by Gayle Wilson
“I don’t have but one child,” Sam acknowledged, the hazel eyes still focused on Chase’s face.
“Have the kidnappers communicated with you yet?” he forced himself to ask, pushing the old griefs and regrets to the back of his mind.
“Just happened this afternoon. They said they’d be in touch.”
“They will. That’s one thing you can count on. You want to tell me what happened?”
The old man’s lips pursed again, and Chase thought he was considering how much to share. Instead, he reached for the buzzer on his intercom as he answered. “I’ll let her tell you. Samantha. I wasn’t there.” Then he spoke into the machine. “You can come in now,” he said to the soft feminine voice that had responded.
A voice that still had that slight Texas accent. A voice Chase would still have known anywhere. While he was waiting, the soundless vacuum built around him again. And when the door opened, he felt his heart jump and then begin pounding in his chest as if it might explode.
She hadn’t changed. That was ridiculous, Chase thought, amending his first reaction. Of course, she had changed. They all had. That was the kind of thing your emotions said that your logic knew was crazy. Except, he thought, studying the slender figure standing in the doorway, she hadn’t really changed.
Her red-gold hair was still long, its natural curl allowed. She wore less makeup than she used to, and she still didn’t need any. She was wearing an emerald-green dress, its lines elegantly simple. Silk, he guessed from the way the fabric followed the curves of her body.
Samantha’s eyes had automatically sought her father’s when she entered the room, holding for a second before her gaze shifted to include Chase. Her face had already been pale, reflecting that terrible anxiety all his clients expressed, but seeing him, all color drained from the lightly tanned skin, leaving her features as blanched as parchment, the small scattering of freckles stark across the bridge of her nose.
It felt like an eternity to Chase that her shocked eyes held his, their dark pupils slowly widening until they almost eclipsed the rim of green that surrounded them. In reality he knew it was only seconds before her gaze swung back to her father.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said. Whatever was in her voice was beyond anger. “Why did you bring him here, Sam? What the hell are you trying to do?”
“You said you wanted the best,” the old man said calmly. “No chance anything could go wrong. He’s the best.”
“But…”
Chase could see her trying to think, trying to decide what to do. Weighing her father’s claim against all that lay between them. He found himself wondering how much the old man knew about what had happened that night. The same night…
“No,” she said, interrupting those memories, the perfection of the one always colored by the horror of the other. She hadn’t looked at him again. Her furious eyes were locked on her father’s, their hardness almost matching his. “You’ll use anything to get your way. And anybody. Even Mandy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. But this isn’t going to work. Not even now. Get somebody else, Sam. Somebody besides him. Or I will.”
The two men watched as she turned and left the room, pulling the door sharply closed behind her. Kincaid’s lips pursed again, but he didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze still directed toward the doorway where Samantha had stood. There were splotches of color over his cheekbones. Finally he turned back to face Chase.
“You got any recommendations on who I should call?”
“I can give you a couple of names, people who are reliable,” Chase said, still working at his own control. Working at sounding undisturbed by what had just happened.
“But they’re not as good as you,” Sam said.
Chase didn’t bother to answer. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say. Samantha didn’t want him to have any part in what was going on. Despite the fact it was Sam’s money that would pay the ransom, she had the right to make that decision. The people he would mention to Sam were competent. That seemed to be all he could do.
“She’s too much like me,” Sam said into the silence. “Always has been. We struck sparks off each other from the get-go.”
“I’d like to get back, Mr. Kincaid. It’s been a long day.”
“I let my pilot head on home. I didn’t think she’d turn down the best man for the job, in spite of…” The old man’s voice trailed away, but he looked at Chase from under the thick white brows.
He hadn’t thought Samantha would go against his judgment, given the situation. Maybe he didn’t know anything about that night, Chase thought, if he had believed Samantha would welcome Chase McCullar’s help.
“It’s late. Spend the night,” Sam suggested. “I got plenty of beds. I’ll pay you for your trouble coming out here, enough to make it worth your while, I promise, and I’ll have you flown home in the morning.”
Chase wondered briefly what Samantha would think about that arrangement. Probably as little as she’d thought about him in the role of negotiator. He stood, preparing to suggest that Sam make the phone call and wake up his pilot. None of this had been his fault He just needed to get this entire episode over with and get on with his life. Get back to work at forgetting Samantha Kincaid all over again.
Even as he thought it, memory intruded. That was exactly what he had said to Samantha. That night. The night he’d taken her virginity. Let’s just get it over with and get on with our lives. And so what he said to Sam Kincaid was nothing like what he had intended to say when he stood.
“Throw in a sandwich and a glass of milk, Mr. Kincaid, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Chase offered.
“She ain’t gonna change her mind,” Samantha’s father said. “Stubborn as a mule.”
“I know. I never thought she would. I can give you those names in the morning. There’s no rush to do anything, no matter how bad doing nothing feels, until you get some instructions from the kidnappers.”
The uncomfortable silence stretched between them for a moment. He and Sam Kincaid didn’t have anything in common to make polite conversation about. For that matter, neither of them was the kind of man who made small talk.
