The Missing Millionaire

“You aren’t in charge here.”

“Yes,” she told the other woman, “I am. I’m his bodyguard.”

“Ha! Nice work if you can get it.”

“I did, so back off.”

“Chill out. He won’t remember any of it.”

“But I will.”

The words were spaced and deadly calm. Even Harrison’s befuddled mind registered the threat and the challenge behind her words and stance.

“Fine, Miss Priss. I guess you want him all to yourself. C’mon, Kirsten, let’s go see what they have to drink in this place. Dancing makes me thirsty as well as horny.”

“I need my car keys,” his bodyguard told the other woman.

“What for?”

For an answer she held out her hand and waited. The brunette with the ponytail fished a set of keys from her pocket and tossed them in his direction. The woman holding his arm caught them out of the air before he could flinch away.

“Where do you suppose Tony found someone like her?” the blonde asked.

If there was an answer, Harrison didn’t hear it. His captor led him down a hall into a small room. A single overhead bulb revealed a neatly made bed that took up most of the available floor space. There was nothing else in the room. Seeing the crisp white cover, he realized how tired he felt. He struggled to free his hands.

“Take it easy, Mr. Trent.” She pulled down the cover.

“M’hands.”

“It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Have a seat.”

Even sitting on the side of the bed as she’d instructed felt wrong. His head hurt, and his brain couldn’t seem to sort out what was happening.

She pulled off his shoes and set them on an old dresser. A knife appeared in her hand. Her features were unreadable as she slit the tape binding his wrists together and quickly pulled it off, making him wince.

“Sorry. Let’s get your jacket off.”

There was a sense of déjà vu as she divested him of his suit coat. His movements were oddly disconnected. His hands fumbled and didn’t work right, but bit by bit his mind was starting to clear. This was definitely all wrong.

He considered trying to overwhelm her, but his body still felt too uncoordinated. Mentally, he struggled to put the pieces together, getting a jumble of confused images. One thing was clear, he needed to get away from these women.

Reaching for her, he yanked the woman down on top of him. The move caught her unprepared. Together, they collapsed on the wide bed.

“Mr. Trent—”

She struggled and he held on tightly. The feel of her moving against his length aroused him. She smelled good. He’d always liked coconut. And she fit nicely. He covered her lips with his own. They were exquisitely soft.

For a startled instant, she lay over him, quiescent. His body hardened. He wanted her. And that was also wrong.

As if in agreement, she resumed her struggle to pull away.

The keys! He managed to dip into the pocket where he’d seen her put the car keys, making the action part of the silent battle they waged. She pulled away and stood as he rolled on top of the keys, praying she hadn’t noticed them fall to the bed. He shifted to cover them as she pulled a roll of duct tape from a different pocket and ordered him to hold out his hands.

“You first.” He tried to smile and felt a foolish grin split his face.

Her mouth firmed. “This isn’t a game, Mr. Trent.”

“It could be.”

“Don’t make me drug you again.”

Drug. She would drug him again. That’s why his head was all mush.

“Let me have your hands.”

In a moment of clarity, he debated taking her down and decided he didn’t have enough dexterity yet. He didn’t resist when she reached for his hands.

“Thank you.”

She wrapped the duct tape securely around his wrists once more.

“Why?” he asked.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Because like it or not, I was hired as your bodyguard and I intend to be exactly that. By tomorrow afternoon you’ll be on your way home. You have my word on it.”

That sounded like a vow.

Vows.

He was getting married in the morning. Why was he getting married? He wasn’t in love with anyone.

“Try to sleep off the drug’s effects, Mr. Trent. You’ll feel better when you wake up. If you need something, shout. I’ll be right outside the door.”

She pulled the lightweight cover over him and turned out the light. In seconds she was gone.

He rested, letting his brain sort through the confusion. Getting the keys from under his body proved awkward, constrained as he was. His coordination was still off and his head throbbed. It wasn’t just a dull headache, either. There was a sharp pain in one spot. Had they hit him with something? Why couldn’t he remember?

Using the longest key like a blade, he attempted to saw the tape binding his wrists. More than once he dropped the keys and had to fumble for them in the bedding. Each time he paused, afraid she’d hear and come in and take them away.

Somewhere in the house a television played loudly. Twice, one of the other women called out. Once, his bodyguard answered back. She really was outside his door. He froze, afraid she’d come inside and check on him. She didn’t, and after a heart-pounding minute he went back to work on the tape.

When it finally parted, he lay there a moment before working it off his wrists. More skin and hair came away with the wad of sticky tape. He was bleeding. He didn’t care. He was free and he intended to stay that way.

His thinking was clearer now and he was coldly furious. Someone had made a very bad mistake.

The room was incredibly dark. Little light filtered past the cracks around the door. There didn’t appear to be a window. So much for an easy escape.

Rubbing at the tender place on the back of his head, he found a raised lump. So they had hit him with something and drugged him to boot. He welcomed the controlled fury that sent adrenaline coursing through him. One way or another, he was getting out of here—even if he had to take on all three of them at once.