The Bachelor Pact Box Set

by Rita Herron

  She opened the door, but caught the reflection of the Blazer still parked in the shadows. Knowing she couldn't sleep with a pervert watching the house all night, she grabbed her cell phone and called 911. Later she'd work up one of her little protective spells to keep the other perverts away.

  How could Sophie possibly be angry with her when she'd saved them both from a madman?

  * * *

  Lance hadn't expected to fall asleep, but exhaustion had finally gotten to him. Either that or the heat. He'd slumped down on the seat, his head thrown against the window of the driver's side, his legs sprawled in slumber. Minutes later, someone blammed on the door of his truck.

  Jarred from the first stages of REM, he jerked upright, but he was so tired his head immediately fell backward. Good grief, he must be dreaming. He closed his eyes again and decided the blamming sound was a jackhammer. He'd fallen asleep on the job. Reid would have to oversee things; he needed to rest.

  The hammering continued, louder, then a voice. "Open up, sir."

  Sir? Who was talking to him? One of his workers? He had to wake up. He had something important to do... what was it? Pushing against the seat, he swiped a hand across his face and squinted through slitted eyes. A bright light blinded him. The sun? Was it morning?

  He tried to crawl out of bed, but slid and his head hit the steering wheel. Through the rungs of the wheel he noticed a blue light swirling in the sky. A police car? What was a policeman doing at his house? His hand connected with the steering wheel as he dragged himself upright, and he realized he wasn't at home but in his Blazer. Sophie's. Right, he'd been watching her house to protect her.

  The blamming started again. He swung his face sideways and squinted at the sunshine glaring through the window. It wasn't the sun, though. A beefy cop's face was pressed against the window, a flashlight aimed in Lance's eyes.

  Blast it all to hell. Trying to orient himself, he rubbed at his bleary eyes, then threw up a hand to signal that he intended to roll down the window. The officer's hand went to his gun, his expression ominous.

  Lance threw up both hands. "Don't shoot." He swallowed, struggling to unclog his sleep-deprived voice. "What's wrong, Officer?"

  "License and registration."

  Lance nodded and leaned sideways, digging through the crap on his front seat to reach the dash. A hammer and box of nails fell from the seat, nails flying in all directions. He scrambled to retrieve them, and wrapped his hand around the hammer, but too late, he realized the officer thought he planned to use it as a weapon, because he opened the door, his gun drawn.

  "Drop it and step out of the truck, mister. Now."

  The commanding voice brooked no argument. Lance released the tool and pivoted.

  "Have you been drinking, sir?"

  Lance shook his head. "No, just tired."

  "Your words are slurred. How much have you had?"

  "Nothing," Lance said, wishing he could drag his eyes open more than halfway.

  "Step out of the car, sir. And do it slowly."

  Lance stifled a groan, but opened the door and climbed out. A wave of dizziness washed over him from exhaustion, and he wobbled.

  The man's hand clamped down onto Lance's with a steely grip. "Come on. You're going downtown, buddy."

  "But I didn't do anything." Lance steadied himself to an upright position by holding on to side of the truck.

  "A neighbor called and reported a stalker in the vicinity. Man in a Blazer watching her house." The policeman jerked Lance toward the squad car. "You're the only one on the street, buddy."

  "No." Lance tried to extricate himself so he could look into the policeman's face, but the man's grip tightened.

  "Do you want me to add resisting arrest to the charges?"

  Lance balked. "I'm not resisting. I was just watching—"

  "Tell it to the judge." Beefy hands slapped a pair of handcuffs on Lance, then pushed his head downward and stuffed him into the backseat.

  The officer's accusations sank in as the door slammed shut, trapping Lance in the backseat behind the protective mesh wall. Someone had called and reported a stalker? Someone who'd seen his Blazer? Who?

  Lance slid down into the seat, mortified as the answer splintered through his befuddled brain.

  Sophie.

  Had she called the police for revenge?

