“Why the number twenty-three?” Piper asked, clinging to Bobby’s arm, not ready for him to let go. “It doesn’t make sense. Delanie was his twenty fourth victim. If it really is him, why use the number twenty-three again? It has to be a copy-cat. It can’t be him.” Piper knew she sounded manic, she could hear her voice rattling with fear. She needed Bobby to look her in the eye and tell her it wasn’t her father. She needed him to tell her she was right, that it didn’t make sense and there had to be some other explanation.
Instead, he was already connecting the dots in his mind. “It could be, but if he knows you’re alive now, if he’s found you, then he’s likely sending you a message. When he killed Delanie, he thought you were dead. I’d imagine he’ll want to try to draw you out and finish what he started. I don’t have all the answers yet, but that’s what my gut is telling me.”
He hated to loosen his grip on her while she was still shaking, but time was of the essence. “Michael, we have a little trouble.” Bobby couldn’t find the right words, and he knew he didn’t have the time to explain, but luckily he didn’t need to. He and Michael had learned to trust each other over the last few weeks and along with that came the ability to read between the lines. “The attack at the school hits close to home for Piper. It might be nothing, but we can’t take that chance. I need the girls to go to your house. I know I’ve already asked so much of you, but I swear, once my shift ends at nine, you’re off the hook.”
“I’m not looking to get off the hook here,” Michael said in a low voice, glancing over Bobby’s shoulder at Piper who was clearly shaken. “I’ve got your back, man, we’ll talk more tonight. Until then I won’t let any of them out of my sight.”
Jules and Betty rejoined them on the porch, both obediently holding the items Bobby had requested. Piper had managed to compose herself and stood to wave Bobby off. Michael read this as a sign that Piper was not about to make her concerns about the attack public knowledge.
As Bobby hopped down the porch stairs, he looked back over his shoulder at Piper. He was fairly certain the brief moment of calm they had all just experienced was about to be snuffed out. Odds were that Piper’s father had found her, and everything they had hoped to start would once again have to wait. They were about to come face to face with the darkest parts of Piper’s past, but they were going to do it together.
The End
You may also enjoy this contemporary romance from:
Maid for the Billionaire
By NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Ruth Cardello
An Excerpt from
Maid for the Billionaire
Book One of the Legacy Collection
Chapter One
By dying now, his father had won again.
That old bastard.
Dominic Corisi slammed the door of his black Bugatti Veyron and stepped onto the sun baked Boston sidewalk without giving the million dollar vehicle a backwards glance. The joy of owning it was dead along with his desire to answer the incessant ring of the cell phone he’d ignored since yesterday. Rather than turning it off, he’d muffled the noise by burying the device deep within a coat pocket; maintaining the connection to his life like a distant beacon.
Despite the oppressive heat, he paused at the bottom stair of his old brownstone. There was nothing spectacular about it, outside of its location near the upbeat Newbury Street. If he remembered correctly, its rooms were small and the main staircase had a creak that he never did get around to fixing. It was nothing like the sprawling mansions he now owned in various countries around the world.
But it was the closest thing he had to a home.
His phone rang with a tone he couldn’t ignore.
Jake
. His second in command would simply call again, killing whatever chance Dominic had of finding a moment of peace inside those brick walls. “Corisi,” he barked into the phone.
“Dominic, glad I caught you,” Jake Walton said smoothly, as if he hadn’t unsuccessfully rung twenty times in the last two days. That was Jake, calm and professional, even in the storm of hostile takeovers. Nothing fazed the man.
Normally, Dominic appreciated his even temper, but today it grated. Maybe the forty or so hours without sleep were beginning to catch up with him. He fought an impulse to toss his phone over the metal railing. The world wasn’t the orderly, rational place Jake liked to organize it into. It was messy. It was ugly. And, most recently, it lacked justice.
“How is Boston?”
The inane question almost sent Dominic over the edge. “How do you think?”
It was probably too much to hope that Jake’s uncharacteristic silence signaled an end to a conversation Dominic wished he had avoided.
