Texan Undercover (Romantic Suspense)

by Anne Marie Novark

  She screamed when Frank grabbed her arm and wrenched it behind her. The mild-mannered professor wasn't mild-mannered at all. And he was stronger than he looked. Claire tried to jerk free. He tightened his hold; pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder.

  "Let me go!" She wiggled and kicked out at him. Why hadn't she ever taken any self-defense courses? Then she'd know what to do to get out of this mess.

  Kicking again, her heel connected with his shin. She had a momentary sense of satisfaction when Frank moaned and loosened his grip. But the feeling was short-lived as any chance of escape disappeared.

  Frank locked his arms around her and plastered her against the wall. "That wasn't very nice, Claire," he growled in her ear.

  Nice? None of this was nice. She couldn't move. He had her wedged between him and the wall. The rough texture of the painted surface grazed her cheek, adding to her injuries. She was hurting all over. And scared. Her heart hammered in her chest. But she wouldn't go down without a fight. "Natalie!" she called out. "Natalie, can you hear me?"

  A thump and a groan sounded from behind the bedroom door. Nat was alive. But for how long?

  Claire tried to buck him off. "I want to see Nat. What have you done to her?"

  "The same thing I'm going to do to you. Settle down, Claire. I'm not going to kill you." He hauled her to the door and pushed it open.

  Darkness shrouded the room. A small lamp on the nightstand cast a meager light against the shadows. Natalie sat tied to her desk chair, duct tape over her mouth. Her blue eyes shot sparks as she strained against her bindings.

  Frank pushed Claire past the doorway, keeping her secure. "I've brought you company," he said to Natalie. She rocked the chair, straining against the ties and screeching behind the sticky gag. "Calm yourself," he said. "It's your fault I had to tie you up. You really shouldn't have threatened to call the police, you know."

  He maneuvered Claire toward the bed, snatching the duct tape from the desk. "There aren't any more chairs, so you'll have to sit on the floor. Sorry for the inconvenience." He pushed her down onto the carpet near the foot of the bed.

  Inconvenience? He was being so polite. The man was certifiably crazy. "Frank, why are you doing this to me and Natalie? I thought you liked her. I thought you liked me. What do you hope to accomplish? You know you're going to get caught."

  "Not necessarily." He wrapped her wrists with the tape, strapping her to the bedpost. "Natalie was part of my original plan. She provided me easier access to the computers in e*Claire's. It is unfortunate we formed intimate bonds."

  Natalie grunted and fought against her bindings as if she'd like to lunge at Frank. Somehow, Claire didn't think she was as devastated about the breakup as she'd been earlier in the evening.

  Frank paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at Natalie, then continued. "But my plans have changed thanks to you and Anderson." He secured her ankles together. "Not too tight, I hope?"

  "What are you going to do?" Her hands were already tingling from the bindings.

  "You talk too much, Claire." He ripped one last piece of tape and covered her mouth. "I'll explain it to you. I'm using you as bait. I've seen how Anderson looks at you. I know he moved in with you. Don't look so surprised."

  He stood and stared down at her. "We're going to wait for your lover to come to the rescue. Then I'm going to make him sorry he interfered with my little operation."

  Frank walked out the door. Shivers of fear scurried inside and outside Claire's body. Frank was going to hurt Dillon. Mr. Macho Private Eye would charge right in with no thought to his safety . . . She couldn't bear it if something happened to him.

  Claire looked at Natalie. Natalie looked at her. They couldn't say anything, but communicated just the same. Nat tugged at the bindings on her arms and legs, making frustrated grumbles and grunts.

  Claire tested the strength of her own bonds. After several fruitless attempts, she slumped against the bed frame. It was no use. She'd never get herself and Natalie out of this predicament. They needed help and fast.

  ****

  After he locked up the cafe, Dillon walked down the block where Brozek had parked the van. As he waited for his partner to open the door, a sudden chill scurried up his neck. He wished he hadn't let Claire go to Natalie's by herself. What had he been thinking?

  That was the problem. He couldn't think when he was around Claire. It was difficult to keep his perspective. He'd been so relieved to see her spunk and spirit return that he would have agreed to almost anything she suggested.

