Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  Other than one suitcase filled with his clothes and another with cash, the only other items that he’d brought with him from home were his laptop computer and a briefcase filled with bearer bonds and the documents concerning his Cayman Island bank accounts.

  The doctors had told him he would be here at least a week and if he wanted to stay longer, they would transfer him to the spa area of the clinic where he could remain as long as he wished. Hopefully, by week’s end, his realtor would have found him an island hideaway. In the meantime, he could pass the hours quite contentedly by choosing his next victim, the first of many who would share his island paradise.

  As he zipped through dozens of choices, so many young, vibrant women in superb physical condition, his mind kept wandering back to one specific woman. Apparently, it was true—you could never forget the one who got away.

  Nicole Baxter.

  She was alive. Damn her!

  Not now, not next week, nor even next month, but someday, he would capture her again. And when he did … Just the thought of what he would do to her excited him.

  “I’ll come for you, Nicole, when you least expect it.”

  Suddenly, a photo popped up on his laptop screen, catching his attention. Hmm … Interesting. The accompanying article was from a Tampa, Florida online magazine:

  WAR HERO HOME ON LEAVE.

  LaTasha Davies was quite lovely for an army corporal. Long-legged, lean, skin like rich chocolate, and eyes as black as ebony. Pudge studied the photo of the young woman wearing her military uniform, and then he scanned the article. It seemed Ms. Davies had saved the life of two of her comrades and had managed to keep all three of them alive for five days behind enemy lines.

  She would make a truly worthy adversary.

  Chapter 23

  “How’s our patient today?” Griff asked the private-duty nurse he had hired as one of three to stay with Nic 24/7. Mrs. Elkins had twenty years of experience and had come with the highest recommendations, as did her counterparts on the evening and night shifts.

  “Eager to leave here,” Mrs. Elkins said as she motioned for Griff to step back out into the hall.

  Outside Nic’s room, the nurse glanced at Griff’s companion and nodded cordially, then told Griff, “Ms. Baxter is physically ready to leave the hospital tomorrow, but emotionally and mentally, she’s unprepared.”

  “I’ve tried to tell her doctors that she is not going to respond to the counseling sessions they’ve provided,” Griff said. “No matter how much she may want to open up and talk about what happened to her, she can’t.”

  “Then I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Powell,” Nurse Elkins said. “She’s been here twelve days and physically, she’s made a remarkable recovery. But she needs psychiatric help to deal with the trauma. Unfortunately, she seems to believe she can deal with things on her own.”

  “That’s my Nic. Stubborn as a mule.” Griff turned to the lady at his side. “Mrs. Elkins, this is Dr. Yvette Meng. Dr. Meng is a psychiatrist who specializes in posttraumatic stress syndrome. I’ve brought her here to meet Nic.”

  Mrs. Elkins surveyed Yvette, from her shiny black hair to her size five and a half bronze leather heels. She held out her hand to Yvette. “It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor.”

  After the ladies shook hands, Mrs. Elkins took her morning break.

  Griff grasped Yvette’s arm. “Nic will probably fight you every step of the way.”

  “Yes, I know. I would expect nothing less from Griffin Powell’s woman.”

  “Oh, God, whatever you do, do not say something like that to Nic. She’ll go ballistic.”

  Yvette smiled. “You trust me to care for her. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your Nicole and I will become acquainted a little more each day and eventually I hope she will trust me as you do.”

  “She hasn’t agreed to come home to Griffin’s Rest with me. Not yet.”

  “When she learns that she has only two choices—either come with us to Griffin’s Rest or spend another two weeks in a D.C. hospital under psychiatric care, followed by another month of counseling, then I believe she will make the right decision.”

  “I just hope she likes you,” Griff said. “Hell, I hope you like her.”

  Griff opened the door and held it for Yvette, who entered Nic’s room two steps ahead of him. Nic glanced up from where she sat in a chair near the windows and looked from Griff to Yvette and back to Griff.

