Worth Dying For (5 page)

“The Mississippi state troopers and every law enforcement agency in the state have a description of Leslie Anne’s Jaguar and the license plate number, yet no one has reported seeing her car. Why is that?”

“How would I know?”

“Do you have a car, Ms. Wright?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded.

“Where is your car?”

“Where do you think—it’s parked in the garage, of course.”

“Would you mind if I take a look at your car?”

“What for?”

“I’d really rather not involve your parents,” Dante said, using the most threatening tone possible. “But unless you show me your car, I’ll have to put in a call to them.”

“You can’t. They’re in Europe.”

“I should imagine one of the servants has their itinerary, so it’s only a matter of—”

“How’d you figure it out? I mean, was it anything I said that tipped you off?” Hannah wrung her hands, the dark purple nail polish on her fingertips a vivid contrast to her light, freckled skin.

“Just an educated guess,” Dante admitted. “It’s a logical thing to do—switch cars with a friend so that when the police search for a black Jaguar with a certain license plate number, they won’t be looking for a—?”

“She’s going to kill me if I tell you.” Hannah lifted her shoulders and hung her head as if she were trying to disappear like a turtle into its shell.

“And I might be forced to take drastic measures if you don’t tell me.”

Gasping, Hannah looked up at Dante, real fear in her eyes. If the situation wasn’t so damn serious, he would laugh. And he would apologize to Hannah for scaring her half to death.

“Leslie Anne’s Jag is in the garage,” Hannah confessed, her voice trembling. “I let her take my red BMW.”

“Make and model?” Dante asked.

“It’s a convertible. A BMW Z4.”

“Thanks, Hannah. You did the right thing, and I promise I’ll do my best to square things for you with Leslie Anne.”

“You will?”

He grinned at her. “Yeah, I will.” Without hesitation, with Hannah sighing and all but melting in front of him, Dante whipped out his cell phone and called Dom. “Contact Vic and tell him to meet us back at the sheriff’s department in Fairport. We need to run a check on a BMW owned by—” Dante looked to Hannah for the info he needed.

“Anson Wright,” Hannah said. “Technically, the car belongs to Daddy.”

“The owner is Anson Wright. It seems Leslie Anne swapped cars with a friend of hers. The police have been searching for a car that’s been parked in the Wrights’ garage for the past thirty-six hours.”

H
E’D WATCHED
the girl at the motel’s restaurant and wondered what a kid her age was doing alone. All during her meal, he’d expected to see either a boyfriend or a parent join her, but she’d paid for her meal in cash and left by herself. Following her hadn’t been a problem. She’d seemed oblivious to everything and everyone around her. He stopped down the hallway and watched as she inserted her card key into the lock and then went into her room. Glancing around to make sure no one was aware of him, he grinned when he realized the coast was clear. Whistling softly to himself, he nonchalantly meandered down the hall until he reached her door. Room 215.

He straightened his tie, put a friendly, trustworthy smile on his face and knocked on the pretty, sexy little blonde’s door.

“Yes? What do you want?” she asked through the closed door.

She was probably staring at him through the peephole.

“Hello, miss. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Joe Thompson, the assistant manger of Motel Bama. I’m afraid someone posing as motel security has stolen several of our keys, including the one to your room. For your safety, we’d like to move you to another room, one that’s completely secure.”

“Oh, my God,” the girl whimpered.

He had her. It was as easy as that. She’d fallen for his line of bull—hook, line and sinker. All he had to do now
was reel her in. “Please, don’t be alarmed. You’re perfectly safe. I’ll be happy to personally escort you to a new room.”

The door opened slowly and the girl peered out at him. Be charming, he told himself, and don’t rush her. Show her you’re a good guy, somebody she can trust as easily as she trusts her dad.

“I’ll be glad to carry your suitcase for you, young lady.” He stayed right where he was, patiently waiting for her to make the next move, not risking scaring her off. “You know, you remind me of my niece, Cathy Jo. My sister named her Jo after me. Cathy’s a cheerleader. You don’t happen to be a cheerleader, do you?”

She shook her head, then opened the door completely. He took that as an invitation. He could keep her here in her room until he’d finished with her, but on the off chance that someone might know where she was and show up unexpectedly, he knew it would be safer to take her to his room.

