by Lucy Farago
“People often do things that are uncharacteristic. A good person might be driven to murder. You can disapprove of their behavior, but inside they’re still the same good person.”
A tiger can’t change his strips? His mother hadn’t changed hers. But was Taylor acting a tad defensive or was it him? “What if you see someone and think…oh, I don’t know…serial killer? But you get it wrong. They’re really nice and wouldn’t hurt a fly? You can’t always trust your impressions.”
“Really? That’s your example?” She tucked her socked feet beneath her and crossed her arms. “What would make a real nice person act like a serial killer? That would be one heck of a bad day. And who looks at someone and thinks, wow, that guy would murder someone with no remorse. That would be judging people on their appearance. Show up to one of my appointments dressed like you just came out of a mining shaft and I’ll come up with all kinds of reasons why you didn’t bother to shower, but I don’t go to the worst of someone’s character until they open their mouth.”
“Sorry, I don’t believe you. Like you said, it’s human nature to judge on appearance.” He’d been trained to do the exact opposite, to expect the unexpected and be prepared for anything. She wasn’t him.
“I’m not saying I don’t get first impressions of people. I’m just saying I try not to let them cloud my judgment.”
“And what was your first impression of me?”
“That you were some creepy mountain guy come to kill me. Ted Bundy kept popping into my head.”
“Why Bundy?”
“Well, you know…?” At his puzzled expression, she said, “Never mind.”
Did she find him attractive? Interesting. “If you thought I was a serial killer, why did you allow me to help you?”
“I didn’t really think you were a serial killer.” She snagged the blanket and covered her legs. “But I didn’t know where I was. I’d been alone for two days. I was tired, soaking wet, and running for my life. I didn’t have much of a choice. And I was too worried about Daniel finding me to make a real first impression about you.”
“So why do you think I have control issues?” And why did he fucking care?
“You’re obsessing.”
“I’m curious. That’s all.” Ryan had said it was one of the reasons for this vacation. That he needed to chill, and they were going to prove to him Carrie could handle anything that came up. She was a capable woman, but a year wasn’t enough to learn the ins and outs of his software. When he got back, he was guaranteed to find one big fucking mess.
“Okay. Why don’t we let this go…for now? Tell me what you found out. It’s a little more important than you obsessing.”
She was trying to prove a point. And to prove her wrong, damn it all to hell, he let it go. “There are five other men in the cabin. All Russian. Fully armed.” He’d debated all the way back how much to tell her, but because she’d heard the gunshot and would inevitably ask questions, there was no reason to lie. “Daniel isn’t happy with any of them. So much so…he shot one.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s what I heard?”
“Yes.”
“He killed him?”
She wouldn’t be so surprised if she truly understood who they were dealing with. “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. All mayhem broke out.” At least the panic room hadn’t been discovered. If they didn’t vacate the cabin, he’d have to find a way to get to it. “I’m guessing he wanted to set an example.”
“So yes?” she asked, her complexion paling.
“Most likely. And you should know the feds…” He didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was, but it wasn’t his style to sugarcoat information. “The feds shut down your company.”
“What do you mean, shut it down?”
“It’s normal procedure. I’m sure they’ll let you reopen once they’ve finished their investigation.”
“How long will that take?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what she’d think worse, a virus taking out her entire business or a police investigation into human trafficking? “I don’t know. There’s more, but the good news is, you made a backup.”
“They confiscated my files, didn’t they? I’m ruined. No one will ever trust me enough to give me their personal information.”
“No, they didn’t confiscate anything because they couldn’t. The Russians made sure of it.”
“You’re telling me they wiped my systems clean? Well, that would explain a few things. They’re after my backup. But why not kill me in San Diego? Why bother bringing me here?”
“They’d have had to have known the feds were on to them and that you were bringing the feds your backup. That might not be the case.” He had another answer to her question and while hesitant to give it to her, she was taking this far better than he’d expected. “If this is who I think it is, he’ll kill two birds with one stone. He doesn’t have much respect for women…he sees women as commodities.”
She looked like she was going to throw up as realization of what he meant set in. “He wants to…sell me?” What color there’d been to Taylor’s face finished draining. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said…right before she jumped up and ran to the bathroom.
Monty picked the fallen blanket off the cold floor and fisted it close to his chest. While he wasn’t going to throw up, he too was sickened. And right then and there, he made a promise to himself. Krupin wasn’t getting his fucking hands on Taylor. As Monty went into his bedroom to change out of his wet pants, he realized he’d just found something worth obsessing over.
Chapter 9
Taylor pumped water into the sink, then splashed her face with it. It was cold and welcoming against her heated skin. How the hell had she gone from being a matchmaker to… She couldn’t even say it. The whole thing was revolting. Women were not commodities. They weren’t playthings for some sick bastard’s amusement. She clutched the basin, gazing at herself in the mirror as water dripped from her cheeks and chin. She wore no makeup, was adorned with no jewelry, and didn’t have her daddy’s money to make people do what inane thing tickled her fancy. The woman staring back at her bore no resemblance to the spoiled brat who had rejected millions to gain her freedom. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around while women lost theirs. Someone needed to stop these people.
