by Julie Miller
“Charlotte!”
Someone had pushed her down to her knees and shoved something warm and furry against her.
“Charlotte, you’re all right—stay in the moment.”
She fought inside her head to ground herself, to find her way back to reality. Her pants were wet. Something cold and wet was soaking into her jeans. Max. Max had his front paws on her shoulder and was licking her face. Her hands crept around his neck, hugging him tight. “Good boy. Good boy, Max.”
“Stay in the moment,” the deep voice beside her commanded. She took a deep, calming breath.
And then she saw the white van. “No.”
It stopped at the bottom of the hill. They were coming.
“I won’t go. Don’t take me!”
He turned her bruised face into the stale bedding. “I’m tired of waiting for my millions. It’s time to show Daddy just how serious we are.”
And then she felt the cold scissors squeeze her earlobe. “No!”
“Charlotte!” the voice snapped. “Honey, I don’t want to touch you right now. Listen to my voice. Stay in the moment.”
“Trip?” She pulled one hand from Max’s fur and reached out.
The driver’s door opened and a man climbed out of the van. “Charlotte Mayweather?”
He looked right at her. He was coming for her. She backed away.
“I have something for you.” He held up a small package wrapped in plastic.
Charlotte answered with a scream.
Chapter Nine
Ignoring the barking dog jumping at his legs, Trip threw his arm around Charlotte and twisted to put himself between her and the perp. He muffled her screams against his chest, pressed his lips against her hair and muttered every apology he could think of as he took her down to the slick wet grass and rolled his body over hers, waiting for the attack.
“Gun?”
“Remote?”
“Bomb?”
He heard the speculation over his radio, heard a slew of curses, then Randy Murdock’s harsh, “Drop it! Get down on the ground! Now!”
“Madre de Dios!” Trip turned his head at the thick Latin accent and saw Randy’s blond ponytail flying as she kicked aside the package and put the driver on the pavement. “I surrender! I surrender! Por favor!”
Murdock hooked her sniper’s rifle over her shoulder, put her knee in the man’s back and cuffed him. Captain Cutler pointed his gun at the windshield as Sergeant Delgado approached the rear of the van at rifle-point and swung it open. He paused, climbed inside, then jumped back out to the ground and flattened himself on the road to look beneath the van.
He could read the results in his team’s posture even before he heard Delgado’s report. “Clear. The van’s clear.”
“He’s clean,” Murdock reported, rising after frisking the driver for weapons.
“Let me up.” Charlotte’s panicked screams had subsided to a hoarse plea. “I’m okay, Trip. I need to see him.”
“Not yet.” He got around the dog’s frantic need to get to his mistress by grabbing him by the collar and pulling him down to the ground beside them. “Clear” wasn’t the same as “all clear,” and Trip had no intention of any surprises popping out to finish whatever the driver had started.
Captain Cutler lowered his weapon to a forty-five-degree angle and came around the van’s front bumper while Sergeant Delgado turned his back to the van and circled, eyeing each direction along the asphalt and into the trees that dropped off to the bottom of the hill across the road. The captain nudged the plastic bag that had tumbled into the ditch with his toe, then knelt beside it.
The dog pushed against Trip’s shoulder. Or maybe it was Charlotte. “I can’t breathe.”
Cutler holstered his gun. “No weapon. I repeat, no weapon.” He plucked the bag from the water draining into the brick ditch and stood. “I’ve got one red-rose corsage with a note attached.”
“A note?” Charlotte’s breathy terror entered Trip’s ear and went straight to the heap of guilt already twisting his gut. “For me?”
“Charming son of a bitch. Let’s get this guy up,” the captain ordered. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes.”
“Did you write this note?”
“No, sir. No, I just deliver.”
