Her Prince Charming: An Inspirational Romance (12 page)

I
wasn’t expecting
Greg to move so quickly. Before I could dodge him, he was behind me, one hand over my mouth, the other trapping my wrists. Greg wasn’t a big guy, or a powerful one. He didn’t need to be; he was stronger than me. He shuffled me up the two steps to the deck and toward the sliding door of my kitchen.

“Open it,” he ordered.

I yanked on my right wrist. I couldn’t unlock the door without a hand free. At that moment, I wished I’d invested in some self-defense classes. Greg had me immobilized, and I had no idea how to get away.

If I’d been wearing my heels, I would have had some kind of weapon, but in bare feet all I could do was kick his shin. He let go of one wrist and I fished the key out of my back pocket. The door slid open, letting out a puff of cool air.

Pushing me toward the table, Greg hooked one foot around a chair and pulled it out. He let go of my mouth and wrist to shove me down in the chair. I scrambled to get my feet under me. His fist caught my already bruised jaw in a flash of pain, sending me back down into the seat.

A drawer opened behind me and I heard the rasp of duct tape being peeled off the roll. That seemed to be my luck tonight. Greg hadn’t done a single dish or cooked one meal in that kitchen. But he’d taped up a tear on his favorite tattered sneakers, and apparently he remembered where I kept my duct tape.

No more men, I told myself. It would take me years to forget how badly I’d messed up my life by picking Greg. He taped my wrists together behind me, then wrapped the tape around my torso over and over so I couldn’t get up. When he was sure I was secure, he left me, disappearing down the hall off my kitchen.

It didn’t take him long to find the title to my car and the spare key. I was organized and everything was exactly where I’d told him it was, the file folder complete with a neatly printed label courtesy of my handy little label printer.

When this was over, I was going to try being irresponsible. No more savings, no more 401k. Forget my tidy filing cabinet. What had all that gotten me? Heart broken and victimized by a two-bit con artist. Tears pushed at the backs of my eyes. I fought them back. I wasn’t going to cry in front of Greg.

He held out the title and my urge to weep vanished. I’d have to sign the title over for him to sell the car. In Georgia a transfer between private citizens required a signed title, but no notary. I’d looked into it for an elderly client who’d been newly widowed and had never sold a car before. Greg had to know I’d have to sign the title. Not easy to do with my hands duct taped behind my back.

I didn’t need to say anything. Looking from me to the title, he realized his mistake. Again displaying his maturity, he slammed the paper on the table and kicked the leg of my chair. What a jerk. It wasn’t the chair’s fault he was an idiot.

I had a moment of triumph before my brain kicked in and reminded me that I was currently taped to a chair in my kitchen and about to sign my car over to this moron. So who was the stupid one? Greg wasn’t a genius, but neither was I.

Cursing under his breath, Greg yanked open drawers until he found one with a knife. Then he did the same looking for a pen. When he had both, he slashed at the tape on my wrists, freeing them with one slice that cut the side of my wrist along with the tape. I felt a cold burn, then blood began to well on the side of my free wrist. He cursed again. Yanking the title away, he snarled,

“Don’t bleed on it.”

“Then get me something to wrap this up,” I snapped. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t cut myself.”

More evidence that I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was. Mouthing off to an angry guy with a knife was not the best idea. He grabbed a dishtowel, wrapped it around my bleeding wrist, and taped it in place. It hurt a lot, worse than my jaw. It wasn’t bleeding fast enough to be dangerous, but it was bleeding more than I’d like.

Quickly, before blood could soak through the towel and stain the title to the car, I scanned the document and signed it over to Greg.

The second the pen left the paper, he snatched the title away from me, folded it up and shoved it into his back pocket. Tossing the knife in the sink, he wrenched my arms behind my back and taped them together for the second time. Standing back, he examined me before saying,

“You look good like that. Tied up and helpless. Makes your tits look bigger. I always liked your tits. They made up for your fat ass.”

A sharp bolt of fear hit my heart. No, not this. He could have the money, he could have anything. I didn’t think I could take it if he touched me. Greg grinned at the terror in my eyes. I flinched back, trying to get as far from him as I could. Taped to the chair, I couldn’t move very far.