  “Good morning, honey,” Griff said. “How are you today?”

  “I’m fine,” Nic said. “I’ve gained back four of the ten pounds I lost, my bruises have faded, my scratches have healed, and my surgical stitches come out tomorrow. I’m ready to go home.”

  Griff walked over to her, leaned down, and kissed her on the forehead. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He motioned to Yvette, who approached cautiously.

  Nic eyed her visitor. “Dr. Yvette Meng, I presume.”

  Griff tensed. “As you know, Yvette’s an old friend. Sanders and I have known her for eighteen years.”

  Nic rose slowly from the chair and held out her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Meng.”

  “Please, call me Yvette.”

  Nic shook her head. “If you’re going to be my psychiatrist, I think I’d prefer calling you ‘Dr. Meng.’”

  Griff frowned. “Okay, want to tell me what’s going on here? How did you know Yvette had volunteered to—”

  “Ah, now, Griff …” Nic looked up at him and smiled wryly. “You don’t think you’re the only one who did some background checking, do you? While you were finding out all you could about me when we worked on the BQK cases, I was doing the same.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. I should have known,” Griff said.

  “Yes, you should have.” Nic indicated the other chair in the room. “Won’t you sit down, Dr. Meng?” Nic looked up at Griff before she sat back down. “Why don’t you leave us alone for a while, say, half an hour? Go get a cup of coffee or something.”

  Griff eyed her suspiciously, wondering just what Nic had in mind. Whatever it was, he wished he could stay and listen to their conversation. If Nic thought she could intimidate Yvette, she had a big surprise coming.

  As soon as Griff left them alone and Dr. Meng had sat down across from her, Nic studied the other woman carefully, noting how exquisitely beautiful Griff’s old and dear friend was. Just how dear a friend? Was this exotically lovely woman one of Griff’s lovers?

  “You may ask me anything you wish,” Yvette said.

  “Anything?”

  Yvette nodded.

  “Are you and Griff lovers?”

  Yvette’s lips curved into a pleasant smile. “No, we are not nor have we ever been.”

  Nic hated herself for asking and hated herself even more for feeling so damn relieved by Yvette’s answer.

  “You know where Griff was and what happened to him during those missing ten years of his life, don’t you?” Nic asked.

  “Yes, I know. Sanders and I were with him during those years.”

  “Were you.” The comment was rhetorical, not really a question at all.

  “May I ask you something?” Yvette’s voice possessed a gentle, almost hypnotic cadence.

  Nic nodded.

  “Have you spoken to your superior at the FBI this morning?”

  “Yes, Doug stopped by earlier.”

  “Then you know what your options are.”

  “Oh, yes. It seems everyone is in agreement that I’m in need of psychiatric care. What I say and think doesn’t seem to matter. Nobody believes me when I say I’m okay and that once I get back to work tracking down the Hunter, I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t think you need counseling?”

  “Counseling—maybe. But I could get that while I’m working, couldn’t I? Why can’t Doug and Griff and the doctors realize that going after this guy will be the best medicine for what ails me?”

  “Of course you realize that that
is not an option at present. You will not be allowed to return to work until you’ve undergone treatment,” Yvette said. “Griffin has offered his home to you for the duration of your recovery and he wishes for me to work with you.”

  “Do you always do as Griffin wishes?” That’s it, Nic, act like a jealous girlfriend. “Forget I said that.”

  “It is forgotten,” Yvette told her. “Please, consider Griffin’s offer. At Griffin’s Rest you could recover in peaceful surroundings instead of a clinic. Our daily sessions would be informal. We could mutually agree on the ground rules.”

  “How long?” Nic asked.

  “How long would the daily sessions be?”

  “No, how long would this psychoanalysis last? A week? Two weeks? A month?”

  “That’s difficult to say. It would depend on how you respond to treatment.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you I’m perfectly all right.”

