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Mysterious Millionaire
Cassie Miles
The maid and the millionaire Liz Norton’s private investigations were run-of-the-mill – until she went undercover on the wealthy Crawford estate. Posing as an unobtrusive housekeeper in what was supposed to be a routine case, she soon found herself in serious danger.She was forced to turn to Ben Crawford, an enigmatic single father fighting to keep his young daughter. Partnering the ruggedly handsome businessman only made Liz yearn to drop the charade. But there was a killer prowling the darkest corners of the mansion and Liz didn’t know who to trust…
He leaned in close, as if tokiss her.
If she’d wanted to shove him away, she had ample opportunity. In no way was he forcing himself or taking advantage. She should have objected…
Instead she tilted her chin up, welcoming his kiss. When his lips brushed hers, a brilliant flash of white heat exploded behind her eyes and blinded her to common sense. A burst of passion surged, forceful and challenging. She wanted the kiss to deepen and continue for long, intense moments. She wanted to know his body in every sense of the word. Her ferocious need for him felt like nothing she’d experienced, as though they were meant to be together.
She had to be mistaken. The maid and the millionaire?
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Liz Norton – Working her way through law school, earning money as a part-time karate instructor and part-time private eye, she goes undercover as a maid.
Ben Crawford – His reputation as a millionaire adventurer masks his hard work, dedication to his family and his love for his five-year-old daughter, Natalie.
Jerod Crawford – The seventy-six-year-old patriarch of the wealthy, powerful family suffers from a brain tumour.
Charlene Crawford – Jerod’s gold-digging trophy wife has a talent for ticking people off.
Patrice and Monte Welles – Ben’s sister and her husband expect to inherit a fortune when her grandfather dies.
Al Mancini – As an almost-retired general practitioner, the doctor is out of his element in treating a brain tumour.
Tony Lansing – His drinking problem clouds his judgement as the Crawford family attorney.
Ramon Stephens – A male model, he knows everybody’s secrets.
Victoria Crawford – Ben’s estranged wife is suing for sole custody of their daughter.
Annette Peltier – Being a housemaid sparks her Cinderella dreams and fantasies.
Rachel Frakes – As housekeeper for the Crawford family, she demands perfection from her staff.
Harry Schooner – The former cop and owner of Schooner Detective Agency looks forward to retirement.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For Cassie Miles, the best part about writing a story set in Eagle County near the Vail ski area is the ready-made excuse to head into the mountains for research. Though the winter snows are great for skiing, her favourite season is autumn, when the aspens turn gold.
The rest of the time Cassie lives in Denver, where she takes urban hikes around Cheesman Park, reads a ton and critiques often. Her current plans include a Vespa and a road trip, despite eye-rolling objections from her adult children.
Mysterious Millionaire
CASSIE MILES
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To those who love guitars and wooden boats.
As always, to Rick.
Chapter One
Being a part-time private eye put a serious crimp in Liz Norton’s social life. At half-past eleven on a Friday night in May, she ought to be wearing lip gloss, dancing, flirting and licking the suds off a beer that somebody else had paid for. Instead, she’d spent the past two hours and seventeen minutes on stakeout with Harry Schooner, her sixty-something boss.
She slouched behind the steering wheel of Harry’s beat-up Chevy. Even with the windows cracked for ventilation, she still smelled stale hamburger buns from the crumpled bags littering the backseat. On the plus side, the cruddy, old car blended with the rundown Denver neighborhood where they were parked at the curb away from the streetlight, watching and waiting.
In the passenger seat, Harry pressed his fist against his chest and grunted.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Heartburn.”
His digestive system provided a source of constant complaint. Long ago, she’d given up lecturing him on the evils of a strictly fast-food diet. “Did you take your pill?”
“What are you? My mother?”
“A concerned employee,” she said. “If you keel over from a heart attack, where am I going to find another job as glamorous as this one?”
He peeled off the silver wrapping on a roll of antacid tablets, popped the last one in his mouth and tossed the wrapper over his shoulder into the trashed-out backseat. “That reminds me. You’re done with your semester. Right?”
“Took my last exam two days ago.”
At age twenty-six, she’d put herself halfway through law school. The accomplishment made her proud, even though she still heard echoes of her mother’s refrain: “Why bother with an education? The only way a girl likeyou can make it is to find a man to support you.” This bit of advice came right before the grooming tips: “Lightenyour hair, shorten your skirts and stand up straight soyour boobs stick out.”