  * * *

  Sophie had unpacked, thrown on a nightshirt, and scrubbed her face free of makeup when Lucy wobbled in, humming "Forever Young" and dancing through the den with an invisible partner. Blue lights swirled outside, lighting up the foyer, and Sophie peeked out to see a police car rolling down the street.

  "It looks like you had fun." She indicated the blue lights. "That car didn't bring you home, did it?"

  Lucy frowned. "Of course not. In fact, you should be proud of me." Lucy hiccupped. "I scoped out the neighborhood and your house when I got home. Some pervert was hiding out in his vehicle behind some trees watching the house."

  Sophie shivered. "You're serious?"

  "Maybe you have a stalker from the show."

  Sophie peeled back the curtain and watched the patrol car drive down the street. Tomorrow she'd ask the station manager if she'd received any unusual fan mail or phone calls.

  Lucy vaulted toward her, her curly hair flying around her face as she enveloped her into a hug. Sophie recognized the scent of a man's cologne on her neck and alcohol on her breath. "It's okay, though, I'm here now, Soph. The two of us are back together, invincible."

  Sophie hugged her sister, tears threatening at her vulnerable tone. How many times had she promised Lucy that everything would be all right when she was younger? All the countless times they'd watched a patrol car haul their mother away. Lucy always cried, while Sophie hugged her, reassuring her that nothing could touch them as long as the sisters had each other. If they stuck together, they were invincible.

  Suddenly glad for Lucy's visit, she took her hand and led her to the kitchen, automatically brewing coffee for her sister and pouring a diet Coke over ice for herself.

  Lucy climbed on the bar stool, dangling her legs. "So how was the weekend?" Lucy asked. "I've been dying to hear. It looked like you were having a great time."

  "Good, that's how I wanted it to look." Sophie joined Lucy at the table, then placed sugar and creamer on the counter for her sister. Lucy dumped both in the coffee, stirring and splashing it everywhere.

  "You mean you didn't have fun in Cancun?"

  Sophie shrugged. "The resort was fabulous, the ocean beautiful, the weather perfect."

  "But Rory?"

  "Edward Scissorhands."

  "An octopus, huh?"

  Sophie shook her head and sipped her drink. How could she explain when there was nothing concrete to criticize? "I didn't feel a connection."

  Lucy rolled her eyes. "You mean that soul-mate thing?"

  Sophie nodded, waiting for Lucy to laugh, as she usually did. "I know you don't believe in it, but I do, Lucy. I'm tired of the rat race of dating."

  "I believe in karma between people, but not the one-person-for-everybody theory. How can you be tired of dating?"

  "I want more than a different guy every night. After a while, dating starts to feel meaningless."

  "Once upon a time you didn't need a man, Soph. We simply needed each other."

  Sophie studied her sister, hearing her vulnerability and remembering that she had once felt the same way. Watching her mother flit from one man to the next had created a distrust for men in general. Sophie had vowed not to repeat her mother's mistakes. She wanted a meaningful relationship with one man—a man who would love and honor her. "You're right. I don't need a man, Lucy." But she still wanted one—a big difference.

  Lucy tapped her spoon on the counter. "So does this mean you're canceling the dating series this week on the show?"

  "No." Misery laced Sophie's voice. "I can't cancel now. Besides, I'm on the show to dispense information. Some of the singles services might help lonely people meet
one another."

  "You have to join one, too, Sophie. Learn to have fun."

  Sophie pressed a finger to her lips, the luscious taste of Lance's lips still lingering. She had found a guy, but he didn't want her.

  "So I take it you and Rory didn't get it on at all, not even a little nooky?"

  Lucy's expression was so forlorn that Sophie laughed. "No. I came up with excuses all weekend. The show. My image."

  "The image thing. Good gracious alive, Sophie, you worry too much about perceptions."

  And you don't worry enough. Sophie stifled the comment, refusing to start up their age-old argument.

  "You need to learn to go with the flow. Have fun. Enjoy life."

  "Like you're doing?"

  Lucy pushed away the coffee. "Yes. Lance's brother is a hottie. He can dance and, man, can he kiss!"

