by Rebecca York
He opened her folder and looked at her picture—as he had done again and again over the past few days.
She was a looker. Blond and blue-eyed. Just the type he liked for a change of pace. She’d been with Craig over a year. Which meant that the man had some regard for her. Still, like most males, Craig would surely welcome some new diversions.
Oliver let himself slip into a little fantasy. He and Maddy Griffin alone in one of his private playrooms. He’d have to see if that could be arranged. Hopefully, with Craig’s cooperation, since the man had said he was eager to do business—and lending out Maddy Griffin could be a powerful inducement to a meeting of the minds.
He lifted his head and caught sight of several gardeners pulling out begonias that had been there for a month and replacing them with kalanchoes, fresh from one of the greenhouses. A nice change of pace. He was glad he’d thought of it.
He smiled, satisfied that everything in his world was the way he wanted it. All ready for his guests. They were still in New York, but soon they’d be on his private jet where he’d start putting them in the mood for some serious partying. Then he’d give them a little jolt of anxiety in his customs area—followed by more of his generous hospitality. It was all carefully calculated to throw them a bit off balance. He smiled. Dieu, he loved manipulating people!
He was drawn back to the picture of Maddy Griffin, feeling the pleasurable response of his body as he looked down at her, wondering if she could possibly be as beautiful in person as she was in the photograph.
He looked at his watch again. They’d be in the waiting room at Kennedy Airport soon. With the others. He could catch the satellite feed from there and have a look at her.
“SHOW TIME.”
Jack’s voice cut through the tangle of thoughts chasing themselves through Maddy’s brain as the sleek black limo pulled up at a small terminal at JFK International Airport. It was a restricted-access section of the airport that handled international flights for wealthy businessmen.
The uniformed driver cut the engine and trotted quickly around to open her door as if serving his passengers was his primary pleasure in life. He might look like a gung-ho chauffeur, but he was actually a trained security agent—Andrew Stanford. In fact, he was the man she was leaving in charge of security at Winston Industries while she was on Orchid Island.
“Thank you,” she murmured as he set her matching designer luggage on the curb.
She could have assigned the top job to Ted Burnes. But she’d selected Andy instead. She wasn’t sure exactly what prompted her to make that decision. Ted had always been perfectly competent in his job. But the late-night meeting with him two days ago had made her edgy. She kept telling herself that he was simply interested in protecting her. Yet she didn’t like the seed of doubt he’d sowed in her mind about Jack. And she couldn’t help wondering if his motives were tainted. Maybe he didn’t like the idea of her working so intimately with another man, and had decided to undermine the relationship. That would certainly have been unprofessional on his part, and she’d have to delve into his motivation after she came home. But for now, she had too much else to worry about.
And she had given him a special assignment. He was in charge of checking out everyone who might have been in a position to help Dawn escape, and he knew he’d better have some answers for her when she came back.
She caught Jack eying her appraisingly. Probably he was wondering if she was ready.
Well, she was as ready as he was. Lifting her chin she gave him a smile that sparkled with false brilliance. “Oh, this is so exciting,” she cooed for the benefit of the uniformed attendant who had begun piling the luggage onto a rolling cart. Probably he was a trained agent, too! Trained in surveillance and assassination.
When they reached the ticket counter, Jack pulled a money clip from the pocket of his custom tailored beige slacks and peeled off a twenty, which he handed to the man.
“Thank you!”
She watched the transaction from the corner of her eye as she took out a compact and dabbed powder onto her nose.
From his expensive haircut to his blue-and-white golf shirt and on down to his Italian leather loafers, Jack looked like exactly what he was pretending to be, a man with the money to indulge his every whim.
As his girlfriend, she was decked out in a lemon-yellow sundress cut too low in the back and front for a bra, but at least the matching jacket gave her some feeling of being covered up.
The chunky gold charm bracelets circling her left wrist were an annoyance, but she knew she had to put up with them—along with the four expensive rings that adorned her hands.
Jack had vetoed panty hose, so her legs were bare and her feet were simply slipped into two-hundred-dollar sandals.
In contrast, her face felt like an oil painting—with makeup that could have been applied with a putty knife—thanks to one of the special training sessions she’d attended in which she’d learned how to “make the most” of her features. At least that’s what the beautician had called it. She’d called it a waste of time. But she’d known that the woman she was supposed to be playing would have spent twenty minutes in the morning in front of the mirror. So she’d gotten with the program.
Jack had stepped up to the counter and pulled out the voucher authorizing him and Maddy to take the Orchid Island charter flight.
“May I see your passports, please?” the attractive redhead behind the counter asked. Was she one of Reynard’s operatives, too? Or was she just a civilian hired for her good looks?
Jack pulled out two small books with blue covers. It galled her that he was carrying her passport along with his own. But that was just another authentic touch, she told herself. And the real issue was whether the fake IDs passed muster.
As the woman inspected them, Maddy held her breath. When they were returned with a smile, she relaxed a fraction.
