Griff wasn’t sure how long he had been outside walking around alone after his brief conversation with Sanders. But when Derek caught up with him, twilight had faded into nightfall, the first stars blinking in the late-evening sky. He had left the house, followed the well-lit path along the lake, and then ventured onto the gravel lane that wound around past the old boathouse. He knew every square foot of Griffin’s Rest and loved this private sanctuary, his safe haven, guarded night and day.
If only Nic had stayed here. If only his duplicity hadn’t forced her to run away from him.
“You can go back and report in to the others that you found me alive and somewhat sane,” Griffin said as Derek approached, the beam of his flashlight hitting Griff mid-chest.
“You should be thankful that you have people who give a damn about you,” Derek told him. “Barbara Jean is fretting. Yvette hasn’t spoken a word since you stormed out. Maleah has cursed your very existence, but mostly she’s been crying and I’ve been trying to console her. Although Sanders has kept himself busy manning the agency’s search, his concern is obvious.”
“That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you, Derek. You’ve never been afraid to speak your mind.”
“I didn’t come looking for you to check up on you for the others or to give you a piece of my mind, though God knows you need it.” Derek stopped when he and Griff stood face-to-face, less than five feet separating them. “Information has started coming in. I thought you might want to know that a small private jet owned by Kroy Enterprises took off from McGhee Tyson this morning, supposedly heading to Miami. The flight manifest, not easy to come by as you know, stated two passengers, a Mr. and Mrs. Nick Baxter.”
“God damn son of a bitch!” Griff felt the precarious control on his rage slipping. “Kroy Enterprises? K-r-o-y spelled backward is York. And Mr. and Mrs. Nick Baxter? He deliberately used Nic’s name. He wants me to know he has her. He’s taunting me.”
“He wants to rattle you,” Derek agreed. “At this point, you have to know that, more than anything else, he wants you to suffer and he’s going to turn the screws every chance he gets.”
“Who the hell is he and why does he hate me so much?” Griff had made his share of enemies, but he couldn’t think of anyone who would resort to sending an assassin to murder his employees and members of their families and to kidnap his wife.
No one other than Malcolm York.
But York was dead. He and Sanders and Yvette had killed the bastard sixteen years ago. Men didn’t rise from the dead, especially after you chopped off their head.
“It isn’t Malcolm York,” Derek said. “He may call himself York, but he’s not the original.”
“No, but I’m beginning to believe he’s a damn good carbon copy.”
“Come back to the house and show the others that you’re okay. Eat supper and go over the info we’ve collected so far.” Derek motioned toward the path leading back to the house.
“Did the Kroy Enterprises plane land in Miami?” Griff asked.
“Nope. And all we know is that it went south, past Miami.”
“I’d lay odds that son of a bitch has his own little private island somewhere in the Caribbean.”
“My thoughts exactly. And Sanders agreed. That’s why we’re searching now for a list of all privately owned islands in the Gulf, in the Atlantic, and in the Caribbean.”
“Something’s not right about this.” Griff fell into step alongside Derek as they headed toward the house. “It’s as if he wants us to find out where Linden has taken Nic, as if he’s issuing an invitation for us to follow.”
“Don’t read too much into this. I have a good idea where your mind is going. He is not going to kill Nic, at least not yet, not until he’s made you suffer a lot longer than just a day or two.”
“Then he thinks he’s leading me into a trap.”
“Only if the man is a fool. He has to know the kind of firepower you’d bring with you.”
Griff paused midstep and looked right at Derek. “Can you work up a profile of the new Malcolm York based on what little information we have?”
“Using the info we have, what we know about the original York, and utilizing my expertise and instincts, I can put together a tentative profile. Then I can add to it as we learn more about him.”
“You think he’s trying to mimic the real York?”
“Yes, I do,” Derek said. “Actually, I think he idolizes York, maybe even wants to be him. He holds you responsible for York’s death and he’s intent on punishing you.”
“Then he is as insane as the original.”
