Ben's Wife

by Charlotte Douglas

  “For eight stinking days I’ve been watching this airport for you,” her captor muttered in her ear, “and I hate airports.”

  Her heart battered against her breastbone. The man was crazy with anger. She could hear it in his voice, feel it in the sadistic wrench of her arm.

  “I’m gonna make you pay for inconveniencing me,” he said in a fierce whisper. “We’re going to the parking garage roof, and I’m going to push you over the side. It’s a long way to the bottom.”

  His low, hideous laugh hurt her ears.

  “You’re insane,” she said with more boldness than she felt. “No one will believe—”

  “That Morgan Winters—” he pressed the knife deeper into the back of her blazer “—despondent over her father’s accident, leaped to her death?”

  She inhaled deeply to staunch the thunder of blood in her ears. Maybe she should pretend to faint—

  Too quickly, the up elevator arrived.

  As the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss, her assailant shoved her into the empty car. From the corner of her eye, she watched his fist strike the “close door” button. Too late she realized entering the elevator had been a fatal mistake. She swiveled, ready to burst back onto the concourse through the rapidly narrowing opening, but the red-bearded man from the newsstand stepped into the breach, thrust the doors open and blocked her path. Her assailant jerked her backward against him, and his foul breath blasted her cheek.

  “Almost missed it,” the newcomer said in a German accent that bore an uncanny resemblance to Arnold Schwarzenegger’s. “What floor do you want?”

  Her captor tightened his grasp, as if warning her to stay silent. His knife blade punctured her clothes and pierced her skin.

  “Top floor,” he said.

  “Me, too.” The German jabbed the panel with his gloved index finger.

  Morgan crushed her snowballing panic and struggled to think. Was the German an accomplice? Or simply an unwitting tourist? She tried to catch his eye, but with his posture erect, he faced the doors, humming an annoyingly cheerful song under his breath. His imposing size would make him a valuable champion, but she had no idea how to gain his attention without provoking her captor to strike at the same time.

  She had to think of something. If the German didn’t help her, she was as good as dead.

  The elevator bell dinged, and a black cloud of terror smothered her. They had reached the top floor of the parking garage, and she had missed her chance. The towering German was exiting. She steeled herself for the worst.

  Suddenly the German twirled, grabbed her by the shoulders and tossed her out of the elevator against a nearby car.

  Stunned, she slid to the ground. The German had saved her Had he seen the knife at her back? She battled against the paralysis of fear. She had to get away.

  Behind her, sounds of a struggle emanated from the elevator. A man roared in pain. Running feet pounded, a car door slammed, and tires screeched away on the concrete.

  The acrid taste of terror blossomed in her mouth, choking off her air. The man with the knife must have overpowered her German rescuer. But who had fled? The German, scared away, or her attacker?

  Crawling on hands and knees between the cars, Morgan scurried to distance herself from her assailant. He’d been crazy with anger before. If he caught her now…

  Panic pumped adrenaline through her, propelling her faster. Once she was far enough away, she would stand, run and search for a security guard. At the end of the parking row, she pushed to her feet.

  And ran headlong into the German tourist.

  Before she could react, he scooped her into his arms, flung her over his shoulder as easily as if she’d been a sack of feathers and headed across the garage and down the exit ramp at a sprint.

  Shock turned her body to ice. She had eluded one attacker only to fall victim to another.

  “Put me down!”

  She beat his back with her fists. His steps never faltered, and her stomach bounced painfully against his rock-hard shoulder.

  He loped down the ramp and, two floors below the roof, swerved into the garage past three rows of cars. Blood ran to her head, sickening her with dizziness and horror. Stopping before a battered blue Chevy, he tumbled her to her feet.

  “Get in!” His accent had disappeared.

  At all costs, she had to avoid entering the car, whose open door gaped like the jaws of death. Fighting back was her only hope. She landed a sharp kick to her captor’s shin, heard with satisfaction his grunt of pained surprise and felt his grip ease.

  She broke loose and ran.

  But he was too fast for her. Strong hands grasped her shoulders and held her firm. She shrieked in outrage and fear, battling without effect.

  Where were the security guards? Hadn’t they heard her screams? Had Lashner sent the fake German as backup in case his knife-man failed? Or was the big man an independent maniac with his own motives?

  Oh, Ben. Why didn’t I listen to you?

  When she opened her mouth to scream again, the German covered it with one large hand and with the other whipped her around to face him. Head down, she resisted his hold and wrestled to break loose.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  She couldn’t face him. Fear already threatened to steal her consciousness. If she looked into his eyes, she’d pass out. She had to keep fighting.

  With massive strength, he pinned her against the car with his body, his leather-gloved hand still covering her mouth. Pressing her head back against the car, he forced her to confront him. She squeezed her eyes shut. As if struggling to escape on its own, her heart thrashed against her ribs, and a cold sweat drenched her body.

  Would he kill her now and toss her off the parking garage as the other man had promised?

  “Look at me!” His low voice reverberated in her head like a scream. “Now!”

  I’m going to die.

  A curious calmness, an acceptance of her fate, washed over her, and she lifted her eyes to his face.

