Irresistible Knight (7 page)

But for her mother's life, she wouldn't taste luxury. It all started the day after she witnessed her mother tumble off the balcony and land ten floors below to break every bone in her body. Jean began showering her with gift offerings every teenager could ask for. Except for one thing—freedom.

She knew why Jean treated her like a princess. It was a bribe—for her silence and cooperation to stay in the shadows. To keep the world from finding out that Congressman Jean had an illegitimate daughter whose mother jumped off the balcony to end her misery.

In all honesty, she enjoyed the extravagant living, although she only had Maud, her nanny to share the joy of it. Once she told Maud that she shouldn't find happiness from the wealth that surrounded her. Maud scoffed and told her to enjoy her life while she could. In fact, Maud said that she should milk Jean and take the money for herself. It was a way to make him pay for what he'd done to her mother—driving her to booze, drugs, insanity, and eventually death. She jumped at the idea and whenever she got the chance, started using the debit and credit cards Jean gave her. She became a top donor for Seattle Symphony, PAWS, Seattle Children's Hospital, and schools. Anonymously, of course, but it was her way of sending the money back to the taxpayers. Money was no problem to Jean and to her as well. But despite her easy access to Jean's money, she never put money under her name. Every penny Jean saved in the bank was dirty and she couldn't stomach associating her name with it. If her mother was alive though, she bet she wouldn't hesitate to use Jean's money. Not to enjoy spending it without care, but to irritate Jean. A flash of sadness stabbed at her heart at the memory of her mother.

“If you don't like the color or style, you could look at the other ones. Bors thought you'd like black.”

Taylor smiled at Dan. “I like these.”

“Good. So do you still want to look for running shoes?”

“No.” She'd have no use for them now. “Thank you, Dan. I'll go and pay for the wrap and these.” She looked down at her feet, then wiggled her toes. “You're right. They're comfy.”

“Okay. If you need anything, I'll be at the pharmacy. Go to aisle three and you'll see it at the end. You'll manage from here?”

“Yes. Thank you.” With her violin case in hand and her purse slung over her shoulder, she hobbled toward the direction Dan pointed.
I lingered here long enough.

Taylor didn't have to wait in line. The cashier, who smiled brightly at her, rang the items. Taylor handed her the debit Master Card. God, what would she do without her plastic? One look at it, anyone could tell it had been swiped many times. It was a wonder the scanner could still read the bar code considering how often she used the thing. But she shouldn't depend on Jean's funds. Once she found her footing, she'd find a way to make a living. Start teaching music, or work as a music teacher or something.
Anything
. It was time she earned her own money. Besides, as soon as she and Jean reached an agreement, she bet he'd cut her loose and that would mean breaking away from her plastic.

“It didn't work.” The petite cashier said. “Sorry.”

I spoke too soon.
“Could you swipe it again?”

“Sure. I could enter the card number manually, too. Let's see here. By the way, I like your tan. What kind of tan lotion do you use?”

Taylor should feel insulted, but she didn't. The cashier had no way of knowing that her vanity only goes as far as whitening her teeth and keeping her waistline smaller. Her skin that held a summer glow, however, was a gift that she inherited from her mother's genes. She smiled at the cashier before taking in her sugar white skin, debating whether to tell the truth and embarrass her for making a wrong assumption, or pretend that she really used a tan lotion and send her running to the store. What a dilemma. Perhaps she could evade the question and give her ideas instead. She'd read about Designer Skin products. Expensive and available only online.

“Have you heard of a Designer Skin body wash? You can get it online.”

“Is it expensive?”

“Fifty and over, I think. You have to sign up and create an account to see the prices.”

“Must be really pricey if you can't see the prices. Oh,” the cashier's face fell as she looked at the register's screen.

“What's wrong?”

“Inactivated.”

“Inactive what?”

“Your card. It's red flagged, which means the card maybe stolen or you're out of money. It says,
call the bank if you have questions
. Do you have another one?”

