Chapter Twenty-Eight
As Dirk drove toward Meg’s house, the rain beat down hard, making the roads slick, forming puddles on the asphalt that reflected the taillights of the cars in front of him. The rhythmic slap of the wipers warred with “Burnin’ It Down,” the song that began to play on his cell phone.
He hit the Hands Free and heard the husky voice of M-Jazz, the rapper, scrape over the line.
“Dirk, it’s M. I need you, man. I got trouble and I don’t know what to do about it. Can you come over?”
“What’s the problem?” Dirk asked.
“It’s that crazy dude I told you ’bout, man. He tried to break into my freakin’ house. He was armed, dude. I saw the gun when he ran away. I need you to find this guy, get him off my back.”
“You call the cops?”
“Yeah, I did. They’re putting an extra car in the neighborhood, but that don’t cut it, man.”
“You’re right. You’re at the point you need personal protection. You need a bodyguard, M. I wish I could do it, but—”
“I know. I’m gonna hire somebody, but I got a gig tonight. I really need your help.”
Dirk glanced over at Meg. After the hot kiss in the parking lot, he had plans for her this evening. But even great sex wasn’t worth letting one of his clients get killed.
“I can be at your place in an hour,” he said. “I’ll take a look around, see if the guy left any prints, anything we can use to find him. I’ll go with you tonight and set up some kind of ongoing protection starting tomorrow.”
“That’s great. I’ll see you in an hour.” M signed off and Dirk turned to Meg.
“Looks like the evening I was hoping for is going to be postponed.”
“That’s all right. You can come over when you’re finished.”
“M’s got a gig. I’ll have someone covering his house, but I still won’t get done till late.”
The smile she gave him was so full of promise his blood pumped faster and his groin tightened.
“I don’t mind,” she said softly.
Dirk thought of what would happen when he joined her in bed and stifled a groan. “Okay, then. I’ll come over when I’m finished.”
“You have a key to the front door and you know the security code on the new alarm system, right?”
“I know it.” He pulled the Viper up in front of the house a few minutes later and walked Meg into the entry. Mrs. Wills was just getting ready to leave.
“Charlie’s had supper,” the heavyset woman said as she shrugged on her long, beige coat and pulled her umbrella out of the brass can beside the front door. “He loved the Sloppy Joes.” She glanced at Dirk and smiled. “There’s enough left on the stove for both of you.”
“Thanks, Rose,” Meg said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The housekeeper left and Meg turned to Dirk. “Are you hungry? I could fix you a sandwich to take with you.”
His stomach growled. He was starving. “That sounds great.”
Meg made him a Sloppy Joe she wrapped in foil, put the sandwich and a can of Coke in a plastic grocery bag, and walked him to the door.
“Don’t wait up,” he said as he leaned down and brushed a kiss over her lips.
“I won’t. You can wake me when you come to bed.”
Oh, man, yeah. He kissed her again. “I’ll see you later. Lock the door and set the alarm.”
She just nodded. Dirk headed for the car, unwrapping the sandwich and digging in along the way. Messy but delicious. He climbed inside the Viper and fired up the engine. He tried to keep his mind on the business of keeping M safe, not the lust for Meg running hot in his blood.
* * *
Meg slept fitfully. Charlie had kept her company for a while, the two of them watching TV together in her big king-size bed. He’d finally gotten drowsy and she’d carried him to bed. He was used to sleeping in his own room. Until the kidnapping, he had preferred it.
Tonight he’d snuggled down in his youth bed, hugged his pillow, and fallen deeply asleep.
Meg was the one having trouble sleeping. She kept an ear cocked for the sound of Dirk’s footsteps coming up the stairs. The hours crept past and he still wasn’t there. He had said he’d be late, but maybe he had run into trouble. Or maybe he had just changed his mind.
Dirk still hadn’t made any real commitment—not that she expected him to, at least not yet. Finally she heard his boots pounding up the stairs and relaxed enough to fall asleep, curled on her side.
She woke up when he slid into bed beside her, fit himself spoon fashion behind her. She glanced at the clock. It was almost three in the morning.
“Sorry, I’m so late. Go back to sleep, baby.” He kissed the back of her neck and a little curl of heat slid into her belly.
She didn’t want to sleep. Not with Dirk Reynolds in her bed. When he draped an arm over her middle, she moved his hand so it covered her breast over the short lavender silk nightie she was wearing. When she fit her bottom snugly against his groin, she felt his erection stir.
“So I guess you aren’t that tired,” he whispered against her ear.
“Are you?” she whispered back.
He slid up the silk nightie, leaving her bare to the waist. “No,” he said softly. He slipped the straps of the nightgown off her shoulders, baring her breasts, too, then ran his thumb over her nipple.
Her stomach clenched as he caressed her, bent and kissed the side of her neck. She started to roll onto her back, but his firm grip held her in place. His talented hands found her sex, toyed with her, stroked her. She was way more than ready when he drew her up on her knees and came up behind her.