  Unprofessional and negligent. Damn.

  The door clicked open and Dillon climbed in. "Let me see what you've got," he said to Brozek.

  "What took so long? I've been waiting for fifteen minutes." Brozek sat in his seat in front of the monitors, flipped a couple of switches and pushed a button to play the surveillance video.

  "I had to close up the place. It took longer than I thought." Dillon squatted on his haunches beside his partner and watched the tape. The usual e*Claire's crowd milled about the cafe, sipping drinks, studying in groups, hunkering around the computers.

  "Why couldn't Claire lock up?" Brozek asked.

  "She had to leave in a hurry. Natalie called--"

  "Look, this is it." Brozek pointed to the screen. "Tell me what you think?"

  "--and she was crying--holy crap! Stop. Back up and play it again in slow motion."

  Brozek rewound the tape and pushed play. "I knew it. We have the bastard now."

  As the scene unfolded, Dillon's whole body stiffened. "That son of a bitch."

  "Who is he? I've seen him before, but never met him."

  "Frank Winslowe." The hairs on Dillon's scalp stood on end. Frank. The absent-minded professor. The damned hacker.

  Not the Frenchman. Not Natalie. But Frank. Who'd just broken up with Natalie. The reason Claire had left in such a hurry. Alone.

  Son of a bitch.

  Dillon studied the tape. He watched Frank greet Natalie, buy coffee, then sit down at a table. He talked a little to Natalie, then waved her away. He glanced around, as if making sure no one was watching, then deliberately looked up at the surveillance camera and smiled.

  At that moment, Dillon knew Frank wasn't playing with a full deck. The guy was smart. A frigging genius. How'd he know where the camera was? That devious smile boded no good.

  Frank unplugged the keystroke recorder from the back of the keyboard. He inserted a floppy and typed something. When he finished, he looked again at the camera, made a gun-like motion with his hand and mouthed the word 'bang.'

  "Damn. Is he insane?" Brozek stopped the video. "He knows we're watching him. Knows we've been watching him. Does he want to get caught?"

  "I don't know. Maybe he is crazy." Dillon stood and unhooked his cell phone from his belt. He was the one going crazy. Letting Claire go out alone. Not that he thought Frank was actually at Natalie's. Those two were history, right?

  Damn. He had a bad feeling about all of this. Quickly, he punched in Claire's number. "You run the keystroke match program on that computer?" he asked Brozek.

  "Yeah, he definitely typed the commands that sent the virus to the three companies and to the computers in the cafes. Who're you calling?"

  "Claire. She went to Natalie's because Frank broke up with her. The woman was practically hysterical." Dillon took a deep breath. Then another. "Come on. Answer." That bad feeling punched him in the gut again. She'd promised to keep the phone with her at all times. Why didn't she answer?

  After six rings, she picked up.

  Only it wasn't Claire.

  "I have her, Anderson," Frank Winslowe said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Come and get her. Alone. No police and no partner. Alone." Click.

  The blood froze in Dillon's veins. For half a second, his body refused to function. His heart stopped beating; his lungs stopped period. The glowing lights inside the van buzzed all around him.

  Frank had Claire. His worst nightmare had come true.

&n
bsp; Brozek pushed out of his chair. "What's wrong? Where's Claire?"

  "Winslowe's got her." Dillon blinked back the terror and fear. He scrambled over equipment to the front of the van and jumped in the driver's seat.

  "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Brozek said, sinking back in his chair. "I'll call the cops."

  "No! He said to come alone."

  "You're not going alone, buddy."

  Dillon made a quick decision. "All right. You'll be my back up and can stay out of sight. Now, do a search for Natalie Fuller's address. I don't know where she lives." Dillon turned the key in the ignition. "And hurry it up." Ten minutes. Claire had said it took ten minutes to get to Natalie's apartment from here. It might as well be ten hours considering the frustration and helplessness he was feeling.

  "I'm one step ahead of you." His partner feverishly tapped out commands on the keyboard. Then he climbed in the passenger seat. "She lives over in the Arboretum Apartments. Number 368." Brozek shoved a micro camera and earpiece at him.

