by Debra Webb
Tough questions. But it wasn’t his job to analyze whatever motivated this woman or the man who was his client. He couldn’t get caught up in whatever old battles these two waged.
Finding the boy was his number one priority. During the past two hours, he’d searched the house, other than her bedroom, from top to bottom. He’d found nothing. If she wouldn’t give up his location, then he was to turn her or her location over to Van Valkenberg’s people.
His conscience nagged him.
What if turning her over to Brody or Van Valkenberg was a mistake?
Keith kicked the idea out of his thoughts and headed back into the living room. He couldn’t let sympathy get in the way of doing his job. The researcher in him didn’t want to ignore the details and that was his problem. He had to get past it. His orders were clear.
The Colby Agency didn’t work for monsters. If Victoria thought Van Valkenberg was on the up-and-up, then he was. It was as simple as that.
He traced the small bandage he’d taped onto his forehead. The gash wasn’t that bad, maybe could have used one stitch. It had bled considerably, as head injuries will, but it wasn’t so bad. He felt better now.
A light rap on the front door alerted him to the messenger’s arrival. Since he was no longer armed, he checked first just to make sure it wasn’t one of Ashley’s escape plans. He’d already learned her neighbors looked out for her. There was no way to guess who else she’d recruited.
Ben Haygood stood on the porch. Despite the warm July night, he wore a suit as well as a trench coat and Bogart-style fedora. He looked exactly like a P.I. from the Fifties, or maybe a gangster. Smiling, he gave Keith a little wave when he spotted him taking a look out one of the front windows. Keith ducked away as if he’d been caught by the enemy. It might not have been subtle, but it wasn’t as if he’d had any other way to verify who was out there. The front door didn’t have one of those nifty peepholes.
Keith opened the door and ushered Ben inside. “You didn’t have to come all this way yourself,” he said quietly. He’d expected someone a lot lower in the pecking order and a lot less eccentric.
Ben shrugged his trench coat-clad shoulders. “I didn’t mind. It was kind of cool taking the agency jet.” A frown tugged his eyebrows together as he perused Keith’s attire. “Nice robe.”
Keith snatched the overnight bag Ben carried from him. “You tell anybody about this and—”
Ben held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t say a word. We picked up your rental.” He passed the keys to Keith. “It was right where you left it. Nothing appeared to have been bothered. The woman’s—” he glanced around the room “—bag was still in the back seat. I left it there. The rental’s parked in the driveway behind that beat-up sedan she drives.”
“Thanks, Ben, I owe you.” Keith opened the bag and found two changes of clothes, jeans and a shirt, as well as a pair of trousers, another shirt and a coordinating tie. Sneakers and loafers and all the other necessary items Keith had asked for. Ben prided himself on being thorough. “Looks like everything is here.”
Ben passed him a large envelope next. “You’ll need this, as well.”
Keith looked confused a moment, then opened the envelope. A new agency ID and credit card were inside. A cell phone, pocket PC and, unbelievably, a new Illinois driver’s license.
“How did you manage this?” He checked out both sides of the license and it looked like the real deal.
With a knowing grin on his face, Ben said, “I can’t divulge that little secret.” He looked around covertly and added in a near whisper, “Besides, you wouldn’t want to know. Trust me. One word of advice, though. Get the real thing as soon as you get back to the city. Your average cop won’t know the difference, but if he calls it in…”
“I gotcha.” He’d just take the guy’s word for it. “Thanks. This’ll help a lot.”
Ben shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “I should get going.”
Keith was just about to ask him if he’d forgotten something when Ben hesitated, looked a little uncertain of himself, then patted the left side of his coat. “Oh yeah,” he said with a laugh, “I almost forgot.” He reached into an interior pocket of his coat and dragged out a .38 in a clip-on holster. “You might need this.”
Keith took the gun, no longer reluctant to feel the weight of a deadly weapon in his hand. “After running into those thugs in the woods, I can see why carrying a weapon is necessary.” No one would have to twist his arm in the future where being armed was concerned. He never had been big on guns, but that attitude had just changed drastically in the past twenty-four hours.
“So, how’s it going otherwise?” Ben asked, one hand on the doorknob. He glanced toward the hall that led to Ashley’s bedroom. “Is Miss Orrick giving you any unexpected trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Was Ben checking up on him for the boss? Or was he simply nosy?
“Any idea where the kid is yet?”
Keith shook his head. “She’s keeping that information to herself so far.”
“Just curious about how close the age progression turned out.” He opened the door. “I should get going. The pilot’s expecting us back within the hour.”
“Thanks again.”
Keith watched from the window as Ben loaded into what looked like another rental. The driver would take him back to the airfield where the agency jet waited. He’d be back in Chicago in no time.
Keith wondered if he’d be getting back there anytime soon. Hopefully he would and with his first successful field assignment under his belt.
Letting the blind snap back into place, he turned his attention back to business. He grabbed the bag Ben had delivered and headed for the bathroom. He checked on Ashley before easing her bedroom door closed except for a narrow crack. If she got out of that bed, he wanted to know it; he also needed a moment’s privacy to get changed into his own clothes. He’d trashed the suit he’d been wearing; there wasn’t a dry cleaner in the world who could have salvaged it.
