by Ellen, Tracy
James let his tented hands drop then and reached for his glass of water. Earlier, he had declined Mr. Barkley’s offer of alcohol. I remained quietly observing to see where James was going with this line of conversation. James took a long drink, and then cleared his throat while carefully setting his glass on the coaster on the glass-topped table between us.
The thought flickered across my brain that he could be nervous, but I blew it off as quickly as it surfaced. I couldn’t think of a reason why I’d cause a man of his business stature to be nervous.
Then those black eyes pinned me again. “Before we come to any agreements, I should tell you that I felt a strong attraction for you when we first met at your brother’s house a few weeks ago. This was before I realized you were with Luke Drake.”
‘Well, okay then, so much for James being nervous,’ I felt my eyes widening inadvertently at his direct candor, ‘but now I am!’
I glanced towards the kitchen. Mr. Barkley was at the sink filling a pan with water and I was sure he didn’t overhear this declaration. Catching my look, James gave his first broad smile of the night.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you, but it needed to be put on the table since I am sure you’ve suspected. Am I right?” He asked, and now the dark inscrutable eyes were warm with amusement.
Shrugging a shoulder, I answered, “Actually, I didn’t give it a thought one way or another, but thanks for the honesty.” I did have a thought now and smiled in relief. “Talking of instincts, I bet your attraction was just due to your sensitivity. It was your body’s chemical reaction in response to all these damn pheromones flying around everywhere lately. They’re worse than mosquitoes. Believe me, they’ve been doing crazy things to everyone, so don’t worry even a microsecond that I’ll take you seriously.”
James laughed softly and sat back, crossing a leg over a knee. In some men, sitting this way looks effeminate. James Byrd could probably wear pink ruffles and a hat with flowers and still look nothing but masculine.
He waved a nonchalant hand and a heavy silver ring caught the light from a nearby lamp and glimmered. “You’re probably right. Anyway, this….chemical reaction and my instincts had me investigate Luke Drake. This may sound strange, but it’s what I do and second nature to me.”
This statement grabbed my startled attention from his jewelry and I exclaimed, “It does sound strange! Geez, are you a stalker or what?” My eyes narrowed. “Investigate how?”
He answered me literally, never showing a crack in his calm demeanor. “No, I’m not a stalker, just very careful and very rich because I follow my instincts. I conducted a general background check, but predominantly focused on Luke Drake’s financials.”
“Huh.” Tilting my head, I wondered how I ever imagined him nervous. James was totally at ease across from me while he patiently waited for my response to his invasion of Luke’s privacy.
Maybe he could read thoughts, too, because James then stated, “It’s primarily a matter of public record, Anabel, if you know how to do the research.”
There was silence in the kitchen and I knew Mr. Barkley was now listening to our exchange. My shiny new love for Luke begged me to tell James to take a hike. If I wanted to know the dirt on my boyfriend, I would have grabbed a shovel long ago and dug it up myself.
After I first met Luke and satisfied my basic need-to-knows, I made the conscious decision that he could tell me all his truths in his own time and in his own way. Beyond immediately experiencing the intense lust I felt for the man, I sensed on some deeper level that Luke’s a driving force to be reckoned with and I responded accordingly. It’s not like I call him my Dark Prince only because of his black hair and all that bronzed skin covering those big yummy muscles. The man’s got issues. Luke’s full of darkness, swirling and seething below the surface of that iron control. He’s manipulative, secretive, and tricky. These are three talents I highly admire and enjoy, although preferably not used against me. As our relationship grows stronger and more intense, I wish for Luke to trust in me and want to voluntarily share his life with me.
Yes, I’m back to that whole partnership thing again. You couldn’t blame me for thinking declaring our love was a pretty news-worthy event towards that goal, but what I’ve since learned leads me to suspect otherwise. My Dark Prince and I are not on the same page when it comes to trust, sharing, and partnerships.
Choosing not to poke in Luke’s business is one thing, but deliberately choosing to ignore information presented to me on a silver platter would be stupid.
“Obviously your instincts found something, James, and you feel the need to tell me.”
“Yes, I do. It became more important once I understood your personal financial situation.” His face wore a determined expression, and I thought of Jazy’s story about how James uses his financial talents to help women. “It’s also in the interest of full disclosure. I don’t want to start off a business partnership with secrets between us.”
“Okay. Very admirable,” I replied neutrally. James seems sincere in wanting to warn me, and I needed to hear whatever he has to report, but I don’t think either of us was particularly enjoying ourselves. I know I wasn’t. “Please, don’t keep me in suspense a moment longer.”
“Luke is over-extended. For the past few years, he has purchased farms and land outside the Faribault area under various investment company names. Nothing is illegal, since technically the companies all exist and are legitimate.” He added without any dramatics, “Simply put, on paper he’s wealthy. In reality, he’s broke.”
Letting James’ statement sink in for a moment, I then asked curiously, “Are these properties around his great uncle’s in the Lake Roberds area?”
