An enraged Darryl came around, meaty fist swinging. Boone avoided the fist and got in a good one of his own, a hefty blow to the stomach. Fighting Darryl was like wrestling a bear. Up close, there was no chance he could win.
He slipped out of Darryl's grasp and ducked when the man came after him like an enraged bull. When Darryl turned around, he got a boot in the face. The blow knocked him to the ground, but this time it didn't knock him out.
But he was stunned. Before Darryl had a chance to recover and come at Boone, he found himself facedown on the ground, the barrel of his own gun pressed against his neck.
"You're too late," the pinned man said with a hint of glee in his gruff voice. "Sinclair or Becker or whoever you are, Gurza's got your woman. There's no saving her this time."
Boone stuck the pistol in his waistband and snagged a roll of duct tape from an inside pocket of his jacket. In a matter of moments Darryl was bound and gagged and leaning against the back of the house, partially concealed by a thorny bush. Every time the big man moved, fighting his bonds, the prickly plant got him.
He didn't doubt for a minute that Darryl had been telling the truth. Marsh—Gurza—had Jayne. That meant he had the boy, too, and the nanny. Dean, Clint, Del and Shock would be here in a matter of minutes. Would they arrive soon enough?
Boone's heart hammered as he ran through the house, not bothering to be silent. He drew the weapon he'd taken from Darryl, ready to use it if he had to. Ready to do anything and everything.
A single light burned in the south wing. From Jayne's description of the rooms off the hallway, that was Drew's playroom. Boone raced toward it.
Jayne stood at the back of the room, a pajama-clad Drew in her arms. Lacey stood mostly behind Jayne, peeking around at Marsh, who had his back to the door. Three innocent pairs of eyes landed on Boone. Only Drew smiled.
"Unca BooBoo," he said.
Jayne cupped Drew's head and pulled it to her shoulder, urging him to go back to sleep, shielding him from the horrors of the night.
Marsh didn't bother to turn around. "We have a problem."
"So I see," Boone said as he stepped into the room. Jayne's accusing eyes landed on him.
"Her father knows she's here, but I can't very well let her go." Finally Marsh turned his head and looked at Boone. "What do we do with her?"
"We keep her here," Boone said, his voice steady. "She and I get married, we keep her close—"
"In your dreams," she snapped.
He warned her with his eyes, but she didn't seem to understand what he was trying to tell her. "The way I see it, sugar, you have two choices. We get married. You keep your mouth shut and tell Daddy what I tell you to and nothing more, and everyone gets to live. You decline our generous offer…" He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it would really be a shame to waste someone as pretty as you, but if we have no choice, we have no choice."
As Boone talked, he moved closer to Marsh. The man's gun was still pointed at Jayne. Until that changed, there wasn't much he could do. He'd never been one for talking his way out of a situation. His first instinct was to fight his way out. Right now his first instinct might very well get Jayne, as well as Drew and Lacey, killed.
Jayne's eyes filled with tears. Her chin trembled. She wasn't a bad actress, but she wasn't this good. Damnation, he thought, she believed what she was hearing. After everything they'd been through, she really believed that he and Marsh were in this together. Was that why she'd turned cold on him last night?
She must have left her room against his orders, overheard them talking and come to the wrong conclusion. Remembering what had been said in Marsh's office last night, he could only imagine what Jayne was thinking right now. She should have asked him last night, instead of keeping it all inside. Instead of believing the worst.
Why did he expect better of Jayne? Why did knowing she thought he was one of the bad guys hurt?
Right now none of that mattered.
"Make the right choice, sugar," he said. Buy me a few more minutes.
He heard Harvey, his step heavy as always, running down the hallway. "We got trouble!" the man shouted.
"News flash," Marsh muttered.
A breathless Harvey stopped in the playroom doorway. "Vehicles coming this way. Four of them, one from each direction. No telling how many men are in each vehicle."
Harvey looked at Boone suspiciously, his gaze dropping to the weapon Boone held.
"Where's Darryl?" Harvey asked.