  “No one lives through what you did and walks away untouched,” Yvette said. “You may believe that you are all right, but—”

  “Damn it, why are all you psychiatrists alike?” Nic jumped up out of the chair and stood in front of the windows, looking out, up at the blue sky. She took a deep breath and murmured, “I’m sorry. I think I’m going stir-crazy in here. I want to go home. I want my life back the way it was before … before …” Don’t you dare cry. Don’t give Dr. Meng any proof that you’re unstable.

  Although she’d been totally unaware of Yvette Meng getting up and walking toward her, Nic sensed her presence. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the woman standing directly behind her.

  “I have something in my purse that I would like for you to look at,” Yvette said. “Call it a preliminary test, if you would like.”

  “I haven’t agreed to be your patient.”

  “No, you haven’t. And the choice is entirely yours. But you must know that Griffin needs to be a part of your recovery and if you come to Griffin’s Rest—”

  “Maybe I don’t care what Griffin needs. Maybe making him happy isn’t as important to me as it is to you.” You did it again, didn’t you? You just can’t shake the jealousy thing. Good God, Nic, the woman told you that she and Griff aren’t lovers. Besides, even if they were, what difference would it make? You and Griff had one night together. You’re not married or engaged or even in love.

  “Sorry,” Nic said as she turned to face Yvette. “Okay, show me whatever it is you want me to take a look at.”

  Yvette pulled her leather shoulder bag around in front of her, opened the purse, and delved inside. She removed a photograph and held it out to Nic.

  Nic stared at Yvette’s hand for a full minute before she took the photo from her, turned it over, and gazed into the hazel eyes of the madman who had held her captive for three weeks. Rosswalt Everhart looked so normal.

  Nausea churned in Nic’s stomach. Just the sight of this monster made her sick. Her heartbeat quickened. Her hands trembled. She could hear his voice calling her name. “Nicole. You’ve disappointed me. Now, I’ll have to punish you.”

  She crumpled the photo in her hand, crushing it into a wad. Without saying a word to Yvette Meng, Nic walked across the room and tossed the photo in the wastebasket.

  Tilting her chin high, she faced the doctor. “See, I know exactly what to do with trash like that.”

  “You are trembling,” Yvette said. “Your heart is beating very fast. You are sick to your stomach and you are beginning to perspire. And you can hear his voice and see his face in your mind. He will not leave you alone.”

  “Damn you!” Nic hated herself for being so weak.

  “Please, let me help you.”

  Choking on her determination not to cry, Nic clenched her teeth tightly and glared at Yvette Meng.

  LaTasha’s leave would end in two days. If only she didn’t have to go so soon. She and Asheen were just beginning to get to know each other again, just beginning to rebuild their mother-daughter relationship. She had allowed Asheen to miss school today so they could have the whole day together, just the two of them. They had spent the morning shopping for Christmas presents, most of them for Asheen. New shoes, a new dress, a pair of jeans, and a tiny gold locket that cost a week’s pay.

  They sat together in the food court at the mall, shopping bags surrounding their table. LaTasha had discovered that her daughter preferred chicken sandwiches to hamburgers and she hated pickles. But she loved vanilla milk shakes.

  “What would you like to do this afternoon?” LaTasha asked. “We could go to the movies or—”

  “Could we bake cookies?”

  “You want to bake cookies?”

  “Christmas cookies. And we could make some of the cookies sugar-free just for me. We can cut them out in the shapes of bells and wreaths and angels and Christmas trees. We could go buy the cookie cutters and all the stuff to make the cookies and we could decorate them and … and I could take them to school with me tomorrow and tell everyone that my mama and me made them.”

  Emotion lodged in LaTasha’s throat. She stared at her beautiful child through a fine sheen of tears.

  “Mama?”

  LaTasha swallowed. “I’d love for us to make cookies.”

  Asheen clapped her hands together gleefully and smiled as if she’d been given a priceless gift. “Can we buy one of those fancy plastic boxes to put them in? A red and green box with gold glitter?”

  “You can pick out any box you want.”

