When Hope awoke her room was dark. Startled, she sat up, switched on the lamp and checked the time: 11:20 p.m. She could hardly believe her eyes. She’d slept away the day and half the night. What had the men eaten for dinner? She’d grown accustomed to planning and preparing good meals for Matt’s crew, and with the cupboards and refrigerator full now from Matt’s shopping trip, she could have made some very special dishes.
Feeling terribly guilty, Hope switched off the lamp and tried to get comfortable again. Then she heard the wind, a mournful howl with strong gusts battering the house. It made her jittery, and she pulled the covers up to her chin. She tried to clear her mind enough to relax, but the wind had an eerie effect on her and she felt haunted by ghosts of her forgotten past. Something was different tonight, she thought uneasily, something more than a spooky wind making her skin crawl.
She wasn’t going to scare herself half to death with silly, adolescent ideas, she decided, and she sat up again to switch on the lamp. After getting up and pulling on one of Matt’s big flannel shirts that she’d been using for a bathrobe, she turned off the lamp again and headed for the kitchen figuring that since she couldn’t sleep, she might as well do something useful.
Baking was second nature for her, and she realized that she could have asked Kate all sorts of questions about herself, one of which could have been, “Kate, have I always enjoyed cooking?”
Assembling the ingredients for cookies, Hope sighed over the opportunity she’d let slip by today and told herself that if Kate came alone next week, she would be much more relaxed than she’d been with Dr. Heath watching every move she made. It was he, after all, who had made her so nervous, not Kate.
Well, Kate had unnerved her at first, she silently admitted while going to the refrigerator for eggs. Hope didn’t realize how jumpy she still was—whether from her visitors today or because of that eerie wind—until a powerful gust shook the house and she dropped the eggs.
“Oh, damn,” she mumbled, eyeing the mess on the floor. She went for some paper towels, then thought of a better way to clean up raw eggs. It was simple, really, just pour salt on the eggs and sweep them into a newspaper. “That’s a memory,” she said in utter amazement, the first one that didn’t scare the breath out of her.
“It’s starting to happen,” she whispered emotionally. She was eventually going to remember everything and intuition told her that day wasn’t far-off. Still jumpy over the wind but feeling a newfound joy because of a simple memory, Hope looked again at the soupy egg mess on the floor, then went to the laundry room.
The broom was stored in the closet next to the washer and dryer, but what about a newspaper? It occurred to Hope that she hadn’t seen a newspaper since she’d gotten there. How odd, she thought. Surely Matt received and read a newspaper, didn’t he?
Then she remembered seeing some newspapers in a drawer in this room when she’d searched the house for something feminine to wear. That was the day she’d discovered the attic and what it contained. Her thoughts wandered for a moment. Matt had acted as though he’d forgotten Trisha’s things were in the attic, which seemed a bit far-fetched. Would he deliberately lead her to believe that he had no fond memories of his ex-wife to influence her willingness to sleep with him?
But her willingness had needed no prodding, had it? She’d been willing right from the get-go, and her behavior was definitely not in keeping with her normal lifestyle, not when she’d been a virgin. That was one puzzle she would love to unravel, she thought with a frown as she began opening drawers.
The newspapers were easily found. Hope took them from the drawer—there weren’t nearly as many as she’d thought there were—and then got the broom and returned to the kitchen. She leaned the broom against a counter and was about to set down the papers so she could get the box of salt when a headline caught her eye: Newest Stockwell Heiress Missing.
A cacophony of alarm bells went off in her system. The word missing caused her heart to race, and then she spotted her name in the first sentence of the front-page article. My God, this has something to do with me! On very weak legs, Hope went to the table and sank onto a chair. She began reading.
The youngest daughter of Caine Stockwell, Hope LeClaire, did not arrive in Texas as had been planned by she and her siblings during a family reunion at their mother’s home in the town of Chatham on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, only a short time ago. Ms. LeClaire is presently listed as a missing person by law enforcement agencies, as she was scheduled to arrive by a commuter flight from Dallas to the Grandview Airport yesterday and seemingly vanished somewhere between Boston, Massachusetts, and Grandview. According to the Stockwell family, Hope was then going to rent a car and drive to her deceased father’s home for yet another reunion. Un-substantiated rumors are circulating about the reading of Caine Stockwell’s will, which seems to coincide with the date of Ms. LeClaire’s visit.
