Best of Temptation Bundle Page 33

  He’d never felt better in his life.

  When the elevator finally stopped, he squeezed between the spreading doors into the lobby, dragging the unconscious criminal by the collar. He tossed him against the glass partition and banged twice to alert the security guard.

  “Call the police. There’s trouble on the third floor.”

  The friendly guard’s face turned ashen white. He hesitated, then fumbled for his standard issue revolver. “Who’s that?”

  Grant was already halfway across the lobby. He didn’t need this well-meaning, but reluctant cop-wannabe putting Harley’s life in danger. He’d done that well enough on his own.

  “He jumped me. Keep him there until the cops come.”

  “I should go!” The portly guard struggled, but finally managed to open the door from his station.

  “No. Guard the perp. I’m a cop.”

  The lie rolled off his tongue with the same speed as his feet up the stairs. After passing the second floor landing, he slowed to quiet his steps. All he had on his side was the element of surprise.

  The hall outside the stairs echoed with eerie silence. His back to the wall, he inched down the corridor. He had no doubt they’d taken Harley into Moana’s condo. More than likely, Harley’s kidnappers were the same thugs Joy told them were looking for Moana and her creep of a boyfriend. They must have gotten into the building with the crowds attending the party upstairs, broken into the apartment, heard Harley’s message announcing the time of her arrival and been lying in wait.

  When and if he ever found Moana’s boyfriend, he was going to kill him. But first, he could only concern himself with formulating a plan. He’d have a better chance of snatching Harley away if he could draw the kidnappers out of the condo. Best scenario would be leading them downstairs to the police—or at least, the armed guard.

  Since First Financial also housed a full service bank, all employees had been trained how to react in a robbery situation. Give them what they want had been the mantra of security experts and police alike. No amount of cash could be worth the price of someone’s life.

  But these people hadn’t taken something as unimportant or as easily replaceable as cash. They’d taken the woman who’d made him feel alive for the first time in his life—the woman he was falling in love with. And when he leaned his ear to the door of apartment 3-D and heard nothing but muffled voices—none of which sounded like Harley—another thought occurred to him. These goons didn’t want Harley either. They wanted Moana’s boyfriend.

  So he’d just have to give them what they wanted.

  KEEPING HER EYES downcast, Harley listened as her captor rifled through the drawers and closets of the adjacent room, speaking in quiet tones to someone she couldn’t see. The whistler stayed near the door. Furtively, Harley glanced around, testing her recognition of Moana’s apartment while remaining careful not to look up. Maybe if they thought she couldn’t identify them, they’d find no reason to hurt her.

  The furnishings and floor plan were as foreign as the man who dragged her inside. She steadied her breathing, focusing solely on connecting some object to her own past. If these men wanted to ask her questions, the queries wouldn’t deal with the last two days in Citrus Hill. They’d want to know about Moana, about her boyfriend, about the part of Harley’s life she couldn’t recall—the part Grant’s boss threatened to expose if he didn’t watch his step.

  At the wedding, she hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop. Telling herself she’d only search for the bathroom, she’d followed Grant the minute she saw Howell Phipps grab his arm and lead him from the reception. Just as she’d feared, her presence and disreputable behavior had caused Grant undeserved trouble with his boss.

  And now, she could have cost him his health, maybe even his life.

  You’re going down. She’d barely heard the threat under her own captured scream, but she’d known the instant the elevator doors whooshed shut that she couldn’t help Grant any more than he could help her. For all she knew, a third man, maybe a fourth, jumped into the elevator before it descended, specifically to ensure Grant didn’t interfere with her interrogation.

  And what about Moana? Was she here? Was she hurt?

  A pair of high-heeled, ankle-length boots stepped in front of her. Moana?

  “Give it up, Tower. Ain’t nothing in there. Check the back closet again.”

  The woman’s lazy drawl and guttural delivery rang no bell of recognition.

  “You can look at me, angel-face. We want you to tell that double-crossin’ creep Buck exactly who’s looking for ‘im.”