James answered readily, “That was my first thought. Further investigation proved the sales are all concentrated in sections further south between Faribault and Owatonna. They’re miles away from his inherited acreage.” He reached for a stack of papers from his briefcase. “Luke took a three hundred thousand dollar mortgage out on the Drake farm property. Aside from improvements to the property, he’s used significant amounts of this money for capital injections into two local Owatonna businesses.”
I’ve never heard Luke mention Owatonna, another old river town from the 1850’s and slightly bigger than Northfield. Owatonna’s located about thirty-five miles south from here, and twenty miles south from Luke’s farm. The Medford Outlet Mall is nearby, but I don’t think those designer shops are locally owned, nor could I imagine Luke choosing to invest in a clothing retail store.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Cautiously wording my question, I asked, “Capital injections? Does this mean an investment with no guarantees of making any profits or does Luke get something out of the deal?”
“Again on paper, his cash is giving him equity stakes in the businesses.” James hitched one wide shoulder and shrugged, keeping to the facts. “But essentially the equity, or part ownership, is worthless to Luke if the businesses continue to perform as poorly in the future as their past records indicate. My research shows no change in management since the influx of Luke’s cash, but I didn’t investigate beyond that. One business is a used car dealership and the other is a travel agency.” He tapped a paper on top of the pile with his finger. “In addition to these investments, the remaining balance in Luke’s bank account has been systematically reduced since last April. He withdraws cash every other Friday in increments of four thousand dollars.”
I met James’ dark eyes after this statement. Personal bank account access definitely doesn’t fit under my understanding of a background search using “primarily public records”.
His bland gaze in return did not blink, as he continued, “I don’t know what Luke is using the four grand for every other week, but it’s not spending money. His personal expenses are accounted for and stay roughly the same from month to month.”
I didn’t say anything more, but sat staring down at my hands resting on my knees. Mr. Barkley came into the sitting area, wi
ping his hands on a dish towel.
His voice was troubled. “James, is it your opinion Luke Drake has been courting Anabel because she’s an extremely wealthy young woman? If this is the direction your thoughts are taking, I think you should know this isn’t common knowledge.”
James shook his head and replied, “I’m only reporting facts, Charles, not interpreting the data. However, we both know that while Anabel lives rather frugally, it would not be difficult for an interested party to extrapolate. A little investigating and it would soon be apparent she’s not only single and runs a viable business, but also has significant cash assets.” He shrugged dismissively. “Personally, I have no opinion whether or not Luke is the type of man to prey on a woman for her money. There’s nothing I’ve uncovered in his past records to indicate he has, insofar as previous marriages, criminal records, lawsuits, or known addictions like drugs or gambling. In fact, there’s not much data available on his personal life at all. I understand he’s had an Army career until recently. The company he co-owns is healthy, but from the results of my investigation, Luke appears to be living on the edge of personal bankruptcy.”
I glanced up from my thoughts when James said my name. His eyes were shrewd, but his voice was kind.
“Anabel, maybe you already know why Luke Drake is flat broke from buying up farms and making ill-advised capital investments, but you seemed surprised. Whatever his reasons, the facts remain they’re not sound investments in the current economy at the prices he paid. You are a woman with money, and regardless if we work together, I am telling you these facts only as a precautionary measure. Forewarned is forearmed.”
I have no idea what Mr. Tricky is up to, or why he’d make consistent unsound investments. I can’t believe he would, so there must be some method to his madness.
Thinking it over briefly, I believe James has been fair and forthright in his deliverance of the facts, which was a hell of a lot more than I could say for my boyfriend. Had James tried to tell me Luke is out to marry me for my money, I would have ripped into him, but he hasn’t.
In the long run, it made no difference why James ran a check on Luke because Charles Barkley would have suggested doing the same, once he realized I had a serious boyfriend. It has never been an issue in my life to consider before now, but Mr. Barkley takes his guardianship seriously. We had the pre-nup “talk” years ago.
I asked James for the prints detailing Luke’s properties and loans, and then closed down the discussion. No more was said on the subject that night. I’m meeting with James next week to give my answer whether we’ll have a future business partnership.
The only bright side to this puzzling, disturbing item on my list is that Mr. Secretive has never asked me for a cent or even hinted at getting legally hitched. He’s paid for all of our dates and bought me presents. We’ve done nothing extravagant, but I’ve never had the sense it’s because money is desperately tight.
Of course, why would I if he was up to something?
I know, this is why I think being in love is such a pain!
‘Am I being one of those incredibly boneheaded women that people try to warn, but who refuses to see all the signs until the guy absconds with her heart and her bank account?’ This thought was bad enough, but the next one was hideous. ‘Is my soul mate King Con? Does Luke think for one cotton picking minute that I am some dried-up spinster panting for a man and ripe for the plucking in some evil scam?’
Bent over the back of my jeep, I was really banging the cookie sheets around in my agitation while trying to get them all stacked to carry. My jaw aching probably means I was grinding my teeth over Luke being gone with no word, his shacking up with Svettie, his hidden agenda to be the Land & Loan Baron of Rice County, and being a big, fat disappointing boyfriend in general.
Exasperated, I thought we’d settled all this trust stuff on Thanksgiving.
