The Caspian Wine Mystery/Suspense/Thriller Series

by Maggie Thom

  Not wanting to explain what had happened, she stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. Besides what could she tell him, 'some guy I didn’t even see tried to accost me’? He finally gave up and leaned forward to talk to Graham. Snippets of their conversation drifted back to her.

  “—he’s wanted in several provinces. Looks like Bean will get the bust.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Some very interesting stuff. He’s not who we think he is...”

  Their voices dropped too low for her. She knew she needed to hear what they were talking about but it took too much effort. Her eyelids dropped, her mind let go.

  ****

  “Looks like your lady friend is out.”

  Guy looked behind him. He slid back over to his side of the car. Reaching for her, he gently moved her away from the door and eased her down, resting her head in his lap. When he looked up, he couldn’t avoid Graham’s raised eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

  “It’s not what you think. She’s just had it rough these past few days.”

  “Yeah and then some. Hey, it’s okay, you know, to get attached to someone. I’d say it’s about time.” He grinned from ear to ear. “And you picked a hot one.” His eyebrows bounced up and down like Groucho Marx.

  “Just get us home.” Guy stared out the window for a while but it was futile. He allowed his gaze to be pulled back to the woman he held. He smiled as he took in her dirty, wrinkled, torn clothing. He reached out his right index finger and slid it into the tear in her shirtsleeve.

  A thin line of dried blood lay hidden beneath.

  From whatever happened in the airport?

  He knew he shouldn’t have left her alone but he had gotten caught up in all that Graham found out. Besides, he figured they were free and clear—at least for the moment. It bothered him the way she’d looked when she’d come out of the terminal. Had something else happened she hadn’t shared? She had a wild look in her eyes akin to a trapped animal.

  He didn’t buy that it was confusion and chaos. Settling back, his hand resting on her shoulder, he allowed himself to recall all he knew. Tension roiled in his gut as he thought about what he’d have to do, what he must share and at what he suspected was true. It was going to change his family in ways he couldn’t predict. His step-grandmother may regret bringing him into the family after all.

  “Let’s go to your place, Graham.”

  “It’s not that different to my car, you know? It’ll need tidying up before company comes over.” He nodded his head toward Bailey.

  “Your mom would be so proud that you're concerned.” Guy knew Graham was trying to take his mind off their circumstances. They may be opposites when it came to cleanliness but he also knew that Graham’s place had state-of-the-art security. Besides, his family didn’t know where Graham lived.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “You’re late for our Board meeting, Geoffrey. Couldn’t you have changed before you showed up? You look like you’ve been dragged around by your coat tails. Who is she this time?”

  Geoffrey pulled himself to his full six-foot two-inch height, reveling in how he towered almost a foot over his sister. He ignored the twinges of pain that radiated from several bruises and aches. He’d never suspected the girl would know how to defend herself. Not a mistake he’d make again, once he found her; and that shouldn’t be hard. He knew who she was hanging out with.

  “For the record, Dorothy.” He liked that her spine stiffened at the use of the informal name. “I lent assistance to an accident victim on my way here. That’s why I’m late. Why I’m a bit dirty. So excuse me for stopping to help my fellow man.”

  Her eyes opened wide with remorse for her swift judgment. Her look of dismay was enough to put him on Mount Olympus.

  “I’m sorry, Geoffrey. There are some things happening that need straightening out. There are questions about that California winery that you’ve been negotiating with. And you recall the European winery you negotiated the purchase of last year? Our treasurer has run into some major problems there.” She placed her hand on his forearm. He barely restrained himself from jerking away. He needed to play it cool and move up his plans for a permanent vacation. Yes, there were many problems but they were all virtual, and it’s hard to have real problems with places that didn’t exist.

  “Fine, I’ll get my files.” He pulled away.

  “I’ll hold the meeting for fifteen minutes for you. Come when you’re ready.”

  He knew that meant she wanted him to clean up and change into the spare suit he always kept in his office. Giving her that one small concession, he walked away as an ill-concealed smirk curved his lips.

  Yes, many things are happening. Most of which you know nothing about.

  He entered a plush, dark mahogany office that was larger than most houses. Strolling past the leather sofa, he opened the cabinet at the far end of the room and pulled out a bottle of Ladybank Single Malt Whiskey, poured two fingers and downed it. He set his glass on the table before stepping into his fully equipped bathroom. He stripped down, glaring at the dust that marred his suit and the rip that scarred the right pant leg.

  It’s all her fault.

  All his clothes went into the wastebasket before he stepped into the shower, allowing himself a full twenty minutes to take pleasure in the heat. His plans had changed. He should have known not to call John. He’d bungled the abduction thirty years before. What had made him think the man would clear it up now? That was his second and last mistake.

