by Jamie DeBree
Betsy met her gaze with a sympathetic look. "Worse, I'm afraid. He's always wanted to do exactly the opposite of what anyone tells him to do, which made for some interesting high school days." She grinned. "Not many people have the balls to talk to him like that though. I'll bet for you, he's on his way down."
Chapter 2
Right on cue, Betsy heard the front door open and slam shut. Harley came around the corner two seconds later, a scowl on his face as he glanced from one to the other, finally settling on Monica. "What the hell is going on? Why didn't you tell me Betsy was here?" He shifted to include Betsy. "Ian left a message saying Derek might be here at the ranch, is that true? Why didn't you tell me he was out?"
Betsy shook her head, blinking back a fresh set of tears. "I was going to tell you about Derek, but you've been so busy with getting married and all - I didn't want to distract you. Then I thought I saw him tonight and sort of freaked out, so I went to Ian's but we had a fight and I came home and that's when I found this." She flipped the paper over and slid it in front of him. "Monica was with me and wanted to call you so here we are."
Harley stared down at the image, his phone jangling from his pocket. Without taking his eyes off the page, he held the phone up to his ear and answered with a terse, "Yeah."
Betsy couldn't stop herself from taking just one more peek at the grotesque image that would undoubtedly haunt her dreams for a long time to come. It was a picture of her, taken recently in the same French maid outfit she still had on, so whoever had gotten it either was here or had been. Whoever left it had photo-shopped her image with a noose around her neck, hanging from the barrister of the grand double staircase on the main floor. Her wrists looked like they'd been slit, and her blood pooled on the floor below.
"We're all in my suite, Ian...come on over." Harley disconnected the call and shoved the phone down in his front pocket. Looking thoughtfully at Betsy, he reached across the counter and took one of her hands. "He sounds pretty bad, sis - what were you fighting about? Did you hit on him again?"
"I'm sure it doesn't matter," Monica said. Betsy shot her a grateful look. "Whatever the problem, I'm sure they'll get over it--"
Harley shook his head, a chuckle of disbelief escaping. "Darlin', you don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you run upstairs and make sure our guest isn't foaming at the mouth because I'm not there. I'll be up as soon as I'm done here."
Betsy's heart broke for her new sister-in-law. Ashamed, she pulled her hand out of Harley's. "Harlen Majors." No woman deserved to be treated like that. Harley's expression softened and he reached for Monica, but she ran out of the kitchen. Betsy didn't blame her. "You should go after her," she said, knowing he wouldn't, but needing to say it. "That was uncalled for and you know it. She just wanted to help."
He met her gaze, his expression one of hurt and resignation. "I'll talk to her later. Your safety is more important right now. When did Derek get out of prison?" The front door opened and shut, and she tried to brace herself, knowing it could only be one person.
"A couple weeks ago. Look, I know I should have told you, but--" she stopped, the words caught in her throat as Ian appeared in the doorway behind Harley. Their eyes met, briefly, but she looked away, unable to face the regret in them. Her face flamed as the minister rounded the counter to stand beside her.
Harley pushed the photo across the counter to Ian. "Someone left this under her door. We need to get her out of here, at least until I can figure out what's going on with Derek."
Ian nodded. "I’ll take her. We can be gone in an hour." He grabbed the photo and flipped it over, hot, angry vibes coming off his body in waves.
"I don't want to go anywhere," Betsy said quietly, her eyes on the stone counter top. "If I run, he wins."
"If you run, you stay alive," Harley countered. "I've got all sorts of crap going on here right now, and Derek is just one more thing. I'll find him, and I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again, but you have to get out of here so I won't be worried about you every second of the day." He curled a hand over Ian's shoulder. "I really appreciate this. I don't care where, and I don't need to know, just find somewhere safe to hole up for a week or so. Charge it to the ranch."
