Guarding the Socialite (17 page)

“I don't recall his name on the list of donors.”

“Because he wasn't. He prefers his donations to be very private. You have to understand he's incredibly wealthy but he's very particular about where he chooses to share his money. He doesn't enjoy publicity, preferring to help in silence.” Dillon's shrewd expression caused her to ask, “What? Surely you're not suspicious of Isaac West? I've known him for years. He comes from very old money. He's the kindest soul. He could never do the things that were done to the victims. Never. I'd bet my life on it.”

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” Dillon said darkly and she swallowed. “People rarely show their true selves to other people—particularly so of those who are psychopaths.”

“This is supposed to be a grand social event but it feels like a funeral,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “And please no talk of psychopaths. Someone might overhear you.”

“You look stunning,” he said abruptly, startling her with the change. Neither had had the courage to bring up the conversation they'd broached the other night, but the topic sat between them like a houseguest who had overstayed his welcome. She offered him a tremulous smile as she smoothed the black satin evening dress that slid along her curves to dust the tops of her sequined shoes. The snug halter top made
the most of her breasts, which for the evening made her feel as if she were actually larger than a modest B cup. And that made her feel incredibly sexy. Well, that and the fact that Dillon's eyes were practically glued to her body. “That dress should be illegal,” he said in a husky murmur that caressed her entire body.

“You don't look half-bad yourself,” she said, pleased to note that her voice remained calm when inside she was starting to simmer with the desire to find a private, secluded spot with the sexy agent. She drew a short breath and smiled. “I had a feeling you'd clean up well,” she said.

His mouth toyed with a grin as he said, “It's the accent. Goes well with a penguin suit.” Sobering, he added, “Listen, I know you think I'm going overboard with the whole suspicious thinking but until I check out this friend of yours, I'd like you to keep your distance.”

A spurt of exasperation almost had her arguing, but she recognized that he was just doing what was second nature to him and nodded. “Okay, that shouldn't be too hard. I spend most of my time circulating, anyway. But perhaps you could try looking a little less austere and a little more like you're having a good time.”

He moved closer and she almost thought she could feel the heat from his body warming hers. “When you're safe, I'll relax. Until then…this is what you get,” he said in a soft voice as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. Then he melted away into the crowd and she was left holding an empty plate and a heart full of aching desire that she could do nothing about at the moment but push it aside.

 

Dillon wished he could appreciate the sumptuous surroundings Emma had created for the upscale event. For all the bad things happening in the background of her life, Emma put on a seemingly flawless event. The caterers had
outdone themselves on the food, the decorators had created an elegant theme and a jazz band kept the crowd with their toes tapping. Overall gorgeous—yet understated—and still, Dillon's skin itched with trepidation. He couldn't explain it. Kara used to call it her “gut” and she was never wrong. Dillon had never leaned too heavily on intuition, preferring cold hard facts to woo-woo rubbish but in the absence of evidence…he'd take anything he could get.

His cell phone vibrated in his inside jacket pocket and he found a quiet corner to answer it.

It was D'Marcus. “Hey man, I wanted to let you know that I found nothing of interest on that Gavin guy you had me run. Just your average high-society stiff with a secret penchant for seedy hotels and I'm guessing a little action on the dirty side.”

“Perfect snapshot of Robert Gavin,” he said. “All right. Thanks for the intel.”

“You bet. I'm sorry nothing else turned up, man. Would've been nice if this case closed up neat and tidy.”

“Wouldn't that be a sweet change of pace,” he muttered, his shoulders tensing beneath his suit.

“Good luck with the case.”

“Yeah…” He clicked off. He'd need it. They were back to square one with no suspects, and something told him…they were about out of time.

 

So lovely. So achingly perfect. He watched as Emma worked the room with effortless grace in spite of the turmoil in her life. She was his perfect woman. Anticipation slicked his palms as he took a measured sip of the aged whiskey, and he watched surreptitiously as Emma smiled and chatted, giving of herself so selflessly to a cause that was beneath her.

Tonight was the night he'd been waiting for, preparing for.
Everything had worked so well—almost synchronistically. It was certainly fate that was smoothing the way because they belonged to one another. One by one, the plans came to fruition as if by an unseen hand, guiding circumstance until he was within grasping distance of his perfect woman.

