Dangerous Melody (2 page)

Putting down the chair for a moment, she slammed a palm
against the wood door.

“Daddy?” she called. Ears straining, she heard nothing. He could be gagged. Or worse.

She grabbed hold of the chair and raised it aloft, knowing it could be a matter of moments before Bittman or his lackeys stopped her.

Before she could smash it again into the locked master bedroom door, someone caught her arm. She shifted, turning to use the chair to strike
at her opponent, but whoever it was ducked and the blow sailed over his head. Suddenly, she was pinned face-first against the wall by a strong set of arms, her cheek pressed against the wood. She struggled to free an elbow to bring it into her attacker’s ribs when, just as abruptly, she was released. Knocked off balance, she readied a front-arm strike and whirled around, finding herself looking
into the shocked face of Tate Fuego.

His hands dropped to his sides and he moved slightly back, as if he would turn away, but he didn’t. Those eyes kept burning into her, taking in the scar on her cheekbone, churning her feelings into a tidal wave that threatened to overwhelm her. She kicked the ruined chair aside.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded tremulous in her own ears,
which infuriated her.

Tate didn’t answer, instead turning around and shutting the double doors behind him, locking them and pulling a chair over to wedge against the wood. “Going to have company in a few minutes.”

“What are you doing?” she demanded again.

He rounded on her. “Looking for Maria.”

“I haven’t seen her,” Stephanie said.

Tate’s broad shoulders tensed. “Why are
you breaking down the door?”

“Because...” What should she tell him? She was searching Bittman’s house? And what would be a reasonable explanation for that? She had to get Tate to leave. Bittman was clear that no one should know about her father, or there would be deadly consequences. “You’ve got to go, Tate.”

He folded his arms. “Not until you’ve explained why you’re bent on smashing
down this door.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “It’s not your concern.”

“There’s a guy coming up the stairs in about another minute to throw me off the property. Bittman knows about my sister, and now I see you’re involved with him somehow, so I’m making it my concern.”

Stephanie’s stomach tightened, and a sense of urgency nearly choked her. She moved to him, putting a hand on his
solid chest. “Tate, please. You need to leave.”

He gave her that slow smile, a shadow of the crooked, cocky grin from the time before everything had fallen apart between them. His hand touched hers gently. Then he moved off, sat in a high-backed leather chair and put up his booted feet on the pristine table. “I don’t think so, Steph.” He stretched his arms behind his neck, giving her that
grin. “Fuego Demolitions is between contracts right now. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

The outer door began to shudder as someone yanked the knob.

TWO

S
tephanie felt a scream building as she ran to him and grabbed his wrist. His hands closed around hers, callused and strong. She knew it was going to be impossible to move him, but panic overrode her common sense. “Tate...”

A fist pounded on the door.

“Open up,” shouted an unfamiliar voice.

She looked wildly at Tate.

He shrugged. “Bittman’s security guy.
I guess he made it out of the birdcage.”

She had only moments. Tate or no Tate, she had to get to her father. Stephanie ran to the scarred door and screamed through it again. “Daddy,” she yelled. “Answer me.”

The words electrified Tate. He was on his feet and next to her in a second. “Your father’s in there?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ve got to know.”

He grabbed her arm. “Steph,
what’s going on?’

“Get out of my way.” She shook him off and picked up the chair again.

He stopped her hand for the second time, pulling a pocketknife from his jeans. “Faster,” he said, applying the blade to the hinge.

The pounding on the door was loud now, then it stopped abruptly. A crash of wood on wood made Stephanie jump. “He’ll be through in a minute.”

“Me, too,” Tate
said, popping loose the pin.

Stephanie saw the outer doors to the suite beginning to weaken under the assault of a foot or shoulder. With a crack, a booted foot came through a ragged gap.

Tate lifted the door free, and Stephanie tumbled in with Tate right behind her. There was a king-size master bed in disarray, sheets and blankets twisted. She ran into the adjoining bathroom, where
she found a small basin and some bandages. Heart thundering, she returned to the bedroom to find Tate examining something.

He held up a pair of plastic restraints.

Her heart plummeted. The crack of wood in the outer room meant the security guy was nearly through.

She ran to the bed and felt the covers. “They’re still warm.”

His eyes locked on hers. “Got to be another way out.”

Running into a sitting room that adjoined the master bedroom, they found it, a rear door partially ajar.

Stephanie didn’t wait another moment; she slammed through, Tate behind her. She heard him pull the door closed, but there was no way to lock it from the outside. Their pursuer would be right behind them.

She found herself running down a hallway that ended in a split stairwell.
“Up or down?” she panted.

Tate pointed to a black scuff on the upper stair. “That way.”

Both of them were breathing hard as they careened upward, finally coming to a door marked Roof
.

“Wait,” Tate called to her. “You don’t know what’s on the other side.”

