Willow blinked at her friend in amazement. “Are you blushing?” she asked, squinting through the moonlit cab of the truck. Who the hell had ever heard of breaking and entering on a moonlit night? “Jane Huntley is blushing like a schoolgirl because a guy kissed her?”
Jane lifted her chin. “It’s not just the fact that he kissed me, but how he kissed me. And…and what he said afterward.”
Willow didn’t know what she wanted to address first—the how he’d kissed her or what he’d said. “What did he say?”
“He said it was okay for me to be afraid. That if I wasn’t, we might as well just walk away from each other right then.”
Willow turned to fully face Jane. “What did he mean by that? You’re not afraid of Jason, are you?”
“Of course I am,” Jane said, rolling her eyes. “And Jason knows it, and he also knows that being afraid means I’m smart enough to realize I’ve met my match.”
“My God, you really like him, don’t you?” Willow said in wonder. “Not just for a fun time, but for…you only just met him two days ago. You can’t feel that strongly for him.”
Jane nodded, the moonlight slashing across her blushed cheeks. “Something sparked between us the moment he walked into Duncan’s kitchen. Why do you think I took leave of my senses?”
“Okay,” Willow said, also nodding. “How did he kiss you?”
“Like he was kissing me, not my mouth,” Jane whispered, her blush furiously dark now. “He was taking a taste of all of me.”
Willow could only stare at her friend.
“And that scared me to death,” Jane softly admitted. “And Jason knows I’m scared, and he’s going to grab onto that like a dog onto a bone.”
“Because he had the same reaction when he walked into Duncan’s kitchen and spotted you?” Willow asked.
Jane nodded again, then quickly looked down at her watch. “Haven’t they been gone long enough?” she asked, obviously wanting to change the subject. “It’s been half an hour.”
“Duncan said to give them a full hour. He’s got a cell phone, and said he’d call if they ran into any trouble.”
“They can’t call if that trouble happens to be at the wrong end of a gun barrel,” Jane pointed out. “And what if they don’t come back in an hour, and they don’t call? Then what do we do?”
“Duncan said for me to call Kee on his cell phone.”
“ ‘Duncan said,’ ” Jane repeated. “My God, you sound like a mindless parrot.”
“I’m just telling you what he told me. I didn’t say I was going to mindlessly listen to him.”
“Is he really a duke?” Jane asked, apparently wanting to change the conversation again.
Willow nodded. “It seems so. Duncan explained that the title came down through his mother, not his father. Apparently Margaret was an only child. And Camden told me she’s a cousin to the queen.”
“Of England?” Jane squeaked. Her eyes suddenly rounded as she looked past Willow’s shoulder, her previously blushing face turning a stark pale white.
Willow spun around, and came nose to tip with the barrel of a shotgun pointing at her through the window. The guy at the other end of the gun, the one with his finger on the trigger, looked like he might be enjoying the fact that he was scaring her witless. And the guy standing beside him, pointing a handgun at the truck, had an even nastier grin.
“What do we do?” Jane whispered.
“Whatever they tell us to do,” Willow whispered back, not taking her eyes off the first man.
He waved the barrel of his shotgun, motioning for them to put their hands in the air. Willow immediately complied, and prayed to God Jane did, also.
“Do you suppose the guys got caught?” Jane whispered.
“Shut up and get out,” the second guy said. “One at a time. Both of you use this door,” he ordered, motioning to Willow’s passenger door.
Slowly, using only one hand while keeping the other hand in sight, Willow opened the door. The first man backed up, then quickly moved the barrel of the shotgun so that there wasn’t any glass between them anymore. He then grabbed her by the arm, dragged her the rest of the way out, and shoved her against the side fender of the truck.
Jane was also pulled out and shoved into the side of the truck so hard she grunted sharply, and Willow worried she might have bruised a rib.
“You don’t have to manhandle us,” Willow said calmly, putting her arm around Jane as her friend clutched her side and tried to catch her breath back. “We’re cooperating with you.”