"But I--" Betsy stood up, ready to fight. How dare they pass her around like some errant child in need of babysitting! She trembled where she stood, her muscles tied in knots of anger and frustration.
Harley held his hand up, giving her a stern look. "He's the only one I trust to take care of you, sis. Don't argue. Just go." He walked around the counter and gave her a quick hug, then headed for the door, pausing to glance back over his shoulder. "Don't give him any trouble, Bets. This is serious." Without waiting for an answer, he walked out, leaving her alone with her fear and the one man who could only make things worse.
Betsy bit her lower lip as the door slammed behind Harley. Keenly aware of Ian's presence, she didn't dare look his direction. Her face burned with embarrassment, not just because of what happened earlier in his office, but for being passed off on him like some recalcitrant child. Could this day get any more humiliating?
"You know he's right," Ian said, with none of the censure she'd expected in his tone. "There's no shame in staying safe."
She shook her head. He didn't understand. No one did. There was a reason Derek had tried to kill her before, aside from the alcohol problem everyone had blamed his actions on. He wouldn't stop hunting her until he got what he wanted, or until she was dead, preferably both. A chill settled in the base of her spine at the thought.
"You don't get it," she said quietly, pretending to examine her chipped French manicure. "He won't stop until he finds me. He can't."
"Tell me." It wasn't a request, it was a command. Ian stepped closer, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her head to look at him. "It's important that I know what we're dealing with if I'm going to protect you."
She pulled away, turning the stool and sliding off so she could put some distance between them. "I...we did some things, Derek and I, that I'm not proud of. And some of them resulted in a lot of money that we hid in offshore accounts. We put them under my name, because he was sure the government was watching him. Probably paranoia from the alcohol and drugs. Derek always worried about our 'electric money' disappearing, so little by little we exchanged it for gold coins. He said he always wanted to know what a real chest full of treasure would look like." She shook her head, the story sounding cheesy even to her own ears.
"We'd take enough money out of the bank for a few coins, and buy them a couple at a time so no one would get suspicious. He had a woodworker make him a wooden chest, and we'd put the coins in there. He even hid it in a cave on his property, even though I warned him it could all easily just disappear. But he was caught up in the pirate-like reality he'd created for himself."
Ian shifted behind her, and Betsy turned to see him leaning against the counter, watching her thoughtfully. "How did you do it?" he asked quietly.
She shrugged. "He was losing touch with reality more each day, drinking enough to forget. So I started taking a few coins here and there, thinking I'd need some money when I finally got the courage to leave. Then I left, and after he found me and almost killed me..." she met Ian's hard stare straight on. "I felt like I deserved the rest."
He nodded, his expression blank as he looked at the photo on the counter. "Where is it now?"
"In the tunnels," she said, referring to the maze like warren that ran beneath the ranch. "And if it was just the money, I'd give it back, though it wouldn't stop him from killing me. But there's something else..." she stopped, unwilling to put all her secrets on the line. Maybe it wouldn't be necessary, if they could just keep Derek away from her hiding spot.
"What else? I need to know everything." Ian stepped closer, his nearness intimidating even as it made her want to lean into his warmth.
She shook her head. "We just need to keep him away from that chest. If we can do that, what's in it doesn't matter."
&nbs
p; * * *
Ian turned away, barely resisting the urge to shake Betsy senseless. "Come on," he said, turning back to face her. "I need you to be transparent with me. If you don't trust me..."
She shook her head, anguish in those big green eyes. "If it were just me affected, I'd tell you in a heartbeat. But there's someone else involved, and the less people who know anything about it, the better. Just let it go, Ian. Please." She tilted her head to the side and he shook his head at her pleading stare.
"Fine. I'll let you have your secret for now. Will you at least tell me where you hid the chest? We should make sure Derek hasn't gotten to it already."
She bit her lower lip again, her gaze shifting to the floor. "Well, I would. The thing is, I'm not sure exactly where it is."