Before it had been a matter of survival, outrunning the bad guys and getting back to civilization—alive—and with evidence to prove she wasn’t involved. She’d lamely forgotten the human aspect of all this…or had chosen not to think about it. Monty’s words made it real. Now, it was more than sheer preservation. She had to shut those monsters down. She shoved her father’s words to the back of her head. She wasn’t a good-for-nothing, spoiled heiress who couldn’t make it on her own. She’d proven him wrong.
Until verified otherwise, she would believe she ran a successful company, without the mob and their fake postings, and would do so again. Regardless of that, she’d made far too many successful marriages to think she was a failure. And spoiled? Take a debutante and shove her in this forest and see how long she’d make out. There hadn’t been a part of Taylor that hadn’t shaken in fear, but that hadn’t diminished the fact that she’d stayed alive. She’d make her father eat his words again. She was going to bring down a crime lord. Snatching up the toothbrush Monty had left out, she brushed her teeth, dried her face, and left the bathroom, a woman on a mission.
When she couldn’t find Monty, she didn’t panic. Instead, she put her boots back on and headed into the tunnel. She found him in a supply room, with two hiking backpacks in his hands.
“What are those for?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Momentarily weak. It won’t happen again,” she assured him.
“Being scared isn’t a weakness.” He slung one pack over his shoulder and carried the other in
his hand. “Think you can handle one of these?”
She took it from him. It was heavy, but she imagined once it was on her back, the weight would disperse. “Are we going camping?”
“No. But if we have to try to make it off this mountain, I want to be prepared.”
What wasn’t he telling her? “Did you leave something out? What else happened tonight?”
“Nothing. We have time. I just want to know what you can and can’t carry. And this isn’t me being obsessive. I only want to get organized so we don’t forget anything.”
She could point out that organization could be an obsessive trait, but she didn’t. “What about your friends?” she said, following him into the tunnel. “Are they no longer coming?”
“This is only about being efficient with our time.”
So maybe he wasn’t obsessing; maybe he was lying to her? To protect her? But she’d come to learn that was something Monty wouldn’t do. It wasn’t his style to lie. “Okay. Are we going to fill these things?”
“Eventually.” He set the pack on the floor in the control room and motioned for her to do the same. “For now, I think maybe you should get some sleep.” Taking her hand, he led her inside.
Great. Tossing her cookies made him think she was even more of a weakling than before. “I’m not tired—Daddy.”
He stopped so abruptly, she nearly ran into him. “I’m not your daddy. I don’t even like being called daddy in the bedroom. But you’ve been sick, and this has been a long day. Logic dictates you rest.”
“Someone called you daddy while you were having sex?” To each his own, but the last person she wanted to think about when she was making love was her father.
“Once. And coming from a guy with seven fathers, believe me when I say, the last thing I want to hear out of the woman I’m screwing is daddy.”
She needed to remove the image of Monty screwing out of her mind. But honestly, it wasn’t easy. Snapshots of him naked, in a variety of positions, kept blasting her thoughts, and if it didn’t stop, he’d figure out why her face must have turned red. She quickly changed the conversation. “You had seven fathers? At the same time?” she said, trying to make him laugh and get that I-know-what-you’re-thinking expression off his face.
“It felt like that sometimes. I think we have wine,” he said out of nowhere. “Would you like a glass?”
“Sure.” It wouldn’t help in getting her to imagine Monty with his clothes back on, but he was right. It had been a long day, and the wine might help her sleep.
“White or red?” he asked over his shoulder. Then he removed his sweater and tossed it on a comfy-looking armchair.
“I’m not fussy.” What would her father say if he heard those words come out of her mouth? There’d been a time when if it wasn’t from a cellar’s private stock, she wasn’t drinking it. Hell, she’d brushed her teeth with Cristal. She shuddered at the absurdity. She truly had been a spoiled brat.
“Let’s go white. The room hasn’t warmed enough to bring the red to temperature.”
“You a wine snob?” she teased.
“I appreciate good wine…at any price.” He drew a bottle out from one of the overhead cupboards. “But I’m not much of a drinker. I like being able to think straight.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” He was a control freak…and obsessive…and cute.
“Are we returning to our earlier conversation?” He pulled out two wineglasses, then rummaged through a drawer for a corkscrew.
“No.” She’d had a few arguments with people like him and they tended to go nowhere.
“I like to know where my things are, and that when I get back, they’ll still be there. Exactly as I left them.” He found the opener, stared at it, then tossed it back and chose another. She raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t appear to notice his weird behavior. She’d seen nothing wrong with the first one other than its color—pink. “That doesn’t mean I have to control everything around me,” he said, proceeding to uncork the wine. Anything else he might have said was lost to her.
