Texan Undercover (Romantic Suspense) (19 page)

Frank walked out the door. Shivers of fear
scurried inside and outside Claire's body. Frank was going to hurt
Dillon. Mr. Macho Private Eye would charge right in with no thought
to his safety . . . She couldn't bear it if something happened to
him.

Claire looked at Natalie. Natalie looked at
her. They couldn't say anything, but communicated just the same.
Nat tugged at the bindings on her arms and legs, making frustrated
grumbles and grunts.

Claire tested the strength of her own bonds.
After several fruitless attempts, she slumped against the bed
frame. It was no use. She'd never get herself and Natalie out of
this predicament. They needed help and fast.

****

After he locked up the cafe, Dillon walked
down the block where Brozek had parked the van. As he waited for
his partner to open the door, a sudden chill scurried up his neck.
He wished he hadn't let Claire go to Natalie's by herself. What had
he been thinking?

That was the problem. He couldn't think when
he was around Claire. It was difficult to keep his perspective.
He'd been so relieved to see her spunk and spirit return that he
would have agreed to almost anything she suggested.

Unprofessional and negligent.
Damn.

The door clicked open and Dillon climbed in.
"Let me see what you've got," he said to Brozek.

"What took so long? I've been waiting for
fifteen minutes." Brozek sat in his seat in front of the monitors,
flipped a couple of switches and pushed a button to play the
surveillance video.

"I had to close up the place. It took longer
than I thought." Dillon squatted on his haunches beside his partner
and watched the tape. The usual e*Claire's crowd milled about the
cafe, sipping drinks, studying in groups, hunkering around the
computers.

"Why couldn't Claire lock up?" Brozek
asked.

"She had to leave in a hurry. Natalie
called--"

"Look, this is it." Brozek pointed to the
screen. "Tell me what you think?"

"--and she was crying--holy crap! Stop. Back
up and play it again in slow motion."

Brozek rewound the tape and pushed play. "I
knew it. We have the bastard now."

As the scene unfolded, Dillon's whole body
stiffened. "That son of a bitch."

"Who is he? I've seen him before, but never
met him."

"Frank Winslowe." The hairs on Dillon's scalp
stood on end.
Frank
. The absent-minded professor. The damned
hacker.

Not the Frenchman. Not Natalie. But Frank.
Who'd just broken up with Natalie. The reason Claire had left in
such a hurry. Alone.

Son of a bitch.

Dillon studied the tape. He watched Frank
greet Natalie, buy coffee, then sit down at a table. He talked a
little to Natalie, then waved her away. He glanced around, as if
making sure no one was watching, then deliberately looked up at the
surveillance camera and smiled.

At that moment, Dillon knew Frank wasn't
playing with a full deck. The guy was smart. A frigging genius.
How'd he know where the camera was? That devious smile boded no
good.

Frank unplugged the keystroke recorder from
the back of the keyboard. He inserted a floppy and typed something.
When he finished, he looked again at the camera, made a gun-like
motion with his hand and mouthed the word 'bang.'

"Damn. Is he insane?" Brozek stopped the
video. "He knows we're watching him. Knows we've been watching him.
Does he
want
to get caught?"

"I don't know. Maybe he is crazy." Dillon
stood and unhooked his cell phone from his belt. He was the one
going crazy. Letting Claire go out alone. Not that he thought Frank
was actually at Natalie's. Those two were history, right?

Damn. He had a bad feeling about all of this.
Quickly, he punched in Claire's number. "You run the keystroke
match program on that computer?" he asked Brozek.

"Yeah, he definitely typed the commands that
sent the virus to the three companies and to the computers in the
cafes. Who're you calling?"

"Claire. She went to Natalie's because Frank
broke up with her. The woman was practically hysterical." Dillon
took a deep breath. Then another. "Come on. Answer." That bad
feeling punched him in the gut again. She'd promised to keep the
phone with her at all times. Why didn't she answer?

After six rings, she picked up.

Only it wasn't Claire.

"I have her, Anderson," Frank Winslowe said,
his voice devoid of emotion. "Come and get her. Alone. No police
and no partner. Alone."
Click.

