“No. No, you don’t.” Regi’s glimmer of hope exploded like a grenade. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d get his hands on that kind of money. Unless…“I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay. But if you’re coming, I need to know by”—there was a pause, and Regi assumed Chancy was checking for a date—“by April sixth at the latest.
“Thanks.” He looked at his calendar. Two weeks. “Okay, I’ll call you soon.”
He didn’t shut down his computer like he was supposed to. Instead, he grabbed his phone and strode for the exit.
For the first time ever, he was hunting Carson.
Four buses and a two-mile walk later, he arrived at the security gate at Broadmoor. He drove his fingers through his hair, straightened his shirt, and cleared his throat as he stepped up to the gatehouse. “Hi, I’m here to meet Mr. Carson.”
“Is he expecting you?” Built like a fridge and with eyes that could cut steel, the guard was born for this job.
The entire trip here, Regi had debated how to handle this obstacle. “No, but he’ll want to see me. I have his money.”
After snapping the window shut, Regi watched the guard lift a phone to his ear. Following a brief conversation, he tugged the window open again. “Mr. Carson will be here soon. Wait over there.”
Regi sat where indicated and stared through the wrought iron bars up the tree lined street. Carson liked to keep people waiting, and today was no exception. The sun gradually set behind him and the street lanterns lit up, as did all the million-dollar mansions beyond the gate. Not a single vehicle came or went, and the guard made a show of glaring at him every once in a while.
When a pair of headlights flooded the asphalt, Regi stood and awaited its approach. The guard went to the car, and then he must’ve pressed a button for a side panel in the gate that clicked ajar. Regi didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped through the opening and strode to the highly polished black Mercedes AMG S65 coupe. He was disappointed to see Pope behind the wheel, so Regi climbed into the back seat.
“Regi the Rat. I hear you’ve got the boss’s money.”
“I need to see him.”
“Give me the cash.”
Regi did a double take. He had no idea how much Carson wanted and was pretty certain Pope had just stepped into a hole. “How much?”
“What?” The torment on Pope’s face confirmed he realized his mistake.
“How much does Carson want?” It was the one answer Regi had been seeking for years.
When Pope didn’t respond, Regi decided to push his luck. “Just take me to him, dickhead.”
The seething in Pope’s eyes only proved what Regi had suspected all along: Carson was the only one keeping him alive. Problem was, Regi had no idea why.
Pope turned to the front, put the car into gear, and rolled up the asphalt with a calmness that was a world away from the Pope Regi knew.
They pulled into a driveway, and when the garage door eased up Pope drove down into the enormous parking bay beneath Carson’s mansion. The garage was a car lover’s wet dream. They cruised past a Rolls-Royce Wraith, a McLaren 650S Coupe, a Lamborghini Huracán LP610-4 Spyder, and a Ferrari 488GTB. Carson’s Corvette Stingray was there too; the car that’d instigated his living nightmare showed no signs of the crash.
Regi had been to Carson’s mansion several times, but never via this entrance. The darkened space and abundant shadows prickled Regi’s brain with dread. Pope parked alongside a silver Aston Martin DB9 GT, and Regi readied his body and mind for a beating.
When Pope climbed out, Regi did too, and he stepped back to put distance between himself and the thug. Regi scanned the area, looking for the way out, but it was nowhere in sight, so he waited for Pope to lead the way. He did, and Regi followed behind, still maintaining a distance. Pope paused at a door to unlock it, then pulled it open and indicated for Regi to go first.
Regi clenched his core muscles, expecting a blow. The punch to his kidneys came before he was on the second step. Regi howled and crumbled to the ground. Nothing could’ve prepared him for that.
“Get up, dickhead.” Pope’s breath fouled the air.
Regi groaned as he stood and clawed at the railing to drag himself up the remaining stairs. They entered the mansion, and Pope stepped in front again and led the way through the building and out to the pool area, which was lit up like a party was about to start. Even the water glowed from lights hidden below the waterline. Regi breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Carson lazing in a deck chair at the head of the pool.
He walked toward him and noticed a woman swimming beneath the water. She was naked. Regi decided then and there that once he got his hands on his billions, he too would have naked women swimming in his pool. Lots of them.
As he approached, Carson raised his eyes from the paper he was reading. “I hear you have my money.”
Regi glanced at Pope, who was watching the woman backstroke across the water. “Mr. Carson, can I speak to you alone, please?”
Carson made a show of folding his paper and shoving it onto the table next to an open bottle of red wine. He picked up his wineglass and eyeballed Pope. “Give us a moment.”
Pope nodded and obediently backed away.
“Speak.” Carson commanded.
Regi’s knees trembled, yet he remained standing. “Sir, can you please tell me how much I owe you?” His eyes shifted to the woman’s ass as it bobbed up and down in time to her breaststroke.
“How much do you have?”
Regi was no longer the naïve twenty-two-year-old who’d crashed into Carson’s Stingray. Back then he worked casual in a car wash. Now he was a claims assessor for an insurance company, and if his job had taught him one thing, it was that there was a fine line between knowing when to work with something and when to write it off altogether. His hope was that Carson’s figure was high enough that he’d consider investing more. “I believe I have enough to pay you, but I need to know the figure.”