"You're kidding, right?" Ian threw his hands up in frustration. "If we don't know where it is, how the heck are we going to find it? How do you forget where you hid a chest full of money?"
Betsy shrugged. "I said it was in the tunnels. I brought it here, but I wasn't the one who actually hid it. A friend and I...um, were drinking in my suite one night and talking about how funny it was that Derek thought he was a pirate. I showed her the chest. When I passed out, she hid it somewhere in the tunnels as a practical joke. She was leaving for Europe the next day, and was on a plane before I realized the chest wasn't in my closet anymore."
Ian closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his nose. "So where is your friend now? How do we get a hold of her?"
"Last I heard she was on her way to Africa. She loves to travel, and rarely stays in one place for long. Unfortunately it's pretty hard to actually get a hold of her, so I lost touch with her awhile back. I have no idea how we'd reach her now. But there's another way to find the chest, I think."
"I'm all ears," Ian said, leaning against the counter. He was beginning to wonder if the whole story was just something Betsy made up. It sounded far too fantastical to be real, but he couldn't afford not to take it seriously, just in case even part of it was true.
She paced in front of him, hugging her arms to her chest as she avoided his gaze. "Keep in mind that we'd had a lot to drink," she said, her cheeks coloring a rosy hue. "And this place tends to get to you, with all the fantasy themes. When you consider both of those, it's really not that surprising--"
"Just spit it out."
"My friend made a map so I could find the chest when I needed to. A...um...well, a treasure map, sort of. It's a list of clues that lead to the...uh, treasure, so to speak."
Ian shook his head again, a long sigh escaping as he straightened. "Let me get this straight. Your ex was so delusional that he hid coins in a wooden chest, which you then stole. You got drunk one night with a friend who hid the treasure and left you what amounts to a map? Do you have any idea how crazy all this sounds? How do you know your friend didn't take the chest with her? Where does she get all that traveling money?"
Betsy punched him in the arm. "She's a sociologist, so she gets grant money for traveling. And she wouldn't just steal from me like that. We were best friends, dammit. I thought you were supposed to trust people, being a preacher and all."
"You never looked for the money though? Weren't you just a little concerned?"
She shrugged again. "Not really. I wasn't going to spend it anyway, I was saving it for retirement. I figured it was probably safer wherever it was than in my closet, so..."
Ian rubbed his neck. "So you want to stay here, where a killer is after you, to protect a chest that you're not even sure is here anymore." She nodded, and he continued. "If we can prove the chest isn't here, will you let me take you somewhere safe?"
"I guess so."
He sighed again, running a hand through his hair. He should get her out of there now, money and secrets aside. But knowing her, she'd just find a way to come back without him, putting herself in even more danger.
"Okay," he said, holding out a hand. "Let's get the map."
* * *
Betsy followed Ian down the long, dim hall, past the elevator shaft and the entrance to the tunnels. When they finally reached the door to her suite, he put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to stand against the wall beside the door. He pushed the door open slowly, and Betsy couldn't help but think that it should be Harley with her, checking out her place to make sure it was safe. At least he carried a gun. What was Ian going to do if he found someone? Pray for him?
She shifted her stance, the cold from the polished cement floor seeping into her stocking feet. Glancing down at herself, she shook her head. She'd need to change out of the tiny French maid costume before they went anywhere. Jeans and a t-shirt would be much more appropriate for crawling around the dirt tunnels.
Ian poked his head around the door frame. "It looks clear - come on." He disappeared just as quickly, and she followed him inside, closing the door behind her. When she turned, it was all she could do not to collapse right then and there in defeat.
"Whoa," she breathed, trying to comprehend the magnitude of the chaos before her. She wasn't a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination, but still. She'd never trash a room this badly. At least not on purpose. "He was here, wasn't he?"
"Looks that way. Even you aren't this messy." Ian grinned at her, clearly trying to lighten the mood. She rubbed her arms, fear and cold creeping under her skin like some parasite. She couldn't move, could barely breath. Why couldn't Derek just stay in prison like he was supposed to?
