“Get your hands on it for me,” Quinton concluded. “And I’ll just hang on to the little lady for safekeeping, if you don’t mind.” He spared Whitney a smile that cut right to the bone. “Just until you and Taylor return with the money.” The man who answered to the name Taylor took a step forward, waiting.
Quinton’s suave smile returned as he curled his fingers around Whitney’s hand. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Russell, but a man in my position has to take certain precautions, you understand. After all, luck still might be running against me.”
Whitney tried to pull her arm away and couldn’t. Quinton’s grip was too tight. She wasn’t frightened. It hadn’t occurred to her yet to be afraid. She was confused. And concerned about what Zane had gotten himself into.
There was guilt in Zane’s eyes when she looked at him. Her heart sank. “Zane, what is he talking about?”
Confident that things were going his way, Quinton could afford to become charitable again.
“Luck, my dear. That whimsical thing that can make a beggar a king or a king a beggar. I don’t like being a beggar.” He motioned Taylor forward. “Take him where he has to go and don’t let him out of your sight. I want you both back here within an hour.” The tone remained light, the message no less deadly. “One hour, that’s all you have, Russell. After that—”
Quinton didn’t have to complete his sentence. The gleam in his eyes said it all.
Zane’s mind, always so orderly, threatened to desert him. All he could think of was that he had placed Whitney’s life in jeopardy. Exactly what he had been trying not to do by keeping her in the dark.
“How do I know I won’t just be handing you the money?” Zane demanded. “How do I know I’ll be getting something in return?”
So he did have a backbone, after all. Quinton’s laugh dismissed the question. “And here I thought we were developing such a friendship. You have my word, Russell.” He stroked Whitney’s arm. “And I have all the cards, as it should be.”
Quinton looked at his watch. “Now I suggest you get going. Time is ticking away.”
What was the hurry? What difference could a few minutes possibly make to Quinton one way or the other? Zane knew the answer even before he formed the question. It was because Quinton enjoyed making people dance to his tune.
“What if I can’t get to the money and return within the hour?” Zane challenged.
Whitney had never seen a colder smile. Finally wakened, fear began to crawl up her spine.
“I wouldn’t ask such questions, Russell,” he warned, “unless you have a stomach for the answers. When I feel unlucky, I become very nasty. It would be a shame to expose your wife to such nastiness, but then, it’s out of my hands.”
It was all Zane could do to keep from wrapping his hands around Quinton’s throat. But venting his rage wouldn’t settle anything. And it wouldn’t help Whitney.
Whitney couldn’t stand being in the dark any longer. “Zane, what is going on?”
Zane tried to keep his concern from registering on his face. “It’ll be all right, Whitney.” I swear it’ll be all right. He took a chance and tried to reason with Quinton. “Look, she doesn’t know anything. Let me take her with me. You can still send your man with us to get the money.”
“What money?” Whitney cried. Her question was all but drowned out by the collective din around them. “I thought he was paying you.”
Quinton laughed. “I guess she really doesn’t know anything. Commendable, Russell. But she still remains with me.” His hand tightened around Whitney’s arm. “Think of her as an insurance policy. If everything is as it should be, there’s no reason for you to be concerned. If not...” His voice drifted away and he shrugged carelessly. “Well, that’ll be on your head. Now, I would advise you to hurry. Traffic might be difficult this time of the evening.” He raised a hand, signaling for his other bodyguard. “Reese, have the hotel bring the limousine around.”
His attention returned to Taylor. “And for heaven’s sake, if Russell winds up taking you to another hotel, don’t have Zanadu’s chauffeur whining about it.” He could have been a simple businessman, complaining about shabby tactics as he looked at Whitney. “They get so possessive just because they swallow a fifty-thousand-dollar tab. If you so much as look at another hotel, they think you’re taking your gambling there. It’s worse than having a jealous lover.”
How had Zane gotten mixed up with someone like Quinton? The man was vermin. “How difficult for you,” she felt compelled to say.