Hope LeClaire is twenty-eight years old, 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighs approximately 110 pounds. She has dark curly hair and blue eyes. Photos of Ms. LeClaire will be published when they become available. Her mother, Madelyn LeClaire, has told reporters that Hope was wearing a forest-green dress and matching coat. She left Boston with two suitcases, which, ironically, made it to Grandview in good condition and are presently in the hands of the police.
Ms. LeClaire was only recently brought into the Stockwell family fold. Madelyn and Caine divorced prior to Ms. LeClaire’s birth, and it appears that her three brothers and one sister were told and grew up believing that their mother died in a boating accident, along with their father’s twin brother, Brandon. The truth, which Caine related to his children in a deathbed confession, is that Madelyn and Brandon married and lived in Europe for many years before moving to Cape Cod. Madelyn is a well-known artist, whose paintings are becoming quite prized by collectors. Brandon is a successful financier, and Hope LeClaire, who was born in the U.S. but lived in Europe for most of her life, is a graduate of the famed London cooking school, Le Cordon Bleu. Ms. LeClaire worked as a master chef in London before breaking her two-year engagement to Mark Herriot, a man reputed to have connections with the royal family. Shortly thereafter Ms. LeClaire moved to Boston, where she was actively seeking employment in her chosen field when the family she’d known nothing about got in touch with her. Thus, the family reunion, and ultimately the plane trip to Texas during which she disappeared.
The Stockwells immediately posted a $50,000 reward to be given to anyone with information that would lead the law or themselves to Hope LeClaire’s whereabouts. Readers who believe they may know something may contact this paper or any law enforcement agency.
Feeling numb from shock, Hope’s vision blurred from the tears in her eyes. They knew, they knew all along! Matt knew. The sheriff and Doc knew. Everyone knew and no one told me!
Matt’s deception hurt the worst. From the date on the newspaper he’d known who she was the day he’d found her. Had he delayed telling her with hope of pushing up the amount of the reward money? And he’d had the chance to suggest it, too, hadn’t he? When he’d walked Kate and Brett out to their car.
She couldn’t bear it. Laying her arms on the table, she buried her face in them and sobbed pitifully. Matt had made love to her, he’d taught her how to make love, in fact. She’d been so ignorant about making love, and he’d led her down the garden path as easily as if she’d been a total moron.
Which I am! She was still sobbing, telling herself that she hated Matt McCarlson more than she could ever hate anyone, when she heard a noise behind her. Thinking that Matt had been awakened by her middle-of-the-night need to cook herself sleepy, she raised her head to destroy him on the spot with a murderous look.
But it wasn’t Matt she saw, it was Randy Biggers—the man who had kidnapped her!
In an instant she remembered everything…everything!
“Hope LeClaire?” She had just deplaned in Grandview, Texas. The airport was small but busy, and a red-haired man wearing a neatly pressed, nicely tailored black suit had just spoken to her.
“Yes?” she replied.
“I’m Randy Biggers, one of the Stockwells’ chauffeurs. They sent me to pick you up and drive you to the mansion.”
Hope frowned. “I was planning to rent a car. I’m sure they knew that.”
“Kate mentioned it, but she thought you might have some trouble finding the place on your own. My instructions are to escort you to the car and then return for your luggage. Shall we go?”
Slightly befuddled but hesitant about questioning this unexpected change of plan, Hope kept stride with the chauffeur. It was raining, and once outside, they hurried. Hope barely had time to look around and certainly had no sense of direction. In minutes they had reached a parking lot, and Randy Biggers took her arm and rushed her over to a black car with darkly tinted windows.
Opening the front passenger door, he waited for her to get in, then quickly shut the door, ran around the front of the car, got in, started the engine and raced from the parking lot.
This isn’t right! Whenever I’ve been driven by a chauffeur, he seated me in the back!
