The Millionaires' Club: Ryan, Alex and Darin: Breathless for the Bachelor

Or I’m going to kill you. She got that part loud and clear.

She nodded, his cold-blooded words echoing in her mind as her heart jackhammered inside her chest.

“What’s his cell phone number?”

She thought, swallowed. “I…I don’t know. It’s programmed into my cell phone but I don’t remember the number.”

She flinched when he swore.

“It’s in my purse,” she added hastily. “My phone. It’s in my purse.”

She heard things hit the floor as he rifled through what she assumed was her purse. “How do you access your phone book?” he asked finally, and again she assumed he’d found her phone.

She had to think, really think about it, but finally remembered and told him. She heard the electronic beep of buttons being pushed, then waited, not knowing whether to breathe a sigh of relief or dread when it became apparent he made a connection with Trav.

At this point there was only one thing she did know. He had no intentions of letting her live. Whether Travis came for her or not, there wasn’t a reason in the world compelling enough for Birkenfeld to keep her alive.

Oddly, it wasn’t herself she was worried about as much as she was worried about Travis and Ry. They’d feel responsible. If something happened to her, they would feel responsible for the rest of their lives.

And she’d never once told Ry—knot-headed Victorian-minded throwback that he was—that she loved him. That realization finally galvanized her resolve. She decided she wasn’t going to just cower like a frightened animal and let Birkenfeld kill her.

Animal. That was it! That was the odor milling under the scent of antiseptic and dust that she hadn’t been able to place. My God. She knew where she was.

Trav was in his car, heading for a meeting at the club when his cell rang. He checked the digital readout, saw it was Carrie’s number. “Hey, bear, what’s up?” he said cheerily when he answered.

“I’ve got something you want, Whelan.”

Travis almost rear-ended the car in front of him. “Who is this?” he demanded, an uneasy punch of foreboding lurching through his blood stream.

“Roman Birkenfeld.”

Unease gave way to panic. “Birkenfeld? What the hell are you—”

“Shut up,” the man on the other end of the line demanded, giving Trav no choice but to obey. “Just listen. It’s like I said. I’ve got something you want, and you’ve got something I want. I’ve got your sister.”

“You son of a—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re one tough Texan, but I’m in control here. You want her back, you’ll do exactly as I say. No questions. Do you understand?”

“I want to talk to her,” Trav demanded, breaking out in a cold sweat.

He heard a muffled cry—of pain, of surprise—and it damn near ripped his heart out. And then he heard her voice. And the tremor in it undid him.

“Trav.”

“Carrie. Oh, God, bear. What’s he done to you?”

“N-nothing. Yet. I’m…I’m okay. I’m…I’m tough. Come from good…stock.”

His heart clenched at her bravado. “Where are you, sweetie?”

“I…Nathan…I mean, Roman…he blindfolded me. Trav…I love you. Always…remember Fort Worth—”

Birkenfeld yanked the phone from her from her hand. “This is all very touching,” he broke in, cutting her off, “but now we’ve got business, Whelan. And so you know…she’s dead or as good as if you don’t follow my instructions to the letter.”

“You put so much as a bruise on her—”

“You are not in a position to be issuing ultimatums!” Birkenfeld yelled, sounding on the edge and on the brink of toppling over. “One more word and you will never see her alive again.”

Trav bit his tongue and swore that he’d rip the bastard limb from limb when he found him. If he found him. Until he did, he had little choice but to play Birkenfeld’s game.

“Better,” Birkenfeld said. “Now, this is what’s going to happen.”

Nine

Ry had felt helpless before. When you were flat on your back on a rodeo arena floor, waiting out your fate as a thousand pounds of pissed-off bronc bucked and rolled above you and one hoof strike could end your career—or worse, your life—you were on intimate terms with helpless. On one or two dicey TCC missions, when he’d been caught in a wait-and-see situation while his brain screamed for decisive action, he’d understood the power of that seemingly benign word.

But he’d never breathed helplessness, tasted it, lived it like he had in the moments since Travis had called together him and the two other TCC members involved in Natalie’s case and broken the worst possible news.

Roman Birkenfeld, the man they’d all thought was Nathan Beldon, the man who had tried to kill Natalie and steal her baby, was holding Carrie hostage.

Carrie. The little girl he’d watched grow into a beautiful woman. The woman he’d wanted and tried to keep away from. The woman he’d finally made incredible love with. The woman he just might damn well be in love with.

“Go over it again,” he demanded of Trav as he, Alex Kent and Darin ibn Shakir gathered, grim-faced around a conference table in a private meeting room in the back of the club. “There’s got to be something…something we’re missing, damn it, that will lead us to her.”

Darin exchanged a look with Alex that relayed what all four men were thinking. Birkenfeld had lost it. He’d kidnapped Carrie and then contacted Travis, demanding Travis deliver the half million in cash the men had recovered the night Natalie and baby Autumn had literally fallen into their arms at the Royal Diner. He wanted the money in exchange for Carrie’s life. Trav was waiting for a call back from Birkenfeld that would tell him when and where to leave the money.

“The bastard has a real penchant for trading in human lives,” Darin said aloud.

Alex worked a hand over his jaw, his brows drawn tight. “Someone who steals and sells babies is about as warped as it gets.”

“He has no intention of letting Carrie go,” Darin pointed out grimly as he looked from Travis to Ryan. “You understand that, don’t you?”

All too well, Ry thought as he rose from the table to pace the room, out of his mind with rage and concern and drowning in that damnable sense of helplessness. “Tell me again exactly what she said,” he demanded of Trav.

Trav drew a deep breath, closed his eyes and concentrated. “She said he’d blindfolded her. That she didn’t know where she was. She said…she said, Trav…I love you.” He had to stop, as emotion lodged in his throat, choking him. “And then she said something…something about…remember Fort Worth.”

“Fort Worth?” Ry planted his hands on the table in front of Trav, leaned in close. “She was trying to tell you something. Does it mean anything to you?”

Trav shook his head, baffled. “Vacations. We sometimes took family vacations in Fort Worth. But that’s too obvious. Besides, he couldn’t have taken her that far…not this soon. When I talked to Stephanie, she said they left the library together a little over an hour ago.”

Ry pushed away from the table, paced the room.

“So what did you do on your vacations?” Alex asked, prodding further for some clue that would help locate Carrie before it was too late.

“Mostly, we went to the stock shows. Wait,” Trav said, stopping abruptly. “I remember something else now…when I asked her if she was okay, she said she was tough…something about coming from good stock.”

“Fort Worth—stock show. Good stock. Stock.” Ry mulled the information around in his head. Then he swore and headed for the door. “She handed it to us on a platter. He’s got her at the abandoned stockyards on the edge of town.”