by Mary Burton
“I’m in charge,” she said with breathless excitement.
“Maybe some other time when I’m not about to explode.”
Some other time. This wasn’t just one night for Ayden. He wanted more. Nicole wasn’t sure that she could give him that, but for now she wanted him so badly that she refused to argue.
She smiled and opened her legs. He pushed inside of her and she gripped the sheets as he moved faster and faster in her.
When the explosion came, they collapsed against each other, their bodies slick with sweat.
Denny quickly discovered that the bank had closed early because of the snow. He’d been thrown for a second before he remembered the lawyer. She had seen Christina Braxton, otherwise she would not have called.
He smiled. He’d wanted to meet Charlotte face to face for more than eighteen months. He’d done some checking when Braxton had tossed out her name. She’d come up hard like him and had scraped her way to the top. She wasn’t no country club miss. She was trailer park. Like him.
He’d kept his eye on her and checked on her from time to time. He’d never approached her. Just watched from afar when the mood struck. She was a looker. Long legs. Red hair. More than once he’d imagined that red hair splayed on a pillow as he buried himself between her creamy white legs and strangled the life from her.
Now that he was actually going to meet her, he felt a bit nervous. As tempted as he was to try her out this afternoon, he knew he wouldn’t. The job came first.
Keep it simple.
He arrived at the law offices of Wellington and James just before five. He wasn’t sure if anyone would be there. Most of the town had cleared out because of the snow and holiday. But when he tried the front door he was pleased to discover it was unlocked. Braxton had said that Charlotte Wellington was a hardworking woman. In fact, if she’d not been working late that summer night, Braxton wouldn’t have hired her.
Denny pushed through the door, careful to be as quiet as possible, and then he locked the front door behind him. Better he had surprise on his side.
He paused at the doormat by the front entrance and wiped his feet before crossing the carpeted floor to the hallway that led to the back.
The place looked very fancy, high-end. Classy. For Denny, he didn’t care so much about the class. As long as he had his cars to work on and money for good beer, he was content. He worked just enough for people like Braxton so he didn’t have to get a real job.
Denny reached to the holster in the hollow of his back and pulled out the .22. He screwed a silencer on the tip. He also carried a knife and brass knuckles but hoped neither would be necessary.
The offices down the narrow hallway were all dark except the last on the left. Good. He moved down the hallway, his soft-soled shoes soundless on the hardwood floors.
He tensed when he heard the rustle of papers and the squeak of a chair. Quick and easy was all he was asking for. He put his gun behind his back.
Denny paused inches before the threshold. From this angle he could see Charlotte, who sat behind her desk, her head bent forward. This close he could see that her skin was as pale as a china doll’s and her reddish hair hung loose around her shoulders like spun silk. She wore a frown and her right hand clenched her pen.
He moved to the doorway and watched as her gaze flickered up to him. First, green eyes sparked with surprise, then confusion, and then fear. He liked the fear.
“May I help you?”
Even her voice sounded rich.
Suddenly, he wasn’t in such a rush to get back to his car. Christina Braxton wasn’t going anywhere until the weather broke.
Simple, you dumb bastard. Keep it simple.
The voices chanted in his head. The last time he’d ignored the voices he’d almost gotten arrested. That had been in New York five years ago. And since then he’d faithfully heeded the advice. But today, he resented them. New York was a long time ago. And didn’t he deserve a little fun?
A touch of complicated wouldn’t hurt.
“Do you work for Wellington or James?” The question was meant to rattle her cage some more.
Charlotte lifted a neatly plucked brow like she was queen of the world. “I am Wellington.”
He didn’t mind the spark of anger. She had pride, a great rack, and she was smart. Not such a bad combination. “Sorry, Ms. Wellington.”
She rose and he could see that her dark skirt hugged a narrow waist and hips that rounded out just right. “What can I do for you, Mr. …?”
“Smith. Mr. Smith.” Denny let his gaze flicker over her figure. So nice.