I muttered, “Guess there’s no riding off into the sunset to screw happily ever after for me and my man.” Flipping a hand out, I was really starting to wallow in self-pity. “Oh no, I don’t get to be a girlfriend for more than eight to ten hours before I have to deal with crap, crap, and more crap!”
I could have called Luke these past two weeks, but it has become our custom for him to call me when he’s gone on a job. Besides, old habits die hard. I don’t call men, they call me. Granted, these were the men in my past that hadn’t declared their love to me and become my exclusive boyfriend, complete with commitment ceremony and tattoos.
I snorted.
Straightening up with the trays finally organized, I admitted to myself that most of all, I just miss my Dark Prince. For once, I longed to be held close and hopefully fondled while sweet everything’s were whispered in my ear. I want to be told all is well and that I was missed, too.
‘See, I AM one of those damn, sex-starved boneheads!’ I despaired on an internal wail.
When the lights went out and the trays went flying from my hands, I instinctively fought and kicked out, even as my heart thumped with excitement that Luke was starting My Turn.
Somebody was grabbing me from behind and my pointed-toe shoe made a solid connection against flesh and I heard a shrill, “Bollocks!”
The lights going out is a burlap bag over my head. It’s tightly enveloping me, scratchy and stinky. It smells worse than rotten potatoes. The thought that this odor will penetrate my hair and clothes made me gag. It was the last straw. I was suddenly furious that Luke would think to capture me in such an awful bag. At the same time, I realized the high-pitched voice that swore didn’t sound like Luke’s, unless he was faking a bad British accent.
Blinded and confused, I felt myself gripped by strong hands around my hips. I was slung off my feet and up in the air with disorienting speed. I was then flopped down against something hard with enough force across my midsection that I gasped out a painful “Oomph”, as all the breath was knocked out of me.
Entrapped in the bag, I was bent in half and my head was hanging upside down. My air supply was cut off. Wheezing, I tried instinctually to curl up, but an iron band of an arm was tight across my upper thighs. The arm held me immobile while I was jarred violently around. This motion further prevented me from catching my breath.
Right when I was starting to seriously panic that I’m suffocating, I was flung down on my back against another hard surface. It hurt, but at least I was able to take small breaths and get a little air. I struggled to keep calm and not hyperventilate.
I remembered my purse then because it was sticking painfully into my back. I had landed on it when flung down. Within the tight sack surrounding my body like a straitjacket, I tried with my left hand to reach my purse. I was slowly inching behind me when the bag is jerked up and a hand reached underneath to grab my wrist.
Half of my arm was yanked out from under the bag, my jacket sleeve was pushed up, and I immediately felt a stabbing prick. A cold, burning sensation soon followed. Still trying to breathe and feeling dizzy, I could barely make a gasping sound in terrified protest at the needle in my arm. I had no strength to fight, other than to try a futile tug. My arm stayed easily imprisoned within the hand that had me in a tight grip for a few seconds more. The pressure eased up and the hand released my arm.
I heard that same high voice whisper an out of breath, ‘There, lass. All sorted now.”
The bag was pulled down to below my knees, so that I am once again bundled tight with no give to move my arms or the ability to spread my legs. I heard a door roll and slam shut, and I started squirming to get loose. An engine revved and then we were moving.
Frightened out of my wits at knowing I’d just been injected with God only knows what, on a burst of adrenaline, I tried to wiggle back and forth to reach my purse. I got my wish when the van or whatever I was in, took a sudden sharp left turn. My purse was dislodged from under me while I was pitched helplessly around. My fingers could touch the smooth pleather.
An immeasurable time later, I felt a surreal sense of surprise to rea
lize that I had forgotten what I was trying to do. My gun and cell phone were inside the purse not one inch from my hand, but I wasn’t moving. A hazy, tingly feeling had invaded my entire body like a million, tiny little pinpricks. Not painful, not even uncomfortable, but definitely a strange feeling.
Closing my eyes, I was positive it would feel amazingly wonderful to stretch my arms languorously high over my head and point my toes far, far in the other direction. I imagined being racked in the old dungeons of the Tower of London like the Protestant martyr Anne Askew and it actually sounded like a good idea at this moment. I wouldn’t want the rest of her punishment, as poor Anne has the painful distinction of being the only woman on historical record to be both racked and burned at the stake.
Instead, I lie there in unmoving lassitude, lazily floating adrift in the dark confines of the stinky bag. I was thinking that while life sometimes sucks these days, it has nothing on the crapola women endured at the hands of evil men back in the day.
It’s not that I was unaware of being trussed up on the floor of a moving vehicle after being nabbed out of my parking lot and shot up with a drug; I just didn’t seem to give a damn.
Chapter III
“Smooth Criminal” by Michael Jackson
Thursday 12/06/12
11:04 PM
Unless I have a spare four hours to do it right, I’ve learned the hard way not to take naps during the day because it’s almost guaranteed I’ll wake up crankier than your worst toddler nightmare.
Groggily swimming out of the depths of whatever drug I’d been put out with, I found myself alone and very uncomfortable. I was bound to a wooden straight chair, stripped down to my new jade green teddy, and freezing cold. You can imagine my mood.