“Don’t even think it,” she said. She raised the syringe without hesitation, yet wondered if she’d really use it. “I’m confining your ankles around the table post only while I go to the Exec Center to bring back your pilot.”
“Fine.”
He eased into the seat and stretched out his feet on either side of the post. His catlike movements reminded her of a panther curling up for a nap, relaxed, but ever ready to pounce.
Watching him warily, she restrained his ankles. She removed a gag from her pocket. “I can’t have you calling for help.”
He didn’t protest, but his scowling lips let her know exactly how he felt about this last indignity and warned her payback time wouldn’t be pleasant.
After tying the gag, she clasped her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. She must have been crazy to agree to kidnapping him. Only her love for Rhonda gave her the courage to proceed. Still, one glance into his dangerous eyes confirmed he would not soon forget or forgive what she’d done.
Her stomach churned with anxiety as she recalled Ford had made his fortune, not inherited it. His ruthlessness was feared by his competitors. Even his wife had been awed by him. And Devin had had the temerity to kidnap him from his wedding, handcuff and gag him aboard his own plane. He might be sitting helpless before her, but she was shaking so hard, she had to fight the urge to beg forgiveness.
She fled the plane and his accusing stare as fast as her legs would take her. On the way to fetch the pilot, she wiped her fingerprints off the syringe, broke the needle and tossed it into the glove compartment of the limo, where later one of her employees could see to its safe disposal.
She found the pilot and chatted with him, mentioning how anxious Mr. Braddack was to take off. Her hint worked, and for once luck was with her as the wind died and the rain ceased falling. After stowing their bags, the unsuspecting pilot climbed into the cockpit and began his preflight check.
When the jet’s engines revved to life, Devin, trying to calm her speeding heart, returned to Ford. As she untied the gag, the scent of his spicy cologne assailed her. Her fingers itched to smooth a stray strand of hair off his forehead. “I’ll unlock your ankles in a minute.”
Thick eyebrows raised, he cocked his head to the side. “What about my wrists?”
“I’ll be happy to remove those once we pass the halfway point.”
“And then what’s to keep me from wringing your neck?” The violence of his statement contrasted vividly with his calm. His eyes were distant and hard. He used the same unemotional voice one might use to discuss the weather, his icy, controlled tone making him all the more menacing.
“Is that what happened to Rhonda?” she countered, resisting a shiver. “Did you leave black roses on the pillows, imitating—”
His eyes glittered like sapphires. His jaw clenched. “You know damned well I didn’t kill her.” Despite her accusation, he spoke coolly, keeping his voice low, almost a growl.
At the threat in his tone, her stomach twisted into an icy knot. He might not be shouting and lunging at her, but she couldn’t mistake the coiled power in the set of his shoulders.
Despite the dangerous jut of his jaw, she still saved a soft spot in her heart for Ford. She believed he’d loved Rhonda with all his heart and grieved for her still. The sorrow in his eyes told her . . . and yet, she couldn’t forget her last phone conversation with her cousin, before Rhonda had taken that fatal trip to Switzerland.
“Ford’s lost all patience with me,” Rhonda had admitted.
“What do you mean?” Devin had expected Rhonda to tell her about some silly marital quarrel.
“He’s forbidden me to attempt another pregnancy.”
Rhonda’s inability to conceive had been the source of many an argument between the pair. Ford didn’t want his wife to go through any more grief in hopes of conceiving a child. But dedicated to giving her husband an heir, Rhonda had doggedly refused to accept defeat.
Devin had never forgotten the ominous emphasis Rhonda had given to forbidden, as if Ford’s command was law, neither questioned nor amended. And the sorrow in her cousin’s tone had carried the implication of great failure, which had shocked Devin, who considered Rhonda a roaring success.
Although she’d been sympathetic, she had difficulty comprehending her cousin’s obsession with having children. Still, she understood impossible dreams, and clearly, the problem was affecting their marriage.
Rhonda had sobbed into the phone. “This trip is supposed to put the romance back into our lives. I don’t dare disappoint him.”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad. This is Ford Braddack we’re talking about, remember? He treats you like spun glass.”
“That’s the problem. He won’t talk to me about his problems. He’s so tense. He never relaxes anymore. I think we’ve forgotten how to have fun, and I’m so afraid I’ve lost his love.”
“Not possible. Everyone loves you.”
Less than a week after Rhonda’s phone call, the avalanche struck down her cousin. While Ford had presumably remained in Switzerland, Rhonda had arrived in New Orleans. In a coffin.
Now her cousin’s husband sat across from her, clearly angrier than a stinging hornet. After all it was possible that Ford himself had left two black roses on those pillows. That he had arranged for the avalanche that had almost killed him, too. Her mouth went dry. She distracted herself by unlocking his ankles, then strapped herself into her seat.
In the space of the breath it took to fasten the belt, Ford pounced. He vaulted over the table, landed astride her lap, seized her by the neck with his manacled hands. As the plane taxied down the runway through the clearing skies, his strong thighs pinned her to the seat. His fingers flexed lightly but threateningly on her throat. His touch, though fierce, applied the most minimal of pressure.
