hell,” she snapped at the driver.
This time when the bald-headed man struck her, she lost consciousness.
BEN GROANED and opened his eyes.
In the distance, the howl of approaching sirens pierced the silence. Hunching over him, Burt, the condo’s security guard, eyed him with concern.
“You lie still, Mr. Wells,” he said. “The police and paramedics are on the way.”
Ben propped himself on his elbows. “Morgan?”
Burt hunkered down beside him. “They took her.”
“Was she…hurt?”
“Alive. And kicking.” Burt managed a bleak grin. “She won’t make things easy for them.”
Ben closed his eyes. The guard didn’t know how easy killing her would be for Lashner’s assassins.
“They tried to take you, too,” Burt said, “but I saw what was happening. As soon as I’d called 911, I ran to help. When I shot the guy who beaned you, they took off. Guess they thought you were a goner, passed out like that and white as death.”
A police car and unmarked vehicle skidded to a halt, and their blaring sirens stopped midshriek.
Ben accepted a hand from Burt and pulled to his feet. His head swam from the blow, but he couldn’t allow dizziness to slow him. He crossed the street to the unmarked car and met Paxton climbing out.
“Lashner’s men have Morgan,” Ben said. “They plan to kill her and dump her body in another state.”
With his rumpled trench coat and tousled hair, Paxton bore an uncanny resemblance to television’s Columbo. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I won’t be if Lashner harms Morgan.”
The detective nodded and pulled out a small notebook. “Just answer a few questions first.”
“There’s no time.” Ben choked out the words. “Morgan’s as good as dead if we don’t find her fast.”
Paxton studied him a second, then shoved the notebook back in his pocket. “Hargett,” he yelled to the uniformed officer, “take these people’s statements. When you have a description of the perps and the vehicles, send out an all-points bulletin.”
“Yes, sir,” the young patrolman answered.
“I’m coming with you,” Ben said to Paxton.
The detective held him back with a meaty hand splayed across his chest. “I can’t let you do that. Let the paramedics check you out, then go home. I’ll call you when we’ve found her.”
Paxton hopped into his car and picked up the radio mike. Ben heard him calling for backup before he drove away with his siren howling again.
“Mr. Wells?”
Ben pivoted at the unexpected sound of Harper’s voice. “What are you doing here?”
“There’s an important message for you, sir.” The valet nodded toward the limousine parked at the curb.
“In a minute.” Ben waved away the approaching paramedic and turned back to Harper. “I have to give Officer Hargett a statement.”
And then I intend to follow Paxton.
Harper, his usually stiff expression fierce, shook his head. “No time, sir. It’s a matter of life and death.”
The valet glanced from Ben to the patrolman and back, then shook his head again. Puzzled at Harper’s strange behavior and frustrated at the delay in trailing Paxton to Lashner’s, Ben stompe
d to the limo, climbed inside and slammed the door behind him.
Harper settled behind the wheel, started the engine and drove away.
“What so important?” Ben demanded.
“You have a caller on hold, sir.”
Ben grabbed the car phone. “What is it?” he blurted impatiently into the receiver.
“An exchange,” Lashner’s unctuous voice announced.
Ben’s blood boiled. “I’ll kill you, you bastard, if you harm Morgan.”
“She won’t be hurt if you do as you’re told,” Lashner snapped. “First, you mustn’t talk to the police.”
“Too late,” Ben said with grim pleasure. “They should arrive at your house within seconds.”
Evil colored Lashner’s chuckle. “They won’t find her here. I’m in the middle of a party, remember?”
Ben’s heart skipped a beat. “Remember?”
“You can’t outsmart me, no matter how hard you try, so you might as well cooperate. I discovered the file missing from my desk not long ago and suspected you had stolen it.”
Ben spread his hand across the front of his jacket, and the folder crackled beneath his fingers. His attackers had missed it, and in his concern for Morgan, he had forgotten about it.
“Since the file includes the report from Hendrix’s nurse,” Lashner said, “I knew you wouldn’t return to the cottage or your house, so I set my trap at Frank’s condo, the most logical alternative.”
“Where’s Morgan?”
“I mentioned an exchange. Bring me the file within thirty minutes and I’ll set Morgan free.”
Morgan’s frantic cry echoed in Ben’s mind. As long as he held the file, maybe Lashner would keep her alive as negotiating leverage.
“Let me speak to her,” Ben said.
Lashner laughed again. “You aren’t listening. I told you she isn’t here.”
They’ve already killed her, Ben thought, then shoved the unbearable idea away. “How can I be sure you haven’t harmed her?”
“You can’t,” Lashner answered. “But returning my file is your only hope of saving her.”
Ben didn’t trust Lashner as far as he could spit, but negotiating could buy him time. “I’ll need more than thirty minutes to retrieve the file.”
“Nice try, but I can’t allow you time to copy the file for the police. Thirty minutes.”
“At your house?” Ben asked.
“A car will meet you at the gate.” A sharp click indicated Lashner had hung up.
Ben had no intention of showing up at Lashner’s. Once the file was back in his possession, Lashner would kill him and Morgan. “Harper, pull over.”
The limo slowed to a stop. Ben removed the laptop computer from its concealed storage space and connected its modem to the car phone. Within seconds, he had accessed courthouse records and was scanning a list of properties owned by Robert Lashner.
He believed Lashner when he’d said Morgan wasn’t at his house. The man knew he was under suspicion and wouldn’t jeopardize himself by detaining her where the police might search. His thugs had to be hiding her somewhere else, somewhere isolated and secure.
Ben scrutinized each of Lashner’s holdings as it flashed on the screen. All were commercial properties in well-lit, highly traveled areas, unsuited for concealment. Morgan’s time was running out.
He called up the final listing.
A citrus grove.