“We need to discuss the China contract. The Minister of Commerce is expecting to meet with you tomorrow to cement the details. This is your dream, Dominic. By next week, Corisi Enterprises will be a major global player. What do you want me to tell the Minister?”
“I don’t know,” Dominic said wearily.
Jake made a sound somewhere between a choke and a cough, then was speechless – a revealing response for a man who handled irate international diplomats without missing a step. He was the fixer and navigated the unexpected with ease. Until now.
Poor Jake. Nothing in their shared history had prepared either of them for Dominic’s sudden desire to withdraw from the world. The creators of financial empires didn’t take sudden vacations and they most certainly didn’t hide, especially not after having laid the groundwork for the single greatest business venture of the century. Bill Gates himself had called last week to discuss the ramifications of the negotiations.
“Jake, I need to drop off the radar for about a week. Why don’t you take over the China contract?”
“O-o-o-k.” Jake said awkwardly. In another situation, Jake’s loss of composure would have been amusing.
“Can you handle it or not?” Dominic challenged. He could barely think past the throbbing of his headache.
Maybe coming to Boston was a mistake. It had been here, at seventeen, that he’d walked away from his inheritance and waited tables to fund the search for his mother. Here, in this very brownstone, that he’d cultivated a hatred for a father who had denied both involvement and interest in the disappearance of his wife.
Jake’s voice slammed Dominic back into the present. “No problem. I’ve followed the progress you’ve made with the Chinese Investment Promotion Agency. They’re eager. I’ll clear my schedule and cover yours. Duhamel will forward all of your calls to me until further notice.”
“Good.”
“Dom-” Jake hesitated. “It’s normal to need time to grieve. You just lost your father.”
A harsh laugh escaped Dominic. “Trust me; I’m not grieving his loss.” He leaned a hip on the metal railing and looked up at the building he had instinctively returned to, searching for the man he’d once been and hoping to find something there that would shake off the immobilizing apathy he felt for all he had done since; high expectations for brick and antique wallpaper.
Jake said, “That’s what worries me. No matter what your plans were or what he once did to you, he’s gone now. You’ve got to let it go.”
Jake was asking the impossible. Of course the past mattered. Sometimes it was the only thing that did. “Just do your job, Jake. If you can’t handle it, tell me and I’ll promote Priestly to help you.”
For the second time since they had met at Harvard, Jake lost his temper. “That’s bullshit, Dom. You want to send Priestly to China? Send him. You’re absolutely right -- you’ve made me a very rich man. I don’t need this. But heed my warning; you won’t be a billionaire for long if we both step away from the helm. A lot is riding on this contract. The lawsuits alone will freeze your assets if you screw this up. You invested too much of your own and you’re playing with the big boys now. Governments are not very forgiving when it comes to last minute walk outs.”
The speech should have shaken Dominic, but it barely breached the numbness that had settled in since he’d received the phone call from his father’s lawyer. What did all the money matter anyway? He’d wasted fifteen years amassing an empire that would allow him to throw down a forced buyout contract on his father’s enormous mahogany desk. Dominic should have taken action years ago, but no level of prior success had felt like enough. He’d choreographed the day from both sides, building his company while undermining his father’s; always working toward that one absolute win. Dominic had counted on his father’s desperation finally forcing him to confess what had actually happened to his mother.
It was that loss that he mourned today.
In its place was a carefully orchestrated set of instructions from his father’s lawyer. No, it wasn’t enough to simply disinherit his only son; Antonio Corisi had also included provisions in his will to ensure that Dominic had to attend the reading. He’d used Dominic’s one weakness, his one regret, to reaffirm his control, even from the grave.
Jake coughed, reminding Dominic that a response was required. What could he say? As usual, Jake was correct in his assessment of the situation. Dominic had used his own wealth as well as that of investors to back this venture. The risk had seemed worth it. The government contract would crack China’s software market wide open for them and their global influence would double exponentially. It was a daring move that if carefully implemented could put Corisi Enterprises on a stratosphere of power few companies ever acquired; a goal that a week ago had seemed imperative.
