“One of these days I’m gonna think up a very creative way to shut that smart mouth of yours,” Dean warned.
“Promises, promises.”
They exchanged grins, though Suz’s promptly faded when she glanced at the seat across from her and noticed Parker still wore an expression of pure doom. He was worried. Hell, so was she. But she and Dean had been trying hard to keep the mood lighthearted.
Lynn would be okay. She was smart and resourceful, and she knew how to take care of herself—Suz’s eldest brother Matt had ensured it when he’d personally trained Lynn and Suz in self-defense several years back.
But Suz doubted Lynn would need to utilize any of those deadly skills. Phil was an ass, but he wasn’t a violent ass, or at least he hadn’t been in the past. She didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but she was holding on to hope he’d simply talked Lynn into spending the weekend with him. She loved her BFF to death, but it was no secret Lynn Davidson was too nice for her own good. Wouldn’t be much of a stretch to believe Lynn had agreed to help out an ex, even if said ex happened to be a boring, undeserving jerk.
Suz’s gaze drifted to the window, though it was hard to admire the view with the waves of tension Parker was radiating. She stared at the Pacific Ocean. At the calm ripples on its blue surface stretching into eternity. Today the water was so pretty and peaceful but its hidden depths and currents remained, and suddenly it all made sense. This was why she had to be there—why she’d insisted on coming along.
She turned to give Parker a firm look. “Lynn’s going to be fine,” Suz said, the absolute belief in her statement ringing convincingly. “She knows how to handle Phil. I mean, she seems all soft and squishy, but she’s got a will of iron. If she has to lie to stay safe, she’ll do it. If she needs to run, she’ll do that. My BFF is a damn smart cookie, and she’s going to use every tool she’s got to the best of her ability. You know she will. You know.”
The anguish in Parker’s green eyes hardened to ice. “You’re right. But if that bastard hurts her…”
“Then we hurt him back,” Jack commented coldly. “Don’t worry, bro. I don’t travel anywhere without my brass knuckles.”
Suz thought he was kidding, but with three former Rangers, who knew?
The one other thing she knew with utter conviction—Phil Shotelle had better have kept his hands to himself. Parker wasn’t the only one willing to kick his ass to next week. Susanna Jones had never shied away from a fight in her life, and if she found out Philandering Phil had so much as touched a hair on Lynn’s head?
Lights fucking out.
Chapter Sixteen
Dread seized every muscle in her body as Phil sped off the highway. It wasn’t long before they were driving along the coastline, the road rising in elevation as the two-lane pavement hugged a cliff overlooking the ocean.
Her imagination was working overtime. Maybe they weren’t going to Bigelows’ house at all. Maybe Phil planned on taking her to the top of a cliff and pushing her off.
Oh sweet Jesus. Was he going to murder her?
The over-the-top fear that erupted inside her faded when she began to pick out houses in the landscape. Massive, luxurious mansions hidden away in the trees, long driveways and wrought-iron gates providing the utmost privacy to the wealthy residents in the cliff-side neighborhood.
“It should be right up ahead,” Phil mumbled, slowing the minivan as the road curved.
After several minutes of following the winding asphalt even higher on the cliff, an enormous gate came into view. Phil stopped at the electronic panel out front and pressed a button.
“Phil Shotelle and his fiancée,” he said briskly after a male voice crackled from the intercom.
Fiancée? Oh God.
The first chance she got at a phone she was using it, make no mistake.
The gates parted with a mechanical creak. Phil followed the driveway until it ended in front of the most spectacular house Lynn had ever seen. Some stucco and limestone façade made up the exterior, but mostly it was all glass. An endless expanse of sparkling windows, offering a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean and the rocky slopes all around the house.
“See?” Phil tossed a hand toward the landscaping. “This is the kind of house I could have, Lynn. After I get this promotion, I’ll be able to buy a place like this.”