“Brilliantly insane and diabolically evil, just as the real York was.”
“What I want to know is who the hell is he?” Griff said. “And why has he waited sixteen years to bring Malcolm York back to life?”
Chapter 7
Although Nic’s basic instinct urged her to fight, she forced herself to endure the man’s slobbering kiss and made no protest when he slid his bloody right hand down her dress and grabbed her breast. When he squeezed roughly, she clenched her teeth to stop the moan, trapping it in her throat. Mr. Auburn Hair shouted something to his fellow hunters as he released Nic and shoved her in front of him. The other men laughed.
“We will finish this in your room,” he told her in heavily accented English. Trying to focus not on what this man intended to do to her, but on maintaining some semblance of control over her fear, Nic followed his instructions and led him toward the two-story stucco mansion.
As he talked, telling her in lurid detail the fun they would have tonight, Nic decided, from studying his accent, that her would-be rapist was Dutch.
Big freaking deal. So he’s Dutch. How the hell does that help you? If you can’t figure out a way to stop him ...
She had no weapon. She might be able to overpower him, but there was no way she could escape from the house. What would Linden do to her if she somehow managed to either knock out her attacker or even kill him? She was in a no-win situation. If she wasn’t pregnant, if she didn’t have another life to consider, she’d find a way to kill the son of a bitch and then take her chances.
On the climb up the stairs, Mr. Auburn Hair repeatedly slapped her on the butt and when they reached the door to her bedroom, he clutched each buttock in his hands and squeezed so forcefully that Nic knew he would leave bruises on her butt. No doubt by morning, she would be black-and-blue.
When she opened the door, Nic’s mouth gaped open when she saw Lina standing there completely naked. She smiled at Mr. Auburn Hair.
“I bring wine for celebrating.” She motioned to the open bottle of red wine on the table and the three half-filled glasses.
“You must be a bonus,” Mr. Auburn Hair said. “Two for the price of one.” He threw back his head and laughed, and then reached out, grasped the bodice of Nic’s sundress, and ripped it down to her waist. Instinctively, her hands flew up to shield her breasts barely covered by the sheer lace bra. He slapped her hands away and ordered her to undress.
Nic hesitated. Feeling Lina’s gaze on her, she looked at the other woman. Lina picked up two glasses of wine and walked toward the mighty hunter. Nic watched as Lina offered a glass to the man. Grinning as he scanned the woman’s beautiful young body, he accepted the wine, lifted his glass, made a toast in his native language, and put the glass to his lips. He gulped down half a glass, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and motioned for Lina to come closer. When she did as he had commanded, he poured the remainder of his wine over her chest, from neck to waist, threw the glass onto the nearby bed, and immediately began licking the rivulets of merlot staining Lina’s high firm breasts. The girl’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass as he suckled her.
Nic watched in frozen horror.
Lina looked past her attacker, her eyes speaking volumes as she stared at Nic. While Mr. Auburn Hair licked and bit his way downward to Lina’s belly, the girl lifted one hand and motioned to Nic. At first Nic didn’t understand, but when she tugged on her torn sundress, Lina nodded, and Nic knew the girl was telling her to take off her clothes. Reluctant to strip, Nic debated what to do, but decided to trust Lina, who had no doubt faced this situation on numerous occasions. While Mr. Auburn Hair clawed Lina, Nic removed her sundress, her transparent lace bra and matching bikini panties.
With the skill of an experienced courtesan, Lina guided Mr. Auburn Hair toward the bed. He staggered once, then fell into the bed, laughing as he pulled Lina down on top of him. As if suddenly remembering Nic, he glanced across the room and motioned for her to join them.
Dear God, she couldn’t do this. She was no meek lamb who would go willingly to the slaughter.
When he ordered her to come to him, his speech slightly slurred, Nic forced her legs into action and slowly made her way toward the bed. As Nic drew near, Lina slid down over Mr. Auburn Hair’s penis, taking him inside her.
“You great lover,” Lina told him as she began riding him.