After all, he had a nice little surprise waiting there for her.

T
ESSA JERKED
involuntarily when Lucie Evans’s cell phone rang. Since Dante Moran had left over three hours ago, they hadn’t heard a word from him. Her father had become so restless and agitated, that she and Lucie had finally managed to persuade him to take his Irish setters, Jefferson and Davis, out for a long walk. Lucky for her, Tessa had not inherited her father’s high-strung, superaggressive personality. Her mother, Anne, had been easygoing, with a somewhat passive quality that, when she became ill, turned into a possessive, clinging, dependency. Time and again she’d seen her mother manipulate her father with no more than a sigh or a few tears. Tessa supposed she had inherited traits from both parents. Although she was, by nature, easygoing, she possessed an independent streak that occasionally set her at odds against her father. Often they disagreed about the best way to raise Leslie Anne.

“I see,” Lucie said into the phone. “Well, that’s good news.”

“What news?” Tessa asked.

Ignoring Tessa’s question, Lucie said, “Yes, she’s right here. No, he’s out walking his dogs.” Then Lucie turned to Tessa. “It’s Dante. He has some news about Leslie Anne, and he needs to ask you a few questions.”

Tessa grabbed the phone. “Have you found my daughter?”
Please, God, please
.

“No, I’m sorry, we haven’t. Not yet. But we will.”

For a moment, the disappointment claimed Tessa totally, but when she heard Dante call her name, she snapped out of it immediately. “Yes, Mr. Moran, what can I do to help you?”

“We’ve found out that Leslie Anne swapped cars with her friend Hannah Wright so the authorities have been searching for the wrong vehicle.”

“Hannah swore to me that she hadn’t—of course, she’d lie to me if Leslie Anne had asked her to.” Tessa paused long enough to regroup her thoughts. “So, the police are now looking for the right car.”

“There’s an all-points bulletin out for a red BMW Z4, and already we’ve had three reports of a law enforcement officer having seen that type of car. A car of that description was found abandoned and stripped, with no car tag, over in Louisiana. Vic flew over to check things out.”

Tessa gasped.

“I just heard back from him a couple of minutes ago. It wasn’t Hannah Wright’s car.”

Tessa expelled a whoosh of pure relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Hannah’s car—the license plate definitely identified it—was found parked at the Bama Motel in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. The local police are on their way to the motel as we speak.”

Tears pooled in Tessa’s eyes. “And Leslie Anne?”

“We don’t know. But Dom and I just landed by helicopter here in Tuscaloosa. We’re on our way to the motel now. I’ll call you as soon as we know something.”

“Thank you.”

“Tessa?”

“Yes?”

“Keep believing your daughter is all right. Keep telling yourself that we’re going to bring her home very soon. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, I—I can do that.”

“Good.”

Tessa held the cell phone out to Lucie. Amazingly Tessa’s hand wasn’t trembling. Outwardly she was in complete control. Inwardly, she was a shattered mess.

“Did he tell you everything before he spoke to me?” Tessa asked.

Lucie nodded as she closed her phone and returned it to her belt clip. “All we can do is wait and that isn’t easy. Dante will get in touch the minute—”

“Leslie Anne is all right and he’s going to bring her home very soon.”

Lucie smiled. “You’re absolutely right. Just hang on to that positive thought.”

Yes, she would. She had to believe her child was safe because the alternative was too horrible to bear. If anything happened to Leslie Anne, what would she do? Her daughter was her life.

All during her pregnancy, she’d wondered if she could care about the child of her rapist or if the moment she saw the baby, she would hate it. When her father had suggested she have an abortion, she had seriously considered it. But her mother had inadvertently learned that Tessa was pregnant—she’d overheard two nurses talking about Tessa’s condition. Anne Westbrook, who hadn’t known her daughter had been raped, had pleaded with Tessa not to abort the child. How could she have refused her terminally ill mother’s heartfelt plea?

Oddly enough, when Tessa first held Leslie Anne in her
arms, it had been love at first sight. Something inside her—maternal instinct?—dictated her emotions and her actions, then as well as now. She had felt an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness toward her newborn. But since at the time of her daughter’s birth, she was still recovering from the “accident,” she’d had to depend on her parents to look after Leslie Anne. On the day of her child’s birth, she’d sworn she would recover fully, that no matter how long it took, the day would come when she would be whole again.

