Hot Pursuit (16 page)

He and Joseph Isley had all but drooled over Hector and Zoey spending time together. But only because Hector’s father was as big of a crime lord as her father. They looked at Hector and Zoey, and instead of seeing their two children possibly falling in love and being happy, the men saw dollar signs.

“I remember him,” she said, guessing her father was waiting for a response.

“I believe tonight might be a very special night for you, my dear. I’m told Hector can’t wait to see you again.” Without waiting for her response or saying anything else, like possibly asking if she wanted to see Hector, Emilio turned to Pedro. “Zoey needs to wear something provocative. I want her appearance to reflect willingness, a guaranteed good time, yet also class and a lot of money.”

“Exactly, sir,” Pedro said, nodding and smiling.

“She’s got the body; make sure her maid knows to select something that shows all of it off. Oh,” her father said, snapping his finger as he turned his office chair so he faced Pedro. “A bikini … make it one of those string things, one that pretty much gives it all away. Zoey must come across as a sure thing. Tell her maid to pack lingerie.”

“Possibly one evening gown,” Pedro added. He was the only servant her father had on staff who didn’t flinch when Emilio Cortez gave him his full attention. Instead, Pedro smiled. His thin lips peeled back over uneven teeth. It was eerie how Pedro’s grin was as soulless and demonic as her father’s. “When the happy couple join you and Joe Isley at Isley’s club in San Diego, they’re quite likely to make an announcement?” Pedro finished, his smile widening with his last presumption. “It would be appropriate at that time for Miss Zoey to be in an evening gown. I don’t know if we should do tea length or floor length.” The slimy little bastard tapped his pen against his lips.

Emilio waved his hand in the air. “Arrange for her to have both and check out the club. Everything must be in order ahead of time. Do we have confirmation yet on Hector?”

Zoey’s jaw almost dropped when Pedro tsked at her father. No one she’d ever known had ever relaxed that much around Emilio Cortez.

“He’s a boy, just over twenty. The lad will play confused, but you know as well as I do, sir,” Pedro said, and waved his pen in the air as if he were conducting an orchestra. “If Master Hector Isley wishes to enjoy his father’s fortune, he’ll do as he’s told.”

“Then we’re set,” Emilio said, held his glass up in the air in a silent toast to their well-conceived plan, and downed the rest of his whiskey.

“Excuse me.” Zoey wasn’t sure she’d ever been so completely ignored, and as well treated as if she were nothing more than an inanimate object. “There is just one thing.”

The pleasant look on her father’s face changed in the time it took for him to look away from Pedro and switch his attention to her.

“Go prepare yourself to leave,” her father instructed. His black eyes gleamed with hatred. “Remember, we leave in an hour, and I won’t have you delaying my pilot.”

Zoey held her hands together in front of her to keep them from trembling. She didn’t fear her father. She definitely loathed him, which tore at her only because it seemed wrong to hate her only parent. This man glowering at her with eyes so cold they gave her chills might have aided in giving her life, but he was hardly a parent in any other sense of the word.

“I’m not going with you to San Diego.” She held her ground when Emilio gripped the sides of his leather chair and a fiery glow burned in his eyes. Zoey wondered if he saw the same loathing burning in her eyes when she looked at him. “Hector doesn’t appeal to me, and I have no intentions of trying to seduce him.”

“Did I ask if he appealed to you, or if you wanted to seduce him?” Emilio Cortez spit out, his words laced with venom. He stood then, pushing his chair back, then started coming around his desk like a cruel predator. “The truth is,
sweetheart,
” he snarled making the term of endearment sound more as if he’d just insulted her, “you can’t think. You don’t know what you want. I tell you what to think and I’ll tell you what you want. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

“Your opinion of me has been clear all my life!” she yelled, taking a step backward when he continued toward her. “But you seem to forget that I’m a person. I have feelings. My future matters to me and it doesn’t involve marrying some crime lord’s son so the two of you can combine your millions.”

Zoey didn’t have time to react before her father slapped her across the face. His hard hand connected directly with the side of her face. Zoey went flying to the side of his office, losing her balance and twisting her ankle as she stumbled to the floor. Pain radiated from her head and her foot at the same time and met in the middle of her body. She wanted to fly at him, attack with the same fierceness. And at the same time she simply wanted to crawl away, have a good cry, and nurse her wounds. As much as the latter had its appeal, doing so would convince her father even more that she was simply a tool at his disposal.