Because it was all about the money. And power. Lynn fought again with her conscience. Should she keep playing along, or should she take a chance and simply walk away? But when she mentally listed the things Phil had done, each additional item only highlighted his determination.
He’d broken into her apartment to pack her bag, tricked her into coming to Monterey, threatened Parker’s business. Hell, looking back she wondered if he’d sabotaged her car.
Those were the actions of a determined man. A man who would destroy DreamMakers without a blink, especially if his world had also fallen apart.
She had to call Parker, ASAP.
The moment Phil killed the engine and reached for the door handle, Lynn prepared herself. She needed to get her phone out of his clutches.
The front door of the mansion swung open and a gray-haired man stepped onto the pillared porch. “Mr. Shotelle,” the man called. “Let me help you with your bags.”
Lynn slid from the van, her flats hitting the concrete as the older man limped toward her and Phil. He was in his late seventies, early eighties even, and when he introduced himself as Henry, Mr. Bigelow’s butler and security man, she tried not to raise her eyebrows. Seemed as if someone as wealthy and powerful as Jeffrey Bigelow would want a younger, fitter man to provide security.
“I’m afraid my employer was delayed in Los Angeles,” Henry told them as he went to get their luggage.
He struggled to lift their bags—their very light, very small bags, and Lynn’s pity meter shot skyward. She hurried over and took both bags from his hands with a smile.
“I can take them,” she said quickly. “I need some exercise after the drive.”
Henry nodded. “Whatever you wish.”
“You were saying Mr. Bigelow has been delayed?” Phil’s tone was pleasant, but Lynn had known him long enough to detect the note of irritation in there.
Poor baby. His big plans to impress his boss were starting off with a hitch. Damn bastard deserved it.
Henry’s presence could work to her advantage. If she could get a moment alone with the elderly butler, she’d ask him to use the phone so she could get the hell out of there.
“His meeting ran longer than he intended,” Henry answered Phil as the trio walked to the front door. “He’s decided to spend the night in the city and helicopter here tomorrow morning.”
“Helicopter?” Phil raised a brow.
“Yes. There’s a helipad behind the house. It’s quite convenient for a man who travels as often as Mr. Bigelow.”
They entered the house and Lynn gaped at the dramatic entryway, with its soaring ceiling, glass skylights and shiny hardwood floor. The sun had nearly set, so the light reflecting off the glass ceiling was muted, casting an orangey glow in the massive space.
“You’ll be staying on the third floor.” Henry took a step toward the spiral staircase to their left. “Separate rooms, of course.”
Really?
The butler quickly solved her puzzlement. “Mr. Bigelow feels it’s only proper for an unmarried couple to have separate sleeping quarters.”
“I agree,” Phil said with an approving nod. “Perhaps you could show us my room first, then we’ll get my fiancée settled.”
Aggravation jammed in Lynn’s chest as Phil took his suitcase before tightly gripping her hand and practically dragging her to the staircase. She didn’t want to make a scene and give poor Henry a heart attack, but enough was enough.
“I’d like to use the restroom first,” she blurted out. “I need to freshen up after the long drive.”
Phil’s dark blue eyes flashed. “You can do that in your room, sweetie.”
She swallowed a frustrated breath. Damn it. He wasn’t planning on letting her out of his sight, was he?
As her mind worked a mile a minute searching for a solution, she obediently climbed the stairs. Everywhere she looked she saw glittering gold and stately leather accents. Yet for all its modern appearances, the house still featured bedroom doors that required old-fashioned keys to lock them.
Henry took them to Phil’s suite first, then paused in the doorway.
“Your fiancée’s room is next to yours. After you get settled, ring me on the intercom, and I’ll come escort you to dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry after your drive, and my wife has prepared a lovely meal for you.”
“Your wife?” Lynn echoed.
Henry nodded. “Agatha. She cooks for the Bigelows.”
“Do you live in the house?”
“No, we have our own cottage on the grounds.”