She had recovered fully from the devastating physical injuries she’d incurred, but even now, nearly seventeen years later, she was still emotionally incomplete.

“H
ERE’S YOUR NEW ROOM
,” the assistant manager told Leslie Anne as he inserted the key and then opened the door. “I’ll bring your suitcase in for you and then be on my way.”

Although she felt a certain sense of uneasiness—call it her self-survival instinct—Leslie Anne kept telling herself that this was a nice man who was simply doing his job.

She reached out for her suitcase. “That’s all right. I can take it from here. Thank you.”

He smiled at her and she thought how stupid she was for having any doubts about this man—Mr. Joe Thompson. Bad guys didn’t identify themselves by name, did they?

“Certainly.” He handed the suitcase to her. “Oh, by the way, you’ll find a complimentary fruit basket in your new room. It’s just the motel’s way of saying thank-you for your cooperation and understanding.”

“Oh. Yes, well…thank you.”

“If there’s anything we can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact me in the manager’s office.”

Joe Thompson turned around and walked away. Leslie Anne let out a sigh of relief.

See, I told you that you were being silly to suspect that guy was up to no good
.

T
HE TRAFFIC
in Tuscaloosa was horrific. But this was a college town with thousands of students out and about at all hours. Dante tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as they waited at yet one more red light.

“Change already, will you,” Dante grumbled under his breath.

“Calm down,” Dom told him. “The police are at the motel, and they’re going from door to door. If Leslie Anne Westbrook is there, they’ll find her.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m telling you I’ve got this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. And when my gut instincts tell me something’s wrong, it usually is.”

“Can’t take your own advice, can you?”

“Huh?”

The red light changed. Dante wanted nothing more than to fly down the road, but with heavy traffic like this, he couldn’t even make the speed limit.

“You told Ms. Westbrook to keep believing her daughter is all right.”

“Yeah, well, what else would I tell the girl’s mother?” Especially a mother who’d been raped when she was a teenager herself. Tessa must be going through a living hell right about now, worrying herself sick that what happened to her might be happening to her daughter.

“May I make an observation?” Dom asked.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You. Everyone at Dundee’s knows your reputation. Mr. Do-things-my-own-way. But we were told that you are
always able to remain objective, to stay personally uninvolved, which are two trademarks of a good agent.”

“So?”

“So why do I get the feeling there’s something personal going on with you in this case?”

“How could there be anything personal? I don’t know the Westbrooks.”

Dom shrugged. “Like I said, just an observation.”

“An incorrect observation,” Dante lied. Despite the fact that he kept telling himself Tessa Westbrook and her runaway daughter had no connection whatsoever to Amy, the same gut instincts that warned him Leslie Anne was in trouble, told him that there was some kind of connection. What, he didn’t know. But he intended to find out.

“M
Y DEAR GIRL
, why on earth didn’t you let us know what was happening?” Myrle Poole swept into the library like a puff of lavender air, her chin-length, platinum blond hair bouncing against her rouged cheeks. Her ring-adorned left hand stroked the lavender silk scarf draped around her neck, which coordinated perfectly with her purple wool suit.

Hal Carpenter stood outside in the hall, his gaze apologizing to Tessa for the intrusion he’d been unable to halt. “Mrs. Poole is here,” he said belatedly. “And Miss Celia is waiting in the foyer for Mr. Sentell while he parks the car.”

Tessa groaned inwardly. The horde was descending on them. She’d known it was bound to happen sooner or later, even though her father and she had decided not to share the news of Leslie Anne’s abrupt departure with other members of the family. Her mother’s sister, Myrle, and her daughter, Celia, had joined forces with her father’s godson, Charlie, to form the first wave of the invasion. If these three
had somehow learned that Leslie Anne had run away, then the others were bound to find out soon, if they didn’t already know.

Myrle grabbed Tessa’s shoulder, planted a light kiss on her cheek and then hugged her fiercely. “I’m sure G.W. didn’t want to worry us, but he should have phoned me immediately. After all, precious little Leslie Anne is my only sister’s only grandchild.”

Aunt Myrle tended to be a tad melodramatic. A trait that seemed to run in the Leslie family, but one Tessa had not inherited.