  Harley’s gaze panned up, taking in the woman’s stick-thin legs ensconced in black mesh stockings, cut-off black denim hip-hugging shorts and frazzled halter top. Her makeup, boldly applied, favored black in everything from lipstick to eyeliner—straight to the roots of her frosted blond hair. She appeared better suited for Halloween or a biker bar than breaking and entering. Especially if she didn’t want to be noticed.

  This definitely wasn’t Moana, though she’d obviously impersonated her when the guard had called. Joy’s comment at the strip club about “biker-chick” regalia not being Moana’s style lingered in Harley’s brain.

  “I don’t know Buck,” Harley said, thrusting her chin up in a manner she hoped would denote courage, but not defiance. She braced both feet firmly on the carpeted floor, preparing to bolt at her first opportunity.

  The woman smoothed her hands over her nearly nonexistent hips and lifted her booted foot onto the lacquered coffee table. “I’m surprised. He’s just the type to salivate over a sweet little thing like you.” She leaned her elbow on her knee, and slipped a short-handled knife out of her boot.

  Harley ignored the unsheathed blade. “He sounds like a real winner.”

  The woman’s laugh was raspy, but genuine. Her ample breasts jiggled, revealing the absence of a bra. “Buck couldn’t win a one-man boxing match. Not after what he’s pulled.”

  Harley kept her stare steady, letting the woman know she couldn’t care less about what happened to the cretin they searched for. She felt nothing for this Buck person, except a lingering dislike that could have stemmed either from her past or from the fact that he was the reason these hoodlums had attacked Grant and detained her. “Look, I don’t know Buck and I don’t know where he is. I can’t help you, so why don’t you just let me leave and we’ll forget all about this?”

  Judiciously, she made no move to depart.

  “I wish it was so easy, angel-face. See, my old man wants to ‘talk’ to Buck. Real bad. Seems some money’s missing from his last shipment. And I ain’t talkin’ pennies. Me and my pals been hanging out in Tampa a week trying to find the snake. I’m sick of this town, but I can’t go back empty-handed.”

  Harley heard the subtle threat, but bit the inside of her bottom lip to stop herself from reacting in any way that might appear threatening or antagonistic. The woman still kept the blade folded into the ivory handle. Harley didn’t want that to change.

  “I’m not worth your time,” Harley noted.

  “Ah, but you know Buck’s girlfriend, Moana.” The woman grabbed an acrylic-framed picture from the coffee table and turned it so Harley could see the snapshot. Three smiling faces, two teenage girls and a toddler, flashed goofy grins at the camera. “You’re the brunette. And yours is the voice on her answering machine.”

  Harley yearned to examine the photo more closely, but preferred to remain at arm’s distance. Still, she could see herself clearly in the dark-haired girl’s fresh face. The teen she assumed was Moana, red-haired and a little older, displayed a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. With a mouth rimmed by the ice cream he held between two pudgy hands, the child fairly bubbled with carefree mirth.

  And in the background, Harley clearly saw the outline of a pink stucco house. The same one from her dream.

  “I’ve been looking for Moana for three days. I left the message hoping she’d retrieve it from wherever she was and meet me tonight.”

/>   “Three days is a long time. Why’d you only leave a message this morning?”

  “I got desperate. I need to talk to her, but for entirely different reasons than yours.”

  Her captor’s eye’s narrowed. “What kind of reasons?”

  Harley’s attention returned to the photograph. “Family matters. Nothing you’d care about.”

  The woman nodded slowly and slapped the blade’s handle in her palm, as if mulling over Harley’s explanation. When one of her companions, the medium-built grease-head with the wolfish whistle, slid back to lean his ear against the front door, the woman’s sharp gaze darted away.

  “Tower, come out here,” she called, her voice a hissing whisper.

  The giant who’d snared Harley in the hallway emerged from the other room. A jagged scar, still puffed and red as if newly attained, ran the length of his face from forehead to chin, splitting his face into two halves, one as frightening as the other. “Yeah, Riva?”

