Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series

by Summer Prescott

  “The police will think I’m silly if they drive out to the estate and see that he’s just fallen asleep in front of a movie or something,” Missy protested, but was clearly considering the plan.

  “Honey, if you thought that he was asleep in front of a movie, you wouldn’t be up in the middle of the night baking three hundred cupcakes,” Echo said gently.

  As much as Missy hated to admit it, Echo was right, she felt down in her bones that something was terribly wrong.

  “Okay,” she said, picking up her phone. “Let me find the number.”

  “Mrs. Beckett, I’m going to have to ask you to put down that phone,” a familiar voice commanded, startling both women, who turned toward it.

  Missy put a hand over her heart.

  “Oh goodness, Paddy, you startled me. What are you doing here?” Missy exclaimed, finding it odd and a bit unsettling that the handyman had entered her house unannounced.

  “I’m sorry to startle you, Mrs. Beckett, but you can’t make that phone call,” he asserted quietly.

  “Why the heck not?” Echo stepped forward, hands on hips, eyes narrowed.

  “Miss Willis,” he held up a hand to stop her from advancing. “I’m sorry, I know that this will be difficult to understand, but I can’t tell you why not. You just have to trust me on this. You can’t call the police.”

  “Well now that’s really not your decision, is it?” Echo persisted, stepping closer to the young Irishman.

  “Ma’am please, I don’t want to have to confiscate the phone,” he said, completely calm in the face of Echo’s growing anger.

  “Oh you just try it, buster. I don’t know who the heck you think you are, waltzing in here uninvited and issuing orders, but you’d better believe…” Echo’s voice was spiraling higher and louder.

  “Enough!” Missy broke in. “Look, Paddy, I’m sure that you mean well, but this is really none of your business, and you need to just go ahead and leave,” she said sternly, thinking that the handyman had way overstepped his bounds.

  “Mrs. Beckett…” Paddy was clearly wrestling with what to tell her. “Your husband may be in danger, and if I allow you to make that call, you could be putting yourself and innocent police officers in danger as well,” he said gravely.

  Missy went deathly pale and Echo’s anger was swiftly replaced by fear and concern.

  “Wha… what do you mean Chas is in danger? Who are you, Paddy? Who are you really? You’d better give me something to wrap my head around or I’m calling the police and having you arrested,” Missy threatened.

  The young man sighed and looked from one scared, irate female to the other.

  “May I speak with you privately, Mrs. Beckett?” he asked finally.

  “Absolutely not,” Missy reached for Echo’s hand. “Anything that you have to say to me can be said in front of her.”

  Paddy frowned and tapped something into the rather unique-looking watch that he was wearing, staring at it as though he were waiting for a reply. Something appeared on the screen, and he read it quickly, then dropped his wrist, the screen going black.

  “Mrs. Beckett, there has been an infiltration of the security staff that protect both Beckett Holdings and the Beckett family. There are dangerous men who will stop at nothing in their attempt to use the company as their conduit for trafficking drugs,” Paddy began, his Irish accent growing thicker by the word.

  “Your husband, as board president, is a target, as was the reporter who was going to expose them. Now that you’re aware of what’s going on, and most likely even before then, you’re a target as well. I’m here because I work for Beckett Holdings as a special agent. My job is to protect you,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “Where is Chas now?” Missy whispered, clutching at Echo’s hand.

  “We’re not sure,” Paddy replied in a low voice. “He’s not in his quarters, and there’s been evidence of… conflict at the estate.”

  “Oh no… he’s missing?” Missy’s eyes filled with tears, and Echo wrapped an arm around her.

  “At present, yes, but we have every resource at our disposal aimed at finding him, Mrs. Beckett. I’m so sorry.”

  Echo stared at the young Irishman. “So Spencer… ?”

  “Is my boss, yes, ma’am.”

  Missy’s knees turned to jelly at the thought of Chas being missing. “I need to sit down,” she said shakily.

  “Of course, ma’am. I’ve secured this property, so you’re free to move about in here, but you’re not able to leave the house tonight. We have people nearby who are keeping watch, so you can try to get some rest.”

  “Fat chance,” Echo muttered, leading Missy to the living room. “Make yourself useful and bring us a bottle of wine,” she raised an eyebrow at Paddy.

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course.”

  “Paddy… ?” Missy turned around.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Have you been in my house all evening?” she asked, in a daze.

  “Since you left the cupcake shop, yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

  Missy just stared at him. “Why do I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone?” she murmured and resumed her trek to the living room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Chalmers was devastated. The eldest Beckett son, Charles, had been abducted on his watch, from an estate that had been better equipped to handle an intruder than a safe room at the Pentagon. Before his death, Chas’s father had been adamant that, while running the corporation was important, maintaining the safety and security of the family was paramount, and now the servant had failed. His heart was broken. He had helped to raise Chas Beckett, and loved him like a son. He had a staff of more than one hundred highly trained, educated, professional security agents, and somehow, the seemingly airtight organization had been infiltrated. Such betrayal from one of his handpicked agents filled him with sadness and rage.