Tessa returned her aunt’s hug, but somewhat less passionately. “Daddy and I thought Leslie Anne would come home on her own and there would be no need to worry anyone else.”

“Is there still no word? Oh, mercy, mercy. There’s no telling what’s happened to that poor child.”

“I’m sure Leslie Anne is just fine,” Lucie Evans said.

Myrle focused her blue eyes on Lucie, narrowing her gaze as she inspected the stranger. “And who are you?”

“Aunt Myrle, this is Lucie Evans, a Dundee agent. Daddy hired the agency she works for to help the police in their search for Leslie Anne. Lucie, may I introduce my aunt, Mrs. Myrle Leslie Poole.”

“What on earth is the Dundee agency?” Myrle asked.

“And if she’s supposed to be out hunting for Leslie Anne, what’s she doing here?” Celia Poole asked as she entered the library.

Forcing a pleasant expression, Tessa turned to face her cousin Celia and the slender, elegantly dressed man at her side. Charles Sentell, who was her father’s godson, still looked at her now as he had all the years she’d known
him—with love in his eyes. If only she could have returned his feelings, everything might be different now.

“Lucie is one of four agents from the Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency. The other three are working in the field and Lucie is posted here, with me.” Tessa glanced from Lucie to the others. “Lucie, this is my cousin, Celia Poole.” After each of her two divorces, Celia had resumed using her maiden name. “And this—” she looked right at Charlie “—is Charles Sentell, a family friend and my father’s godson.”

“Where’s G.W.?” Charlie asked abruptly, effectively dismissing Lucie as nothing more than the hired help. One of Charlie’s few flaws was his air of superiority. He considered three quarters of the people in the world to be his underlings.

For at least the millionth time in the past seventeen years, Tessa asked herself why on earth her father had ever thought she would actually want to marry this man. He was attractive enough, slender and physically fit, with light brown hair and gray eyes. Not tall, but not short, either. Medium. That one word described Charlie better than any other. Except for his impeccable taste in clothes and other material items, he had little to distinguish himself. Charlie had been working for her father since he’d graduated from college and most people whispered behind his back that if he wasn’t G.W.’s godson, he wouldn’t have climbed the ladder of success so quickly, if at all.

“Daddy’s out walking Jefferson and Davis,” Tessa replied.

“Charlie, perhaps you should go find Uncle G.W. and tell him that Aunt Sharon is flying back from Key West first thing in the morning.” Celia rubbed her hand up and down Charlie’s arm. Celia was simply a younger version of Aunt
Myrle. A platinum blonde—both of them bleached blondes—with a flair for the dramatic. Snooty to the nth degree. Although she and Celia had been playmates and best friends as children, after her “accident,” Tessa hadn’t been able to reconnect with her cousin.

Charlie and Celia had been dating for the past year, shortly after Celia’s second divorce, and everyone expected an announcement at any time. Tessa wished them well and felt a great sense of relief that Charlie had finally given up pursuing her. Over the years, he’d done everything in his power to persuade her to marry him. But as fond of him as she was, Tessa couldn’t imagine Charlie being her husband. Truth be told, she couldn’t imagine being married to anyone. She knew that nothing would have pleased her father more than her marrying Charlie years ago, but G.W. had finally reconciled himself to her remaining unmarried the rest of her life.

“Leave Daddy alone,” Tessa said, her voice more commanding and harsh than she’d intended. “Please. He’s a bundle of nerves, and it took a great deal of persuading on my part—and Lucie’s—to get him out of the house for a little while.”

“Well, of course, he’s a bundle of nerves. He adores Leslie Anne. And with her missing, he’s bound to be worried sick.” Myrle looked past the others and zeroed in on Hal, who waited in the hall. “Hal, do be a dear and have Eustacia prepare some fresh coffee and perhaps some sandwiches. And in the meantime, bring me a glass of sherry. I’m simply overwrought and need a little something to calm me.”

Hal looked to Tessa. She nodded. “Yes, please, bring Aunt Myrle some sherry and ask Eustacia to prepare coffee and sandwiches.” Remembering her hostess duties and despite wishing she could tell everyone to leave, Tessa
glanced around the room and asked, “Would anyone else care for a drink?”