Dangerous Proposition

by Jessica Lauryn

  But it was crazy to think such a thing. Colin probably didn’t even remember that day, let alone the maid who’d made a complete fool of herself. That was definitely for the best. Aside from the fact that the guy drove her out of her mind, she had much more important things to be thinking about right now, things that were becoming more intense by the minute.

  Julia cleared her throat. Wiping her eyes, she fought to regain her focus, deciding after a moment that the best thing she could do was to get her hands on that address. She’d seen the paper briefly, but she hadn’t the slightest idea of what it said. Though she’d lived in New York City for almost three years, all of the street addresses still sounded the same.

  She hadn’t been gone from the hotel room long, meaning Colin hadn’t gotten much of a head start. Maybe there was still time to follow him and save him from whatever danger he was about to walk into. That was, if she hurried maybe there was time.

  Turning toward the dresser, she struggled to remember which drawer Colin had put his clothes in. As she opened the one closest to the ground, she found nothing, same with the middle, short of a few pairs of socks. Coming to the top, she discovered a blend of brilliantine and cashmere and realized she’d hit the jackpot. She dug through the contents, trying to find the pants Colin had been wearing earlier.

  About to give up, she turned, catching sight of something striking beside the wastebasket. A scrap of paper. Little and white, with only a few words written on it. Racing toward it, she turned the paper over. It was the address, only, it had been ripped in half. The street name was missing.

  Bending down, Julia searched frantically through the garbage, pushing tissues, candy wrappers, and plastic cups out of her way. Having no luck, she turned the can over, letting its contents spill across the floor.

  She studied the pile of trash. Pushing aside what she didn’t want, she did her best to decipher her way through the mess. She smiled in victory as her eyes rested upon a small piece of paper. She held the two scraps together, one above the other. 24 East Seventh Street. She didn’t have the greatest idea of where that was, but she would find it. No way was she about to let a little thing like poor navigation skills stop her now.

  Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she hesitated. She was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, which was more or less the same thing she had worn to the last party. As much as it pained her to admit, Colin had been right about her standing out. And though Griffin Strycker had made no secret of the fact that he found her attractive in spite of it, it wasn’t the reason he was targeting her. He knew she was Tucker Dyson’s daughter. Whatever the guy’s reasons, he wanted her out of the way as much as he did her dad.

  Julia walked to the closet. She grabbed her knapsack and took from it the navy-blue cocktail dress. Safe and sound. It had an astonishingly low amount of wrinkles, considering the lengths she’d gone to, to keep it hidden from Colin.

  She changed into the dress then slipped into the high heels she’d purchased. She gave herself a once-over.

  Just as low cut and expensive looking as she remembered. The outfit would definitely require anyone she’d ever met to do a double-take, but something was missing. And she was going to have to take care of it before she set one high-heeled foot into that party.

  Julia took a painful walk down to the hotel gift shop. Doing all she could to relax her feet as she moved, she quickly selected what she wanted to buy. Approaching the teenage boy behind the counter, she said, “I’ll take all of this, the lip gloss, the mascara, and the hair clip. Oh, and that little blue handbag you have behind the counter. How much is that, please?”

  “Twenty-five dollars,” the tall, freckled boy said, putting the bag beside her other purchases. “That’ll be forty-two fifty for everything.”

  “Charge it to my room,” Julia said, thinking of Colin’s face, the look in his eyes when he’d said the words “I shouldn’t have done that.” Cheeks becoming hot, she said, “Room two sixty-three. Colin Westwood.”

  With a smile on her face, she took the elevator upstairs and added the finishing touches to her look. She poked her eyes only twice with the mascara wand before getting it right. Then, when she was satisfied, she placed her cell phone into her new handbag and headed down to the subway.

  By the time she arrived on 7th Avenue, her feet were killing her. She had half a mind to walk to the drugstore on the corner and purchase a pair of flip-flops. But thinking of her dad out there alone and fighting against his abductors, she forced the thought from her mind.

