by Mallory Kane
She didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds. “Maybe lunch?”
“No wonder you can’t stand up.”
He yanked back the covers on the king-size bed with his free hand. He hadn’t told her this was the suite he used when he stayed overnight. That hadn’t happened many times. Most recently was the night Sonya had been kidnapped.
He helped her sit, then watched as she lay down and stretched out her long, shapely legs. Reluctantly, he covered them.
She sighed and closed her eyes.
He picked up the phone. “What do you want to eat?”
She shook her head slightly. “Nothing. I don’t feel like eating.”
The cook’s sleepy voice answered the phone. “Cook, sorry to bother you, but can you fix a plate of cheese and crackers and a pot of herbal tea and bring it to my room? Thanks.”
“Sophie, I need to ask you a few questions while we’re waiting for the food. The police questioned you at the scene. What did you tell them?”
“Nothing. I said it was an accident.”
“Did you mention the blue Ford?”
“The officer asked me about it, so I said it sideswiped me. That’s all.”
“Good. That’s what I told them. Now—” he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her “—did you get the license plate? Did you see the guy? Anything?”
His cell phone rang, interrupting him. It was Montoya.
“Montoya.”
“Why haven’t you answered any of my calls? How’s Sophie? What happened with the police?”
“Sophie’s all right. She has a badly sprained wrist, not broken as I’d suspected, and a nasty-looking bruise on her forehead. And a black eye. We just got back from the emergency room.”
“Where are you?”
“At Carlos’s estate. She’s staying here tonight.”
“What about the police?”
“They think it was a hit-and-run. That the car sideswiped Sophie and took off.”
“Let me talk to her.”
Sean surveyed her pale face and the shadows beneath her closed eyes. “She’s pretty groggy. They gave her pain medication.”
“Have her call me in the morning, then. And Majors—”
“Yeah?”
“Be sure she’s safe.”
“Don’t worry. That’s right at the top of my priority list.”
“Speaking of priorities, have you heard anything from the kidnappers?”
“No, and I don’t like it. It’s been too long.”
A discreet knock on the door announced Cook’s arrival. She came in and placed the tray on the foot of the king-size bed.
Sean nodded at her and she left.
“You don’t think Botero has heard something and is keeping it from you, do you?”
“That’s impossible. Javier, his nurse, is with him twenty-four hours a day. Plus, Carlos doesn’t have a cell phone. I can be patched into any call that comes into this house. My people have very specific instructions about what to do if the kidnappers call. Trust me. There’s been no word.”
Montoya was silent for a beat. “What do you think that means?”
Sean didn’t miss the concern in Montoya’s voice. It was the same concern that had been plaguing him all day. Why hadn’t the kidnappers called? For his boss’s sake, he prayed Sonya was still alive.
“I wish I knew.”
He pulled the tray of food closer and poured a cup of fragrant, steaming tea for Sophie, who took it gratefully, wrapping her left hand around the warm cup.
“Let’s meet tomorrow, and discuss strategy.”
Sean frowned. “Let’s meet tomorrow and discuss who Rachel Brennan is, and who you really work for.”
Sophie sent him a sidelong glance as she reached for a cracker with her braced hand. She snagged one between two fingers.
Montoya’s derisive laugh echoed through the wireless connection. “I’ll discuss it with Rachel, but she doesn’t respond well to threats.”
“No threat. I thought we had a deal.”
“You stated your condition. I never agreed.”
“Give it a rest, Montoya. We’re on the same side.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
As he disconnected, Sophie reached for another cracker.
“Are you going home?” she asked.
“Yes. My daughter expects to see me when she wakes up.”
“Michaela.” Sophie smiled. “She’s so lucky to have you as her daddy.”
“I’m lucky to have her,” he said, hearing the sadness in her voice and picturing the scars on her back and legs.
Anger surged through him. If he could reach back through the years, he’d turn the tables on the bully who’d inflicted so much pain on Sophie.
Sophie opened her eyes. “She has your eyes and your determined jaw.”
Anger of another kind swept through him. “Yeah. Well, that’s up for debate.”
He pulled up the coverlet and smoothed it over Sophie’s slight form. “You need to rest.”
“You don’t want to talk about her with me.” Sophie’s voice was tentative, sleepy.
When he lifted his gaze to hers, her eyes were closed.
“I’m so sorry, Sean. I should have gone on. I never should have come up to your apartment. I didn’t mean to invade your private space.”
Her eyes drifted open and a sweet smile lit her face. “But I wouldn’t trade the world for the opportunity to meet Michaela. She’s so beautiful. So perfect. How could anyone ever leave her? At least she knows you’ll always be there.”
Sean studied Sophie’s face. Her expression was soft and shadowed with loneliness and sorrow.
“How could anyone have left you?” That had slipped out. But even as his brain flashed warning signals, he leaned forward and gently kissed her bruised forehead.
She turned her head, making it impossible for him to ignore her luscious, full lips. He slid his mouth down her temple, her cheek, her jaw, until he’d traced a path from her forehead to her lips.