She didn’t wait. She couldn’t. Her father’s life was on the line. She hurtled through and found herself on a flat rooftop,
engulfed in a monstrous storm of noise. Wind whipped at her face and threw grit into her eyes.

She forced her head up anyway and saw a helicopter, rotors whirling.

The pilot in the cockpit gave her a startled look. In the back she could just make out a flash of silver hair—Wyatt Gage—and a familiar pale face beside him, an irritated Joshua Bittman.

The helicopter’s engine whined,
and it began to lift off.

“You can’t take him!” she screamed over the roar. She took off running for the nearest landing skid.

“Steph!” Tate yelled. “No.”

He made a grab for her, but she was too fast.

She increased speed and prepared to jump at the skid, which was now lifting off the ground.

Tate’s fingers grazed her ankle and she lost her balance, rolling onto the cement
roof, banging onto the hard surface, seeing in fleeting glances the helicopter well into the blue sky.

Getting to her feet, she ran to the edge of the roof, watching her father disappear. She whirled on Tate, tears streaming down her face. “You had no right.”

“Would have gotten yourself killed,” Tate said. His gray eyes were soft. “Your father wouldn’t want you to risk it.”

Fury,
terror and grief rolled around inside, and she funneled them at Tate. “You shouldn’t have done it!” she screamed. “You are not a part of my life anymore, Tate.”

He flinched, but did not step back. “I know that.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from shrieking, eyes drawn to her watch. Three fifty-nine. Thirty seconds until Bittman was supposed to have called. She’d blown it
by coming here. She’d let her father down, let Victor down. She should have told Luca, let the cops know.

She struggled to breathe.

The door to the rooftop slammed open. The panting security guard stood there, gun drawn.

Tate raised his own hands and positioned himself in front of Stephanie. His face was hard, and she knew he’d lost, too—lost the chance to find his sister, if Bittman
really was involved in her disappearance.

The man with the gun drew closer and she looked into the barrel, just as the phone in her pocket rang.

* * *

Tate watched the guard as indecision crept across his face.

“No phones,” he barked. “Get inside.”

Stephanie nodded obediently and started toward the roof access.

Obedient? Stephanie? He tried and failed to recall a
time when Stephanie genially obeyed a directive. Something was up, and he didn’t have to wait long to see what she had in mind. She stopped suddenly, sucking in a breath. Pressing a hand to her side, she cried out, swaying until she went down on one knee.

The guard let down his gun arm as he reflexively moved toward her. Bingo. Tate dived, catching the guy in the solar plexus, tossing him
backward onto the cement where he banged his head and blacked out. The gun spiraled out of his hand, and Stephanie kicked it to the corner. She was on her feet again in a moment, sprinting through the door and down the stairs.

“Wait, Steph,” he called, to no effect.

Tate took a moment to remove the man’s belt and use it to secure his hands behind him before he ran after her.

“What’s
the plan?”

“I’m going to the hospital, and then I’ll find my father.”

Tate saw the manic determination on her face. “The hospital? Tell me what’s going on.”

She didn’t look at him, swiping her sheaf of dark hair behind her ears. “Bittman wants something from me.” She turned her face to his, and he saw for the first time the gleam of tears there. “He drove Victor off the road and
took Dad. We don’t know if Victor’s going to make it.”

“I’m sorry.” Her brothers, though they held nothing but animosity toward him, were her entire world. For one crazy moment, he wanted to wrap her up in an embrace. “How does it fit together? What is Bittman after?”

“I can’t tell you any more.”

He folded his arms. “We’ve been through this already so cut out the dramatics. I want
to know what’s going on, and you’re going to tell me.”

Her eyes glittered. “I wasn’t supposed to get anyone involved or he’ll kill my father.”

“Too late. I’m involved.”

Her eyes grew cold. “No, you’re not, Tate.” With that she pushed by him, leaving a tantalizing whiff of the cinnamon fragrance she always wore.

He followed behind her as she exited the mansion, got into the
pristine Mustang and roared out of the driveway. When the dust settled, he made his way back to the motorcycle, still hidden in the trees.

Why, he wondered, could he pass through his day without remembering so much as what he had for lunch, but he could minutely recall Stephanie’s face after seeing her, even only briefly, for the first time in four years? It was so unfair, especially when
every detail—the full lips, the electric brown eyes, the determined set to her chin—reminded him of his greatest failure. Pain rippled through him again.

You are the worst thing that ever happened to Stephanie Gage.

He shook away the thoughts. He’d come to find Maria, and instead he’d fallen into Stephanie’s life and that of the man he despised above all others, Joshua Bittman. They’d
met enough times years before when Stephanie started consulting for him. Tate pegged him as an arrogant, condescending egomaniac with more than a casual interest in Stephanie. It might have been coincidence that, after a heated encounter with Bittman, whom he’d thought was trying to win Stephanie’s affections, his business contacts had dried up. Fuego Demolition suddenly had regular clients canceling
contracts without notice. He’d never been able to prove it was Bittman, but it gave him even more reason to find his sister and make sure Bittman hadn’t done something to her.