  Julia approached address twenty-four, a large penthouse that several other people were also walking into. As the others got into the elevator, so did she. The group got off on the fifth floor and walked to the room at the end of the hall. Everyone else was allowed to proceed, but she was stopped by a broad-shouldered bouncer who had more tattoos on his arms that he had skin.

  “Sorry, sweet cheeks,” the scruffy man said. “This is a private party.”

  “No duh. I’m here for Dylan Rossler.” She winked. “His ten o’clock.”

  “And you would be?”

  Julia smiled. “Why, whoever he wants me to be, of course.”

  Chapter 16

  Music blasted across a small, crowded space. The sounds of laughter and drinking rivaled it. They masked the activities that were being conducted in the outermost corners of the room, all of which were unmentionable.

  Standing off to the far side of the action, Colin finished the remainder of his drink. He placed his empty glass on the bar and looked around, scanning the enormous room for a place to begin his search.

  Making his way through the center of the mob, he noted that there were even more people than last time. He’d circled the noisy area several times, and he’d found no trace of Dylan Rossler, John Rizzo, or Griffin Strycker. He was very close to calling it a night.

  On second thought… He turned back, signaling for the bartender to refill his glass. Both Ian Hauser and Mateo Esposito had confirmed that Rossler would be there, meaning, perhaps he just wasn’t looking hard enough. Or maybe the bastard was hiding. He needed to think the way those scumbags would, and give the opportunity he had a fair chance.

  Moreover, he thought, downing the scotch he was handed in one swallow, the thought of going back to that hotel room and not finishing what he and Julia had started wasn’t something he was entirely sure he could handle. In fact, he was quite sure he couldn’t handle it. The image of her standing before him, her long red hair, cream-white skin, and taut pink nipples, was enough to drive him into an early grave.

  Colin wiped the sweat from his forehead. When he did finally go back to that hotel room—and he seriously hoped it would be some time around 4:00 a.m.—he had every intention of sleeping on the floor.

  He tossed a ten dollar bill onto the bar. Looking around the room, his eyes drifted toward the entrance.

  He had instructed Ian to find out everything he could about this party. Then the elusive Mr. Hauser was supposed to have come there and acted as his backup. It was almost midnight, and his faithful employee had yet to step through the door.

  With little reluctance, Colin helped himself to a third drink. He knew this wasn’t the wisest thing to do, but he couldn’t help himself. Between the stress of having Tucker missing, the knowledge that someone was trying to kill him, and the fact that he’d let a half-dressed Julia walk out of his shower, his nerves were completely shot.

  Numbed by the sweet taste of alcohol, he spotted a man walking toward him. He put down his glass, looking up at last at a familiar face.

  “Nice of you to show up,” he said as Ian stepped beside him.

  Ian, who was a mathematical genius and techno-wiz alike, had orange-red hair and typically large-framed glasses. Tonight, however, he’d lost the specs and instead bumped up his geek factor with a vest and a bow tie. He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, well. I kind of ran into a few difficulties.”

  “Spare me the details,” Colin replied, gesturing for Ian to f
ollow him to the far side of the room. Having strayed as far as they could from the shouting, he asked, “What did you find out?”

  “Rizzo, Rossler, and Strycker are definitely working together,” Ian answered. “But none of them rented this penthouse.”

  “How could that be?” Colin said, more to himself than to Ian.

  He’d imagined there was one key individual masterminding this plot. But he had thought that person was Strycker. Maybe Esposito was right, and Strycker was reporting to a higher-up. If Strycker hadn’t rented the penthouse, who had?

  Colin was just about to ask Ian what other details he’d stumbled upon when a loud eruption of noise on the other side of the room drew him from his thoughts. A crowd, which consisted solely of men, erupted into whistles and cheers.

  Had they gone so far as to hire a stripper for this thing? Or had an especially promiscuous female attendee simply had too much to drink?

