Jo Leigh - One-Click Buy - September Harlequin Blaze

“Until I sign the papers.”

“It won’t come to that.”

“I’d like to believe you.”

“I came back, didn’t I?”

She smiled. “Yes. You did.”

“What do you say we get that bandage changed.”

WILLIAM CHECKED HIS watch again as he drove slowly along the Sixty-fifth Street traverse. In a few minutes he would be at the carousel, and a few minutes after that he’d put the bag full of money in the red bin.

The drive in itself had been terrifying. He hadn’t been behind the wheel in four years, and that had been in England. It meant nothing. To get his daughter back he would have walked here on his hands.

He’d obeyed the kidnapper’s instructions to the letter, but after his discussion with Sara, he knew that someone from inside his organization had to be involved. He would deal with the incredible idiocy of the whole concept of fake kidnappings later. For now, he was looking at Michael Caulfield as the most likely traitor.

Sara’s conviction that he would never do anything to hurt Tate was simply another nail in his coffin. William had hired Caulfield because he was supposed to be the very best at what he did. But he hadn’t paid enough attention to why the man had been discharged. There was the whole unsavory business with the brother.

There was no question that he would get to the bottom of this. There was also no question that whoever had taken his daughter would pay with his life.

He had already passed the dark and shuttered Tavern on the Green. Everything was closed at this hour. However, the carousel was still illuminated. He would have preferred softer lights with some character to them, but these lamps weren’t to entrance, they were to scare off the drug users and the teenagers who looked for dark corners to get their thrills.

He had to get close to the red-crossed trash bin. Not because of the instructions but because five million dollars was heavy and he wasn’t a strong man. He wished he had followed his doctor’s advice about exercise.

None of it would matter if he didn’t get his girl back. He’d gone all these years with her safety as his vanguard. No matter where they’d traveled he’d spared no expense. Without Tate, he had nothing.

There it was. The only red-marked trash receptacle near the carousel. Though it was large, he’d have to work at getting the bag inside.

He parked the borrowed Cadillac. Stafford had wanted to drive it himself, but William had to do this alone. At least the Cadillac was easier to maneuver than his limousine. Once outside, he took the key to the trunk and lifted the lid. The gym bag was securely zipped. No casual passerby would think it contained blood money.

He took in a deep breath and hauled the bag up and over the rim of the trunk. Staggering as he walked the few steps to the marked bin, he had to rock his body so the bag would hit the opening.

After a moment to catch his breath, he shoved the bag into the bin until the whole thing fell. And fell.

He looked down, bracing his hands on the edge of the bin. There was no bottom. There was a trash-bin-size hole dug through the cement and the earth beneath. But all William could see was the end of his world.

WITH HER NEW BANDAGE and the comfort in knowing she wouldn’t have to be cuffed again at least for the rest of the night, Tate finished up in the bathroom, grateful there were guest toiletries, including a couple of toothbrushes still in their boxes. She wasn’t crazy about using the soap on her face, but as she washed she realized just how insane that was.

She was still alive when it could have so easily gone the other way. In fact, not much about this kidnapping had turned out like her fears.

Because of Michael.

She stared into the small mirror above the sink, wincing at the woman who looked back. Her eyes were red and puffy, as were her cheeks. She looked as if she’d been through hell. She had looked like this when he’d kissed her, and now it felt quite suspicious. Had he just been trying to keep her distracted? Calm her down? Probably. Shouldn’t she mind a lot more?

Of course, she’d clearly gone quite mad when the truth had penetrated that she’d really been kidnapped. How insane does a person have to be to worry that her new potential boyfriend might not like her skin tone when on the brink of death? If they lived through this, she would definitely need a new therapist.

Well, she couldn’t stay in the head all night. It just seemed so odd that he was out there. That they would be sharing a bed.

That sucked her breath right out of her lungs.

They were sharing a bed. It might be her last night on Earth. The math wasn’t difficult. She thought of the kisses and how it had felt to finally have a real man want her. Even if it was all an act, she didn’t care. As far as last wishes went, this was a good one.

A shudder shook her body as once again reality and delusion smacked into each other. This was so different than anything she’d imagined-and she’d imagined so much. In her nightmares there was no rest, no relief from the terror. There was certainly no kissing and no trust that somehow she’d survive.

A tap on the door sent her heart into overdrive.

“Tate? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He needed to brush his teeth, to get himself ready for bed. Although she’d like to, she couldn’t stay here for the rest of the night.

She took one last glance in the mirror-which was not terribly smart, considering-then went into the small bedroom.

Michael stood by the door, an easy smile on his lips. Part of her ease with him was a conditioned response. Michael only took off his sunglasses when they were having their wonderful conversations. The more she connected with his gaze, the calmer she felt.

“You need something?” he asked. “There are some clothes in the drawers. Maybe you could find yourself something more comfortable to wear.”

She couldn’t. The idea of wearing someone else’s things…

“I’ll be out in a minute. The door’s locked. You’ll know if someone’s trying to come in.”

She looked at the door, then back at Michael. Selfishly she wished he didn’t have to go, even for a few minutes. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he said. A moment later he was in the head and she was alone. Only it didn’t feel quite so bleak.

She went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Bikinis. Many of them. All so tiny they made her blush. Second drawer down had cover-ups, but they were mostly transparent. God, what must go on in this boat.

She shook her head at her prudishness. She’d been around a lot of sex in her life, even though she hadn’t been the one having it. In her fancy prep school she’d spent many a night wearing headphones so she wouldn’t have to hear the grunting coming from the other bed.

In college things had gotten more personal. Graydon had taken her to parties where the drugs and alcohol had flowed like water. Inhibitions were nonexistent, and she’d become inured to the sight of her fellow students going at it like bunnies.

But then she’d retreated to her world of fear, and so much of the outside world had taken on sinister tones. At the very least it had become unfamiliar. More real by far was her fantasy life. It was in bed she truly lived. That’s where all her plans were, her dreams. And that’s where sleeping with Michael made sense.

She breathed deeply, closed her eyes. Pictured herself as a warrior, complete with combat boots and semiautomatic weapon. A minute of positive self-talk and she got into bed.

If she’d known she was going to be kidnapped, she would have dressed differently. Certainly she wouldn’t have worn the linen pants. But this was what she had and she’d cope. By tomorrow…No, she wasn’t going to think about tomorrow. Her only decision at the moment was about her shoes.