Of course, Liz did the exact opposite. Her thick, multicolored blond hair remained undyed and unstyled—except for her own occasional hacking to keep the jagged ends near chin-length. Her wardrobe included exactly one skirt—knee-length and khaki—that she’d picked up at a thrift store for a buck. Mostly, she wore jeans and T-shirts. Tonight, a faded brown one under a black windbreaker. As for Mom’s advice to show off her chest, Liz had given up on that plan long ago. Even if she arched her back like a pretzel, nobody would ever confuse her with a beauty queen.
Her twice-married mom had actually done her a favor when she’d shoved her only daughter out the door on her eighteenth birthday and told her that she was on her own.
Liz had done okay. Without a man.
Harry groaned again and shifted in the passenger seat. “You’ll come to work for me full-time during your summer break. I could use the help. I’m getting too damn old for this job.”
“Thanks, Harry.” She’d been counting on this summer job. “But I still need Monday and Wednesday nights free to teach the under-twelve kids at the karate school.”
“I got no problem with that.” He made a wheezy noise through his nostrils and shrugged his heavy shoulders. His formerly athletic physique had settled into a doughy lump. Only his close-cropped white hair suggested the discipline of long-ago military service and twenty years as a cop. “How’s my grandson doing at karate?”
“Not exactly a black belt, but he’s hanging in there.” She’d met Harry at Dragon Lou’s Karate School when he’d come to watch his six-year-old grandson and ended up offering Liz a couple of part-time assignments.
Some aspects of being a P. I. were just plain nasty, like serving subpoenas or confirming the suspicions of a heartbroken wife about her cheating husband. But Liz enjoyed the occasional undercover disguise. Most of all, she liked grumpy old Harry and his two grown daughters. The Schooners represented the family she’d never had.
She peered through the scummy windshield at a ramshackle bungalow, landscaped with weeds and two rusty vehicles up on blocks. Gangsta music blared through the open windows. In the past hour, a half-dozen visitors had come and gone. She’d caught glimpses of three or four skinny children playing, even though it was way past normal bedtime, and she hoped the drug dealers inside the house weren’t selling in front of the kids. Or to them.
“Are you sure we have the right address?”
“My source gave me the place, but not the time. He’ll be here tonight.” Harry rubbed his palms together. “Once we have photos of Mr. Crawford making a drug buy, we’re in for a real big payday.”
Liz found it hard to believe that Ben Crawford—millionaire adventurer and playboy—would show up in person. Didn’t rich people hire underlings to do their dirty work?
But she hoped Harry was right. The Schooner Detective Agency could use the cash. They’d been retained by Ben’s estranged wife, Victoria, who wanted enough dirt on her husband to void the prenup and gain sole custody of their five-year-old daughter. Photos of Ben making a drug buy would insure that Victoria got what she wanted, and she’d promised a huge bonus for the results.
Though Liz felt a twinge of regret about separating a father from his child, Ben Crawford deserved to be exposed. He’d been born with every advantage and was throwing his life away on drugs. In her book, that made him a lousy human being and definitely an unfit father.
A shiny, black Mustang glided to the curb in front of the house. This had to be their millionaire.
Harry shoved the camera into her hands. “You take the pictures. Don’t worry. I’ll back you up.”
“Stay in the car, Harry.”
“Get close to the front window,” he said as he flipped open the glove compartment and took out an ancient Remington automatic.
A jolt of adrenaline turned her stakeout lethargy to tension. If Harry started waving his gun, this situation could get ugly. “Put that thing away.”
“Don’t you worry, Missy. I don’t plan to shoot anybody.” With another grunt, he opened his car door. “Go for the money shot. Crawford with the drugs in his hand.”
The camera was foolproof—geared to automatically focus and adjust to minimal lighting. But she doubted she’d get a chance to use it. Most of the visitors to the house went inside, did their business and came out with hands shoved deeply into their pockets.
She darted across the street toward the dealer’s house and ducked behind one of the junker cars in the driveway. Ben Crawford stood at the front door beside a bare bulb porch light. His shaggy brown hair fell over the collar of his worn denim shirt, only a few shades lighter than his jeans. He looked like a tall, rangy cowboy who had somehow gotten lost in the big city.
