In the Arms of the Wind

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

In the Arms of the Wind

ISBN 9781419915376

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

In the Arms of the Wind Copyright © 2008 Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Edited by Mary Moran.

Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication June 2008

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this
book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.  (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

In the Arms of the Wind

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

.357 and .44 Magnum: Smith & Wesson Inc.

7-Up: Seven-Up Company, The

Bailey’s Irish Cream: R & A Bailey & Co

Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Corporation

BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft

Bud: Anheuser-Busch, Incorporated

Buick: General Motors Corporation

Bushmill’s Irish Whiskey: “Old Bushmills” Distillery Co. Limited

Cadillac: General Motors Corporation

Chippendale:
Thomas Chippendale Furniture Ltd

Clapper, The: Joseph Enterprises, Inc.

Excedrin Migraine: Bristol-Myers Squibb Company

Formica: The Diller Corporation

Halston: Halston LLC Ltd Liab Co.

Jacuzzi: Jacuzzi Inc. Corporation

McDonald’s: McDonald’s Corporation

Michelin: Michelin North America, Inc.

Pepsi: Pepsico, Inc.

Pillsbury Doughboy: Pillsbury Company

Pontiac, GTO and Trans Am: General Motors Corporation

Ray-Bans: Bausch & Lomb Inc.

Schneider: Schneider National, Inc.

Sweet Tarts: Societe des Produits Nestle, S.A.

Vistaril: Chas. Pfizer & Co., Inc.

Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

Youngstown Kitchen Cabinets: Mullins Manufacturing Corporation

Prologue

Kaycee Connor was impressed by what she was seeing. The artist in her saw more than just the elegant furnishings and expensive paintings adorning the damask-clad walls, the gorgeous wool carpeting underfoot and the spectacular embossed copper ceiling panels. It was more the ambience of the room that bespoke of old money and even older sensibilities combining to create a lavish environment only the very wealthy could do on such a grand scale.

“This particular piece came from France in the late 1800s,” the man beside her remarked as he pointed to a Louis IXV Catalan commode. “It was my mother’s pride and joy.”

Staring at the gilded chest with its muted green undercoat, Kaycee nodded. “It is very lovely.”

“And the companion pair of fauteuils was a wedding gift to my parents from J. Edgar Spence, the lumber magnate.”

“Very impressive,” Kaycee acknowledged as she continued looking around the parlor. “I can see why you take such pride in Stone Ridge.”

Thomas Gerring smiled. “Well, it is my ancestral home and the antiques alone are worth more than the very land upon which the estate sits.”

“I’ve no doubt of that.” Kaycee reached out to stroke her fingers along the undulating curved back of a
canapé
—a lovely type of settee upholstered in a rich burgundy silk. “I’ve never seen such beautifully kept examples of Regency-style furniture.”

Her host sighed. “It’s so refreshing to have someone who appreciates my family’s devotion to the period,” he told her, indicating he wished her to be seated.

Kaycee sat gingerly on the
canapé’
s broad cushion, laid her evening bag on the seat and leaned back nervously. She knew the settee was valued at more than she made in a year’s time as the manager of an antiques shop.

“So tell me,” Thomas said as he took a seat opposite her on one of the fauteuil chairs covered in a pretty painted rose silk. “What do you think of Stone Ridge thus far?”

“It’s very impressive,” she said, a bit dazed by the whirlwind tour of his family home. He had taken her from room to room to room, pointing out the noteworthy furnishings and making sure she noticed the priceless paintings hanging in every room.

Thomas crossed his legs. “I am sure you will find dinner to your liking as well. Cook trained in Paris.”

Feeling very out of place, Kaycee squirmed beneath his hawklike gaze and turned her attention to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the shelves of which were lined with rich, leather-bound tomes.

“Most are first editions,” he said. “I’m sure they are worth more than you will make in a lifetime.”

She winced. His arrogance and ego had begun to wear thin. Pasting a smile she didn’t feel on her face, Kaycee looked down at the clenched hands in her lap. She wished with all her heart the butler would appear in the doorway to announce dinner was served. Though this was her first visit to Stone Ridge, she intended to make it her last and couldn’t wait to leave.

“Please don’t feel out of place here, dear,” he said, and Kaycee lifted her head to look at him. He smiled indulgently. “I know this is a bit much to assimilate for someone unaccustomed to the finer things in life.”

Digging her nails into her palms, Kaycee made no comment to that pompous remark. His next words were worse yet, and it was all she could do to hold on to her temper.

“Of course, I intend to correct that situation. With my help, you will become the very epitome of fashion and charm.” He winked. “I believe I will relish the role of transforming you.”

Kaycee’s green eyes widened and she opened her mouth to call him the overbearing fool he was, but there was a sudden volley of what sounded like firecrackers at the front of the mansion and her host leapt to his feet, his eyes huge in a face suddenly white as parchment.

“Quick!” he said. “Over here!”

Stunned by this unexpected turn in the events, Kaycee rose slowly to her feet, forehead creased with consternation. She watched Thomas run to the bookcase and pull several books down at an angle.

“Hurry, Kaycee!” he barked, galvanizing her action. “Hurry!”

She rushed to him just as the bookcase sprang open. Her mouth dropped open.

“Inside, woman!” Thomas snapped, and grabbed her arm to jerk her forward and into a dark space behind the bookcase.

“Thomas, what…?” she began.

“Shut up!” he hissed at her.

But before he could join her behind the bookcase, she saw him jerk then a red stain began to blossom on the front of his immaculate white shirt. His eyes met hers for just a moment then he fell against the bookcase, closing it in her face.

Slamming her hand over her mouth, her eyes bulging, Kaycee began to tremble violently, realizing the popping sounds must have been gunfire and that Thomas had been shot. From the other room, she heard voices and stopped breathing.

“Fuck. He’s still moving,” someone said.

“Then take care of it,” another voice snapped.

There was another dull thud thud followed by an eerie silence that lasted a few heartbeats.

“Is he dead this time?”

“As the proverbial doornail and flying low with the Reaper.” There was a pause. “You find what we came for?”

“I got it.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * * * *

He stopped as his partner exited the room and looked back at the body lying facedown on the carpet. Two slugs in the back of Thomas Gerring’s head had made sure the bastard wouldn’t cause any more trouble. They had retrieved what they’d been sent to get and there were no witnesses left to point fingers. He swept his steely gaze about the room one last time, and it was then he saw the black velvet evening bag on the settee.

A cold talon dragged down his spine and he slowly made another visual circuit of the room. There was only one door and that was the one through which he and his partner had entered. Four tall casement windows had drapes pulled back from them, but all four were shut and a careful inspection of the gap between the bottom edge of the velvet drape and the carpet did not reveal anyone standing behind the heavy falls.

“What the fuck are you…?”

He held his hand up to silence his partner as the man came storming through the door. He simply pointed to the evening bag then raised one dark eyebrow. His partner silently shrugged and shook his head, pointing twice to the ceiling.

“Powder room?” he mouthed, and his partner’s head swiveled toward the hallway. The man nodded and withdrew the semiautomatic he’d already holstered and ratcheted a bullet into the chamber.

Following, he waited just inside the parlor door as his partner gently and silently closed a meaty fist around the polished brass knob, jerked it open then pointed his weapon inside the small room. It was evident the room was empty when no shot was fired. Once again his partner pointed to the ceiling.

He glanced up the curving stairway, listening intently. Beneath the black ski mask that hid all but his dark amber eyes, his lips pursed tightly. After a moment, he lifted his gloved left hand with the palm facing toward him and made a waving motion from side to side to signal moving out. His partner closed the powder room door and headed down the hallway.

* * * * *