by Julie Miller
“No.”
“Then I’ll call her again. And again. And again. On this number or another one. Until she gets my message personally.”
As much as he wanted to hang up, Trip knew the longer they kept this psycho talking, the more chances they had at him slipping up and giving them a clue to his identity or location. But he didn’t want her to hear this. He didn’t want her to be afraid.
Trip felt four fingers curl beneath his belt at the back of his waist. Charlotte’s unexpected touch took the edge off his protective anger. Did she have any idea how brave she really was? He dropped his arm around her shoulders and when she didn’t pull away, he hugged her close. She curled her arms around his waist and answered. “I’m here. Why are you doing this?”
“You always prided yourself in being so smart, Charlotte. But it’s driving you nuts that you can’t figure it out, isn’t it?”
“Is that the idea? To drive me nuts?”
“It’s hard to keep it all together and move on with the life you want when someone else is calling the shots, don’t you think?”
Her hair rustled against Trip’s vest when she shook her head. “I don’t understand. I’ve never done anything wrong. I’ve never hurt anyone.”
“That’s what you and your friends all claim. Yet one by one you’ve all denied me what I wanted, what I deserved. I paid a terrible price for your betrayal. Justice is finally being served.”
“My friends? You killed Val and Gretchen? You tried to kill Audrey?”
“I’m going to kill you, too, sweetheart. Make sure your boyfriend hears that.” Trip could make out the sound of a finely tuned engine revving in the background. The perv was on the road, on the move. “No wealthy bitch will ever say ‘no’ to me again. I’m going to kill you, too.”
Trip closed the phone and stuffed it into his pocket as soon as the call disconnected. Then he gathered Charlotte into his arms and squeezed her tight, feeling her shaking. Or maybe he was the one shaking.
But as Charlotte wound her arms around his waist and nestled under his chin, he felt his own fears dissipating, his anger hardening into something primal and territorial. “He’s not going to hurt you, honey. I swear it.”
“Because you’ve got my back?”
“Yeah.” He tunneled his fingers into her rain-softened curls and buried his nose in their fragrant scent. “I’m calling the captain and then Spencer Montgomery. They need to know about this call. I think I can get a general idea what kind of vehicle he was driving from the sound of the engine.”
“And tell Captain Cutler the man he has in custody isn’t the man who’s been calling me. The guy in the van has much too thick of an accent.”
“Look at us, narrowing down the list of suspects.” But there was nothing funny about eliminating one man out of hundreds of possibilities for the Rich Girl Killer.
“Trip?”
“I know. You want to go home.”
Her fingers snuck up to his jaw and an answering heat pulsed to that spot. And then she touched his lips, lightly dancing over them with her fingertips as if trying to recall what they’d felt like pressed against hers. He groaned deep in his chest, his whole body aching to answer that sweetly curious caress. But she was leaning back, tugging at his chin, asking him to look at her. Easily and willingly done. “Only if you’re there, too. I know I keep freaking out on you, but I think I need you. Will you stay with me until this is over?”
The trust wasn’t there in her eyes. Not yet. But he wasn’t about to give her any reason to doubt him.
“Try pushing me away. This boy don’t budge.”
HIS HANDS WERE SHAKING as he tucked the phone inside his jacket pocket. What the hell? That conversation had lasted longer than the sixty seconds of toying with Charlotte that he normally allowed himself.
He’d lost his temper. That big bozo cop who thought he was on some personal mission to shadow Charlotte’s every move had interfered with the plan and made him lose his temper.
The rear end of a semi loomed up at an alarming speed and he jerked the steering wheel to the left, not caring about the honking horn that warned him he’d cut someone off in the passing lane. He flew another two miles on I-435 before finally getting a glimpse of his own reflection in the rearview mirror.
“What are you doing?” he asked, reassured by the intelligence looking back at him. “Why are you letting them get to you again?”
Taking a deep cleansing breath, he slowed the car to a legal speed and merged with the traffic that would take him into one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Kansas City, south of the downtown area near the Plaza. He was expected shortly, and he hated to be late. He might have to bite his tongue about some things for now, but in the end, he’d be victorious and they’d be the ones groveling for mercy.
He’d been beaten and talked down to, denied his family, rejected and overlooked because of those women. It wasn’t right for a man to endure all he had. There had to be retribution. Someone had to pay—as dearly as he had—in order to restore the balance that his world so desperately needed.
As he slowed down for a stoplight, he reached across the seat and picked up his camera. He brought up his most recent pictures on the digital screen and smiled.
Nice. Spying the florist delivery van and putting it to good use while he’d been following her trip to the old man’s grave had been a stroke of pure genius. The driver had been more than willing to help for fifty bucks. He might have driven up to Charlotte for free once he’d turned on the sob story about being an old boyfriend who wanted to show he still cared for his grieving ex.
“Look at the fear on your face, Charlotte.” If her big armed buddy hadn’t been there with the dog, she would have wigged out completely.
Having the cop join the conversation on the phone wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted, but it was satisfying to hear the wobble in Charlotte’s tone, even with her protector there with her. That meant he was well and truly inside her head now. Very nice.
