by Debra Webb
Suddenly conscious of her attire, she smoothed a hand over her travel-wrinkled slacks. She straightened her sleeveless sweater and squared her shoulders. She was a courier for the Colby Agency. She might not live in a mansion or drive a Rolls, but this was important business.
Amy marched up the steps and straight to the massive double doors. She pressed the doorbell and waited for a butler to answer. Surely in a house like this, the residents didn’t bother answering the door themselves.
The door suddenly swung inward and a young woman, maybe about Amy’s age, stared out at her, annoyance written all over her face. “Just a minute,” she barked into the cordless phone she clutched in her right hand. “What do you want?” she demanded of Amy.
Taken aback but determined to maintain her professionalism, she dredged up a smile. “Good afternoon, I’m Amy Wells from the Colby Agency. I believe Mr. Winterborne is expecting me.”
The woman looked her up and down disapprovingly. To Amy’s credit, she didn’t squirm. “He’s not here. He had to leave. I’ll tell him you came by.”
Wait a minute. That wasn’t going to work. Victoria had said that Mr. Winterborne needed this report right away. “Wait!” Amy cried before the door could slam in her face.
“What?” the woman snapped, obviously in a hurry to get back to whoever was on the other end of the telephone line.
Amy positioned herself in the doorway to prevent its closing. “I have to give this report to Mr. Winterborne. It’s very important.”
“Fine,” the woman relented. “Come in and you can call him at the plant.”
Amy stepped into the marble-floored entry hall and was awestruck all over again by the grandness of the home. The outside was beautiful but the inside was breathtaking.
The woman moved a few feet away to resume her call. “I can’t believe you’re even calling me like this,” she hissed.
Amy tried to focus on the details of the amazing entry hall rather than on the hushed words, but the intensity of the phone conversation prodded her natural curiosity.
“No,” the woman said sharply. “You walked out on me, Kevin. Left me here to deal with my father.”
Now Amy got the picture. The girl was apparently Mr. Winterborne’s daughter and the caller, or “cal-lee” as the case might be, was obviously her boyfriend…or ex-boyfriend.
“Vegas? What the hell are you doing in—?”
Silence echoed for about five seconds.
“How much?” This time her fury had dissolved into something like awe. The same kind of awe Amy had felt at seeing this place. “You won that much?”
Okay, Amy reasoned. Her boyfriend was in Vegas and had just won a lot of money and was calling to…make up? Amy grinned. She definitely had this investigating thing down to a science. She just had to find a way to get Victoria’s attention. Simply asking for the position wouldn’t be good enough. Amy wanted to bowl her employer over with some sort of amazing feat. That way she would just have to say yes! No wouldn’t even be a possibility.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” the woman said wistfully.
Amy’s heart went out to her. Was this guy trying to win her back? Did he deserve a second chance? Her gut instinct was that anytime a person had a chance at true love, he or she had better take it. It sure didn’t come along often.
“Okay,” the woman said breathlessly. “I’m going to the airport right now. I’ll be on the next flight out there.” She giggled. “Yes. I love you, too.”
Amy had been right all the way around. The thought pleased her immensely.
The woman jumped when her gaze collided with Amy’s once more. “Oh. I’d forgotten all about you.”
Amy kept her smile in place in spite of the indifference radiating from the other woman. “I just need to deliver this report to your father.”
The woman, who Amy had decided was Miss Winterborne, nodded. “He’s at the Caldwell facility.” She started for the door. “I’ll give you directions or the number. Whichever you want, but I’m in a hurry here.”
Amy followed, the white envelope clasped in her hand. Victoria’s instructions had been for her to deliver it personally to Mr. Winterborne. Driving to another destination wouldn’t be a problem as long as she accomplished her mission. “Directions will be fine.”
Miss Winterborne opened the door, but then quickly closed it. She turned back to Amy, her eyes round with something like horror. “They’re here,” she said on a breath that rushed out of her lungs as if she’d seen a ghost.
Who was here?
Whoever it was, it was none of Amy’s concern. She had a job to do. Failure wasn’t an option if she wanted to keep Victoria Colby-Camp impressed. “You were going to give me directions to—”
“Ah…stay right here.” Miss Winterborne rushed to the other end of the long hall and grabbed something. As she hurried back to the door Amy recognized the object as a designer suitcase, the kind that looked like a huge old-fashioned purse and had probably cost more than Amy’s monthly salary. “I’ll be right back,” the woman assured Amy before slipping out the door.
What was going on here? Amy suddenly remembered the telephone conversation and how Miss Winterborne had promised to get the next flight…
Surely she wasn’t leaving Amy here to fend for herself. She glanced around the enormous hall. The house seemed empty. How would she find out where Mr. Winterborne was if the daughter disappeared on her?
She couldn’t.
And that was unacceptable.
Amy jerked open the front door and strode out onto the landing that topped the dozen half-moon steps which descended to the U-shaped drive.
A long black limousine sat at the bottom of the steps. A driver placed the bag Miss Winterborne had exited the house with into the trunk and closed the lid. He smiled at Amy and quickly hurried around to the driver’s door.
