by Kaylea Cross
But once Mila got back to her apartment, her mood darkened. Her apartment—she could scarcely even call it that since without David’s help she would not even be able to afford the rent—seemed lonely and desolate despite the expensive furnishings and antiques she had acquired on David’s credit card. Without David, she had nothing. If he were to disappear from her life, she would indeed have to pack up and go back to Prague.
Enough, Mila thought, willing the grim thoughts away. Most likely David was simply too busy to call her, tidying up his nifty profit and settling with Finnegan and Magee or, more likely, screwing Magee and Finnegan out of their shares. David had told her about his entire plan. It was as simple as it was brilliant, and it did not require a finance degree to execute it, but merely the confidence of a corrupt attorney general and a high-ranking company executive.
“Oh, David, where are you?” she tugged at her hair. “Just call me and tell me that everything is all right.”
To give herself something to do, Mila grabbed her phone to browse the Internet. She was about to flip from a CNN page when a headline caught her eyes: “Breaking Story: Charity president arrested in insider trading scandal.” Mila felt a chill crawl down her spine. She focused her eyes on the article and began to read: “Today, David Muller, President of Phoenix Fund, was apprehended in his apartment on charges of insider trading. State Attorney General Cornelius Finnegan and Kevan Magee, a member of the board of directors of Rover Enterprises, are charged with collusion in the insider trading scheme.”
Mila did not bother to read the rest. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she was going to throw up. Visions of David being dragged through court flashed before her eyes. And then, jail.
No, she thought; she refused to have her life ruined. She had to keep her head clear. If she acted quickly there was still a chance that she might make it. David had rented the apartment under a fake name, which meant that she had a little bit of time before the authorities would link it to him.
She raced into David’s study, rushed to the safe, and began to turn the lock dial in the complicated sequence that David had given her. Her fingers were shaking as she counted out the sequence. When she reached the last number on the dial, she held her breath and pulled at the safe door, praying for it to open. The door remained shut. “Damn it!” Mila hissed. Could it be that David had lied to her about the code? “Calm down,” she murmured. “Just be calm.”
She repeated the sequence. This time her fingers were still and precise, and the safe opened. She grabbed the contents of the safe and shoved them into a backpack.
Then she raced to her closet and pulled out the most practical items of clothing: there was no time to pack her designer dresses and heels.
Twenty minutes later, Mila exited the building. She was wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and a hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled over her head. She ducked her head and reached for her cell phone. There was only one man who could help her now, and that man was not David Muller. “Anton? It’s me, Mila. Can I come over?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Anton’s voice boomed triumphantly.
“I am asking now,” Mila lowered her voice into a sexy purr. “So, can I come over?”
“You know you can. My door is always open for you, sweetie pie.”
“I will be right there.” Mila shoved the phone into her purse.
She had all of David’s accounts and passwords. Her head spun at the thought of how much money was at stake. There was still a chance, a real fighting chance that this money could be hers, and Anton Kovar was the man who could help her get it.
Anton Kovar was young and handsome. He was just as rich as David—in light of recent events, richer probably. But most importantly, he could give her the protection she needed. Mila pressed her lips firmly together. She could learn to love Anton Kovar just as much as she had loved David Muller.
Chapter Twenty-nine
A week later, Janet Maple and Dennis Walker stood in the office that used to be Alex Kingsley’s.
“What’s going on?” Janet asked. “I thought you said there’d be a staff meeting. There’s no one here but us. It’s after five, so we might as well call it a day.”
“It’s a nice office, isn’t it? Especially so without Kingsley in it.”
Janet nodded. Alex’s stint as the head of the Investigations department at the Treasury had turned out to be a brief one. He had been relieved of his duties pending further investigation of his conduct at the Treasury as well as his work on the Borrelli case at the DA’s office. “It is a nice office, but you still didn’t answer my question. What are we doing here?”
Dennis looked around conspiratorially, mischief flashing in his eyes. He took a step closer to Janet so that he was only a few inches away from her. He ran his fingers along her neck, stopping at the collar of her blouse. “Maybe I wanted to see what it would be like to make love to you at the office.”
“Dennis! Stop that! Do you want to get us both fired?”
Instead of answering, he slid his hand down to her breast and nibbled on her ear.
Janet trembled with pleasure. “Fine, but why does it have to be in this office? Can’t we use your office or my office?”
“We could. But right now you might want to gather your bearings. Ham Kirk will be here at any moment.”
“You!” Janet mock punched Dennis in the chest.
“But I do like the office idea though. I think my office will work just fine.”
Janet ran her hands over her hair and straightened her blouse. “I’ll get you for this!”
“Am I interrupting?” Ham Kirk stood in the doorway.
“Ham! How wonderful to see you!” Janet exclaimed a shade more enthusiastically than she intended.