Suddenly dry-mouthed, Hope furtively studied the man from the corner of her eye. He was in his thirties, she estimated, tall and ordinary looking except for his flaming red hair. Was it possible she was frightened over nothing, that her imagination was running just a little bit wild?
She did her best to speak normally. “I thought you’d be driving a limousine.”
“Not today,” he said brusquely.
His tone was threatening; she knew then that she should be very afraid. Her hand crept to the door handle. “Don’t bother,” he snapped at her. “I’ve got the main lock on, and none of the doors will open until I release it.”
“Wha-what are you going to do to me?” she asked, and the fear in her voice made her even more afraid. She had let this man talk her into leaving the airport with him, and she’d never done anything so stupid in her life. She was educated and inherently smart, and yet she’d gotten into a strange man’s car.
“Shut the hell up,” he snarled.
Too terrified to talk back, she sat without moving and stared unseeingly into the rainy, gray twilight. I can get out of this, I just have to use my head. Do as he says for now and keep alert for opportunity.
Though she had no knowledge of Grandview, it was obvious they were headed out of town. Icy fingers walked Hope’s spine. Was he a rapist, a murderer or both? Tears filled her eyes, and she turned her face to the side window so he wouldn’t see her almost paralyzing fear. Why hadn’t she suspected his story and told him at the airport to get away from her before she called for security? He would have disappeared so fast he’d have been a blur.
Yes, but then he would have gone after some other unsuspecting woman, and—
Hey, wait a minute. He’d known the Stockwell name…and yours! You’re the only unsuspecting woman he wanted, and you fell for his line so easily that he must feel incredibly superior. That could work in your favor…eventually. Or maybe not. Dear God in heaven, where is he taking me? And for what reason? Did he give me his real name—Randy Biggers—or is that an alias? Actually, with that noticeable red hair of his, he was taking quite a risk in approaching me at all. Surely someone in the airport saw him talking to me, and maybe someone even saw the two of us walking out together.
The drive seemed endless, though it was really less than two hours. They passed through several very small towns and then, finally, he turned into the driveway of a squatty, run-down little motel with a garish red sign. Bypassing the front units, he drove around back, parked directly in front of an end unit and turned off the engine.
Then he turned in the seat toward her and pulled a knife from under the seat. “Listen carefully,” he said while laying the knife on her thigh. “I really have no desire to use this tonight, but I will if you force me into it. We’re going inside. You are not to make a peep, understand? Not one sound, word, grunt or anything else is to come out of your mouth. I guarantee you’ll be sorry if you try anything funny.”
“Fine,” she whispered, believing his every word.
“Good, I think we understand each other.” Reaching into the back seat, he brought out two bottles of whiskey. “Carry these,” he told her, and she took one in each of her hands. “Stay put until I open your door.”
She followed his instructions to the letter, and when they were inside the seedy little motel room, he praised her.
“You’re a smart woman. Stay smart and you won’t get hurt. Do something dumb and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Sinking to a chair, Hope’s frantic brain was filled with images of him getting drunk and raping her repeatedly. Why else would he have brought her to a place like this with whiskey to drink?
She was so certain of his intent that she was startled when he took a rope out of his jacket pocket and ordered her to put her hands behind the chair.
“Why are you going to tie me up?” she asked fearfully.
“Maybe I’ll tell you about it, maybe I won’t. Just put your damned hands behind the chair and stop with the questions.”
She obeyed, and felt how tightly he tied her wrists together. After he’d finished and walked over to the dresser for a glass for his whiskey, she tried moving her hands to no avail. There’s not going to be an opportunity to get out of this, is there? Her spirit dropped to an all-time low. She was in the clutches of a madman. He might not be wild-eyed or ranting and raving, but he couldn’t be anything but mad to do this to another human being.
She watched him warily as he threw back his first drink in one swallow and then refilled the glass. He went to a window, moved the soiled, scraggly drape just a little and peered outside. Apparently satisfied that no one had followed them, he picked up the bottle of whiskey, walked over to the bed, stacked the pillows against the headboard and then lay down, setting the bottle on the scarred stand next to the bed.