Her breath caught as his lips brushed against hers. The little sound told him his kisses stirred her, and that sent him into rigid, pulsing hardness. He touched her throat and the underside of her jaw as he deepened the kiss, tasting her lips, urging them apart to slip his tongue inside. She moaned and opened her mouth, accepting his intimate probing.
He wanted her desperately, totally. His brain was fogged with passion. His arousal throbbed painfully against the constricting denim of his jeans.
Running his hand down over her breasts, he felt them tighten under the thin material of the T-shirt that was her only clothing. He touched and squeezed each taut nipple and was rewarded when her back arched upward, pushing her breasts against his hand.
He placed one hand on either side of her to brace himself as he took her mouth in a deep, mind-numbing kiss, then trailed his tongue down her neck. He bent his head to find the hard peak of one breast. As he nipped at it and slid one hand down to the hem of the T-shirt, her arm came up and the stiff plastic of her wrist brace scraped his neck.
He froze. What the hell was he doing? Did he think he could make love to her in Carlos’s house, while his daughter slept, secure in the belief that her daddy was at home? Did he think Sophie had changed, just because she was hurt? He still couldn’t trust her—professionally or personally.
If she was like his ex-wife—
Sophie opened her heavy-lidded eyes and frowned. “Sean…” she whispered.
He straightened, wishing he could pretend nothing had happened. Wishing he could go back in time for two minutes and resist her vulnerable beauty.
“I assume you’ve had your fill of excitement for one day,” he said dryly as he looked at his watch. “I’m going home. If you need anything during the night, press Star Four on the phone. That’s the night security guard. He can contact Javier, the nurse.”
He turned toward the door.
“Sean?”
Her voice held that tentative note th
at always got to him. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. I’m grateful that you were following me.”
He looked back at her. “Even though you tried to lose me in traffic?”
She blushed.
“Maybe one day you’ll be grateful enough to tell me the truth.”
She put a lot of effort into not reacting. “The truth?”
“Who you are, and what organization the Weddings Your Way facade is covering up.”
He left, gratified by the look of guilty surprise on her face.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Sophie awoke to the sound of her bedroom door opening. She automatically reached toward her bedside table where she kept her gun, but a shooting pain in her wrist stopped her.
She wasn’t in her apartment. Sean had brought her to Carlos Botero’s estate.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am, but Mr. Majors left word for you to be woken up at nine o’clock. Cook sent you breakfast.”
Sophie yawned as the maid put a large tray down on the unused side of the bed. The combined scents of coffee, fresh rolls and bacon swirled around her, helping her wake up. She looked at the foot of the bed. The tray from the night before was gone.
“He also asked me to find you something to wear.”
“Why? Where are my clothes?”
“Mr. Majors said to have them cleaned. I’ve laundered your underwear. It’s here with the dress. Mr. Majors said to find you something long.” The maid held up a loose, flowing rayon dress in a soft pale blue.
Something long. A twinge of appreciation squeezed Sophie’s heart. He’d known she’d want something to cover her legs.
“Thank you,” she said. “That’s a beautiful dress.”
“It was—is—Miss Sonya’s.”
Sophie eyed the young maid. Was referring to Sonya in the past tense just a slip of the tongue? Or something more sinister?
The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “Pardon me, ma’am.” Her lower lip trembled.
“You’re worried about Sonya?”
“Yes, ma’am. She was always so good to me. To all of us. I hope—” The girl couldn’t go on.
Sophie didn’t think it was an act. The young maid truly believed that Sonya might already be dead. “What’s your name?”
“Amelia, ma’am.”
“Amelia, Mr. Majors and the people I work for are doing everything we can to get Sonya back safely. If you hear or see anything that might help us, you let Mr. Majors know, okay?”
“Yes. Okay. Thank you, ma’am.”
After the maid had left, Sophie dressed as quickly as she could, considering the wrist brace.
The dress was a little large in the bosom, but otherwise it fit nicely, though it only came to slightly below her knees. She was sure it was mid-calf or longer on Sonya.
Wishing she had some stockings, she slipped her feet into the black, medium-heeled sandals she’d worn the night before.
She sat on the bed and poured a cup of coffee and buttered a roll. It occurred to her that she was hungry. After downing the roll in a few bites, she took a second cup of coffee awkwardly in her left hand and stood at the window, looking out over the immaculately kept grounds.
This was Carlos Botero’s estate. She thought about the old man, sick and plagued with fear for his daughter’s life. She thought about all the people working to find Sonya.
If she were kidnapped, no one would pay her ransom. No one would wait helplessly, hopefully, to hear whether she was alive.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “You’re being maudlin. You know you’re just not family material.” Her brain fed her a vision of Sean and his daughter, laughing together.
She smiled, and her eyes stung.
A sharp knock on the door startled her. She turned and set the cup down on the table beside the window as the door opened.
It was Sean. He was dressed in a summer-weight blue suit and looked like a young executive.
His eyebrows shot upward as he took in her appearance. “Wow. You look—different.”
“Thanks. It’s my new look—no makeup, a borrowed dress and shoes that don’t match.”
He stared at her until she squirmed in discomfort. “Well, it works. I like the color.”
“Do you?” She looked down at herself. “I never wear blue.”
