The Millionaires’ Club: Ryan, Alex & Darin

by Cindy Gerard / Cathleen Galitz / Kristi Gold

  Darin reached out into the chasm, coming up empty-handed. The images were vague, surreal, but the arms around him seemed genuine, buffering him from the cold. A woman’s arms. Tamra? No. Another woman who spoke to him in soothing tones, her voice comforting, calming. His limbs felt weighted, his eyes heavy, and he tried to force them open but could not. He tried to move but she held on, whispering he would be okay.

  Another image assaulted him, the sum of his fears as he reached out for her hand that slipped away…. The devil incarnate had her in his clutches, vowing to destroy her. Darin would die for her so that she would live.

  But not Tamra. Not this time.

  “Fiona…”

  The word drifted from his lips as he drifted back to sleep.

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  Six

  Darin opened his eyes when he heard the incessant shrill. He glanced around the room and reached over to find nothing but a warm place where Fiona had been.

  Picking up his cellular phone from the nightstand to halt the noise, he answered with an irritable, “Speak.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Alex Kent sounded as incensed, if not more so.

  “I’ve been searching for Birkenfeld as I’ve been assigned to do.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you meet with the operative?”

  Fiona appeared in the doorway while Darin presented an explanation to Kent. “I was already in pursuit before the agent arrived on scene. Unfortunately, Birkenfeld escaped before I could apprehend him.”

  “He got away again?”

  Darin hated that fact as much as he hated Birkenfeld. “He was attacking a woman, wielding a knife. In the process of assisting her, I sustained some injuries. Minor flesh wounds.”

  “Minor flesh wounds?” Fiona said in a loud and somewhat incredulous tone.

  Darin raised a hand to silence her. “I will continue my search tonight.”

  Kent’s rough sigh filtered through the line. “Where are you now? The hotel has no record of your arrival.”

  “I never went to the hotel. I am staying with a friend.” A woman who could have been his lover had it not been for the untimely fever.

  “Is that the lady who answered the phone yesterday?”

  “Yes, and she can be trusted. She’s aiding me in my search by taking me to places Birkenfeld might be hiding. So far we have not been successful, and I’m concerned that he has fled the state.”

  “He’s still there.”

  Darin sat up, his body feeling weak and wasted despite the positive news. “How do you know?”

  “Because last night someone killed Larry Sutter in his hospital room.”

  “How is that possible when he was under guard?”

  “Some guy posing as an orderly offed him, the con named Stokes who got away in Royal before we could capture him. They caught him, but not before he administered a lethal dose of morphine into Sutter. He claims he received the order from Birkenfeld and that Birkenfeld’s still in Vegas.”

  “He has no other information?”

  “No, but there’s been a report that a man fitting Birkenfeld’s description conned a wealthy woman out of a few thousand dollars last night, then knocked her around enough to put her in the hospital. If my hunches are correct, he’ll gamble with the funds and try to earn enough to get out of the country.”

  Damn Birkenfeld. Damn him straight to the bowels of hell. “We are running out of time.”

  “Yeah, which is why you need to meet with the Bureau’s operative. You can work together.”

  He glanced at Fiona. “That will not be necessary.”

  “Darin, dammit, you need—”

  “To rectify my mistake.”

  “The Bureau will continue to be involved in the case. They’re following leads as we speak.”

  “And we will see who gets to him first.”

  “You need to reconsider that. Birkenfeld is dangerous and desperate. You can’t do this alone without risking your own life.”

  And he could be risking Fiona’s life, as well, but he would consider that later. “I have come up against worse men. Birkenfeld is basically a coward. I will succeed this time, I assure you.”

  “I can’t talk you out of this?”

  “No.”

  “Then one more thing,” Kent said. “He has to be disguised, since no one’s found him yet.”

  “Regardless if he is disguised, I would know him,” Darin said. He would never forget him, his fiendish eyes. “I’ll be in touch when I have something to report.”

