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“I have no idea. I’m only repeating what I heard.”
He made a face. An infant decomposing for thirty years was a ghastly image, especially with a stuffed pony that played a lullaby by its side. “Does Reed have anything to do with the baby? Did they mention him?”
“I didn’t hear anyone say his name.”
“Who was having this conversation?” he asked, keeping his voice as low, as cautious as hers. “Exactly who did you eavesdrop on?”
“Denny Halloway’s sons. Brian and his brother, Richard. They were talking to their security chief.”
Justin pictured her skulking in a doorway, straining to hear their cryptic words. “Is Brian the boss?”
“Yes, and Richard is the underboss. But I only picked up bits and pieces of what they were saying.”
“That they aren’t going to hurt me? That I’m important to them?” His thoughts scattered. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
She hesitated, and he wondered if his question had given her goose bumps. He imagined her running her hands over her arms, up and down chilled skin.
“Do you?” she finally asked.
“Traditional Cherokees do,” he responded.
“Are you Cherokee?”
“I’m a quarter-blood. From my father’s side.” He considered his culture. “They say that murdered souls are forced to roam the earth, unable to go to the next world.”
“Why are you talking about murdered souls?”
“Because I think that baby was killed. Otherwise its death would have been registered. There would have been a legal burial.”
“The Halloways didn’t talk as if it had been murdered. It seemed important to them, too. Like you,” she added softly.
“Me and a dead baby. How creepy is that?” He shook his head. “This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“It’s strange for me, too. I keep hoping I’m doing the right thing. Involving you in my life.”
Was that what she was doing? He couldn’t tell. So far she’d revealed nothing about herself, nothing tangible, nothing he could grasp.
Moonlight drifted into the room, but it wasn’t bright enough to illuminate her, to give him a clearer image.
Was she wearing a nightgown? Or a filmy dress? He noticed how flowing her garment looked, how sleek and watery.
Of course the Mickey medication was still messing with his mind, still distorting his vision.
But even so, he pictured her in silk. And he suspected that she was a brunette. Her hair seemed as dark as the night that shrouded them.
He fingered the sheet and felt it slide against his hand. “Are you as beautiful as I imagine you are?”
Her breath caught. He could hear the quick, sharp sound. “I didn’t come here to feed your imagination, Justin.”
“You know my name?”
“I heard them say it.”
He knew it was crazy, but somewhere in his drugged-out mind, he was attracted to her, to a woman he couldn’t even see. The whispered lilt of her voice sent God-help-me heat up his spine.
“Why didn’t you call the police after you realized they’d kidnapped me?” he asked. “That’s what most people would have done.”
“I couldn’t take that chance. If the Halloways found out it was me who made the call…”
“Dialing nine-one-one would’ve been easier than slipping into my room. You could have got police protection if you’d made the call.”
“Yes, but I would have been forced to leave the mansion. And I want to stay here. I need to stay.”
He couldn’t begin to understand her. She talked in riddles. “Why?” he asked. “Tell me why you insist on living here. Give me a reason to help you.”
She hesitated, and he waited.
Finally she gave in. Her voice turned sad, shaky, isolated. “Someone in my family went missing. I don’t have any proof, but I believe the Halloways are involved.” Silence fractured the air, then she added, “So will you promise to help me later? Will you promise to be there?”
He wasn’t about to refuse. If the Halloways had kidnapped him, maybe they’d kidnapped her loved one, too? Then again, she kept saying the mob wasn’t going to hurt him. “I promise. I’ll do what I can.” When he wasn’t sedated, he thought. When he could think clearly.
“Thank you.” She moved toward him. Within the blink of a blurry eye, she was almost touching him again.
Almost.
“I better go,” she whispered. “But I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”
He kept silent. Next time he would make sure that he had access to a light so he could see her.
Next time?
He should be plotting an escape, but she compelled him instead, haunting him like the angel she was.
Her footsteps sounded softly. As she made her way to the door that would take her out of his suite and back to the mansion, he struggled to focus his gaze.
To watch her shadowy form disappear.
Sunshine blasted through the blinds, invading the room. Justin squinted at the clock. It was the middle of the afternoon.
He sat up and tested his equilibrium. He was hung over, feeling the aftereffects, but the drug itself had worn off. Or so he hoped. He climbed out of bed and thanked the Creator when his feet hit solid ground.
And then his world went woozy again. Not literally. But figuratively. A big clumsy puppy that had been sleeping on the floor jumped up and bounded toward him.
The black dog yipped and wiggled, but he could only stare. With its Dumbo ears and droopy eyes, the mutt looked like Chester, his childhood pet.
Only Chester had been dead for nineteen years.
“Where’d you come from?” he finally said.
The dog grinned in response. He wasn’t Chester. He wasn’t a canine ghost. But his uncanny resemblance to Justin’s boyhood companion threw him for a loop.
Wary, he checked out the suite, the puppy on his heels. Nothing. No one. Nada. Whoever had dropped off the dog was gone.
So this time he took a closer look around. He went into the walk-in closet and saw that his suitcase had been unpacked. His clothes were hanging on wooden hangers. Even the shirt that had been stripped from him was there, laundered and pressed.
Apparently he was a welcome guest, a valued captive, just as his nighttime angel had said.
He walked into the bathroom. His toiletries, the travel-size toothbrush, toothpaste and shaving kit he’d brought along, were lined up on the counter. Complimentary bottles of shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap had been provided, much like a hotel. They were the brands he used at home.
He doubted the suite had been readied while he’d been occupying it. They’d probably done it before they’d even carried him in here.
The puppy pestered him for attention. He didn’t want to get attached, so he ignored the goofy mutt and headed for the sitting room, where leather couches and an entertainment center dominated the masculine décor.
