Lethal Peril_Military Romantic Suspense

by Emily Jane Trent

  What was he doing? What could he possibly hope to find?

  Then he tried the bottom drawer. It stuck at first, but he jiggled it. Inside was a small leather-bound book, closed with a clasp. It wasn’t locked, and easily snapped open. Further inspection revealed that it was Beth’s diary. For a second, Wyatt gave in to guilt; he shouldn’t be looking at her personal stuff.

  To hell with it. This was important. Wyatt flipped through the pages. The entries had no connection to recent events. Beth had written about her personal feelings, and about her passion for cartooning, or interactions with friends that had affected her, plus a variety of other topics—all just girl stuff. He marveled at the types of things a woman found important. He tossed the book back into the drawer and shoved it closed.

  Wyatt went back to the other room and glanced at the hallway. No sign of Beth yet. Her bag had been dumped beside the sofa. She carried that thing everywhere, and he wondered what was in there. Setting the bag on the arm of the sofa, Wyatt dug around.

  Aside from her wallet, along with items such as a comb, makeup, and mints, there wasn’t much. She’d left her sketchbook inside, but he’d already looked through that. Wyatt propped the bag against the back of the sofa and tried to think.

  He stared at the shiny gold emblem on the purse that said Prada, tagging it as a designer purse. His eyes locked on to an imperfection in the leather beneath the emblem. Wyatt sat on the sofa and put the purse in his lap. The emblem appeared slightly misaligned, as though it had been removed and put back imprecisely.

  Not a man to ignore inconsistencies, Wyatt fiddled with the Prada label. It was loose, and that piqued his interest. Moving it back and forth loosened it more, then it came off in his hand. Inside the metal covering was a tracker.

  Wyatt took out the tiny device and rolled it around in his palm. That explained a few things. He didn’t disable it just yet. Wyatt had checked Beth for trackers when she’d hired him, and he’d scanned her belongings at the first opportunity. So the tracker had been planted since then.

  Beth reappeared, then walked over with a puzzled look. “What’s that?” she said, staring at the item he held. Her earlier anger had been replaced by curiosity.

  “It’s a tracker.”

  Beth glanced at her bag, with an empty space where the Prada label used to be, then back at the small tracker. “It was in my purse?”

  Wyatt looked up at her without comment.

  “That sure made it easy…the guy who greeted us at my door the other night…the burglar who knew just when to break in…it all makes sense.” Beth looked at him with wide eyes.

  “I’d like to know when they had the chance to plant it on you…whoever they is.” Wyatt left the purse, but kept the tracker. “How long has your enemy been following you?”

  “And how did they get it in there? I carry that bag around with me.” Beth pointed a finger at him. “Except, I remember at my brother’s party, I put it behind the bar so I didn’t have to lug it around. It was a private event at my uncle’s home, so I didn’t keep my purse with me.”

  “It would have been a simple task. It could have been your brother…your uncle…or anyone, really.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  Wyatt put it on the coffee table. “For now, leave it here. Eventually, whoever is monitoring you will figure out that you must have gone out. But for a bit, it will serve as a decoy.”

  Beth pursed her lips. “I think it’s time to have that chat with Kyle.” She grabbed her phone and hit speed dial, then listened. After ending the call, she said, “We missed him. His voicemail says he’s out of town.”

  “For how long?”

  “I’ll find out.” Beth made another call. “Hey, Susan, how are you?” She listened. “That’s good to hear. We’ll have to grab lunch sometime. By the way, do you know where Kyle is? I tried his phone but it says he’s away.” She wrinkled her brow. “Oh, I see.”

  When she hung up, Beth tossed her phone onto a cushion. “No luck: he’s in Boston on a business trip. Susan says he’s negotiating a contract with some new importer. Must be a big deal, or he wouldn’t have gone to handle it personally.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “She wasn’t sure. Kyle said he’d stay until the deal was wrapped up—a few days, maybe.” Beth sighed. “I can’t do this over the phone. I have to see his face, so he can’t blow me off.”