  "What's this?" Dillon asked, knowing very well what it was.

  "My backup, buddy. It'll let me know if and when I need to go in and rescue your butt."

  Dillon nodded, threw the van into gear and floored the gas pedal. Ten minutes. He had ten minutes to save Claire from a madman.

  ****

  Claire heard the first faint trill of her cell phone floating down the hall. Hope flared inside. She glanced at Natalie. The tiny flicker in Nat's eyes showed hope, too.

  The phone trilled again. Much good it would do in the living room hidden in her purse.

  A third trill sounded. Was it Dillon? If she didn't answer, would he know something was wrong?

  A fourth trill. He was good at adding up clues. He was a private investigator after all.

  Trill number five.

  Before she'd left the cafe, she remembered Brozek had called to say he'd found the hacker. By now, Dillon would know it was Frank. But would he know Frank was here? At Natalie's?

  Six trills. Would he come running to the rescue? Alone? Without reinforcements? Straight into Frank's trap?

  Sure, Dillon was strong and had a gun. But Frank was devious. He'd fooled them all.

  No more trills. She heard Frank's voice. Short and terse. Then nothing. What was happening?

  The bedroom door crashed open. Frank stood there with a gun in one hand and a butcher knife in the other.

  Oh, God. They were going to die!

  "I've decided to play this out a little differently, ladies. Company's coming and we need to prepare."

  He moved toward Claire and laid the gun on the dresser. "I'm going to cut you free, then you will untie Natalie. We'll move to the living room, where we'll wait for Anderson. No funny business now. I really don't want to hurt either one of you, but I will if I must."

  Frank sawed through the duct tape that bound Claire's wrists. A thousand shards of tingling sensation skittered from her aching shoulders. He cut the tape at her ankles, ripping it away, tearing her stockings in the process. "Up you go, Claire. Easy does it." He helped her to stand, then motioned toward Natalie. "Hurry. We don't have much time."

  He retrieved his gun and held it steady, pointed straight at Claire. "Go on. Untie her." He stepped to the doorway and waited.

  Claire peeled the duct tape from her aching wrists and rubbed them to ease the pain. She crossed the room slowly. Every minute she wasted gave Frank less time to prepare. Which helped Dillon, if only a little.

  Nat looked up at her. Those big blue eyes shimmered with fear and anger. Claire fumbled with the knotted scarves Frank had used to tie Natalie's hands and feet. She wished she could whisper reassurance in her friend's ear, but her mouth was still covered with duct tape. How much did Natalie really understand about what was going on?

  "Hurry it up, Claire." Frank rushed over and hauled Natalie to her feet. "Let's go. Move it." He motioned toward the door with the barrel of the gun.

  Claire nodded to Natalie before she turned and led the way, as slowly as she dared, down the hall to the living room. She felt like she was in the middle of a nightmare. Everything seemed unreal and dreamlike. Shouldn't she feel frightened? Why wasn't she scared out of her wits? All she felt was numbness. That was a blessing, right?

  Wrong. She needed to get a grip. Think, Claire. Think. Dillon was coming. He was the one in danger. Frank had said he wasn't going to kill her, but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill Dillon.

  "All right, ladies. Stop right there. Sit on the sofa like good little girls and no one gets hurt."

  Could she believe him? The wild look in his eyes terrified her. Beads of sweat glistened on his face. He was strung tight. What would it take to make him snap?

  Frank walked over to the window and peered out.

  Claire carefully sat on the sofa. Nat flopped down beside her and ripped the duct tape from her mouth. Claire winced. She began to slowly peel away the piece of tape from her own mouth, bit by little bit.

  "I can't believe you're doing this, Frank." Natalie crossed her arms over her chest.

  Frank twirled to face her, his gun pointed toward them. "Did I say you could uncover your mouth?"

  "What are you going to do about it, huh? Shoot me? Obviously, you don't care for me. You never cared for me."

  The gun wavered. "I'm not indifferent to you."

  Natalie sat up straighter. "Thanks a lot."

  "You were the means to an end," he said. "A small pawn in a very large game."

