Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  “I don’t want to play against the odds more than once,” she told him. “If you’re going to spend the night, you’d better get those condoms out of your travel kit.”

  Griff reached out, grabbed her, and yanked her naked body against his. He lowered his head, kissed her, and said, “I’m going to spend the whole weekend here with you, if you’ll let me.”

  “If that’s the case, then we’d better run into town tomorrow to pick up groceries and a big box of condoms.”

  “Lady, I like the way you think.”

  Griff woke slowly, languidly, feeling good. He opened his eyes, intending to see if Nic was awake, but what he saw was that her side of the bed was empty. She was probably in the bathroom or possibly in the kitchen putting on coffee.

  He kicked back the covers and stretched. They’d had sex twice during the night, bringing the total to three times. Not bad for a guy who’d soon turn forty. And he had a morning hard-on that he intended to take care of as soon as he could bring Nic back to bed.

  “Nic?” he called. “Where are you, honey?”

  Silence.

  Griff sat up, turned, and put his feet down on the floor. “Nic?”

  No response.

  Hmm … He didn’t hear the shower running. Maybe she was in the kitchen and couldn’t hear him.

  He got up, intending to search for her and for his scattered clothing; then he noticed that someone—no doubt Nic—had gathered up his discarded clothes, folded them neatly and stacked them on the top of the dresser. His shoes, socks stuffed inside, were sitting beside his clothes. He carefully removed his slacks and headed for the bathroom, where he’d left his travel kit last night.

  After he showered, shaved, and slipped on his slightly wrinkled slacks, he wondered why Nic hadn’t checked on him. All he could figure out was that she must be preparing breakfast. If so, that was another unexpected aspect of her personality. He’d never thought of her as the domestic type.

  When he entered the kitchen, he found it empty. He noted the pot on the coffeemaker was almost full and two mugs sat on the counter. No sugar. No cream. They both took their coffee black. There had been a time when he had sweetened his coffee, but as a guy grew older, he had to think about his waistline.

  As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he was puzzled by Nic’s absence. Then he noticed the note attached to the refrigerator door with a plastic magnet.

  He removed the note and read:

  Gone for my morning walk. Back soon. Coffee ready. You prepare breakfast. Surprise me. Nic.

  Griff chuckled. Surprise her, huh? He had no idea how long she’d been gone or how quickly she would return. At most, a morning walk shouldn’t take more than thirty to forty-five minutes, right? He didn’t have any time to waste, so he made three hurried phone calls.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Jonathan showed up with Griff’s garment bag that he’d left on the plane, and no sooner had Griff dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved cotton sweater, and loafers, than the breakfast he had ordered arrived. He had learned over the years that enough money could get a man just about anything he wanted. If he wanted breakfast catered at a moment’s notice, all he had to do was offer twice the normal rate, plus a bonus to the delivery person.

  He placed the hot dishes in the oven to keep warm, the cold items in the refrigerator, and the variety of jams and jellies on the table. The florist arrived while Griff was setting the kitchen table with Nic’s plates and silverware. Since he hadn’t found any cloth napkins, he had used the paper ones stored in the pantry. He placed the small bouquet of mixed flowers in the center of the table, then carried the larger bouquet of two dozen peach roses into the bedroom.

  He paused, staring at the bed. The comforter lay in a heap on the floor and the blanket hung half-on/half-off at the foot of the bed. He considered making the bed, but decided there wasn’t any point, since he intended for them to spend a large part of the day heating up the sheets the way they had last night.

  Underneath that tough, controlled façade, Nic Baxter was a wild woman in bed.

  Nic rounded the corner near the neighborhood park, three blocks from her house. She hadn’t been surprised that she had not seen anyone else out this early on a weekend morning or that only one car had passed by. Most women probably wouldn’t have gone for a morning power walk after a vigorous night of lovemaking, but Nic wasn’t most women. And the man she had made love with wasn’t her husband or boyfriend or even her friend. He was just a friendly acquaintance.

  Get real, Nic. Griffin Powell is now your lover.

  She should feel like a slut for not only giving in to her baser urges and having sex with a man she had hated up until a few months ago, but because she had done the unforgivable—had unprotected sex. God, how stupid was that!

  What must Griff think of her this morning? That she was an easy conquest, just like all the other women he’d known? That she was a sex-starved bitch who’d been insatiable?

  When she got back to the house, she’d simply explain that it had been a while for her and she’d needed the release of an all-nighter. The stress of her job had finally gotten to her. He’d understand.

  But then what?

  He expected to spend the weekend. And she wanted him to stay.

  So, why not have an affair with Griff? As long as they kept their relationship private—like he’d said, nobody’s business—she didn’t see why she couldn’t handle a brief affair—the only kind Griff had. In public, they would work together on the Hunter case, equals, if not really colleagues. In private, they would be lovers.

  And if I’m pregnant?

  She’d cross that bridge if and when she came to it. The odds were in her favor. It was the wrong time of the month. They’d had unprotected sex only once. And besides that, she might not even be able to get pregnant. She and Greg had tried to have a baby that last year of their marriage, but she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Thank goodness. She’d been foolish enough to think that a child might have improved their marriage.