He moved into the office knowing that invading her space would set her on edge. Experience had taught him how easy it was to unnerve someone just by getting too close. Upsetting Charlotte gave him a perverse pleasure. “You the only one here today?”
“No, I’m not.”
The faint flicker in her glance told him she was lying. “Come on, there’s no one else here right now.”
Charlotte Wellington reached for the phone on her desk. She wasn’t one to play games. Too bad.
Smiling, he swung the gun out from behind his back and pointed it at her. She needed to understand that he was in charge. “No phone.”
She dropped her hand, but to her credit, remained as calm and cool as if they were the best of friends. A rack. Brains. And now balls, so to speak. He liked breaking this one.
“What do you want? I don’t keep much cash on hand.” She kept her gaze direct as she nervously moistened her lips.
“Not looking for money.” He moved closer until he was only a foot from her desk. This close he could smell her perfume. Rich. Spicy. “You sure don’t look like any of the lawyers I’ve ever worked with. Mind if I call you Charlotte?”
She raised her chin. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And no, you may not call me Charlotte.”
That bit of sass made him laugh. “You should be complimented, Charlotte. It’s meant as one.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You got a first name, Mr. Smith?”
“Denny. Denny Smith.” Why not give his name? She’d not be telling anyone.
She was doing her best to look unruffled but he could see that she was scared. The rapid rise and fall of her chest. The way she fisted and unfisted those long, manicured fingers. “No reason to be scared, Charlotte. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What do you want, Mr. Smith?”
“It’s the holidays, Charlotte. Why are you working here all alone?”
“I’m not alone.”
“Charlotte, come on. I know when you’re lying. I always know when people lie. I kinda have a gift for that.”
“I’m working today because there’s a mountain of paperwork that needs to be done. My boyfriend is going to be here soon. We have a party to go to.”
In all the times he’d checked up on her, a boyfriend had never materialized. The gun still trained on her, he sat in the leather chair across from her. He crossed his legs. “Sit.”
Charlotte hesitated just a fraction and then sat down. She tapped her index finger on her desk.
“I can almost hear your mind working.”
“Really?”
“You’re wondering what I’m going to do.”
“I’m wondering when my boyfriend is going to get here.”
“You don’t have a guy. Your life is this office. I know. Because I’ve been watching you.”
Her skin paled and her eyes darkened for a moment. “What do you want, Mr. Smith?”
He shrugged. “You called me, Charlotte.”
“What do you mean, I called you? I’ve been working all day.”
“Three rings, Charlotte, and then a hang up. If you’re the only one working here today, you called me.”
Tension tightened her spine and she sat so straight he thought he’d hear her spine crack. “I called a number.”
He was really enjoying himself. “My number.”
Fear did flicker in those green eyes now. “I hung up.
We never spoke.”
“I’ve been waiting for that call. You see, we had a mutual friend. Richard Braxton.”
He straightened the cuff of his pant leg, which had gotten a little twisted when he’d walked here. “The bank was closed, so I decided to come to you. I need to know where Mrs. Braxton is, Charlotte.”
Charlotte’s heart hammered in her chest and it took all her resources not to show her fear. But when she thought about the pictures in the file that Detective Ayden had shown her, she nearly cracked. Since she’d made the phone call, she’d done a few Internet searches, trying to find out what had happened to Claire Carmichael. The San Francisco Chronicle told her what she’d needed.
Those images of Claire swirled in her head now as she faced the man. She was grateful she didn’t know where Nicole Piper had gone. She prayed she’d fled this damn city. “She left here about two hours ago. I don’t know where she went.”
He relaxed back in his chair and tapped his index finger on the butt of his gun. “Getting the truth out of someone with the first question is sorta like hitting the lottery, Charlotte. A one in a million shot. And in my thirty-eight years, I’ve never hit the lottery.”