  Riva crooked her head toward the door. The tall, bulky man slid his hand into his jacket. Harley froze. When his hand emerged, he’d slid a four-fingered metal ring over his knuckles. No gun. Harley blew out a breath, then scooted forward, prepared to either run or hide as necessary.

  “Hang tight, angel-face,” Riva commented, unfolding her knife. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Harley held her hands up in surrender. “No problem.”

  From the other side of the door, Harley heard a man’s voice. “Dammit. Where the hell are my keys?”

  Wolf-whistle pulled out his own knife and motioned for the thug called Tower to give him space. He complied after Riva nodded her agreement.

  “Moana, get your ass in gear! I can’t find my damn keys.”

  Riva’s ebony lips stretched into a satisfied smile. She undoubtedly expected the voice on the other side of the door to belong to the elusive Buck.

  Harley knew differently. She’d know Grant’s voice anywhere. Despite his attempt to sound like a street tough, the distinct rhythm of refinement clung to the edge of his tone.

  Her heart soared for an instant, then halted midflight. What did he think he was doing? These criminals wanted Buck for nefarious reasons. Grant had levied himself in the middle of an ugly situation, at best. As intimidating as he was in the world of high finance, Riva and her boys didn’t look like they’d give a flip about that kind of power. Harley’s mind flashed pictures of Tower’s brass-enhanced fists turning Grant’s gorgeous face into bloody pulp. She imagined the shorter guy whistling an upbeat tune while he carved into Grant’s muscled chest.

  All because of her and her questionable past.

  “What do you mean you left your purse in the car?”

  Grant let loose a string of curses that would make any back-alley resident prouder than punch. When Harley heard his voice recede down the hall, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or distressed.

  He was leaving.

  She swallowed deeply, then watched Wolf-whistle grasp the doorknob.

  “Damn.” Riva seemed to forget Harley in her rush to the door. “Don’t let that bastard slip away. Go after him.”

  Grant was drawing them away.

  “Bring him back here?”

  Riva glanced around at the rifled condo, ignoring Harley altogether. “What the hell for? Let’s jump the jerk and blow this joint.”

  Without another word, all three left, leaving the door open behind them. Harley sat perfectly still, fearing her movement would cause them to return and take her hostage again. She heard them swear when they reached the corridor near the elevator.

  Grant had escaped.

  The door to the stairwell banged open just as the second elevator dinged its arrival.

  Moments later, silence began to calm Harley’s pounding heart. Grant had bought her an opportunity to flee. After a quick look around the apartment, she grabbed the picture from the coffee table and barreled to the door.

  Straight into Grant’s waiting arms.

  He covered her mouth with his hand, quelling her startled scream.

  “Hush, honey, it’s me.”

  Despite his tight embrace and soothing tone, her entire frame shook. Tears of relief pooled at the edge of her lashes. He removed his palm from her lips, smoothing his warm touch beneath her chin.

  “How did you…?” Each word left her mouth in a stilted squeak. “Your hand…”

  “Shh. I’m fine. I rang for the elevator and hid in the stairwell until they went down. They’re going to find the police downstairs, not Buck. Are you all right? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  Harley heard the tortured anxiety in his voice and knew she couldn’t tell him about her sore wrists or aching jaw. Or the brandished knives. She didn’t need him rushing to confront her captors, unleashing that wild part of him. She needed the untamed Grant here and now. Holding her. Driving her fears away.

  “I’m fine. But the police? That’ll get your name in the paper. Your boss…”

  “We don’t have to talk to the police. They’ll detain Moana’s friends long enough for us to slip out. Now, let’s get going. They could come back if they sense trouble. We’ll take the stairs to that party on the eighth floor and wait until the coast is clear.”

  Grant wrapped his arm around her, checked the hall, then led her up the stairwell. She slipped her shoes off to move more freely and quietly. Grant took her spiky heels in one hand, grasping the thin straps between his strong fingers. The gesture, so obviously meaningless, made her want to cry.