A sculpture by Frederic Remington, his favorite western artist, was displayed in a glass case. Justin had a recasting of it at home. But he suspected that this was the real deal.
Original Remingtons rarely came on the market, and when they did, major museums and private collectors scooped them up at astronomical prices.
But the Halloways could afford it, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the statue had commanded a four or five-million-dollar price tag.
Had they purchased it to impress him? To entice him?
Taking a chance, he went to the main door and tried to open it. It didn’t budge. It didn’t even rattle. He was still holed up. But aside from the hangover, he was clearheaded, which meant the mob wanted him to be coherent. If they didn’t, they would have sedated him again instead of dropping off a dog.
Justin checked the French door in the bedroom and discovered it was unlocked, the terrace providing a place for the pooch to pee. When he went outside, he realized that he was on the third floor.
He examined the view. Lush grounds erupted into stone walkways, bubbling fountains and leafy plants and flowers.
Would this be his eventual escape route? Could he climb down the terrace without tripping an alarm? And if he got to the bottom safely, could he scale the cement wall that framed the yard and disappear without getting caught? Not likely. He spotted a uniformed guard at the edge of the building. But for now it didn’t matter. He wasn’t ready to leave, not until he found out why the mob had kidnapped him. And then, of course, there was his angel. Between his circumstances and hers, his mind was cluttered with unanswered questions. No, he thought. He wasn’t about to attempt a premature escape.
Needing to combat his hangover, he took a shower. After soaping down and washing his hair, he combed it straight back and frowned at his hard-edged reflection in the mirror. His former fiancée used to say that he looked like a desperado, especially when he neglected to shave, so he grabbed a disposable razor and went to work on the stubble.
With a towel wrapped around his waist he came out of the bathroom, and the dog whined at him.
“Fine. I’ll pet you.” He reached down to scratch the mutt’s elephant ears.
The happy-assed, ugly-as-sin dog rolled over on his back, exposing his belly and kicking his feet in the air.
So much for not getting attached. Justin decided to call him Lester since it rhymed with Chester.
He got dressed and took the puppy onto the terrace. Justin stood there for about fifteen minutes, checking out the situation again, wondering if he would be able to get past the guard at night, if when the time came, he could—
“I’d suggest using the stairs,” a deep voice said from behind him.
He spun around and stared at the giant who’d uttered those smart-mouthed words.
Instinctively, Justin clenched his fists. His opponent outweighed him by at least eighty pounds, but Justin had the advantage of youth. The Hulk was probably on the far side of sixty.
“I’m glad you’re up and about. But I figured you would be by now.” The other man extended a beefy hand and introduced himself. “Leo Gordon. I’m in charge of security.”
Justin didn’t return the gesture. “Screw you,” he said instead. He wanted to kick the crap out of the security chief, not make friends with him.
Leo grinned. He had a slightly crooked smile and a nose that had probably been broken a dozen times. His razor-buzzed, pseudo-military hair spiked into fuzzy gray points. He was dressed in a dark suit, as if he were trying to pass himself off as civilized. His shoes were high-dollar loafers.
“You’ve got balls,” Leo said. “Like your old man.”
Justin angled his head. “My old man?”
“Your dad. We were friends. Once upon a time.”
Justin considered Michael Elk, his half-Cherokee father, the man who’d taught him right from wrong. Dad had been a hellion in his day, but his rebellious antics had been petty, smoking-in-the-boy’s-room kind of stuff, not consorting with the mob. That had been Uncle Reed’s turf. Or so Justin had been told. But now he didn’t know what to think.
Unfazed by the tension, Lester yapped happily at Leo, and the security chief picked him up, allowing the mutt to give him an affectionate nuzzle. But he’d probably brought the puppy to the room to begin with.
“Where am I?” Justin asked, pretending that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. That he didn’t have an angel on his side. “Whose house is this?”
“It’s the Halloway mansion.” Leo cradled the dog.
“Halloway?” He repeated the name, playing his part, doing his damnedest to seem surprised. “Like the Hollywood Mob?”
“You catch on quick, kid.” Leo didn’t smile. No more half-cocked expressions. “We need to cut the chitchat and get going. Your family is anxious to see you.”
Justin flinched. His parents were here? Had they been abducted, too? And what about his sister? She was in Europe, but had they gotten to her, as well? “My family? If you did anything to them, I’ll kill you.”
“Lighten up. They’re fine. Now let’s go.”
Justin followed Leo out of the suite and into the mansion, where the architecture made an affluent statement. When they came to a sweeping staircase, Leo started his descent. Lester rode with his chin propped on the security chief’s shoulder.
The puppy gazed at Justin and barked excitedly, as if they were on a grand adventure. Leo didn’t falter. He simply patted the dog to quiet him.
When they reached a black-and-white tiled foyer, the other man finally stopped and turned. “This way,” he said, indicating a gentleman’s parlor.
Sturdy sofas and wing-back chairs governed the room, with chestnut tables and built-in bookcases.
Justin glanced around, looking for familiar faces. But the parlor was empty. “Where’s my family?”
“They’ll be here.” Leo put Lester down, and the puppy scampered around. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.” Leo stood, too. He took an unassuming spot by a window where burgundy drapes, loaded with tassels and trim, were open, displaying a cluster of palm trees and a rolling-green lawn. As he adjusted his jacket, he flashed the holstered gun clipped to his belt.
Justin gave him a hard look. He wanted to jam his fist down the security chief’s throat. And he would, when all of this was over, when he knew his family was safe.
A uniformed maid wheeled a serving cart into the office, and Leo snapped at her. “You’re intruding on a private meeting.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she responded in a respectful tone. “But the chef sent me. Mr. B. requested some hors d’oeuvres.”
Leo waved his hand, allowing her to proceed.
