Covert Makeover. Mallory Kane

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      “I know. What I want to know is why.”

      A slight shrug told him his employee didn’t want to talk. He stepped over to the bed and grabbed Johnson’s wrist where the IV tube was inserted.

      Johnson squirmed. “Ow. Mr. Majors, you gotta get me out of here.”

      “I’ve put a twenty-four-hour guard on your room.”

      “You don’t understand. They’ll get to me again. I know it.”

      “Who got to you?” He squeezed.

      Johnson was sweating, grimacing at the pain from the IV catheter pressing into his flesh. Sean didn’t care.

      “I swear, I don’t know. He stabbed me in the chest with a needle while I was asleep. Whatever he shot me with nearly killed me.”

      “So you didn’t see anything.”

      Johnson quit straining against Sean’s grip on his wrist. “You don’t believe me. I swear,” he coughed again. “The first and last thing I felt was that needle going in.” He rubbed his chest with his free hand.

      Johnson had been attacked. There was no doubt about that. With a dose of potassium. Whoever had done it knew that injecting potassium straight into the heart would kill a person immediately. But the attempt had failed.

      “Why’d you do it, Johnson?”

      The young man swallowed. His pale face and the tubes attached to him bore witness to his brush with death. But he was alive, and Sean needed answers.

      He waited.

      Johnson’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a long breath, coughing dryly. “After I started driving Sonya, I got a phone call. They gave me a number. All I was supposed to do was let them know where I drove her. I had no idea they were going to kidnap her—”

      “Like hell!” Sean jerked his hand away, afraid his anger might cause him to injure the young man’s wrist.

      “Look, man. I’m serious. I thought it was the media.”

      “The media? That’s a lie. I’ve seen the phone records. You called a number in Ladera.”

      Johnson licked dry lips as his eyes widened. “That was just the one time. Nothing was said.”

      Sean leaned over the hospital bed. “Don’t lie to me again, Johnson. I’ll take the guard off, and leave you here on your own. Now what the hell made you do it?”

      Johnson’s pale face drained completely of color. His eyes darted toward the door. “I got in deep on some gambling debts. When I told the collectors I was driving Sonya, suddenly I got these phone calls. I swear, Mr. Majors—”

      A nurse knocked on the half-open door, then stepped into the room. “Mr. Johnson, the lab is here to take you down for your CT scan.”

      Sean blew out a frustrated breath. Johnson was lying. But Sean didn’t have time to question him further. He needed to get over to Weddings Your Way and talk to Rachel Brennan about the second ransom note.

      He stepped back from the bed as two hefty young men wheeled in a gurney. Behind them Sean saw his guard.

      “I’ll talk to you later,” he tossed at Johnson as he rounded the gurney and headed out the door.

      “Stick with him. Don’t let him out of your sight,” he muttered as he passed the guard.

      The day was growing hot and bright as he headed toward Biscayne Bay, toward the sumptuous offices of Weddings Your Way.

      A half hour later, Sean stepped up to the carved mahogany and beveled glass front entrance to Weddings Your Way. He glanced at the discreetly placed security camera, only one of several positioned strategically around Weddings Your Way. His brain flashed back to the scene that had greeted him the day Sonya was kidnapped. The parking area had been in chaos. There were police detectives, crime-scene personnel and paramedics crawling all over the place. All he’d been able to think about was his boss’s missing daughter and his injured security guard.

      He had watched the tapes. Frustration swelled in his chest as he thought about how little evidence the police lab had been able to glean from the footage.

      The tape showed Botero’s white limousine pulling up behind a late model sedan in front of Weddings Your Way. Johnson, dressed in chauffeur livery and obviously not happy about it, opened the rear door for Sonya, who, with her usual exuberant energy, bounced out smiling.

      Then, a black limo had pulled up behind Botero’s and two men dressed in dark suits leaped out and grabbed Sonya. Johnson reacted immediately, but one of the men coldcocked him.

      A well-built young man ran into the frame, straight toward the limo, but the black car had veered and jumped the curb, heading straight for Johnson.

      Johnson rolled to one side, out of the frame of the camera as the limo barreled forward and hit a young woman. Sean now knew that the young woman was Caroline Graham and the man who’d rushed the limo was her brother, Alex.

      At no time did either of the kidnappers show his face to the camera. It was as if they knew exactly where the blind spots were.

      He eyed the state-of-the-art piece of equipment. It was the same brand he’d just purchased for Carlos’s estate. Cocking an eyebrow at the lens, he reached for the door handle. Weddings Your Way must be more successful than he realized.

      He knew from his own wedding that they were expensive. But that kind of twenty-four-hour security cost more than his apartment rent for a year. Rachel Brennan had upgraded since the kidnapping. Too late for Sonya and Johnson, but smart.

      Walking into the elegant reception area of Weddings Your Way was like walking onto the set of a famous Thirties-era movie. A young woman seated behind a delicately carved table greeted him.

      “Good morning, sir. Welcome to Weddings Your Way. How may we assist you?”

      “Rachel Brennan, please.”

      The pretty young woman quickly surveyed him, taking in his custom-fitted summer suit and the state of his fingernails and hair.

      “Sean Majors, Carlos Botero’s chief of security.” He handed her his card.

      “Oh, of course Mr. Majors.” Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “Ms. Brennan is not available. Could I direct you to—” she glanced quickly at a desk calendar “—Ms. Brooks?”

      Sean took in the large main salon of Weddings Your Way. Brooks. Which one was she?

      To the right of the marble staircase, beyond the display of wedding gowns and veils, in a cozy alcove, a tall blonde dressed in black and white with black stockings encasing her long, shapely legs smiled at a petite redhead in bright pink sitting across from her.

      As he watched, the two women stood.

      Oh, yeah. The blonde with the legs was Sophie Brooks. How could he forget those legs? The sleek, sheer black stockings were an endangered species in Miami any СКАЧАТЬ