  "I thought those were whisker burns on your face. I wish you wouldn't get involved with Reid."

  "I'm not involved. We simply went to dinner, went dancing. He showed me around Savannah."

  "And you made out."

  "All work and no play makes a girl boring." Lucy twirled a strand of hair around one finger. "Did you know that having sex actually helps keep you younger? It's good for the heart and the skin and—"

  "And working hard makes a girl successful, safe, and independent." Sophie shook her head and glanced at the silver case. "Speaking of work, Lucy, why didn't you tell me you were selling adult sex toys?"

  "I told you I was selling products to enhance a romantic relationship. The Sleepover, Inc., parties are all the rage in the big cities."

  "I can't let you display that stuff on my show. Savannah's more conservative than New York and L.A. and Vegas."

  Lucy winced and stood, gesturing toward the front window. "Can we discuss this tomorrow? I'm beat."

  "Sure." Sophie sighed. She had a show to do in the morning. The couples would return to discuss their dates. She had to face Rory again. Smile for the camera.

  "You didn't say anything to Reid about our show life in Vegas, did you?"

  Lucy kicked off her sandals and wiggled her bare toes. "Of course not, sis; I told you to trust me."

  "I do." Sophie tried to ignore the mess Lucy was creating in her house. Her little sister was a whirlwind of chaos, with her sweet naïveté and superstitions. "But I don't trust Reid Summers."

  "Why not? He seems nice, and he's fun, and he likes to have a good time."

  "He's a player, Lucy." And Lance's brother.

  And Lance had hurt her too much already for Sophie to trust any of the Summers men.

  * * *

  By the time Lance reached the police station, any remnants of sleep had dissipated and cold reality stared him in the face. He had been given the Breathalyzer test and passed, but the cop insisted he'd been disorderly, so he'd been fingerprinted and thrown in a holding cell with a wino, a teenage punk strung out on God knew what, and some potbellied redneck bozo with a toothless smile aimed his direction. Across the way, a woman wailed as if there were no tomorrow.

  He'd also heard the officer order his truck to be impounded. He felt fairly certain that in the light of day he could beat the charges, but by the time he paid an attorney and got his Blazer out, he would be out a small fortune.

  The stench of sweat and urine floated around him. He and Reid and Chase had been called the Terrible Three in high school, but he had thought he'd long ago passed the stage where he found himself in the slammer.

  Until Sophie.

  Had she stood at her front window and watched the police haul him away? Was she sleeping like a baby in that obscene four-poster bed while he sat on this grimy, stained floor, huddled into a knot of nerves? Would he make it home in time to clean up for his morning meeting?

  The redneck peered at him. "Hey, ain't I seen you over at Trade Off's?"

  Trade Off's was the gay bar across town.

  Lance shook his head, rubbed at his throbbing temples, and geared up for another sleepless night just as the woman across the way launched into an off-key version of "Folsom Prison Blues."

  Chapter 7

  Reid Summers paced the front office of their company, his mind jumbled with memories of the night before with Lucy Lane. Was she as wild in bed as she was on the dance floor? Was her bare skin as silky as those unruly strawberry-blond curls?

  What had she thought of him? She'd seemed attracted to him, but he could have been wrong.

  Trying to banish the images from his mind, he approached Lance's desk. Lance would be here any minute for their breakfast meeting. Reid had to focus on work this morning, not let his lust for the gorgeous Lucy sidetrack him.

  Lance never allowed a woman to mess with his head or interfere with his work. Why couldn't he be as focused and responsible as his brother?

  Where was Lance, anyway?

  Reid glanced at his watch and frowned. Lance was the most punctual man he'd ever known, especially in business situations. And Lance knew the importance of this meeting with Emmet McDaniels.

  McDaniels was an investor from California who'd already purchased several of the dilapidated buildings on the east side of Savannah. He needed a developer to turn them into small businesses with lofts above the storefronts to purchase or rent, and Chase, Lance, and Reid desperately wanted the job.