“What are you doing here?” the second man asked. “This is posted land. You’re trespassing on the Kingston Corporation waste site.”
Willow rounded her eyes. “This is a waste site?” she asked, looking around in surprise. “We didn’t see any signs. We just drove down this dirt road, looking for a place to go…ah, well, to get some privacy.”
Ugly Face with the shotgun appeared surprised. “Privacy?” he echoed, looking from Willow to Jane, then back to Willow. His eyes narrowed to two black slits in the bright moonlight. “Privacy for what?”
Willow cuddled closer to Jane, lowering her head and giving the guy a sheepish smile. “Well, my mother’s come to visit, and she’s been here over a week, and we haven’t had a moment’s privacy in our own home. And Mom can’t get used to my choice of lifestyle, and we don’t want to flaunt it in front of her, so we were just…you know…looking for a quiet place to be…ah, alone.”
Jane looked over at Willow with incredulous eyes. Willow cupped Jane’s face and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, sweetie. If these guys bruised your ribs, we’re going to sue whoever runs this waste site.”
Willow looked back at her jailers. The first man had his mouth hanging open and his shotgun dangling at his side, trying to comprehend the fact that two women might be looking for a lover’s lane on a moonlit night. The second man, however, the one with the handgun, still appeared more suspicious than intrigued.
“I want you to write the name of the company that owns this waste site and your two names on a piece of paper for us,” Willow continued, pressing her advantage. “You guys are going to pay for my friend’s doctor visit to see if you hurt her.” Willow cupped Jane’s face again and looked deeply into her eyes. “Can you breathe, sweetie? Where does it hurt?”
Jane bent forward even more, and started panting. “My—my left side,” she croaked. “I think a rib might be cracked.”
Willow cuddled her closer and turned and glared at the men. “She’s very delicate,” she told them. “Ever since she finished chemotherapy last year, she bruises easily.”
The shotgun guy paled, and the suspicious guy finally slipped his handgun into his holster. “Hey, we’re sorry,” he said, walking to the truck door and holding it open as he waved them inside. “We’ve had some trouble from teenagers around here lately.”
Willow carefully handed Jane into the truck, then turned and faced the men, holding out her hand. “Your names, please,” she said. “And put down the name of the gentleman who runs this place.”
“Aw, hell, lady—” he started, digging into his shirt pocket only to suddenly stop. “Hey, what’s that noise?”
It was Duncan’s cell phone is what it was. The damn thing was vibrating her thigh hard enough to make the three quarters and two nickels in her pocket rattle.
The man looked at her pants, specifically at her left hip pocket. “That’s a cell phone or beeper,” he said, stepping back and drawing his gun again.
Willow also stepped back until she was pressed against the fender of the truck, and held her throat in shock. “What are you going to do, shoot my cell phone? I told you my mother hasn’t given us a moment’s privacy.”
“Ain’t you going to answer it?” the other guy asked.
Willow shook her head. “It’s my mother,” she repeated through gritted teeth, sending a scathing glare toward Jane. “Sweetie, here,” she continued tightly, nodding toward the truck, “gave Mother my number,
even after I warned her not to.”
Handgun Guy held out his hand. “Give it to me,” he said, suddenly suspicious again. “I’ll answer it, and if it’s your mother, I’ll tell her I’m your new boyfriend.”
Willow shook her head.
The guy stepped forward, and before she knew what was happening, shoved his hand in her pants pocket and pulled out the still vibrating phone. Willow swatted at him, trying to knock that damn phone to the ground as she stepped away with a startled yelp.
The guy flipped open the phone and held it up to his ear, but said nothing.
Willow winced when she heard Duncan’s voice all the way from where she was standing. “We struck out tonight, counselor. The office is full of men, and we may have been seen. Get out of there,” Duncan commanded. “We’ll meet you down on the main road.”
“That’s not possible, mister,” the guy said into the phone. “Your lady friends have guns pointed at them right now.”
Willow closed her eyes and hung her head, listening to the silence coming from the other end of the phone. Dammit, they’d almost gotten away. She looked back up to find Shotgun Guy pointing that lethal barrel at her again.