  Anger infused his body. His hands clenched. His face distorted, filled with hatred and the need for violence. Wasting energy punching inanimate objects was not his style; he needed to inflict severe damage. It created such a high to feel another’s soft tissue compress until he hit bone; it’s cracking had a distinguishable sound—like the snapping of a twig in a still forest—seeming to echo right along with the victim’s screams. He recalled the last man he’d beaten—some homeless bum he’d found on skid row. The feel of the man’s body fracturing under the power he’d inflicted sent shivers of excitement coursing through Geoffrey’s body. He groaned in ecstasy as the distinct sound of bone splintering played out in his mind, sounding like music to his ears. Lust grabbed hold of him, making him hard. He reached for himself, then stopped.

  No I’ll save this for Lula.

  Thinking about one of the latest whores he frequented and the wild and raunchy things she always did to him, with him, almost made him come. For a brief moment, he immersed himself in that physical pain and discomfort, the thoughts of what she could and would do to him and for him. It would help keep him centered and focused, allowing him to control his anger throughout the board meeting. He knew rumors had been flying about new business deals and new partners with regard to their legitimacy, and most especially why no one on the board—particularly his dear sister, Dorothea—had been apprised of them. He was ready though. He had the carefully crafted, detailed set of books that showed the winery was doing exceptionally well, all set up in a fancy presentation for those who thought they were in charge. The real books were nicely tucked away in his suitcase and the real money already waiting for him in an offshore account. He’d show them fictitious possibilities of taking on partners, prove why it was a great idea, all the time knowing he’d already set them up to fail and had taken their money.

  The thought of how much they’d have to clean up when he was gone made him instantly hard again, nearly to the brink of ejaculating. He couldn’t help but smile; everything was working to his advantage.

  Except the damn girl.

  He instantly went limp. His anger boiled over and he punched the shower wall, ignoring the broken tile that clattered to the floor. It wasn’t his to worry about anymore. Taking several deep breaths, he allowed the water to cascade down his body, washing the blood from his scraped knuckle. This wasn’t the time to lose it. He had a show to put on and no one could guess what he was up to, not yet, not until he was gone. Not until th
ey found his badly broken and burnt but unrecognizable body, identified only by an expensive garnet ring and gold lighter with an engraved eagle in flight—things people knew never left his person.

  His funeral would be befitting a king. He’d made sure in his will that every detail was spelled out, how the ceremony was to honor him and his wonderful contributions. And of course the beautiful letter he’d left his sister would ensure her guilt, meaning she’d pay handsomely for his eternal rest.

  While they mourned he’d be in the tropics sipping exotic whiskey with as many naked, lusty women as he could find. He laughed so maniacally that anyone listening would have questioned his sanity. The guilty pleasure he felt was so divine he couldn’t ignore it and realized he didn’t have to.

  Eyes closed.

  Deep breath in. Slowly breathe out. Deep breath in. Slowly breathe out.

  Because it was such a ritual, his mind immediately went quiet, loving the darkness and the stillness. He waited, readying himself like a caged tiger who knew the doors were about to open. Concentrating on the darkness, the stillness, he held himself there.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Now!

  Images flooded his mind, some real, some not. Bodies twisting together and apart, writhing in ecstasy, moaning, rubbing against each other, finding pleasure. Their skin humming with that sexual tension, that titillating awareness of what was to come, like an electric shock arcing through the air but not quite making the connection. Throwing his arms wide, he placed his chest so the water could beat down upon it to drum against his front.

  “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned. In his mind, the crystal clear droplets turned to a crimson red that poured over him, wrapping itself around him like a cloak... accepting him... inviting him... begging him for more. The writhing bodies still meshed together, now screaming in terror, crying out his name, begging to be released. The crescendo was building, was reaching higher. The feeling coursed through his body with the force of a locomotive, firing all his nerve cells. Humming like a perfect note plucked with precision from a harp, he lifted the knife skyward and plunged with all his might. Screams echoed. Fresh blood washed over him. Filled him.

  “Yeesssssssssssssssssssss,” screaming, for he knew no one could hear through his soundproof room, he allowed himself the finale. Power surged through his body, filling it, stretching it.

  He grabbed himself, pumped a few times and saw not the white milky substance that slid from his body but a white power so pure, he vibrated with the release.

  Finished, he leaned limply against the shower wall, allowing the water to cleanse him, to rejuvenate him, for he felt reborn.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Guy looked at the caller display, took a deep breath and answered his phone.

  “Where are you?”

  “Uh, what’s up, Grams?” Guy looked wide-eyed at Graham.

  “I just had... I was at the Board meeting...”

  Guy straightened every nerve in his body alert. “What’s going on?”

  “I, uh... I may need to hire you for some more investigative work.”

  “Oh?” He stared into space. He’d never heard a hesitant word out of Dorothea’s mouth. Ever. “Are you okay?”

  “Well of course I’m okay. I don’t need some young pup questioning me. I’m simply telling you that I have...”

  He let her ramble on. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

  Guy took a deep breath. “Grams, why did you call?”

  There was silence.

  “You had your board meeting right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you called me because of something Geoff did or didn’t do?”

  “What makes you think it has to do with him? Just because there’s been issues between you two—”

  “Gram.”

  “All right.” She huffed. “Something’s not right with the South Shore Winery we acquired. I’ve been staying out of it but...”