Where was Regina Winterborne?
Amy looked left then right but saw no sign of her. Her gaze went straight to the tinted windows then. She must already be inside the car. Annoyed, Amy charged down the steps intent on demanding to know where Mr. Winterborne was.
“Good afternoon, Miss Winterborne,” a male voice said bringing her up short two steps shy of the car. “I’m Mr. Beckman.”
Amy whipped around expecting to see the woman right behind her somehow, instead the only thing she found was a tall, well-dressed gentleman smiling down at her.
“Where’s—”
Before Amy could complete her question, the man gestured to the car’s passenger-side door. “The plane is waiting. Mr. Winterborne already informed us that he would arrive later in the weekend.”
The plane? What plane?
Amy shook her head, confusion bearing down on her now. Where was the woman? Regina Winterborne? Amy had to deliver this report. “I’m supposed—”
“We’re behind schedule as it is,” the man said, his tone direct. He moved past her and opened the door. “We don’t want to keep Mr. Calhoun waiting.”
Mr. Calhoun? Who…?
The image of the man astride the horse immediately flashed in her brain. The guy in the report. She looked down at the white envelope. Mr. Winterborne’s report.
“The flight will take about three hours but the bar is fully stocked and you can watch a movie if you’d like.” He grasped her arm firmly and urged her toward the open door. “We have several to choose from.”
Wait a minute! Realization belatedly sank through the fog of confusion. He’d called her Miss Winterborne.
“But I’m not—”
Mr. Beckman smiled patiently. “I’m sure you will be by the time this weekend has concluded. Mr. Calhoun is quite the charmer.”
With that said, he promptly hoisted her into the car and closed the door. Before she could even blink he slid into the seat next to the driver and ordered, “Let’s go.”
Just when Amy would have roared her indignation something caught her eye…or, actually, the lack of something. Her car was gone. She
whipped around in the seat as the limo circled the fountain and headed down the long drive. It was gone all right. She’d left the keys in the ignition since she’d only expected to deliver the report at the door, not go inside. Who would have expected it to be stolen here of all places?
And then she knew.
The woman—Miss Winterborne—had stolen it. To go to the airport to catch a flight to Vegas where she would rendezvous with her boyfriend.
Shaking her head, Amy turned around and moved to the edge of her seat. “Look,” she said to the two men in the front seat, “there’s been a big mistake.”
The one named Beckman glanced over his shoulder at her. “Everything will be fine, Miss Winterborne,” he said again in that patient, practiced tone. “Just relax and this will go a lot more smoothly.”
What would go a lot more smoothly? Anger jolted Amy. Dammit, why wouldn’t the man listen to her? “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not—”
Before she could finish her statement the privacy window powered up between the passenger compartment and the front seat, leaving her talking to herself.
Fury exploding in her like an erupting volcano, she pounded on the tinted glass that separated her from the only other two people in the vehicle. “You’ve got the wrong girl,” she shouted for the good it would do with the privacy glass up, making the passenger compartment not only invisible to them but also soundproof. She tried the door handle but it was locked. Not that it would have done her any good anyway. People might jump out of moving cars all the time in the movies but she certainly had no desire to.
Okay. She eased back in the seat and took a breath. He’d said the plane was waiting which meant they were headed to an airport. Once there they would have to let her out of the car to board the plane. She would explain then that she wasn’t who they thought she was.
She fumed at the idea that the real Miss Winterborne had stolen her car. Fear momentarily paralyzed Amy. What if Miss Winterborne was in some sort of trouble and had left Amy to take the heat for her?
Beckman could be some kind of loan shark or…her eyes widened in fear when she considered the numerous other possibilities.
Then she remembered that he’d mentioned Mr. Calhoun. Amy relaxed marginally. Mr. Calhoun was waiting, so they were obviously headed to meet him. Amy’s eyes widened once more. Calhoun lived in Texas.
She snatched up the envelope and pulled out the report on the man. She’d skimmed it while she fueled up and hadn’t noticed anything negative. Maybe she’d better read it more carefully. Men who were on the up and up surely didn’t send the hired help to collect a woman against her will. Had Regina Winterborne wanted to take this trip she wouldn’t have run off after her ex in Vegas. Amy steamed when she thought about how Beckman had all but shoved her into the car and then locked her inside.
No wonder the real Miss Winterborne had run away.
Amy’s eyes rounded again. What if her father and this Mr. Calhoun had made some sort of deal that Miss Winterborne was trying to escape?
What if she knew something terrible about the man and feared for her safety?
Amy’s gaze landed on the report once more. If John Robert Calhoun, IV, had anything to hide, she was certain the Colby Agency would have found it. All Amy needed to do was scour these pages and then maybe—just maybe—she could save Miss Winterborne from whatever fate lay in store for her in Texas. Surely Miss Winterborne’s father wouldn’t send her to a man who was anything less than honorable.
Another realization struck Amy then. Mr. Winterborne hadn’t seen the report. He had no idea what kind of man Calhoun really was. By the time this car reached the airport Amy had every intention of knowing all there was to know about John Robert Calhoun, IV.
