Carla Cassidy - Heiress Recon

Heiress Recon

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page Heiress Recon Carla Cassidy www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning author who has written more than fifty books. In 1995, she won Best Mills & Boon® Romance from Romantic Times Bookreviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Prologue Prologue The music in the club pulsed inside Brianna Waverly as she made her way toward the bar. Following close at her heels was her bodyguard, Curt McCain. The man was as big as a house, making her feel even more diminutive than her five-foot height. As she threaded her way through the throng of people her name was called from here and there. “Bree! Over here!” She turned to see one of Hollywood’s up-and-coming actresses waving wildly at her. She grinned and waved back but continued her trek forward. Curt hated the nights she decided to go clubbing, complaining that it was difficult to discern between normal Hollywood types and freaks. But the people she met in the clubs were the same she’d talk to later about making a donation to her animal shelter in Kansas City. Networking was nothing if not a fine art, and Bree had made something of a living at it. The bartender grinned at her as she reached him. “The usual?” he asked. She nodded. The usual was a club soda with a twist of lime. While most of the others around her got drunk and stupid, Bree stayed clearheaded and smart. Curt stood several feet away from her, the glare on his bulldog face enough to keep any sane person away. She’d told him a million times that he took the job too seriously. Mostly she needed him to navigate her through a crowd of eager paparazzi bent on getting a photo of heiress and party girl Bree Waverly. With drink in hand, Bree turned and surveyed the scene. Everyone who was anyone eventually wound up at Oscar’s at the end of a long night of partying. The club was the newest, hottest scene in Hollywood. Lights flashed and swirled on the dance floor, splashing the gyrating bodies with vivid color. She took a sip of her drink and tried to find the joy, the heart-pounding excitement that used to possess her whenever she entered one of these places. But the joy wasn’t there. Lately, nothing in Hollywood made her happy. She’d just as soon be back in her villa, wearing her nightgown and working on the last of the details for the upcoming adoption day at the Kansas City shelter. A scream from behind pulled Brianna from her thoughts. Before she could turn around to see the cause, Curt yelled her name and threw himself at her. She crashed backward and down, vaguely aware of people screaming. As her head connected with the floor, she saw the spinning lights of the dance floor inside her brain—then nothing.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Copyright

CARLA CASSIDYis an award-winning author who has written more than fifty books. In 1995, she won Best Mills & Boon® Romance from Romantic Times Bookreviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

The music in the club pulsed inside Brianna Waverly as she made her way toward the bar. Following close at her heels was her bodyguard, Curt McCain. The man was as big as a house, making her feel even more diminutive than her five-foot height.

As she threaded her way through the throng of people her name was called from here and there. “Bree! Over here!”

She turned to see one of Hollywood’s up-and-coming actresses waving wildly at her. She grinned and waved back but continued her trek forward.

Curt hated the nights she decided to go clubbing, complaining that it was difficult to discern between normal Hollywood types and freaks. But the people she met in the clubs were the same she’d talk to later about making a donation to her animal shelter in Kansas City. Networking was nothing if not a fine art, and Bree had made something of a living at it.

The bartender grinned at her as she reached him. “The usual?” he asked.

She nodded. The usual was a club soda with a twist of lime. While most of the others around her got drunk and stupid, Bree stayed clearheaded and smart.

Curt stood several feet away from her, the glare on his bulldog face enough to keep any sane person away. She’d told him a million times that he took the job too seriously. Mostly she needed him to navigate her through a crowd of eager paparazzi bent on getting a photo of heiress and party girl Bree Waverly.

With drink in hand, Bree turned and surveyed the scene. Everyone who was anyone eventually wound up at Oscar’s at the end of a long night of partying. The club was the newest, hottest scene in Hollywood.

Lights flashed and swirled on the dance floor, splashing the gyrating bodies with vivid color. She took a sip of her drink and tried to find the joy, the heart-pounding excitement that used to possess her whenever she entered one of these places. But the joy wasn’t there. Lately, nothing in Hollywood made her happy.

She’d just as soon be back in her villa, wearing her nightgown and working on the last of the details for the upcoming adoption day at the Kansas City shelter.

A scream from behind pulled Brianna from her thoughts. Before she could turn around to see the cause, Curt yelled her name and threw himself at her. She crashed backward and down, vaguely aware of people screaming. As her head connected with the floor, she saw the spinning lights of the dance floor inside her brain—then nothing.

“I want you to repossess my daughter.”

Troy Sinclair stared at the man who had uttered the words, wondering if Brandon Waverly had lost his mind. “Excuse me?”

Brandon leaned back in the overstuffed chair at the huge mahogany desk. Behind him the wall was decorated with framed photos of him with the mayor of Kansas City and other dignitaries, not only locally but also nationally known.

Brandon Waverly was a wealthy, successful real estate developer and builder in the Kansas City area and a close friend of Troy’s father, but at the moment none of that mattered to Troy as he wondered just when Brandon had gone crazy.

“Sir, Recovery Inc. isn’t into repossessing people,” Troy began, then paused as Brandon waved a hand to stop him from whatever he had been about to say.

“I know your company gets back boats and planes and whatever else people decide not to pay for, but I also know there are times when you aren’t exactly orthodox in your business practices and you go above and beyond for a worthy cause. My daughter is a worthy cause.”

Brandon leaned forward, his blue eyes filled with a torment Troy couldn’t begin to understand. “Perhaps I used the wrong word. What I want you to do is take my daughter someplace safe for a couple of days.”