  "You are one cold bastard, you know that?"

  He made a formal bow.

  "Why are you doing this, Frank? What can you hope to gain?"

  "Satisfaction," he said. "Knowing that I didn't sit back and do nothing. Knowing that I did my part trying to help save the world."

  Natalie sneered at him. "Oh, really? By yourself?"

  "One person can make a difference, Natalie. Even if it's only on a small scale." He steadied the gun in his hand. "Now be silent and sit still."

  Claire finally finished removing the tape from her mouth. Her lips felt raw. She felt raw inside and out. How long before this was over? How long since Dillon had phoned?

  The knock on the door told her not long enough. The nightmare quality slipped away. Everything suddenly seemed all too real.

  "The conclusion to this game is about to be played out," Frank said, turning for the door. "It will be interesting to see who wins."

  Claire wondered if there was anything she could do to help Dillon. Again, she wished she had taken self-defense. Then she could be a kick-ass heroine like in the movies. But no. All she could do was sit and wait for the man she loved to walk through that door and into danger.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dillon waited for the door to Natalie's apartment to open. He didn't know how this would turn out, but he did know one thing. He loved Claire Maxwell. He couldn't deny it any longer. If Winslowe harmed one hair on her beautiful head, if he bruised one tiny part of her beautiful body, he'd kill the son of a bitch.

  "It's open," Winslowe called from within. "Enter with your hands on top of your head."

  Oh hell.

  The doorknob turned easily under Dillon's fingers; the loud click of the latch sounded like a death knell in his ear. Adrenaline surged through his bloodstream. He pushed the door forward, braced his hands behind his head and advanced into the apartment.

  "Welcome, Mr. Anderson." Winslowe greeted Dillon like a guest instead of an adversary. As if the man wasn't holding two women hostage, intending to do God knew what to them. "Come in. It's time to end this little charade and the game we've been playing, don't you agree?"

  "Yes, Winslowe. It's past time we ended this."

  A swift sweep around the room showed Claire and Natalie on the couch, not bound in any way, apparently physically unharmed. There were signs of a struggle--spilled wine, a vase on its side, the contents of Claire's purse scattered across the coffee table.

  Claire looked at Dillon, those deep brown eyes dilated with fear. She w
hispered his name and his heart twisted in his chest.

  "Are you okay?" he asked her.

  She nodded and tried to smile, but her bottom lip trembled with the effort. She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. Thank God, she wasn't hurt. Only scared. And angry, guessing from the thrust of that determined chin. Dillon hoped she wouldn't try anything stupid.

  Natalie sat near her, quiet and subdued, but eyes blazing. He hoped she wouldn't do anything stupid either.

  Dillon quickly assessed the situation, seeking a way out. With the women unbound, it would be easier to maneuver them, get them to safety. He nodded once in Claire's direction, hoping to reassure her, before facing Winslowe and that gun he was holding.

  "Okay. What is it you want?" Dillon eyed the gun and Winslowe's slack grip on it. Maybe the man wasn't accustomed to guns. That could work in Dillon's favor. Or not.

  "I want to make you sorry. Make you suffer, that's what I want," Frank said. "You've ruined everything. I had a good setup going at e*Claire's--working on my dissertation was an excellent cover. I actually made progress on it as I planted viruses and caused mayhem in those God-forsaken tech companies. And no one suspected me until you came along. You've destroyed all that I've worked so hard to accomplish."

  "You've been breaking the law, Winslowe."

  "I'm trying to save the world, you idiot." He pointed the gun straight at Dillon's heart.

  Claire gasped and Natalie shrieked.

  Dillon risked a glance in Claire's direction. God, how he loved her. Nothing else mattered. Only Claire. He wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, but first he had to get them out of this mess.

  He turned to Winslowe again. "How are you going to save the world? By killing me? You don't want to do this, man. Think. Use that genius brain of yours. Don't do this."

  "Perhaps you have a point. Killing you won't solve anything. But the game is over. I've failed to accomplish my objective. Failed in my crusade against rampant technology. I'll never finish my dissertation now. I have nothing left to live for. Nothing." He pointed the gun to his temple.