Sweet Reward (32 page)

“What’s the last name Mia used?” He could tell his voice sounded strained, but he could do nothing about it.

“Ryker. I think she called it Ryker’s Rescue or something like that. She probably got more calls for stalled cars than she did for missing persons.”

Philippe stopped listening. A part of his mind heard her continued flirting and innuendos, but they no longer made an impact. His thoughts whirled with panic and dismay. That couldn’t be why Mia had contacted him. No one knew of his association with the missing children. It was a ridiculous thought.

Finally realizing that she’d lost his interest, she whined, “You seem so distracted, Philippe. Let’s get together … I’m sure I can take your mind off your worries.”

No longer concerned with staying in her good graces, Philippe said, “I’m not interested.” He hung up the phone, cutting off her gasp of outrage.

Taking out his recently purchased cellphone, he placed a call to Garwood Kinsey. The man answered on the first ring, saying, “I was just about to call you. The problem in San Francisco has been handled.”

He’d forgotten all about yesterday’s fear and anger. That was minuscule compared to this. If Mia suspected him, how many people had she told?

“I need you to do some research on a Mia Ryker in Chicago. Find out as much as you can on her. I need the information by morning.”

Kinsey knew better than to ask questions or complain about the short amount of time given. He was paid to do things fast and efficiently.

“I’ll call you in the morning.”

Philippe closed the phone and felt a little dent to his heart. He had thought Mia was falling in love with him. Could he be wrong? Had he allowed Nadia’s jealousy
to create suspicion when there might be nothing to her words other than spite?

He would wait. Kinsey was very thorough. And if he learned that Mia was indeed trying to trap him, then he would have no recourse. She would have to be eliminated.

“Mia, my darling. How is it that every time I see you, you’ve grown lovelier?”

Her tinkling laughter sounded too much like her sister’s. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

“I think it must be the Paris air.”

His chauffeur had collected the little bitch a half hour ago, and the moment she’d walked into his house, he had wanted to strangle her. It was hard to determine what made him angrier: that she’d led him on or that she was trying to destroy him. Either one was deserving of her death.

Kinsey had called this morning with the interesting and damning facts. She was indeed Mia Ryker of Ryker’s Rescue in Chicago, Illinois, and though the details were scarce, she had been linked to a search for a baby that had been kidnapped. And Philippe had firsthand knowledge that the child she’d searched for was now in the custody of loving parents. He had personally chosen them himself. Would it matter to Mia that the child was in a much better home? Of course it wouldn’t. She had been hired by the baby’s mother to find her. A drugged-out mother who had sold her own child. It was obvious that Mia didn’t care about children.

He had considered prolonging the moment of truth—enjoying himself with her and then carrying out his interrogation at the end of the weekend. And while that had infinite appeal—the bitch owed him several good fucks—he wouldn’t. He needed the information so he would know how to proceed.

He had to find out how many people she had told. Was she working on this alone? Kinsey had sent him a picture of the outside of her office building. It looked like a dump. And apparently there was no evidence of employees. If she ran this business by herself, how had she found out about him? He had been so careful … how could a lone woman have discovered his secrets? It wasn’t possible; she had to have had help. And he intended to do what he must to find out who else knew. How many people would he have to eliminate?

Once this was over, Philippe understood, he might well have to give up this business. The money had been excellent and he’d performed some extraordinary good deeds with it, but the risk was too great.

Giving it up would mean he’d have to eliminate Kinsey, too. A new rush of rage tore through him. Mia had ruined so many things, and there was nothing he’d rather do than show her immediately what happens to someone who betrays his trust. Fortunately, a lifetime of being in the public eye had trained him to act as if everything was wonderful. Today he was especially glad for that training.

“Joseph will carry your bags to your room. And I believe Adrian is preparing a delightful lunch for us.” He looked down at his watch. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m famished.”

“Excellent. Why don’t we sit in the north parlor. Lunch should be ready soon.”