After their carry-on luggage was searched, they were ushered into a green-and-beige waiting room, where they joined six other couples. Maddy had been in many airport VIP suites with Stan Winston, but she’d never seen one quite so plush. There were comfortable couches instead of standard airport seats, thick carpeting, a wet bar and a linen-covered table with a breakfast buffet.
She’d also never seen so much heavy gold jewelry, diamonds, Italian leather, and designer watches. And that was just on the men.
Jack’s one pinky ring and his Tommy Hilfiger shirt were small potatoes.
But it wasn’t just the men’s attire that hit her. She could sense a kind of simmering excitement in the room—part power trip and part sexual undertone. These guys were turned on.
Maddy cut Jack a quick look. Then, trying not to seem overwhelmed, she glanced around, and realized that a number of the other women looked as nervous and shell-shocked as she felt.
She was an outgoing person, and she might have started a friendly conversation with one of the other female companions, but she noticed that they were all sticking pretty close to their guys.
Jack had somehow acquired a partial guest list, along with photographs. So she knew who a number of their fellow passengers were.
In the corner, the powerfully built, balding man with the heavy brows and the narrowed eyes was Don Fowler, a known drug dealer.
He regarded her and Jack, then leaned over to say something to his statuesque blond companion.
Another man she recognized was crime boss Jormo Kardofski. Tall and pale, he looked like he could have stepped out of a vampire movie.
Jack keyed right in to the level of excitement. “Hey babe, that looks like some spread. Let’s check it out,” he suggested expansively as he started toward the food table. He grabbed a plate and heaped it with eggs Benedict, bacon and fruit. She stuck with the fruit and a carton of yogurt.
Some of the couples were sitting at small tables. She and Jack took one, where he started putting away the breakfast, and she picked at her food.
It amazed her how happy he seemed when her stomach was in knots. Par
tly it was the unnatural atmosphere in the room. And partly it was a sudden surge of anxiety generated by Ted’s warning. It had kept her awake in the small hours of the morning, ever since Ted’s visit to her apartment. And she’d lain there in bed wondering whether she should simply confront Jack with the information. That was the straightforward way to handle the suspicions. The way she should have handled it, she realized now.
Yet every time she’d thought about bringing it up, she’d felt her stomach knot.
On the upside, if he’d told her that Ted’s information was false, that would have instantly relieved her anxiety. But what if he gave her the wrong answer? Or worse, if he told her Ted was talking nonsense—but she wasn’t sure she believed him? Then what? When the two of them had no choice but to work intimately together on this assignment.
In the end, she decided that keeping quiet was her only option, even knowing that it was going to be a source of internal tension until it was resolved. Now it was too late to reevaluate her decision.
She’d been sitting with her head bent toward her plate. Looking up, she focused on a small blond woman staring at her. The woman was dressed in skintight hot-pink pedal pushers, high-heeled sandals and a lighter pink shirt studded with rhinestones. She was with a large, solid man whose face had been scarred by teenage acne, leaving the surface uneven and pitted. He stood with his arm possessively around her shoulder, his beefy hand adorned by a chunky diamond ring. The hand hung down so that his large fingers dangled across the top of her breast. It wasn’t like he’d done it by accident, Maddy thought as she watched him possessively caress the swell of flesh.
The blonde saw Maddy observing them and flushed. Maddy quickly glanced away, not wanting to intrude on what should be a private moment. But she’d seen enough to wonder if public displays of lust were considered normal in this crowd.
Come to think of it, the blonde and her guy weren’t the only two behaving in ways that Maddy considered inappropriate in a waiting room full of travelers.
Another couple was tucked into a corner exchanging little kisses and caresses. And a second man was standing in back of his girlfriend, his hips pressed to her bottom. She knew his name, too. Artie Proctor. He was heavily into the numbers racket, according to the background sheets she’d gotten from Jack.
Maddy lowered her eyes to her plate again—then felt a little jolt of sensation as Jack’s foot slid against her ankle. He’d slipped his right foot out of his loafer, and was running his sock-clad toes against her. Apparently he’d noticed the overheated atmosphere in the room and had decided it was important to fit in.
The problem was, he hadn’t touched her in days. She didn’t mean touched in the strictly sexual sense, either. Since catching her when she’d tripped in her high-heeled shoes that first night, he had gone out of his way to avoid any physical contact. In fact, he’d acted like the awareness simmering between them didn’t exist. And she’d done her best to seem as unfazed as he. But the sudden touch of his foot against her leg sent tingles of electricity skittering along her nerve endings.
His voice was as low and silky as his touch. “Reynard’s island is my kind of place. We’re going to have a great time. A little pleasure. A little business.”
She swallowed, nodded, thinking that it wasn’t so difficult to imitate the other women. Most of them seemed as off-balance as she.
Covertly, she studied them. They were all beautiful. Some were fashion-model slender. Others were built more like Playboy centerfolds—probably courtesy of breast implants and liposuction, she told herself.
But they seemed to have little choice about their behavior. She was sure they all knew that they either played along with these guys, or they could be replaced.
Her own choices were also limited. At least for now. Because everything that happened over the next few days was governed by the one big decision she’d made.
