Mr. Calhoun? Who…?
The image of the man astride the horse immediately flashed in her brain. The guy in the report. She looked down at the white envelope. Mr. Winterborne’s report.
“The flight will take about three hours but the bar is fully stocked and you can watch a movie if you’d like.” He grasped her arm firmly and urged her toward the open door. “We have several to choose from.”
Wait a minute! Realization belatedly sank through the fog of confusion. He’d called her Miss Winterborne.
“But I’m not—”
Mr. Beckman smiled patiently. “I’m sure you will be by the time this weekend has concluded. Mr. Calhoun is quite the charmer.”
With that said, he promptly hoisted her into the car and closed the door. Before she could even blink he slid into the seat next to the driver and ordered, “Let’s go.”
Just when Amy would have roared her indignation something caught her eye…or, actually, the lack of something. Her car was gone. She whipped around in the seat as the limo circled the fountain and headed down the long drive. It was gone all right. She’d left the keys in the ignition since she’d only expected to deliver the report at the door, not go inside. Who would have expected it to be stolen here of all places?
And then she knew.
The woman—Miss Winterborne—had stolen it. To go to the airport to catch a flight to Vegas where she would rendezvous with her boyfriend.
Shaking her head, Amy turned around and moved to the edge of her seat. “Look,” she said to the two men in the front seat, “there’s been a big mistake.”
The one named Beckman glanced over his shoulder at her. “Everything will be fine, Miss Winterborne,” he said again in that patient, practiced tone. “Just relax and this will go a lot more smoothly.”
What would go a lot more smoothly? Anger jolted Amy. Dammit, why wouldn’t the man listen to her? “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not—”
Before she could finish her statement the privacy window powered up between the passenger compartment and the front seat, leaving her talking to herself.
Fury exploding in her like an erupting volcano, she pounded on the tinted glass that separated her from the only other two people in the vehicle. “You’ve got the wrong girl,” she shouted for the good it would do with the privacy glass up, making the passenger compartment not only invisible to them but also soundproof. She tried the door handle but it was locked. Not that it would have done her any good anyway. People might jump out of moving cars all the time in the movies but she certainly had no desire to.
Okay. She eased back in the seat and took a breath. He’d said the plane was waiting which meant they were headed to an airport. Once there they would have to let her out of the car to board the plane. She would explain then that she wasn’t who they thought she was.
She fumed at the idea that the real Miss Winterborne had stolen her car. Fear momentarily paralyzed Amy. What if Miss Winterborne was in some sort of trouble and had left Amy to take the heat for her?
Beckman could be some kind of loan shark or…her eyes widened in fear when she considered the numerous other possibilities.
Then she remembered that he’d mentioned Mr. Calhoun. Amy relaxed marginally. Mr. Calhoun was waiting, so they were obviously headed to meet him. Amy’s eyes widened once more. Calhoun lived in Texas.
She snatched up the envelope and pulled out the report on the man. She’d skimmed it while she fueled up and hadn’t noticed anything negative. Maybe she’d better read it more carefully. Men who were on the up and up surely didn’t send the hired help to collect a woman against her will. Had Regina Winterborne wanted to take this trip she wouldn’t have run off after her ex in Vegas. Amy steamed when she thought about how Beckman had all but shoved her into the car and then locked her inside.
No wonder the real Miss Winterborne had run away.
Amy’s eyes rounded again. What if her father and this Mr. Calhoun had made some sort of deal that Miss Winterborne was trying to escape?
What if she knew something terrible about the man and feared for her safety?
Amy’s gaze landed on the report once more. If John Robert Calhoun, IV, had anything to hide, she was certain the Colby Agency would have found it. All Amy needed to do was scour these pages and then maybe—just maybe—she could save Miss Winterborne from whatever fate lay in store for her in Texas. Surely Miss Winterborne’s father wouldn’t send her to a man who was anything less than honorable.
Another realization struck Amy then. Mr. Winterborne hadn’t seen the report. He had no idea what kind of man Calhoun really was. By the time this car reached the airport Amy had every intention of knowing all there was to know about John Robert Calhoun, IV.
VICTORIA SURVEYED her desk once more. She never misplaced notes. Never.
“Mildred,” she said to her longtime secretary who waited patiently nearby, “I’m sorry, but I seem to have lost them.”
“That’s all right. I can bring you a copy of the one I made for the file after Trent dictated the information to me.”
Victoria nodded absently. This simply wasn’t like her. She never lost anything, certainly not something as important as preliminary notes on an ongoing case.
“Thank you, Mildred. I’ll try not to lose this one.”
Mildred went off to make the new copy and Victoria huffed her impatience. Thank goodness the notes hadn’t mentioned anyone by name, only the negative activity that Trent Tucker, one of her best investigators in the art of tracking and surveillance, had discovered. If the notes had accidentally ended up in the trash, rather than being filed or placed in the burn bag for destruction, at least no one would know to whom the illegal activities were connected.
The Colby Agency prided itself on discretion.
Victoria sighed wearily. It was Friday and it was late. She should go home and put work out of her mind. Everyone else, except Mildred, of course, had already left for the day in anticipation of the holiday weekend.
She might as well do the same.
Lucas didn’t want her putting in too many hours at the office just yet.
Warmth welled in her chest.
It was nice having someone to worry about her.
There was absolutely no reason for her to worry about anything except sharing a holiday weekend with her husband and son. Her family.
All else would take care of itself.
Chapter Three
This was bad.
Amy stared at the words on the final page of the Calhoun report. On the surface this guy appeared to be above reproach, but behind the perfect facade lurked incredible evil.
She shivered as she read the words once more. Calhoun was suspected of having