His smile fading, Ian moved in front of her, blocking the view and momentarily breaking the paralyzing effect. "Hey, it's gonna be okay." He pulled her into his embrace, hugging her briefly before stepping back and squatting down a little to look her in the eye. "We can't stay here, Bets - we need to move quickly. Do you know where the map is?"
She nodded, forcing herself to focus. "I have a floor safe in the bedroom. It's in there." She brushed past him and headed for the hallway, then stopped when she realized he was following her. Turning around, she shook her head. "You wait out here. I need to change clothes while I'm at it."
"No." Ian shook his head.. "I'm not letting you out of my sight - he could be hiding anywhere. I won't look, but I'm coming in with you."
She shrugged, wondering what would happen if he did peek. Good things for her, no doubt. "Suit yourself." Continuing to her bedroom, she considered changing first, but the chance to show the good reverend what he was missing was too good to pass up.
Moving the nightstand over a foot or so, she knelt down and pried up a couple loose floorboards. Leaning over and giving Ian a great, unobstructed view of her ass as her uniform slid up, she took her time putting the combination in. Finally she swung the door up, and took out a folded sheet of paper.
"Got it!" she said, holding it up triumphantly as she turned around.
Ian was gone.
Chapter 3
"If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the fire!" Betsy yelled toward the doorway Ian had been standing in just moments before. Shaking her head, she went to the closet and hurried into her favorite pair of jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, socks and good cross-trainers. Dressed more appropriately for creeping around in dirt tunnels, she grabbed the map off the bed where she'd left it and went to find Ian.
As she made her way to the living room, she mused at how her mood had turned around. Circumstances being what they were, she was surprised to realize it was excitement building in her stomach, rather than fear. At least until she saw the two men standing in front of her fireplace. It was definitely fear that made her insides turn then, and she approached cautiously.
"About time you joined us, Bets," Derek said, holding Ian at gunpoint and looking pointedly at the paper in her hand. "I assume that's the map your friend drew? You just be a good girl and hand that over, and I'll let your boyfriend here live."
"Run, Betsy," Ian hissed, only to earn an elbow in the side that doubled him over. Betsy clenched the paper harder, looking down to find an entire corner crinkled, with a small tear half-way up the page. Had sh
e done that?
She shook her head. "You'll just kill him anyway. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not giving you the map either."
Derek laughed. "I figured you'd be difficult. Why don't I just take care of your friend here, and you and I will go find the treasure together. Hell, maybe if you're good, I'll give you a second chance. I wouldn’t mind you warming my bed again..."
He stepped back a little and raised the gun higher, so it was pointed dead center at Ian's chest. Betsy knew he was just crazy enough to pull the trigger.
"No!" She rushed forward and he turned the gun toward her, squeezing off a shot at nearly the same time she tripped on a rug and fell to the floor. When she looked up, she saw Ian tackle Derek from the side, and both men went down as another shot rang out. Staying low, she crawled behind the couch as the gun slid across the floor from the other side. She shoved it under the couch and pushed to her feet just as Ian grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the door.
Running behind Ian, she was nearly out in the hall before something tugged hard on the paper in her other hand. Horrified, she heard the sound of paper ripping as Ian yanked her across the threshold and pulled the door shut, then set off down the hall at what seemed like top speed. His grip on her wrist was like a steel manacle and she had no choice but to keep moving or she'd fall on her face. It was impossible to hear whether Derek was following them or not, but she risked a quick glance back as Ian pulled her into the stairwell that lead down to the tunnels and the passage was clear.
"He got part of the map," she gasped when Ian finally stopped to open the access door. She stepped inside when it swung open and automatically reached for the flashlight kept just inside every tunnel entry. When the door clicked shut, she switched on the light and pointed it toward the torn paper in her hand. "Dammit. He's got the whole first half."