  “Darin—”

  He clicked off the phone and tossed it onto the table, cutting off Kent’s protests.

  Fiona took a seat on the mattress beside him and ran a hand over his forehead. “You still have a fever.”

  “I’m well aware of that fact.” Very much so. His muscles ached, and he couldn’t seem to shake the chills, even though he could disregard his ailment long enough to persuade Fiona back into bed.

  She stood before he could maneuver enough to pull her into his arms. “I’m going to help you get dressed and we’re going to a nearby clinic. I’m not going to argue with you over this so you might as well—”

  “All right.”

  She stood for a moment in shocked silence. “You mean you’re not going to fight me on this?”

  “No. Otherwise I will not be able to continue my pursuit.”

  “Well, hallelujah! Finally you’re making some sense.”

  He could argue that point considering all the errors he had committed in terms of this mission, especially those that had involved his failure to resist her. He could not fail to protect her.

  He would seek the treatment that would aid in his recovery, then he would leave her before he put her in more danger. And, regretfully, before they made love.

  Roman Birkenfeld stood in the middle of the bedroom and admired his handiwork. Mind games were so amusing when played out to the fullest extent.

  Damn, he was clever, much smarter than those down-home Texas do-gooders with overinflated egos who fancied themselves champions of justice. And Shakir… He rubbed his fake-bearded chin and allowed himself a laugh. How would he describe the Arab? A lone wolf son of a bitch who thought he had the upper hand in this round of cat-and-mouse when in reality he was no more than a pawn and a less-than-formidable opponent. The bastard and his redheaded whore were in for a surprise. A big surprise. If only he could stay and watch their reaction, like he’d watched them last night, but he wouldn’t have that pleasure. He had somewhere to be. A place where he could get his gambling fix and expand his own borrowed fortune.

  He laughed again, a shrill maniacal sound that echoed in the empty apartment, when he thought about the fifty-something, moneyed tourist ripe for the picking. The woman had been such an easy mark. Hell, he hadn’t had to turn on the charm for more than five minutes at the blackjack table before he had her climbing all over him and slipping him her room key. Not very challenging, but productive, at least from a financial standpoint. What a fool she’d been, keeping all her cash in a hotel safe. And a bigger fool for laughing at him in her prissy hotel bed as if she really believed he cared whether he’d satisfied her or not. Laughed over his failed attempts at sex. Laughed like a hyena until he’d been forced to shut her up with his fist several times before her mockery quieted in his head.

  He could still hear her laughing at him. Or was it Natalie Perez? They were all laughing. That bitch of a nurse, Marci, who’d spilled her guts to the authorities. Carrie Whelan, the woman he should’ve killed when he’d had the chance before the Old West rancher named Ryan showed up to rescue her. Laughing and pointing and taunting him over and over and over…

  He clamped his hands over his ears to silence the din.

  The sound of scraping against wood, not laughter, spun him around and drove him into the living room. He inclined his head and listened, recognizing the scratching came from behind a closed door at the far side of the room.

  They’d foun
d him! Those East Coast boys and their cronies had tracked him down. He shook his head, trying to clear the confusion. No. Shakir and the woman had returned. But how did they get past him?

  The noise was deafening now…laughter and scratching and laughter and whining. They were trying to drive him mad, lower his guard. Sweat trickled beneath the cheap toupee and rolled down his forehead. His gaze shot to the front door and escape, then zipped back to the other door and the endless noise. He had to know if they were there. Had to know now, end the game, then he would leave. But not before he killed them all. Killed the noise.

  Drawing the knife from the waistband of his slacks, he stalked toward the sound, prepared to do battle with whatever lurked behind the closed door.

  Fiona glanced at Scorpio as she steered Darin’s rental car through the complex’s parking lot. She needed to pick up her own vehicle from the garage today, but at least this way she knew Darin wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, unless he went by foot, on a bad foot at that. But the doctor at the clinic had assured them both it would heal, no permanent damage done. The infection was mild and should clear up in a few days, if Scorpio cooperated.