  “But something isn’t sitting right which means Geoff is up to something.”

  “I think he’s being framed.”

  “Geoff?”

  “He was late for the meeting and he looked rattled. He said he’d stopped to help at an accident, but he wasn’t acting like himself. He was dreadfully late. I had to apologize to everyone. I—”

  “So you think someone is what? Setting him up? Maybe blackmailing him?”

  “Yes.”

  He snorted with laughter. His uncle was a jerk and it wouldn’t surprise him if he was a crooked jerk as well. He doubted very much that anyone would have the nerve to extort anything from Geoff, at least not if they wanted to live.

  “Don’t laugh at him. He had enough of that in his lifetime. I think someone is trying to smear his name and reputation but he won’t talk to me.”

  It was a good thing she couldn’t see his eyes rolling; he never understood why his grandmother protected the man. He was pure evil. There wasn’t an honest bone in his body. There was no way he’d allow anyone to smear his name. If there was something going on, he was behind it.

  “I’ll look into it, Grams. I’ve got to go.” He ended the call.

  “Geoff screwing the old lady over again?” Graham swiveled in his chair.

  “I think there is much more going on. Expand the search into his background. Look into that South Shore Winery we started acquiring several months back—and anything else that has Geoff’s name on it.”

  “We? I thought there was no way in hell you were going into the family business as long as Geoffrey, my dear boy, was involved?”

  Guy frowned at him.

  “All right, oh masterful one. And what will you be doing?”

  He sighed heavily. Graham looked at him quizzically.

  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean...”

  Graham waved him off.

  “I think Geoff is behind something bad. Something big. Who else hides their existence? A few more days and we’ll figure out what he’s up to.”

  Graham grinned as he spun back to face his computer. “I love your optimism. Wasn’t it you who said this situation, finding Bailey, telling her who she really is, would be over before it started?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Bailey drained the tub and refilled it for the third time. If Guy hadn’t knocked on the door every half hour to check on her she wouldn’t have been aware of time passing. Lifting her foot out of the suds, she used it to turn off the hot water. Her pruny skin also let her know she’d been in there for quite a while. She’d been selfish long enough. Guilt for making Guy wait to clean up was starting to weigh on her.

  It was with that thought that she pushed herself up and out. Draining the tub, she refilled it, regretting there was only lukewarm water left for Guy. A quick flash of his naked, lean body lowering into the bubbles not only sent her mind into overdrive at the possibilities that could bring, but a thrill of excitement zipped through her body, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

  She dried off and then wrapped the towel around herself, realizing she hadn’t brought the new clothes they’d stopped and bought on the way to Graham’s. Slipping out the door, she walked toward the guest bedroom that doubled as Graham’s computer room. She stepped into the room, only to stop as two heads swiveled to ogle her. Her eyes opened wide as both sets started at her shoulders and ended at her long, barely covered legs.

  “Eek.” Spinning, she ran back the way she’d come. She’d almost made it to the bathroom when a warm hand landed on her shoulder.

  She spun around. “I just wanted my clothes.”

  Guy lifted the four bags to her. “I know.” His gaze held hers. Embers blazed deep in their depths. An insane thought of jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist flashed through with the clarity of a movie. Eyes wide, she grabbed the packages and stepped back with the intention of closing the door. Only he didn’t let go. He moved closer. Their bodies brushed against each other.

  She inhaled sharply.

 
This is wrong. This is so wrong.

  His lips met hers. The bags hung heavy in her hands as he let go and placed his fingers on her naked shoulders, his index finger tracing the line of her collar bone. A hard shudder wracked her body. Nothing had ever affected her so quickly or so fiercely. The parcels slid from her fingertips as she wrapped her arms around him, her hands immediately sliding underneath his t-shirt to massage, knead and experience the muscles that rippled under her fingers. Heat coursed through her blood, thrumming with intense excitement.

  His fingers slipped down over the front of her towel, gently rubbing the already erect nipples. Her first thought was to rip off her covering but she sensed he was enjoying the torture as much as she was. His mouth continued to ravish hers in a way that she had never experienced before.

  This is right. Oh God, is this right?

  Guy’s cell phone rang.

  They continued to explore each other’s bodies, pushing so far yet refraining from that next step, one they knew in which they couldn’t, or wouldn’t turn back.

  The phone rang again.

  The sound broke them apart. Bailey was sure her eyes mirrored the confusion she saw in Guy’s.

  As if to make sure they heard it, the cell chirped again.

  “Shit!” Guy pulled it from his pocket. Reading the caller id, he swore again. With a reluctant expression, he backed out, closing the barrier between them as he answered his phone.

  Sinking weakly on the edge of the tub, she bowed her head, not in prayer but because she had no strength to hold it up anymore.

  Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bailey. She kept reminding herself that she couldn’t get mixed up with this guy. She didn’t even know who she was. He had no idea who she was, though he might think he did. Of that she was sure. And for all she knew, he was one of those guys thrilled to save a damsel in distress, only she was no damn damsel.