Desert Ice Daddy. Dana MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
moment to get a firmer hold on his famous calm. “It’d be better for the both of us if you didn’t.”
Gary’s face was turning a pale purple, his watery blue eyes bulging, his lips forming a barely audible “Yes.”
With effort, Akeem relaxed his hand, watched the guy scamper out of the car, then he backed down the driveway without looking at that sorry excuse for a man again.
He was dialing his phone as soon as he was back on the highway, calling the bank, telling them to have his money ready within the hour. The next call went to Mike, his security manager.
“I’m going to need a handgun,” he said. He had hunting rifles at home, but for this trip to the desert, he had different needs altogether.
“Yes, sir. I’ll have one cleaned, checked and ready for whenever you stop in.” Mike was good that way, didn’t ask too many questions, but was always prepared to do whatever needed doing.
“I might not make it into the office for the next couple of days.” If there was anything Taylor and Flint needed, he would be there for them for as long as they needed it. He could even sleep out there, which he hadn’t done in ages.
“Can you bring the gun over to my place in about two hours? Ammunition, too. And two bulletproof vests. One small,” he added after some thought.
“Yes, sir.”
Taylor would be going with him. He would have been willing to do anything to avoid that, to keep her from danger, but the kidnapper had been adamant. And it didn’t make all that much sense. What did they care, as long as they got the money? They probably figured Taylor would be easier to intimidate. They were wrong about that.
He’d seen the steel in her eyes. And didn’t want to think about what had to have happened to that tomboyish but still sweet and innocent girl he had once known to put all that hardness in her. Because if he thought about it, he would have to turn the car right around and go back to Gary. Which wouldn’t be the most productive thing at the moment, even if it would be the most satisfying.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mike was asking.
“Maybe. We’ll talk when you get to my place.” He thanked Mike and hung up the phone, his thoughts already on the next morning, on what he needed to do to protect Taylor and her son.
Route 109 led through a vast area the locals fondly called Hell’s Porch. While it wasn’t an official desert, its thousands of acres supported nothing but some brush and countless scorpions and snakes, some coyotes, quite a few wild hogs and the occasional cougar. The combination of which provided endless possibilities for anyone entering the area to get into some serious trouble.
But aside from all the wildlife, tomorrow it would also hide an unknown number of kidnappers probably all armed to the teeth and a little boy who was likely scared to death.
Enter the woman he loved.
With nothing but him to stand between them and out-and-out disaster.
“EVERYTHING GOOD?” the voice asked.
Jake Kenner grinned into the phone. “Better than good, boss. We’re getting the money today.” He ought to get a bonus for that. He sure hated waiting. The longer you sat around, the more chances for someone to figure something out or mess something up.
“What in blister-blazing hell are you talking about?”
“They wanted to bring the money early. It’s all set up,” he boasted, more than pleased with himself. He’d had his doubts about all this at the beginning, but he had handled it well, yessir, and he was really looking forward to that money. He shifted the chewing tobacco along his gum and spit some juice out, careful with his new boots he’d bought in anticipation of the money coming in.
“And who authorized that?” the voice shouted in rage, instead of praising him.
“I th-thought—” he stammered, growing uncertain now. “Sooner the better, ain’t it?” He shoved away the jewelry catalog his girlfriend had been leaving around her apartment for him as a hint, angry now that he’d brought it along. It’d be just his luck to have the whole job come to nothing and not get the money after all.
“Wasn’t I specific with the timing?” said the voice of dread.
He didn’t dare respond to that.
“What do you mean, they?” the voice asked then.
“Some guy’s gonna drive her.”
“For your sake, I hope this is some sick joke you’re making up.”
He stayed silent again, looking at the kid, who was watching him with hurt and betrayal in his large blue eyes, always watching. Jake didn’t bother with a mask. The kid would have recognized his voice anyway. And since he’d gone missing the same time as Christopher had, everyone already knew that he was involved. He was confident that when this was over, he could buy himself a new identity and disappear forever with his share of the money. He glanced at the boy again. He was a smart little kid, had a way with the horses, too, as little as he was, which Jake, a trainer, could appreciate.
He shrugged off the prickle of conscience. The kid would be back with his mother soon enough.
The boss growled. “Who in hell is coming with her?”
“Probably her brother,” he guessed.
“That bastard is out leading the search in a chopper. Watch out for that.”
Jake’s stomach clenched. The whole business was beginning to look bad suddenly. “You think she called in the pigs? She’s bringing an undercover cop?”
“Not a cop,” the voice snapped.
And the man ought to know. He’d assured Jake at the start that he had an inside connection with the cops, that everything would be taken care of. Jake would get his money with very little risk of trouble. Which he counted on. He had plenty of trouble from his creditors already.
“Probably some thug his brother hired to protect her. Do whatever you want with him. He’s dispensable. But whatever you do, you can’t let her and the boy go. I need time. Two more days. Can you idiots understand that?”
He didn’t like the tone of warning. He glanced at the other five guys the boss had recruited for the job. One was checking his gun, the other three were still sleeping. When had he become responsible for all of them?
He said the only thing he could. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Three
Taylor slept in fits, on and off, after a tense day where she had to pretend in front of the cops that nothing had happened, pretend disappointment when the men came back to the ranch to take care of the animals and rest, then pretend hope as they geared up for a night search and left again.
Crying in frustration was the easiest part. She didn’t have to pretend that.
At least Akeem and Gary hadn’t gotten into a fight on the way to Gary’s place. Neither sported any bruises this morning.
She sipped her coffee at the kitchen table, watching them talking quietly in the living room. They’d shown up at about the same time an hour ago. Gary looked sullen, but sober and willing to cooperate, which was what counted. He even had on clean, if wrinkled, clothes, his hat in hand.
He nodded one more time to whatever Akeem had told him, then left him and moseyed over to the cops. Akeem strode to the window. In a room full of tension, he was a bastion of calm and solid strength, his movements unhurried, his attention focused. He’d left his corporate gear behind for once, wearing blue jeans with a sand-colored Polo shirt and boots, reminding her of their younger days. Even in informal clothes, he looked every inch the prince of the desert that he was—a real prince, if estranged—something few knew about him beyond his circle