The blood froze in Dillon's veins. For half a
second, his body refused to function. His heart stopped beating;
his lungs stopped period. The glowing lights inside the van buzzed
all around him.

Frank had Claire.
His worst nightmare
had come true.

Brozek pushed out of his chair. "What's
wrong? Where's Claire?"

"Winslowe's got her." Dillon blinked back the
terror and fear. He scrambled over equipment to the front of the
van and jumped in the driver's seat.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Brozek said,
sinking back in his chair. "I'll call the cops."

"No! He said to come alone."

"You're not going alone, buddy."

Dillon made a quick decision. "All right.
You'll be my back up and can stay out of sight. Now, do a search
for Natalie Fuller's address. I don't know where she lives." Dillon
turned the key in the ignition. "And hurry it up." Ten minutes.
Claire had said it took ten minutes to get to Natalie's apartment
from here. It might as well be ten hours considering the
frustration and helplessness he was feeling.

"I'm one step ahead of you." His partner
feverishly tapped out commands on the keyboard. Then he climbed in
the passenger seat. "She lives over in the Arboretum Apartments.
Number 368." Brozek shoved a micro camera and earpiece at him.

"What's this?" Dillon asked, knowing very
well what it was.

"My backup, buddy. It'll let me know if and
when I need to go in and rescue your butt."

Dillon nodded, threw the van into gear and
floored the gas pedal. Ten minutes. He had ten minutes to save
Claire from a madman.

****

Claire heard the first faint trill of her
cell phone floating down the hall. Hope flared inside. She glanced
at Natalie. The tiny flicker in Nat's eyes showed hope, too.

The phone trilled again. Much good it would
do in the living room hidden in her purse.

A third trill sounded. Was it Dillon? If she
didn't answer, would he know something was wrong?

A fourth trill. He was good at adding up
clues. He was a private investigator after all.

Trill number five.

Before she'd left the cafe, she remembered
Brozek had called to say he'd found the hacker. By now, Dillon
would know it was Frank. But would he know Frank was here? At
Natalie's?

Six trills. Would he come running to the
rescue? Alone? Without reinforcements? Straight into Frank's
trap?

Sure, Dillon was strong and had a gun. But
Frank was devious. He'd fooled them all.

No more trills. She heard Frank's voice.
Short and terse. Then nothing. What was happening?

The bedroom door crashed open. Frank stood
there with a gun in one hand and a butcher knife in the other.

Oh, God. They were going to die!

"I've decided to play this out a little
differently, ladies. Company's coming and we need to prepare."

He moved toward Claire and laid the gun on
the dresser. "I'm going to cut you free, then you will untie
Natalie. We'll move to the living room, where we'll wait for
Anderson. No funny business now. I really don't want to hurt either
one of you, but I will if I must."

Frank sawed through the duct tape that bound
Claire's wrists. A thousand shards of tingling sensation skittered
from her aching shoulders. He cut the tape at her ankles, ripping
it away, tearing her stockings in the process. "Up you go, Claire.
Easy does it." He helped her to stand, then motioned toward
Natalie. "Hurry. We don't have much time."

He retrieved his gun and held it steady,
pointed straight at Claire. "Go on. Untie her." He stepped to the
doorway and waited.

Claire peeled the duct tape from her aching
wrists and rubbed them to ease the pain. She crossed the room
slowly. Every minute she wasted gave Frank less time to prepare.
Which helped Dillon, if only a little.

Nat looked up at her. Those big blue eyes
shimmered with fear and anger. Claire fumbled with the knotted
scarves Frank had used to tie Natalie's hands and feet. She wished
she could whisper reassurance in her friend's ear, but her mouth
was still covered with duct tape. How much did Natalie really
understand about what was going on?

"Hurry it up, Claire." Frank rushed over and
hauled Natalie to her feet. "Let's go. Move it." He motioned toward
the door with the barrel of the gun.

Claire nodded to Natalie before she turned
and led the way, as slowly as she dared, down the hall to the
living room. She felt like she was in the middle of a nightmare.
Everything seemed unreal and dreamlike. Shouldn't she feel
frightened? Why wasn't she scared out of her wits? All she felt was
numbness. That was a blessing, right?

