Barbara Dunlop - Millions To Spare

“Thank you,” she said to Leila, advancing back into the room as the woman set the tray down on a low table between the two armchairs and the love seat. It occurred to Julia that she should probably stand on principle and refuse to eat her jailer’s food. Part of her wanted to be that defiant, but another part urged her to be practical. A debate ping-ponged through her brain as Leila let herself out of the room.

“You need to eat,” came Harrison’s deep voice.

She glanced up to see him gesturing at the love seat.

“I need to make a phone call,” she told him, her tone biting.

Melanie and Robbie must be nearly frantic with worry by now. What if it distracted them from their race preparation?

Then Julia wondered if the authorities would simply inform Melanie and Robbie she was in custody at Cadair Racing. If there was some kind of central database of prisoners, Melanie and Robbie could show up here any minute.

“I’m afraid I still can’t allow a phone call,” said Harrison.

“It’s not that you can’t,” Julia retorted. “The problem is that you won’t.”

He gestured to the love seat. “We need to talk.”

Once again, she wondered how much defiance she should show. She hated to give him his way. Then again, refusing to cooperate might simply slow down her release.

She sat, glancing at the food but not giving in to temptation on that front.

Harrison took one of the armchairs opposite.

“Starving yourself won’t improve the situation,” he pointed out.

“It’ll give me emotional satisfaction,” she told him honestly.

“In the short term, maybe. But if you’re planning to fight or escape, or plot against me in any way, doesn’t it make more sense to keep up your strength?”

It annoyed her that he was right. “You’re expecting me to escape?”

He chuckled. “No. I’m expecting you to try.”

Of course he didn’t doubt he’d prevail. He was a member of the privileged class, after all.

“Well, I expected you to quickly discover that I am who I say I am, and let me go. Did you even check me out? Did you call Equine Earth Magazine? ”

He leaned forward, lifted the silver coffeepot and poured two cups of the fragrant brew. “I looked them up on Google.”

“Then you found out I’m me.”

“I found out a woman named Julia Nash has written articles for them.”

“That’s me. ”

He added two lumps of sugar to one of the cups and pushed it her way. Then he lifted the other.

“What made you decide I took sugar?”

“You’re young, you’re American, you’re a girl.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“ Do you take sugar?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes.”

“Then drink. Your keeling over doesn’t help either of us.”

She gave in. He was right on at least that count. She should keep up her strength. And the caffeine would help her stay alert, should an escape possibility present itself.

“If you’d give me back my purse, I can prove who I am,” she said. “I have a driver’s license.”

“You also have a passport. Or rather, I have your passport.”

“Then you know I’m Julia Nash.”

He was obviously messing with her head for some obscure reason of his own. He had to have every intention of letting her go this morning. Hunger contracting her stomach, she reached for an almond-glazed Danish. If memory served, it was a long drive back to Dubai.

“Tell me again why you broke into Cadair Racing?” he asked.

Julia chewed then swallowed the first bite of the pastry, dabbing her lips with the white linen napkin. “As you’ve discovered for yourself, I’m a reporter for Equine Earth Magazine. I wanted to do a story on you and your horse.”

“Which horse?”

“Millions to Spare.”

“And what’s your story angle?”

“His recent victories.” That seemed generic enough.

“Why Millions to Spare? Ilithyia won more races this year.”

Julia hesitated. This one was a little tougher.

Harrison raised his eyebrows.

She tried not to panic. She had to say something, anything. “Because of his…” No good. She drew a blank.

He gave her an extra few seconds, but then he shook his head.

“I was this close.” He made a centimeter-size gap between his thumb and forefinger. “ This close to believing you are who you say you are. But then you had to go and lie again.”

“I’m not lying.” She could easily do a story on him and Millions to Spare. Therefore, technically, she was telling the truth.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I brought you your purse.” He pushed it across the table.

Relief flooded through her. He was letting her go. She scooped up the ivory leather bag, snapped open the clasp and instantly noticed the deficiency. “My phone’s not here.” And neither was her passport, dashing her hopes that he might be setting her free.

Harrison stood. “Why would I give you back your phone?”

“So I can call a taxi.”

He shook his head. “You’re a criminal in my custody. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”

Julia quickly looked through the purse, searching for the other important item. Where was the cotton swab? Her heart beat deeply in her chest. Where was her DNA evidence?

Harrison started for the door. “We’ll chat again after lunch.”

“But-”

“Do enjoy your breakfast. Can I have Leila bring you anything else? A magazine perhaps.”

Julia didn’t want a magazine. She wanted a cell phone, a PDA, a walkie-talkie, anything with which to communicate with the outside world.

“Can I use a computer?” she tried.

He chuckled. “Right. That’s likely.”

“Well, can I at least get out of this room?” Communication devices were obviously not coming in, so she’d have to get out and find one.

He frowned as he considered her request.

She gestured to the fenced grounds below the balcony. There were also guards at the gate. Come to think of it, the place had an awful lot of security for a horse stable. Maybe horse thieves were common. Maybe Harrison had a legitimate reason to suspect she was trying to steal Millions to Spare.

“Where am I going to go?” she challenged him.

After another silent moment, he relented. “I’ll have Leila show you to the main terrace. There’s a pool there, and the staff will bring you anything you need.”

Julia came to her feet, determined to push her luck as far as it could be pushed. “How about a tour?”

He raised one of his aristocratic brows. “A tour of what?”

“The palace, the gardens, the stable. If I’m going to do a story-”

He snorted his disbelief.

“-it’ll be helpful to slot in some background.”

He stared at her in silence.

“I do want to interview you.”

He took a step toward her. “I’ll give you a tour myself.”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the perfect solution. She’d been hoping for Leila, or perhaps someone elderly, with hearing and sight challenges.

“Problem with that?” he asked.

“Not at all. I can interview you while we tour.” At least it was a step in the right direction. She could always hope Harrison got called away or distracted while they were out, and then she’d seize the opportunity.

He opened the bedroom door and gestured for her to precede him. They followed the same route back to the great hall. From there, Harrison led her through the glass doors and onto a huge, concrete veranda. It overlooked a picturesque, tiled pool surrounded by palm trees and deck loungers, with a few umbrella tables in the distance.

As they stood side by side at the rail, Julia was struck again by the excesses of Harrison’s lifestyle. Did he honestly feel the need to live like a king?