It was then that he began staring at her. Hope tried not to squirm under his scrutiny, and, in fact, tried to appear as though she couldn’t care less if he stared at her all night. Deep down, though, that stare was worse than the knife he’d placed on the battered old dresser. He was sizing her up, and for what reason? If he’d brought her here to rape her, why hadn’t he just thrown her on the bed and gotten to it?
She kept thinking about her virginity, and how she and Mark Herriot—the man she had loved so very much for so long and who’d turned out to be an unfaithful, cheating bastard—had talked about saving themselves for their wedding night. It had seemed so lovely and tenderly romantic to Hope that she had adored Mark for being so thoughtful, and all during their two-year engagement he’d played Hope for a fool while he’d slept with the woman he really loved. All he’d wanted from Hope was her money, which was a fortune because of her mother and the man she’d believed to be her father. Brandon had invested in her name since her childhood, and her net worth was now such a vast sum that she couldn’t spend it in a dozen lifetimes. She’d been discovering a great deal of joy in researching charity foundations and then donating generously to the ones that really moved her.
Was money what Randy Biggers wanted from her? Heavens, if that was the case she’d give him any amount he wanted, if he’d just let her go!
She was working up her courage to bring up the subject when he said, “So, you’re the baby sister that the Stockwell gang finally ran down.”
Hope cleared her throat. “Apparently you know the Stockwells?”
“Course I know ’em. And they’re gonna pay me a bundle for you, baby.” Randy laughed uproariously, and Hope caught on that he was getting drunk very fast.
She stopped pitying herself and started thinking sensibly. If he got drunk enough, and if she played her cards right, he would never collect a dime from the Stockwells or anyone else for her ransom.
“Well, they can afford it,” she said with a who-gives-a-damn twist of her lips.
“Are you putting me on?” he asked suspiciously.
“Look, I met them one time and once was enough. They’re a bunch of snobs and someone should take them down a peg or two. How much are you going to ask for?”
Randy sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He narrowed his eyes on her. “How much are you worth, girlie?”
Another idea hit her, a chancy one to be sure, but one she dare not overlook. She could throw up afterward. Right now she was fighting for her life.
She put on her most seductive smile and crossed her legs in such a way that her skirt bunched above her knees. “Most men think I’m worth a whole lot,” she purred. “Say, how about sharing that bottle with me?”
“You like whiskey?”
“I’m not a big drinker, but I enjoy a taste now and then.”
“Well, sure,” Randy said, and when he got up to go for another glass, Hope saw how unsteadily he walked. Why, he was already drunk! All she had to do was encourage him to keep on drinking.
When he stumbled his way across the room to deliver the glass of whiskey to her, she looked helpless and laughed. “Looks as though you’ll have to hold it for me while I drink.”
“Oh, your hands are tied. I forgot,” Randy said, slurring his words so that they all ran together. Weaving back and forth he began staring at her again. “You’re damned good-looking, you know. Didn’t expect that.”
“Why thank you, Randy. You’re pretty good-looking yourself. I always did have a weakness for men with red hair.”
Grinning, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Is that a fact?”
She moved in the chair, as though his nearness was affecting her. “Let me have a swallow,” she said, nodding her head at the glass.
“Okay. Hold on and I’ll bring over a chair and the bottle.”
With him holding the glass to her lips she took several sips of the ghastly stuff and pretended it was the most delicious drink she’d ever tasted.
“That’s good stuff, Randy. You must really know your drinks.”
“I do,” he agreed. His drunken gaze probed her eyes. “I’m wondering about you, baby.”
“Wondering what?”
“How far you’d go.”
“Why don’t you untie my hands and find out?” she said in that low, sexy tone of voice she’d adopted for his benefit. Her eyes went to the regular-size bed for a long moment, then returned to his face. “That small bed would accommodate two people well enough, if one of them was on top of the other,” she said and saw him gulp.
“Uh, yeah, it would. Want to try it out?”
“I’m game. Are you?”