“Let’s get you moving, too.” Trip shifted his weight off Charlotte and rolled to his feet, bracing as he pulled her up in the same movement. “The RGK used a bomb when he went after Audrey last year,” he explained, suspecting an apology alone wouldn’t erase the wide-eyed shock behind Charlotte’s glasses. “I wasn’t taking any chances of a replay of that attack. And after shooting at my truck, I’m not waiting to see if he graduates to real bullets. Are you hurt? Are you with me?”
She had one hand on her ear, the other clutched tightly around Max’s leash. Her eyes were transfixed by the van, but hopefully not focused in the past.
He’d protected her like the cop he was trained to be. But it was the man in him who cupped her cheek in his gloved hand and tilted her face up into the rain. “Charlotte?”
The rain splashed on her glasses, making her blink. Then some of the haze cleared away and she slowly shook her head. “I’m not hurt.”
But she was still rubbing her ear. Had she hit her head on the way down? “Honey?”
He pushed her hand away and brushed aside her hair. Her earring was missing.
“Don’t.”
She jerked away, but he’d already seen it. The jagged line. The tiny white scars and stiff molded skin. She’d lost part of her ear and plastic surgeons had rebuilt it. No wonder she was so sensitive about him touching her there.
“Honey, I…” But the stamp of her features warned him she didn’t want an apology. A quick scan up the hill a few feet led him to the gold earring. She snatched it from his hand and clipped it back on. “Are you with me?”
This time she nodded. She wiped the rain from her glasses and looked him in the eye. “The kidnappers took me in a white van. I was flashing back.”
“I suspected as much.” How could a woman he wanted to reach for so badly not welcome his touch? He had to remind himself that protecting Charlotte wasn’t about what he needed, and he curled his needy fingers into his palm. “Can you walk? Stick close. I intend to find out what this guy wants.”
Trip tried not to read too much into Charlotte capturing his hand and holding on with both of hers as he led her down the hill. Yeah, maybe she was more scared of her stalker and the rest of the world than she was of him right now, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still afraid of his big, bad self barging into her life and into her personal space.
He wasn’t ready to let go, either. He raised his voice, not needing the radio to communicate. “What’s in the note?”
Captain Cutler assessed Charlotte’s condition before handing over the package. His curse matched the captain’s. Charlotte didn’t need to see this.
Don’t despair, Charlotte. You’ll be joining your old friends soon. Not even your new friends can stop the inevitable. I’m counting the days until we’re together for the last time.
“A red rose with silver ribbons. That’s the corsage I had at prom. I dropped it in the parking lot before I was abducted.” Charlotte’s hands pumped his. “What does it say?”
“Uh-uh.”
The stubborn woman snatched it from his hands and read it, anyway. “Oh, my God.”
He took the vile message from her and handed it back to the captain. “Our guy’s a voyeur. He’s around here somewhere, watching her reaction to this.” While the captain dispatched Murdock up the hill to get the best recon of the cemetery, Trip pulled the pale-faced driver away from the van and turned him so Charlotte could get a good look at him. “You know this guy?”
“No.”
“Señor, por favor.” The stocky driver was younger than Trip had first suspected. He was guessing by the thickness of his accent that he hadn’t been in the country for very long, either.
Trip pressed further. “H
e doesn’t work for you or your family?”
“I don’t know. He’s not anyone I recognize.”
“Please, sir. I work for the florist.” He pointed over his shoulder to the road leading toward the cemetery’s north entrance. “I deliver flowers to the Gonzalez funeral down at the chapel.”
“The back of the van’s empty,” Delgado pointed out.
The driver turned to him, as if that proved his innocence. “I already go to the chapel. I’m on my way back to my uncle’s shop now.”
“Then you’re taking the scenic route.”
The driver frowned, not understanding Delgado’s sarcasm.
Trip wanted answers. “What are you doing up here? With this?”
“The man. The man at the chapel—he give me fifty dollars to take this up the hill to the lady with the dog.” With his cuffed hands the driver pushed the corsage bag away from him. “I give it. Please, señor—I good man.”
The unexpected opportunity to put an end to this fueled Trip’s adrenaline. “He could still be at the chapel.”