How could it be? Last time she checked, there had to be about seventy-five thousand in that account. Taylor swallowed. Good God. Could Jean have anything to do with this? Did he call the bank? If yes, what lies did he say to them. No, no, no.
This can't be happening. It's too soon. I still need my plastic.

“I'm sure it was just a glitch. Washington Mutual is now Chase. I bet the change has to do with that.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard people complain about that. So no other cards? Do you have another one? Credit card?”

“Yes.” She opened her wallet, pulled out her Visa debit card, then handed it to the cashier. “I think this one will work. It's also a debit card.”

“Okay. Banks and credit card companies are really slick now. They could trace every single transaction in and outside the country. I tell you, as soon as I swipe this card, they'll know—”

Taylor snatched the card back. “Never mind then. I think I have cash.”
I am one stupid person.
Why didn't she think about this before running away? Man had already landed on the moon. Computers were invented. Of course, Jean could trace her and learn her every freaking, single move.

She dug in her purse for cash. Oh my God, oh my God! Pennies and Tic-tac? She checked the pockets where she stuffed her receipts. No luck. She remembered giving all of her cash to the cab driver. Blood began to pound in her ears.

I'm screwed.

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Chapter Four

Taylor had never been in a situation like this. She attempted to cover her embarrassment with a smile.

“No luck, huh? How about a check?”

Taylor thought about it already, but if she couldn't use the debit card that meant her checks would bounce. “No. No check.”

The cashier gave her a pitying look. “So how are we paying today?”

“I guess
we
are
not
paying today.”
What am I going to do now?
If she knew this would happen, she could have kept her heels. “I ran out of cash.” The truth was, she never carried cash in her wallet.
Who does nowadays?
She couldn't even remember the last time she saw a hundred dollar bill. Maybe she should try calling her bank. They must have made a mistake. Or so she hoped. “Let me call my bank. Do you mind if I wear these for now. I'll stand over here. I'm not running away.”

“Fine with me. I don't think you could go anywhere with your foot wrapped like that.” The cashier grinned.

“Thanks.”

Drat. This was Jean's doing. He inactivated her account. She dialed the one-eight-hundred number at the back of the card. After pressing extension numbers one after another, she finally got a real live person to answer her. The bank representative who introduced himself as Allan spoke with a thick accent. She wouldn't be surprised if
Allan
worked in the call center located outside the country and his name wasn't really Allan. The man asked for her social security number, birth date and a zip code, and then put her on hold. When he came back on the line, he apologized for the wait. Nice, Taylor thought. Yet, what the man said next made her grit her teeth. The account was frozen. She didn't have to ask the questions. It was clear—she was freaking broke. Thanks to her father.

“Shit. God damn it. Freaking freak!” She hung up her phone. Well nothing left to do here. She removed the slippers and placed them on the counter. “Well, I'm returning the flip-flops.”

“Why? You don't like the color?”

Taylor turned around. He was back. And why did that make her want to shout for joy, despite her present predicament? Who the heck knew? He still wore his leather jacket, but she noticed through the hole, a white bandage covered his cut. “You had your cut taken care of.”

“Yeah. So what's wrong with the flip-flops?”

“She doesn't have money to pay. Her cards are cancelled. She called her bank, and then she said,
shit, goddamn it, freaking freak
. So I am assuming the bank account is cancelled, too,” the cashier explained.

Taylor wanted to strangle the woman.

“How much, Paige?” Bors reached in his back pocket and pulled out his brown leather worn wallet.

“Oh, no. You are not paying.” She grabbed his arm. “I am not a pauper in need of your help. Here,” she tugged at her elegant ring with a row of alternating blue sapphire baguettes and glistening diamond quartets. The ring was a gift from Jean for her eighteenth birthday. “Take it, Paige, as collateral. I'll get some money and I'll be back.”

Paige's eyes were huge in awe. “Wow. I would take that if I could. That must have cost a thousand bucks.”

Taylor wanted to correct her. The ring had cost Jean at least fifteen grand to have it made ... but that would be bragging. “It definitely cost more than a pair of flip-flops.”

“Sure, but this isn't a pawnshop. There is one around though.”