While the storm’s rage had spent itself and the takeoff was smooth, she watched Ford’s irises deepen to a steely blue. Anguish and violence warred in the depths of his eyes, surging toward her in pulsing waves. She fought her urge to test her skill against his strength by throwing him to the plane’s floor.
She wasn’t the vulnerable one here—at least not physically. Her hands were free. But to overcome his superior strength, she’d have to hurt him badly. With well-placed blows to groin, nose and temple, she could escape the threatening fingers on her throat. But such actions would damage his pride, and he didn’t deserve humiliation. She had no wish to embarrass him, and she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him further—not after what he’d already suffered.
“What are you doing?” Her voice vibrated as she released the seat belt and heaved up, pushing and straining in the hopes of getting him off her without injuring him. His weight, combined with the plane’s acceleration, pressed her deeper into the seat. “If you have the crazy idea I’m going to—”
“Unlock these handcuffs. Then we’ll talk.”
Just as she suspected, she couldn’t budge him and ceased struggling. After hazarding one long uneasy glance at him, she ducked her head, before he read more in her eyes than she wanted him to see. She might not be in jeopardy of strangulation, but there were other kinds of physical danger.
His hot breath ruffled her hair. His nearness caused her pulse to race and her stomach to lurch in an unfamiliar way that had nothing to do with the plane’s takeoff. Damn him. He smelled good, manly smells from a shower and shave and a hint of spicy cologne.
Her heart hammered stupidly, and she clenched her hands stiffly at her sides. “Calm down, Ford.”
“It’s too late for that.”
She licked her bottom lip and wished she hadn’t. While he stared at her mouth, she risked another peek into his eyes and trembled at the crazy, hard edge to them. He wasn’t bluffing. His banked temper had erupted. Only his strong-willed control kept him from snapping her neck, and she question
ed her ability to dislodge him.
The time for force was over.
“Get off me, and I’ll unlock the handcuffs.” She had to bite her tongue from adding, please.
“No.”
She frowned. “No?”
“Unlock me,” he demanded, “Then I’ll let you go.”
She tilted her head back and allowed a tiny smile to curve her lip. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because the key’s in my back pocket,” she told him, unable to keep amusement from her tone. His fierce expression lightened with comprehension. With the plane in flight, the force of acceleration eased, but while he pressed her into the seat, she couldn’t possibly reach the key. “Now, let go of me.”
“Put your arms around my neck,” he ordered, ignoring her demand.
“What’s your point?” When she’d considered whether to take this assignment, she’d imagined many scenarios between her and Ford—but never one like this! She hadn’t expected to be so close to him, and the reality surpassed her most vivid imagination. He was larger and stronger than she’d have guessed, but it was all that energy focused on her that set her nerves flaming.
His eyes gleamed, indicating she’d lost control of the conversation. She’d underestimated him, and he’d quickly turned the situation to his advantage. While she couldn’t guess what he had in mind, she suspected she wouldn’t like it. She clenched her thighs tight. She’d grown careless. Now she’d pay for her mistake. “I’ll feel safer with your hands occupied,” he said.
“Safer?” She felt like a parrot, repeating his words, but she couldn’t help herself. She was too aware of the hard strength of him. With his chest so close to her face, his weight straddling her lap, her brain had gone on strike.
“While you lift yourself off the seat, your hands won’t be free to strike.”
“But the key—”
“I’ll retrieve the key.”
Oh, God. He meant to . . . his hand would . . . “I don’t think—”
“Do it.” His voice whipped her with the lash of command.
She clamped her lips hard. If she refused to comply, he could pin her in the seat until they reached Europe.
Reluctantly, she wound her arms around his neck. His flesh was hot, firm, and his silky hair caressed her skin. Beneath her forearms, his shoulders tensed, bracing as she gingerly pulled herself upward.
The handcuffs jangled as he dropped both hands to her hip and reached around to her pocket. “Lean forward,” he ordered.
She complied, gnashing her molars and foolishly wishing she possessed the svelte lines of the women he usually dated instead of the lush hips of a gypsy. The handcuffs made him awkward, and his hand roved across her bottom for an unusually long time, sending a warming shiver through her. A hot ache grew in the back of her throat, and her pulse pounded. Her breasts squashed against his chest.
In her adolescent dreams, she’d envisioned hot kisses. Not in her wildest fantasies had she considered this man first caressing her backside, and she managed to resist the urge to squirm only by holding her breath.
Wild with impatience at his fumbling, she muttered, “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Can’t you find it?”
“Find what?” he said tightly.
“The key.”
“Lady, I haven’t even found the pocket.”
“Oh.” Mortified at his insinuation that her rear was so large, she pressed her lips together, determined not to utter another sound.
“You sure the key is there?” he asked, as if suspecting she enjoyed the forced intimacy.
“Yeah right.” She snorted. “I’m so lying. Lying about a key to get you to fondle me.”
“Says the woman who canceled my wedding and kidnapped me?”
“I’m not that hard up for a man’s touch.”
“Hmm.”
Just when she thought she couldn’t bear another second, his fingers dived deeper.
“Got it!”