Another lesson learned. Never head out on an assignment, no matter how confident of its brevity, without a change of clothes and other essentials for everyday survival.
Not wasting any time, he stepped just inside the bathroom door, didn’t close it all the way and dragged on the boxers, jeans and shirt. Clean socks and dry shoes were an immense relief. He shook his head when he discovered a wallet in the bag, as well. Ben definitely thought of everything. With a few other essentials out of the way, he reopened the door to Ashley’s room and simultaneously turned to head back to the living room. He figured he could rest on the couch for a few hours, but sleep was out of the question.
As he turned to head in that direction, something in his peripheral vision captured his attention.
He’d looked in on her so many times tonight he’d memorized every detail of the way she was positioned in the bed. Something was different now. Just one big ball rolled up in the middle of the bed.
Dammit. He should never have let her out of his sight. That mound was likely her pillows and she was probably long gone.
Adrenaline charging through him, he burst into her room and jerked the cover back to confirm his worst fears.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He froze. The lamp on the table next to the bed clicked on. Glaring furiously, she snatched the sheet out his hand. “Get out of my room!”
“Sorry.” He backed away. Grimaced at the pain roiling through his skull that he hadn’t noticed until now. Apparently, sudden moves were still off-limits.
She scrambled off the bed then and stood, hands on hips, to glare at him some more. “Look, I don’t know why you’re still hanging around. I’m not going to tell you where my son is. No way. Not tonight, not ever. So stop wasting both our time. You should get on that jet with your friend and go back to Chicago because I’m not cooperating.”
The idea that she hadn’t been asleep at all frustrated him further. “I could have done that,” h
e snapped. “I could have dragged you on that plane with me and taken you right to Van Valkenberg’s door.”
She recoiled as if his words had burned her. “It won’t do you or him any good to force me back against my will. I won’t give up my son.”
Part of him couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. “There are laws against what you’re doing, Miss Orrick,” he reminded as gently as he could.
“There are laws against forcing a person across state lines, too, Mr. Devers.”
She had him there. He couldn’t actually take her back to Chicago unless she was willing to go. In fact, legally, she could throw him out of her private residence. All he had on his side was the likelihood that she didn’t want trouble with the police.
What he needed was the boy’s location. And he’d discovered not a trace of evidence anywhere on the premises to indicate she even had a son. Apparently getting her to disclose that information wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
“You’re right.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his new cell phone. “I should just get this over with now and give your location to Van Valkenberg’s people. I’ve done all I can.”
She grabbed his arm. “No.” The frustration and fury she’d displayed moments ago had been upstaged by fear. “I’ll go back with you. Let’s just get some sleep. We’re both exhausted. I won’t try anything. I promise.”
Keith went on instant alert. The last time she’d behaved as if she intended to cooperate, she’d ditched him at a gas station. His gaze narrowed with mounting suspicion at her sudden about-face. “What’re you up to this time?”
She held up both hands. “Nothing. I swear.”
That move pulled the hem of the night shirt she wore a little farther up her thighs, drawing his wayward attention there. Great legs.
Her arms fell to her sides and one look at her face told him she knew he’d been staring at her legs. But then, she would have to be blind not to notice. His frustration level ratcheted up a notch.
“I think we need some coffee,” he suggested, attempting to find some place his gaze could rest that wouldn’t distract him. The words Dream Babe were plastered across her chest. If he looked there, he’d get caught up in the shape of her breasts beneath the worn thin fabric. The contours of her face were no less absorbing. If he looked for more than a second or two, he’d just keep staring. “We need to talk.”
“I have heat-and-serve cinnamon rolls,” she offered cheerfully. Maybe too cheerfully.
“All right. Cinnamon rolls and coffee, and we’ll discuss the issues.”
She nodded eagerly.
He turned away but hesitated before leaving the room. “Maybe you should put some clothes on,” he said without looking back.
She now fully understood that he had a problem with looking at her so scantily dressed. Probably wasn’t in his best interest to have let that slip. It was just as well, he decided as he left her room, closing the door carefully behind him. If he kept getting sidetracked by various parts of her body, she’d notice anyway.
He glanced back at her door. He wasn’t worried about her trying to slip out the windows. The two in her bedroom had been painted shut long ago. Just now, he needed that barrier between them.
Who knew? Maybe the building attraction would serve his purposes. He didn’t see exactly how just yet, but he could hope.
HE WAS ATTRACTED to her.
Ashley stood in the middle of her bedroom, both stunned and flattered.
Okay, she shouldn’t be flattered, but she just couldn’t help it. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d thought about the concept, much less felt any electricity generated between her and a member of the opposite sex.
This private detective liked what he saw. Her heart fluttered. She’d stopped thinking of herself as desirable ages ago.
Stop it, she ordered herself. This was not the time to go there, as tempting as it might be. She chewed her lower lip and thought about the situation for a moment. She could use this to her advantage.