He laughed at the obvious loathing in Whitney’s eyes. He liked a woman of spirit. He’d sensed it about her almost from the first. Quinton could feel his appetite getting whetted.
Taylor began ushering Zane away. “Whitney,” Zane called to her, “it’s going to be okay.”
But how could it? she thought. How could it when she didn’t know what “it” was? After four days, she was back to square one, completely confused about her life and the man who was in it.
Numb, she didn’t remember walking to Quinton’s suite. She’d placed one foot in front of the other and somehow arrived there.
With a deceptively gentle hand around her shoulders, Quinton guided her into the living room. The butler closed the door behind them. The remaining bodyguard took his position before it.
Whitney looked around. There was no one else in the room. “Where’s Sally?”
“She’s been dispatched home early. There were a few things I wanted her to take care of for me.” He could read her mind. It empowered him. “You needn’t be afraid of me. Unless your husband doesn’t return.”
A reserve of courage fortified her. “He’ll be back, and I’m not afraid.”
“Brave words. We’ll see.” Quinton gestured toward the bar. “Can I interest you in a little champagne? Or are you still drinking mineral water?” He chuckled. “Oh, my, I seem to recall that we’ve had this conversation before.”
He was laughing at her. She didn’t care. All she cared about was Zane. “I think I’ll have a Scotch and soda.”
The request for the bracing alcohol came from deep within, from a region Whitney hadn’t been able to unlock from the outside. She needed something to steady her nerves.
Quinton laughed, pleased with the choice. “You surprise me, my dear. I would have thought a light wine would have suited you better.”
Her first impression had been right. Beneath the impeccably tailored clothing and smooth manner, Quinton was a pig. A pig with a well-oiled veneer.
She raised her head defiantly. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“On the contrary, my dear, I know all I need to know.” Raising a glass, he toasted her.
The irony of it was, she thought, he probably knew more about her than she did.
Chapter 14
Whitney sat on the sofa, poised like an arrow ready to be released from a bow. She struggled to make sense out of what was happening.
The facts refused to arrange themselves in any semblance of order.
Racked with tension, she was pressing her wrists against the purse in her lap so hard that it was digging into her thighs. She ignored it, ignored everything but the icy feeling running along her spine.
Her hands were wrapped tightly around the chunky Scotch glass. Please, there has to be good explanation for this. There has to be.
Her throat felt dry, parched. It wasn’t anything the drink could remedy. Whitney forced the words out. “You don’t really have a piece of land you want developed, do you?”
This had to be how a deity felt, Quinton thought. Trifling with people, moving them around like so many chess pieces on a board, for amusement. He was enjoying himself again.
“On the contrary, I hold the deeds to a great deal of property, Mrs. Russell. Both developed and undeveloped.” He rose and poured himself a drink. “As well as controlling interest in a great many businesses on both sides of the ocean.”
Quinton’s voice was coming from behind her. She resis
ted the temptation to turn around and look at him. That was what he wanted, to be center stage. It was a small thing, but she refused to indulge him.
After a beat, she asked, “Which ocean?”
He took his whisky straight up. Swallowing, he let the alcohol course through his veins, invigorating him. “Pick one. I’m almost respectable, you know. Which allows me to do what I want, when I want.”
He was smug. She had a feeling that as long as he felt he was in control, he could be lulled into being too self-confident, a little lax perhaps. It might make the difference between being able to get away and not.
Quinton felt he was in control? her mind mocked. Quinton was in control. Complete control. It was hard not to let that unnerve her.
What was he doing back there?
Tension was making her back and shoulders ache. Whitney stared straight ahead at the water as it cascaded down the fountain. “What is this all about?”
His laughter mocked her question. “You really don’t know, do you?”
She felt like a fool. A hopelessly blind fool. How could Zane have put her into such a position? But he had and she was going to have to work with that.