“You bet!” Staggering to his feet, he walked around Hope’s chair and started fumbling with the knots in the ropes chafing her wrists.
She wanted to scream at him. She loathed him beyond words, and she was still frightened of that knife on the dresser and how quickly he might turn on her if she made the slightest mistake.
It took him at least five minutes to untie her, and by then she was ready to commit murder. Rubbing her wrists while he walked around her so that he could see her face, she weighed her options. Settling on one, she began her campaign.
“Would it be all right if I used the bathroom while you get undressed?” she asked.
“Can’t stop nature,” he quipped, and laughed so hard at his own stupid wit that he nearly lost his balance and fell over.
Smiling sweetly, Hope got up and walked into a horrible, smelly little bathroom. Shutting the door, she leaned her forehead against it. She felt weak enough to collapse, but her plan was working and she had to keep it rolling.
She rinsed her face and hands in cool water at the rusty little sink, which was a bit reviving, then examined the rope burns on her wrists. Listening, she could tell that it was raining harder than before. It didn’t matter. If she managed to get to the door and unlock it before he grabbed her, she had a good chance of getting away from him. She was a good runner, and while running shoes would have helped her make better time, at least her pumps had low heels.
Finally she’d procrastinated as long as she dared, and she opened the bathroom door. She almost gasped out loud, because that jerk, that red-haired snake in the grass, that kidnapper, was actually in bed and waiting for her to join him. She saw at once that every stitch of clothes he’d had on had been tossed on a chair, so he wasn’t just in bed, he was naked!
“Get undressed,” he told her.
“Can we have a drink first? Say, how would you like to see a real sexy striptease? Is there a radio in here?”
“Nah, just that old TV. Probably doesn’t even work. Go ahead and pour us both a drink, then let’s see you strut your stuff, baby.”
Hope’s hands were shaking when she reached for the whiskey bottle. She knew what she had to do next, and her heart was in her throat and nearly choking her. But she managed to knock over the bottle, and the little remaining whiskey in it splashed on the floor.
“Oh, damn!” she cried. “If there’s anything I hate, it’s wasting good whiskey. I’ll have to open that other bottle you left on the dresser.”
“Well, get a move on, will ya? I’m thirsty.”
“Now, don’t get all hot and bothered, sweetie,” she said coyly. “It’ll only take me a sec to bring your drink, then I’ll get one for myself.” Stepping over to the dresser, she eyed the knife, but in that instant she knew she couldn’t use it, not even to protect herself. She nearly doubled over from the agony in her midsection. Somehow she had to get out of here. How? How?
After that everything seemed to happen without direction from her brain. Carrying the full bottle of whiskey and Randy’s glass over to the bed, she handed him the glass. The second he took it she slammed him over the head with the bottle.
Then she ran—frantically, breathing so hard she could hear herself. She struggled with the simple dead bolt on the door for what felt like an eternity and finally ran outside. The rain pelted her face, her clothes, her hair, but fear drove her on…and on…and on.
Oh, yes, she remembered everything now—her mother, Brandon, her family in Texas and Matt. She had so much to live for and this creep from another planet was not going to destroy her!
Jumping up from the table, she screamed loudly enough to wake the dead. Randy grabbed her then and clapped his hand over her mouth. Kicking and scratching, she fought him with every ounce of furious strength in her body.
“You little wildcat! Simmer down!” Randy took a swing and hit her with a hard right to her chin.
The last thing Hope saw was Matt running into the kitchen in his underwear. The last thing she heard was the crunch of bone when Matt’s huge fist flattened Randy’s face.
She fell to the floor, out cold.
She awoke in her own bed, or what she’d come to think of as her bed. It wasn’t hers at all, she thought sadly, it belonged to Matt. Her bed was in her house in Boston, and she’d come to Texas at the urging of her siblings to participate in the reading of their father’s will.
The house was full of people. She could hear them moving around and talking. Doc stuck his head in, then called down the hall, “Cliff, she’s awake now.” Doc came in and sat on the bed next to her. “How are you feeling, young lady?”
“Is my jaw broken?”