  Imprisoning her between the car and his powerful body, one hand covering her mouth in an iron grip, he raised his free hand to his hair. With a quick tug, he discarded first a red wig, then the beard.

  Her eyes widened with disbelief.

  Chapter Three

  “You!” Caught between anger and relief, Morgan steadied herself against the old car.

  “No time to explain.” Josh shoved her into the front passenger seat and raced around to the driver’s seat. He plucked a baseball cap from the sun visor and crammed it on, pulling it low over his eyes. He thrust the red wig into her hands.

  “Put this on,” he ordered.

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue.” The fierceness in his voice sent tremors down her spine. “Lashner’s man is still out there, looking for you. Blond hair makes you an easy target.”

  Josh’s distinctive scent lingered on the wig, teasing her with memories of moonlight, a darkened room and her first encounter with the intriguing and infuriating man. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Ben sent me.”

  Dear Ben.

  First he’d saved her father’s life, and now hers. She had been right to trust him. Too bad Ben wasn’t well enough to rescue her himself and save her from the assault of emotions the mysterious Josh sent rocketing through her. She longed for Ben’s calming influence as an antidote to Josh’s electrifying presence.

  While she forced the wig over her hair and tucked in trailing tendrils of telltale blond, Josh started the car and headed down the exit ramp.

  “Stop!”

  He slammed on the brakes. “What—”

  “I’ll miss my plane.”

  He. shook his head in disbelief and launched the car down the ramp again.

  “What about my luggage?”

  “The airline can deliver it to Ben’s tomorrow.” His irritation sizzled in the enclosed space. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “If you think by forcing me to stay, I’m
going to help you—”

  “Morgan.” His voice softened on her name. “Think about it. Lashner had someone watching the airport, waiting for you. He doesn’t give a damn that you were returning to Memphis. He wants you dead.”

  The impact of his words left her struggling to inhale. “But if I can just get home to Memphis—”

  “Lashner will have someone waiting there, as well. You know too much for him to let you live.”

  “Too much? About the fire? But I have no proof—”

  “Not the fire.” He eased the car into line at the parking garage tollbooth and slid lower in the seat, disguising his impressive height. “You and Ben are the only ones who know about the deficiencies of your father’s discovery.”

  “No, not the only ones.”

  He turned and lifted his chin, riveting her with a compelling gaze beneath the bill of his cap. She hadn’t noticed before the appealing coffee brown of his eyes.

  “You told someone else?” he asked.

  “I told you." She caught his fleeting grimace of chagrin before he turned away.

  His grip tightened on the steering wheel, straining the fine leather of his driving gloves. “Too bad I couldn’t hang on to the man who grabbed you. He might have given us the proof we need against Lashner."

  “He must have had a driver waiting, they pulled away so fast." She didn’t want to think about her attacker. Her knees hadn’t stopped shaking yet. If it hadn’t been for Josh—

  “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  “All in a day’s work, ma’am.”

  She would have considered him too flippant over her narrow escape if she hadn’t detected a hitch in his voice. Maybe he didn’t have ice water in his veins, after all.

  He reached the toll window, handed the attendant his ticket and money and, when the barricade lifted, steered into the airport exit lane.

  Despite the subtlety of his movements, she detected his frequent checks in the rearview mirrors, and her heart hammered in her throat. “Are we being followed?”

  “Not that I can tell, but I didn’t see the car Lashner’s man escaped in. We’ll have to stay alert.”

  His coolness steadied her, and she settled against the seat. “What difference does our knowing about the formula’s deficiencies make? Any qualified chemist will soon discover its flaws.”

  “Not all chemists are as ethical as your father. For enough money, Lashner can bribe someone to falsify the findings. And without you or Ben to contradict the false report, nothing stands in the way of the board’s approving the sale.”

  After the hit-and-run accident, her battered emotions had thrown her headlong into denial, and while she had accepted Ben’s protection, she had refused to believe Lashner would hurt her. Now the reality of his intention to kill her, whether she remained in Florida or not, was finally sinking in, and with it, overwhelming apprehension.

  “But isn’t murdering us risky?” she asked. “Isn’t he afraid of being caught?”

  “He’s already killed your father, so what does he have to lose? The State of Florida can only execute him once, no matter how many people he murders.”

  Josh’s explanation chilled her. “We have to stop him. We should go to the police.”

  As if sensing her anxiety, he removed his right hand from the steering wheel and squeezed her shoulder with a reassuring pressure. “And tell them what?”

  “I was attacked at the airport! You were a witness.”

  He withdrew his hand, and she felt abandoned at its absence.

  “I can’t connect your attacker to Lashner,” he said. “Can you?”

  Blinking away tears of frustration, she shook her head. “I never saw his face. But at least the police would be alerted to our suspicions.”

  “And so would Lashner.” His square jaw, illuminated by a passing headlight, clamped so tightly a muscle in his cheek twitched.

  Her head throbbed with fatigue and confusion. In her exhaustion, she yearned to slide across the seat and curl against Josh’s warmth, but anxiety refused to let her rest. “How would going to the police tip off Lashner?”