When the turn signal for the next lane came on, he shut down the camera and carefully returned it to the pocket of the rolled-up coveralls in the gym bag beside him. He zipped the bag shut, then neatly arranged the handles so that they hung evenly on each side of the bag. For a moment, he contemplated giving in to the urge to pull his cigarettes from the bag’s side pocket. But he would be meeting people too soon, and he couldn’t afford to have the telltale scent of tobacco on him.
The light changed and he accelerated through the intersection, smiling at his success today, formulating the details for his next encounter with Charlotte. He had to get her alone to carry out the final phase of his plan. He couldn’t risk her snapping out of her delusions. That meant taking care of the dog. And getting her away from the cop.
He drove over the bridge at Brush Creek, idly noting how the water was rushing near the top of the concrete walkways on each bank. Another few inches of rain, and parts of downtown K.C. could be blocked by flash flooding and closed streets. He could use that to his advantage. Yes, that might be exactly the best way to isolate Charlotte from her bodyguards.
His blood hummed at the sweet, sweet anticipation of his revenge. He wanted Charlotte Mayweather screaming and shattered and begging for mercy when he squeezed the life from her throat.
He smiled. Val dead. Gretchen dead. Audrey sequestered under lock and key. And soon, Charlotte would be dead.
The four women who’d ruined his life, who’d treated him as a second-class citizen unworthy of their time and consideration. He was better than that. Better than them. Soon, they’d all be dead and his hunger for their suffering would be appeased.
And then he could finally put his demons to rest.
Chapter Ten
“Another call?” Charlotte let her stepbrother, Kyle, hug his arm around her and walk her to his chair at the end of the dining room table. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m sorry.” She patted his arm as he knelt beside her, then looked to her father, who was
pushing away from the head of the table and hurrying toward her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner. I just wanted to let you know that I was home and I was safe.”
Her gaze automatically went to the big man standing in the archway between the dining room and foyer. Even separated from the group of family hurrying over to give her hugs and words of reassurance, he dominated the room with his steely eyes and alert, warriorlike stance. He moved aside only when the butler announced Spencer Montgomery’s arrival and the emotionless, red-haired detective strode into the room to question her.
“There was a written threat, too,” she added, a few minutes later, reading the details Detective Montgomery was listing in his notebook.
He nodded, clicking his pen and tucking it back inside the pocket of his blazer. “I got that and the flower from Captain Cutler. Plus, the name of the florist van driver. I don’t think there’s any reason to hold Mr. Gutierrez, although I did ask him to meet with one of our sketch artists to see if we can get a physical description of the man who paid him to accost you like that. We’ll see if he shows up. His documentation was a little sketchy and,” he glanced over his shoulder at Trip, still standing watch, “for some reason he’s a little leery of the police right now.”
Trip offered no apology. “We had no idea who he was. We weren’t going to let him get to Charlotte.”
And she, for one, was more and more glad that she did have SWAT Team One’s personal protection. She offered Trip a quick, grateful smile, but turned her attention back to the detective. She was anxious to finish the report, get out of the sticky, muddy clothes that were drying against her skin and get to the soothing solitude of her rooms. “Someone is doing his damnedest to re-create every detail of the kidnapping. All I need is for that creep to actually put his hands on me and the nightmare will be complete.”
Her father, hovering behind her chair, leaned over to kiss the crown of her hair. “No. That will not happen.”
Her stepsister, Bailey, who’d been sitting kitty-corner from her throughout the interview, squeezed her hand. “Maybe we should postpone the garden party for a while, until all this blows over.”
Spencer Montgomery eyed her straight across the table as if she was as airy as a piece of strawberry fluff. “This is a serial killer we’re talking about, not the weather. It won’t just blow over.”
Bailey bristled in her pale pink suit, but met the detective’s faintly condescending gaze with a tilt of her chin. “I’m talking about Char’s comfort, not your investigation. She doesn’t like large crowds of people, and I don’t see why we should add to her stress when this situation is already difficult enough for her.”
Trip added a grumpy echo from the doorway. “Finally, a voice of reason.”
Bailey wilted under the one-two combination of the detective’s glare and her mother rising from her chair to make her opinion heard. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bailey. This garden party is your introduction with Harper as a couple to Kansas City society. I’ve taken Charlotte’s eccentricities into consideration and scheduled it for one of those days when she’s working at the museum.”
Charlotte looked up at the handsome blond attorney with his hands resting on her stepsister’s shoulders. “You’re a couple?”
But her father didn’t give either Harper or Bailey a chance to answer. “We’ve already discussed this. Detective Montgomery agrees that we need to maintain our regular activities so we don’t scare off the bastard who wants to hurt my daughter.”
Harper winked at Charlotte, but addressed himself to her father. “It was my suggestion, Jackson. Charlotte and I are friends from way back. Plus, Bailey was concerned.”
Kyle spoke up from the buffet, where he was pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I agree with Bails. This party is a frivolous expense we don’t need right now.”
“I was worried about Charlotte, not the expense,” Bailey insisted.
“I am, too.” Kyle rejoined them at the table. “We don’t need the distraction of any more people around the estate right now, do we?”
