she was through, the gates halted and then reversed direction.
“What’s going on?” he asked. Her behavior seemed strange, to say the least.
“I wanted to talk to you face-to-face. I’m Elena Marquez, Daniel’s personal assistant.”
“You could have let me in, instead of walking all the way down here. What is it, a quarter mile?”
She ignored the question. “The staff isn’t allowed to let anyone onto the property who doesn’t have security clearance.”
That told him all he needed to know. “Son of a bitch. He’s not going to listen.”
“Please, try to understand. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”
“Oh, and I don’t? My whole family’s been torn apart.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Some lowlife is out there walking free while my brother rots in prison. His little girl is so traumatized she won’t talk about what happened, and she’s about to be adopted by a couple of loons who actually like it that she hardly talks. I think the only reason they want her is because she’s going to inherit a bunch of money from her great-grandmother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah? Well, sorry doesn’t cut it. I’ll stand out here all day and all night. I’ll chain myself to these damn ridiculous gates.” He gestured toward the wrought-iron monstrosities. “What kind of egomaniac has front gates with their six-foot initials worked into the design?”
“Daniel didn’t do that—his father did. Look, Mr. Riggs, I wouldn’t recommend that you take up some kind of vigil here. It won’t work. Daniel takes a dim view of people who use extreme tactics to try to pressure him into doing something. The result will be the opposite of what you want. He’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
Travis was so frustrated that he could have easily put his fist through the stone column he stood next to. But all that would accomplish was a broken hand, which would mean he couldn’t work. He settled for giving one of the shrubs a vicious kick. It broke off at the ground, leaving a raw stub.
Elena’s eyes widened. “Excuse me, but there’s no reason to destroy private property.”
“Will you have me arrested for that, too? Why don’t you go back to your insulated little world with your manicured shrubs and your Rolls-Royces?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He wasn’t exactly in a financial position that he could afford to throw money around, but there was the matter of the bush he’d just killed.
He held it out to her. “This ought to cover the dead shrub.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Take it. I don’t want it on my conscience.” After he’d left prison, he’d sworn he would never break the law again.
Not unless he had no other choice.
Hell, he shouldn’t be taking this out on Daniel’s underling. It probably wasn’t her fault. Unless...unless she’d never actually talked to him in the first place. With that thought, his frustration rose again. What did it take to get his message across? All he wanted was an audience. A few minutes. He didn’t think he was asking too much, yet this woman did.
He had to get out of there, before he said or did something he’d regret.
Travis had parked his truck on the street. Although it was in top running condition, it was old, and there was so much paint spattered on it that the original color was impossible to tell. He’d parked off to the side because he hadn’t wanted the high-and-mighty Daniel Logan to see it, to realize Travis was a working-class guy. How stupid, to be ashamed of his truck.
“You haven’t heard the end of this,” he said as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Maybe the Chronicle or one of the TV stations will be interested in how Daniel Logan acts when he’s not in the public eye.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Riggs, please, please don’t do that.” She hobbled after him, still in her stocking feet. The concrete was strewn with sharp gravel, and it must have hurt, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You really don’t want to get on Daniel’s bad side. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man—compassionate, really—and he helps a lot of people. But if you cross him, he can be a dangerous enemy. Bad publicity only harms Project Justice’s reputation, and then everyone has to waste resources doing damage control. It won’t help anyone, least of all you.”
“Did they teach you that speech at spin school?”
“I... Excuse me?”
“I was just thinking you sounded a lot like a PR spokesperson just now, spouting some carefully worded sound bite intended to appeal to my emotions. Well, lady, I’m not getting help anyway. What have I got to lose?”
“Just don’t do anything rash,” she begged as they reached his truck. “Think about it overnight. You do have other options.”
“Oh, really? What might those be?”
“Well, the online form—”
“I tried that, remember?”
“You didn’t try hard enough, apparently. People fill that form out every day. Somehow, they manage to do it.”
Oh, that was it. He’d reached his tolerance for this bullshit.
“So, Daniel won’t respond to pressure tactics, huh? Well, I’d like to see him ignore this.” He opened his truck’s rigid cargo cover and, in one swift motion, he scooped the woman up and thrust her into the truck’s bed. He got the fleeting impression of her soft, womanly body against his, a photo-flash image of the look of surprise and hurt on her face.
And fear.
“Duck,” he said. Then he slammed the cargo cover down and locked it.
CHAPTER TWO
IT TOOK ELENA’S brain a few long, terrifying seconds to realize what had just happened. She’d been abducted. Kidnapped. That seemingly nice man, who moments earlier she had sympathized with, had just thrown her into the back of his truck like so much dirty laundry.
Her heart hammered in her ears and her breath came in quick, short gaps. Okay, okay. She had to calm down and think clearly. She had to take stock of her situation and then formulate a plan.
First off, was she injured? She knew from her freshman biology class at Saint Thomas University that adrenaline could mask pain, and judging from how fast her heart was beating, her body had been flooded with the stuff. But she didn’t think she was seriously injured. In fact, though Travis had practically thrown her into his truck, she distinctly remembered her head cushioned against his muscular forearm even as the rest of her landed with a thunk on the carpeted truck bed.
Her hip hurt. She felt around with her hand and realized she’d landed on a tool of some kind—a wrench, she decided, as she explored the cold steel item with her fingers. She shoved it out of the way.
Her prison was utterly