  Asheen lunged over and hugged LaTasha.

  The feel of her child’s arms around her and the look of sheer joy on her sweet face gave LaTasha a feeling that no words could ever describe. The feeling existed only in a mother’s heart.

  “When I come back from this next assignment, I should be able to stay in the U.S. I want you and Grandma to come live with me. I know you’ll miss your Aunt Katari and—”

  “I’ll miss all of them.” Asheen hugged her tightly, then lifted her head. “But they can come and visit us, can’t they?”

  “Of course they can.” She caressed her daughter’s cheek. “Are you saying that you want us to live together again, the way we did when you were little?”

  “Oh, yes, Mama. It’s what I want more than anything in this whole wide world.”

  LaTasha grasped Asheen’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “I’m glad, because it’s what I want more than anything, too.”

  Tabora Island was three miles wide and four miles long, just a speck in the Caribbean Sea, off the coast of Nicaragua. Pudge had leased the entire island for six months, with an option to extend the lease for an entire year. He would live here as Mr. Palmer Ross, an eccentric millionaire, who valued his privacy above all else. The realtor had arranged for two Honduran women, who did not speak more than a few words in broken English, to come to the island whenever they were needed, to clean the house and prepare meals. They would be staying until tomorrow, making everything ready for Pudge’s first guest.

  The only transportation on and off the island was by boat. He had purchased a new speedboat, which he could use to travel south to Panama or north to Cancun, where he could catch a commercial jet to anywhere in the world. Tomorrow he would travel to Tampa, using a fake passport, and then the day after, if all went as he had planned, he would bring LaTasha Davies home with him. Everything had been arranged to transport several crates of newly purchased personal items to his home. From Tampa, he would take a private plane to San Pedro and then a quick boat ride to the island. The empty crates could be tossed overboard in route, saving only the one containing his precious cargo. Her room in the cellar was waiting for her. He had done his best to recreate the atmosphere of the basement at Belle Fleur including a set of shiny new manacles.

  Although the house here on the island was not as large and not nearly as magnificent as the mansion at Belle Fleur, it was adequate for his needs. Spacious, roomy, with views of the ocean on two sides, from where it perched on the highest point on the island. Not e
xactly a hill, more like a grassy knoll.

  Pudge walked out onto the front porch, sat in the large rattan rocker, and gazed out over the grounds of his new home. He would never be able to return to Belle Fleur. Nicole had not only tried to kill him, but she had taken his ancestral home away from him. Someday he would make her pay dearly for her sins against him. If she thought her first captivity had been unpleasant, she couldn’t begin to imagine what he had planned for her the next time. And there would be a next time.

  Griffin Powell wouldn’t be there to guard her 24/7 forever. Nicole would never allow it. Pudge smiled. All he had to do was wait for the right moment and use that mile-wide streak of independence in Nicole to bring her down.

  Doug Trotter had told her she was making a big mistake. Josh Friedman tried to talk her into coming back to D.C. But in the end, she had gone with her gut instincts. Nic couldn’t explain why she had chosen to go home with Griff. For some unfathomable reason, she simply knew it was the right thing to do. The best thing, not only for her, but for Griff. Odd how she felt that he needed her every bit as much as she needed him.

  During her stay at Baton Rouge General, Griff had been a daily visitor, always near but never intruding. Not once had he mentioned their last night together in Woodbridge before she’d been kidnapped. Not once had he done more than kiss her forehead or her cheek. He had proven himself to be her friend in more ways than she could count, and maybe that’s what she needed most now. Just someone to lean on for a brief period of time. Someone who would make no demands and would give her the time she needed to fully recover from her ordeal.

  She had deluded herself into thinking she could simply return to her life as a federal agent, just pick up where she left off, as if she hadn’t spent three weeks being tormented by a psychopath.

  No one, not even Griff, would understand if she admitted that she wanted to scream and cry and rant and rave and butt her head against a wall. Who could possibly believe that anyone who felt that way wasn’t crazy?