Miles off the main highway, a perfect place to retain a reluctant prisoner. Or commit murder.
He gave Harper directions to the property, and the valet floored the gas pedal.
Ben stowed the computer and reached to the back of his waist. His gun was gone. He’d drawn it during the attack, but had left it in the street when the police arrived. Harper, his bodyguard as well as valet, would have one, hidden in a shoulder holster beneath his dark suit.
Harper was pushing the limo well over eighty, but the miles dragged by. Morgan filled Ben’s thoughts. The first day he’d met her, she’d been shaken and bruised from the hit-and-run, grieving for her father, but terribly brave. The memories of her lovely face, angled toward him in the moonlight, the silky smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her lips and the tender fierceness of her lovemaking tortured him with poignant sweetness.
Fear shoved the memories aside and gripped him with a cold iron hand. He was risking Morgan’s life on the chance he could read his partner’s ruthless mind. If he had guessed wrong, he would lose everything that ever mattered.
The limo rocked on its expensive suspension as Harper left the highway for a sandy track winding through acres of mature citrus trees. Overhanging branches blocked the moonlight and plunged the limo into darkness.
“Kill the headlights, drive off the road and hide the car among the trees,” Ben said to Harper. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”
No sooner had Harper veered between two towering trees than the lights of a car on the track behind them illuminated the limo’s interior.
“Do you think they spotted us?” Harper killed the engine, unfastened his seat belt and drew his gun.
“We’ll know soon enough.”
Ben held his breath and waited.
WHEN MORGAN CAME TO, dampness ate into her bones like acid, and the stench of mildew and decay filled her nostrils. She raised her head and tried without success to peer beneath the blindfold. Shifting her aching body, she realized she was no longer in the car but tied to a hard wooden chair with her hands bound behind her and a foul-tasting gag in her mouth.
She listened, hoping for a sound to identify her surroundings, but silence thundered around her. She dropped her chin to her chest and yielded to the darkness.
Lashner murdered your father, an inner voice goaded her, and now he’s killed Ben. Are you going to sit there and let him get away with it?
She was helpless. There was nothing she could do.
Don’t give up. That’s exactly what Lashner wants.
A muffled clunk sounded behind her. Someone was coming. Given the chance, she would fight. If they were going to kill her, anyway, she’d at least go down swinging.
A door squeaked, and she tensed. Floorboards creaked as someone approached, and fingers fumbled with the bonds at her wrists. With her hands free, she crooked her arm and jammed her elbow toward her captor’s groin. An iron hand clamped her wrist, blocking the blow, while another ripped the blindfold from her face.
She blinked in the darkness, afraid she’d lost her mind.
Ben crouched beside her, a finger against his lips.
Happiness exploded through her, and she would have thrown her arms around him, but the warning in his half-closed eyes stopped her.
In the next instant, someone loomed behind Ben in the darkness, and she widened her eyes in alarm.
Alerted by her expression. Ben whirled and chopped the guard’s wrist with the side of his hand, sending the bald man’s gun skittering across the floor into a pitch-black corner.
With lightning quickness for such a big man, the guard lunged. Equally quick, Ben stepped aside and his attacker sprawled headlong, a victim of his own momentum.
The guard’s angry curses rang in Morgan’s ears. She held her breath, praying Ben, weakened by his injuries, could defeat the powerful, outraged man.
The bald man scurried to his feet, and Ben knocked him down again with a hard blow to the jaw. Unconscious, the guard lay immobile while Ben bound the man’s wrists with Morgan’s blindfold and recovered the gun in the corner.
He removed her gag, untied her feet and pulled her into his arms. His lips moved against her ear. “We have to wait here until Harper disables the other guard.”
She didn’t protest. As long as his arms were around her, she’d stay. Forever, if he asked her.
The door of the musty engine house slammed against the wall, and Harper filled the doorway. “The other guard won’t be giving you any trouble, sir.”
The valet disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.
Ben held her at arm’s length, his eyes burning in the darkness. “It’s all over now. Let’s go home.”
STUMBLING FROM WEARINESS, Morgan entered the living room of Ben’s house. Ben and Harper had handed the two captured thugs over to Paxton. With the kidnappers’ testimony and the incriminating contents of the file and her father’s journal that Officer Hargett had picked up from Esther, the detective had obtained a warrant for Lashner’s arrest.
She and Ben had waited at the station for hours until Lashner and his other hirelings had been locked away. During that time, Ben had been polite but subdued. He had brought her coffee and insisted that her bruised cheek and rope-burned wrists were tended. He’d reserved his comments for Paxton.
Once again Ben had saved her life, and now the moment of truth had arrived. When he’d embraced her in the run-down shed, he’d stated, “It’s all over.” Soon she would learn the meaning of his ambiguous all and it. Had he referred only to Lashner’s murderous scheming or included their marriage in the broad scope of his observation?
Uncertain how to respond, she had said little at the station or during the ride back to Ben’s house, afraid to risk making a fool of herself with unrequited declarations of love.
“Mrs. Denny’s laid a fire.” She nodded toward the embers smoldering behind gleaming brass andirons in the living room fireplace. “I’m too keyed up to sleep. Do you mind if we sit a while before going to bed?”
“Is something wrong?”
Longing to ask the status of their marriage but unable to find the right words, she shrugged. “I was wondering about Rhonda Covill and Terrence Appel and what part they played in Lashner’s scheme.”
Ben sank onto the sofa before the fireplace and tugged her next to him. “Rhonda turned over Lashner’s blackmail letters to the police. Lashner had threatened to reveal her affair with the tennis pro to her husband if she didn’t vote to sell the formula. She swears she had no part in your father’s death.”
“Do you believe her?”
“She and Frank were friends. I don’t think even blackmail would have forced her to harm him.”
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