While his friend had visited, she’d used his distraction as an opportunity to put Plan B into action. Since she hadn’t been able to give him the slip, and his determination on reuniting her with Desmond was clear, she’d had no choice but to assume the worst-situation scenario.
She’d called her mother on her land line. Always a last resort for her as far as communications were concerned.
Now all she needed was forty-eight hours to make sure all was a go. Once forty-eight hours had passed, it wouldn’t matter what Desmond or anyone else did to her; Desmond would never know where Jamie was.
Because even she wouldn’t know.
Chapter Eight
The smell of cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee had filled her kitchen before Ashley sat down with Keith Devers. What would it hurt to tell him as much of the truth as possible? It wasn’t as if it would change anything. She’d already set things in motion. Nothing she or he or anyone else did would change that now.
She and her mother had made the decision long ago. If the time ever came when Ashley felt that there was no other way to protect her son, this extreme step would be taken. To ensure that her mother had sufficient time to escape, Ashley’s job would be to distract the threat for as long as possible, hopefully for at least forty-eight hours.
The countdown had begun two hours ago.
She lifted the tray of cinnamon rolls out of her oven and inhaled deeply, memories of making sticky rolls like this with her son flooding her senses. Jamie loved the sugary sweet pastries and she loved baking them for him, especially from scratch. It had been a really long time since they’d baked pastries or cookies, much less anything else, together. Too long.
Using a spatula, she lifted a couple of rolls and slid them onto plates. She could feel Devers watching her. She’d purposely chosen her tightest jeans and a form-fitting pullover with a hemline that didn’t quite reach the waist of her jeans to hopefully distract him further.
A tingle of excitement shimmered through her and she silently scolded herself for allowing such a foolish thought. She hadn’t set out to tempt a man since her college days. She wasn’t even sure she remembered how. But since she’d noticed him eyeing her feminine assets, she figured that was the route to go. Might as well use what she had.
He was quite the snazzy dresser himself. As she poured two mugs full of coffee, she stole a covert look at him. He had spent the past half hour alternating between peeking out the windows and leaning against the counter to observe her every move. Now he stood propped against the doorjamb, having just moved back to the kitchen from his routine round of the rest of the house. The jeans he wore fit nicely and looked well washed, as if maybe they were his favorite pair. The shirt was navy, an appealing contrast to the blue eyes. The shirttail was tucked in. A leather belt perfectly matched the loafers he wore.
Metro, she decided. The kind of guy who liked to look good no matter what the setting or circumstances. Exceedingly well groomed and very particular about his wardrobe, but undeniably straight as the proverbial arrow when it came to his sexual preferences.
She barely caught herself before the smile slid across her lips. Unsure how long she could keep it to herself, she turned her attention back to serving the midnight snack she had prepared. The idea of how disgruntled he had looked in the woods with his clothes ripped and soiled had her grinning widely. She’d been a little too busy to notice how much the situation bothered him; then he’d gotten that blow to the head and that had changed everything. He’d bandaged the injury, which only made him look more appealing.
She couldn’t like him. Certainly couldn’t trust him. She had to remember that, no matter how much those feminine assets of hers kept noticing his masculine ones.
If they hadn’t gotten captured by those drug hoodlums, she wouldn’t be here right now trying to entertain the enemy and her son wouldn’t be headed to who knows where with her mother.
“Is there something I can do to help?” he offered, h
is voice sounding even deeper than usual after the extended silence.
“I’ve got it.” She placed the mugs on the table, one next to each plate. “Let’s dig in,” she invited as she took a seat at the table.
He sat down directly across from her, placed the paper napkin on his lap and dug in. Contrastingly, she kept her napkin clutched in her hand. Whenever she ate anything sticky like this, she always got messy. No point in sticking her napkin someplace that wasn’t handy.
“Not too bad for ready-to-bake,” she commented after swallowing half her roll practically in one bite.
He nodded and took another bite. That he had consumed his first roll with scarcely a pause told her he didn’t have any complaints.
“How about another?” She jumped up to serve up another round without waiting for his answer.
“Why did you run away ten years ago?”
Well, they were supposed to talk. Too bad he’d decided to start all the way back at the beginning. There were parts she’d just as soon forget.
She slid into her seat again and considered how much to divulge. At first, she couldn’t see how she had anything to lose by being truthful. Still, she wasn’t sure about some aspects of her relationship with Desmond. Did this man know who he was dealing with? She didn’t think so.
At least she hoped not. It would be a shame for a seemingly nice guy to knowingly represent such an evil man.
Only one way to find out what he knew. “I was afraid for my life.”
He swallowed. “You’ve made that abundantly clear. My real question is what made you feel that way? Desmond Van Valkenberg is a highly respected businessman. He’s never been associated with the slightest scandal. What do you feel he did that threatened you and your son?”
Ashley suppressed the anger that immediately rose at his dismissal of her assertions against Desmond. Like everyone else, Devers only saw what was on the surface. Gave Desmond the benefit of the doubt over her first-hand knowledge. Since she’d been the one to run, she was automatically considered the one who had something to hide…the one who’d done wrong.
