THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS

by Judith Duncan

  Letting out a heavy sigh, he wearily braced his hand on the wall and pried off his boots, lining them up on the boot rack.

  The fragrance of hot, spicy stew penetrated his exhaustion, and he was almost driven to his knees by the smell alone. He hoped like hell he was not imagining the smell, because not only was he half-dead and nearly frozen, he was also so hungry he could eat his own leg.

  Certain he wasn't hallucinating, he glanced over at the stove. Her chin still stuck out a mile, Mallory spoke, using that same snippy tone he had already come to recognize. "You'd better go have your shower if you're going to have one. Your supper will be on the table in ten minutes, and if you're not here to eat it, I'll feed it to the dog."

  Suddenly feeling as if he were the one who'd just got blasted out of a cannon, Finn dragged his hand down his unshaven face, then shucked his vest. Hell. There was no point trying to make sense of this.

  The hot, pounding shower was as close to heaven as Finn figured he would ever get. After he soaped himself from head to foot, he braced his arms on the end of the large enclosure, letting the hot water beat down on his head and sluice down his back, the bathroom filling with steam. He didn't know he could hurt in so many places.

  The shower door was suddenly yanked open, and Patrick O'Brien's daughter stood there like an avenging Celtic warrior woman rising out of the steam. Feeling particularly jaded and very old, Finn bowed his head and released a weary sigh. It didn't even really bother him that she'd practically jumped in the shower with him while he was buck-naked. What bothered him was that she was there at all.

  The water pounded down as the steam rolled out, and she gave a little cough, then spoke, her voice abject and full of remorse. "I acted like an idiot. I knew I was being an idiot, and I'm sorry. I don't know how come I've turned into such a crazy person."

  As if a shower conversation was an everyday occurrence between them, she shut the shower door. "And take your time. Supper is ready whenever you are."

  His hands still braced on the wall and the hot water still beating down on him, Finn experienced a small twist of humor. Maybe he had it all wrong. Maybe it was her father who'd had her kidnapped just so he could have a little peace and quiet in his life.

  Thinking about her father, Finn opened his eyes, his expression turning sober. Straightening, he shut off the water and opened the door, reaching for a towel. Hell, no wonder she was wound up like a top. Somebody was bent on killing her, and she was probably in knots, wondering what he had found at the crash site. And he hadn't even had the decency to say sweet tweet about it. Drying himself off, Finn made a resolution that he would not let her rile him, no matter what. It might kill him, but he was going to cut her a little slack.

  Determined to be nice, Finn walked into the kitchen, doing up the buttons on his shirt. He stopped and stared at the table, not sure if he should be ticked off or amused. She had folded the dish towels into place mats and paper towel into napkins, and there was more cutlery on the table than he would normally use in a week. Obviously she was making an attempt to bring a certain amount of civilized behavior to his uncouth ways.

  Dragging up his best manners, he sat down, leaning back in his chair as she set a bowl, arranged on a plate yet, of steaming stew in front of him. And it wasn't a sissy stew. It was a man's stew—big pieces of braised meat, chunks of vegetables, thick, dark gravy. And the smell. Ah, the smell was unbelievable. "Thanks," he said, his voice gruff. "This looks great."

  She placed another serving on the other dish towel place mat. He did wait until she sat down, and he did wait until she picked up her fork, then he just couldn't hold off any longer, the smell of that rich-bodied stew kicking his appetite into overdrive. He couldn't ever remember being this hungry. Nor could he remember eating anything that tasted so good.

  He was so intent on the food that he had almost worked his way through his second helping before he realized that she was simply pushing her food around, her motions jerky. Recognizing the fact that she had a high personal stake in what he'd been doing the past few days, he rested his forearms on the table and watched her, his gaze intent. Then, without saying anything, he reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, took out the pendant and placed it by her plate.