One hand reached out to stroke my bruised cheek. I jerked my face away, looking down at my lap, shamed by the tears leaking from my eyes. He laughed, dropping his hand to cup my left breast. I’d managed to put on a bra in the dark, but it was thin. No barrier from the harsh squeeze of Greg's hand. Desperate, I said,

“Touch me one more time and I’ll scream so loud Mrs. Spencer will be on the phone with the cops in a second.”

His hand fell away. Greg knew Mrs. Spencer. She’d come out on her front porch and yelled at him more than once when he’d parked his car too close to her yard.

“That old biddy,” he murmured. “I could just do this.” He ripped off a length of tape from the roll and held it out, moving toward my face. If he gagged me, I couldn’t do anything. I opened my mouth to scream, and he punched me again, this time on the cheekbone. My jaw snapped together. Tape slapped across my mouth, sealing it shut.

I panted through my nose, heart racing. If he tried anything else, I was going to fight. Forget about the knife, forget about the video. Greg could take the car, but he wasn’t taking anything else from me. Maybe he sensed my resolve. After staring in my eyes for a long second, he shrugged.

“You’re not worth the trouble. Not for a fat chick.” He turned for the back door and said over his shoulder, “You’ll get yourself loose eventually. Don’t even think about calling Drake or anyone else.”

I didn’t respond, just stared at my knees and waited for him to leave. He hesitated, as if thinking of saying something else, then he was gone, sliding the glass door to the deck closed behind him. I sat there, taped to the chair, fighting tears. I wanted to let go, to sob out my frustration.

Crying wasn’t going to help me. My wrist was bleeding, and I was pretty sure it needed stitches. Since I didn’t have a car, I’d have to call a cab to take me to the ER. At least I had my health insurance, though the ER co-pay was going to cost way more than an office visit. But I didn’t think this could wait until Monday.

Before I could get to the hospital, I had to get out of this chair. Wiggling back and forth, I eased the chair back toward my kitchen cabinets. One thing at a time. First, I had to get my wrists free, then get a cab to the hospital. After that, I could worry about the rest of my life.

T
he ring
of the phone jarred me from sleep. As I sat up, I checked the clock. Half past three in the morning. The caller ID showed the main resort line. Great. Running a resort meant anything could go wrong and it frequently did, even in the middle of the night. I answered with a gruff,

“What is it?”

“It’s Randall. I’m not sure if I should bother you about this but I was reviewing some of the exterior footage - I do that on slow nights - and I saw the woman you’ve been with this weekend leaving in a cab. She looked upset. If you had a fight or something, we can forget I woke you up. But I saw you two earlier and you looked pretty cozy. I thought you’d want to know.”

“You were right,” I said, my mind racing. Randall had been head of security at Drake Gardens for over thirty years. Like it was for me, the Drake was his baby. He didn’t have to work the night shift, but he still did on occasion, just to make sure things were running the way he wanted them. He’d also known me since birth.

Another person might have hesitated before waking his boss over what could have been a simple lover’s spat. Not Randall. He knew me. And he had good instincts.

“How long ago did she leave?” I asked.

“About an hour ago.”

“I’ll call you right back.”

Hanging up the phone, I rolled out of bed. I was not an emotional guy. In business and in my personal life, I was all about logic. At the realization that Sara had walked out on me, logic went out the window. Anger hit me first.

What the was wrong with this girl? Had she seen an old lipstick in the bottom of a drawer and decided I was hiding a secret wife? Was I not good enough for her? I was James Drake. Women panted to get in my bed and this one little accountant, who lived in a bungalow and drove a beige sedan, thought she could walk out on me? Forget that. Forget her.

I paced my bedroom in a fury, dragging on discarded clothes as I went. I may have knocked over a lamp in the process. I know I threw our champagne glasses at the fireplace. Not my most mature moment. Fumbling with a button on the shirt I’d worn that afternoon, I caught a whiff of her perfume.

This was the shirt I’d been wearing while we’d eaten lunch. While we’d talked all afternoon. That girl wouldn’t have walked out on me without a word. She’d gotten nervous that morning, but everything had changed between us. Hadn’t it?

Taking a steadying breath, I went to the second bedroom and opened the hidden storage closet in the back corner of the room. Her suitcase was still there. I could see her walking out on me. No, I couldn’t. But I could accept that it had possibly happened.

Even if she’d decided to sneak out in the middle of the night, what woman would take off without her suitcase? Something here wasn’t right. Forcing myself to stop and think, I ran through the options in my mind.