“Thanks, guys.” Charlotte smiled at Kyle and squeezed her stepsister’s pale hand. Bailey was quickly losing her rosy-eyed view of people—no doubt starting to feel like a pawn in the powerful man’s world her mother had married into. And while Harper was saying and doing all the right things a solicitous boyfriend would, Charlotte got the idea that he was more focused on impressing her father, or even Detective Montgomery, than he was Bailey.
A decade had seasoned Harper’s lanky good looks into a man who would turn any woman’s head. With his family’s reputation and bank account, he was definitely what society would label a catch. But as Charlotte studied his manicured hands and polished speech, she began to wonder exactly what it was that had made her think he was the god she’d crushed on so badly in high school.
The man standing in the archway had mud on his city-issued uniform and a scowl on his face. But she wasn’t feeling so much as a flicker of interest in Harper this evening, yet Trip Jones stirred something deeper inside her.
True, she was a different woman now than she’d been in high school, before the kidnapping. Maybe that was the difference—Harper, while he cut a handsome figure in his tailored suit, seemed stuck in that boyish tendency to want to please anyone he perceived as more powerful than he was. Trip, to an annoying degree at times, didn’t answer to any man or woman in this room. No one would ever mistake his brawny build and attitude as that of anything other than an intelligent, self-assured, full-grown man.
Those green-gold eyes were on her now, questioning her lingering perusal. But she felt no panic. There was something deep and intimate about the way he looked at her that thrilled a secret part of her that had been shut off for too long. Trip Jones was a man. He cared about her. He’d made no bones about the fact that he was attracted to her, that he wanted her in ways no man ever had before. She…believed…there was a bond growing between them that had nothing to do with stalkers and nightmares and keeping her safe. It was pretty heady stuff for an eccentric plain Jane to process.
No high-school boy had certainly ever looked at her that way. No high-school boy had ever kissed her or held her or sheltered her the way Trip Jones…
Charlotte snapped back to the conversation around her.
No high-school boy…
It couldn’t be.
She interrupted the discussion. “Harper, do you ever hear from your soccer buddy Landon Turner?”
“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
Her father curled his fist around the top of her chair. “It’s a name I never want to hear in this house again. Sweetie, why don’t you go to your rooms. Let us sort this all out.”
Trip took a step into the room backing her up. “She needs an answer to her question. Do you know what Turner is up to these days?”
Harper shrugged and smoothed his tie. “To be honest, we lost track of each other in college. I was at Harvard and…I don’t think he got to play professional soccer the way he wanted. He was a scholarship student at Sterling Academy in the first place, otherwise, he couldn’t afford it. And with all the delays and backlash from your trial, he lost his full ride to Westminster. I think he ended up at the university, or maybe even a community college. We ran in different circles by that point. I’m afraid I lost track of him.”
That could explain the drinking and the endless phone calls alternately blaming her for ruining his life and asking her forgiveness. But had Landon outgrown his troubles and moved on with his life? Or had he somehow snuck back into hers, intent on taking the absolution she hadn’t been able to give.
And if he had slipped back into her life somehow, could he have changed his appearance so much that, after ten years, she no longer recognized him? Was he here right now? Watching her?
A ripple of unease shimmied over her skin, battling with the anticipation she felt at finally having some plausible answers to identify the man playing this cruel game of terror with her. But she couldn�
�t think here, she couldn’t handle another minute of people and arguing and feeling so exposed like this. Charlotte pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to go.”
“Of course, sweetie.” Jackson hugged her tight.
Detective Montgomery stood as well. “I’ll call you if I have more questions.”
With a smile for the others, she squished in her wet tennis shoes across the room to Trip.
“Did you need something?” he asked, his voice terse.
Charlotte opened her mouth to ask him to wait until they got to her rooms to explain the idea percolating in her head. But his arm went out in front of her like a crossing guard’s, stopping her in her tracks, and she realized he was talking to the man leaning against the wall near the hallway that led from the dining room to the kitchen.
Bud Preston brushed the rain off the shoulders of his Darnell Events Staff jacket, tonguing that ever-present toothpick in his mouth. “I’m just the hired help, sir—moving furniture in the rain. Gotta love my job. You wouldn’t begrudge a man coming in out of the rain to use the john, would you?”
Charlotte nodded toward the hallway. “There’s a restroom back there you can use.”
“Go.” Trip’s warning was short and sweet.
Jeffrey Beecher walked in behind Bud, pulling off his clear plastic raincoat and tugging down the sleeves of his suit jacket. As soon as he saw his man standing there, he huffed with disgust. “Preston. Get back to work. I need all that iron garden furniture unloaded from the truck. And stick to the floor runners when you come inside so you don’t track your mess through the house.”
Bud turned and gave his employer a mocking salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Trip’s arm dropped once Bud disappeared into the kitchen. Jeffrey pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and removed his glasses to wipe them dry. “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “Have they finished dinner yet? I have some details I need to go over with Mrs. Austin-Mayweather.” He paused when he met them in the archway, putting on his glasses and wrinkling his nose when he saw the muddy streaks in Max’s fur. “Did something happen?”