Her heart sank. Crap. Henry and his wife would be leaving the mansion at some point. But the separate-room thing was even better because she did not want to be alone with Phil.
After Henry was gone, Phil turned to her with a concentrated frown. “Don’t.”
She gulped. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to leave.” A petulant gleam lit his eyes. “You promised to see this through, and you know what will happen if you don’t.”
Reasoning with him hadn’t worked. She had to do a better job of pretending she’d caved. “I’m sorry. I’m hungry, and I’m tired.”
Concern washed over his face. “Why don’t we get you settled, then? You can lie down for a while. Maybe have a hot bath. Or I can give you a massage.”
She smiled sweetly even as she hid her shudder. Talk about a motivator—she’d give an Academy Award-winning performance to avoid having him touch her. “I think I need food first.”
“Of course.” There he went again, acting all reasonable and shit as he led her into a room the size of her entire apartment.
Jeez, some people knew how to spend money. Even as she looked for a way out, she couldn’t help but notice the luxurious dark wood and the enormous windows.
And the lovely desk in the corner. The one with a telephone sitting on top.
Lynn spun, raising her arms in an attempt to draw Phil’s attention away from the important things. She snapped both hands toward the open door on the opposite side of the room she assumed held the bathroom. “There it is.” She checked over her shoulder, pleased to discover Phil watching her closely. She wiggled her fingers at the main door. “I really am starving. Why don’t you go buzz Henry? I’ll just wash my face and be ready to go.”
Phil nodded as he graced her with a pleased smile. “Now you’re being reasonable.”
Ick. The pretense was making her nauseated.
She slipped into the bathroom and collapsed against the wall, crossing fingers on both hands as she waited in silence for him to leave.
Ten seconds later the door clicked shut, and her heart leapt.
Lynn darted back into the room, jerking to a stop. The phone was gone. The fucker had grabbed it and taken it with him.
“Noooo! You bastard.” Lynn raced forward and turned the doorknob. The handle moved, but the door refused to budge. She knelt down and checked the locks, swearing again, louder this time, as she spotted the keyed deadbolt. The kind you needed a key to unlock no matter which side of the door you were on.
Phil had taken the phone and locked her in the room. She was trapped.
Or…was she?
She scooted over to the windows. Outside the sky had gone completely dark, pinpricks of stars shining against the velvet backdrop.
The middle window wasn’t a window—it was a teeny balcony. Lynn stepped out, wrapped her hands around the railing, and leaned over. Feature spotlights shone on trees far, far below, the long swoop of the driveway visible to the right. On the left, the crash of the ocean against the shore echoed off the cliffs, and between the two were nothing but trees.
Far, far below her, or had she already thought that?
She swallowed hard and forced herself to stay where she was and check the situation thoroughly. Obviously heading over the edge of the balcony wasn’t a solution. Even if she attempted a Rapunzel, all the bed sheets tied together wouldn’t reach the ground. Not without her throwing up on the descent.
But the house side?
Up against the house a solid wood trellis reached upward like a ready-made ladder. The roof above her dipped as the main overhead section met the extension of the dormer, and the lattice and roof were directly over the balcony. Worst-case scenario—if she did fall, it would be back onto where she currently stood.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was a plan. If she made it to the roof she could move over across the top to anywhere else on the building. Find a door to get inside, or maybe sneak all the way to the ground.
From there she could find a phone and call Parker. And once she’d warned him, she’d tell him to come and get her, because man, did she need to hear his voice.
All her concerns about the man were gone. He’d screwed up. But he’d known it, confessed it, and when push came to shove, in a tough situation, he was the one she wanted at her side.
But first she had to save herself so she could tell him that. She had no other choice. Lynn put her hands to the wood. Took a deep breath.
And climbed.
Chapter Seventeen
It was eight thirty when Parker came to a screeching halt in front of the wrought-iron gates at Jeffrey Bigelow’s estate. His worry and desperation had followed him all the way here, churning in his gut during the short chopper ride Dean had arranged with a buddy of theirs at the Coast Guard Air Station.
