скачать книгу бесплатно
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, after 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.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said as vaguely as possible with her heart pounding. That bad feeling had morphed into something resembling fear. Call it intuition, call it ESP, but Amy was suddenly certain this whole charade might just be a really bad idea.
“Why, a marriage between you and John, what else?” Beckman said as if she should have known precisely what he meant.
Marriage?
“You really expect Re—” Amy caught herself just in time “—me to marry a man I don’t even know?” Well, there. She’d said it plainly enough. If Regina had, in fact, met John before, Amy’s cover was blown completely.
A kind of haughtiness that bordered on ugly flickered in Beckman’s eyes. “Let’s be honest here,” he said, his tone matching his hateful expression. “It’s not as if you’re some naive little maiden now, is it? As I understand it, you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself among the rich bachelors in the Chicago area. I’d say this is your one chance to redeem yourself.”
Fury boiled up inside Amy. Fury for Regina Winterborne. How dare this man speak so harshly about her when the woman wasn’t even here to defend herself.
But then…he didn’t know that.
Well, she’d just have to do the defending.
“I beg your pardon,” Amy retorted, allowing him to hear and see the depth of her indignation.
Beckman smirked. “Come on, Miss Winterborne, I’ve heard all about your exploits. The last one…what was his name?” Beckman stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Ah yes, Kevin something-or-other. He helped you go through a few hundred thousand of your daddy’s money and then he disappeared. Does that about sum up your most recent relationship?”
Kevin…that was the name of the guy Regina had been speaking with when Amy arrived. She was running off to meet him at that very moment. In Vegas no less. Amy blinked, momentarily disconcerted. Should she just tell Beckman the truth here and now? What if she were wrong? What if Calhoun was all that he appeared to be and Regina was the wacky one? What if Amy had this thing all wrong?
Then she remembered the suspicions in the report. Suspicions that amounted to far worse than having a fling and running through a little money with a scumbag boyfriend.
Amy leaned forward, putting herself several inches closer to the condescending jerk who’d dragged her into this mess. “Mr. Beckman, you have no idea who I am. That you would judge me on such hearsay is appalling. Perhaps I should take up the issue with Mr. Calhoun when we arrive.”
Beckman’s smirk wilted instantly. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Winterborne. I’m certain you’re right.” He squirmed a bit more before he added, “You surely understand that Mr. Calhoun’s well-being is my only concern in the matter. I simply would hate to see his heart broken.”
Amy doubted his sincerity but let it go at that. Besides, she was pretty sure Mr. John Robert Calhoun, IV, could take care of himself. He certainly looked man enough. Another shiver swept over her skin. In fact, she imagined he could take care of most anything. Like a toe-curling, full-body orgasm. The kind magazines raved about all the time. The kind she’d never had. What was she saying? She hadn’t had one, period, in about two years. Work, she reminded herself. She was too busy for a personal life.
John Calhoun, IV, would be about work. No matter how good-looking, no matter how seemingly perfect, she would not be swayed from her ultimate goal. Cracking his apparently impervious veneer and revealing the fraud behind it would certainly test her ability. Would show once and for all that she was agent material. Amy had faith in herself. She’d wanted this opportunity for far too long to allow anything to stop her. Not for love nor money would she be deterred.
Mr. Calhoun had better be on his toes because Amy Wells was onto him.
JOHN JERKED his string tie loose once more and muttered a curse. Why the hell did it matter what he looked like? This weekend wasn’t about what he looked like or even what he wanted in life, it was about closing the deal his father had worked half a lifetime to bring to fruition.