“Just bruised. I’ve been keeping a close eye on your vitals, Hope, and you’re doing fine. Do you remember my giving you a sedative?”
“Vaguely. Quite a few things about tonight are…vague,” she murmured. But then her gaze sought Dr. Pickett’s. “When I saw that man, I remembered everything.”
“About your life prior to coming to Texas?”
“Everything, Doctor, my childhood, my parents, schools I attended, friends of all ages, the places in Europe I love…everything.”
“And Randy Biggers?” Doc asked quietly.
“He kidnapped me,” she said huskily.
“That’s what we’ve all figured out. Here’s the sheriff. Are you feeling up to having a little chat with him?”
“I think so. Yes, I’m sure of it.” She looked up as the sheriff approached the bed and said, “Hello.”
“Hello, Hope. You had quite an experience tonight. Or should I say last night? It’s nearly dawn now. Doc, I’m going to bring that chair over to the bed. Would you mind moving so I can sit close enough to Hope to hear her better?”
Doc smiled at Hope and patted her hand. “You’ve been speaking very softly, my dear. I’ll leave you and the sheriff alone for now, but I won’t be far. You just let someone know if you need me.”
She shaped a wan little smile for Doc, then watched the sheriff seat himself in the chair she’d brought over to the bed. “You said it’s almost dawn? What happened to the night?”
“Sort of slipped away on you, did it?” The sheriff took a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “Do you know the name of the man who attacked you tonight?”
“Randy Biggers. When I first arrived in Grandview weeks ago, he came up to me and told me he was a chauffeur for the Stockwells, and that they’d sent him to pick me up.” Hope related the awful story she’d remembered earlier, omitting nothing.
“So you’re saying you walked clear from the Roadside Motel that night? It was pouring rain, Hope.”
“Yes,” she agreed with a weary sigh, “it was. And I didn’t walk, Sheriff, I ran. Before you doubt that statement, let me add that I do a lot of running. It’s my favorite form of exercise, and I’ve entered a number of marathons. But I wasn’t running for fun that night, I was scared out of my wits and positive that Biggers was only a short distance behind me. Never once did it occur to me that I might have outrun him, or that he’d gotten too late a start to catch up with me. Maybe I should have considered those options, but all I could think of was getting away from him.”
“You outsmarted him, Hope. Everyone’s very proud of you.”
“Including Matt? Where is he, by the way? I can hear strange voices in the house, but I haven’t heard his.”
“Matt and Biggers were both transported to Hawthorne Hospital. Matt wouldn’t hear of anyone but Doc taking a look at you, so some other doctor must be stitching him and Biggers up in the emergency room.”
Hope’s eyes grew frightened. “Matt was hurt? How badly?”
“Broke his hand—or rather several bones in his hand—when he let Biggers have one. Biggers ended up with a broken nose and jaw, and Matt said his satisfaction in punching out Biggers’s lights far outweighed the damage he did to his fist.” The Sheriff shook his head. “Bet Biggers never knew what hit him. That bonehead came after you right in Matt’s house. Never could figure out the criminal mind, but I’m sure Biggers will have a good long time in prison to ask himself why he wasn’t a little more patient about waiting for another chance to grab you without witnesses.” The sheriff grinned. “Or without a freight train like Matt on hand to bowl him over.”
Sheriff Braeburn got up and returned the chair to its corner. “That’s about it for now, Hope. You will testify in court at Biggers’s trial, won’t you?”
She wished that she never had to set eyes on him again, but she said, “Yes, I’ll testify.”
“By the way, I notified your family. Kate is on her way here, and no telling how many others. Hope, Kate said on the phone when I called that it was time you went home. She sounded determined, so I feel pretty certain that you’re going to be pressured to leave here.”
Remembering how wantonly she’d behaved with Matt, and how out of character that was for her, Hope winced. She’d actually been thinking about love, and since she was better equipped to read Matt’s actions and reactions now, she was positive that the word had never entered his mind. Hopefully Kate would get there before Matt returned from Hawthorne; there really was no reason for them to ever see each other again, was there?
“That’s fine,” she said dully, and turned her face to the wall.