He stood, breaking her hold. She plopped back into the seat, willing back a blush, trembling and hoping he didn’t notice. Running a hand through her curls, she glared at him. “I’m allowing you to free yourself—”
“Is that so?” His hand with the key paused over the lock while he eyed her skeptically.
“To help me find the Black Rose,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted.
“Suppose I don’t want to find your Black Rose? What if I order my pilot to turn my plane around and report you to the authorities?”
If he was trying to bully her, his tactic wouldn’t work. “I can kick the key out of your hand from here. I can’t guarantee where it’ll land, but I assure you, I’ll be the one who finds it.”
“Meaning?”
She shrugged, matching him stare for stare. “Meaning, I don’t go down easy. But I didn’t bring you along for a punching bag.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’d hoped you’d cooperate.” She held her breath, waiting to see what he’d do. Would his curiosity and intelligence win out over his anger?
He closed his fingers around the key so tightly the skin across his knuckles stretched taut. He took the opposite seat without unlocking the handcuffs, his face inscrutable, his mouth hard. “It’s time you explained.”
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
“You’ll tell me everything.”
When pigs fly. She didn’t argue. But she didn’t agree, either. “What do you want to know?”
“Start with what you told my bride-to-be, my family and my wedding guests.”
“I informed them you canceled the wedding. I didn’t give a reason.”
“My mother would never buy that flimsy story.”
“She didn’t.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, listening with a rigidity that was almost frightening. A tension vibrated between them—a tension that made her feel like a cornered rabbit about to be bagged for supper.
Devin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I told your mother that I’d been working for you since Rhonda’s death and I’d uncovered a clue that you intended to pursue immediately. That your bride didn’t want the wedding delayed, and so you called it off.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Go on.”
Wishing she knew the thoughts behind the unfathomable expression he wore, she forced out the rest. “I asked your mother to arrange for the plane and pilot to fly out today.”
His eyebrows knitted in a frown. “She must have thought your request unusual.”
As the plane rose, her ears popped. “She didn’t appear suspicious. After I told her about the Black Rose, Eva agreed to contact your pilot. She also volunteered to inform the rest of your family of your change in plans, so I never spoke to your brothers.”
His eyes bored into hers. “And my bride? What did you say to her?”
She thought it odd and significant he’d taken so long to ask about Lindsay Betancourt. She stared out the window. The sun peeked out from behind a sky clotted with clouds. Perhaps they could put the stormy weather behind them. Peering into a fat mattress of clouds, she gathered her thoughts. She’d dreaded this moment ever since his fiancée had happily agreed to take the payoff.
Although she didn’t know him well, Ford was obviously a man of deep pride, and for his bride to callously leave him would hurt worse than a punch in the gut. She searched for the right words to soften the blow.
As the plane leveled, she picked out a spot beside his ear and focused there, speaking past the tightness in her throat. “I offered Lindsay money to leave you.”
“And she took it,” he finished. “But if she wanted money, she would have gotten more by staying. So why would she go?”
His imperturbability
surprised her. She’d expected icy denial. Instead, he appeared more analytical than hurt, infuriated or indignant. His temper had evaporated as if it had never been, and his cool control made telling the rest a bit easier.
“Lindsay wants to be an actress. For her, the money is a way to achieve her dream.”
“Apparently the role of wife wasn’t enough,” he said thoughtfully, as if he’d known Lindsay’s affection for him hadn’t been deep. But if he had known, why had he asked her to marry him? Could he have fallen head over heels in love with his bride, thinking she’d learn to love him? If so, he wasn’t showing much disappointment.
When she remained silent, he rubbed the handcuff key between his fingers. “I suppose I should thank your client.”
“Thank?”
He’d astonished her back to parroting his words again. Why wasn’t he hurt? Or angry? Or speaking in that ultra-cold voice that indicated real fury?
“I ought to let you stew in your guilt. But I never felt for Lindsay what I did for Rhonda.” He bowed his head, the key in his hand seemingly forgotten. “I should have known better.”
At his simple words, her heart went out to him. She only hoped encouraging him to search for Rhonda’s killer would ease the grief that seemed a permanent part of him. “Who do you think hired me?” At her question, he jerked back in his seat and seemed to look inward, giving her query his full attention. A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, brightening the cabin. The fasten-your-seat-belt lights went off.
Finally, he spoke carefully as if weighing how much to reveal. “Martin Crewsdale, my partner, warned me repeatedly against marrying Lindsay.”
“You think your partner hired me?”
“Martin is rather conservative. While I tend to acquisitions and troubleshooting, Martin runs the day-to-day operations of Norton Industries. Despite our partnership and his disapproval of Lindsay, I doubt he’d resort to kidnapping.”
“Was Martin your only associate who disapproved of Miss Betancourt?”
“That list is quite long. My secretary, several friends, my brothers, even my pilot made their objections clear. Actually, I can’t think of anyone who approved of the marriage.” He paused for a moment as if startled by the revelation, as if he rarely considered the opinions of friends before making personal decisions. “In addition, there are several wealthy women who aren’t above paying off the competition. But I suspect someone closer to me orchestrated this plan.”
Born in Danger Page 3