So close. She had been so close to persuading these guys to let them go. Willow could tell Duncan was saying something else to the man, though now his voice was lowered to a calm softness. But she could tell that whatever Duncan was saying, it was having an effect; the listening man’s eyes got wide and his grip on the phone tightened.
“No, I suggest you come to your truck.” He looked from Willow to Jane. “Both of you. I know there’s two of you out there.”
He paused, listened, then shook his head. “You have five minutes, mister, or one of these ladies is going to have more than a cracked rib.” He suddenly reached out and grabbed Willow by the hair, pulling her against him so roughly that she yelped.
“Did you hear that? That was the woman with the cast on her hand. Her hair seems a might sensitive.”
Willow twisted, trying to get free, when the man suddenly released her. “Five minutes,” he growled into the phone just before snapping it shut and stuffing it in his pocket. He pulled his gun back out of its holster with one hand, and reached back on his belt and pulled his walkie-talkie free with his other hand. “There’s two men and two women out here snooping around. What do you want me to do with them?”
“We’ll send Joe and Mike out,” came a voice over the walkie-talkie. “And then bring them all to the office. Where are you?”
“We’re on the west road, just behind the tire dump. Tell Joe and Mike to watch for the two men. They’re inside the fence—near the office, I think. I told them to come to me.”
“Okay. I’ll tell them.”
“Ask the women for their names,” another voice said over the walkie-talkie.
Handgun Guy nodded at Willow. “What’s your name, sweetcakes?”
“Mary Bingham,” Willow said.
“Paula Wright,” Jane said when he looked at her.
“Mary Bingham and Paula Wright,” he repeated into the radio. “But one of the guys called one of the women ‘counselor.’ ”
There was a moment’s hesitation on the other end. “Check their IDs,” that same voice demanded.
Handgun Guy looked to make sure his partner had both women covered, then walked around the truck, opened the driver’s door, and search around inside. “Where’re your purses?” he asked Jane.
“We don’t have any. We’re liberated women.”
He gave Jane a good glare in the overhead light of the cab, then reached up, flipped down the visor, and pulled out the registration. “They don’t have IDs, but the truck is registered to Luke Skywalker,” he said into the radio, his voice trailing off as he finished reading the name.
Willow kept her face expressionless. Luke Skywalker? Jane, however, couldn’t stifle her snort of surprised laughter.
And again the radio remained silent for several heartbeats before the voice said, “Just bring them in!”
Handgun Guy tossed the registration down on the seat and pushed Jane out of the truck. “Let’s go,” he snapped, palming his gun again and rushing back around to their side. He took Willow by the arm and started dragging her down the dimly lit road. “We were expecting you,” he said proudly. “We doubled the guards.”
“Congratulations,” Willow shot back, rushing to keep up with the bruising grip on her arm. “You’ve captured two defenseless, unarmed women. They’ll probably put a bonus in your check this week.”
“They did say they’d make it worth our while,” he admitted, the insult zipping right over his head.
“Do they have a name?”
“The general manager is Al Heron, but it’s Mr. Simmons and Mr. Graham who showed up three days ago and told us to expect you. They’re the ones who offered the bonus to anyone who caught you.”
Willow stopped walking, despite the pain she felt when she also jerked him to a stop. Jane bumped into her back only to yelp when Ugly Face rammed his shotgun into her already sore ribs.
“Edward Simmons is with Brent Graham? Here, in the office?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And you said ‘caught you.’ Who exactly were you expecting?”
Handgun Guy shrugged. “Mr. Graham said to expect a woman and a big Scottish guy to come snooping around here. And the guy on the phone did have a bit of an accent, so you must be ‘you,’ ” he finished sarcastically, dragging her along again.
Edward Simmons was part of this? Talk about being disillusioned. Willow knew Edward from several dinner parties they’d both attended in Augusta, and she had always found him to be a civilized, intelligent man with a pretty wife and a promising future.