Cutler nodded. “Sarge, take the car and check it out.”
Delgado caught the keys Trip tossed him. “What are the chances he’s still there?”
“If he’s gone, then you find me footprints, tire tracks, something we can follow. I don’t like having a serial killer with so many ties to my team. And I don’t think we’re just talking about Alex anymore, are we?” His sharp blue eyes didn’t miss a detail, darting down to the clasp of Trip and Charlotte’s hands. “We’re going to wind up having a showdown one of these days, and I’d rather we capture him before he catches us off guard.”
Amen to that.
Delgado revved the engine and turned a U-ie on the narrow road, speeding down toward the chapel.
“I’ll bag this and call the detectives.” Captain Cutler adjusted the bill of his cap as the sky darkened and the rain changed from a few sprinkles to a steady downpour. He opened the van door and urged the driver to climb back inside and slide across to the passenger seat. “I’ll keep an eye on this guy until we hear from Sarge, see if I can get any kind of a description out of him to back up his story.” He nodded toward Charlotte, his face reflecting the same wary concern Trip felt. “Put her in our truck and stay with her.”
Trip was anxious to get Charlotte behind the van’s armored walls as well as out of view of the psycho-pervert who was behind this sick game. “I don’t like the coincidence of that van showing up when we’re here with Charlotte.”
Cutler agreed. “Me, either. Who knew that you were bringing her to the cemetery?”
Charlotte seemed to startle from some deep thought when they looked to her for an answer. “I always tell Dad when I leave the estate. Laura and Kyle were with him in his office, meeting with the event planner they’ve been working with, Jeffrey Beecher. Bailey was there, too. My stepmother wants to host a fundraiser for the city’s botanical gardens once all this rain clears.”
“Plus there are the security guards and Detective Montgomery and whoever he’s got watching the cameras to track Charlotte’s every move there,” Trip added.
“Well, that certainly narrows down the list of suspects.”
The captain’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Trip. “Believe me, you don’t know what kind of traffic that place gets.”
“Then I’d get her out of there.”
“I would, too. Unfortunately, it’s not up to me.”
“Do the best you can, Trip. Trust your instincts—they’re good ones. SWAT Team One will back you up as much as we can.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Trip was already turning Charlotte down the road toward the SWAT truck, keeping his chest aligned with her back and his eyes peeled as Cutler climbed into the white van.
“This way.” He stopped her and pointed into the trees. “It’ll be quicker if we cut through.”
She stepped off the asphalt with him, but put on the brakes when she got a peek over the edge to the road below. “That’s a pretty steep drop-off, and I can hear how fast and full the creek is running from up here.”
“Yeah, but I hate being out in the open like this.” Trip plowed into her back at the abrupt halt, knocking her forward, but catching her before she tumbled. “Anyone could drive by. I feel like there are eyes on us.” He took advantage of his arm being around her waist and pulled her back against him, savoring the contact with her hips and thighs against his, needing it to feel she was secure. “It’ll take us ten minutes to follow the road around, and if that sicko is here, you’d be in easy view the whole way. The shortcut will take us five and give us cover, if you’re willing to get your shoes muddy. The trees should give us enough handholds to control our descent.”
For a moment she relaxed against him, completing the embrace. But then she was taking his hand, clicking to the dog and sliding down to the first tree. “I need to learn to keep myself safe, too. We’re cutting through.”
Four minutes and only one foot in the creek later, Trip was lifting Charlotte into the back of the SWAT van. Max just needed an invitation to join them, and after the dog hopped up and shook off, Trip closed and locked the door behind them. While Max found a spot on the floor to curl up and give himself a bath, Trip sat Charlotte on the bench that ran parallel of the center aisle and scooted past them to make sure the doors up front were locked. Then he secured the cage between the cab and the supply and command center of the truck. With inches of reinforced steel and no way to see in between Charlotte and her stalker, Trip finally relaxed his guard and breathed a little easier.