God, he felt good as he slid himself inside and slowly began to move.
Oh, she liked this. Liked the way it made her feel so feminine, liked the way he took charge, liked that he was so powerful, so male.
He caught her hips to hold her steady and began to move faster, deeper, harder. Need swept through her, pulsed out through her limbs. Her stomach muscles contracted and ripples of heat rolled through her. She started coming. Arched her back to take him deeper, felt a fresh rush of pleasure, moaned his name, and came again.
Dirk followed her to release, his muscles going rigid, his head thrown back, a growl locked low in his throat.
For several long moments they remained where they were, their bodies still joined as they spiraled back to earth. Then Dirk tumbled her down on the bed, the two of them still locked together.
“Sleepy now?” he asked, nuzzling the nape of her neck.
She gave him a drowsy smile, nodded, and yawned. “’Night.”
Dirk chuckled and rolled out of bed to take care of the condom she’d barely realized he’d put on. Meg hadn’t told him yet, but while she was in the hospital, she had gotten a birth control shot. Since she knew he wasn’t the kind of man to take chances with his body, she figured in a few more days they wouldn’t need any more condoms.
It was her last, very pleasant thought as she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Two days passed. Meg had found a location for her boutique and it was perfect. The interior would have to be gutted and remodeled to fit her particular needs, but that was part of the lease agreement that was being prepared.
Dirk had been helping her with the store design in the evenings and was surprisingly good at it, but then, he had a lot of experience remodeling the houses he sold.
He spent most of his days at the office, trying to dig up information that might help them solve the kidnapping. She knew he had been looking into Jonathan’s activities, but he had admitted that so far he’d come up with nothing.
The rest of the time he was working to help his rapper friend line up security for an upcoming concert tour.
He had stayed with her every night and it had been heaven. Last night they had all gone out for pizza at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Dirk and Charlie had played the arcade games until past Charlie’s bedtime. As she watched the two of them together, it seemed Dirk was having as much fun as her little boy.
Meg grinned. Every woman knew men were all little boys underneath.
This morning, after a night of amazing sex, she had slept a little late. Dirk had kissed her, gone down to fix Charlie a bowl of cereal, then left when Rose arrived, heading off to work.
Now, sitting at the dining table in front of her laptop, Meg poured over Web sites filled with women’s sportswear. Upscale brands like Stella McCartney, Kelly Dooley, Lucas Hugh, Bogner, and Gorsuch. She planned to carry expensive sporting apparel that was beautifully designed, as well as some more affordable brands like Adidas and Juicy Couture.
Her cell rang as she clicked up another Web site and began to scan photos of snow-skiing outfits. It made her want to get out on the slopes again. She wondered if Dirk preferred skiing or snowboarding; but then, he was probably good at both.
She picked up her cell phone, checked the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Megan. How are you? It’s Jonathan.”
He rarely called. She wondered what he wanted. “I’m doing very well.” She glanced at the computer screen and couldn’t hold back a smile. “I’ve decided to open that boutique we talked about when we first got married.”
“Well, good for you.”
Surprise trickled through her. He had wanted her to stay home, spend her time entertaining his clients. He had only tolerated her modeling because the pay was so good and her dad had given the job his stamp of approval. Jonathan never went against her father.
“I’m really excited about it,” she told him.
“So you’ve found a location?”
“A tenant vacated a space in Rainier Square. It’s the perfect spot for the high-end merchandise I’ll be selling, and it’s less than four miles from the house.”
“Good choice. The Fairmont is just across the street, lots of people with money. How’s Charlie? You mentioned taking him to a therapist when I saw you at the hospital.”
It was amazing they were still talking. Since the divorce, their conversations had been brief to say the least, and only when absolutely necessary.
“I took him to see a doctor named Sharon Murphy. She specializes in child psychology.”
“That’s good. Charlie is the reason I called, Meg. I’d really like to talk to you about him. I know I haven’t been a good father, but after what happened at the lake ... well, it opened my eyes. Charlie is my son. He could have been killed and I would never really have known him. I want us to get reacquainted.”
Meg couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Jonathan had never shown any interest in their child. Maybe almost losing his son had changed him in some way.
“I’m listening.”
“I was hoping we could get together, talk things over. I have some time later this morning.”
Dirk had been digging into Jonathan’s activities for days and come up with nothing. He was still waiting for Sadie to get back, but Meg didn’t believe her ex-husband would purposely do anything to hurt his son.
“Why don’t you come over here?” she asked. Where Rose was cleaning upstairs and Dirk could join them.
“Mrs. Wills is there and so is Charlie. It wouldn’t really be private. We could meet at Starbucks, have a cup of coffee and talk things over. Surely with all that’s happened, it’s not too much to ask.”
Meg took a deep breath. That they were divorced didn’t change the fact that Jonathan was Charlie’s father. Meg knew how much her little boy yearned for a dad who loved him and wanted to be with him. If Jonathan was serious, maybe they could come up with some kind of plan.