  “With the new antibiotics, you should be feeling much better soon,” she said as she searched for an open parking space close to the apartment.

  “I’m feeling better now. I am ready to continue the search.”

  Perturbed over his stubbornness, Fiona said nothing else while she claimed a spot two doors down, facing the street.

  They both exited the car, and although Scorpio still walked with a limp, she didn’t bother to help him. His body language alone told her “Hands off,” very unlike their interlude last night when he’d made it very clear he wanted her. Those moments seemed far in the past. Fiona instinctively knew she wouldn’t be able to reclaim them, because in a matter of hours, maybe minutes, he would be gone.

  Before they arrived on the porch, Scorpio took her arm and turned her around, confirming her suspicions. He had “I’m leaving” written all over his face.

  “Fiona, I appreciate what you’ve done for me. But I must—”

  She laid a fingertip on his lips to stop the words she knew were coming but didn’t want to hear. “I know. You have to go and do your duty. I guess it would be futile for me to try and convince you to stay. Or to let me help you.”

  He pulled her into his arms, right there in broad daylight as if they were lovers, comfortable with open intimacy. But Fiona recognized they weren’t really lovers, and now they never would be.

  “I’ve already put you in danger because of your affiliation with me,” he said. “And after I leave, I would prefer you stay with someone for a few nights, perhaps Peg.”

  Fiona didn’t want anyone’s company except his. “Really, Scorpio. I’m going to be okay. If Birkenfeld knew where I lived, he would’ve been here by now.”

  “Possibly, or he could be waiting for me to leave to get to you.”

  “I doubt it. He wouldn’t bother with some simple bartender nobody.”

  Scorpio smiled—a smile as brilliant as the sun hanging in the afternoon sky. “There’s nothing simple about you, Fiona. And you’re very beautiful. Birkenfeld would recognize that, and he most likely would recognize you as the woman who took him to the ground in the alley. For that reason, I will call my friend, Kent, to request a patrol in your neighborhood until Birkenfeld is found.”

  Fiona lowered her eyes because it was just too easy to get lost in his. “Okay, if you think that’s necessary.”

  He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “And he would also assume that you and I are more than friends, which would make you a target for his vengeance.”

  “But we’re not more than friends.” Fiona hated the disappointment in her voice. Hated that she was probably wearing her heart in her eyes.

  “I consider you my friend,” he said. “A very good friend. And if things were different. If I were…” He sighed.

  “If you were what?”

  “A different man. Someone who has not been hardened by all that he’s seen.”

  She stood on her toes and kissed his stubbled cheek. “You have a soft spot, Scorpio. You just cover it up with that macho exterior. But I can see through it.”

  “You are a very intuitive woman, Fiona. I will not forget your kindness.”

  She would never forget him. If only they had succeeded in making memorable love last night. At least she could have given him that.

  From her pocket Fiona withdrew the slate-blue marble, then opened Scorpio’s hand and placed it in the well of his palm. “Here, take this. It was my dad’s. Just a little something to remember me by. It’s supposed to bring you luck.”

  He stared at the marble a moment before raising his eyes to hers. “This is not something you wish to keep?”

  “You probably need it more than I do. At least until you catch Birkenfeld. And if you’re ever back in Vegas, you can return it to me personally.”

  Fiona expected him to remind her that he wouldn’t be returning. Instead, he kissed her deeply, deliberately, rousing all the feelings Fiona knew she should ignore but couldn’t.

  When they parted, he dropped his arms from around her. “I can take you to retrieve your car on my way out.”

  She shrugged, affecting nonchalance even though she really wanted to sit down on the sidewalk, throw a tantrum and have a good cry like a three-year-old. Instead, she smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll have Lenny drop it off.”

  He frowned. “Lenny? Is he your boyfriend?”

  She reveled in the fact he actually sounded seriously jealous. “He’s the guy down at the garage. I don’t have a boyfriend, otherwise I wouldn’t have been carrying on with you for the past few days.”