Having removed his sweater, he wore only a form-fitting, well-worn gray T-shirt that did nothing to hide his biceps and lick-me pectorals, flexing with each turn of the corkscrew. Again, images of him coming toward her, shirtless, magically appeared in her mind. She blinked and reached for the wineglass he’d filled without her noticing.
“You’re not going to argue with me?” he said.
“You want me to?” Right now, she’d do anything he asked. And wasn’t that scary?
“You feeling all right? You look a little dazed.”
She dropped her head and hastily sipped her wine. “Fine. Just…you know…I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” A smart thing would be to excuse herself and go to bed. The old her would have flaunted her wallet and quite possibly her body. The new her had more pride and didn’t pull shit like that anymore. But nor did she have the confidence to look this man in the eye and tell him… Tell him what? He was hot? He made her sweat? That she was sexually attracted to him?
“You okay?”
His concern made her realize how stupid she was being. Monty had saved her life. He was helping her. That was all it was. What did the shrinks call it? Displacement? Although she couldn’t recall sex being a part of it.
Monty was a good-looking guy with a very sexy body. And the fact that he appeared not to know it made him all the sexier. She was a healthy woman; it would be only natural to find him attractive. It didn’t mean she’d act on it. “I’m fine,” she repeated, meeting his gaze. “Tell me about your seven dads. I only had the one and he was more than enough.”
“Divorce?”
“No. My mom died when I was seven.” And Taylor had been a pain in her father’s side ever since. At least she’d given it her best shot. “I was raised by nannies.”
Monty’s eyebrows shot up. “You rich?” He took his wine, and together they returned to the living area.
“My father is. Filthy rich, as a matter of fact.” She sat first, thinking if there was a conversation that would cool her lust, this was it. Sharing a sofa would be easy now.
“Is Moore your real name?” He remained standing, looking down at her.
“I don’t recall telling you my last name.” She made it a habit of insisting everyone call her Taylor and left off her surname when she introduced herself, not wanting anyone to place her. It was hard enough trying to make something of yourself without everyone thinking it had been given to you on a platinum platter.
“You didn’t.” Thankfully, he took the spot beside her. “I snooped through your backpack.”
“Wow. Have you no shame? To invade my privacy without even bothering to cover it up?”
“What would be the point of subterfuge? You were out cold and I needed to know who you were.” His heavily booted feet clunked onto the coffee table.
She resisted the urge to knock them off. This wasn’t her house. This wasn’t a house. “As good an excuse as any,” she guessed. “Yes, it’s my last name.” She’d thought about changing it, but she had her mother’s memory to think of.
“Shit. Your father is Ethan Moore, isn’t he? CEO of EM Enterprises, casino magnate extraordinaire. He owns three casinos in Vegas.”
Damn. He knew who her father was “Two; the others are in Singapore and Tokyo. His attempt at opening one in Dubai failed.” Thanks to her.
“Dubai? They don’t allow gambling.”
“They do on sporting events. And horse racing is considered a sport.” One her father considered more important than his own daughter.
“You weren’t kidding about the filthy rich. He’s top fifty on the Forbes list.”
“Apparently. How do you know so much about him?”
“It’s part of my job to know something about everything. And then there’s the whole name stuff…and the paparazzi had a thing for
you.”
Yes, the bane of her existence. “The Hilton kids all got cool names. Me, I get a sitcom star.”
“It could be worse. They could’ve named you Dick. Or given you my name.”
“That’s right. Monty isn’t your real name.” Would he tell her?
“It’s just not my first name. And don’t ask. I’m not telling you.” He crossed his feet at the ankles and slumped down, making himself more comfortable. “I might just sleep here tonight. This couch isn’t half bad.”
“Something wrong with the beds?”
“Not when we have generators. The fireplaces in there are only meant to take the edge off. Body heat works better. But I gave you an extra blanket. You should be fine. Whose idea was it to name you Mary Taylor Moore?”
“My father was a big fan. He had some kind of crush on her growing up. My mom couldn’t say no to him. Thankfully, she had one condition.”
“Taylor instead of Tyler?”
She rolled her eyes. “Like it made a difference.”
“What was it like having a Vegas showgirl for a mom?”
“What I remember? It was fun.” She laughed, recalling all the times she and her mother had played dress up with her old costumes. “She had all this endless energy.” It still hurt to think about losing her. There were losses you never got over. “She tried to make up for my dad being away most of the time. I don’t think he ever wanted kids.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Your dad didn’t want you?” She understood that pain.
“He left before any real memories were formed.”
“What about your mom?” What kind of mother didn’t want her own kid?
“She spent a good chunk of her life trying to fill the gap my sperm donor left. It was her full-time job, until the day she died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” They were both orphans. He’d lost both his parents, and while it was only her mother who’d died, her father had checked out of their relationships long before he disowned her. “Why marry seven times? That’s a lot of effort, never to get it right.”