But the air inside the van quickly filled with the dank smells of mud and dog and grass stains on their clothes. And there was something warm and intimate about their bodies moving in the close confines of the narrow passageway. Charlotte’s clothes were rumpled and sticking to every generous curve as she peeled off her Kevlar, but her cheeks were flushed with a healthy color and her eyes were bright with relief as she pulled off her glasses and reached beneath her black trench coat to find the hem of her blouse to dry her lenses.
As he stowed his rifle, three things hit Trip with stunning clarity. One, Charlotte Mayweather possessed a surprising beauty that was far more enticing than she gave herself credit for.
Two, Captain Cutler was right—he was feeling something for her more profound than guilt or some need to prove that her first impression of him as a man she needed to fear was wrong. He wouldn’t be tamping down these warring needs of wanting to wrap her in his arms to shield her from everything she had to fear, and wanting to kiss that pursed mouth and uncover her layer by layer to get inside her if that was the case, right?
And three, as much as Charlotte’s complexities both baffled and fascinated him, as much as he suspected her complete acceptance of him would finally give him the solace he sought to ease the physical and emotional hunger she’d awakened inside him, Trip knew he wasn’t the right man for her. Not in the long run.
Charlotte needed Mr. Sensitive, not a hands-on kind of cowboy who wrestled her to the ground and dragged her through the mud and kissed her when she rankled him as he did. She needed someone well-educated and refined enough to live in her world, not a man who couldn’t manage a cup and saucer and who took four months to read a book that a woman like her could finish in a week. She could use him as a cop, as the protector he was. But without the RGK in her life, she’d have no place for him—no use for a bull like him in her china shop of a world.
When he turned around and watched her fix her glasses and brave face back into place, that last realization hit him hard in the gut—and maybe closer to something a little more vital. He was falling hard and fast for the quirky heiress. But how the hell could the two of them together ever work?
“What?”
Smooth, big guy. Real smooth. She’d caught him staring, with maybe a little too much hunger and desperation stamped on his face.
He pulled off his gloves, shook off the excess moisture and stuffed them into his pocket. “Sor
ry I made you do the wilderness trek like that. I guess I’ve forced you to do a lot of stuff you’re not comfortable with lately.”
She shrugged off his apology. “Trust me, I’m happier being indoors and out of sight sooner rather than later.”
“I’ll get you home as soon as Captain Cutler calls with an ‘all clear.’”
Her slight smile surprised him. “You’re certainly an adventure to hang out with. I don’t know that being soaked straight through to my backside is what I’d call fun, but about fifteen years ago, I’d have been all over sliding down that hillside and climbing the rocks across the creek. About the only dirt I get my hands on now is the dust at the museum.”
“You know, you like getting dirty more than any reclusive heiress I know.”
For one moment her eyes narrowed in a confused frown. And then she laughed. “So you’ve met a lot of us?”
“You’re pretty when you smile, Charlotte.”
And then her cell phone rang. Not the one Spencer Montgomery had bagged as evidence from the museum. Not the one Bud Preston had retrieved from the limo. The brand-new cell phone someone on her father’s staff had picked up for her that morning was ringing.
The smile had vanished. “Maybe it’s someone else. Like Audrey. We haven’t talked since Alex put her under twenty-four-hour guard.”
“She has the new number?” They both knew the timing was suspect after the note and van and corsage.
She pulled the cell from her coat pocket and stared at the blinking light. “It says ‘Unknown Caller.’ I have to answer it, don’t I? That’s what Detective Montgomery said.”
Trip rested his hand on her shoulder and sat on the bench beside her. “Put it on speakerphone.”
With a jerky nod, she answered it. “Hello?”
“Did you like my gift, Charlotte? Brings back fun memories, doesn’t it?”
Trip snatched the phone from her fingers and spun away. “You better hope to hell you and I never come face-to-face, pal.”
But while Trip seethed, the bastard didn’t so much as startle. He breathed softly and then said, “Put Charlotte back on the phone.”