They continued on in silence, leaving the road and stepping onto a dark path. They walked through a gate in the fence and quickly arrived at the office. Handgun Guy shoved Willow in through the door ahead of him, and she came face to face with a very worried-looking Edward Simmons.
“Miss Foster,” he said rather sadly. “I was so hoping it wasn’t you.”
“Mr. Simmons,” she acknowledged, nodding to him as she rubbed her sore arm. “Not as much as I was hoping I wasn’t going to find you here.”
“And you must be Dr. Jane Huntley,” another man said, standing up from a desk and walking up to them, looking at Jane. He shook his head. “Such a waste. I don’t know why you women didn’t stay in your offices and push papers and do experiments.”
“Brent Graham, I assume?” Willow said, giving him a nasty smile when he nodded. “How many bribes did it take to get your little dump opened here in Maine?”
Instead of answering her, Brent turned scathing eyes on Edward. “I told you not to underestimate her. Now do you see why we have to move quickly? No telling who she’s told.”
“Everyone,” Willow said, drawing his attention again. “From John Pike to every local fisherman. I even sent a packet to the media.”
“She’s lying,” Edward said. “I just spoke with Pike this afternoon, and he’s not even pursuing her claims.” He looked at Willow. “It seems she’s on the run from her boss, who has issued a warrant for her arrest.” He looked back at Graham. “The drunk driving and that payoff scheme you set up seems to have worked. Her credibility is shot.”
“Where’s Ross?” Graham asked, looking from Willow to Handgun Guy. “Stokes, you said he was inside the fence.”
“I spoke with him on her cell phone,” Stokes said. “I told him that if he didn’t turn himself in, we were going to rough up his girlfriend.”
Graham held out his hand. “Give me the cell phone.”
Stokes handed it to him, and Graham turned and handed it to Willow. “Call him, Miss Foster. Tell him where you are and that I want him in here in five minutes or we shoot Dr. Huntley.”
“Graham!” Edward snapped.
Graham waved him away, his attention focused on Willow. “Call him,” he repeated.
Willow looked down at the phone in her hand, realizing she didn�
�t have much choice. She flipped it open, then just stared at the tiny screen. “I, ah, I don’t know the number,” she whispered, looking back at Brent Graham. “I don’t know whose phone he’s got. This one is his,” she explained, lifting it up.
“Check the caller ID for the last call,” he said impatiently.
“Oh yeah,” Willow muttered, punching a few buttons, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she worked the unfamiliar phone. She finally found the right menu, the number appeared on the screen, and she pushed SEND.
The phone rang once, twice, three times before Duncan finally answered but said nothing. “Duncan,” Willow whispered. “I…Jane and I are in the office. We’re here with Edward Simmons and Brent—”
Graham jerked the phone out of her hand. “Dr. Huntley gets shot in the leg if you don’t show up in five minutes, Mr. Ross.”
Willow could just make out the mumble of a voice on the other end of the phone. Brent Graham snapped it shut and tossed the phone on the desk. He stepped behind the desk and sat back down, lacing his fingers together and setting his hands on the back of his neck as he rocked in his chair, studying her.
“So, Miss Foster, just how much have you figured out?”
“Most of it,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve figured you have records of receiving a banned pesticide here for proper disposal, but if we dig for it, we’re not going to find it, are we? Instead, its slowly killing the population of some Third World country the same way it was killing our lobster and crabs.”
“Miss Foster,” Edward said, taking a step toward her. “Willow, it’s not really a lethal pesticide when used properly. The FDA’s ban was more political than anything. It wasn’t manufactured here, so our own manufacturers wanted it outlawed.”
“That’s your justification, Edward?” she asked, lifting one brow. “It’s not ‘really lethal’ so we can make a few extra bucks off other countries?” She turned to fully face him and crossed her arms under her breasts. “So you’ve been rounding up the stockpiled pesticides for the last four years, getting paid a goodly sum for disposal, then getting paid a second time when you sell them. And you really don’t see anything wrong with this, Edward? No moral or ethical questions?”
The Dangerous Protector Page 23