She laid her long fingers on her desk. Keep him talking. Don’t panic. “I promise you, Mr. Smith, that I don’t know where Christina Braxton went. Her late husband instructed me to leave her alone when she opened her package. He then told me to call you. I’ve done only what he asked.”
“Was she alone?”
Her lips flattened. She didn’t want to tell him anything. But a sprinkle of truth always made the lies more believable. “There was a man with her.”
Mr. Smith scratched his chin. “You think they left the city?”
Her voice remained steady. “Yes.”
“Please. The roads are a mess.”
“She was determined to get home. Chances are they’re stuck on the beltway somewhere.”
“I don’t think so, Charlotte. My guess is that they’re in a hotel or restaurant. What was the man’s name?”
“Ayden. I think he was her boyfriend.” She wasn’t certain about that one. It was just a vibe she’d gotten from them. She debated whether or not to tell Denny that Ayden was a cop, and then decided not to. If she didn’t get out of here alive, it would be better for Ayden if Denny wasn’t expecting to meet an armed cop.
Mr. Smith seemed to consider what she’d told him. “My bet is they landed in one of the four hotels near here.”
“I told you they left.”
“You’re lying.” He leveled his gun at her heart. The amusement in his eyes vanished and they hardened with a look that chilled her.
Simmering panic exploded. She arched back in her chair trying to press herself through the leather. “Look, we both work for the same man. There’s no reason to kill me. I’d be a fool to withhold information from you.”
He leaned forward. “Christina Braxton is trapped in this town somewhere until morning. I’ll find her within an hour.”
“Then just leave me. I won’t say a word. I swear.”
“Like I’m gonna buy that one. Besides, I like you when you’re afraid, Charlotte. It makes your pale skin blush and the sharpness in your gaze fade.”
Silent, she stiffened.
“Stand up, Charlotte.” He rose and gestured upward with his gun.
Charlotte’s legs felt like rubber and she could barely draw in a deep breath. Even as images of the Carmichael woman flashed in her head, she rose and met and held his gaze. “I don’t want to die, Mr. Smith.”
“Who does, Charlotte?”
“I’ll beg if that’s what you want.” Maybe she could get him to lower his guard. “Denny, please.”
The smile deepened in his eyes. “Take your blouse off, Charlotte.”
A rush of cold trickled down her back. “What?”
“Take it off, slowly.”
She lifted her chin. “No.”
“I’ll only ask one more time.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “No.”
Without fanfare, he fired. The bullet struck her in the side, tearing through her flesh like hot steel. For a moment she just stood there stunned, as adrenaline pumped through her system. And then the pain came in a hard punishing wave and she dropped forward on her desk.
His expression remained so damn calm. “I should just kill you. But I’ve thought about this moment for so long. And it is Christmas. Take your jacket off.”
Blood seeped from her wound and stained her blouse. Pain robbed her of breath. He was going to rape her and then kill her. Terror nearly paralyzed her. But she dug deep and summoned the shreds of her courage.
Carefully, she rose and started to unfasten the buttons of her jacket.
His eyes glistened. “Don’t rush it, baby. Don’t rush it.”
It took little effort to wince as she shrugged it off. She glanced down and saw a letter opener and made a point to drop her jacket over it.
“Take your blouse off.”
She started to unfasten the pearl buttons of her blouse. His gaze settled on the swell of her breasts. She used that moment to place her hand on the jacket over the opener.
“Lace bra,” he said. “I knew you wore lace.”
Charlotte pretended to wince and double forward. Her hand over the hidden letter opener, she dropped to the floor and pulled both the jacket and opener with her. She curled up in a ball and dug the opener out.
Slow, purposeful footsteps creaked against the floor as he moved around the desk. “Get up, Charlotte.”
She gripped the letter opener. She’d never be able to kill him or stop him, but if she could delay him long enough, she could escape through the bathroom door located next to her desk. This building was old and the walls and doors were thick.
The soft-soled shoes appeared by her face. “Get up, Charlotte. You’re being dramatic. That bullet didn’t hit any vital organs.”