“One hundred g’s.”
Regi had to resist sighing with relief. This was far from over. He nodded and made a show of implying it was a hard ask. “If I can get my hands on that kind of money, will you let me walk away?”
“Walking away will cost you another four hundred.”
Half a million. It was way too much, and both he and Carson knew it. This was a test, and Regi had every intention of passing it. He clutched the back of a chair. “May I sit?”
“No.”
Regi adjusted his stance so he couldn’t see Miss Nude’s tits wobbling with her backstroke. “Mr. Carson, what I’m going to tell you is hard to believe. Hell, it’s taken me months to get my head around it.” Regi went on to tell Carson everything, from who his father was to how he intended to get his hands on the DNA. He didn’t hold back, and he hoped the truth would literally set him free. “So, sir, in summing up, to get you your money, I need to get to the body. To do that, I need money.”
During the telling of the story, Carson had leaned forward, convincing Regi he was not only believing him, but he was hooked.
“You’re trying to tell me that Milton Ashcroft is your father.”
“Correct.”
Carson burst out laughing. It was the first time Regi had ever seen him do this, and he had absolutely no idea what it meant.
After he’d finished his hysterics, he steepled his fingers. “I knew him.”
The blood drained from Regi’s face. Not in a million years had he considered this. Yet in hindsight, he should have. Milton had been an extremely wealthy Seattle businessman, as was Carson. “He was quite the player, you know. With the women.”
“No, actually I don’t know. As I said, I had no idea who my father was until five months ago.”
Carson huffed. “From what I saw, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were dozens of bastards just like you trying to stake a c
laim on that fortune.”
“There’s just me. For now.” Regi’s research told him that Milton had left his fortune to his son, his fiancée, and a pile of charities. Because his son died too, and because Milton’s ex-wife got zip, it’d been tied up in the courts since the will was discovered. Thanks to Victoria fighting the payouts, Regi could make a claim to the estate. He was about to throw a giant wrench into Victoria’s case, and he couldn’t wait.
“Well, Mr. Tate, you’re one of the luckiest sons of bitches I’ve ever met.” Carson’s smile was contagious and Regi grinned too.
“I know.”
Carson eased back on his chair. His eyes were as sharp as ice picks. “How much do you need?”
Regi’s heart was in his throat. On his way to Carson’s he’d played with all sorts of numbers in his head. The last thing he needed was to fail because he was a couple of bucks short. Besides, if anyone could afford it, it was Carson. “I figure fifty grand will cover my costs.”
“Fifty.” Carson didn’t show any emotion at the figure, giving Regi a glimmer of hope that he had the right number.
Regi stood his ground. “Yes, sir, that’ll cover travel, accommodation, the helicopter, and the DNA tests. Then there’ll be lawyer fees…” While Regi carried on listing every cost he’d thought of, the woman climbed out of the pool and strolled toward them. She plucked a towel from one of the deck chairs, and as she scrubbed her hair she joined Carson’s side. She made absolutely no attempt to cover herself, and Regi couldn’t get his brain or his mouth to work, so he stopped talking.
Carson seemed to have no trouble ignoring her. “Okay, you can have your fifty, but…”
Regi’s already thumping heart hit a whole new level as he waited out Carson’s irritating pause.
“Pope’s going with you.” Carson’s sick grin was triumphant.
Chapter 22
Ever since the night in the cabin when Amber had not only told Oliver the astonishing details of her past, but also her immediate plans for the future, the barriers she’d built that’d kept them apart had fallen away. For the first time since he’d opened Upper Limits, Oliver’s business was taking a back seat while he and Amber spent every possible moment together. When they were apart, his heart ached like nothing he’d ever felt before.
Telling him the truth seemed to have set Amber free, and she’d truly come out of her shell. She laughed more freely, and he found a cheekiness about her that she’d been hiding. His only hope was that once she’d completed this crazy mission, whether she succeeded or not, she’d be able to put her past behind her for good.
As per her request, he’d kept her true identity a secret, and between the two of them they’d concocted a story to explain the burn scar on her face. So far, everyone believed that Amber had been in a terrible car crash, and thankfully they hadn’t asked for specifics. His family loved her, which he knew they would.
Their twelve days together on the mountaineering course had been some of the most incredible days of his life. The course itself had been tough, but fun. And every minute he’d spent with Amber had been an eye opener. Her strength, both mental and physical, never ceased to amaze him. Especially now that he knew the extent of her injuries.
Her missing toes hadn’t hampered her ability to climb a frozen waterfall. The waterfall had, however, beaten two other able-bodied men. She’d never mentioned her wounds to any of the other six mountaineers in the course. Oliver however, was so proud of her he’d wanted to shout it from the mountaintop.
When they’d finally boarded the plane for Canada, his emotions had swung from relief to trepidation, yet he couldn’t deny the good dose of excitement he felt too. Their time had gone so quickly Oliver barely had time to comprehend what they were planning to do. Amber, however, seemed to grow more agitated with each passing hour.