  Making his way toward the center of the group, Colin felt his temperature rising. It was a female all right, and she had one of the sexiest bodies he’d seen in a good long time. From the angle at which he stood, he could see only see the back of her. But she was wearing a very revealing cocktail dress, and she had long white legs and a taut little ass.

  Good God. He had come there tonight for a reason, and a very good reason at that. But with his eyes glued to the goddess in blue, he couldn’t seem to remember what that reason was. He traced the outline of her long, sensuous curves with his eyes and tried to imagine the color of her hair. A woman with such an incredible body would be beautiful with any shade. Electric blonde, beautiful brunette, firecracker…

  No, it couldn’t be, Colin assured himself. Julia would never come there. Not after he’d warned her so strongly about the danger, not after he’d torn up the address and taken the car, leaving her without so much as a penny to buy a subway ticket.

  But there had been that credit card. The one he’d given Julia that first morning in the City, when he’d suggested she buy herself some decent clothes.

  He nearly stopped breathing as the woman in the cocktail dress turned around, revealing her stunning blue eyes, freckled cheeks, and firm, abundant cleavage. That was Julia Dyson all right. She’d pinned up her wild red locks, revealing her swanlike neck, showing way more of her skin than she ought to have in front of a crowd like the one they were standing in the middle of. Her arms, shoulders, and the tops of her high-peaked breasts were all on full display for every bastard in Manhattan to see.

  His blood pressure shot through the roof as she turned from one bloodsucking leech to the next, favoring each with her brilliant red smile. Each man looked her up and down as though she was a piece of meat, smothered in honey glaze. Just one hour ago, he had tasted that meat. He wasn’t in the market to share.

  Taking three gigantic steps forward, Colin moved to where Julia was standing. Reaching his way between two horny amazons, he snatched her by the arm. He held her wrist, pinning her in place.

  Oh, yes. I’ve got you red-handed this time, legs. He tugged her sharply backward as a man in the crowd bumped against him, causing him to loosen his grip.

  It took Colin a second to get his bearings and realize what was happening as his hold on Julia’s arm lessened then broke. Reaching in a second time, he fumbled against an empty space, realizing that her shoulder wasn’t where it had just been. Neither was she. Swiveling his head, he found no one besides the lot of perverted leeches he’d been bumping against for the last several minutes. There was no sign of the vixen they’d all been eyeing.

  “Julia!” he shouted, forcing his way through the mob. He scanned the faces of everyone around him, finding no one he recognized.

  Making his way through the roadblocks, Colin checked the opposite side of the room and the area beside the bar, where he had been standing with Ian. There was no sign of Julia. And he had no idea where she could be.

  “Goddammit!” he exclaimed.

  Julia was gone. And in a place like this, that definitely wasn’t good. Swallowing, he took up his cell phone, heading for the corridor that led away from the mob.

  * * * *

  Julia smiled as she strayed from the crowd, the object of her intention hot on her tail. As she made her way down the hall, her confidence, as well as her nerves, grew. She was taking quite a risk, walking into a private room with one of the goons who had kidnapped her father. But so far, her luck appeared to be holding out.

  Moments earlier, after telling the bouncer that she was there to see Dylan Rossler and making up a lie only an idiot would believe, she’d been escorted right into the center of action. More specifically, she’d been taken to the bar. Of course, she had been careful to accept only one drink. And after carefully watching the bartender pour it, she’d taken only a few sips while she waited for her target to approach.

  It hadn’t taken long. Dylan Rossler, who was dark-haired, tall, and very clearly drunk, had walked up to her within seconds, sporting a very assumptive grin. After a bit of eyelash batting and some tongue-in-cheek flattery, she’d gained his full attention, as well as that of every other drunken male within a hundred feet. This hadn’t been her intention, but at least the cheers and whistles had kept her target from asking her the very obvious questions, who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?

  Looking over her shoulder, Julia observed that her information source was close behind her. Very close behind, in fact. The pig—who looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a month—was practically pinned against her body. He was grinning like a football player who was about to lose his virginity to the head cheerleader.

