Fever (9 page)

walk out of the hotel just after dawn. She hadn’t asked for a cab, hadn’t hailed one herself. She’d

simply walked away.

Without a fucking coat.

It was half raining, half snowing and it was goddamn cold. And she’d walked out without a coat.

What frustrated him even more was that he wanted to track down the catering service and demand

information on Bethany, but it was Sunday, which meant that until Monday, he was screwed.

chapter seven

Jace got out of his car after telling his driver to circle and wait and then pulled up the collar of his

coat to prevent the drizzle from sliding down his neck. He hurried toward the women’s shelter that

was sandwiched between an older Catholic church and a soup kitchen on the fringes of the Hell’s

Kitchen neighborhood.

It would be getting dark soon, a fact that aggravated him, not because of the approaching evening,

but because it had taken him all day to gather the information he wanted. And it had taken until now to

track her down.

The only information the catering service had on file was her full name and this address. Had

Bethany listed another employer as her contact information? He could have called the shelter to get

information, but the moment he’d gotten the barest hint of where she might be, he’d left his office and

had come straight here.

He ducked inside the door and shook off the rain. An older woman looked up from where she sat at

a desk a short distance from the door, alarm in her eyes. He supposed it wasn’t an ordinary

occurrence for a man to burst into a women’s shelter, and if his employees were anything to go by,

he’d been brooding and moody the entire day so he was sure he didn’t look very friendly.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she hurried forward.

His gaze swept the interior, taking in the smallness, the sparseness of the room—and it was merely

a room. Cots filled most of the space. There was a sitting area toward the back, with a dilapidated

couch and a few odd chairs situated around a television.

There were maybe ten women in view and he was struck by how subdued they were. They ranged

in age from very young to quite old and they all had a tired, hopeless look to their eyes that made his

gut seize.

Was this what his Bethany did? Did she volunteer her time here and then work odd jobs when she

could for extra money? He felt a surge of pride. He remembered her reaction to the notion that they

were somehow paying her for sex. And she hadn’t stuck around when it had to be obvious to her that

he and Ash had money. Ash had been right about one thing. It was usually them ending things with

women. Never once had they had a woman walk away from them with no expectation for what she

could gain monetarily.

Even with his coat on, the inside of the shelter felt chilly to him. His gaze narrowed when he saw

that most of the occupants wore more than one layer of clothing. Even the older woman standing in

front of him had a jacket and gloves on.

“Why the hell don’t you have the heat on?” he demanded.

The woman looked startled. And then she laughed. He blinked, not expecting that kind of response.

“You’ll have to take that up with the city,” she said, anger vibrating in her voice. “They’ve cut so

much funding that we can’t afford to fix the heat. It went out last week. All we have are a few

portable heating units, and we use those at night so the women can at least sleep warm.”

Jace cursed under his breath.

“Was there something I can help you with, Mr. . . . ?”

He extended his hand. “Crestwell. My name is Jace Crestwell, and yes, there is something you can

help me with. I’m looking for someone who works here. Her name is Bethany Willis.”

The woman took his hand but frowned. “I’m Kate Stover. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Crestwell. But

we don’t have anyone named Bethany who works here.”

His brows drew together. “She put this as her contact address on an employment document.”

Ms. Stover pursed her lips a moment and then she sighed. “Many of the women use this address,”

she said quietly. “It helps when trying to obtain employment. Some businesses aren’t too keen on

hiring a homeless woman.”

Jace stared at her, not fully comprehending what it was she was suggesting. No. It couldn’t be. But

if it was . . . Ms. Stover was eyeing him with suspicion, and her lips had gone tight, as if she already

regretted what little information she’d given.

He cleared his throat and made his best effort to appear nonthreatening and as if he hadn’t just been

blown away by the possibility forming in his mind.

“Ms. Stover, I’m very interested in hiring Bethany. It’s a very well-paying job and it would

certainly improve her circumstances. If you’re concerned that I’m a jealous lover, crazy ex or current

husband, I can assure you I am none of those. I can provide my business name and a number of

references and you may call my partners in business as well as my receptionist to verify my identity

and my intentions.”

As he spoke, he shoved his business card at her and watched her eyes widen in surprise. She stared

up at him, studying him a long moment. Uncertainty was evident as she grappled with whether to trust

him. He held his breath, waiting. Until finally she appeared to relax and her gaze softened as she

returned his card.

“You said her name is Bethany. Can you describe her to me?”

Jace cleared his throat, barely able to speak past the knot growing there. “Petite. Very thin. Young.

Maybe mid-twenties? Black hair. Hangs past her shoulders. She was wearing it up in a clip. And she

has very vivid blue eyes. Unforgettable.”

At that, the woman’s eyes brightened with recognition and then her face softened. “Yes, I know

Bethany. She was here Saturday morning to see if we had a bed for the night. It was regrettable, but I

had to turn her away.” Sorrow was heavy in the older woman’s face. She lifted her hand to smooth

the silver strands of her hair away from her face. “It’s the thing I hate most about volunteering here,

when I have to turn women away because we have no room for them. A job would most certainly be

welcome in her circumstances, I’m sure. She spoke about using this address to give prospective

employers, but they were odd jobs. A permanent job would be wonderful.”

Jace’s mouth dropped open in shock. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all. He wanted to refute

that Bethany was homeless, even as his nagging suspicion had swelled the moment he’d begun

speaking to Ms. Stover, but then he thought back to Saturday night. The shabbiness of her clothing.