  “Gulfside is a small town with Chemco its major employer.” He checked the rearview mirror again as he turned onto the interstate entry ramp. “Lashner has friends in high places, including the police department and city hall.”

  “Are you saying the Gulfside police are corrupt?” The possibility scared her into wakefulness.

  “They’re good men who regard Lashner as a pillar of the community.” He pressed the accelerator and merged with the onslaught of traffic. “Without hard evidence, they’d consider any charge against Lashner a joke. Maybe even share a few laughs with Lashner himself about it.”

  “Surely Lashner knows we suspect him.”

  “Have you ever filed a complaint with a police department?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “One of the first things they’ll want to know is how and where to get in touch with you. Do you want Lashner tipped off that you’re living at Ben’s?”

  “No.” So she couldn’t turn to the authorities. Silently she railed against her helplessness, until a glance at an approaching road sign accelerated her frustration into full-blown alarm. “We’re headed east?”

  “Right.”

  His amused look, under different circumstances, might have generated a responsive flutter in her heart. Her cardiac rhythm, however, had already attained warp speed when she realized they were barreling away from Gulfside. “Ben’s house is the other way.”

  “We’re taking the long way back.” His mellow reasonableness slowed her racing pulse. “I want to be certain none of Lashner’s hired guns are following us.”

  They left the outskirts of Tampa, traveling past dark pastures, deserted orange groves and empty strawberry fields, and her apprehension returned. She had only Josh’s word that Ben had sent him. For all she knew…She thrust away notions too horrible to contemplate, and the effort made her tremble.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure,” she answered, too brightly and too fast.

  His scrutiny burned her cheeks, but, afraid to face him, she stared at the road. She wanted to trust him, to believe he would protect her as he had at the airport, but she had endured too much heartache and sustained too many shocks the past few days to suspend her skepticism now.

  Her trembling increased until her teeth chattered.

  “You’re not okay.” Josh pulled onto an off-ramp, followed the exit lane to a brightly lit restaurant and parked in the lot. He climbed out of the car, circled it and opened her door. “Come on. Something to eat and a cup of hot coffee will settle your nerves.”

  Dozens of cars in the lot and the crowd of people visible through the plate-glass windows quelled her shaking, but not her suspicions.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said, “but I need to use the rest room.”

  Without waiting for a response, she strode into the building, past the cashier’s counter and into the alcove at the rear. Just as she had hoped, a pay phone hung on the wall outside the rest room doors. She had deposited a quarter and was dialing Ben’s number when Josh caught up with her.

  “What are you doing?” His sharp tone and surly expression projected the menace she remembered from their first meeting.

  She tipped her head to face him. His eyes, shadowed by the cap, glowed almost black in the murky light.

  “I’m calling Ben to let him know I’m okay.”

  An unreadable expression flitted across his face before he nodded. “Good idea. I’ll meet you out front.”

  He sauntered away as the phone began to ring.

  “Wells’s residence,” Harper’s familiar voice answered.

  “This is Morgan. Let me speak to Ben.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wells, but Mr. Wells has retired for the night.”

  The stiffness in his tone indicated he wouldn’t wake his employer unless hell was freezing over. Maybe not even then.

  “It’s an emergency, Harper,
” she begged.

  From the phone alcove, she observed Josh, pacing the parking lot in front of the restaurant impatiently. He could tramp a trench in the asphalt, but she would refuse to get back in the car unless Ben assured her she was safe.

  “Did Mr. Josh find you?” Harper asked.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Mr. Wells called him when you left this evening and asked him to follow you to the airport. Mr. Wells was afraid there might be trouble.” Harper’s statement was the longest she had heard the reserved man speak.

  “Sending Josh after me was Ben’s idea?”

  “Yes, madam. He wanted Mr. Josh to bring you home.” He cleared his throat as if uncertain what to say. “Mr. Wells meant home to Gulfside, not Memphis.”

  Relief shot through her like a geyser. Josh had told the truth. “Thanks, Harper. If Ben wakes up before I arrive, tell him Josh insists on taking the long way home.”

  She slumped against the wall with weariness and relief. Between the attack at the airport and the emotional trapeze she’d ridden back and forth from fearing Josh to trusting him, she had depleted her energy.

  Josh was waiting.

  With the last of her strength, she pushed away from the wall and stumbled into the rest room. At the lavatory, she splashed cold water on her face in an effort to stay awake. When she lifted her head, she almost screamed at the sight of the redheaded stranger who faced her.

  She had forgotten she was wearing Josh’s red wig.

  Stifling a nervous giggle, she dried her face on a rough paper towel and tucked strands of blond hair under the band of the wig. Her nerves had quieted by the time she returned to the car.

  She experienced a twinge of guilt at Josh’s guileless smile as she slid onto the front seat and wondered if he had guessed her lack of trust.

  “Ben was asleep,” she said, “so I told Harper we’d be home soon.”

  “Sleep sounds like a good idea.” The warmth in his brown eyes reminded her of melted caramels. He handed her his jacket from the back seat. “Use this as a pillow and try to rest.”