  The plan, she reviewed, was to go into one of the rooms with him and get whatever information that she could. Namely, she wanted to know what sort of operation these sleazebags were running. And they weren’t dealing drugs. Griffin Strycker’s eyes had confirmed that much when she’d suggested it.

  Turning to take an assessment of her competition, she saw that Dylan Rossler was about six foot four and had spiky brown hair. There was a tattoo on his left arm, which seemed to stand apart from the others.

  That had certainly been difficult to see in the dark lighting. With a jolt of her eyes, Julia gave the large, black mark a double take. Squinting, she struggled to remember where she’d seen it before. Her pulse quickened. It was a cougar painted on his bicep, the one on her father’s card. The one Lena had worn around her neck!

  A rough cheek brushed against hers. She jolted abruptly forward.

  “What’s your name, sexy?” Dylan Rossler asked, pressing his hands against her rear as they entered one of the vacant bedrooms. He shut the door behind them.

  Julia looked around. Short of a wooden floor, the room contained only a window and a bed. That didn’t exactly give her much to work with if things went awry.

  Glancing toward the window, she cleared her throat. She looked at Dylan Rossler, smiling her sweetest smile. “Delilah.”

  “Well, Delilah. Let’s say you and I get to know each other better.” He clasped her waist with his enormous hands, easing her in the direction of the bed.

  “On second thought…” Julia pressed her palms against his chest. “This room is a little claustrophobic for my taste. Got anything”—she smiled coyly—“bigger stashed away?”

  “I might.” He turned, then hesitated. “But I’ve never known a chick like you to be so particular.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m the reigning champion of particular.”

  “Yeah?” He dipped his head, bringing his cold, wet tongue against the groove of her neck. “How do you like this, huh, baby?”

  “Oh, that’s…real good,” Julia said, emitting a dry laugh. Fighting the urge to punch the bastard’s lights out, she told herself that she needed to seriously steer this ship back on course. That was, unless she planned on ending the evening by losing her lunch. “Your place is nice. You must be very rich.”

  He stiffened. “I do all right.”

  “Do you, now?” She forged her sexiest express
ion. “I just love a guy with money. It really turns me on.”

  “Good to know.” He tugged at her dress, freeing her right shoulder. Suckling it, he urged her onto the bed.

  Julia tried to hold him off, but the guy was too fast. She said a silent prayer, bracing the block of lead beneath her. “Where do you get it from, slick? Stock market? Poker games?”

  “I do have an excellent hand.” He flashed a grin of crooked teeth.

  “Mmm,” she said. “I just love a man who can work the backroom.”

  “How am I doin’ so far, baby?”

  “Ooh. Watch it there, Speedy Gonzalez!” Inching backward, she avoided his hand before it grasped her butt cheek. She eased into a smile. “I like taking things slow. Makes things so much more interesting that way.”

  “Whatever you say, baby.”

  As Rossler continued to poke and prod, Julia heaved an uneasy breath. She’d hardly gotten the guy to admit a damn thing, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold him off. She needed to revamp her plan—fast.

  “Oh, crap.” She urged him back. “I left my cell phone in the ladies’ room. I’ll be back in just a sec.”

  “No need, baby. I’ll get your phone for you.”

  “You will?” She twitched. Not what she’d had in mind, but perhaps it was for the best. She was going to wait until he was gone then make a break for it. Clearly this guy wasn’t talking, and all she was getting from him was a headache.

  With a smirk, Dylan Rossler went to the door. No sooner did he shut it than Julia heard something. A sound that was distinct and very, very frightening. Springing from the bed, she made a dash for the door.

  “Hey!” She jiggled the knob. Unable to turn it, she rammed the door hard with her arm. She did it again, causing her shoulder to throb. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The buffoon didn’t answer her, but he laughed hard on the other side of the wall. Julia’s insides quaked. She kicked the wooden frame as hard as she could, not making as much as a dent in it, not causing it to budge an inch.