Men of Honour: Ready, Set, Jett / When You Dare / Trace of Fever / Savor the Danger / A Perfect Storm / What Chris Wants / Bare It All

“Molly?”

She shook off the warmth of his attention. “Is it all right if I call my agent and editor, too?” She’d always been conscientious about her work, and wondering what they both thought plagued her. “I really need to get in touch with them. I’m sure they’re confused as to why I just disappeared.”

“How about after we leave your dad’s?”

“That’ll work. It’s too early right now anyway.” With all the arrangements made, Dare gathered up everything they had to take out. Molly turned off the lights, and they left the apartment.

WITH EACH PASSING mile, Molly’s dread grew until finally they pulled into her father’s estate. Anxiety kept her chewing her lip, until Dare squeezed her thigh.

“Relax, will you?”

It amazed her that he paid almost no attention to her father’s obvious wealth. But then, she didn’t, either. For her, the massive estate represented only sadness.

To her, Dare’s home was far more magnificent—and was about half the size of her father’s.

She’d grown up knowing what material things meant to her dad and how skewed his priorities were. Bishop Alexander would do just about anything to maintain his wealth.

Dare wasn’t like that at all. He was a man of substance, a man who had amassed wealth, but not at the expense of others. Just the opposite.

“When Adrian first saw this,” she said, indicating the vast European-style home ahead of them down the long drive, “I swear he almost drooled.”

Dare took off his mirrored sunglasses and leaned forward to look out the windshield as he slowed. But it wasn’t with awe.

“The security is lacking. Anyone who can afford a home that size should have a gated and monitored entry.”

Molly shrugged. “There are sensors around the grounds. But deer come through here, along with a lot of other wildlife, and they were forever setting off alarms. Dad gave up years ago and hired people to keep an eye on the place instead of technology.”

“He keeps guards on staff?”

“You could call them that. Natalie and I always called them sentries.” She grinned. “There’s always one around back, one around front, in rotating shifts.” She wrinkled her nose. “They act really cold, and they’re good at mean-mugging everyone. No smiling or chitchat. I don’t like them much.”

“What about your stepmother? She likes them?”

“Kathi is fine with anything Dad wants. Her biggest goal in life is to keep him happy.” As they neared the house, she saw the front guard step out and talk into a walkie-talkie–type device. “So ostentatious.”

“How many rooms does the place have?”

Seeing Dare in analytical mode always impressed her. He didn’t ask out of mere curiosity, but rather to get a sense of the layout. “Six bedrooms, seven and a half baths.”

“What else?”

“Hmm.” She thought about it for a second, trying to think what might be important to Dare. “Five sitting rooms. Five garage bays. A library and a gallery. Kitchen and breakfast room, of course, and a covered, outdoor salon.”

“Master bedroom upstairs or down? Is the basement finished?”

“There’s a master up and down, but unless they’ve changed it, Dad and Kathi’s bedroom is on the main floor. They have a wine cellar downstairs, and Dad has a work area, like with tools and stuff, that he seldom uses. Not much else.”

The guard had come down the stairs to await Dare. He didn’t look happy.

Come to that, Dare didn’t, either.

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him before. I think his name is George Wallace, but I’m not certain,” Molly whispered. “It’s been a while since I visited.”

Dare got out and, ignoring the armed man, came around to Molly’s door. He helped her out and then locked his car with the click of a remote.

The man came to stand in front of them, deliberately blocking them. “Are you expected?”

Molly started to step in front of Dare, but he stopped her. “George?”

The guard’s expression went flinty. “Do I know you?”

“Tell Bishop I’m here. And you might want to tell him that I’m coming in—” he stared into the man’s eyes “—one way or another. How much ruckus is caused is up to him.”

Keeping his stony expression, George asked, “And you are?”

Dare gave that eerie, mean smile of his. “He’ll know.”

The sentry looked beyond Dare to Molly. “You’re one of the daughters?”

Dare answered for her. “She’s none of your damned business.”

Green eyes narrowing, the man back-stepped a few feet away and put in a call. A light breeze ruffled his dark hair; he wore a stark white dress shirt and tie, with his belt holster exposed. Though he spoke too softly for Molly to hear, she had a gut feeling that nothing got by Dare.

After a minute, the man stowed his phone and approached again. “You can go up to the front door. Someone will let you in.”

Unnerved by all the tension and more than ready to escape it, Molly started forward. Again Dare stopped her. He and the man did more staring, and although no words were exchanged, the guard must have understood, because after one laconic nod, he preceded Dare to the front door, rang the bell and then stepped to the side, where Dare could still see him.

Under her breath, Molly asked, “You didn’t trust him?”

“At my back? Hell, no.”

A young Hispanic girl in a pale blue uniform answered the door and gestured them into the cavernous two-story foyer. As the girl moved away again, Dare made note of every door around them. Had he packed his gun? His knife? She peeked at the small of his back and saw that now-familiar bulge beneath his shirt.

Strangely, knowing he was armed made her more at ease.

He caught her gaze and easily interpreted her thoughts, because he told her, “With a weapon or without, no one is going to hurt you as long as you’re with me. You have my promise on that.”

He spoke with so much confidence, Molly believed him. He would protect her from physical harm. Sadly, with her father, it was more the verbal abuse that she dreaded, and there’d be nothing Dare could do about that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HER FATHER WASN’T the one to greet them. Kathi came around the corner, heels clicking on the floor, her face full of smiles. Her chin-length, wavy brown hair danced around her face in a precise style that somehow managed to look casual. She wore dark designer jeans, pointy-toed ankle boots and a cozy cashmere sweater.

“Molly! I must have missed your call. I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you.”

The mild rebuke didn’t faze Molly; she was used to it, whether she’d made an appointment to see her father or not. “There wasn’t time to call.”