“It’s wonderful to see you too, Janet. It’s been a long time, and believe me it was not because of my choosing.”
“It could have been shorter if you had been taking my calls,” Dennis cut in.
“Cut an old man some slack, will ya?” Ham squeezed Dennis’s shoulder. “But seriously speaking, Dennis, Janet, thank you for getting my job back.”
“I think we are the ones who should be thankful, sir. Had it not been for your swift action, Muller could have gotten away.”
Ham smiled. “I appreciate it, Dennis, but I never take credit for other people’s work. You and Janet solved this case. All I did was call my friend on the senate subcommittee to make sure that the case got priority.”
“And he was just in time. We raided Muller’s apartment the next day, and there were suitcases all over the place. A few more hours and it would have been too late. You should have seen the look on his face. He went all white.”
“I wish I had seen it,” Janet retorted.
“I was told that it would be too dangerous for you to come,” said Dennis.
“But it wasn’t too dangerous for you.”
“I had the FBI to protect me.”
“And they could not have protected me?”
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that the two of you bicker like an old married couple,” said Ham, chuckling.
“It’s too bad we couldn’t find Muller’s money,” Janet hurried to change the subject. “He agreed to give up his profits in exchange for a reduced sentence. He even gave us his offshore account numbers, but they had all been emptied out. The money is not there.”
“And I really believe that Muller has no idea where the money went. He looked ashen when he heard that all the money was gone,” Dennis added. “I wonder who took it.”
“It might still turn up. Besides, neither Muller, Magee, nor Finnegan will be able to use it now. At least not for a very long time.”
“So, are you checking out the grounds before your first day back on the job?” Dennis asked.
Ham rubbed his chin. “I wanted to talk to you about that. To both of you—that’s why I came here today. How would you and Janet like to go into a private venture with me?”
“Hu
h?”
“During my early retirement I started a small consulting business, and it seems to have taken off.”
“What kind of business?” asked Dennis.
“A discreet investigations agency specializing in confidential matters. Discreet and confidential are the key words in the job description.”
“Do you mean working for Washington?”
“Possibly, and the Feds. That sort of thing. Mostly white collar crime and occasional background checks. Your skills would fit right in. What do you say?”
Dennis and Janet exchanged glances.
“Thank you, Ham. But Janet and I would like to have some time to mull it over,” said Dennis.
“Can’t we talk about it now? What’s bothering you? I assure you that the benefits will be comparable—in fact better—than those at the Treasury.”
Dennis rocked back on his heels. “Would dating coworkers be against your policy?”
Ham’s eyebrows rose as he eyed Janet and Dennis in turn. “Oh?”
Dennis nodded, and Janet blushed.
“My only policy is to get the job done,” said Ham. “Now, are you up for it? It’ll be a hell of a lot more exciting than working for the Treasury and a lot less red tape. Oh, I almost forgot the most important part: you’ll both get a twenty percent raise, plus a discretionary bonus at the end of the year.”
“In that case, I’m in,” said Janet.
“So am I,” added Dennis.
“Very well. Shall we say you start in two weeks then?”
“Sounds good to me,” Janet agreed.
“Works for me.” Dennis nodded. “But now, if you’ll excuse me, Ham, I’ve got a date, and I don’t want to be late. You’d better come too, Janet.”
“Good for you, Dennis. You’ve made the right choice,” said Ham. “I’ll see you both soon.”
Once they were standing outside, Dennis put his arm around Janet’s shoulders. “Where do you want to go and celebrate?”
“Anywhere you chose,” Janet replied. There was one thing bothering her.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that I feel bad for Laskin. Do you think he’ll patch things up with Aileen?”
Dennis frowned. “Look, Janet, I know it was a tough decision for him, but he made the right choice, and he knows it. The case will take a while, and Aileen will need all the friends she can get. Laskin can be that friend. And who knows? Their friendship could turn into something more.” Dennis paused. “Just like ours did,” he added and drew Janet into a long, passionate kiss.
“Yes, it did.”
Janet felt a surge of happiness run through her. She had many reasons to feel on top of the world: she had busted a conspiracy involving a top ranking government official with the added benefit of revenge on her ex-boyfriend, and had just been offered an exciting new job. But the joy from these accomplishments paled in comparison to the way her heart swelled from the knowledge that Dennis Walker was her man. Not a coworker, not just a friend, but her man.
* * * *
About the Author
Marie Astor is romantic suspense bestselling author of the Janet Maple Series: To Catch a Bad Guy, Catching the Bad Guy, and Bad Guys Get Caught, contemporary romance novels This Tangled Thing Called Love, Lucky Charm, Smitten at First Sight, and a short story collection, A Dress in a Window. Marie is also the author of a fantasy adventure novel, Over the Mountain and Back.
