VIP Protector

by Patricia Rosemoor

  VIP Protector

  Club Undercover

  Patricia Rosemoor

  New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Copyright © 2003, 2019 Patricia Pinianski

  Cover Design © 2019 Patricia Pinianski

  This is a work of fiction, a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental. This novel may not be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author.

  A Romantic Suspense series

  CLUB UNDERCOVER

  No cover charged... no ID required... safety guaranteed...

  The club owner and his employees help those in trouble when they have no place else to turn.

  Fake ID Wife (Book 1)

  Falling in love with her fake husband as she tries to rescue her child, Elise has no idea that Logan has his own covert reasons to keep her close.

  VIP Protector (Book 2)

  Lynn realizes Blade seems as if he needs to keep her safe, but why? What terrible secret is he keeping from her?

  Velvet Ropes (Book 3)

  When evidence connects the violence of their past to their present-day case, Stella is suddenly in danger again, and Dermot will do anything to keep the only woman he's ever loved safe this time.

  On the List (Book 4)

  Renata knows she can trust Gabe with her life and heart, but why did the mysterious stranger force her to accept his help?

  Red Carpet Christmas (Book 5)

  Clearing Simone of a yuletide murder could reignite the past and a forbidden passion that still burns between her and Gideon, but she can’t let him discover what she’d kept hidden from him all these years.

  ***

  VIP Protector (Club Undercover Book 2)

  No cover charged... no ID required... safety guaranteed...

  When ex-Special Forces officer Blade Stone discovers Lynn Cross's life is in danger, the Club Undercover bartender knows he has to protect the beautiful attorney. With the cooperation of the team, he sets out to make up for the terrible mistake he made that haunts him. Lynn doesn’t like living in fear of some madman client with a grudge, nor of having a brooding bodyguard with her 24/7. As they get closer, she realizes Blade seems as if he needs to keep her safe, but why? What terrible secret is he keeping from her?

  CLUB UNDERCOVER 3

  Prologue 6

  Chapter One 9

  Chapter Two 19

  Chapter Three 28

  Chapter Four 40

  Chapter Five 51

  Chapter Six 64

  Chapter Seven 76

  Chapter Eight 87

  Chapter Nine 99

  Chapter 10 107

  Chapter Eleven 114

  Chapter Twelve 125

  Chapter Thirteen 134

  Chapter Fourteen 142

  Chapter Fifteen 151

  Chapter Sixteen 160

  Epilogue 167

  Excerpt from Velvet Ropes (Club Undercover Book 3) 168

  Prologue 168

  Chapter One 170

  About the Author 182

  Other digital novels by Patricia Rosemoor 183

  From other Publishers: 184

  Prologue

  “Please! Why are you doing this?”

  More croaked than articulated, her question—asked dozens of times now—still went unanswered. Oh, he'd spoken to her, whispered vague statements that hadn't made any sense. And as time had gone on, a feeling of doom had filled her.

  She wanted to keep questioning him, to force him to reply, but her throat was so dry that she could hardly swallow. Thankfully, he hadn't re-taped her mouth shut as he'd threatened he would do if she screamed again.

  She had screamed, hadn't she?

  How long ago?

  Hours? Days?

  Hard to remember now. Her head was spinning so hard that even if she could see, even if he hadn't tied a cloth around her eyes, she probably couldn't focus. As it was, her mind wouldn't focus, wouldn't settle on the one thing, the very important thing that would tell her what had really happened, how she had gotten here, in this chair, hands tied behind her back... a prisoner... wouldn't tell her what she needed to do so that he would release her.

  Then they flooded her. Memories of threats. Death threats. He'd been taunting her, threatening to kill her!

  Not knowing why or how she could escape such a fate made her heart and her stomach race right up into her throat. At his mercy, she fought the fear and the bile... tried to concentrate... but her mind whirled.

  Because he'd drugged her.

  Some time ago, maybe when he'd gotten tired of her incessant questions, he'd held her jaw and had made her drink. The taste of the liquid had been bitter and, fearing it was poison, she'd tried spitting out the foul stuff, but he'd hit her across the face, and then when he'd tried again, she'd been too stunned to fight him.

  He'd made her drink more than once, hadn't he?

  He, who?

  She could barely remember her own name.

  Evelyn Cross. My name is Evelyn Cross.

  She kept repeating this to herself over and over so that she wouldn't forget who she was.

  He was moving around the room now... she could hear him making noises as if he was preparing to do something so awful she couldn't even imagine what that might be. And she had a good imagination.

  “Please...” she tried again “... say something!”

  “You're the one who does all the talking.”

  Unready for a direct response, even shrouded as it was in a whisper, she started in surprise. She tried licking her lips but had no saliva. “Why?”

  “Think about what you've done, Evelyn.”

  What she had done?

  As if she were a child. A naughty child who needed to think about why she was being punished.

  He'd said something about that before, only now she couldn't remember.

  Think... think!

  Bam, bam, bam!