She was going to Orchid Island to rescue Dawn Winston. No matter what. Up till now, she’d let her determination carry her along. Determination—and frantic work. Because every minute of the past few days had been filled with studying dossiers, plotting strategy, getting as comfortable as she could with her wardrobe, learning how to put on the makeup she was wearing, and ensuring that the security at Winston Industries ran smoothly while she was away.
All at once, the frantic activity had come to a halt, and she was sitting here in this luxury airport lounge playing the role she’d thought she was prepared for. Jack had warned her what it would be like. But she’d thought he was exaggerating to get her to back out. Too bad she hadn’t taken him at his word.
“Excited, baby?” he asked, his toes moving higher, walking their way up the curve of her calf.
She licked her dry lips. “As excited as you.”
His green eyes told her he knew she was lying.
She was rescued from his exploring toes by the woman at the check-in counter, her voice coming from a loudspeaker.
“Flight fifty-three-ten to Orchid Island is now ready for boarding. All passengers, have your boarding passes ready for the attendant.”
Jack slipped his foot back into his shoe. The area was suddenly full of activity as people stood, grabbed their carry-on luggage, and moved toward the exit door.
With a mixture of relief and trepidation, Maddy picked up the small, specially designed case that held enough makeup for a Broadway chorus line. That was another reason her face was so overdone. She looked like a woman who never traveled without the contents of a cosmetics counter. But actually there was more than lipstick, foundation and eye shadow in the bag. Hidden in the padded bottom and sides was the transmitter they would need to summon their transportation after they’d located Dawn.
The thought of Dawn sent a sudden pang spearing through her. It had been over a week now since they’d had any information about Stan Winston’s daughter, so they had to be prepared for anything.
Jack must have sensed her sudden shiver, because he draped an arm around her shoulder.
“I’ve told you, honey, flying’s safer than walking across the street.”
“I know you’re right,” she managed. “I just can’t help get a little uptight every time I think about takeoff and landing. Those are the most dangerous times, aren’t they?” she asked in a slightly quavery voice.
“Don’t worry your pretty head about that. We’ll get you a nice glass of wine as soon as we’re settled.”
They walked down the jetway and into the midsize plane. Maddy sucked in her breath as the decor registered. The interior looked more like a nightclub than an airplane. The sumptuous seats were upholstered in orange-and-purple fabric and arranged in rows facing each other, with small tables bolted to the floor between the rows.
There was no assigned seating. Couples were free to occupy any part of the cabin they wanted. Several had already made themselves comfortable. As in the waiting room, they were all staking out their own territory—with each twosome a little island unto themselves.
Apparently nobody in this group was the outgoing type. Or they didn’t trust each other even to make small talk.
Jack led her toward the back, probably because that gave him the best opportunity to observe the others, she figured as she slid her carry-on under the seat opposite her and settled into a chair like a luxury lounger. There was even, she discovered, a little footrest that swung out of the superstructure.
As the plane taxied onto the runway, Maddy found herself fighting a surge of panic.
“All right?” Jack murmured, pressing his hand over hers.
She turned her head, raised her gaze to his, seeing determination mingled with regret in his eyes.
So he still didn’t think she was the right woman for the job! Well, she would show him what she was made of. Deliberately she relaxed in her seat, pretending she was getting ready for the most delectable experience of her life.
As soon as they had reached their cruising altitude, a couple of flight attendants wearing skimpy little skirts, low-cut
blouses and mesh stockings came around to take drink orders.
Maddy asked for white wine.
Jack ordered an island punch, to get himself in the mood for fun, he told her loudly.
She took small sips of her drink, feeling the cool liquid slide down her throat. She was no wine expert, but this stuff tasted like top quality.
Fifteen minutes later, she was more relaxed. So relaxed in fact, that she couldn’t stop herself from contemplating a little devilment. If Jack could tease her in the waiting room, she could do the same thing here. Giving him a sly smile, she slipped her hand onto his thigh and began to caress the fine fabric of his slacks. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting the move, because she felt his muscles tense. The response gave her a jolt of satisfaction. She’d show him how well she could fit in here.
She was distracted when she saw the beefy guy with the pockmarked face lean over and whisper something to the blonde in the pink outfit.
His companion flushed and gave a quick shake of her head. But he spoke again, his face going hard. The woman paled at his aggressive expression. Unbuckling her seat belt, she made her way quickly down the aisle, keeping her gaze on the floor as she ran the gauntlet of curious eyes.
Probably everyone in the plane had seen the exchange. And they were all wondering what was going on.
Maddy expected the woman to approach one of the attendants who was at the back filling drink orders. Instead, she slipped into the rest room that was directly opposite where she and Jack were sitting. Although she closed the door firmly behind her, she didn’t slide the lock into place.
Moments later, the guy got up and followed her, stepping through the door she’d just entered and locking it with a click.
Maddy stared at the closed door, then flushed as she heard a deep masculine laugh coming from inside the rest room. A very satisfied laugh—that ended in a groan.
Jack leaned back in his seat as he regarded the closed door. “I guess he’s decided to become a member of the mile high club,” he muttered.