“Wear your ring. I don't think of you as a pauper, Teejay.” He took the flip-flops from Taylor's hands, then bent down to help her put them on. “Put these on.”

“Bors,” she sighed his name.

“Teejay,” Bors replied with a grin. His warm large hand wrapped around her ankle and caressed it with a command.

Left with no choice, she slipped her feet into the soft cushion of the flip-flops. “Thanks.” Taylor felt like Cinderella. She would have found the situation romantic if the circumstances were different.

“Come on.” Bors gave the money to Paige before taking Taylor's arm to lead her outside the pharmacy.

“I'll pay you back.”

“Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you.”

Bors nodded. “Where are you heading?”

Good question. Before she left Seattle, she Googled the Orcas Islands. She saw the Oyster Bay Cottage, a private getaway and she hoped the last place Jean would look. Damn it! With her cards cancelled, how could she even stay in a Bates Motel? Jean knew she didn't have anywhere else to go, and by canceling her cards, he expected her to crawl back to his filthy home. Frustrated and feeling helpless, she felt icy fear twist around her heart.

When she saw the opportunity to escape, she took it without thinking. What was she going to do now? She had nothing except for her purse. Tears welled within her eyes. Before they started flowing like the Niagara Falls, she swallowed back a sob. “Well, thanks for the rescue, Bors. I'll call a friend from here.” She lowered her violin case that seemed to double its weight.

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I'm going to my friend's cabin.”
I wish.

“You don't look happy at the prospect. And are those tears?”

“No. Of course, I am going to see my friend. How about you? Don't you have a place to go? Women to chase?”

Bors grinned. “That's what I'm doing right now.”

“Funny.”

“Your friend is from here?”

“Here? Yes.”

“I grew up on this island. I probably know him or her.”

“Doubt it. She's new here, too. Well, good day, Bors. Thanks for the slippers.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” The look Bors gave her nearly undid her. It had been a long time since someone looked at her with concern in their eyes.

“If your friend doesn't show up, call me.” He handed her a business card bearing two sets of cell phone numbers. “The first number is mine.”

“And the second one?”

“My supervisor's. Call either one, and you'll reach me.”

Taylor stared at the card. It was simple. The numbers were embossed and printed in black ink, but no name, business name, fax number, or physical or website address. Odd, she thought. “Thank you.”

“How about if I wait until your friend arrives?”

“Oh, no. You'll end up waiting ... I mean, you don't have to. I'm good. You can go.”

A G550 SUV Mercedes Benz, the exact kind Jean drove, pulled up to the curb. Taylor gasped, realizing with a shiver of panic that Jean had found her. Instinctively, she inched closer to Bors, then slowly moved toward his back. If Bors noticed her action, he didn't say a thing. He just stood there, looking at the car.

* * * *

Teejay surprised him by hiding behind his back, but he didn't show it. When she touched his jacket and he felt her tremble, he didn't move. Who did she think was in the driver's seat? And why did she hide? That little fact didn't sit well in his stomach. No woman should feel fear for her safety or her life.

Not perfectly clear, but little things made sense now. First, her broken heel, her pale face when she checked her cell phone, and lack of money. For a woman wearing expensive jewelry who evidently shopped at
Barney's
New York instead of
JC Penny's
, it was confounding the she didn't have money in her bank or three dollars in her purse. It was obvious. She was running from someone.

Bors reached behind him to hold Teejay's fisted hand. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, but didn't let go. He wanted to let her know that it was okay.
Damn it, who is after her?

“Teejay, I know the driver,” he said without looking at her. Teejay didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if she heard him.

The driver got out of the car. “Damn, bro, you look horrible. Aren't you tired of sleeping in a dumpster?” Gawain sauntered toward them with a grin on his face and angled his head, trying to see who was behind him.

“Glad to see you, too, Gawain. Shouldn't you park your car in the parking lot? You're blocking the shoppers.” Bors felt Teejay's hold on him loosen and her hand relaxed beneath his palm. Still he didn't let go.

“Who's going to arrest me? You? Fuckin’ eh, you rank.” Gawain punched his shoulder.