Emilio Cortez turned and calmly returned to the other side of his desk. “Just think about it: Hector,” he said jovially, as if he hadn’t just smacked her senseless. “In twenty years I’ll have a grandchild. We can go after one of those midwestern families. I doubt I’ll be around for great-grandchildren, but I’ll definitely still be at the helm to see our dynasty grow even larger,” he mused, chuckling.

Zoey fought for her bearings. She didn’t know how people on TV could be hit in the face, knocked to the ground, and leap back to their feet. Yes, she did know. That was fiction and, unfortunately, this was her life. She tugged on her skirt before struggling to stand.

“Zoey, since I do think for you, let’s be very clear. I’m very aware that you’re a person,” he said flatly. He wasn’t looking at her but staring straight ahead.

Her father steepled his fingers and appeared to choose his words carefully. Was he not looking at her because he couldn’t stomach the fact that he’d hit her so hard? She doubted that. She also doubted he considered his words. Cortez didn’t care if he hurt his daughter.

“For twenty-three years my money has housed and clothed and educated you. Don’t you dare imply you’re too good or righteous to appreciate the sources of my income. That money allows you to have your nice wardrobe. You drive a nice car, buy those precious books of yours whenever you please, and have a staff of servants who wait on you hand and foot. I’ve never once heard you complain about any of that. Now you’re grown and all of the money I’ve put out on you will be paid back. You will do as you are told. What you think or how you feel has no bearing on you and Hector. You will dress as you are told and impress him to the degree that you are instructed. Is that clear enough for you,
Daughter
? Would you like me to be more specific?”

Her father’s hateful words pounded around in her head. Zoey pushed herself to her feet. Her knees burned. Her hip felt bruised. The entire left side of her face pulsated with a piercing pain that affected her jaw, her cheekbone, and her temple. Was her father’s hand that big? Zoey was pretty sure she was the same size she’d been the last time he’d hit her. At the moment she couldn’t remember how long ago that was.

In spite of her brain telling her to stay and fight, Zoey was pretty sure her body wouldn’t withstand his next level of abuse. In the past that had been anything from him physically grabbing her and throwing her at the closest hard object he could find, the wall, his desk, across the room. Emilio Cortez wasn’t overly original when it came to abusing his daughter, but he was consistent.

Zoey made it to her feet and took her time brushing strands of hair from her face. Her eyes burned badly enough that tears had streamed down her face and her hair stuck to the moisture.

“Be careful, Father dear,” she said softly. Her voice was more venomous than she’d expected, but the words fell out nonetheless. “Hector might be turned off making love to a bruised body.”

She turned and limped out of his den, closing the door behind her. She didn’t want to hear anything else her father might have to say.

Zoey started toward the stairs, wishing she could hide in her room. But there wasn’t a safe place for her anywhere in this house. Her father intended to fly them out on his private jet, then whore his daughter out to Isley’s son in return for the merging of the two crime lords’ businesses. Her father didn’t care if he had to beat her senseless to do it. The truly sad and depraved part of this entire ordeal was that Hector probably wouldn’t care how battered she was. On the two different times she’d met him, Hector had seemed shallow, cold-hearted, and eager to do anything to remain incredibly wealthy.

Instead of taking the stairs, Zoey slipped down the hallway alongside them. JoAnne was in the kitchen talking cheerfully with another servant. Zoey couldn’t imagine what they were doing and didn’t care. She kept walking until she reached the back door. It was the door for deliveries but one she used on occasion since it was a faster way to reach the garage and her car. Leon used two young boys as the Cortezes’ valet service, but Zoey didn’t take advantage as much as her father wanted her to.

The side of her face throbbed. Already she had a headache so severe it was hard to think. Her eyes watered to the point Zoey doubted she could drive. She reached the garage but kept walking. There were always servants everywhere, and someone would spot her and be confused. If she didn’t respond, they would tell Leon, or Pedro, or even her father.

She kept walking and reached for her cell phone. It was hard to bring the screen into focus, but she did a search, found the phone number for Betsy’s bed-and-breakfast, and placed the call.