Mia followed Philippe into the elegant room. She’d
been here years ago with her parents for some kind of event. Philippe’s mother had been alive at that time. Mia remembered her as a lovely and gracious person. What would she think about what her son had done to her foundation and the Ricard name?

So far, Philippe hadn’t treated her to more than a small kiss on her cheek and a hand at her waist. Hopefully, she’d be able to get by without any romantic gestures until tonight. After dinner, she would invite him to her room or go to his. Making sure no one was around was a must; then she would doctor his drink and begin her search.

The plan sounded vague even to her, but she was good at improvising. One thing she knew for sure: she wanted to get this over and done with tonight. If she was still here tomorrow, it would mean she had failed. The thought of having to spend the night in Philippe’s bed made her all the more determined. If the information was here, she would find it.

“It’s been years since I’ve been here. I’d forgotten how gorgeous your home was. Would you mind giving me a tour after lunch?”

“Nothing would delight me more. You know, I remember my mother telling me that when you came with your parents, Nadia came, too. Do you see your sister very often?”

“Not really. We’re often in different parts of the world … you know family obligations.”

“And your parents, how are they doing?”

“Dad’s still working too hard, and Mom is his rock.”

“They do seem to have the perfect marriage. My parents were like that, too.”

Philippe’s father had died years ago, but from what she remembered, her parents hadn’t spoken highly of him. According to them, Roland Ricard had been a drunk and a
philanderer. However, he’d also been enormously wealthy and had gotten away with misbehaving. It was Philippe’s mother, Patrice, who had established the Ricard Foundation, after Philippe’s father died. By all accounts, Patrice had adored her husband and had created the foundation in his honor.

And even though Philippe was apparently more like his father than his mother, he did seem to be very devoted to the foundation. How on earth had he gotten started in something so vile?

“You must miss your parents terribly,” Mia said. “I didn’t know your father, but your mother was always so gracious.”

“She was a wonderful woman. The foundation meant everything to her.” He looked directly at her then, an odd glimmer in his eyes. “I have to preserve the foundation above all else.”

“It’s done wonderful things for so many people.”

“Exactly. I’m so glad you feel that way.” He smiled again and took her hand. “I would love to get you involved.”

“Oh, I would enjoy that too, Philippe.”

“Next week, I’ll take you on a tour there. Introduce you around.”

Mia drew a silent, relieved breath. For some reason, just for a few seconds, she had felt a bit of unease, almost as if he suspected she wasn’t being truthful. But now that feeling was gone. Her nerves must be playing havoc with her imagination. She told herself to settle down and do her job. Everything was working just as they had planned.

A soft knock sounded on the door. Philippe stood and held out his hand. “Our lunch is ready.”

They walked through several elegant and formal rooms to get to a smaller parlor in the back of the house. The
large picture window gave an interesting view of a maze. She remembered that she and Nadia had gone through it when they’d visited.

She smiled her thanks as Philippe pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down at the beautifully set table of Wedgwood china and Waterford crystal. The out-of-season pink roses in the middle of the table should have been a lovely complement, but for some reason, the air smelled sickeningly sweet. Beside the table was a buffet, with delicate-looking sandwiches, various salads, and small iced cakes for dessert. Her stomach was tied into intricate knots. She just hoped she could swallow enough to convince him that she was indeed famished.

When Philippe poured a glass of wine for her, Mia looked around, surprised that no one was around to perform that task for him.

“Most of my staff has gone away this weekend.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “I wanted you all to myself.”

Despite the fact that having almost no staff in the mansion worked better for their plan, Mia shivered. The longer she stayed in Philippe’s company, the slimier he seemed to get.

He placed several sandwiches on their plates. Then, sitting across from her, he raised his glass and waited for Mia to raise hers. Clinking his goblet to hers, he said, “To our future.”

“The future,” Mia mumbled and took an inelegant gulp of the wine. She swallowed quickly, surprised at the too sweet aftertaste. Placing the glass in front of her plate, Mia nibbled at a sandwich and was again surprised. Why did everything taste so sweet?