"I have no idea," Boone answered coolly.
Harvey's gaze dropped to the weapon again. "Then why do you have his new pistol?"
* * *
Marsh spun, his weapon raised, and impulsively and angrily fired. Boone ducked, and Marsh's bullet hit the man standing in the doorway.
Before he could fire again, Boone grabbed Marsh's wrist and pushed the weapon aside, then turned his eyes to Jayne. Her heart stopped.
"Run," he ordered. "The courtyard."
Jayne didn't question Boone but held on to Drew with all her might and did exactly as he instructed. She ran. Lacey stayed close behind her, and a confused Drew, who had managed to fall asleep again before the shot was fired, held on tight. They had to step over a downed Harvey to get out of the room. Jayne was half-afraid that one of those meaty hands would shoot up and grab her by the ankle. But the man remained still.
A gunshot fired behind them and she flinched. But she didn't go back. First priority was getting Drew to safety. Boone could take care of himself, of that she was certain. Should she go to the courtyard as he'd instructed? Or run out the front door and hope for the best?
The look in his eyes when he'd told her to run made the decision easy. She made a beeline for the courtyard.
Things were happening fast. She heard shouts from inside the house. Breaking glass. Another gunshot. The three of them burst into the courtyard.
"Look." Lacey pointed.
A man was scaling the wrought-iron fence. He never paused, never seemed to think twice. He reached the top and vaulted over, every move smooth and strong, and landed easily on his cowboy-booted feet.
"Let's go," he said, heading straight for Jayne.
"Who are you?" she asked, holding Drew closer and unable to trust anyone at this moment.
He gave her a quick grin. "Clint Sinclair."
"I should have known," she muttered. He was leaner than Boone or Dean, and his hair was a shade lighter, but the resemblance was strong.
"Let's go," he said again.
Jayne looked toward the house. "No," she whispered, thrusting Drew at Clint so he was forced to take the child into his own arms. "I'm going back for Boone."
A quick hand on her wrist stopped her. "Oh, no," Clint said softly. He no longer smiled. "I'm to get you and the kid—" he glanced at Lacey "—and her, I imagine, out of here."
She'd doubted Boone. She'd given him the cold shoulder when he'd needed her to be there for him. When it was most important, she'd lost faith. She wasn't going to leave him here, not like this. "More than anything, Boone wants this child out of here."
"I know that." Clint did not release her wrist.
"That's your job, to get him out, to keep him safe."
"Yep."
"I don't know what I was thinking," she said, pretending to give up. "Boone can take care of himself."
Clint winked at her. "That he can."
The second Clint released her, she ran. "Get Drew out of here!" she called over her shoulder, reentering the house and turning toward the south wing.
The house was in chaos. Four men she had not seen during her stay here tried to find a route of escape. She knew they weren't with the small rescue party, since Boone had told her to look for Dean and those two DEA agents she'd met in Flagstaff. These men ran. They even broke windows and furniture in their panic to get out. Two other men she recognized as Agents Wilder and Shockley caught them and herded them together smoothly.
Dean was speaking to Benita and the young blonde who helped her
in the kitchen. The two women were huddled together, offering no resistance as they answered Dean's heated questions about the number and locations of people in the house. Smoke from gunfire made the air hazy.
When Jayne entered the south-wing hallway, she saw Boone. He was on his knees, sort of. One knee was on the floor, the other pressed against a prone Corbin Marsh's back.
Boone raised his head as she neared. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Her throat was dry, her insides roiling. "I couldn't just … leave you."
"Yeah, you could." He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a roll of duct tape. "Get moving, sugar."
Something behind Boone moved. A wounded Harvey came to his feet, slowly, silently. He reached into his jacket and drew a small gun from his shoulder holster.
"Behind you," Jayne whispered.
Boone drew his weapon, whirled and fired. Harvey fell, hitting the floor hard. While Boone was turned away Marsh scrambled to his feet and ran straight for Jayne, his pale eyes on her face. She saw the hate in them, felt it. He didn't have a weapon in his hands, but that didn't make her feel much better at the moment.