  The signs of abduction had been subtle. Chas’s watch, cell phone and wallet lay on the gentleman’s tray in his walk-in closet, his suit was ready for dry cleaning, and none of his shoes were missing. There were several missed calls and text messages from his wife, who clearly hadn’t heard from him, and there was a dent on the underside of the bathroom doorknob, which was quite obviously from a chair having been propped against it. The chair that was pushed in at Chas’s desk had telltale marks on the back of the seat which indicated that it had been the one used to barricade the detective in the bathroom.

  The heavy metal door to Chalmers’ study slid open, admitting Spencer. The tired old man wiped his eyes, and put on his glasses, glancing anywhere but at the Marine for a moment.

  “Do we know where he is?” Spencer asked without preamble.

  “Our security cameras were able to capture footage of one of his abductors, the one whom we assume is in charge. He’s been working for us for months, as part of the culinary staff. He passed every background check— I never suspected him for a moment.” Chalmers shook his head and cleared his throat.

  “Where is he?” the Marine asked through his teeth, eager to extract information from the unfortunate man by whatever means necessary.

  “He’s in the security holding cell. Parnell and Rasmussen have been with him ever since he returned after the abduction.”

  “He had the audacity to come back?”

  Chalmers nodded. “He apparently thought that the best place to hide was in plain sight. He also had another accomplice who showed up for work this morning. Another kitchen worker, who’s being held separately.”

  ***

  No one outside the cell containing Vasilios Karagiorgis knew what had transpired between him and one very determined Marine, but suffice to say that when Spencer left after only one hour, he had the names and locations of everyone involved in kidnapping Chas and trying to bring down Beckett Holdings Corp. After a few quick calls to local and foreign agents of the company, he set out on his own to free his boss and friend.

  Spencer had used Vasilios’s cell phone to text Chas’s “sitter
s,” making certain that they didn’t kill the detective, and they would be in for one heckuva surprise when all of the Marine’s six feet four inches, and two hundred fifteen pounds came barreling in on them with a vengeance. He made it to the warehouse in New Jersey, where Chas was being held, in record time, and slipped silently inside, his foes none the wiser. He incapacitated one and disarmed the other in short order, zip-tied their wrists and ankles together, then moved to Chas to free him from his bonds. He lifted the blindfold from his boss’s eyes and Chas shook his head with a smile.

  “How did I know it was going to be you?” he asked, rubbing his wrists after being freed.

  “Dazzling powers of deduction?” Spencer quipped, carefully helping the detective to his feet and leading him from the warehouse, as pins and needles shot through the detective’s legs after having been immobile for so long.

  “That must be it,” Chas replied, wincing a bit. “What about those guys?” he asked, seeing his watchers for the first time.

  Spencer spoke to the two men in Greek, and apparently said something that agitated them greatly.

  “They’ll be waiting here for federal agents to come pick them up on drug smuggling charges,” the Marine shrugged, continuing through the warehouse, moving toward the door.

  “And kidnapping, of course,” Chas raised an eyebrow.

  “Is that something you’d like to see splashed all over the papers internationally?” Spencer asked mildly.

  “Ah,” Chas’s mouth went tight for a moment. “Let me guess, Chalmers is taking care of keeping this whole thing quiet.”

  “A task for which he is eerily well-suited, sir. No worries, there are enough charges pending against these guys that they’ll be tucked away in a nasty little cell for most of the rest of their lives,” he assured the detective.

  “I hated that feeling,” Chas grumbled.

  “What feeling is that, sir?”

  “Being bound and blindfolded… and so… helpless. It was infuriating. All I could think about was that I could’ve somehow avoided getting captured, and how much I wanted to get back to Missy,” the detective admitted.

  “Well, if it makes you feel better, I spent much of the past week trussed up like a Christmas turkey on the floor of a castle in England,” Spencer shrugged, opening the passenger door of the sedan that he’d procured.

  “Let me guess… the Earl of Halsbury?” Chas grimaced, remembering when he’d found his brother Reggie in a sorry state after having spent time with the earl in Monaco.

  “Actually, it was his servant who masterminded the whole thing.”

  “The servant? Really?”

  Spencer nodded, helping his boss into the passenger seat. “He had an entire network over here that was poised to destroy Beckett Holdings.”

  “That’s who kidnapped me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Spencer trotted around to the driver’s door and slipped into the car.

  “And is that who tried to kill Chalmers?” Chas ground out, his eyes narrowing at the memory.

  “Yep, and they actually did kill the reporter who was getting close to figuring out who they were. They set it up to try and frame you for her murder.”

  “How did they do that?”

  “Hannah’s notes about you and your family and Beckett Holdings were all out where they were sure to be discovered when her hotel room was searched. Her computer was opened to a document that she was writing about you, which conveniently had the parts discussing the conspirators deleted. A forensics tech retrieved the deleted paragraphs from the laptop, and found the names of some of the guys involved.”

  Chas breathed a sigh of relief. “So, I’m in the clear?”

  “Yes sir, it’s all been taken care of.”

  “Who’s with Missy? Is she okay?” the detective demanded.

  “Paddy’s with her, and she’s fine, but—”

  “But what?” the worried detective interrupted. “What’s wrong?”