  She went very still; then she grasped it and closed her eyes, clutching the pendant to her heart. It was not a priceless piece of jewelry just a simple gold pendant, but it didn't take the tears gathering along her lashes to tell Finn it was priceless to her. Experiencing something soft and fluttery in his chest, he looked down as he waited for her to compose herself.

  "Thank you," she whispered unevenly.

  Propping his elbows on the table, Finn looked at her, lacing his hands together. "You're very welcome."

  Avoiding his gaze, she placed the locket on the table, carefully aligning the broken chain. "It was my mother's—she gave it to me just before she died. And my father gave it to her just before they got married." She swallowed hard and traced the worn faded engraving on the back with her fingernail. "I thought I had lost it for good."

  His clasped hands resting against his mouth, Finn continued to study her. She was a mess of contradictions.

  Her lashes spiked with tears, she lifted her head and met his gaze. "Thank you for bringing it back."

  He gave her a small smile. "And thank you for an excellent supper. And just so you know, I would have fought Rooney for it."

  She gave him a small grin, still fondling the pendant. "Darn. I should have dumped it in his dish. I would have liked to see that."

  Finn's expression altered, and his gaze turned serious. "You aren't going to like what I've got to tell you, Red."

  She folded the keepsake in her hand, then sat back in her chair. Drawing up her legs to sit cross-legged, she wrapped her free hand around her ankle, then gave him a small smile. "Okay. I'm ready. Let's have it."

  Finn didn't want to tell her. But he knew she had to know the truth. "I'd bet a large sum of money that your father's chief of security is in this up to his neck."

  Some of the color drained from her face, and she rubbed her hand across her eyes, and he could see her struggle. It took her a moment to get it together; then she lifted her chin. "I was afraid of something like that." She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear; then she looked at him, her face lacking color. "Go on."

  Leaning back in his chair, Finn rested one hand on his thigh, keeping his voice even as he told her. Told her about the O'Brien hotshot security squad, about how Jackson tried to take over the show. Told her about the trip in, and how they eventually found the wreck.

  He turned the knife over, then lifted his gaze to look at her. "The copilot was unconscious but alive." He explained the injuries and the extraction from the wreck. Then he told her how he went back the next morning and found the duct tape she'd pulled off her legs, as well as the pendant.

  Finn straightened the knife, his face hardening. "I thought about pointing out that there was no coat, no purse, no luggage of yours on board, but I figured it was better to let it go."

  "And the pilot?"

  Finn didn't want to tell her that—how close the pilot had gotten to where he had found her. He watched her for a moment, then answered. "We found him about a hundred yards from where I found you. He'd been dead several hours, and he had a pistol with him." Finn gave a mirthless smile. "And I don't think he was out hunting bear."

  There was a startled flash in her eye; then she surprised him with a low laugh. "No, I guess not."

  He liked her laugh. And it was funny how she seemed to fit here, surrounded by such a rustic setting. The amber logs warm and lustrous behind her, her long copper hair piled haphazardly on top of her head, several tendrils hanging loose. She looked like something off the pages of an outdoor catalog, with the sleeves of his blue plaid shirt rolled to her elbows, the garment so big on her that it was sliding off one shoulder. But mostly she looked as if she belonged there, sitting at his table.

  Jarred by that thought, Finn
abruptly sat back and controlled his expression, a crazy pounding breaking loose in his chest. He'd definitely gone down the wrong trail on that one. And it was a mental slip he couldn't afford to make. Not when she was looking all warm and soft. And especially when she wasn't aggravating him.

  Her soft voice broke through his mental jumble. "Did he mention my father?"

  Finn glanced at her, his expression going still when he saw how pale her lips had gone and sensed the anxiety in her. He paused a second, then told her what Jackson had said, about her father being unavailable. He could tell the information about her father hit her hard. All the color washed out of her face, and she suddenly had that same trapped look in her eyes that she'd had when he found her. For one awful moment, he thought she might actually get sick.