The tired look in her eyes. The way she’d asked if dinner was part of the proposition. Sweet mother

of God. He felt sick to his bones. Had she accepted Ash’s offer because it was the only way she had a

place to sleep that night? Had she felt she had no other choice?

“Have you seen her since then?” Jace asked tightly.

Ms. Stover shook her head regretfully. “No. But she comes through every so often. She’s stayed

here before.”

“Do you know anything about her? Anything at all that would help me find her?” Jace said urgently.

Then he tempered his eagerness and adopted a calmer tone. “I’d prefer to hire her but I can’t keep the

job open forever. It’s imperative I locate her at once.”

He was going to hell for lying to an elderly woman, especially one who ran a shelter for women

who were no doubt abused by bastards who’d lie just as he was lying. But no way was he ever going

to hurt Bethany. If he could find her, he’d make damn certain she didn’t spend another night on the

streets. The idea of her being there now made him want to put his fist through the wall, and that

definitely wouldn’t go over well in a women’s shelter.

“I’m sorry, but no. She’s very quiet when she’s here. Keeps to herself. I did give her the name of a

few other shelters but I’m sure she’s familiar with them all.”

“I want those names,” Jace said flatly. “How long?”

Her eyebrows went up in question.

“How long has she been coming here?”

“I’ve only been working here a year, but in that time she’s come in maybe a half dozen times.”

Jace’s chest tightened until it was difficult for him to breathe. Bethany—his Bethany—was

homeless. She’d been in his arms, safe, for one night, and with all his wealth, the ability to provide

the very thing she needed the most, he had let her slip away. Back into the cold and uncertainty.

God, even now, she was somewhere on the streets. Without a coat. Cold. Hungry. No protection.

“Do me a favor please, Ms. Stover.”

He shoved his card back into her hand, closing her fingers around it.

“If you see her again, you call me immediately. Day or night. My cell number is on here. Call me

the minute you see her and don’t let her out of your sight until I get here. Can you do that for me?”

Ms. Stover frowned, and she looked at him oddly. He was quick to excuse his urgency before she

became suspicious again and blew his story all to hell.

The hell of it was, he absolutely did sound like some deranged, obsessed, abusive boyfriend bent

on hunting down his runaway lover. Jesus. If Ash could see and hear him, he’d have Gabe down here

and they’d both physically subdue and haul his ass out of here. Then they’d likely hire him a fucking

shrink.

“I’m sympathetic to her plight, Ms. Stover. She’s a qualified candidate, and now that I know her

circumstances are what they are, it’s even more important that she be the one to receive my offer. I

could hire someone else, but she needs the job. Can you contact me please?”

He was proud of his even tone. He’d even managed to convince himself he hadn’t lost his fucking

mind.

Ms. Stover relaxed and then smiled, tucking the card into her pocket. “I’ll call you if I see her.”

“Thank you,” Jace said.

Then he gazed around the room at the women huddled on the cots and in the chairs and on the

couch. And he tried to control the anger that rushed through his veins.

“You’ll get your heat, Ms. Stover.”

Her eyes widened.

Even as he turned to walk back out to his car, he pulled his cell from his pocket and began to make

calls.

chapter eight

Bethany shook violently as she stumbled across an intersection. It took all her concentration to

remain upright. One foot in front of the other. If she fell now, she’d be run over. New York drivers

weren’t exactly pedestrian friendly.

She picked up her head, her breath blowing out in a fog and she saw the church just one block

down. She was nearly there. A whispered prayer fell from her lips.
Please, God. Let them have room

today.

Some of the numbness had worn off. Some of the shock had crumbled and reality pushed in. She

turned her palms up, seeing the scrapes and the blood. Her pants were torn at her knees and at her hip

and there were identical scrapes there, blood slick on her skin. It cemented the denim to her legs,

which was freezing on her.

Tears pricked her eyelids. How could Jack have done it? Her vision blurred and she sucked in her

breath, determined to make it the last block to the shelter. Even if they could only offer her refuge for

an hour, a place to warm up, clean her scrapes and rest her bruised body, it would be enough.

She had no money. She had nothing at all. The cash she’d so carefully hoarded was gone. Jack

owed some very nasty people and they’d come to collect. From
her
. While she’d lain, stunned, on the

icy ground, they’d yanked the bills from her pocket. One had kicked her in the side and then they’d left

her with a sharp reminder that Jack owed them a
lot
more and she had a week to come up with it.

She bit her lips as more tears threatened. She was exhausted. She was sick to her soul. She was

hurting and so cold and hungry that she just wanted to curl up and die.

Relief made her weak when she reached the door of the shelter. For a moment, she was afraid to

walk in because if she was turned away she wasn’t sure she had the strength to walk back out again.

Closing her eyes and sucking in a deep breath, she put her hand out and pushed open the door.

She was immediately hit by a warm blast of air that felt so good that she went weak and nearly

wilted on the spot. It hadn’t been this warm the last time she’d come. The heat hadn’t been working.

Inside, she could hear the sounds of the other women. They sounded almost . . .
happy
. And

shelters weren’t generally happy places. Tantalizing aromas wafted through her nostrils. She inhaled

and her stomach growled. Whatever they were eating smelled wonderful.

She took a hesitant step, allowing the door to close behind her. The warmth was so welcome that

for the longest time she couldn’t move as feeling started to return to her hands and feet. It was

welcome and very unwelcome all at the same time because with that feeling came pain.

“Bethany, is that you, dear?”

Bethany’s head popped up, her brow furrowing. She hadn’t ever given her name here, had she? She