The Missing Millionaire. Dani Sinclair

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      He swayed unsteadily when they got him to his feet. Jamie looked around for the clothing he’d worn earlier. The tailored suit and conservative hairstyle seemed like so much camouflage on a man she sensed kept a more primitive side reined in tightly.

      “Over there.”

      An expensive-looking suitcase lay open on a stand near the wall. Elaine gathered up clothes while Jamie continued to support him. He swayed, features slack, eyes mostly shut. Even drugged the man was too good looking for comfort, and potentially dangerous.

      She knocked Elaine’s arm aside when the other woman dumped his clothes on the bed and ran a caressing hand down his bare chest.

      “Knock it off. We’re running late.”

      Angry, and ashamed of Elaine’s actions, Jamie elbowed the woman out of the way.

      Elaine merely laughed. “Prude. Can he dress himself?”

      Jamie shrugged, wishing she was anywhere but here. “We’ll find out.”

      He could, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. He kept trying to lie back down or touch her.

      “Soft,” he murmured as his fingers brushed the side of her face.

      “Yes. Hold still while I zip your pants.” It was entirely too intimate and she hated that Elaine continued leering.

      “Quiet drunk,” Elaine commented. “Two of us, and mostly all he wants to do is sleep.”

      “Be grateful. Get his suit jacket,” Jamie ordered.

      “What for? Is this a formal kidnapping? It has to be eighty degrees outside.”

      “And the van and the house are air-conditioned and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. You want to stand around and waste time discussing this? We need to hurry. Van Wheeler could be back any minute.”

      Elaine scowled but headed for the closet. Thinking of Artie Van Wheeler added speed to Jamie’s own actions. Neither of the large men was someone she wanted to tangle with. She should have listened to her instincts and refused to come.

      Jamie found Trent’s shoes and got him to sit on the edge of the bed without falling over. They should have been at the safe house by now. Instead they’d been caught flat by the host’s unexpected late-night visitor.

      The original plan had been to slip Trent the drug at the party. When he became aroused, Elaine would let him lead her from the room for what everyone would think was a private tryst. Unfortunately, their victim hadn’t been in the mood to drink. Even after Elaine deliberately spilled the contents of the weak drink he’d been nursing all night, Trent hadn’t taken more than a sip from the new glass Jamie had doctored.

      As far as Jamie was concerned, it was just as well. She didn’t like designer drugs. A person could never be sure how they would react, especially when alcohol was added to the mix. The last thing Jamie wanted was a dead man on her hands.

      “You should have slipped Van Wheeler the mickey at the party like you were supposed to.”

      “Van Wheeler drank too much. And Trent barely drank anything at all,” Jamie explained, and wished she hadn’t bothered. She didn’t care what her companion thought and she didn’t owe her any explanations. Mixing drugs and alcohol was never a good idea no matter how safe Tony claimed they would be.

      “Yeah? Well, Van Wheeler wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t get it on after the party.”

      “For all we know they were just talking.”

      “Right. Talking.”

      Ignoring her, Jamie urged Harrison Trent to his feet. He staggered heavily. His hand reached for her face once more as she steadied him.

      “Nice,” he slurred.

      Elaine smirked. “I think he likes you.”

      Jamie’s skin tingled under his touch. “Come on, Mr. Trent.” She eased his hand down. “We’re going for a ride.”

      “Tired.”

      “I know. Me, too. You can sleep in the van.”

      Kirsten waited for them at the bottom of the steps in the front foyer near the door. The long-haired brunette was tapping her foot when the three of them appeared on the stairs.

      “What were you doing up there, having a private party? Come on!”

      “Ha. Not with Miss Prude here dictating policy,” Elaine complained. She shoved aside a spill of hair as they finished maneuvering him down the flight of stairs.

      “Then what took you so long?” Kirsten demanded as they got him out the door.

      “He didn’t want to come,” Elaine told her. “And we had to get him dressed.”

      “Yeah?”

      There was a suggestive smirk in her voice Jamie didn’t like.

      “He was naked?” Kirsten continued. “I’m really sorry I missed that. He looks prime to me.”

      “Oh, he is,” Elaine agreed.

      “Let’s get going,” Jamie ordered.

      “Now you’re in a rush? We’re home free now, baby. We’ve got all night.”

      “And we’ve used up most of it already,” Jamie told her. “Help me get him in the van.”

      The drive to the farmhouse would be long and her nerves were already frazzled. She had never wanted any part of this. Even if she hadn’t known the sort of people Tony had once worked for, Jamie’s insides rebelled against the very idea of kidnapping someone.

      The problem was, she owed Tony Carillo, and the debt was one she could never hope to repay. Tony and his wife had never asked Jamie for anything in all the years they’d stood in as her surrogate family. Not once had they made her feel indebted.

      That didn’t change the fact that she was.

      Tony insisted the kidnapping was necessary to save Harrison Trent’s life. Beyond that, he wouldn’t tell her a thing. Jamie’s job was to keep the man safe until noon, when someone would come to the farmhouse and explain everything. After that, Trent would be allowed to leave and no harm done.

      She didn’t believe in Santa Claus, but Jamie believed in Tony. She swore under her breath. If only she’d picked a different week to come for a visit. She was due to fly back to the coast in two days. This was not how she wanted to spend one of her last evenings. Jamie took her job as a professional bodyguard seriously. She would never forgive Tony if he had lied to her.

      With some concern, she studied the man on the backseat beside her. She hadn’t gotten much of the drug into him before he’d batted the syringe out of her hand, so there was no telling how long the effects would last. Jamie was thankful he was docile for now. While she was strong and knew some tricks, Harrison Trent was a trimly muscled man who emanated a sense of power even drugged.

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