  Hugging herself, she closed her eyes and rocked in the chair, her teeth clenched, the anguish on her face almost intolerable to watch. He wanted to touch her, to just pick her up and hold her, but she was fighting a battle he knew nothing about.

  Finally she looked at him, her expression haunted, her face as pale as paste. The green of her eyes magnified because of the glimmer of tears, she spoke, her voice low and uneven. "I think it's time I told you everything."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Finn stared at her, the realization that she was going to trust him with the whole truth making his belly tighten. That show of trust affected him like little else had, and he had to look away. He pushed his plate and bowl to one side; then he leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. Once he got his expression contained, he looked at her, his undivided attention prompting her to speak.

  Looking down, she realigned the broken chain on the pendant; then she folded her hands in her lap and looked at him. "You know the first part. How they grabbed me out of my car, then injected me with something."

  Lacing his hands together, Finn nodded. Mallory eased in an uneven breath, then began pushing the loose ends of the chain around. "They didn't realize it, but I'd regained consciousness just before they loaded me onto the plane. They had blindfolded me, but I was awake. Two people carried me on, and they put me on the floor—on a sleeping bag, I think. Anyway, they were talking." She looked up at him, her eyes so dark and somber, it made his chest hurt to look at her.

  She hesitated, then spoke, her voice unsteady. "That's when I found out that they were taking me to my father's hunting lodge in Alaska. And it's only accessible by helicopter, or floatplane in the summer. Or a plane fitted with skis in the winter." She gave him a wan smile. "Anyway, I put up quite a fight when they tried to administer the second dose of drugs, and that's when they taped my feet—once they had me on board." She shrugged and toyed with the pendant. "Just before the drugs kicked in, I heard one of them make the comment that they should have just finished the job right then and there. But the other one—the one who appeared to be calling the shots—told the first one to use his head—that he had to keep 'her' alive until the boss could finish off her old man." She looked at him then, eyes wide with worry, her multitude of freckles standing out against her pale skin. "And the next thing I remember was waking up after the plane crash. When I saw the outside of the plane, I knew someone very close to my father had to be involved. They couldn't have gotten the plane otherwise."

  "Is that why you didn't want to phone the police the night I brought you back?"

  She nodded, her expression still ashen as she twisted a loose thread on the seam of the sweatpants. "I knew the police would immediately go to my father. And whoever was behind this would know that—and once they knew I was still alive, my father's life would be in jeopardy." She looked up and met his gaze. "It seemed to make sense. As long as they thought I was dead, he would be safe. Other than you, I didn't know who I could trust." She inhaled deeply, then began twisting the thread again. "If we were to call in the police now, Ed Jackson would be the first to find out, and he'd be able to get to my father."

  His elbows still on the table and his clasped hands resting against his mouth, Finn watched her, assessing whether she had given him the whole story. He was certain she had. And what she said made sense. His eyes narrow in thought, he stared at her for a moment; then he spoke. "Now that you've told me what you know, tell me what you think."

  Her face drawn with worry, she sighed and let her hands fall listlessly into her lap. "I don't know what to think," she said, holding his gaze. "Nothing adds up. If it were a straightforward kidnapping, they would have taken me somewhere and held me until the ransom was paid. But keeping me alive until ... until..." She waved off the conclusion to that sentence, then tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. "I spent the whole time you were gone trying to figure it out." She gave him a mirthless smile. "I even made lists, but I still couldn't come up with a reason why they would do this. Except," she paused and frowned, running her finger along the edge of the table, "except the only thing I do know is that whoever orchestrated this had to be someone in the loop, someone who would have access to the information about the hunting lodge. That isn't common knowledge. And the plane. That makes it someone very, very close to him."

  "Like Ed Jackson."

  Her expression taut, she gave a small nod. "Yes, like Ed Jackson." She stared across the room, tiny worry lines around her eyes. "What's scary is that Jackson is the first line of defense between anyone and my father. And that's why we still can't go to the police. Even if the police bypassed him, he would be the first one my father would call." She shrugged and let out a sigh. "But that still doesn't explain the comment about having to keep me alive until they finished off my father. If they want us dead, why would the order of killing matter?"