  He nodded in an almost regal fashion. “My apologies.”

  They stood there for a few moments until he gestured toward the front door. “I will retrieve my bag and be on my way.”

  Resigned to his departure, Fiona slipped her key in the lock, puzzled by the sound of the radio blaring through the closed door. She hadn’t turned the radio on, she was sure of it. Maybe she’d accidentally forgotten to turn off the alarm that morning.

  That must be it, she decided as she pushed open the door and immediately strode into the bedroom to shut off some lively hip-hop tune that she might actually appreciate at a normal volume. Before she reached her destination, the icy clutches of fear stopped her progress.

  Her pillows had been shredded into piles of feathers, the pair of charcoal sketches her cousin, Trish, had drawn of two historical homes in Shadowvale were hanging upside down. And her gorgeous mint-green sateen comforter had been desecrated with severe slashes that spelled out the single word “Whore.”

  “Damn him,” Scorpio hissed from behind Fiona, startling her. He grabbed her hand and yanked her beside him, keeping one arm wrapped around her as he withdrew his gun.

  He pulled her through the room, using his body as a shield while he opened her closet, then her bathroom door to reveal that her decorative towels, too, had been shredded. At least they didn’t find Birkenfeld lying in wait in the shower behind the glass door.

  Then it hit her. Lottie. Her dog hadn’t made a sound.

  She’d left her locked in the kitchen. Left her defenseless and alone. And Fiona would kill Birkenfeld with her bare hands if he’d done anything to her precious baby.

  “I need to see about Lottie,” she whispered, her voice laced with an edge of hysteria, even though she tried desperately to hang on to her calm.

  “In a moment.” Darin moved back into the living room and muttered, “Stay close to me.”

  Fiona had no problem doing that since he had the gun and all she had was a belly full of butterflies and a feeling she might be sick, especially if they found Lottie— No. She had to believe her dog was safe. Had to believe she’d hidden or run away.

  Scorpio checked the living-room closet and behind the furniture with agonizing slowness while Fiona’s pulse pounded in her ears
as he headed toward the closed kitchen door. He flattened against the wall, Fiona by his side still firmly in his grasp.

  She held her breath as he opened the pocket door slowly where more chaos resided, her dinette chairs overturned, as well as the small table. The sliding glass doors opening up to the complex’s courtyard had been shattered. And on the other side, Lottie sat on the porch among the debris, her paws crossed and her head cocked to one side. When she saw Fiona and Scorpio, she stood with her corkscrew tail wagging, something black hanging from her jowls.

  “You’re okay!” Fiona wrenched away from Scorpio and knelt to welcome Lottie into her arms, disregarding the shards of glass and the fact that Birkenfeld might be hiding in the nearby hedge.

  “You are out in the open,” Scorpio said from above her. “It is not safe.”

  She didn’t care; her only concern at the moment was for her dog. She remained crouched to conduct a spot check over Lottie’s coarse fur, finding nothing that would indicate she’d been injured.

  As Fiona straightened, Lottie dropped the piece of fabric at her feet. She bent over, picked up the scrap and examined it. “It’s the back pocket of a man’s pants. Lottie must’ve torn it from Birkenfeld.” She patted the dog’s head and grinned. “Good girl, Carlotta. Smart girl, biting him in the butt.” She faced Scorpio and handed him the pocket.

  “Come back inside,” he said.

  Fiona followed behind him, patting Lottie on the head now and then as they made their way back into the living room, the only room that had been saved from destruction, or so it appeared. Then Fiona noticed the end table where the portrait of her mom and dad had been torn out of the frame, a slash across her mother’s face.

  “Sick bastard!” Fiona shouted. “I could kill him for this.”

  “And so could I,” Scorpio muttered, venom in his tone. He picked up a small card lying next to the shattered frame.

  Fiona clutched the picture to her chest and asked, “What is that?”

  He studied it for a few moments then turned it over. “A hotel business card for a place called the Lost Springs Mine.”