Jake could handle the negotiations. Dominic had always been the one to charge forward, shaking the situation up and clearing the way. This time would be no different. Jake could merely take over a few documents earlier this time. Priestly was good at the local level, but he was no Jake.
“One week, Jake.” It was the closest to an apology Dominic was able to get out. He hoped it was enough.
Sounding more like an older brother, than a business associate, Jake said, “Take two weeks if you need it. Just get your head together. I can wrap up the China contract, but it’ll need your final signature and your presence. I’ll do a press release today and ask the media to respect your need to mourn in private; that should give you at least a few days before they descend.”
“Call Murdock.”
The man owes me a few favors.
“Do you mean the Murdock? I thought he’d retired.”
Ah, there is the real difference between us
. By not fighting in the trenches of financial warfare, Jake’s business associations had remained above reproach, but he lacked the back door connections to those seemingly innocuous individuals who wielded real international influence. Dominic casually gave Jake a number that many would have paid a small fortune to dial just once. “Men like Murdock don’t retire, they delegate from warmer climates. Tell him that I don’t even want a good spin on this. It’s non-news. He’ll understand.”
Jake whistled softly in appreciation. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”
“Yes, you if you call me again today.”
Jake laughed, but they both knew it hadn’t been a joke. “Do yourself a favor, Dom...” Jake continued in an unusually authoritative tone.
What now? Dominic sighed.
“...put down the Jack Daniels for a night and pick up one of those models you like to date. You’ll sleep better.”
Dominic gave a non-committal grunt and hung up.
If only it were that easy.
Arms full of bed linens, Abby Dartley froze at the click of the front door opening.
Darn it.
She couldn’t get caught here, especially in an oversized shirt and jeans instead of her sister’s maid uniform.
Lil needs this job
. Cleaning the brownstone of a man who never actually occupied it had sounded like a relatively simple, albeit annoying, way to help her sister remain employed.
“Do not let anyone see you,” Lil had pleaded between the fits of sneezes that had accompanied her low, but persistent fever. “They’ll fire me in a second if they find out that you went in my place.”
“Can’t you just call in?” Abby remembered suggesting hopefully.
“I already used my two allowed sick days for Colby,” and then the tears had come.
A year ago, Abby would have let her sister add this lost job to the long string of employment she’d already tried and failed at and would have covered her expenses until she found a new job. They’d been through this cycle countless times, resulting only in Lil resenting Abby more with each passing year. The closeness they’d shared before the death of their parents was a distant, surreal memory.
Abby had considered asking Lil to move out, hoping that some separation would give Lil the independence she said she wanted, but that was before she’d held her new niece in her arms. It wasn’t just about Lil anymore. Colby deserved a mother with a stable career and Lil was so close to having one. She was one semester away from finishing her administrative assistant courses. Even when Colby’s father had walked out at the news of his fatherhood, Lil hadn’t crumbled. For the first time since they’d received the news of the accident that had claimed the lives of both of their parents, Lil wasn’t hiding from her responsibilities.
Colby had changed that, too.
It wasn’t Lil’s fault that she’d caught the flu. Half the city seemed to be either recovering from it or succumbing to it. More importantly, it had been a long time since Lil had actually requested help, rather than merely grudgingly accepting it. Abby didn’t want to put too much significance on such a miniscule connection, but she couldn’t shake the hope that things could get better between them.
Her first impression of him as he stood in the entrance, unaware of her existence, was that he looked more tired than a man of his age should. Dark circles were evident even against his olive complexion. His expensive suit did nothing to conceal the slump of his wide shoulders. According to Lil, he’d paid to have the brownstone cleaned on a weekly basis, but hadn’t actually been there in over a decade. Something had brought him back and whatever it was, it had steamrolled right over him.
He looked up and through her as he crossed the foyer. “You can go now.”
She considered following his weary command, but something held her immobile.