  Finn had no answer for that, but he had a damned good idea who did. However, he had no solid evidence to base his opinion on—not a damned thing, other than a gut feeling. And if they went to the authorities with his suspicions, he had no doubt that Jackson had the capabilities to wipe all traces of both him and Mallory off the face of the earth. But one thing he did know, and that was that Jackson could never be the brains behind this kind of operation; Jackson was the muscle.

  "Finn?"

  He looked at her, keeping his expression passive. "What?"

  Hesitating, she fingered the necklace again, then she looked at him, fear in her eyes. "Do you think my father is still alive?"

  He considered her question and spoke. "Gut feeling?"

  She nodded. "Gut feeling."

  Finn gave a small shrug. "I got the feeling that Jackson doesn't know where he is."

  She closed her eyes and let her breath go in a rush, then she pressed her hands over her face, the chain of the pendant dangling between her fingers. She sat like that for several seconds; then she lifted her head and dropped her hands. He could see her turning something over in her mind. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "There is something that no one knows, not even Ed Jackson." She looked at him, a bit of color back in her face. "Dad never believed in putting all his eggs in one basket, especially concerning my mother and me—and there had been threats and attempts in the past." She gave him a small smile. "So our chauffeur is really a personal bodyguard, as well as a surveillance, weapons and electronics expert." Her smile widened just a little. "I have a sneaking suspicion that Dad hired Malcolm away from Buckingham Palace, but neither one of them will confirm it. However," she said, her expression getting serious again, "the fact is, Malcolm has taken our protection several steps further. And if he had any idea I was snatched, he would have had Dad immediately boxed, and our country estate turned into a fortress."

  Finn lined up his utensils, assessing what she had told him; then he responded. "But I don't think that takes the heat off you. Their initial plan went up in smoke the minute you disappeared. But I expect they now have a contingency, and you can be damned sure Jackson is a part of it." He hesitated, then asked the one question that he needed an answer to. "What would your father do if he knew where you were right now?"

  She
gave him a warped smile. "Seriously?" "Seriously."

  "He would be up here so fast, it would make your head spin."

  "With Malcolm's approval?"

  The smile was back. "No. Not with Malcolm's approval. My father doesn't believe he needs approval for anything, Donovan. He's a force unto himself."

  Finn returned the smile, his mind processing that information. Which scrapped any idea of calling her old man. The last thing they needed was to draw Patrick O'Brien out into the open. Both their lives would be in danger if they did.

  Finn didn't want to point out the obvious. She'd already had just about all she could handle, but he couldn't take any chances with her either. She had to see that the danger wasn't over. He gave her a steady look. "We can't take any chances, Red. If they found out you were alive, I think we can assume they'd come looking for you."

  She slanted a look at him, and she tried to make a joke out of it, but he caught a glimmer of annoyance in her eyes. "God, I love the way you sugarcoat things, Donovan. It makes a girl feel so special."

  Finn wanted to grin but he didn't. The stew had kicked in, and he barely had the energy to stay sitting in the chair. He watched her mull things over, sharply aware of the pressure she was under. Then he went back over everything they'd talked about, trying to assemble all the pieces of information into something concrete. He was dead certain that Jackson was involved, but in what capacity was anybody's guess. And right now, he was too damned tired to figure anything out.

  He looked at her. "I need to know what you want to do, Red. We need to come up with some sort of plan."

  She stared back at him, her eyes full of distress; then she looked down and straightened the corner of the makeshift place mat. "I don't want to do anything right now." She let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair, meeting his gaze. "You're exhausted, and so am I. I hardly slept at all when you were gone. And now with Ed Jackson in the picture, that changes things. I don't want to do anything stupid or rash." She tucked some loose hair back, then gave him a dispirited look. "Can we just sleep on it for tonight?"