Heiress Under Fire Page 2

  “I’ve been engaged four times,” Farren went on. Talking relaxed her and that caller had made her nervous. Now that the excitement had passed, she couldn’t stop herself. “I must never have gotten over the way I was raised. I never felt like I was part of a real family and I always wanted one. And the older I get the more I panic I’ll never have one. Payton came along and seemed to like me. He was a decent man.”

  Delphie’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Okay, I thought he was decent. That’s the problem, don’t you see? I think anyone is decent as long as they want me. I’m desperate.” She had to be. “Why couldn’t I see Payton never really wanted me? I never even loved him. I just wanted him to marry me and get me pregnant. I would have ended up miserable and lonely and unloved. I should have known better. I should have known he was bad for me when he made fun of my radio collection. What’s wrong with collecting old radios? Why did he think that was so silly? I got straight A’s in college but you would never know it. I’m as stupid as they come with men. Blonde jokes? That’s me.” She held up some of her long blond hair for emphasis.

  “All right.” Delphie held her hand up against Farren’s unending chatter. “I’ll go to my sister’s” She sighed in exasperation. “When you get going like that, I know there’s no arguing with you. It’s either agree or listen to you talk for the next two hours.”

  Farren smiled. “You will? You’ll go?”

  “And you aren’t stupid. You just haven’t found the right man yet.”

  “What if I never do?”

  “Payton is a politician. You were too honest for him. You’re right, your only problem is you aren’t patient. You need to wait for the right one. Don’t leap into engagements just because someone asks.”

  “Yeah, I know I have no sense when it comes to men.”

  Delphie angled her head and contemplated Farren with warmth in her eyes. “Just stop looking for it. Don’t try so hard. It’ll happen when it happens.”

  Farren wasn’t so sure. “I wish it was that simple.” Delphie gave her hand a squeeze. “Be careful in Turkey. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

  “I’m not going to look for a man, so that should be no problem.”

  Elam Rhule stepped out of the car and thanked the driver. Crystalline blue sky and towering mountain peaks all but swallowed Roaring Creek, Colorado. Winters had to be brutal here. Not a soul stirred in the early May chill. He glanced across the street as the car drove away. A sign above the door of an old brick building read Rock Miser Books & Coffee.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why a man with Cullen McQueen’s reputation would headquarter his top secret counter-terror organization in a town like this. Where the hell was he? Bedrock?

  He started up the narrow sidewalk toward the front door of RC Mountaineering. The two-story building almost had as much charm as the bookstore, minus frilly white curtains and shutters trimming the windows. The front door opened and Cullen appeared.

  “It’s about time you got here.”

  “My flight was delayed,” Elam said. He’d flown to a small airstrip just outside town. “Sorry to keep your driver waiting.”

  Cullen stepped aside to let him enter. The main room and what once must have been a kitchen was full of climbing gear, backpacks, camping equipment and other backcountry paraphernalia. To his left, stairs led up to the second level.

  Behind a checkout counter to his left, Odelia Frank spoke into a phone. Her dark eyes rolled over to see him, strands of equally dark hair deceptively sexy and feminine, framing her striking face. She winked at him. He smiled. Now there was a woman who did not fit small-town life. He wondered how much longer the tough ex-Army operations captain would last up here.

  “You’ve been talking to your boyfriend for an hour,” Cullen told her as he led Elam toward a door across the room. “I’m going to send you the bill.”

  Odie flipped him the bird and turned her back, leaning a shapely hip against the counter. If Elam didn’t know she was seeing someone, he’d have already had her in bed.

  Chuckling, Cullen entered a code into a keypad next to the door.

  “You afraid Fred Flintstone is going to see us?” Elam asked as he followed him down a narrow flight of stairs.

  At the bottom, Cullen turned to look back, not amused—if his expression was any clue. He had no sense of humor when it came to fighting terrorism, a trait Elam respected more than his six-foot-five powerhouse of a boss knew.