“Betsy, hi, this is Zoey Cortez.” Her voice rang in her ears and sounded strange to her.

“Hi, Zoey, how are you doing, dear?” the cheerful old woman asked.

Already tears streamed down Zoey’s face. It was impossible not to keep her voice from cracking.

“Betsy, please,” Zoey said. “I need to speak with Ben.” She prayed the old woman wouldn’t ask her what his last name was.

“Of course, dear.”

There was silence; then the phone rang twice in her ear before a solemn male voice answered.

“Ben?”

“Who is this?” he demanded.

“This is Zoey Cortez. You gave me a ride on your motorcycle last night.” She didn’t want empty small talk right now. “Ben, I’m hurt. Will you come get me, please?”

Chapter Eight

Ben was acutely aware of how unstable Zoey was on the back of his bike. He had yet to meet this Emilio Cortez but couldn’t wait to give the bastard a taste of his own medicine. He had to be a monster to do this to his own daughter. Fortunately, Zounds was a small town and it didn’t take long to return to the bed-and-breakfast. Zoey made no attempt to climb off Ben’s bike once he’d dismounted.

“This might not be a good idea.” Zoey’s face was puffy, her eyes swollen, and the imprint of her father’s hand on the side of her face was starting to bruise.

“I’m going to clean you up and put ice on your face. Argue with me later.”

Her pretty, dark eyes were glazed over when she raised her attention to his face. “My father controls the bed-and-breakfast. Betsy is an old woman. He’ll make her life hell if he learns I ran here after he hit me.”

Ben’s insides swelled with an overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her and protect her from any and all evil. He also wanted to hop back on his bike and go after Zoey’s father. The only thing worse than a bully was a bully who hit women. Zoey looked almost disoriented when she glanced around her furtively.

All that mattered right now was making sure Zoey was all right and getting her comfortable. “Betsy was making bread when I left. She’ll still be in the kitchen.” He looked around the small parking lot behind the bed-and-breakfast. “I know what the other guests are driving and no one else is here right now. If we enter through the side door over there, Betsy won’t see us. No one will. I can get you upstairs. You’ll be safe and no one will know you’re there. You have my word.”

Zoey didn’t fight him when he lifted her off and into his arms. Within minutes they were upstairs and in his room. She deflated against him, her entire body snuggled against his chest and in his arms.

He wondered at how easily she trusted him. With the life it appeared she led, trust probably didn’t come easily. Maybe he was witnessing desperation from her and not trust. Either way, Ben would gain her trust. Zoey needed him. Ben believed in fate. He didn’t question why he’d been placed in her life at this moment; it was very clear. Zoey didn’t know it yet, but he was her best bet for protection right now.

He sat her down on his bed where he’d been lying and watching TV when she called. In a way, he needed her right now, too. Zoey was the perfect distraction. Ben hadn’t been able to wrap his brain around Maggie’s reaction to him earlier that day. He couldn’t accept that Micah would think of him as a danger or suggest to his wife that Ben would try hunting Micah down. Well, Ben was trying to hunt Micah down, but not for the same reason Wolf was.

“I can’t stay here.” Zoey stood slowly, running her hands down her straight-cut skirt.

“Yes, you can.”

He took a moment to take in her perfect petite body. Ben always went for the tall, willowy ladies. Tall, tan, built, and blonde. Not that he’d had a lot of luck with that particular breed of ladies, but they were the ones who always ended up latched at his arm, sprawled out next to him in bed, or complaining how he spent his money. Stacy barely entered his thoughts and she was gone. Ben took in Zoey’s incredible figure. Her breasts were a good size, more than a handful, and on a lady her size they looked mouthwateringly good. She had hips and a well-rounded rear, both features he loved on a lady. To notch her up to perfection, her waist was so narrow Ben bet he could wrap his hands around it easily.

Her black hair was long, straight, tapered, and ended right above her ass. Ben loved long hair, loved gathering it in his hand and pulling until a lady arched her back, let her head fall back …

Zoey gathered her hair at her nape, pulling it from her face. In the light, shades of green and purple swelled down the side of her face. Jesus Christ! He was a total ass! What kind of man drooled over a woman who had just been knocked around as badly as Zoey had?