Then I went to my desk. Opening my laptop, I clicked on my email and pulled up the preliminary report Ryan had sent me on Sara. I’d had him look into her, that Greg guy, and her new boss.

The report was nothing in depth, Ryan hadn’t had time for that. But it had the basics: home address, social, license plate as well as make and model on her car, and employment history. It was a start.

I picked up the phone and called Randall back.

“I think we have a situation. I need you to locate a vehicle in our lot. A Honda Accord EX-L, beige, Georgia plate NGT947. If the car isn’t in the lot, find footage of it leaving.”

“Yes, sir. I’m on it. Anything else?”

“No. I’ll be right there.”

I wanted to know why she would leave without her car. Why would she leave at all. Sara wasn’t irresponsible or impulsive. She was my good girl. And as my head cleared, worry made a tight ball in my chest.

She
was
my good girl. If she was going to leave me, she’d at least tell me goodbye. She wouldn’t disappear in the night like this unless something was wrong. I was dressed in the jeans and button down I’d been wearing earlier in the day, but I needed shoes.

Shoving my feet in a pair of worn sneakers, I grabbed my wallet and keys before heading for the door. I was going to find her. And when I did, she’d have some serious explaining to do. I was worried, but I was still angry.

I tried her cell in the elevator and got her voicemail. I thought about hanging up, but decided not to. Instead, I waited for the tone and said, “Sara. I know you left the Drake and I’m worried. Call me.”

Calm and thoughtful. Nothing that would piss her off if she’d decided she was mad at me. I didn’t like that she wasn’t answering her phone.

T
he security room
was quiet when I got there. It usually was this late at night. Randall glanced up from the screen in front of him when I opened the door. He had a kid’s enthusiasm for the newest tech equipment, and loved Drake Gardens like it was his own, making him the ideal head of security.

The resort tended to be quiet and Randall was always up for a challenge. I knew he’d track Sara down at warp speed if just for the rush of answering the question of what she was up to.

“Here she is, sir,” he said. I sat beside him and studied his monitor. Divided into four sections, he had Sara on one, frozen in the act of opening the exterior door from the cottage side of the building into the lobby. The second frame showed her outside the front door to the lobby, getting into a taxi. The third was scanning cars in the parking lots.

I glanced to my left and saw one of Randall’s assistants examining the cars on his own monitor. The fourth frame showed the exit to the parking lot. At this late hour the lot was quiet and still.

“She got in the cab at two twenty eight. Went straight through the lobby and outside. Didn’t stop or talk to anyone on the way. Nothing in her hands but a cell phone. Here, I’ll show you.”

Randall clicked open another screen on the monitor and clicked a tab. The cameras tracked Sara from the moment she stepped onto the back terrace of the main building, through the lobby, her head down to avoid catching the eye of Mark at the desk, and out the front door into the taxi.

A different camera picked her up as she left the elevator, the frames changing quickly now as she moved from camera to camera on her path to the exit. The last shot showed her carrying only her phone, getting into a cab.

Through it all, her face was blank, her jaw set. She looked pale and shaken. If I’d doubted it before, now I was certain. Something was very wrong.

“Find the car,” I said to Randall. “If it’s still here, keep eyes on it, just in case.”

Standing up, I pulled out my phone and paced to the far corner of the room, dialing Ryan. The security team would hear my conversation, but these guys were smart enough to pretend not to listen. I didn’t have time to go to my office for privacy, I needed to be here until I got another lead.

“Hey,” I said when he answered with a clipped, “What?”

“Sara is missing. She left without her purse or keys and caught a cab about an hour ago. Something’s wrong.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. Do you have a guy you can send to her house? If she’s not there, you need to track her down. Her car is still here, so are the rest of her things. I don’t want to go running all over town looking for her if she’s planning on coming back.”

“One minute.” He hung up.

Ryan was fast. Fewer than five minutes later, my phone was ringing again.

“I’ve got a guy headed to her house and another listening to the police band for any mention of her car. I sent a third to the Drake Gardens. He’ll be on hand if you need anyone there. What do you want my guy to do if she’s at home?”

“Have him make sure she’s okay. If she’s fine, just let me know and I’ll head out. If she’s in any trouble, he should do whatever he has to.”

“On it. Stay there and as soon as I have anything, I’ll call.”

I stood behind the monitor surveying cars in the parking lot and watched them scrolling across the screen. In the dim light the plates were hard to read but Randall’s assistant was checking each one, moving through them as a rapid pace.