  “Sorry. I just didn’t expect this office to be so—” Elam looked around the simply decorated basement that had been finished into an office “—small.”

  He sat in one of two old wood chairs before the desk, watching Cullen do the same in a more comfortable one behind the desk. Catching sight of a photograph next to a flat-screen computer monitor, he gained a little insight into the location of Cullen’s headquarters. A beautiful redhead with stunning green eyes smiled above the head of a baby girl who had eyes just like her. No doubt that’s what had drawn him here.

  “Don’t let the image of fatherhood fool you,” Cullen said.

  Elam turned from the photograph. “It doesn’t.” He’d read all the press over Sabine O’Clery’s rescue. At the time he’d shaken his head and marveled at how a man could be so careless, losing his head over a woman like that, future wife or not. But careless was not a word anyone could attach to Cullen. He’d brought his company back from ashes, restructured and renamed and relocated. Tactical Executive Security, or TES as the company was called now, did far more than assess infrastructure security for the government. The mountaineering shop was only a guise for the locals in Roaring Creek.

  “I guess I just forgot you were married,” Elam said.

  Cullen breathed a single laugh. “I can see why.”

  Elam raised his brow.

  “I was a lot like you once,” he explained. “You think having a family can’t happen to you, so you put it in the back of your mind.”

  Elam forced himself to smile. “Give me a woman who doesn’t bolt because she’s tired of wondering if I’ll come home alive, and I’ll keep her.”

  “You’ve met a lot of women who bolt?”

  “One was enough.” And he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. His one attempt at marriage had ended in tragedy, adding to a list of them. He wasn’t eager to try again.

  Cullen’s expression sobered and Elam knew what he was thinking. He knew all about his past. About how he’d awakened to television reports of an airplane exploding into the World Trade Center. About how he’d waited for word that his severely depressed mother was all right when a deeper part already knew she was gone, taking the last vestiges of his family with her.

  “You said you heard from Osman Alfandari,” Elam said to get the conversation back to business.

  Cullen nodded. “He has news of a growing cell developing just outside Bodrum. We’ve identified the leader.”

  “And you want me to go in and take him out.”

  “He’s not on anybody’s radar and it will take too long to put him there. We have a narrow window of opportunity. I want him stopped before he gets dangerous. You’re my best sniper and you can work alone. I also trust you not to get killed.”

  His boss did have a fierce streak when it came to losing his men. “I’m touched,” he quipped. “What’s my target’s name?”

  “Ameen Al-Jabbar. He’s been nosing around Bodrum. Checked in at the Marina Vista Hotel yesterday and booked a week. I’d like to put a crimp in any plans he might have of car bombing a busy tourist attraction.”

  “You think he’s scoping out a target?”

  “Osman talked to a man who was in contact with one of Ameen’s followers. They’re planning more than one hit. Bodrum looks like the first.”

  So, if Elam took out Ameen, it would stall, if not stop, the group’s plans and give TES more time to finish them off.

  “When do I leave?”

  “This afternoon. Commercial. So you look like a tourist. You’l
l fly back to Denver today and depart for Turkey from there.”

  “What about equipment?”

  “Osman will meet you at the airport. He’ll have everything you need.”

  Elam took the e-ticket Cullen handed him and stood. “You’ve made this easy for me.”

  “There’s nothing easy about killing.”

  No, but he’d had plenty of practice. He slipped the e-ticket into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and turned. Killing was a job to him. He did it to make a difference, and he never missed.

  Chapter 2

  It had been a long flight into Bodrum yesterday and Farren was tired, but anxiety had kept her from getting much sleep. She couldn’t believe it had only been two days ago that she’d gotten that scary call. Running her hand along the rail, she moved toward the bow of Haven, the yacht she’d chartered. The crew hadn’t come back yet and the captain had said he needed to go into town before their scheduled departure. She had the yacht all to herself. She was pretty sure the captain had made up an excuse to get away from her. He seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open when she talked. It happened sometimes. Delphie once told her she could suck the energy out of an evangelist.

