Catherine Coulter - The Target

"Damn you, I just want to find out what's happened, what his plans are."

"Anything that's happened, any plans made, we've made them together. I'm sorry, Dad, but just because you're men doesn't mean you rule my world."

"Yeah, well, if a man hadn't been around, Louey would still be beating the crap out of you."

Molly knew Emma had heard that. "Be quiet," she said as calmly as she could manage. "Just be quiet."

Mason watched the little girl turn, obviously puzzled, and stare at him. He saw she didn't understand, but she would soon. He saw she was gripping both their hands. Had Molly already taken Ramsey Hunt as a lover? Despite her daughter's presence?

He said to Judge Ramsey Hunt, "Damn you, come back here. There's no way you're leaving my house now and taking them with you. Besides, given who you are, your chances of getting away unrecognized are about zip."

Suddenly, Eve uncurled from her chair and rose. She smiled at all of them indiscriminately and said in a charming hostess voice, "How about some more lemonade? It will make everyone feel better."

IT had been a long day, too long a day without Ingrid. Louey Santera rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the painful knots. The performance had hurled him to the heights, the crowd's applause still rang in his ears, as always, but now that it was over, he'd fallen into the pits. He needed Ingrid's clever hands on him.

But he'd given Ingrid the day off. She was with her parents in Frankfurt. Maybe one of his groupie girls could rub him down. He walked to the door and pulled it open.

"Alenon! Get in here!"

A skinny young guy with acne and stringy blond hair stuck his head around the corner. "Yes, boss?" Even the kid's voice was stringy, with little substance.

"Get me one of the girls, one who just might know how to unknot my neck and shoulders."

Alenon was back in under five minutes towing a small black-haired girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen. She looked like a baby. Was she one of the groupies who trailed after him like a pack of puppies? He didn't recognize her.

"This is Karolina, sir. She says her mother's a masseuse. She says she knows what to do."

Louey looked into the girl's eyes. She might be sixteen in years, but not in experience. He nodded.

"Hello, Karolina. Can you help me?"

She said in excellent English, "It is my pleasure to help you, Mr. Santera. Is your daughter all right? I read in the newspaper that she was kidnapped."

What the hell was this? "What newspaper?"

"The Berliner Zeitung. There was an article about you. At the bottom, there was a sentence about your daughter being kidnapped. The reporter wrote it happened somewhere out in America's Wild West. I'm very sorry."

How had the reporter known? Hell, when she wasn't listening to him speak or writing down what he said or wrapping her legs around him, there hadn't been any time for her to find out anything. He'd just muttered something about Emma, not even a complete sentence. She must have called Denver. He turned to Karolina. "You speak English better than that reporter did."

"My mother is American."

"Oh," Louey said, rubbing his neck. He watched as Karolina efficiently covered the massage table with its soft flannel sheet. She stood back. Louey smiled. Slowly, he undressed for her. She didn't say a word.

When he started to pull down his jockey shorts, she stepped forward, holding a towel out wide in front of him.

When she was rubbing his feet, she said, "I'm in Al-Anon. It's for children whose parents are alcoholics.

Why do you use it as a name for Rudy?"

Rudy. That was the kid's name? He shrugged, a small movement because he was lying flat on his stomach. "Because it amuses me."

"I see," Karolina said as she moved up the table. He felt her hands dig into his shoulders. He closed his eyes.

It was the best massage of his life. When he woke up two hours later, Karolina was gone.

Alenon was standing there, watching him. For how long? Had he snored? Drooled? "What do you want?"

"I have a message from Mr. Lord for you."

"Oh no," Louey said and sat up, pulling the sheet to his waist. "When did the old man call? What did he want?"

"It was actually a man who said he was calling for Mr. Lord. He said he didn't need to speak to you. He said that your daughter is safe again, with Mr. Lord, at his house. That was all."

Rudy Brinker watched one of the most talented men in the world lower his head in his hands. He looked sad, broken. But his voice, when he spoke, was vicious. Rudy listened to him curse for a good thirty seconds. Then he quietly let himself out of Mr. Santera's room. He went down the hall to Mr. Murdock's room and knocked twice.

The ugliest man Rudy had ever seen answered the knock.

MASON LORD SWIRLED the rich golden brandy in the Waterford snifter, watching it lightly veil the sides of the glass. It was magnificent brandy, coating his tongue and his throat as well when he swallowed. He allowed himself one snifter at night, an hour after dinner.

Eve was sitting on the sofa, watching television. He thought it was an idiotic show like Wheel of Fortune, only worse. Although he'd felt contempt for her taste even before he'd married her, he hadn't felt anything but lust for her body, and in his way of thinking, contempt couldn't begin to catch up with lust.

She looked up. It must be a commercial. "What are you going to do with them, Mason?"

He took the last drink of his brandy, carefully set the snifter down on a marble-topped side table, then said slowly, "I wanted them to come here. You heard me tell Molly when she called that she was to come here."

"Yes, so she listened to you."

"But she didn't want to. It was the man. It was Ramsey Hunt." He looked at the gold Rolex on his wrist.

"He said he would come down to speak to me. Miles told him he wasn't to bring Molly."

"When did he say that?"

"Miles told him what he had to do if he wanted my protection. He'll do as I ask. He knows he needs me."

He streaked his long fingers through his hair. Eve stared at him. She'd never seen him do that. "What's wrong?"

"She needs to be controlled. The way she spoke to me. I nearly struck her, Eve."

"But you didn't. When she threatened to leave, you backed off and told her what she wanted to hear-that you wanted to know what she had to say as well as this Ramsey Hunt." Eve paused a moment. The show was coming back on. Then she said, "You flattered her and she fell for it. You did control her, Mason."

"No," he said, "really, she didn't fall for anything. She's scared for her daughter. She'd make a deal with the devil to keep her daughter safe, even if the devil is me." But he knew if he hadn't backed off, she'd have been out of there, and that man would have gone with her. She had to be sleeping with him, to have him so pussy whipped. He looked at his wife. She'd turned back to her game show. He walked to the door of the immense living room and quietly opened the beautiful French doors that gave onto a walled-in, quite lovely English garden. The air was soft, redolent with the intermingling scents of hyacinths, roses, and star jasmine. The jasmine he'd selected himself for the garden. There were no sounds to break the quiet. Very few people knew that half a dozen men were stationed in and around the house. As soon as Molly, Emma, and Ramsey Hunt had arrived, he'd added more guards. He turned to see Miles coming from across the hall, toward him.

"Emma liked the spaghetti I made for her," he said. "The pasta was shaped like Jurassic Park dinosaurs."

Mason Lord could only stare at a man who'd been loyal only to him, at his beck and call only, for twenty-two years. He'd begun here when Molly was a little girl, but he'd never paid her much attention. Why Emma? Sure she was pretty, she was the very picture of Alicia, but so what? He'd never paid any attention to Alicia either.