“How’s your sister-in-law?” Sam asked.
The question surprised him. Maybe because he didn’t expect the old man to remember. Maybe because there seemed to be some genuine interest in his voice. Genuine concern.
“She’s fine,” Chase said. The muscles in his face felt stiff and cold, just as they always did when someone brought up anything connected to Mac.
“I been there,” Sam said reflectively. “No matter what she tells you, she ain’t fine. Not even after all this time.”
Chase looked into the old man’s eyes, slightly clouded with age and red-rimmed from the lateness of the hour or from the events of the day. He wondered if Sam was right. Then he cleared that guilt from his mind also.
“You mentioned a bed,” he said.
“And some chow. I remember.”
Kincaid punched the intercom button again, and for a second Chase wondered if he were resummoning Samantha. Instead, when the door opened, it was to reveal a tall, dark-haired man with a distinct pattern of discoloration across his high forehead. The man from the parking lot. They had ridden back together in Sam’s Citation, but they sure hadn’t exchanged any conversation.
“McCullar, this is Jason Drake, my right-hand man. Drake, Mr. McCullar is spending the night. He needs some supper and a bed. You treat him good now, you hear. He’s my guest.”
Chase knew then that the old man had been told about what had happened in the parking garage. The story probably wouldn’t change Sam’s opinion of him, maybe even up it a notch or two, and that wouldn’t endear him any to Jason Drake.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Kincaid,” Drake said. His voice was carefully emotionless, but something in his eyes said that Chase McCullar could sleep in hell tonight
if it were left up to him.
Chase forgot the feeling of enmity that had emanated from the man as he followed Sam’s assistant upstairs. He found himself wondering instead where in this maze of rooms Samantha was. He didn’t have to wonder what she was feeling. He knew. He’d dealt with too many people in this same situation to doubt that he knew exactly what she was feeling tonight, what she was thinking. Remembering. Regretting.
It was not until some time between finishing the two thick roast-beef sandwiches that had been brought up to his suite and taking a hot shower to help ease the long day’s tensions, that he also thought to wonder where the hell Samantha Kincaid’s husband was.
SAMANTHA HAD TURNED the shower up full force, knowing that nothing that happened in this house went unreported to the old man. She had held such a tight rein on her emotions that she was surprised at how easy it was to finally let go, to let it all pour out. The strong spray that pounded against the white tile walls didn’t quite hide the harsh, gasping noises her crying made, despite the fact that she pressed both hands hard over her mouth to stifle the sound.
When she had finally cried it all out, she found herself huddled on the floor at the back of the shower enclosure, curled almost in a fetal position, emotionally and physically drained. She had promised herself all day that she’d find a time to cry it out, to scream against the circling guilt. She just wanted to hold Mandy. To keep her safe. That had been her job, to keep Mandy safe. It was the only important job she had ever had in her entire life, and she had failed.
I’ll get her back, she had kept telling herself as she ran this afternoon. Her father was rich and very powerful. He loved Mandy as much as she did. But when she arrived here tonight, she realized that the kidnapping had hit him hard. For the first time in her life she had seen Sam vulnerable and scared. That had been one of the most frightening things in this terrifying episode—the realization that Sam Kincaid was afraid.
The shock of finding Chase McCullar in her father’s study had been almost more than she could stand. Despite everything, for one split second she’d had an almost-unbearable urge to throw herself into Chase’s arms and let him handle it. “He’s the best,” her father had said, and she knew Sam would have used all his many resources to find that out. If he said it, it was certainly true. She had asked him to find someone who could get Mandy back to them safely, but she had never dreamed it would be Chase McCullar.
Trembling from reaction and exhaustion, she pulled herself up, using the bar on the side of the shower stall. She felt like an old woman—naked, drenched and trembling. For the first time in her life, she felt powerless. Afraid. Just like Sam had looked when she’d arrived at the ranch. Only Chase had seemed in control. Why shouldn’t he be? she thought bitterly. He had nothing to lose. He didn’t know Mandy. He didn’t give a damn that someone had taken her.
She couldn’t get the image of his calm features out of her mind. Cool and strong and competent. He always had been. The best man for the job, echoed again in her head. But not this job. Not this situation. There was too much to lose.
And what else do I have to lose? she thought, mocking her fear. What else did she have besides Mandy? She had already lost her daughter. She had let a bunch of strangers take her baby away from her at gunpoint. She knew that nothing worse than that loss could ever happen to her. Not even having to deal with Chase McCullar.
Chapter Three
Chase was awakened at nine the next morning by a discreet knock immediately followed by a maid who entered his room carrying a silver-and-glass carafe of coffee, very good coffee. He finished it before he answered the summons that had been delivered along with the tray—an invitation to join Sam Kincaid for breakfast. Chase found that he felt far better today than he had last night. More capable of dealing with the old man and even with his own emotions. More in control of them.