  Hearing a boat approach, she looked toward the stern but couldn’t see anything. The boat engine died. The crew must have returned from shore. They were moored close to the docks of Bodrum Marina.

  She sighed and tried to let her surroundings relax her. Turquoise water lapped the sides of the yacht. Classic architecture studded the shoreline, the sprawling Castle of St. Peter drawing her eye. The majestic structure was now a museum, and she’d spent a good portion of the morning taking in ancient artifacts and the history that accompanied them. This afternoon they’d sail to Marmaris. Then she’d have a day before the festival began and she could search for the yacht called Lucky. Hopefully someone on board could tell her why a man was threatening her for three million dollars.

  Trailing her hand along the rail again, she moved toward the stern. Seeing a dinghy in the water, she wondered why no one had lifted it onto the Haven yet. Coming closer, she saw that it wasn’t even tied to the yacht. Just then the muffled rumble of the yacht engine started. She hadn’t seen the captain return. He’d taken an inflatable dinghy. Her brow tightened with the thought.

  The yacht lurched into motion. Farren grabbed on to the railing to keep from losing her balance. The vessel turned to sea. Pretty soon, the sound of water spraying grew louder. Her hair began to whip around in the breeze. The dinghy and marina grew smaller as the yacht sailed farther to sea.

  Why were they going so fast? And where was the crew? She should have seen someone by now. Her heart picked up a few extra beats.

  She used the rail to make her way to the bow, looking up toward the flybridge. A man with dark hair and eyes and a trimmed beard maneuvered the vessel. Not the captain. Not a crewman. He looked down and saw her.

  Who was that? Her pulse shot into rapid flight. What was he doing aboard this yacht? She was afraid she already knew.

  She searched the deck for anyone else. There was no one. She looked back at the flybridge. The man was gone. He reemerged portside along the rail, striding toward her, pulling a knife from a holder hidden by his hanging shirt. He had a piece of rope in his other hand.

  Choking back a scream, Farren stumbled into a run, racing down the other side of the yacht. Reaching the stern, she pulled open the salon door and ran into the main cabin on the vessel. Footsteps pounded behind her. The man grabbed her wrist. She yanked it free, but the movement caused her to lose her balance. She stumbled and fell onto her hands. The man tossed the rope onto the couch to her left, and then knelt on one knee. Before she could get away, he gripped a handful of her hair and pulled her back against him. She felt the knife under her chin. Stark terror ripped through her.

  “Please,” she begged, hating that she had. “Don’t.”

  He said something in a language she didn’t understand. Oh, God. Her mind raced with panic. Gripping her arm, he hauled her to her feet and forced her to face him. The point of the knife now pressed against her throat. She tipped her head as far back as she could to ease the pressure. The angle allowed her to see his gaze slide down the front of her. She still wore the silk shorts and blouse outfit from her excursion to shore. Thankfully she hadn’t changed into a swimsuit. That didn’t seem to matter to him. When his eyes lifted and met hers, a weight of dread sank through her. Cold, dark lust stared back at her.

  She felt her body begin to tremble. A whimper escaped despite her struggle to control her fear. The man gave her a rough shove and she fell onto a chair adjacent to the couch.

  “Do not move,” he said in English.

  She sat frozen, staring at the shiny blade he now held in front of her nose.

  He leaned to her right and retrieved the rope. Putting the knife on the top of a shelf next to the couch, he caught her wrists. She tried to pull away from his hold, but he wrapped the rope around her wrists with quick, strong hands. When he let go to reach for the knife, she scrambled off the chair and tried to crawl away from him on her knees. He took a handful of hair and yanked, slamming her against the chair, then raised his hand and slapped her hard. She fell to her right, hitting her head on the edge of the shelving. Dizzy, she moaned, feeling blood trickle from a cut. She had to stay coherent in order to think of a way out of this situation. But what could she do? He had a knife and she was trapped on a yacht with him.

  Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look at him.

  “Do not move or I will kill you.”

  His voice sounded different from the one who’d called her. Higher. Not as deep. Maybe this wasn’t related to the threat.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” she asked.

  “You should not have come here,” he said. “Now you will do as you were told.”

  Definitely related. The man who’d threatened her must have had her followed and sent this one after her. To what? Kidnap her? Force her to perform the wire transfer? If so, maybe she wouldn’t be killed right away. But once the transfer was complete…what then?

  “Do not move.” The man stood, taking his knife with him as he left the salon. Long seconds later, she felt the yacht turn and pick up speed.

  She used her teeth to work the knot in the rope. She couldn’t wait here like this. She had to find a way to defend herself—had to take control of the yacht and find help before the man took her wherever it was he was heading. A sob broke from her. She didn’t know if she was tough enough to fight him. Her foster parents’ son had always teased her because she couldn’t fight worth a darn.

  The rope loosened. She pulled with her teeth until her hands slipped free. Heart flying, she spared a quick glance at the salon door before running to the kitchen. She found a butcher knife in one of the drawers. The thought of using it terrified her beyond comprehension. She couldn’t picture herself plunging it into the man’s chest. How hard would it be to bury it in his body? What if he deflected all her attempts? What if he stabbed her instead?

  Another sob broke from her as she ran through the salon. She feared she was too loud. Panic engulfed her as she made it to her cabin, closed the door and locked it. Holding the knife in front of her so tight her hands felt numb, she backed away from the door and stared at it, waiting for it to crash open.

  Shaking, she found her purse and took out her cell. No service. She wished she would have thought to rent a satellite phone. Then she could have at least called the marina for help.

  Stumbling across the cabin, she entered the adjoining bathroom. In case the knife wasn’t enough, she wanted to find whatever she could to use as backup. Hairspray. Toenail clippers. High-heeled shoes. Placing the objects around the room, careful to note and commit to memory where each one was, she faced the door and waited.

  Farren lost track of the minutes that passed, but finally the yacht began to slow. There was a series of sputters and lurches. Then nothing. The engine died. With sickening clarity, she remembere
d the captain telling her they would need fuel before leaving for Marmaris.

  “No,” she whispered with renewed panic. Her heart hammered faster. “This can’t be happening.”

  Footsteps sounded above her head. She followed them toward the stern. They fell out of earshot. But a few seconds later, she heard something in the salon.

  A few wrenching sobs overwhelmed her struggle to remain quiet. Her eyes strained wide as she saw the door handle move. When the man discovered it locked, he began kicking.

  Farren screamed and looked around the cabin. Could she break the window? She didn’t think so. And it was too small anyway. Crying harder, fighting her fear, she listened to the door begin to splinter. A horrible rush of terror coursed through her.

  The lock broke and the door crashed in. He stepped inside, eyes feral with anger.

  “Stay away from me.” Her mouth was cottony and dry from taking so many panting breaths.

  “You were not to move.” He came toward her, eyeing the knife and the rest of her body. He didn’t have his knife. At least, he hadn’t removed it from under his shirt.

  “Stay back!” She tripped over the corner of the bed. At the wall, she had nowhere else to go.

  He stalked toward her until he was within reach. She swung the knife. His hand snaked for her wrist, almost clasped it, but she yanked away and swung again, this time catching the blade on his chest. He grunted and his face darkened into a menacing scowl. He backhanded her before she saw it coming. The force of the blow sent her falling toward the bed. She used the momentum to crawl to the other side, stumble onto the floor and then run for the door. He caught her before she reached it. She kicked and punched and swung the knife. But he grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed. She yelped in pain and held on to the knife as long as she could. To her horror, it fell to the carpeted floor. He eased his grip and she pulled free, bending for the knife. He used his foot to shove it away. She wouldn’t reach it before he caught her again.

  Rushing to the table beside the bed, she fumbled with the container of hairspray. When she turned, the man was there.