  Wyatt sensed her frustration. “There’s not much you can do until he gets back in the office.” He looked at Beth, dressed in black jeans and a tightly fitted sweater. “I guess that’s my cue to make dinner.” For the evening, danger was on hold. He may as well enjoy the company.

  Beth ordered groceries delivered, and Wyatt was just as happy not to go out. He had a hankering for a juicy, flavorful steak, and since Beth preferred real food over diet fare, he pan-seared filets. He procured her assistance to prep the asparagus and red potatoes, then set the table.

  For a woman who didn’t cook, Beth seemed at home in her kitchen. This domestic side to her attracted Wyatt, and he imagined having other meals together. It was cozy, and when she wasn’t looking, he ogled her fine figure. Beth couldn’t be described as voluptuous, but she had curves, and Wyatt’s urge to explore nearly overpowered him.

  The wine, the smell of fine food, and the sway of Beth’s hips as she moved about the kitchen were enticing. Any threat had been held at bay, for a while, anyway, leaving Wyatt to spend a few hours with a sensual woman. How could that be bad?

  It was one thing to appreciate good food, and the agreeable sight of the woman sharing it, but Wyatt cautioned himself not to take it further. The enemy wasn’t breathing down Beth’s neck right then, but was near enough, waiting for the next opportunity to attack.

  And just because Beth had gotten over being mad at him, and he’d forgiven her for keeping secrets, it didn’t mean the relationship was going anywhere. Beth’s mood could change in an instant, and often had. Having dinner was one thing; getting personal was another thing entirely.

  Wyatt filled the plates with steaming food and carried them into the dining room. He entered to find Beth sipping wine, and his eyes went to her luscious lips.

  “I like this arrangement, of you cooking for me,” she said, and smiled at him. “Everything smells so delicious.”

  Wyatt took his seat. “You haven’t tasted it yet.”

  The steak was as juicy as it looked, and Beth made a deep “Mmm” when she took her first bite. Wyatt scarfed his meal, washing it down with a few sips of wine. Beth looked thoughtful as she ate.

  Leaning back, Wyatt said, “I won’t leave your side, so I don’t want you to worry.”

  “I’m not concerned about that,” Beth said. “It’s just annoying to have to wait. I’m anxious to get to the bottom of this. I don’t like being hunted…or tracked like some animal.”

  Wyatt pushed his plate aside. “It’s interesting…I would have been in New York now even if you hadn’t hired me.”

  “How come…to see your family?”

  “No, for my buddy’s wedding. Garrett is marrying Marlene Parks.”

  “The Marlene Parks, the movie star?”

  “Yes, that’s her. You’ll like her; she’s really nice.”

  “What do you mean I’ll like her?”

  Wyatt grinned at her. “You’re going to the wedding with me.”

  “Oh, no,” Beth said. “I don’t do weddings.”

  “Well, now you do…because I’m not leaving you behind. And the whole team is flying out for the ceremony. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “And I’m supposed to attend as your date?”

  “Why not? I dress up pretty nice in a suit,” Wyatt said. “And no one has to know I’m your bodyguard. Of course, the guys will know, but I mean the guests or the family.”

  “You ask a lot of a girl, Wyatt Mercer.”

  He figured it was a bit soon to talk about weddings and such. He got a kick out of Beth’s reaction, though. It was st
ill so easy to get her riled up. He didn’t envision his own wedding, not for some time, anyway—and certainly not with Beth. She was attractive, but marriage was a whole different deal. He could only imagine how much bickering would go on if they lived together.

  “It’s just my friend’s wedding, that’s all.” Wyatt thought she’d look good in a dress. “I’d appreciate it if you’d accompany me.” Beth didn’t readily agree, but he’d won that round. She really had little choice—besides, she’d probably have a nice time.

  Chapter 9

  Martin padded across the carpet in bare feet, the luxurious softness making him sick to his stomach. The residence had cost an obscene amount of money, and payments were coming due. If he couldn’t make good on the loans, he’d be out on the street.