  “She… she knows now, sir,” Spencer sighed.

  “Knows what? That being a part of my crazy family might just get her killed?” he replied sourly.

  “Well, that, yes. But she also now knows that Paddy and I aren’t exactly what we seem. She knows that your family is involved in matters that require private security of a kind that is typically only seen for heads of state. She… knows,” the Marine said somberly, staring straight ahead as he drove.

  “I’m still wondering precisely why we need this level of security,” Chas ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “But I’m guessing that Chalmers wants to spare me the worry of knowing.”

  “He will do everything to protect you and your family sir, it’s his purpose in life.”

  “But the danger is done now, isn’t it? The bad guys are all going to jail, right?” the detective asked.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but the danger is never done. You are a tremendous asset to the corporation, even as a non-participating member. That makes you, and your family, a target,” Spencer admitted.

  “And all this time I’ve just kidded myself into thinking that everything was fine. That I could just serve as a detective and distance myself from my privileged upbringing, and everything would be fine. But it’s not fine, is it, Spencer?”

  “Never has been, sir. I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Izzy woke, not having a clue as to where she was, or how she had gotten there. She opened her eyes slowly and remembered, she was in the hospital, in that awful place where they drugged her every time she tried to explain that she hadn’t attempted suicide. She loved her life, and was beyond furious at the deranged soul who had tried to end it. There had to be a way to make them believe her, but her head wouldn’t quite clear enough to allow her to figure it out.

  “Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” a familiar voice drawled. Izzy wondered if she was hallucinating.

  “Spencer?” she turned toward the voice, thrilled when she saw the muscular Marine leaning back in a plastic chair, arms crossed, legs sprawled out in front of him. He had a couple of days’ growth of beard shadowing his perfectly planed cheeks, and was casually dressed.

  “You ready to get out of this place?’ he asked, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his head from side to side.

  “Oh gosh, yes! But, how did you find me? Where is this? I don’t even know where I am. They think I tried to—” she began.

  “I know. It’s okay. I made some phone calls, it’s all good. As soon as you can get dressed, we can get out of here.”

  Izzy’s eyes grew wide and filled with tears.

  “But Spencer, I don’t even know if I have clothes here,” she whispered. “They’ve kept me drugged, like I’m dangerous or something,” the embarrassed author confided.

  “Not a problem,” he smiled, reaching underneath his chair and pulling out a bag from a very exclusive New York boutique. “I had to guess on the sizes, but I tried to pick out some comfortable travelling clothes. I hope they work for you,” he stood and brought the bag over to her.

  The tears that had been brimming in Izzy’s eyes spilled down her cheeks, and Spencer brushed them away with the back of his hand.

  “Hey now, what’s that all about?” he asked with a gentle smile.

  “I… I’m just… so glad to see you,” she replied as he bent down to wrap her in a hug, planting a soft kiss in her hair.

  ***

  “Where are we going?” Izzy asked, all smiles now that she’d been sprung from the Ivydale Comprehensive Wholeness Center, where she’d been taken, at her publisher’s insistence after she’d been found, nearly bled out, in her hotel room.

  Everyone had assumed that it had been a suicide attempt, and her publisher, who was the only one listed in her emergency contacts, had sent her to the best mental health facility in the country. She’d stayed there until Spencer tracked her down, and she was still trying to shake off the lingering effects of the multiple drugs that had been used on her. They were
travelling through some stunningly beautiful countryside in upstate New York.

  “You’ll see when we get there,” Spencer smiled mysteriously.

  “Do I even get a clue?” she persisted.

  “Sure. We’re going on a picnic.”

  “A picnic? Okaaaaaay… but shouldn’t we be getting back to Florida?” the author was more than curious .

  “We will. But we’ve gotta eat first, right?” he teased.

  “Whatever you say,” Izzy shook her head, laughing.

  Spencer drove up to the gates of what looked like a sprawling mansion, and they swung open immediately.

  “What is this? A museum or something? Are you sure we’re supposed to be in here? I hope we’re not trespassing,” Izzy worried, gazing at the manicured grounds and imposing structure beyond.

  “I think we’ll be okay,” the Marine replied, a smile playing about his lips.

  He took the road to the right of the mansion, parking under the shade of a century-old tree, and came around to open her door. Grabbing her by the hand, he went around to the trunk and took a picnic basket out of it.

  “Hungry?” he asked, holding it up.

  “Starving,” she giggled, getting into the spirit of things.

  Spencer led her through a hedge maze, into a spectacular garden, and spread out a red and white checkered blanket under the gently swaying branches of a willow tree. She sat down on the blanket, her stomach growling, and watched while he unloaded a variety of delicious food. There was crispy fried chicken, potato salad, a vegetable and dip tray, thick fluffy biscuits, and a bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio to top it off.

  “Wow, this looks amazing,” she exclaimed as Spencer handed her a plate. “But seriously, are we going to get in trouble for being here?” she glanced around nervously. “This looks like the type of place where they’ll release the hounds to chew us to pieces.”

  The Marine chuckled. “No worries, they haven’t had hounds here for years.”

  “What is this place?” Izzy asked, nibbling on a biscuit.