Beverly Barton - Paladin's Woman

"Daddy!"

"Rusty, what a thing to say." Dina reached for Rusty's big hand, squeezing it tightly. "Nick and Addy just met, and I hardly think they're a suitable match."

The crowd began moving about and talking again, several people taking advantage of the dance music, others seeking hors d'oeuvres and champagne. Brett Windsor stepped forward, placing a comforting arm around Addy's waist. Nick had the irrational urge to coldcock Mr. Ivy League. Windsor hadn't kept Addy's father from killing her ex-husband. Windsor hadn't defended Addy when Carlton bad-mouthed her in front of everyone. Windsor hadn't been willing to take the other man outside and teach him some manners.

If anyone should be taking Addy McConnell in his arms, it shouldn't be Brett Windsor. He, Nick Romero, should be the man. But before he could make his way to Addy, to claim her attention, she walked away with Windsor. Rusty still had his big arm draped around Nick's shoulder and Dina had slipped between the two of them, taking each by the arm.

Nick watched while Windsor led Addy out onto the dance floor, took her in his arms and waltzed away with her.

Addy accepted her wrap and purse from the maid, whom she didn't know. Someone new Dina had hired, no doubt. Since becoming engaged to Rusty, Dina had moved into the mansion and hired several new servants, claiming there wasn't enough staff to adequately care for such a large estate. Of course, Rusty was agreeing to anything Dina wanted these days. No fool like an old fool in love, Addy thought, hating herself for considering her father foolish. But he was. He didn't seem to care about Dina's past, about all her former wealthy husbands.

Stepping outside onto the large veranda, Addy decided the night was too warm to warrant her shawl. She looked around for Alton, her father's chauffeur. She didn't see anyone, not even one of the parking attendants. Maybe they were taking a break. After all, it was barely eleven and most people wouldn't even begin leaving until after midnight. But she'd had just about all of Rusty and Dina's engagement party she could take. The thought of celebrating her father's upcoming nuptials to a woman who'd been married five times and unashamedly used sex to get what she wanted from men didn't sit well with Addy.

What was it with men and sex? she wondered. No matter what their age, they all seemed to have their brains in their pants. Even her father. It really hadn't bothered her so much when she found out that he'd been having an affair with his secretary, Ginger, for nearly eight years or that there had obviously been numerous women during the years since her mother's death. Maybe even before … after Madeline Delacourt McConnell had shut herself in her room … after the delicately beautiful Mrs. McConnell had lost all sense of reality and retreated into a fantasy world of her own. A world that didn't include kidnappers who had murdered her nine-year-old son.

Shaking her head, Addy walked down the steps leading to the circular drive. She wished she had driven her own car here tonight, but her father had insisted on sending Alton. Her father was overprotective where his only child was concerned. He had been ever since Donnie's kidnapping and death when she was six. He didn't like her driving from downtown Huntsville at night alone, even though the trip took less than twenty minutes.

Alton and the others were probably in the kitchen drinking coffee. Or they could be in the garage, where Alton would be showing them Rusty's antique car collection. She decided to wait a few minutes. After all, she wasn't in any hurry to go home, just in a rush to escape the party.

The party alone would have been bad enough, but three unexpected guests had turned the evening into a real nightmare. Addy suspected that Ginger had mailed Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Carlton an invitation to tonight's shindig. The woman would have done anything to ruin Dina's big night. Ginger probably hadn't even thought of how Gerald's presence would affect other people—namely Addy McConnell. And she hadn't cared how Addy would feel seeing Lori, carrying Gerald's third child. She had tried twice to give Gerald a child. She'd failed miserably both times.

Addy gazed up at the dark sky, at the softly glowing June moon and questioned the powers-that-be as she'd done so many times in the past. Perhaps she'd wanted too much, had dared to ask for more than was her due. After all, she'd been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her father was a multimillionaire by the time he was thirty-five. Her mother had been one of the loveliest and wealthiest young debutantes in the state of Alabama. Never once had she wanted for anything money could buy. But, oh, how she had longed for the things in life that were beyond price.

She had longed for a normal mother, one who wasn't under a nurse's care. She had longed to be just one of the kids, not "that rich girl," not Rusty McConnell's only child. She had longed for love and passion. She'd gotten an unfaithful husband who'd married her for her father's money. And she'd longed for a child. She'd lost two babies before her fifth month of pregnancy.

Engrossed in thought, Addy strolled farther and farther down the circular drive, past limo after limo, past several Mercedes, BMWs, Jaguars and Porsches.

Nick Romero had been the other unexpected guest, a man she couldn't even begin to understand. There was something about him that intrigued Addy, and something that frightened her. Suddenly she realized that the very thing that intrigued her was the same thing that frightened her: Nick's sensuality. When he looked at her, it was as if … as if he wanted her. She knew that couldn't be right. Tall, flat-chested, redheaded Addy McConnell wasn't the type of woman who evoked passion in men, and most certainly not a man like Nick Romero—big and dark and devastatingly attractive, a man who made women swoon.

Addy felt a steely arm slip around her waist, then saw the rag in the man's hand as it came toward her face. Dear God, someone had grabbed her from behind … someone was going to hurt her. When she opened her mouth to scream, the hand came down over her face, covering her mouth and nose with the rag, the smelly rag. Acting purely on instinct, Addy struggled, trying to free herself. She kicked backward with her heels, hoping to make contact with the man's legs. He held her tighter. She rammed her foot into his ankle and struck him in the stomach with her elbow. Groaning, he loosened his hold on her.

"Be still, bitch," he said, his voice sharp.

When he tried to cover her face with the rag again, she bit down on his hand. He snatched his hand away, cursing loudly. Addy took her chance, whirling around. For a split second, she saw his face in the moonlight. He was a stranger. He grabbed for her. She turned and ran. He ran after her.

He reached out, knocking her down on the pavement, then falling to his knees to straddle her hips. The force of his attack knocked the breath from her lungs. He jerked her up off the driveway.

"They wanted things done up all nice and neat. Said to use the chloroform. Said not to hurt you." He jammed a gun in her ribs. "But they didn't bother telling me that you were such a feisty bitch! So no more Mr. Nice Guy. Understand?"

Addy nodded. What was she going to do? She had to get away. This man could rape her, torture her, kill her. But who was he? Someone had sent this maniac after her. But who and why? Dear God, was this an attempted kidnapping? If Rusty McConnell lost his one remaining child to a kidnapper, he wouldn't be able to live through the tragedy a second time. All Addy could think about was her father.

Her high-pitched, ear-splitting scream shattered the nocturnal solitude.

Chapter 2