Whitney drew her anger around herself like a mantle. “Would I be lowering myself to ask if I did?”
“Lowering yourself? Is that what you consider it?” Quinton turned the phrase around, examining the sentiment behind it. “No, I don’t suppose you would ‘lower’ yourself, as you put it, if you did know.” Just the slightest hint of grudging admiration entered his voice. “Russell’s better at keeping secrets than I gave him credit for. Another man, in the throes of ecstasy, might have told you everything.”
Standing directly behind her, Quinton bent over and whispered into her ear, “Did you take him there, into the throes of ecstasy? I’ll bet you did.”
He saw the tension dancing along every fiber of her body and it pleased him. Nursing his drink now, Quinton moved around the sofa until he was in her line of vision again. There was loathing in her eyes. He respected hatred. Took it as a compliment and an affirmation. People hated what they feared.
His eyes were darkened with lust. “With that fine, upstanding attitude, and that tight little compact body, I’ll bet you’re a very passionate woman once the door is closed.” His eyes shifted to the door behind her, as if he didn’t already know that it was closed and the room secured. “My door is closed.” He caught his tongue between his teeth as he regarded her. “Why don’t you give me a preview? I might even find it in my heart to tell you a few secrets myself.”
She held herself rigid, afraid that if she didn’t, she would shiver. Whitney didn’t want him to know just how urgently fear was beginning to lick at her.
Disgust filled her eyes. “I don’t want to know that much.”
He laughed, amused rather than affronted. Knowing he could dispose of her like a used tissue at any time he chose added to his enjoyment. He continued toying with her.
“Liar. You’re consumed with curiosity.” His glass nearly empty, he sat down beside her. One arm was carelessly thrown over the back of the sofa, hemming her in. “Despite my losses, I’m feeling rather generous tonight. Perhaps it’s the company.”
Setting his glass down on the corner of the beveled-glass table, Quinton placed one manicured hand over hers in an intimate move that made her skin crawl.
His eyes slid over her. Whitney could almost feel them peeling her dress off.
With a jerk, she pulled her hand away. Something dangerous flashed through his eyes, then left. The realization struck her that here was a man who could kill instantly, without compunction or remorse. She had to be crazy to challenge him.
“What would you say if I told you that you’re married to a drug dealer?”
The question hit her with the force of a physical blow. She felt as if she’d just stepped on a land mine. “I’d say I didn’t believe you.”
He shrugged and turned his attention to his glass. The two fingers’ worth disappeared easily. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s true.”
Quinton was just saying this to upset and confuse her. Why, she had no idea. Maybe he enjoyed torturing people. “Zane is a land developer,” she insisted.
The man had done a good job of covering his tracks, Quinton thought. He could use a man like that. Maybe he’d change his plans for Russell, after all. But that remained to be seen.
Right now, he diverted himself with bursting the bubble around this woman.
“He’s a lie developer. His kind will lie, cheat, steal. Sell out their own families for next to nothing.” Quinton contemplated his surroundings. Surroundings he had earned, in his own fashion. “I should know, my dear. Those are my roots.”
He gestured around the room with his glass. There was unmitigated pride in his voice.
“Not bad for a drug dealer from Liverpool, is it?”
She had to keep him talking, to distract him until Zane returned. Zane would make some kind of sense out of this for her.
“You’re British?” Then the slight trace of an accent she’d detected hadn’t been an act. It was real.
The corners of Quinton’s mouth curved slightly, giving him almost a Satanic appearance.
“I prefer to think of myself as a citizen of the world.” It was a fact that he was welcomed anywhere. As well as feared. Nothing gave him greater satisfaction. “The world is a great arena to deal in, provided you have something they want.” And Quinton had always made certain that he had that in his possession.
Such as now.
Shifting, he ran his fingers along her bare arm, then laughed as she stiffened. She’d come around, he thought. Everyone always did. And if she didn’t, it made no difference. He’d take her, anyway. He fancied a blonde tonight.