Once they’d landed in the private airfield in Monterey, Suz had nearly sat on him to keep him calm. His patience had been pushed to the limit as Jack convinced the airport owner to lend them his truck for a couple of hours. Cost them a hundred bucks, but the man finally agreed. Goddamn it, though, if they showed up and found that Shotelle had hurt Lynn, Parker was personally going to wring the guy’s neck for wasting their time with all that infuriating haggling.
Lynn still wasn’t answering her phone. The number they’d found in Shotelle’s Day-Timer kept going to voicemail, too—apparently it was the private cell number for Bigelow, and the man didn’t seem inclined to pick up.
The gate was locked tight, so Parker rolled down the window to access the intercom, but Suz beat him to it.
She stretched over him from the passenger seat and punched the button, sounding calmer than he felt as she said, “Susanna Jones here. I have urgent business with Mr. Shotelle.”
A gravelly voice echoed from the intercom, laced with suspicion. “This is a private residence, madam. Mr. Shotelle isn’t receiving guests.”
“I’m the features editor at the Bay City Press—I work for Mr. Shotelle. There’s a major emergency at the paper, and I’m afraid I must see him immediately.”
“One moment, madam.” The intercom crackled, then went silent.
Parker held his breath as he waited, praying to God this would work.
Miraculously, the gates slid open a second later. He sped through them, streaking toward the end of the driveway.
“That’s Shotelle’s van.” Suz shook her finger at it like she was casting out demons.
Parker slammed on the brakes so hard Dean flew forward and thumped his head on the back of Parker’s seat.
“Chillax, man,” Dean said sharply. “We’re already here. No need to kill anyone.”
Parker wasn’t listening. He was out of the truck in a flash, his boots connecting with the driveway. He had to make sure Lynn was all right. That Shotelle hadn’t done anything to hurt her.
“How do we want to handle this?”
He vaguely heard Jack’s brisk inquiry but didn’t respond. His pulse drummed loudly between his ears as he hurried toward the front door. Fuck coming up with a plan. Shotelle’s vehicle was here, which meant Lynn might be inside
the house—which meant that was where Parker needed to be.
The front door flew open in response to his frantic banging, revealing an elderly man with a slight hunch. “What is the meaning of this?” His eyebrows instantly dipped in consternation when he glimpsed Parker.
“Where’s Lynn?” Parker demanded.
High heels clicked behind them, and then Suz was at his side. She wasn’t smiling as she met the older man’s eyes. “I’m Susanna. We need to see Ms. Davidson right away.”
“You said you wanted to speak to Mr. Shotelle—” The man barely finished his sentence before Suz bulldozed past him, her heels snapping on the hardwood floor of the parlor.
The blonde glanced around, then opened her mouth and shouted, “Lynn! Where are you?”
“This is unacceptable,” the old man sputtered. “I’m calling the police! You can’t come inside without permission!”
Parker fixed the man with a deadly look. “We’re not here to cause trouble for you, but we are taking Ms. Davidson home.”
That earned him a bewildered frown. “Mr. Shotelle and Ms. Davidson are staying for the weekend.”
“Like hell they are.” Parker sensed Dean and Jack behind him, and turned to bark out an order. “Check the exterior perimeter. We don’t want Shotelle trying to sneak off.”
With matching nods, his partners stalked away.
But Phil disappearing didn’t end up being a concern, because footsteps sounded from above, and Shotelle appeared at the top of the winding staircase.
His blue eyes blazed when he spotted Parker and Suz.
“Mr. Shotelle,” Bigelow’s man blurted out. “These people claim—”
Phil cut him off, descending the stairs with purpose. “Would you be kind enough to give us a moment alone, Henry? I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding—my colleagues are under the impression they were invited to this retreat, which they are not.”
Henry seemed even more confused. “No, they’ve come to take Ms. Davidson home.”
All Fired Up (DreamMakers) Page 19