Boone took aim but didn't fire, and she knew why. She was in the way. A noise behind her caught Marsh's attention, and he cut away, running into the closest bedroom.
Dean ran from one end of the hallway, Boone from the other. But while Dean stepped immediately into the bedroom Marsh had disappeared into, Boone stopped before Jayne. He stared at her for a moment, then kissed her hard. "Get out of here," he ordered as he followed his brother.
She didn't want to leave, but she did. The only way she knew to show Boone that she trusted him was to do as he asked. Without question.
Clint's sole job, apparently, was to transport the innocent bystanders out of here. From inside the courtyard, he'd opened the wrought-iron gate with the same ease Boone had picked the lock on the bedroom door last night. He had a four-wheel-drive vehicle waiting, and Drew and Lacey were settled in the back seat and ready to go.
Jayne ran toward Clint. He waited, more patiently than most men would have, but still with the telling restless tapping toe of one cowboy boot.
"Are you trying to get me in trouble, Miss Barrington?" he asked as she climbed into the passenger seat.
She didn't bother to answer, but looked back at the house as Clint pulled away, his foot to the floor. The big pink house grew small very quickly.
Drew leaned over the seat and stared at Clint. "Are you a cowboy? You look like a cowboy."
"Nope," Clint said with a grin. "I'm not a cowboy. I'm a bullfighter."
"A bullfighter!" Drew repeated.
"Fancy name for a rodeo clown," Lacey said softly. "Anybody who's ever seen a bullriding competition knows that."
"You're a clown, too?" Drew asked. "Where's your red nose?"
"In my suitcase," Clint said without slowing down or turning his head. "Along with my big floppy shoes."
Drew giggled. "You don't look like a clown."
Jayne turned and smiled at Drew. "Honey, this clown is Uncle BooBoo's brother."
"He is?"
Clint shot her an amused glance. "Uncle BooBoo?"
"You can call him Uncle Clint."
Uncle Clint let out a hoot of laughter. "Uncle BooBoo. That's a good one."
Jayne looked back, but there was nothing to see. Already they were too far away. Boone would be all right. He was good, he was right … and he wasn't alone. Not this time.
Drew stared out at the landscape that sped past. "Miss Jayne, where's Unca Corbin?"
Jayne's heart sank. Corbin Marsh was a very bad man, but he'd been good to Drew. The little boy wouldn't understand what was happening. He'd already seen too much tonight. He'd seen things she hoped he forgot, maybe dismissed as a bad dream. She didn't know what to say.
Clint did. "Your uncle Corbin, he wanted you to have a really nice place to stay, since he can't take care of you right now. So he called your grandparents and asked them to meet you at the hotel where Miss Jayne is staying."
"He did?"
"Yep. They're really nice people. I talked to them myself on the telephone."
"Before she went away, my mama showed me pictures of my grandparents," Drew said in a small voice. "She said they were really nice and that my grandma makes the best chocolate-chip cookies in the world. She said that one day we would go live with them."
"They can't wait to see you," Clint said. "And I'll bet if you ask your grandma just right, you'll have chocolate-chip cookies every day for a year."
* * *
Boone kicked, he cursed, he threw the closest object—a crystal for God's sake—across the room. Corbin Marsh, aka Joaquin Gurza, had disappeared.
"I had him!" he raged. "I had my knee on his spine and the duct tape in my hand."
"What happened, man?" Shock asked.
"Jayne showed up out of nowhere, Harvey tried to put a bullet in my back, everything went wrong."
"Bad luck," Shock grumbled.
Harvey was dead, Darryl was in custody, and several other servants were being questioned. Some of them were probably legitimate, but there was no telling how many of them were involved in Marsh's crooked business. After all, Harvey had done double duty as driver on occasion.
Clint had gotten away with Jayne and Drew and Lacey. Right now, not much else mattered. It was a comfort, knowing they'd escaped, knowing they were safe. Getting Drew out of Gurza's hands was another job successfully completed, another kid heading back where he belonged.