“Are you deaf? I said you can leave. Finish whatever you’re doing tomorrow.”
Mr. Armani sounded like an over-tired child, although she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. The wisest choice of action would have been to do as he said and leave before he had a chance to question her on her attire, but she couldn’t.
He didn’t look like someone who should be alone.
Was she simply projecting? Her friends often accused her of seeing good where there was none, but that was a hazard of her job. To be an effective middle school teacher, one had to see beyond the bravado. Abby taught English to non-native speakers, so she was often employed in the toughest schools in the city. She was used to defusing misdirected anger. Profanity was a cry for help. Harsh words often hid fear. Her patience paid off. Students returned, year after year, to thank her for believing in them. For some, she knew she’d been the only one who had. But this wasn’t her classroom and, in reality, she had no idea who this man was.
She could almost hear Lil’s voice telling her that some things were simply not her business and she’d be right. This man wouldn’t welcome her nurturing any more than her sister did, but that didn’t stop Abby’s heart from going out to him.
She put the sheets on a table on one side of the hallway and said, “There are fresh towels upstairs. Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll get some basic groceries from the corner store for you.”
His back straightened and she caught her breath, reeling from the full impact of his attention. God, he’s beautiful. His dark gray eyes raked over her, flashing with irritation and then something else. He cut the distance between them in a few short strides. A hint of alcohol reached her as he stopped mere inches from her. She tipped her head back to look up at him.
“Did Jake send you?” He asked as he assessed her. “You don’t look like a model.”
She blinked a few times in surprise as some of her sympathy for him faded. “And you don’t smell like a man who should be wearing an Armani, but I wasn’t going to mention it,” she answered in a huff.
Her words stirred something in him; his shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed. This was a man who was not accustomed to people speaking back to him, but if he was trying to intimidate her, his nearness was creating the entirely wrong reaction in her body. Even in his rumpled suit, or maybe because of it, he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen in person. Men like this existed only on the large screen or in novels. She wanted to reach up and run a hand over the rough stubble on his cheek.
“I didn’t say you were unattractive,” he growled. “You’re just not reed thin like the women I’m used to.”
That’s it
. She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge.
Time suspended as their standoff continued. His look of annoyance was steeped with an expectation that she should try to appease him in some way. She simply met his glare with her own, giving him time to replay his choice of words in his mind. He looked away first, a slight flush reddening his neck
“Ok, that came out wrong.” He ran a frustrated hand through his thick black hair, leaving it slightly awry and sexier ...if that were even possible. He was already a twelve or thirteen on her one to ten scale, even after she deducted a few points for lack of social skills. A glint of fascination lit his dark eyes as something occurred to him. “Did you just tell me that I stink?”
There was nothing tired about the way he leaned down until their lips almost touched. The scent of him mixed with the dash of liquor and the combination was heady. He was all male, untamed and interested in more than her answer to his question. No man had ever looked at her with such intensity. His sexual energy demanded a response that her body seemed all too willing to deliver.
Abby fought down the urge to close the short distance between them. She’d lost too much to believe in anything that felt this good. She took a half a step back and raised a placating hand. “I wasn’t quite that harsh.”
The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, somehow making the question sound more curious than pompous.
Perhaps his tragedy had brought him a bit of notoriety, but Abby wasn’t one to watch much TV and, as usual, Lil had given her just the information she absolutely needed in a brief, stilted conversation that typified how strained their relationship had become.
“I’m hoping you’re the man who owns this brownstone, otherwise I’m going to get in trouble for letting you in,” she said with some forced humor.
He didn’t laugh. “You really don’t know, do you?” His question sounded oddly hopeful.
Abby shrugged, but the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. What kind of man was relieved to not be recognized?
A criminal.
Crap.
Nice clothes meant nothing. His suit might have become disheveled during a tussle with the actual owner of it. She shook her head at the thought. “You do own the place, don’t you?”