“It—” He paused. “It brings out the color of your eyes.”
Suddenly uncomfortable, she crossed her arms. “I meant to ask for a sweater.”
“A sweater? Why?”
“No sleeves.” She chafed her upper arms, her face turning pink with embarrassment.
“Oh, right,” Sean said as comprehension dawned in his eyes. “Let me see.”
He stepped close behind her and positioned her so the sun shone on her right arm. Sophie stood immobile as he ran a gentle finger down the armhole of the dress. He examined her bare shoulder, touching a place here and there. Then he turned with her, so her left shoulder was illuminated in sunlight, and did the same thing.
When he touched the ugly scar the heavy belt buckle had left, her skin tightened and she shivered.
“This is the only one that shows,” he murmured, smoothing his thumb over the tiny ridge.
Sophie’s whole body tightened in reaction as she recalled the feel of his hot body pressed against hers and his lips brushing the scar.
“It looks beautiful to me. But we could put a Band-Aid on it, or you could tell people a kid in grade school threw a stick at you.”
Sophie grimaced and blinked rapidly to stop the tears that were threatening to fill her eyes. Nobody had ever treated her so considerately. She’d never let anyone close enough before.
And she couldn’t now. Letting him make love to her, letting him in, was a mistake.
Not family material. She pulled away, out of his grasp. “Thanks,” she said shortly. “The stick story should work.”
Sean dropped his hands and let Sophie retreat. If she hadn’t moved, he’d have bent his head and kissed her scarred shoulder. He couldn’t believe how hard it was to keep his hands off her. Almost as hard as it was to hang on to his belief that she was too much like his ex-wife.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Are we going to Weddings Your Way? I want to hear everything. What did Rafe find at my apartment? Were they able to glean any evidence from the Prius?”
Sean held up his hands. “Whoa. One thing at a time. Yes, we’re going to Weddings Your Way. I need to be briefed on everything that’s happened too. Are you ready?”
His cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID. It was his security guard, Kenner. “Kenner, what is it?”
“Kidnappers are on the line, sir.”
“Where is Carlos?”
“In the study.”
“I’m on my way. Patch me through.” He swung around and sprinted through Sophie’s open door and down the hall toward the study. He heard the click of her heels on the Italian marble floor behind him.
There was a buzzing on the line, then he heard Carlos’s voice.
“Please, tell me my daughter is alive.”
“Just listen up, old man, or you’ll never see her again.”
Sean burst into the study and waved a hand at Carlos, gesturing to him to stop talking.
“This is Sean Majors, Mr. Botero’s chief of security. Mr. Botero is too ill to speak with you.”
“What the hell? He was just talking.”
Sean mouthed the word cough at Carlos, then met Javier’s gaze. Javier nodded and leaned down to whisper in Carlos’s ear.
Carlos started coughing.
“You’ll have to talk to me.” Sean waited. Were the kidnappers anxious enough to deal with him rather than Botero?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophie walk over to the desk and whisper to Carlos. The old man looked up at her for a moment, then nodded. She took the portable telephone handset from him and held it to her ear.
Sean frowned.
“Botero be
tter get to feeling better soon,” the voice on the phone said. “Because if he doesn’t personally make the drop this time, we’ll ship his lovely daughter home in a box, or maybe two or three boxes.” The man laughed.
“He’ll be there. When? Two hours from now?”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. The plans have changed. I will call you again. Meanwhile, you’d better get to work, because the price has also changed. It has doubled. This time, it is four million.”
Sean grimaced, his pulse racing. “Wait. You have to give us time to get the money together.”
“You should have thought ahead. Mr. Chief of Security. You should have expected the price to go up, since you disobeyed our instructions last time.”
He met Sophie’s gaze. “How did we disobey? We were there. We left the money in the designated place. You didn’t even pick it up.”
“I was too busy counting the sharpshooters you had surrounding me. When we say alone, Mr. Majors, that is what we mean.”
“I understand.”
“Do you also understand that I am a man of my word? I have promised you that Botero will have his daughter back, maybe alive, maybe dead. Would he like a part of her back as a gesture of my sincerity? A thumb, perhaps?” The speaker laughed again.
“No!” Sean took a deep breath. “That won’t be necessary. I will carry out your instructions. When will we hear from you again?”
“Whenever I please. Goodbye, Mr. Sean Majors, Chief of Security.”
Sean held his breath, but all he heard was dead air.
“They’re gone,” Sophie said, turning the handset off and setting it on Carlos’s desk. “Do you think they’d really—”
“Javier,” Sean interrupted before Sophie could voice the grotesque suggestion the kidnapper had presented.
He sent her a warning glance as he pocketed his cell phone. “We need to be prepared, in case Mr. Botero needs to go out this afternoon.”
He sat on his heels in front of Carlos. “Sir, do you think you can go to the ransom drop? It could be today or tomorrow. They wouldn’t give me a time.”
“Anything. Anything for my Sonya.” Botero’s hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. “None of this would have happened if Sonya had listened to me. Where is that bastard DeLeon? This is all his fault. I ought to serve the kidnappers his head on a platter.”