  Disco music and shouted conversations blared from apartment 8-A, and they blended in without drawing a single suspicious glance. Grant brought Harley a drink, but she waved it away, preferring to sit in a dimly lit corner and examine the photograph from Moana’s apartment. She traced the round face of the toddler with a gentle finger. She knew those eyes. Big and blue and full of laughter. Suddenly, she caught the image of that same azure stare, only older, and not so brimming with happiness.

  Instead, they were dark with worry. Disappointment.

  Don’t worry, Sammy. It won’t be long. I’ll be back for you before the end of the school year. I promise.

  She remembered the pledge, but not the time or place or circumstances of her saying the words. She knew the child, now a teenager if her dream proved accurate, but she couldn’t pinpoint their relationship. Was he a cousin like Moana? A brother? A friend?

  Whoever he was, she’d spent her entire life caring for and protecting him. Somewhere, this boy waited for her—counted on her—to make good on her vow.

  And she had no idea how to do that.

  Her mind reeled. Hugging the picture tightly to her chest, she cursed her malfunctioning brain. Gus had told Grant that her amnesia probably stemmed from some trauma or group of traumas her conscious mind simply couldn’t deal with. Was she still so weak that she couldn’t face her troubles head on? She shook more violently in impotent frustration.

  “Hey, we’re safe.” Grant spoke directly into her ear, rubbing her arms and back with gentle reassurance, completely unaware that her quaking stemmed from deeper fears. “No one’s going to hurt you again. I promise.”

  His eyes, dark and determined, bored straight into her heart, touching her in a place that yearned to be touched, soothing her the way she needed to be soothed. He’d proven time and again that he’d endanger his career for her. And tonight, he’d risked both his professional position and his life.

  She’d find a way to thank him before she left. To find Sammy. To find herself.

  “I believe you, Grant. I always have.”

  After twenty minutes, they slipped out with a crowd heading to another celebration in a nearby building. With blue-and-red lights strobing the front entrance, Grant led Harley out the back and then around to his car. As they drove off, Harley saw her kidnappers leaning against a patrol car, being questioned by uniformed officers.

  Grant left the radio off for the first part of their drive back to Citrus Hill. The silence soothed
her frazzled nerves and allowed her to focus on devising a means to cure her amnesia. Tomorrow, she’d ask Gus about seeing a doctor who specialized in memory dysfunction. On the brink of regaining her past, Harley couldn’t imagine continuing like this—remembering snippets and pieces of her life, but never the whole story, never the entire truth. She had no means to pay for the therapy, but she’d go back to stripping if she had to. No matter the price, she had to find the young boy who waited for her to come home.

  Tonight, she’d say her goodbyes. Since the moment she’d first opened her eyes in Grant’s living room, she knew she didn’t belong there. She’d stayed out of desperation. Then out of desire. Now, no matter how much she loved Grant for jeopardizing his life and career for her, she had to clear out. Never mind Howell Phipps’s not-so-subtle threats. So long as she remained protected in Grant’s house and his embrace, her brain might never confront whatever tragedy kept her trapped in the amnesia.

  Leaning forward, she clicked on the radio and tuned to a classical station that played jazz after hours. Grant reached out and captured her hand before she released the knob on the volume.

  “You’re still shaking.” He threaded his fingers with hers, balancing their hands on the gearshift as they sped down the darkened interstate highway.

  She fought to pull away, but she didn’t want to let go. That was her problem. “I’ll be fine.”

  He squeezed a little tighter. “You handled yourself damn well.” Raising her knuckles to his mouth, he placed a soft kiss there, then clutched her hand to his heart.

  The gesture nearly tore a sob from deep within her. The prospect of leaving him, of never seeing him again, shattered her from the inside out. One moment more, one caress more and she’d surely go insane. Carefully, she extracted her fingers from his.

  “I just did what I had to.”

  Just as she had when she’d insinuated herself into Grant’s life. And when she’d surrendered to him in his home gym. And when she fell in love with him. She’d had little choice in any of those actions, as much as she tried to believe otherwise.