While Nic stood at the edge of the bed, waiting, but for what she didn’t know, Mr. Auburn Hair grunted with release. Not until Lina crawled off him and stood up did Nic realize that he was not simply resting after sex, but that he was unconscious.
“What happened to him?” Nic asked. “Did he have a heart attack?”
“Wine.” Lina smiled.
“The wine?” Realization dawned. “Oh my God, you drugged the wine.”
“His wine, yes.”
“You did this for me, didn’t you? Oh, Lina, you’ve bought me some time, but at great cost to you. How can I ever thank you?”
“I am whore since thirteen,” Lina said.
“Oh, Lina, I’m so—”
Lina held up her hand in a Stop motion. “He sleep all night. You”—she pointed to Nic—“and me”—she pointed to herself—“in bed when he is awake.”
“Yes, I understand. If I’m in bed with him and he doesn’t remember what happened, he might believe that we had sex. But what do I do if he wants sex in the morning? We can hardly drug his orange juice.”
“He will not,” Lina said. “He cannot.”
“He can’t?”
Lina stuck her index finger straight up, and then folded it in half.
Nic almost laughed. “The drug you put in the wine not only knocked him out but ...” Nic mimicked Lina’s finger gesture.
“Old medicine from island,” Lina said. “Plants grow here. I make and hide.”
Nic saw Lina in a whole new light. Not as a pitiful victim, a sex slave doomed to endless humiliation and abuse, but as a cunning young woman who had not completely surrendered control to her masters. She didn’t fight in an obvious way, but in a very subtle, very careful way. Nic had just learned a valuable lesson from her newfound friend.
Griff finally left the office suite around four that morning, went to his study, and eventually fell asleep on the sofa sometime after five. When he woke, his left shoulder ached where it had pressed awkwardly against the sofa arm, and he felt groggy and slightly disoriented. Sitting up, he folded the upper half of his body toward his knees and stretched his neck, shoulders, and back as he stared down at his feet. He lifted his hands, placed them on either side of his head, and rubbed his temples.
He needed coffee.
Barbara Jean would have coffee in both the kitchen and in the office. All he had to do was go to either place for a much-needed caffeine boost. But he dreaded leaving the quiet haven of his private den. His friends and employees meant well, their actions coming from sincere concern for his wellbeing and their love and respect for Nic, but he couldn’t bear the looks of pity in their eyes.
Coming up slowly onto his feet, Griff clutched the back of his neck and massaged the sore muscles. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t hide away in here all day. Staying alone in his study, thinking about Nic, imagining what she might be experiencing, wouldn’t help her. All it would do was drive him crazy.
Griff walked across the semidark study, shards of morning light slipping through the shuttered windows. He opened the door and walked out into the hall. The buzz of a wide-awake and active household met him the moment he emerged from his seclusion. As he neared the kitchen, the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying lured him closer, but when he heard the drone of female voices, he paused, his hand on the kitchen door.
You’re going to have to eat and sleep and interact with others if you have any hope of staying sane while you search for Nic.
He shoved open the door and walked into the kitchen. The voices he had heard belonged to Barbara Jean Hughes, Maleah, and Griffin Rest’s longtime cook, Mattie Glover. All three women turned and stared at him.
“Morning,” he said as he headed for the coffeemaker.
“Did you get any sleep?” Barbara Jean asked and then motioned to Mattie, who immediately filled an empty plate with bacon, eggs, hash browns, and a couple of biscuits.
“Yeah, I got some sleep.” Griff poured the hot, black brew into a mug, lifted the mug to his mouth, and savored the first sip.
“Sit down and eat,” Barbara Jean told him as Mattie set the overflowing plate on the table.
“Yes, ma’am.” Griff placed the UT orange mug beside his plate, pulled out a chair, and sat across from Maleah, who lifted her gaze to meet his. “How about you? Did you and Derek get any sleep?” The couple had gone upstairs to bed around three this morning, an hour before he had sought solitude in his study.