VICTORIA SURVEYED her desk once more. She never misplaced notes. Never.
“Mildred,” she said to her longtime secretary who waited patiently nearby, “I’m sorry, but I seem to have lost them.”
“That’s all right. I can bring you a copy of the one I made for the file after Trent dictated the information to me.”
Victoria nodded absently. This simply wasn’t like her. She never lost anything, certainly not something as important as preliminary notes on an ongoing case.
“Thank you, Mildred. I’ll try not to lose this one.”
Mildred went off to make the new copy and Victoria huffed her impatience. Thank goodness the notes hadn’t mentioned anyone by name, only the negative activity that Trent Tucker, one of her best investigators in the art of tracking and surveillance, had discovered. If the notes had accidentally ended up in the trash, rather than being filed or placed in the burn bag for destruction, at least no one would know to whom the illegal activities were connected.
The Colby Agency prided itself on discretion.
Victoria sighed wearily. It was Friday and it was late. She should go home and put work out of her mind. Everyone else, except Mildred, of course, had already left for the day in anticipation of the holiday weekend.
She might as well do the same.
Lucas didn’t want her putting in too many hours at the office just yet.
Warmth welled in her chest.
It was nice having someone to worry about her.
There was absolutely no reason for her to worry about anything except sharing a holiday weekend with her husband and son. Her family.
All else would take care of itself.
Chapter Three
This was bad.
Amy stared at the words on the final page of the Calhoun report. On the surface this guy appeared to be above reproach, but behind the perfect facade lurked incredible evil.
She shivered as she read the words once more. Calhoun was suspected of having ties to the mob and would apparently do almost anything to make money. Amy frowned and shuffled the pages once more. The entire report was squeaky clean except for this one page. At first she’d thought maybe this page didn’t even go with the report, but then she’d read in there somewhere that any additional information discovered would be attached. Well, this was definitely additional information even if unconfirmed. Trent Tucker was working on confirmation at this very moment.
Amy chewed her thumbnail. It was downright awful. Mr. Winterborne certainly wouldn’t have sent his one and only daughter off for the weekend at Mr. Calhoun’s had he suspected any of this. Amy was certain of that, though she was still irritated at the woman’s audacity. She’d stolen Amy’s car and taken off, leaving her to face this mess. But then again, she was trained for this sort of situation. She knew how to handle herself, physically and emotionally.
Amy stilled. Maybe this was her chance to prove her worth as an investigator. She could ferret out the truth over the weekend. Lord knew she didn’t have anything else to do. Right now all the agency had was suspicions. But she could find the connection, she was sure of it. She would have access to Calhoun’s home…to his private files maybe.
A smile spread across her lips as anticipation rushed through her. This could be her first case, even if she had come by it unexpectedly. Beckman had said that Mr. Winterborne wouldn’t be joining them right away and neither he nor the driver appeared to realize that she was not Regina Winterborne. If that held true with Calhoun, Amy would have some time, maybe even the whole weekend, to covertly investigate the man.
The smile turned into an outright grin. Oh yeah. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. If she could make the connection, turn suspicion into fact, then she would have proven not only her ability but her value as an investigator.
All she had to do was play along with this little game of mistaken identity. That Mr. Calhoun was gorgeous amounted to mere icing on the cake. God had finally answered her prayers.
It was fate.
That’s all it could be.
The limo braked to a stop at a private airfield and Amy allowed Beckman to escort her to the Learjet standing by. She supposed that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Calhoun would have a private jet. He was, af
ter all, an oil tycoon. So she wouldn’t count that against him, but such pretentiousness definitely set her instincts on point. Though she didn’t know any men who owned a jet, she could imagine arrogance went along with that kind of presumed self-importance. Well, she had news for Mr. Calhoun: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
His secrets were about to be revealed.
There were a number of other things about him she’d like to have revealed, but the job came first. She shivered at the thought of his picture.
Amy utilized the flight time to recall everything she’d ever heard about the Winterbornes. She didn’t know that much but she felt as though she had enough information to fake it. If—very big if—Calhoun had not met Regina as she suspected, pulling off this charade would be easy. But she wouldn’t know until she got there…unless…
She decided to go for broke.
“Does Mr. Calhoun prefer to be called John or Robert?” she asked of Beckman who appeared immersed in the files he’d brought along in his briefcase. She wasn’t the only one who’d decided to make this a working flight, she mused.
Beckman looked up at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. “John,” he said after studying her for a moment. “He prefers to be called John.”
Amy nodded, not certain whether that was a positive response or a negative one. She still didn’t know for sure if Regina had met him. For some reason Beckman looked at her suspiciously now. Had she blown it already? Her pulse tripped into overtime.
Putting his files aside, Beckman leveled his gaze on her. “Miss Winterborne, John is an honorable man. He doesn’t expect this to be easy at first. But, in the long run, it is the right thing to do for both of you.”
Amy had a bad feeling about the “it” he referred to. It was her understanding that Mr. Winterborne intended a business deal with Mr. Calhoun and hoped his daughter would like the man, which would facilitate future business dealings. Maybe she was wrong about that.