In one swift move she jerked the letter opener forward and rammed it into the top of his shoe. The man screamed and fired his gun. This bullet went wide and hit the floor by her head.
“Shit.” He recoiled a second.
She scrambled to her feet and dashed to the bathroom. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her back against him. Pain attacked every nerve ending in her body.
“Not smart, Charlotte,” he hissed. He shoved her forward against the desk so her stomach dug painfully into the wood. He pressed the gun to her head as he fumbled with the hem of her skirt.
She screamed. Tears rolled down her face.
He jabbed the butt of the gun into her wound and she nearly blacked out from the pain. Somehow she remained conscious. Her fingers brushed a crystal paperweight on her desk.
Denny pushed his thigh between her legs.
Seizing the few seconds she had, she gripped the paperweight and swung back with it with all the force she could muster. The blunt edge caught his jaw and tossed him off balance. Hair ripped from the roots as she tore free and dashed to the bathroom. This time she was able to slam the door and lock it.
“Damn you,” he muttered.
She pressed herself against the wall farthest from the door and dropped to her knees. Her entire side was wet with blood.
She waited for a pounding or the pop of bullets. Neither came. Outside there was a deadly calm. And then she heard the scrape of furniture over her floor.
“I got to hand it to you, Charlotte. You’re a whole lot more than I expected.” He sounded breathless. He was hurting. Good. “That fancy desk of yours is in front of the bathroom door, in case you’re wondering. You aren’t going anywhere, but don’t worry, I’ll be back when I take care of Christina. Then we’ll finish what we started.”
Charlotte glanced down at the plume of blood growing on her silk blouse. “Monster.”
“Happy holidays, Charlotte.” His voice sounded so pleasant, as if they were old friends. “And I’ll be sure to lock up on my way out and leave a note saying you’ll be closed until next Mond
ay. Don’t want anybody stopping by.”
She listened as his uneven footsteps faded down the hallway. In the distance the front door closed.
Gripping her midsection, Charlotte pulled herself up and moved to the door. It was jammed shut.
She was trapped.
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Chapter Six
Tuesday, December 23, 5:00 P.M.
Ayden sat in the darkened corner of their hotel room watching Nicole as she slept. Making love to her had rekindled everything he’d felt for her and more. He’d do whatever it took to protect her.
He glanced at the envelope they’d picked up at the law offices. He’d gone into the hallway and called San Francisco PD and spoken to a Detective Rio about the Carmichael murder. California authorities had theorized that Braxton had killed the woman but they had never been able to prove it. He told them about the photos and the twisted treasure hunt he and Nicole were on now. With luck they’d nail the killer and Carmichael’s family would have closure. Rio had been excited about the development. The Carmichael case had haunted him like few other murders had. Before he’d hung up, Ayden had promised to call as soon as he had more information.
Ayden cringed when he looked at the horrendous shots. No one deserved to die like this.
Rage roiled inside of him. Now more than ever he wanted to get to that bank and find evidence linking this murder to a killer. Whoever had killed Claire Carmichael deserved to rot in jail. He replaced the pictures in the envelope.
He glanced at Nicole. No wonder the woman had been afraid to commit to him. She’d lived with the devil. God only knew what horrors she’d survived. He’d been arrogant and wrong to expect so much from her so soon.
He knew now he’d give her as much time as she needed. If light and easy was all she could give, he’d take it. He wanted her in his life, even if the terms weren’t his.
Nicole’s hand slid leisurely to his side of the bed and when she realized he wasn’t there she rolled on her back and then sat up. The sheet dropped from her breasts and he felt his insides tighten.
For a moment her eyes looked a little wild, confused, as if she didn’t know where she was. And then her gaze settled on him. Instantly, the wildness vanished and a lazy smile tugged at the edge of her lips. She lifted the sheet casually over her breasts but the left side dropped low enough for him to see the soft mound just above her nipple.