Jason Drake was waiting outside his room when he finally stepped out into the wide hallway. Chase was sorry that he had made the man wait. He had no animosity toward Sam’s assistant. They were both just trying to do a job, trying to make a living.
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were waiting for me,” he said.
“Mr. Kincaid asked me to show you to the breakfast room.”
The gray eyes weren’t nearly as cold this morning. Chase figured that might have as much to do with the fact that the discoloration across his forehead was beginning to fade as with Sam’s admonition to treat him like a guest.
“You worked for Mr. Kincaid a long time?” Chase asked as they descended the stairs.
“Almost two years.”
Chase shook his head, wondering what that would be like, being at Sam Kincaid’s beck and call every day. “Then you’re a better man than I am,” he said.
“It’s not as bad as you’d think, if you’re judging from what people say about him. Mr. Kincaid’s fair, and he’s honest. I guess you can’t ask much more than that these days.”
“And the pay’s good,” Chase suggested, smiling.
“The pay’s good,” Drake agreed, the words almost without inflection.
He supposed that he ought to admire the man for not talking about Sam behind his back, and besides, by that time they’d reached their destination—a bright breakfast room with a small round table. It had been set in a windowed bay that looked out on some of the primest real estate in the state.
The monochromatic beauty of south Texas didn’t appeal to a lot of people, but love of this land was in his blood as strongly as it was in Sam Kincaid’s.
When Drake excused himself, explaining that Mr. Kincaid would be joining him shortly, Chase walked to the windows and pushed one of the sheer curtains aside, looking out on early-morning sunshine that had probably already driven the temperature past ninety.
“It was all supposed to be hers one day,” Sam Kincaid said.
Chase dropped the curtain and turned around.
“Mandy’s,” the old man explained. “There ain’t nobody else to leave it to. I’d hoped for a grandson, but I guess that ain’t gonna happen.” He shrugged and then moved to one of the two places set at the table, sparkling in the morning light with fine china and crystal and sterling-silver flatware. “You might as well eat before you go,” he said, gesturing to the setting at the other side of the table. “You probably got things to do this morning.”
“A few,” Chase said, trying to remember what he was supposed to do today, back in San Diego. In addition to the more exotic aspects of his job, he taught seminars on the precautions foreign nationals should take to lessen their chances of being taken hostage in Mexico. He was also under contract as a private security consultant to several of the companies now operating there. But he thought his first appointment today wasn’t until afternoon, and so, curious as to what the old man wanted from him, he sat down across the table. And he acknowledged the irony that he was sitting at Sam Kincaid’s breakfast table.
The service was flawless, handled by a pleasantly rounded Latino woman named Rosita who kept the coffee hot and her efficiency unobtrusive. Sam treated her with casual friendliness and for some reason, Chase was surprised that she truly seemed to like the old man, to enjoy taking care of him.
They were almost through when the swing door of the small room was pushed open. Samantha was dressed today in a black cotton sundress. She had put her hair up, but she wasn’t wearing any makeup and the bruise-like shadows under her eyes were pronounced.
“Is he really the best?” she asked her father.
She hadn’t looked at Chase. On purpose, he thought, so he stood, holding his linen napkin in his left hand. Her eyes tracked to him, just as he’d intended. Maybe she was surprised by his manners. Maybe her own were too deeply ingrained to allow her to ignore him standing there, his unfinished breakfast in front of him.
“Please don’t get up,” she said. “This isn’t a social occasion.”
“I never thought it was. And yes, I’m the best.”
“I didn’t ask you,” she
said. Her eyes went back to her father’s face.
“That’s what they say,” Sam confirmed into the small silence that fell after her deliberate rudeness. “His was the only name I got. The best. That’s what they all told me. Everybody I asked.”
“Are you sure?” she asked finally. “You’re not just trying to…”
To control everything, Chase finished for her when she hesitated. Trying to make all the puppets jump on his strings. He wondered again what the old man knew, and then he wondered if Sam was that cold-blooded. But the emotion in his voice when he had talked about his grandbaby had been real. Undeniably real.
“He’s the one,” Sam said. “But you got to tell him everything that happened yesterday. He’s still trying to make up his mind if he wants the job.”
Again the mockery from last night was evident, less subtle this time. Chase supposed he deserved it. Once, he would have cut out his heart with a butter knife if Samantha Kincaid had asked for it, and last night he had pretended that he might not be willing to help her get her baby back.
Samantha’s eyes met his again. Chase didn’t know what his own face revealed, but she swallowed, the movement hard enough to be visible, before she nodded. She walked around Sam to take the chair in front of the windows, and Chase sat down again in his.
She was near enough that he could smell her. The same fragrance that had invaded his bedroom that night. The same one that had seemed to linger in the small house even the last time he’d gone there. Just before he’d put up the For Sale sign.
“We’d been in to town,” she said, her eyes on her fingers that were twisting a narrow fold of the linen tablecloth. “We always go in on Wednesdays. Everything’s less crowded.”
She paused, controlling emotion, he knew. Fighting the pain of remembering those last hours.
“Town?” he repeated, because he needed to know the exact location.