In her spare time, Marie loves being out-of-doors. She enjoys hiking, swimming and skiing. Marie loves hearing from her readers and always answers all of her emails personally. If you would like to join Marie’s mailing list or find out more about Marie’s books, please visit Marie at her website: www.marieastor.com.
Table of Contents
CHRISTMAS CAPTIVE
Rebecca York
* * *
Published by Light Street Press
Copyright © 2013 by Ruth Glick
Cover design by Earthly Charms
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Overview:
Was it attempted murder or a boating accident? Either way, the hard-driving Jordan Campbell is in a coma. When Frank Decorah asks nurse Hannah Andrews to use her psychic talent to connect with Jordan, she knows it’s a dangerous job. Once she’s on the case, whoever tried to kill Jordan will likely turn on her. But as she digs into the man’s background, she can’t refuse Frank’s assignment. Now she’s risking her life–and her heart.
Heat level:
Scorcher
Chapter One
Intent on his covert mission, Jordan Campbell ducked his head against the wind blowing salt spray into his face. Swiping his dark hair back from his forehead, he glanced up to the mansion perched on the cliffs above the ocean. From this vantage point it looked like a fortress, but he’d come to realize that stone walls might be no defense against the danger lurking there.
The 150-year-old house was called Campbell’s Reach, built by his great-grandfather on a stretch of Northern California coastline that had once been desolate. Now civilization was creeping toward the estate, but it would never overtake the property as long as he had any say in the matter.
He loved this house and the surrounding park, laid out to look like a natural part of the scenery. He and his sisters had come here in the summers when they were kids. They had inherited the estate on his father’s death. June had needed money, and he’d bought her out. A few years later, Stephanie had sold her share to him because she was too absorbed in her city life to come here often.
Until recently, he had taken his ownership for granted. Well, that and a lot more.
Now he understood that he’d been deluding himself for months. But he was going to remedy that situation today. He cut the engine speed of the powerboat and steered the small craft home, finding the calm channel that led to the sea-level landing.
At the cliff side, he pulled up at the ring anchored to the rock. On the crest of a swell, he tied up the boat, then waited for the right moment to step off onto the landing platform. It was wet and slippery, and he was careful of his footing as he made for the rough-hewn steps carved into the towering cliff face.
Knowing he was invisible from the house, he stopped at the entrance to one of the secret tunnels carved through the stone. Probably his grandfather had done some smuggling here, but Jordan was only smuggling himself back inside.
At breakfast he’d made sure everyone knew he was taking the speedboat. But they all thought he wouldn’t be back so soon.
A stout wooden door barred the entrance to the tunnel. He pulled it open and slipped into a dark passage, where a flashlight was hanging from the wall. With the beam switched on, he followed more steps up into the heart of the cliff.
Once inside the house, he could get the evidence he needed—because he wouldn’t act without proof.
His hand clenched around the barrel of the flashlight as he fought his suspicions—and his own guilt. He hadn’t paid attention to warning signs, and now his trusted estate manager, Brian Lowell, was dead. Still, he kept hoping against hope that his suspicions were all wrong.
He stopped at another wooden door and listened. When he heard nothing from the other side, he opened the barrier and stepped into the basement of the mansion. Another set of stairs led upward, to the rooms at the back of the house overlooking the ocean. Before leaving on his boating expedition, he’d laid a trap for anyone who planned to take advantage of his absence.
Now he would see i
f someone had taken the bait.
After switching off the flashlight, he opened a hidden doorway and stepped into the back of the storage closet in his office. On hinges he’d recently oiled, he opened the door just enough to see into the room. Relief washed over him when he saw no one.
He waited several moments to make sure he was alone, then entered the office and headed for his computer, reassured that the screen was as blank as when he left it. Before he reached it, something slammed down on the back of his head, and the world went dark.
Chapter Two
Hannah Andrews fiddled nervously with the tall latte on the table in front of her. Although she’d agreed to meet a man named Frank Decorah in this downtown San Francisco coffee shop, she was having second thoughts.
She glanced around at the cheery Christmas gifts displayed on the shelves near the counter and at the ten other patrons enjoying coffee drinks, some working at computers, others getting e-mail on tablets. Safety in numbers, she thought. But not even Bing Crosby, singing White Christmas over the sound system, could make her relax.
When the door opened, she glanced up and saw a tall man in the doorway. He appeared to be in his fifties with salt and pepper hair.
Frank Decorah. She recognized him because she’d looked up his security agency on the Web and seen his picture, and she knew from his bio that he was an ex-Navy SEAL. He’d looked tough and capable on the screen. In person he seemed even more formidable, and she wondered again why she’d agreed to meet him when he’d been so secretive about the job he was offering.
Yet two factors had swayed her. He was based in Maryland, and he’d offered to fly all the way across the country to meet her. And he’d made the meeting sound urgent—a matter of life and death.