Holding the camera to her eye, Liz zoomed in on his face. Wow. Not only rich but incredibly good-looking, he had a firm jaw, high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. What was he doing here?
She pulled back on the zoom to include the dealer in his black mesh T-shirt and striped track pants. He pushed open the torn screen door and stepped onto the concrete slab porch under a rusted metal awning.
The pounding beat of rap music covered any noise Liz made as she clicked off several photos to make sure she caught them together.
Instead of going inside, Ben remained on the porch. For a moment, she hoped he wasn’t here to make a buy, that there was a legitimate reason. Then he pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. The dealer handed over three brown, plastic vials.
Click. Click. Click. She had the money shot. A big payday for the Schooner Detective Agency.
The two men shook hands. Ben pivoted and returned to his Mustang while the dealer stood on the porch and watched Ben’s taillights as he drove away.
Another man with a scraggly beard staggered outside and pointed.
Liz glanced over her shoulder to see what they were looking at. Harry crouched between two cars at the curb, his white hair gleaming in the moonlight.
“Hey, old man.” The dealer came off the porch. “What the hell you doing?”
Harry straightened his stiff joints. “Guess I got lost.”
“You watching us?” The two men stepped into the yard. From down the street, she heard ferocious barking, the prelude to a fight, and she knew Harry wasn’t up to it.
She stashed the camera in the pocket of her windbreaker and rushed toward her partner. “There you are, Gramps. I’ve been looking all over for you.” To the two men in the yard, she said, “Sorry if he bothered you. He wanders sometimes.”
Their cold sneers told her that they weren’t buying her story. The dealer snapped, “Stop right there, bitch.”
“I’ll just take Gramps home and—”
The crack of a gunshot brought her to a halt. She froze at the edge of the yard, praying that Harry wouldn’t return fire. A shootout wouldn’t be good for anybody.
Liz turned and faced the two men, who swaggered toward her. Her pulse raced, not so much from fear as uncertainty. She didn’t know what to expect. Forcing an innocent smile, she said, “There’s no need for guns.”
“What’s in your pocket? You carrying heat?”
As long as they didn’t immobilize her, she ought to be able to take these two guys. Her five years studying martial arts at Dragon Lou’s gave her an edge. Liz was capable of shattering a cinderblock with her bare hand.
From across the street, Harry yelled, “Leave her alone.”
Please, Harry. Please don’t use your gun. She had to act fast. No time to wait and see.
Liz aimed a flying kick at the bearded guy, neatly disarming him. Before his buddy could react, she whirled, chopped at his arm and kicked again. Though her hand missed, the heavy sole of her boot connected with his knee, and he stumbled.
The bearded man grabbed her forearm. Worst possible scenario. Both men had more brute strength than she did. Her advantage was speed and agility. She twisted and flipped, wrenching her arm free. He still clung to the sleeve of her windbreaker. She escaped by slipping out of her jacket.
Before they could brace themselves for another assault, she unleashed a series of kicks and straight-hand chops. Not a pretty, precise display. She wouldn’t win any tournament points for style, but she got the job done with several swift blows to vulnerable parts of their anatomy. Throat. Gut. Groin.
Both were on their knees.
Another man rushed out the door. And another.
Behind her back, she heard Harry fire his automatic. Five shots.
She ran for the car.
Harry collapsed into the passenger side as she dived behind the wheel and cranked the ignition. Without turning on the headlights, she burned rubber and tore down the street.
Gunfire exploded behind them.
Liz didn’t cut her speed until they reached a major intersection, where she turned on the headlights and merged into traffic. Her heart hammered inside her rib cage. They could have been killed. The aftermath of intense danger exploded behind her eyelids like belated fireworks.
Thank God for Dragon Lou and his martial arts training.
Beside her in the passenger seat, Harry was breathing heavily. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Did you get the pictures?”
She cringed. “The camera was in my windbreaker. The bearded guy pulled it off me.”
“It’s okay.”
“But you’re not.” She took note of his pasty complexion and heaving chest. “I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Kick the old man out of the way and take over his business.”
“Yeah, that’s my evil plan. Adding your debt to my student loans.” Sarcasm covered her concern for him. “That’s every girl’s dream.”
“Seriously, Liz. I don’t need a doc.” He exhaled in a long whoosh that dissolved into a hacking cough. “This was a little too much excitement for the old ticker.”
“Is this your way of telling me that you have heart problems?”