  Ouch! Nic felt the sting as it pierced her back. Had an insect of some kind stung her through her cotton sweatshirt? Damn, whatever it was, it hurt like hell.

  Nic’s vision blurred. She felt wobbly, as if she might pass out.

  What the hell?

  Chapter 16

  When Nic didn’t return home well over an hour from when Griff had awakened, he began to worry. He knew she hadn’t taken her cell phone because he’d found it in her purse. Just how long did she walk? What route did she take? Invading Nic’s privacy, he scanned the numbers stored in her cell phone, found Doug Trotter’s home number and called him.

  “Nic? What the hell are you—?”

  “This is Griffin Powell. I’m using Nic’s phone.” He explained, with as little personal detail as possible, why he was concerned.

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Doug said. “She takes a thirty-minute power walk most mornings and I know she stays in her neighborhood. Take a look around and call me back in ten minutes.”

  “I’m not waiting ten minutes,” Griff said. “I’m not waiting another second. You get somebody over here pronto. I’ll search the neighborhood, but we need to start an all-out search immediately.”

  “What’s got you so upset? You don’t think—”

  “I’m not thinking anything,” Griff lied, “except that Nic could be in trouble.”

  “I’ll contact the Woodbridge police department and get a couple of uniformed officers out there, then I’ll call Chris Garmon. He works out of our D.C. office and he lives in Woodbridge.”

  Griff removed Nic’s key chain from her purse, went out into the garage, locked the back door, and got in her car. He drove up and down the streets in her neighborhood searching for her. The more time that passed, the more frantic he became.

  Where the hell are you, Nic?

  By the time he had gone through the neighborhood twice and returned to Nic’s house, two Woodbridge police officers were pulling up in front of her house. They e
xchanged names and Griff filled them in on what little he knew. The officers asked Griff to wait at the house in case Nic came home, while they covered the same ground Griff already had.

  Fifteen minutes later, Special Agent Garmon showed up, asked Griff a few questions, and then called Doug Trotter. When the police officers returned, Garmon took over, but Griff didn’t give a damn who was in charge. All that concerned him was that the police hadn’t found any sign of Nic.

  “Get more people out here,” Garmon ordered. “I want the neighborhood canvassed. We need to find out if anyone saw Nic this morning.”

  “Show me the note again,” Garmon told Griff once the officers went back to their patrol car to call for reinforcements.

  Griff pulled the note from his pants pocket and handed it to Garmon, who read it aloud. “‘Gone for my morning walk. Back soon. Coffee ready. You prepare breakfast. Surprise me. Nic.’”

  “You spent the night here last night?” Garmon asked.

  “Yes, I spent the night. I’ve already told you that I did.”

  “It just seems odd to me that Nic would let you stay here, considering the fact that you’re far from her favorite person.”

  “Where have you been the past few months?” Griff asked, not bothering to mask the aggravation in his voice. “Nic and I have been working together, unofficially, of course, on the Hunter case. And we’ve become …” He paused, remembering how they’d joked about the exact definition of their relationship. “We’ve become friendly acquaintances.”

  “You two didn’t get into a fight, did you? You didn’t—”

  Griff grasped the lapels of Chris Garmon’s jacket and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t let the words come out of your mouth.”

  Wild-eyed with genuine fear, Garmon stammered, “You—you do know that—that you’re manhandling a—a federal officer.”

  Griff’s jaw tightened. He released the agent’s lapels, gave him a warning glare, and stepped back a couple of feet.

  Heaving a deep sigh, Garmon straightened his jacket, then cleared his throat. “Nic knows how to take care of herself. Whatever’s happened, she’ll be okay.”

  “She went for a morning walk in her safe neighborhood. She didn’t take her cell phone and didn’t have her gun,” Griff said. “Up against your average mugger, she could hold her own, but against the totally unexpected …” Griff clenched his teeth.

  Goddamn son of a bitch!

  Don’t think it. Don’t dare think it. There has to be another explanation. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to target an FBI agent.

  Yes, he would. He’s just that arrogant.

  Griff’s stomach muscles knotted painfully.

  “You need to get roadblocks set up on every road going out of Woodridge,” Griff said. “And start checking chartered boats and planes and rental cars.”

  “You don’t need to tell me how to do my job.” Garmon glowered at Griff but kept his distance.

  “Then, by God, get out there and do it!”

  An hour later, after Griff had worn the carpet bare with his pacing and had alienated Special Agent Garmon, SAC Doug Trotter showed up, with the Woodbridge chief of police in tow.

  Nic’s home had become headquarters for the search and rescue mission that was under way. A swarm of local police officers, FBI agents, and state troopers were on the job, doing everything within their power to locate one of their own. And by noon, Griff was half out of his mind with worry.

  Nicki, honey, where are you? Are you all right?

  Suddenly Griff’s cell phone rang. Let it be her. Dear God, let it be Nic.

  Griff checked the caller ID. No name. And he didn’t recognize the number. For half a second, his heart stopped.

  He walked out of the living room, down the hall, and into Nic’s bedroom, leaving the beehive of activity behind him. “Griffin Powell here.”