Still, she didn’t want to do anything foolish. “Starbucks sounds good.” Plenty of people at Starbucks and she wouldn’t have to stay long.
“I have some appointments later,” Jonathan said. “We could meet in an hour, if that works for you.”
She was planning to go downtown anyway. She had an appointment with the leasing agent for another look at the boutique space; then she was signing the papers her attorney had already approved. The timing would work just right. “An hour’s fine.”
“How about the Starbucks on East Madison? It isn’t far from your house, and there’s a parking lot right there, so parking shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’d be great.”
“I’ll have a nonfat cappuccino waiting. Still your favorite, right?”
She smiled. This sounded more like the Jonathan she had known before she married him. “Yes, it is.”
“I’ll see you there in an hour.” The line went dead. Meg set the phone back down next to her computer. She had time to get a little more work done before she left the house.
* * *
Jonathan’s hand shook as he handed the disposable phone back to Thomas Moore, or whatever he was calling himself today. His eyes had changed from blue to dark brown—contacts, undoubtedly—and instead of a blond buzz cut, he had black hair, obviously a wig, but it must have been expensive because it was nearly impossible to tell.
Next to him stood the brawny man who looked like a boxer. A few feet away, the craggy-faced man he’d dubbed the smoker pulled out a cigarette and set it between his fleshy lips but didn’t light up.
“Megan’s agreed to meet me at Starbucks in an hour,” Jonathan said, the words a little raspy, forced between his dry lips. They were standing in the middle of an empty warehouse on Harbor Island.
Jonathan was familiar with the location. He had first met Otto Gertsman when the big German had traveled from Buenos Aires to Seattle to expand his container shipping operation.
Through a friend of Jonathan’s father’s in the steel industry, one of Gertsman’s many endeavors, the German had come to Jonathan with his banking needs. Jonathan had been more than happy to help. Bringing in a megaclient like Otto Gertsman was a real feather in his cap.
Moore gave him the smug, condescending smile Jonathan had come to hate. “Well done,” he said. “You’re quite a proficient liar when you put your mind to it.”
“You didn’t give me any choice.” Moore had called him at the office, given him an address on the island, and insisted Jonathan meet him there. When he’d arrived at the empty warehouse, Moore and his two thugs had been waiting.
He glanced at the disposable phone the man had insisted he use to call Meg. “What if she tells someone she’s meeting me?”
“Just tell them she never arrived. There won’t be any proof.”
He had made the call and set up the meeting just as Moore had demanded. He didn’t want to lose any more appendages so playing the part of repentant father hadn’t been as difficult as he’d thought.
“I’ve done what you asked,” he said. “I don’t want any more to do with any of this. Go do whatever evil you have planned and leave me out of it.”
Moore chuckled softly. “Unfortunately for you the choice isn’t yours. You’re leaving here with these two gentlemen—one way or another.” His gaze touched on each of his men. “I’ll meet you at the airport.”
Jonathan felt sick. He knew Moore’s plans, knew he had a private jet waiting at Boeing Field to fly Meg out of the country. OGAR International, Gertsman’s company, was based in Buenos Aires. Where the big German would be taking Meg from there, Jonathan had no idea and didn’t want to know.
She’ll be all right, he told himself. Otto was a businessman, not a murderer. He just wanted to spend some time with a beautiful woman he’d become somewhat obsessed with. He also wanted Jonathan to suffer in some way for the money he had borrowed and couldn’t pay back.
Eventually he’d let Meg go.
Or at least that’s what he told himself.
He wondered what would happen to him if Meg returned and pointed an accusing finger, but he couldn’t let his mind stray that far ahead or he wouldn’t make it through the morning.
“Time to go,” the boxer said, shoving him toward the big metal door he’d driven in through. A white van sat next to where he’d parked his candy-apple red Cadillac just inside the warehouse entrance. The boxer gave him a shove toward the van, then opened the sliding door on the side and urged him to climb inside.
Fear pounded through him, became a roaring in his ears. What if they didn’t let him go? What if they killed him instead?
“Don’t piss yourself,” the boxer said, following Jonathan into the van, apparently reading his mind or perhaps the bloodless color of his face. “The boss said to bring you back and let you go as soon as we deliver the package to the airport. He says you know you’re a dead man if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”
The smoker slid into the driver’s seat and lit the cigarette still dangling from his lips. He blew out a lungful of smoke, making Jonathan’s nervous stomach heave. The engine started, the metal door rolled up, and the van pulled out onto the road.
For a moment Jonathan closed his eyes. The boxer was probably telling the truth. They weren’t going to kill him. He was more valuable to Gertsman alive than dead. He was the president of Seattle State Bank. There were people he knew, decisions he could influence from such a powerful position.
The German had him by the balls and both of them knew it. He’d do whatever he was told from now on.
He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t man enough to do anything about it.
He knew it. And so did Otto Gertsman.