“Some,” she replied. “Derek’s in the shower. He’ll be down soon.”
Griff eyed the food in front of him.
“I took it upon myself to call Charles David last night before I went to bed,” Maleah said. “I thought he should know that Nic is missing.”
Griff snapped his gaze up from the breakfast plate and met Maleah’s hostile stare. “Right. Yes, of course. He did need to know. Thank you.” Griff hadn’t given Charles David, Nic’s younger brother, a thought.
“He’s going to take the first flight out of San Francisco this morning.”
“Then he’s coming here?”
“Eat now, talk later.” Barbara Jean cast Maleah a scolding glare.
Maleah downed the last drops in her coffee cup, scooted back her chair, and stood. Just as she walked over and put her cup in the dishwasher, Shaughnessy Hood came barreling into the room.
“Good. You’re up.” Shaughnessy looked at Griff. “Sanders wants to see you right now. He has a lead on where Linden may have taken Nic.”
Without giving his breakfast another thought, Griff shot to his feet and hurried out of the kitchen. Shaughnessy lumbered along behind him, his size sixteen shoes pounding against the wooden hallway floor.
As they rushed to the office suite, Maleah caught up with them. Sanders met Griff at the door. He held up several computer printouts.
“There is a privately owned island, off the coast of Belize, south of Mexico, in the Caribbean Sea that could be where Linden took Nicole,” Sanders said, and without taking a breath added, “I contacted the deputy prime minister personally, explained the situation, and he agreed to cut through all the red tape. The information we needed just came in a couple of minutes ago. The title for the island shows that it is owned by Kroy Enterprises.”
“Kroy again,” Griff said. “Do you have the exact location?”
Griff’s heartbeat strummed inside his head. They could be in Belize in a few hours. Was it possible they had actually found Nic so easily, that there was a chance they could bring her home today?
“Shelter Island consists of nine acres of heavily wooded land and is located northwest of the Cat Cayes range. There is no landing strip on the island, so unless Linden took Nicole there by helicopter, he had to have taken her by boat.”
“Do we have anyone in Belize?” Griff asked as he rammed past Sanders and went straight to his desk.
“We have several freelance operatives we can trust.”
“I want to know if and when a private jet owned by Kroy Enterprises landed in Belize or Mexico or—”
“Rett’s handling that now.” Sanders glanced at Everett Dawson who was at that moment on the telephone.
Griff scanned the office, saw that Sanders, Rett Dawson, Shaughnessy, and Maleah were the only people in the suite. “Where’s Luke Sentell? He hasn’t left yet, has he?”
“Luke hasn’t come up to the main house this morning. I assume he’s still asleep down at the bunkhouse,” Maleah told them.
“Get him,” Griff said, his voice deadly calm. “I need him to postpone his trip to Europe.”
Maleah turned and immediately left the room.
They could wait to gather more info, to be absolutely certain that Nic was being held captive on Shelter Island, but Griff wasn’t willing to postpone doing what his gut told him to do now. Yeah, sure, they could be walking into a trap. Or the mastermind behind Malcolm York’s resurrection could have planted the info leading them straight to Shelter Island as a decoy. Linden could have taken Nic anywhere. For all they knew, she could be halfway around the world by now.
Before Mr. Auburn Hair began to rouse, Nic slipped into the robe hanging on the bathroom door and tossed Lina the matching gown. While Nic poured the contents of the wine bottle into the commode and flushed the merlot, Lina kept watch over the sleeping hunter. Just as Nic came out of the bathroom, a loud knock rocked the heavy wooden door seconds before Anthony Linden swept into the room, a package under his arm. He glanced from Nic to Lina and then at Mr. Auburn Hair, who rolled onto his back and mumbled incoherently, apparently coming out of his drug-induced sleep.
“It would appear you two wore him out.” Linden grinned at them. “Neither of you look the worse for wear.” He walked over to Nic, ran the back of his hand down her back, and into the V of her robe. “I find the bruises on your neck exciting. I’m sure other men will, too.”