Knowing Jayne was safe touched him more deeply than a job well-done. He could breathe easier now. His heart didn't threaten to jump through his chest, as it had when he'd seen a gun pointed at her.
Nothing else mattered except that the two of them were safe. He sure would like to get his hands on Marsh, though.
Del found an escape hatch in the closet, a well-disguised door in the closet floor that opened onto a tunnel. Marsh was well and truly gone. Boone let loose with a few more curses.
Dean came up beside him, his head cocked to one side, one eye narrowed. "What did you say?"
"Huh?"
"I could've sworn you said … fudge."
* * *
Chapter 17
« ^ »
This had surely been the longest day of her life. Jayne fell onto the bed in her suite and let herself go boneless. Drew was safe with his grandparents. She'd never seen two people more relieved to see a child. The Pattersons were spending the night in this very hotel and would fly back to Atlanta in the morning. For now, Lacey was staying with them. They thought it might make the transition easier for Drew. Besides, Lacey didn't have a good home to go back to.
The luggage Jayne had left behind at Marsh's had been delivered by a young policeman carrying out orders from higher up. She'd been hoping Boone would make that delivery. Silly hope, she imagined, but still…
Since fighting off the reporters and shutting herself in her room, instructing the desk to screen her calls and talking to her father—who would be here in the morning—Jayne had enjoyed a hot bath and a good meal. Security had finally run the last of the reporters off her floor.
So why couldn't she sleep?
Because Boone wasn't here. Because she knew that he realized she'd believed the worst of him. Why did she have such a hard time trusting her heart? She should have known that if Boone lied to anyone, it was Marsh. Not her. Never her.
She didn't want to be the kind of person who always expected the worst of those around her, who never loved completely enough to trust without question. Most of all, she didn't want Boone to leave before she had the chance to tell him she was sorry.
A knock on the door had her bounding off the bed. If that was another reporter, she was going to take someone's head off! She'd always gone out of her way to be friendly and cooperative with the media, but tonight she had asked—several times—to be left alone. You'd think they could give her one night of peace.
She belted her robe with an
angry yank as she stalked to the door on bare feet and stood on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.
Jayne threw the door open and stared at Boone, who stood in the hallway looking worn-out and uncertain. He shifted from one foot to the other. "Dean told me you were in the same room as before. I just wanted to see for myself you're okay," he said.
Their eyes met. Jayne's insides tumbled and twisted. If she played it cool and calmly told Boone that she was just fine, thank you, he'd walk away and that would be the end. She didn't want him to walk away, and she could tell by looking at him that he didn't want to go.
Jayne reached into the hallway, grabbed Boone by the leather jacket and pulled him into the room. "Where have you been? I was worried sick." She wound her arms around his neck and held on. Oh, she loved the feel of him. She'd been so worried she'd never hold him again. "I thought you weren't coming."
He kicked the door shut and, his eyes still on her, blindly bolted it behind him. "I had to talk to the cops, local, and federal, and they came at me with a million questions." He lifted Jayne off her feet and she wrapped her legs around him. "The whole time, I just wanted to be here," he said, his nose rubbing hers, his mouth raking across her parted lips.
Jayne speared the fingers of one hand through his hair. She couldn't hold him tightly enough. Every nerve in her body was awake and aware, and her heart pounded hard. She kissed him and he met her kiss hungrily. It was a kiss that said they had survived and they were together and nothing else mattered. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but instead, she kept kissing Boone. Long deep kisses. Short breathless ones. Sweet kisses. Tongues dancing, barely touching and then searching deeply.
Their mouths still fused, Boone carried her to the bedroom. Jayne tasted so much in Boone's kiss and in the desperate way he held her. He needed her, and he still didn't understand why.
She didn't understand the why of it, either, but she had passed that point. She didn't care why she loved and needed and wanted Boone. What she felt was real and right, and that was all that mattered.
IN BED WITH BOONE Page 17