At his lack of a response, she scanned the area for something to toss at him if she needed to dash for the door. The closest object was a large, brass lamp. If he made any fast moves…
All coherent thought fled when he smiled down at her while lightly running his hands up both of her arms. “Yes, I’m the owner.”
Her heart really shouldn’t be pounding in her chest just because the man was preparing to restrain her if she attacked him with deadly, brass force. It wasn’t like she’d never been near a man before, but even her prior intimate relationships had been cautious endeavors. No man had ever brought to mind the words carnal abandon like this one did. When he looked at her, no one and nothing else existed.
“Before you clock me, would you like to see my license?” he asked while his thumb traced the edge of her collarbone rhythmically. Hypnotically. “Would you?” he prompted in response to her silence.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly, unable to concentrate on anything beyond the way her body was responding to his touch. Her skin burned beneath his light caress. Her stomach quivered with an anticipation she had previously only read about.
Yes, to whatever you’re asking.
Her state of arousal was not lost on the man towering above her and the answering pleasure in his eyes shook her out of her daze. She stepped back, away from his touch and gave herself a mental shake. This kind of passion had no place in the life she’d built for herself. “I mean no. No, I believe you. You were right. I should go. I can finish everything tomorrow.”
His lids lowered slightly, making his expression unreadable.
“Do you know what I’m thinking?” he asked.
Unless he was also imagining the two of them naked, rolling around on the thick area rug in the living room, she was pretty much stumped. “No,” she croaked.
“I’m starving and I hate to eat alone. I’d be grateful if you joined me for a meal.”
That wouldn’t be wise.
There were at least a hundred, maybe a thousand, reasons why she should leave now before she made a fool out of herself. Yet, she was tempted.
It was more than the athletic span of his shoulders, more than the strong line of his jaw. She couldn’t even blame the sadness in his eyes, because the exhausted man of earlier had been replaced by a virile male who knew exactly how to get what he wanted – and right now he wanted her.
Every sensible cell in her body urged her to turn tail and run, but wasn’t that what she always did when life offered her something she considered too good to be true? She chose safety and certainty over less reliable dreams and desires
Just this once she wanted to sample what she’d been missing. Just this once she wouldn’t run.
Well, not immediately, anyway.
She’d share a meal with the near god before her, enjoy the way he made her skin tingle with just a look, and leave before anything happened. He wouldn’t have to eat alone and she could have an hour or so of pretending any of this was real.
“Any problems with Chinese?” she asked as she mentally reviewed the local places she knew would deliver.
The question seemed to jolt him. “Chinese what?”
“Food?” she added helpfully.
“Oh,” he visibly relaxed, “takeout.”
“Yes, there is a good place right around the corner that I know delivers -- unless you’d like me to try to find something else.”
“No.” He shook his head at some private joke. “Sorry, for a minute there I forgot.” Hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels, still looking highly amused by his thoughts.
“Forgot what?” she couldn’t help but ask.
With unexpected tenderness, he slid one of her wayward curls behind her ear. “That you’re exactly what I need.” Before she could catch her breath, he stepped back and handed her far too much money, no matter what she ordered. “Order some food while I take a shower.” His knock ‘em dead sex appeal returned as he chuckled and sauntered away, tossing over his shoulder, “I’ve heard I need one.”
Abby fanned her red face with the bills as she watched him climb the stairs two at a time. Not quite shaking herself free of the mental image of Mr. Armani naked beneath the steamy spray of the shower, Abby went in search of her purse and cell phone.
A man that sexy is just trouble.
Luckily it was highly unlikely that she would ever see him again after today. They would share one quick meal and then she’d head back to Lil and reality.
Back to the quiet, predictable life she’d built for herself.
That thought held less appeal than usual.
End of Chapter 2
The Legacy Collection by Ruth Cardello
Book 1: Maid for the Billionaire (Free download at all major retailers)
Book 2: For Love or Legacy
Book 3: Bedding the Billionaire
Book 4: Saving the Sheikh
Book 5: Rise of the Billionaire (Coming May 2013!)