  He stepped onto the cool bathroom tile, the globes of light over the mirrors blinding him. Leila had always wanted the best. She’d had the fixtures imported from Italy, and hired an interior designer to decorate the place. It was fancy enough to be in one of the home magazines his ex-wife had liked so well.

  The place wasn’t the least bit masculine, so it served poorly as a bachelor pad. Martin hadn’t minded at the time. Heck, he’d had plenty of money then. But his wife had taken him to the cleaners in the divorce, and he’d had to live on what was left.

  If he’d done better at the casino, things might be different—in many ways. Martin got into the shower with two massive showerheads pouring out hot water. He stood under the massaging one, letting the pulsating spray knead his tight muscles.

  He closed his eyes, but relaxation didn’t come. His level of frustration blocked out any sense of calmness. There would be no peace until all of this was over. He’d hooked up with the Asian mob, for Christ’s sake. You’d think they could do their part without mistakes.

  Yet Chen must have hired a bunch of amateurs, some local gangsters who’d muffed the job. Martin hadn’t wanted his niece killed, but it was worse to bungle several attempts. It was downright embarrassing, as well as dangerous.

  The losers hadn’t been able to bump off a slender young woman, not much over five feet tall. Hell, the would-be killer probably could have picked her up in one hand and squeezed the life out of her. Yet Beth continued to evade them.

  Martin would have to take matters into his own hands, if this kept up. But he hoped it didn’t come to that. He had a distaste for murder, and preferred not to get his hands dirty. It was better to keep his distance as much as possible, so he could claim innocence.

  He was a smooth talker, one attribute that had saved him more than once. He cringed to think of what he might need to finagle his way out of this. If Beth had reported the attempts on her life to the police—which she certainly must have—then inquiries would be made.

  Martin needed to cover his tracks, so the path wouldn’t lead to his door. On one side, the mob pressured him to do their bidding, and on the other was law enforcement. Being stuck in the middle was uncomfortable, as whichever way he turned was threatening.

  It would be advantageous to have Beth out of the way, permanently, as long as Martin could escape any guilt for the deed. He washed and turned off the water, then got out to dry. Since he had to make a trip to the office, he dressed accordingly. There was no dress code, but he wanted to give the impression of respectability. It was part of the image he had to maintain.

  While Martin was still in stocking feet, his phone rang. It was Chen, probably checking up. Apparently, his neck was on the line too, unless the strategy went off without a hitch. Zhang wasn’t the type to show mercy for screw-ups.

  “Chen, you’re up early.” It couldn’t hurt to be friendly.

  Pleasantries were apparently beyond the gangster. “I’ll be at the casino tonight. Don’t make yourself scarce. We need to talk.”

  “What about? I’ve got things in motion,” Martin said. “Kyle won’t be a problem.” It was good that his nephew was so trusting, and blind to the undercurrent of the company’s affairs. “I arranged a trip to Boston, and he won’t return until the deed is done.”

  Martin was proud of pulling that off. He might be in a tight spot, but he wasn’t without resources or connections.

  “And the rest of your family?”

  “I checked on Steph. There’s no change.” Martin had considered including his brother in the scheme, but he’d tested the water a couple of times. His brother wouldn’t go along with anything that wasn’t above board. He was too bloody honest, even when there was substantial profit to be made. But he was out of the way now.

  “It seems that if your niece hadn’t nosed in where she doesn’t belong, our plan would have rolled out smoothly.”

  “I booted her out before she learned too much. Stephen put her in accounting, the worst choice. But that’s long since been taken care of.”

  “It’s not enough,” Chen said.

  Martin’s gut twisted; the mob seemed to have a taste for blood. Yet he dared not argue. It would be better to bide his time and see how things unfolded.

  After the call, Martin finished dressing and walked a few blocks to a café. He hadn’t eaten in a while, nor did he have much of an appetite. But the strong coffee perked him up. The shop was pleasantly warm and plenty busy. He sat in an open booth and carved a hunk of syrup-soaked pancakes that he didn’t eat.

  If Chen and his crew had backed off and let Martin handle things, there would be a lot less potential for disaster. Drug smuggling could be done in a clandestine manner, with no one the wiser—and certainly no feds breathing down his neck.