After a little over seventeen hours in transit, they arrived at Kelowna International Airport in Canada. Once they disembarked the plane, Oliver reached for Amber’s hand and led her through the glass sliding doors. They collected their luggage from the carousel and headed for the exit. Oliver spied a man in a green bomber jacket and army-print peaked cap holding a sign with Holly Parmenter written on it. It was a timely reminder that until they returned to this airport, he was to call her Holly.
Holly stepped forward and offered her hand. “Hello.”
“Afternoon, folks. I’m Chancy Holden.” He shook Holly’s hand and then turned to Oliver. “And you must be Oliver.” While Chancy’s grin seemed genuine, it was his steely eyes that gave him a no-nonsense military quality.
“That’s me.”
“Okay, let’s get going.” He plucked Holly’s bag from her hand and led them through the terminal and out a small exit marked for personnel only. The roar of an engine had Oliver turning in time to see a small plane taking off along the runway. They headed toward a giant aircraft hangar, but rather than go inside they skirted around it and, positioned on giant white crosses painted on the tarmac, three stationary helicopters came into view. The second they were in sight, Holly reached for his hand, and with each step they took toward them, her fingers squeezed tighter.
Oliver wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay, but there was no time to pause. Chancy opened a utility basket positioned above the chopper’s skid, tossed Holly’s bag inside, and indicated for Oliver to shove his in too. Chancy opened the door to the chopper. “Ladies first.”
Oliver saw the fear in her eyes and placed his hand on her arm. “It’s okay, babe.”
“You got a fear of flying?” Chancy didn’t mince words.
She spun to him. “No, actually. A fear of crashing.”
He did a little jerk of his head. “Well, that ain’t happening. Not on my shift.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, Mr. Holden.” The look of determination that Oliver had come to recognize was back on Holly’s face as she clamped her jaw and climbed into the cockpit to take her place in the back seat.
Oliver clapped Chancy on the back before hauling himself up beside Holly. She clutched his hand and he squeezed her fingers, trying to portray a sense of security.
Once he was in the pilot’s seat, Chancy handed them both headsets. Oliver placed the padded disks over his ears and heard the crackle of the airways. Chancy explained how to buckle up, and once they were set he pressed a few buttons to kick the rotors into gear. Within twenty minutes of landing at Kelowna, they were airborne again.
They flew from the airport and headed toward snowcapped mountains, and as much as Oliver tried to conceal his excitement, for Holly’s sake, he couldn’t. When Chancy tilted the chopper sideways to change course, Oliver whooped with exhilaration. When Holly turned to him, he saw a mixture of curiosity and fear in her eyes. He decided the best thing to do was show her how relaxed he was. For the next two hours, he pointed out one interesting aspect after another, and after a while her grip relaxed, and he was certain Holly’s fear was dissipating.
Miracle Lodge was positioned high on Revelstoke Mountain and accessed only by helicopter, which meant only a select few people could afford to stay there. Holly had insisted on paying, and although he was very grateful, he felt guilty about it too.
The lodge was perched on the western side of the mountain and was built with red brick and red cedar. With snow capping the roof and smoke trailing from the stone chimneys, it was picture-perfect against the alpine backdrop.
Chancy landed the helicopter on the giant X and cut the engine. “Here we are.”
They climbed out, and Chancy unclipped the latch on the utility basket to remove their bags. He handed one to Oliver. “Okay, I’ll get you inside, then I’m heading back to the airport to get the rest of your party.”
Holly shot a glance at Oliver, then to Chancy. “Who?”
“Oh, you’re in luck. Since we last spoke I had a call from a guy who needs to take
pictures of that plane wreck up there for insurance. It’s right near where you’re going, so it worked out well.” Chancy made no apology.
“We hired you as a private charter.” Holly clamped her jaw.
“No. You hired me to guide you to that crevasse. There was no mention of a private charter.”
Oliver saw the anger brimming in her eyes.
“You should be happy, Ms. Parmenter.” Maybe Chancy saw her fury too, because his eyes darkened when he glared at her. “It’s not going to be easy hauling those bodies out of the crevasse. The more hands we have, the better.” Without waiting for a response, he clutched her bag and strode toward the building.
Holly looked up at Oliver. “Shit.”
“It’s okay, nothing has changed.” Oliver frowned at her fury.
“A lot has changed. They better not slow us down.”
He curled his arm over her shoulder and led her toward the building. “I’m sure they won’t.”
Chancy was waiting for them at the reception counter. If he was still ready for an argument, he showed no signs of it. His smile was back, and he indicated for them to come forward. “Okay, I’ll leave you with Miranda for now, but can you please meet with me in the lounge at eight o’clock? I’ll introduce you to the rest of your party and go over the final plans for tomorrow.”
“Okay, thank you.” Oliver spoke for the two of them.
Chancy strode back out the door and Oliver turned his attention to Miranda.
She led them from reception and showed them through the lodge, pointing out the sofa Chancy had mentioned, the restaurant, the day spa, the massage rooms, the fitness center and business center, and the private ski lockers. Oliver only saw seven other people along the way—a vast difference to every other ski resort he’d been to.
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