She blinked rapidly as the plate in front of her seemed to sway and then blur. Everything, including Philippe, was
indistinct and wavering. Her head felt stuffed with cotton. The realization of what had happened was distant, unattainable. However, her mind concentrated on one phrase that swirled within its cloudy haze. She couldn’t define why it needed to be said, but Mia determinedly formed the words. With her vision almost completely gone, the coordination of her limbs nonexistent, the phrase slurred from her uncooperative mouth: “Want … sandy … beaches …” A second later, oblivion came.

   Sitting on his motorcycle about a hundred yards from Ricard’s estate, Jared jerked his head up at Mia’s muttered words. What the hell?
Sandy beaches
. Their code words if she was in trouble.

Jared jumped off his bike and ran toward one of the walls that surrounded the massive estate. He’d studied the schematics last night. Knew exactly how long it would take to get inside the main house, running flat out: one minute and thirteen seconds.

At the wall, he grabbed the rope attached to his utility belt, threw it over, pulled it tight till the grapple hooked the edge, and began to climb. Seconds later, he was on the other side. Pulling the Glock from his side holster, he took off running toward the mansion.

Halfway there, in mid-flight, Jared froze. He’d heard the distinctive sound of a car door opening and closing. Philippe was taking her somewhere else? Out of the corner of his eye he saw a black Hummer limo zoom down the driveway.

Making a 180-degree turn, Jared ran back to the wall; seconds later he was up and over again and headed to his bike. He could hear the vehicle as it drove down the road, headed away from the city. He jumped on the bike and, with a twist of his wrist, was off.

The heavy thudding of his heart, along with the wind rushing toward him, made it hard to hear, but he didn’t think anyone had said a word since they’d taken off. A minute later, he spotted the limo. Since it was moving at a sedate pace, he knew they had no suspicions that anyone was following.

Was Mia unconscious or had they gagged her? What the fuck had happened? Had Ricard found out about her? How?

Taking advantage of the silence, Jared grabbed his cellphone from his jacket and pressed McCall’s speed-dial number.

“What’s wrong?” McCall asked.

“He’s drugged Mia and is taking her somewhere.”

“Shit. Does he know?”

“He hasn’t said yet, but that’d be my guess.”

“Okay, I’m tracking your phone. Looks like you’re headed away from Paris … toward Rouen.”

“Can you get us some backup?”

“Yes. Lucas, Aidan, and McKenna are here. They can be there in—”

“Wait,” Jared said. “The limo is pulling onto the side of the road. I’m going silent. Will get back to you as soon as I know what’s going on.”

“Okay. Your backup is already en route.”

Jared pulled off the road, still about a hundred yards from the limo. He took binoculars from a compartment on the bike and tried to see what they might have stopped for. Why the hell didn’t someone speak?

“Drop your binoculars and slowly dismount from the bike.”

His eyes closed. Dammit. They’d made him. Lowering the binoculars, he stepped off the bike and turned around. Two armed men stood about ten feet away. One wore
faded jeans and was covered in tattoos; the other looked as though he’d walked out of an office building for lunch. Different they might be, but their one commonality—Glocks—told Jared arguing would do little good. Problem was, he’d need to move closer to have any chance of disarming them.

“What’s your problem, guys?” Jared eased slowly toward them. “I’m just out for a ride.”

One of the men held his gun higher and said, “Come any closer and the girl in the limo dies.”

Jared halted. “Girl … what girl?”

“The one you were following.”

“Hey, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just minding my own business and—”

“Look behind you.” The tattooed man gestured with his head.

Jared glanced over his shoulder; his heart almost stopped. A man, not Philippe, stood beside the limo, holding an unconscious Mia in his arms.

“If you continue to deny that you know the woman, we’ve been authorized to shoot you.”

A quick assessment gave Jared little hope for success. To kick the gun out of one man’s hand and take the other down, he’d need them to be standing closer together. They were several feet apart, and while he knew he could immobilize one, the other one would have no problem shooting him. If he was going to help Mia, he had to stay alive.