I rolled my shoulders back, trying to relax. I had my team here watching for her. Ryan was on the case. We would find her. And I’d either solve her problem, whatever it was, or give her heck for trying to run out on me again. Likely both.

Sometime in the last day and a half, I’d decided I was keeping Sara. She was everything I’d been looking for in a woman, and I didn’t see the point in playing games. I’d always been like this. Decisive. Once I knew what I wanted, I never questioned it. I’d met Ryan in college and in the time it took to get through our first Biology Lab, I’d known we’d be friends for life.

When I’d decided to leave the main Drake headquarters and manage the resort I’d gone back to school for classes in hospitality management, interned with my grandfather, and taken his place when he’d retired. No hesitation. No doubt. Once I knew what I wanted, I went straight for it.

I barely knew Sara. What I did know left me wanting more. Beautiful. Smart. Sweet. Funny. A women who had faith in God and followed her heart. A woman of substance, with honor and good values.

Just being near her made me feel centered. Happy. I had no idea why she’d left. Maybe I was wrong, and she wasn’t in trouble. Maybe she’d gotten another wild idea and decided she had to go. If that was it, I’d change her mind.

I was James Drake. I could get her back. Thinking over the possibilities, I hoped that was it. The other option, that she was in trouble, was too terrifying to contemplate. At least, it would be terrifying until I got her back. Once she was safely with me, I was going to unleash everything I had on whoever had upset her.

“Sir, we’ve got the car.” I turned to see Randall and his assistant leaning over the monitor. It was stopped on her sedan, the license plate clearly in view.

“Keep an eye on it,” I ordered. “It’s possible she may come back to pick it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

We waited, all three of us watching Sara’s car, sitting alone and untouched in the quiet parking garage. Until Ryan called with a report from Sara’s house, or she showed back up in the resort, there was nothing I could do. I was all about action. Sitting and waiting while Sara might be in trouble was not my idea of fun.

It felt like an eternity of nothing, the same view on the screen of Sara’s boring, brown car. I was buying her a new one. That one wasn’t her. She thought she was a sensible beige sedan, but after the way she’d looked that evening, I think it was safe to say Sara was a rare bloom. She needed something exciting, not sensible.

An Audi TT. I pulled up the website on my phone while I waited. In the middle of choosing between silver and grey, Randall said,

“We’ve got movement.”

Jerking my head up, I saw a blond male approach the car with a single key in his hand. I heard Randall say,

“Track him back to where he entered the property.” Somewhere off to the left a voice answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know him?” Randall asked, zooming in on the man’s face. I didn’t. I called Ryan, who picked up immediately.

“I’ve got a guy getting in Sara’s car. He had a key. Does your guy at the Drake Gardens have the make and model?”

“Yes. Hold on.”

I heard Ryan pick up another phone and relay orders to his man outside the resort. Before he came back on the line, there was a beep on his end, then the sound of a muffled voice. Our call was muted on his end for less than a minute, then Ryan was back.

“My guy at Sara’s house checked in. She was there, just left to get in a cab. He’s in his car following the cab.”

“Where’s she going?” I asked.

“We’re not sure yet,” Ryan said, “He’s on her. But James, there’s something else.”

“What,” I barked, not liking the hesitant tone of Ryan’s voice.

“My guy was there with a partner. When they saw Sara leaving, he stayed with her and the partner checked the house. The back door was unlocked, and he went in. There was a bloody knife on an armchair by the door and blood on the kitchen table and floor. Duct tape was stuck to a chair. The best he can tell, she was injured and restrained. Hard to say what came first. Our best guess is that her cab is headed to the hospital.”

Mind numb, I hung up the phone and shoved it in my pocket. Turning to Randall, I said, “Email a screenshot of the man in Sara’s car to Ryan. I’m headed out. If anything comes up, call.”

I saw the doubt in Randall’s eyes. He wanted to stop me from leaving. If I looked half as frantic as I felt, he had good reason for his concern. I didn’t care, the only thing on my mind was Sara.

Injured and restrained
. The words echoed in my head. Who would hurt Sara? Why? I paced through the security room, headed for the lobby when the door opened. Ryan stood there, his phone to his ear. Reaching out, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the hallway.

“I’m driving,” he said, “You look terrible.”

I scowled at him, but said nothing, my entire being focused on getting to Sara.