  But when you added in a couple of attempts on Beth’s life, matters got messy. It made what should have been a quiet operation way too high profile. And it would be worse if the mob succeeded in killing her. That blasted news release might be enough to pull Martin in for interrogation.

  When he’d watched the coverage, he’d groaned. The media thrived on controversy, and what better than an accident scene? It was bad enough killing the wrong woman, but the victim just happened to be wearing Beth’s jacket.

  It was just Martin’s luck. And now what was he supposed to do? It was a damn good thing his attorney could run interference. That prompted him to make a call for confirmation that the whole incident wasn’t about to blow up.

  The law firm’s secretary was on a first-name basis with Martin, and put him right through. Thomas Stapleton had handled family matters for years, and he’d been a reliable bloke. “Stapleton…Martin here. That news story is on CNN; it’s been broadcast coast to coast.”

  “I couldn’t help that,” the attorney said. “I kept a lid on it for as long as I could. It was only out of respect for Foster that the producer held off at all. He wanted to make sure he had his facts straight, and didn’t want to mention Elizabeth’s name until the details had been substantiated.”

  “So why was that woman wearing her jacket?”

  “According to Beth, they traded. It was as simple as that.”

  Of course, Beth would have gone to Thomas right away for protection. Sometimes the family attorney knew more about what was going on than Martin did. “My phone has been ringing off the hook, and the same at the office. I refuse to speak publicly. I didn’t know the woman who died, and if Beth did, then she can take the heat.”

  “I’ve advised her not to speak to the press. It’s a sticky situation. It’s wise that you stay away from them too. This will lose steam after a few days, if there’s no more information to fuel interest.”

  After the call, Martin left his uneaten breakfast and went to Foster. Susan greeted him cheerily, oblivious to anything untoward. She was a fixture at the company, and did her job efficiently. Plus, she was smart enough not to meddle.

  Martin gave her a cursory nod and headed off to see the head of security. He’d requested surveillance recordings for the past week. The guard set up the viewing and left him alone with it. It didn’t take long to spot Beth in her brother’s office.

  She had no business at Foster, not since he’d fire
d her. He could have pushed the embezzlement charge, and likely should have. But it struck too close to home. Martin had liquidated those stocks to bankroll his gambling, but the money had slipped through his hands. Lately, fortune hadn’t been on his side.

  At Martin’s request, Kyle’s computer had been monitored by the IT department. He didn’t completely trust his nephew. The setup had worked to Martin’s advantage, because when the hard drive had been copied, IT had been alerted.

  Of course, Martin had shared that knowledge with Chen. It wasn’t wise to keep secrets from the mob, as a man could be killed for betrayal. The best course was to be open with any information he garnered. When he’d been told about the computer tampering, Martin had called security and learned that Beth had been in that day.

  But he wanted to see for himself, and note anything else his niece might have done while at Foster. There on the screen was Wyatt Mercer. It was annoying that the guy was hanging around, a bit too close to Beth. The fewer allies she had, the better.

  Plus Wyatt had buffed up a lot since Martin had known him years back. There was no question that his presence offered Beth protection, making him another obstacle. Martin shook his head. His niece should have just let it go.

  Now she knew about the stock liquidation. Beth was sharp, and she wouldn’t miss something like that. She’d see right through the embezzlement charge that he’d trumped up, and know that he was the real culprit. She couldn’t prove anything—yet. But she’d butted in where she shouldn’t have, and Wyatt was along for the ride. Both of them would live to regret it.

  Before leaving, Martin went to his office and accessed his accounts. He’d drained all the funds he could from Foster for now, without attracting the attention of accounting. But he had one more option. It was a bit of a risk, but by the time he had to answer for the withdrawal, he’d be flush.

  It wouldn’t be long before he had plenty of cash, but until then he needed some for his visit to the casino later. He completed the transfer, then snorted a bit of cocaine to boost his mood. Life was overly stressful, and it would help him get through the day. Then an evening at the machines would raise his spirits.