  Before the memory could gel, a hammering against wood made her jump. Her chair rocked backward and threatened to spill her to the ground. She fought falling but the inside of her head tumbled into space.

  Even so, she caught his low grunted curse.

  Bam, bam, bam!

  “Open up. Police!”

  Police?

  “Help!” she rasped. “Help!”

  More noise from inside the room. A window? She forced herself to concentrate as her captor spoke to her, his tone low and voice breathy as if he were exerting himself.

  “This is your fault. Everything is your fault. You got away with it this time, bitch. But you'll pay! Until we meet again.”

  And then she sensed him slip away.

  A crash and the splinter of wood told her the police had burst through the door and she sobbed, “Thank God!”

  “Police. Wherever you are, freeze!”

  “No one but the woman,” came a second, deeper voice.

  “Check the bathroom.”

  She felt hands at the back of her head and suddenly light exploded at her. She squeezed shut her eyes, then blinked them open, squinting at the haze of what looked to be a seedy hotel room. Suddenly her hands were free, but she could barely move her arms. She focused on a uniform.

  “Nothing in there, either.”

  “Window,” she croaked, and the second police officer rushed around her.

  “Too late. He's gone.”

  Gone but not forgotten, she thought. And he wouldn't forget her, either.

  He. Whoever he was.

  Until we meet again...

  He would be back.

  And then she would be dead.

  Chapter One

  “We'll get the bastard, Ms. Cross,” Detective Stella Jacobek pronounce
d, her green eyes sympathetic. “It's only a matter of time.”

  Sitting up in the hospital bed where she'd spent the last twenty-four hours and had come out of her drugged stupor, Lynn stared at the woman who looked to be her own age, barely approaching thirty. Was she really capable of being in charge of this case and bringing down a potential murderer?

  Trying to keep her hand from shaking, she sipped at the cup of water from her tray, her third since the interview began, and asked, “What if I don't have time? What if he's waiting for me when I get home?”

  The detective closed her notebook and stuck her pen in the thick twist of golden-brown hair at the nape of her neck. “Maybe instead of going home, you want to pick up a few things and go to a friend's house? Or maybe a relative's?”

  Lynn shook her head. “I don't want to involve anyone else in this mess. You think you're in control, then something like this happens.”

  Her older sister had died violently nearly two years ago. Her younger sister was temporarily working in London, trying to heal from the wounds of a fresh divorce. Her parents, while still together, though God knew why, had problems of their own. Her father had been ill for some time and her mother had turned herself into his caretaker. She'd given them an edited version of what had happened to her over the phone, but no, she wouldn't involve them.

  “Then I'll bring you home myself and check out your place personally, Ms. Cross.”

  “Lynn, please. I use Evelyn at work,” she explained. “My building has a security staff. No one can get in without their knowing it.”

  “Security. Good.” The detective nodded approvingly. “And I'm Stella. I've gotta say I admire what you do.”

  “Splitting people up?”

  “Nah, you don't do that. You just get the wives what they deserve.”

  “I didn't know anyone was paying attention.”

  “Who could miss the action on the Churchill case? It was front page news. But more important is your pro bono work, representing women who don't have the means to leave the men who mistreat them.”

  “A good reason for getting up in the morning.”

  “I've been thinking about what you said, that whoever did this was trying to punish you, that he said you're the one doing all the talking. You talk in court. Take away things from men. Sometimes violent men.”

  “I've been thinking the same thing. Plus, he called me Evelyn,” Lynn croaked.

  Her throat was still sore as were her wrists and the side of her face where the bastard had hit her. She wasn't sure which was worse. The being held captive or the aftermath, doctors probing her body for wounds, police penetrating her mind for answers. Not having been able to remember details, she'd had a thorough examination, including a pelvic. To her relief, she hadn't been raped.

  “But if I had to name someone on the spot...” No clue. Lynn shook her head.

  “Let's give it some time. I'm sure you'll have some thoughts on it. Now go ahead and get dressed and I'll wait for you out in the hall,” the detective told her. “Unless you need help.”

  “I don't need anyone.” Defiantly, Lynn swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I mean, I'm fine. No ill effects.”

  The other woman nodded again and left the room.

  No ill effects...

  Was that true?

  Her head was clear, she was steady on her feet, her body parts all worked... but what about inside?

  As she dressed, she caught a ghostly glimpse of herself in the window. On the surface, she looked the same with long dark blond hair, nice features, and health club body. But her eyes were different. The pale gray seemed to have darkened to steel. If eyes were truly the window to the soul, then her soul was deeply wounded.

  And afraid.

  Shuddering, she pulled on her clothes... or what had been her clothes.

  The moment she got home, she would bag them and hand them over to the detective, just in case the authorities could use it for evidence. Otherwise, she would throw away the pantsuit with designer price tag even though the garments simply needed a professional cleaning. She didn't need any reminder of the last two days.

  According to their calculations, before another resident of the hotel had called the police after hearing her scream, he'd held her for about thirty-six hours.

  Whoever he was.

  Lynn decided she would forget him, too, then admitted the lie in her own thoughts.