Wrong. She needed to get a grip.
Think,
Claire. Think.
Dillon was coming. He was the one in danger.
Frank had said he wasn't going to kill her, but that didn't mean he
wouldn't kill Dillon.

"All right, ladies. Stop right there. Sit on
the sofa like good little girls and no one gets hurt."

Could she believe him? The wild look in his
eyes terrified her. Beads of sweat glistened on his face. He was
strung tight. What would it take to make him snap?

Frank walked over to the window and peered
out.

Claire carefully sat on the sofa. Nat flopped
down beside her and ripped the duct tape from her mouth. Claire
winced. She began to slowly peel away the piece of tape from her
own mouth, bit by little bit.

"I can't believe you're doing this, Frank."
Natalie crossed her arms over her chest.

Frank twirled to face her, his gun pointed
toward them. "Did I say you could uncover your mouth?"

"What are you going to do about it, huh?
Shoot me? Obviously, you don't care for me. You never cared for
me."

The gun wavered. "I'm not indifferent to
you."

Natalie sat up straighter. "Thanks a
lot."

"You were the means to an end," he said. "A
small pawn in a very large game."

"You are one cold bastard, you know
that?"

He made a formal bow.

"Why are you doing this, Frank? What can you
hope to gain?"

"Satisfaction," he said. "Knowing that I
didn't sit back and do nothing. Knowing that I did my part trying
to help save the world."

Natalie sneered at him. "Oh, really? By
yourself?"

"One person can make a difference, Natalie.
Even if it's only on a small scale." He steadied the gun in his
hand. "Now be silent and sit still."

Claire finally finished removing the tape
from her mouth. Her lips felt raw. She felt raw inside and out. How
long before this was over? How long since Dillon had phoned?

The knock on the door told her not long
enough. The nightmare quality slipped away. Everything suddenly
seemed all too real.

"The conclusion to this game is about to be
played out," Frank said, turning for the door. "It will be
interesting to see who wins."

Claire wondered if there was anything she
could do to help Dillon. Again, she wished she had taken
self-defense. Then she could be a kick-ass heroine like in the
movies. But no. All she could do was sit and wait for the man she
loved to walk through that door and into danger.

Dillon waited for the door to Natalie's
apartment to open. He didn't know how this would turn out, but he
did know one thing. He loved Claire Maxwell. He couldn't deny it
any longer. If Winslowe harmed one hair on her beautiful head, if
he bruised one tiny part of her beautiful body, he'd kill the son
of a bitch.

"It's open," Winslowe called from within.
"Enter with your hands on top of your head."

Oh hell.

The doorknob turned easily under Dillon's
fingers; the loud click of the latch sounded like a death knell in
his ear. Adrenaline surged through his bloodstream. He pushed the
door forward, braced his hands behind his head and advanced into
the apartment.

"Welcome, Mr. Anderson." Winslowe greeted
Dillon like a guest instead of an adversary. As if the man wasn't
holding two women hostage, intending to do God knew what to them.
"Come in. It's time to end this little charade and the game we've
been playing, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Winslowe. It's past time we ended
this."

A swift sweep around the room showed Claire
and Natalie on the couch, not bound in any way, apparently
physically unharmed. There were signs of a struggle--spilled wine,
a vase on its side, the contents of Claire's purse scattered across
the coffee table.

Claire looked at Dillon, those deep brown
eyes dilated with fear. She whispered his name and his heart
twisted in his chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

She nodded and tried to smile, but her bottom
lip trembled with the effort. She clasped her hands tightly
together in her lap. Thank God, she wasn't hurt. Only scared. And
angry, guessing from the thrust of that determined chin. Dillon
hoped she wouldn't try anything stupid.

Natalie sat near her, quiet and subdued, but
eyes blazing. He hoped she wouldn't do anything stupid either.

Dillon quickly assessed the situation,
seeking a way out. With the women unbound, it would be easier to
maneuver them, get them to safety. He nodded once in Claire's
direction, hoping to reassure her, before facing Winslowe and that
gun he was holding.