He flipped open his cell and punched in Gilly’s number. Gilly was an eccentric computer whiz he’d known since the sixth grade. “Need a favor. Can you find out which hospital Victor Gage was transported to? Car accident.”

“What’s going down?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Gilly provided him with the answer in moments.

Not involved, Stephanie said? He threw a leg over the seat of the motorcycle in spite of the ripple of pain. Not likely.

Kicking the engine to life, he roared off the property.

* * *

Stephanie was not aware of the miles unrolling under the tires of her car.
Her mind worked and reworked plan after plan as she hurtled toward the hospital. Each idea disintegrated into the anguished scream of her heart.
Daddy, Daddy.
She’d let Bittman take him. What had her father thought as he lifted off into the sky, looking down at the daughter who had failed to save him from a madman? Bile rose in her throat, and she fought the urge to floor the gas pedal, instead
cutting around a driver in a van so closely that she could see his crew cut and the arch of his eyebrows. Tate had no right to interfere.

The call, the one at precisely four o’clock as she stared into the barrel of the security guard’s gun, had been from Bittman. She phoned him back with no answer. She knew the unspoken message.

You didn’t follow directions, Stephanie.

You told
Tate Fuego.

Now your father will die.

Tate’s interference might have cost her father his life. She fought to control the spiraling panic.

Focus, Steph. Figure out what to do.

Bringing in the cops would seal her father’s fate. He would be found dead with not one shred of evidence linking Bittman to the crime, just a few phone calls. No menacing messages saved to voice mail.
No incriminating texts. No one in his employ would dare testify that her father had been imprisoned at his mansion.

The picture of innocence.

And Victor might not live to identify the car that ran him off the road, or the person who removed Wyatt Gage from the car. As she parked and entered the hospital, heading for the elevator, she was a mass of indecision. She had no idea what she
would say to Luca to explain her absence. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Luca shot to his feet from the waiting room chair.

She hurried to him. “How is he?”

“Stable, for the moment. Brooke’s on a plane.” He folded his arms. “Where have you been? And don’t sugarcoat it.”

“I’m going to see Victor, then we’ll talk.” Luca’s thick brows drew together, but he didn’t stop her. Victor’s
room was small. One tiny window looked into the San Francisco sky. He lay in the bed, dark hair shaved on one side and head swathed in bandages. Bruises darkened his face, and an IV snaked out from under the blanket.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Victor. I’m so sorry.” Bittman was a plague set loose on the Gage family because of her. As soon as she’d accepted Bittman’s offer of full-time
work, he’d believed he owned her, and now her brother was paying for that horrendous decision. Her throat closed up, aching with grief. “I wish you could tell me what to do.”

“About what?” Luca leaned against the doorway.

She kissed Victor on the forehead and followed Luca back out to the empty waiting area. Staring into her brother’s troubled green eyes made her stomach clench into
a tighter knot. “Luca...” She trailed off. Would telling him result in another accident? She couldn’t risk it. “It’s nothing. I’m going to do a computer search...to see who might have wanted to hurt Victor.”

“I’m not buying it. Where have you been?”

“At Bittman’s,” came a voice from the far side of the room.

Stephanie’s heart plummeted when Tate sauntered up.

Luca stiffened,
hands balled into fists. “I should have known. Whatever trouble she’s in concerns you.”

“Not me. Bittman.” Tate flicked a glance at her. “Tell him.”

She glared back. “No, Tate.”

“You don’t have any choice, Steph,” Tate said, eyes blazing. “You can’t find him by yourself. Tell him, or I will.”

Stephanie took a breath. Tate had backed her into a corner. Hands clenched, eyes on
the floor, she told Luca everything. When she finally looked up, he was staring at her in disbelief. Then his eyes swiveled to Tate. “All right. This is family business, and we’ll find a solution. Get out.”

Tate shook his head. “Nope. My sister’s disappeared, and Bittman has her or knows where she is. I’m staying until this plays out. Deal with it.”

It happened in a flash. Luca had Tate
by the shirt, and they went over in an angry pile of flying fists. Stephanie yelled and tried to grab Tate, but he wrenched away. Only a shout from an approaching police officer brought them to a standstill. The cop’s name badge read Sergeant Rivers.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

Luca and Tate got to their feet. Luca swiped at his forehead. “Sorry, officer. I lost my temper.”

The officer looked from Luca to Tate. “That right?”

Tate nodded. “I egged him on. Wrong thing to do. Won’t happen again.”

He gave them another hard look before he turned to Luca. “I’m following up on our earlier conversation. I came by to tell you we’ve turned up nothing trying to ID the hit-and-run driver. How did you do coming up with any potential enemies?”

Stephanie caught
Luca’s eye. She sent him a pleading look and a shake of her head. Luca hesitated for an excruciating moment. “Nothing yet, but my sister’s here now. We’ll see if we can think of anything useful.”