  She would never forget.

  Until we meet again...

  Neither would he.

  Taking a deep breath, she scraped back her messy hair and clipped it away from her face, then grabbed her briefcase—she'd been leaving the office building when he'd grabbed her—and left the curtained alcove.

  The drive home was tense. Despite the detective's best efforts to keep her engaged, Lynn felt herself slipping back to the abduction.

  What had she done to bring that horror down on her?

  And as they approached her building, a downtown high rise on the Chicago River and overlooking Lake Michigan, she grew uneasy. Pulse pounding, she swept her gaze over every vehicle and every pedestrian in sight.

  “See anything out of order?” Stella asked, pulling the car in front of Lynn's building.

  “No, nothing. Still...”

  “You're gonna sweat every time you leave or come home, at least for a while.”

  “Until you figure out who the bastard is and arrest him.”

  “I can't do that until you give me something to go on. If you think of anything... come up with a name, you let me know. In the meantime, chances are this guy will never come anywhere near you.”

  Until we meet again...

  The threat echoing in her mind, Lynn muttered, “Yeah, right.”

  Maybe Stella was right, though. Maybe he'd been bluffing. Lynn wanted to believe that. She needed to believe it if she was going to go on with her life with any sense of normalcy.

  Still...

  She found herself looking over her shoulder as the other woman escorted her inside her building. They stopped at the security station where Lynn introduced the detective to Tony Anselmo, the night guard, who had that morning's newspaper on his desk.

  Seeing a photograph of herself on the front page, Lynn quickly looked away as Stella gave the guard her card and told him she needed to talk with him, to ask a few questions, on her way out.

  “Sure. Anything if I can help you nail this guy,” Tony said, his expression sympathetic. “I'm just glad you're all right, Ms. Cross.”

  “Thanks, Tony,” Lynn said, then rushed toward the waiting elevator.

  She didn't want anyone's pity. She wasn't helpless. She was no victim... not normally. Not having adjusted her thinking to her present circumstances, she was having difficulty doing so.

  As the elevator ascended to the twenty-eighth floor, Stella slipped her card out of her pocket. She scribbled something on the back. “Lynn, I'm going to give you my cell phone number just in case you have any concerns.”

  In case she saw her abductor, Lynn thought, taking the detective's contact information.

  A sweep of her apartment’s living room, bedroom, single bath, kitchen and a dining area with a lake view turned into a home office with desktop computer didn't take long. Lynn quickly changed and bagged the clothes she'd been wearing. Taking them, Detective Stella Jacobek was on her way.

  And Lynn was left alone with her thoughts.

  Her bedroom overlooked the river and normally the view through the glass wall soothed her. Lights lit the walkway and the fountain that shot a stream of water south across the river in a high arch. Further east, Navy Pier beckoned with its giant Ferris Wheel and tourist boats. But tonight she had difficulty feeling good about anything, especially when that something was so surface.

  Surface told you nothing about the underpinnings, whether it be a city or a person. She knew the man who'd abducted her could appear mild-mannered, even retiring. He could be anyone, anywhere.

  A shrill made her jump. The ph
one. She started for it, then changed her mind. Whether the person at the other end was a reporter or friend, she wasn't in the mood for questions. She needed time to regroup, so she let the digital answering machine pick up.

  “Cross residence,” came her professional courtroom voice. “We're too busy to pick up the phone right now, but we don't want to miss your call, so please leave your name and number and we'll get back to you as soon as we have a minute.”

  Even though she didn't want to answer, Lynn couldn't help monitoring the call.

  “We? Come on, Evelyn, who do you think you're fooling?” The familiar whispered voice paused for a second, then said, “We both know you're alone. You're probably sitting there in the dark, terrified of your own shadow.”

  Heart beating madly, she picked up the receiver and plunged it to her ear. “Who is this?”

  Soft laughter was followed by his whispered, “The one who's going to make sure you're punished for your misdeeds.”

  And with that he hung up.

  “Aaaa!” she shrilled and threw the receiver at the wall.

  She wasn't drugged now, but her mouth was dry and she could hardly think. The bastard knew her home phone number. He probably knew where she lived, as well. At least she had his voice recorded. She’d opted for a digital answering machine rather than voice mail. That way if a client called, she had what could be a permanent record of the conversation if necessary.

  So, she had his voice recorded… she wasn't going to wait for him to come get her.

  Dragging a suitcase from the back of her closet, she set it on the bed. Then she opened her underwear drawer.

  And the phone rang again.

  Lynn froze and stared at it, her heart beating so loud, she barely managed to retrieve the phone. Fully expecting the anonymous whisper, she had trouble getting her legs to work properly.

  “Lynn, this is Detective Jacobek. Stella.”

  Nearly choking in relief, she said, “He called.”

  “When?”

  “A few minutes ago.” Lynn balanced the receiver between her shoulder and ear and went back to packing. “I started by recording him, but I had to talk to him. Not that it did any good. I can't stay here. He'll get to me—”