  Chase had left blueprints with him, and Reid would oversee the details of the construction crews, but his brother had the business mentality.

  Reid had spent all his life trying to live up to Lance's expectations. He wouldn't disappoint him now. He'd file Lucy's luscious kisses away in his mind until he was off the clock.

  But tonight, maybe, he'd see her again and maybe he'd—

  "Mr. Summers."

  He jerked his head up at the sound of Emmet McDaniels's voice. He'd been so preoccupied he hadn't heard the man enter.

  "Mr. McDaniels, come on in." McDaniels removed his hat, and Reid shook the elderly man's hand. "My brother should be here any minute." Reid checked the message machine but it wasn't blinking.

  The man's thick gray eyebrows shot up, accentuating his balding head. Reid automatically rubbed a hand across his own crown. "You mean he's not here?"

  "I'm sorry, but no. I don't know what's keeping him; my brother is normally punctual. I'm sure he has a good reason for being late." He grabbed the phone. "Let me try his cell. He's probably on his way."

  Reid quickly punched in the number, but agitation turned to worry when it didn't ring. He tried Lance's home number, too, but no answer.

  McDaniels tugged at his tie, looking impatient, and Reid asked about the man's trip, then routed the conversation to the changes in Savannah, and housing needs of the community. But a half hour later he was running out of steam, McDaniels was clearly agitated, they were both hungry, and Lance still hadn't made an appearance.

  "Why don't we go to breakfast, then swing back here and see if Lance has shown up? He must have had some kind of emergency on one of the projects."

  "Well, that certainly doesn't sound good."

  Oh, hell, no, it didn't. But what other reason could there be? Unless Lance had had some kind of accident. Sweat beaded on Reid's forehead. "I'm sure there's an explanation. We really want this job, sir."

  "Listen, Mr. Summers, I'm a very busy man." McDaniels started for the door. "I'm only here for the day, and I don't have time to wait around. I have two other developers chomping at this project. If your brother's absence is any indication of how you conduct business, I'll definitely go elsewhere."

  "But... wait. Let me see if he left the bids and the blueprints. I can show you those over breakfast."

  McDaniels checked his watch with a snort. "All right. But let's get on with it."

  Reid scavenged the desk, the files, even the extra storage room and found nothing. Lance must have all the information with him.

  Scraping together the charm that had saved him in high school, he strode back to the front office and pasted on a smile. Unfortunately McDaniels seemed immune,
unlike his female teachers. "I'm sorry, he must have the bids and the blueprints with him. Please let us reschedule."

  "I don't think so, Mr. Summers. If your brother was serious, he would have at least shown or phoned to explain his delay." McDaniels slid a hat over his bald spot, turned, and sailed out the door, firmly dismissing Reid.

  Reid chased him outside, trying to apologize again, but the man climbed in his Mercedes and tore down the graveled drive. Reid fisted his hands in frustration and strode back inside, but the phone was ringing as he entered. He jerked it up, his foul mood spilling over in his clipped tone. "Hello."

  "This is a collect call from Savannah Correctional Facility," a recorded message stated. "Will you accept the charges from inmate – " The voice paused and his brother's voice filled in the rest.

  Reid gaped at the phone in shock. Lance was calling from jail? "Yes, I'll accept the charges."

  "Reid, hey, are you there?"

  "Yeah, man, what the hell happened? How'd you wind up in the slammer?"

  "It's a long story," Lance said, sounding weary. "Last night I didn't want to leave Sophie alone in the house with the back door torn off, so I parked down the street in the truck so I could keep an eye on things, but I fell asleep. Next thing I know the police show up, claiming a woman reported a stalker in the neighborhood."

  "You think it was Sophie?"

  "Probably. I guess she wanted to get back at me. Anyway, can you bail me out?"

  "Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can." Reid hung up, grabbed his keys, and headed to the door. But his mind replayed the evening before. He'd seen the blue lights of the police car entering Sophie's street as he had exited. Good God almighty, he'd had no idea they were coming after his brother.