“As I said, I’m considered respectable now.” There was contempt for the word in his voice, as well as for the people who kowtowed to him. “But the lure, oh, the lure of danger keeps bringing me back to renew my spirit.”
He was crazy, she thought. Absolutely crazy. She began to seriously fear for her own safety, and for Zane’s. “You disgust me.”
Quinton snorted. “Fortunately, I don’t care.” Quinton glanced at his watch. “Your husband has a little less than twenty minutes left.” He wanted to watch her squirm, to sweat out the minutes. To know that he could do anything he wanted with her. “You don’t think perhaps he’s had second thoughts, do you? Given my man the slip and cut his losses?” She was resisting the idea, but he could see a kernel of it had found fertile ground. “That would mean that I retain custody.”
Her head jerked up. Zane had to come back for her, he had to. He wouldn’t just leave her with Quinton like this.
How much did she really know about him? a small voice inside her whispered. Not much. Maybe nothing, but she knew this. Zane would be back for her.
“Custody of what?” she demanded.
Guts, she had guts. She was foolhardy, but she had guts. And she’d fight him off like a wildcat. He was going to enjoy her.
“You.”
She could feel chains snapping around her wrists. This was no time to fall apart. She had to think, to resist. “I don’t know about the rest of the world, but slavery’s been outlawed for more than a hundred and thirty years here.”
Her scent had been tantalizing him for the better part of the past hour. Mixed with fear, it was almost overpoweringly irresistible. He could feel himself growing more aroused by the moment. There was nothing like closing in on a prey.
Quinton moved closer to her on the sofa. “There are many forms of slavery, my dear. Slavery to a substance.” He toyed with the ends of her hair. “To a woman.”
Whitney rose to get away from him. “To superstitions.”
Rather than become enraged or embarrassed, he laughed at her obvious ploy. His observance of his superstitions were what had brought him to this point in time. To where all the cards were his to play.
“Touché. We’ll see in twenty minutes whether or n
ot you’ve managed to enslave your husband or not. Oops,” he mocked as he glanced at his watch. “My mistake. Make that seventeen minutes now. They’re just slipping away, aren’t they? Well, you know how time flies, Mrs. Russell, when you’re having fun.” Reaching, Quinton tangled his fingers with the hem of her dress. “Would you like to have fun?”
Whitney yanked the fabric from his grasp. She felt caged, helpless, and it galled her until she could hardly breathe. Mechanically, she slipped her purse’s thin gold chain on her shoulder. It swung against her side as she moved.
“What do you know about him? Zane. What do you know about him?”
He enjoyed breaking down whatever lies Russell had fed to his wife. Quinton pretended to think before answering.
“All I need to know. That he’s done well for himself rather quickly. He has a reputation of selling only the highest-quality cocaine. Which is why his path has brought him to me.”
Still holding her drink, she looked at the vase on display just a few feet away. “Is that supposed to impress me?”
“Yes.” Quinton followed her line of vision and knew just what she was contemplating. “I wouldn’t try to throw that if I were you. My reflexes are undoubtedly a great deal faster than yours, and it would be a terrible waste of good art.”
Whitney thought she was going to be ill.
She didn’t want to believe Quinton. It could still all be nothing more than lies. It had to be. Even though what he told her made the pieces fit together better. The deceptions she’d caught Zane in. The evasions every time she asked Zane a direct question. That was the behavior of someone with something to hide.
Whitney pressed her lips together. She stared at the rings on her left hand. The diamonds blurred in the haze of tears she fought to keep back. Her eyes burned. She’d fallen in love and married a man who was the lowest life form on the earth.
No! Her mind screamed. It had to be a mistake. Quinton had to be lying. There had to be another explanation for this.
Didn’t there?
She was beginning to believe it, Quinton thought. He could read it in her eyes. When he rose, crossing to her, she didn’t move.
The Amnesiac Bride Page 18