  “Are you missing anything … or should I say, anyone?” the male voice asked.

  “You tell me.” Griff closed his eyes and prayed.

  He hadn’t prayed in a long, long time. He wasn’t sure he still believed in God.

  “You didn’t see this one coming, did you? You and Nic thought that I was simply waiting for her to give a press release in which she referred to me as ‘the Hunter’ and then I’d call again to give you the next couple of clues.”

  “And instead you were buying time and leading us in the wrong direction,” Griff said.

  Maniacal laughter echoed in Griff’s ears.

  If he ever got his hands on this sick bastard, he would rip him apart, tear off his limbs, and shove his severed dick down his throat.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how she is?”

  Griff didn’t respond.

  “She’s asleep right now. Effects of the tranquilizer gun I used on her.”

  Son of a bitch! Griff barely controlled his rage. “Let her go and you can name your price.”

  “Oh, Griff, how sweet. You actually care about our lovely Nicole, don’t you? But I’m afraid she is a rare and precious gem and we both know she is priceless.”

  Don’t try to bargain with him. He’s not going to release her. No matter what you offer him. He has plans for her that include killing her in twenty-one days. Tell him to go to hell, then hang up.

  Before Griff spoke again, the caller said, “For old times’ sake, I’ll give you a clue today and then another in ten days and a final clue in twenty days. If you can figure them out, you’ll know where she is.”

  Griff held his breath.

  “You might want to get pencil and paper and write this down so you won’t forget.” He laughed again.

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Go west, young man, go west, and stay south of the Misssuri River.”

  Silence.

  Message delivered.

  Griff tormented.

  Conversation ended.

  Griff clenched his teeth so tightly that his jaws ached.

  He stood alone in the bedroom and accepted the situation for what it was. The Hunter had chosen Nic as his next victim. No doubt he’d been planning her abduction from the very beginning of his evil game. And he’d been right—they hadn’t seen this one coming.

  Nic, honey, stay strong. Fight him with everything in you. Don’t let him win. Stay alive. I’ll move heaven and earth if necessary to find you.

  Nic came to, groggy and disoriented. Her muscles were sore. Her head ached. She opened her eyes slowly. Her vision was blurred.

  What the hell had happened to her?

  Think, Nic, think!

  She had left Griff asleep in her bed, gotten up, put on her walking gear, made coffee, drunk half a cup, and left the house. She had been on her way home when something had hit her in the back. An insect had stung her and it had hurt like crazy.

  Holy shit!

  Nic tried to move her arm behind her back so she could check for a bullet wound, but quickly discovered that her wrists were cuffed.

  She could rule out being in a hospital.

  Was she in jail?

  You’re not thinking straight, Baxter. Stand up and move around, see if you can get your bearings.

  By the time she managed to get to her feet, her vision had cleared enough for her to note that wherever she was, it was dark. All she saw was a single lightbulb dangling from an electrical cord hanging from the ceiling. She took one step, then another, and suddenly realized that her feet were manacled at the ankles.

  What the hell was going on?

  She scanned the area, right and left, front and back, up and down. She was in some kind of cellar. Dark, damp, dank. And creepy.

  At least she wasn’t scared of spiders.

  Oh, big deal, Nic. You ‘re handcuffed, your feet are manacled in chains, you have no memory of what happened to you, and you’re relieved that you aren’t afraid of spiders.

  Think rationally, will you!

  The truth of the matter was she didn’t want to accept what she suspected had happened. It would be too frigh
tening to admit that it was possible—even probable—that the Hunter had abducted her.

  Oh, God in heaven, please let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up safe in Griff’s arms.

  The handcuffs were real, as were the chains binding her ankles together. This cold, smelly basement was real, too. This whole thing was a bad dream, all right. She was living a nightmare.

  “Where are you?” she screamed as loudly as she could.

  No response.

  Instinct told her that he might not be able to hear her, but he was nearby and it was only a matter of time before he came to get her, to teach her the rules of his game.

  Griff’s plane landed at two thirty Monday morning. He hadn’t slept or eaten since Saturday night. When he disembarked, Sanders met him, and then instructed Jonathan to put the luggage in the back of the limousine.

  “All of Powell’s resources are being directed to this assignment,” Sanders said. “Per your instructions, every available agent will be working the case.”

  Griff nodded but said nothing. He was bone weary. And tormented by thoughts of what might be happening to Nic.

  Griff slid into the front of the limo and sat beside Sanders, who eased the vehicle out of the parking area and onto the roadway. They drove in silence for quite some time. Griff closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he kept seeing Nic smiling, Nic laughing, Nic shuddering beneath him as she climaxed.

  “He gave me a simple clue,” Griff finally said.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “West of Virginia is pretty much the rest of the country. And south of the Big Muddy—the Missouri River—could be any one of the Southern states including Texas.”

  “If it’s possible to find her, we—”

  “We have to find her!”

  “I understand how much you want to apprehend this man and how concerned you are about Special Agent Baxter,” Sanders said.

  “No, you don’t understand.”

  “Sir?”

  “She might be pregnant,” Griff said.