Nothing like the nasty, broken dolls he'd had to use for the past ten years. At first, he'd thought the revocation of his passport had been a condemnation of some sort from a higher power but then he realized it was simply a sign of better things right here on home soil. Just the thought of Emma in his possession, coming to him willingly, caused his shaft to harden unlike anything he'd ever experienced with the dolls. Sure, they served their purpose but it was so messy. The thrill was intoxicating. He rolled his shoulders and shifted discreetly before finding a refill on his whiskey.

Tonight.

 

Emma caught Dillon's furrowed brow and anxious stare, and she tried to get to him but Isaac West stopped her and she didn't want to be rude.

“Will the lovely Ms. Vale grant this poor soul a dance this evening?” he asked, the corners of his lips tipping up in an inviting smile. He extended his hand and there was no way she could decline without taking the risk of alienating her biggest donor to Iris House. She accepted his hand with a smile and hoped Dillon understood.

Isaac led her onto the dance floor where other couples were enjoying the music and was surprised when Isaac pulled her closer than normal. She laughed a bit nervously, saying, “Isaac, all the eligible ladies who've been trying to hook you for years will be jealous.”

He laughed. “They don't hold a candle to the incredible Emma Vale. Have I ever told you that I've always held you in the highest regard?”

“Ah, no, but thank you for the lovely compliment. I think highly of you, as well. Your donations to the Iris House have made recovery and reintegration possible for many young women,” she answered, drawing the conversation back to neutral ground. She'd never seen this side of Isaac and it was making her a little uncomfortable. She sent a silent signal to Dillon, who was trying to make his way to them, but the crowded dance floor impeded his progress. She smiled at Isaac but swallowed a lump of something that tasted like fear, though she didn't know why. “I knew from the moment my father introduced us that we would become fast friends. Your generosity—”

“Yes, I enjoy making a difference,” he cut in, a touch of impatience coloring his voice for a moment, and his grip tightened on her. She stifled a gasp. “That's why I talked your father out of his fool idea that you should cancel the Winter Ball this year in light of the circumstances.”

She forgot about her discomfort. “He told you he wanted me to cancel?” she asked, unable to disguise the hurt that radiated from his admission.

Isaac's gaze gentled as he said, “I took care of it, my darling Ms. Vale. He had the idea of coming tonight and making a scene but I persuaded him to see the foolishness of his plan. The embarrassment, the ridicule you would face…I couldn't abide such a display. In the end, after much discussion, he saw it our way.”

“Thank you, Isaac,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. Dillon was nearly there. “Iris House appreciates your efforts.”

“It's my pleasure. You do such good work,” he said, pulling her even closer until her chest pressed against his and she imagined he could feel the wild flutter of her heart as it banged against her breastbone in growing panic. “I've been thinking…have you ever considered opening Iris House
to younger boarders? Let's face it, the odds of changing a person once they've reached a certain age are slim. Look at poor Ursula…still a whore even after all you'd done for her. Same for Charlotte. Both were still offering their soiled bodies to men for money. Shameful. But if you were able to get them younger…say twelve or thirteen, when they're fresh and their bodies are still ripe and firm, budding in their sexuality, you could help them to preserve themselves before they became as soiled as the older girls.”

Emma wanted to vomit. She could feel the hard press of Isaac's erection straining against his soft trousers, and she was trapped in his arms as he talked with the soft fervor of a pedophile gazing at a children's catalog. First Robert, now Isaac? Had she been surrounded by perverts this entire time?
Dillon,
she wanted to scream,
where are you?

And then, there he was. Smiling and tapping Isaac on the shoulder. “May I cut in?” he asked, his tone firm and brooking no argument, though Isaac clearly looked displeased to be interrupted.

“I suppose I mustn't monopolize the lady all evening,” Isaac remarked, reluctantly releasing her. She had to make every effort to glide from one man to the next without running to the safety of Dillon's arms. Isaac smiled at Emma but sent Dillon a cool look before disappearing into the crowd.

“You're trembling,” Dillon noted with concern.

“Just hold me,” she managed to say before she lost her voice entirely.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing really…it was just the tone and the feel…. I don't know, I feel like I should shower. I'm sure it's just the events of the past few days that have me on edge but I felt like I was going to be sick. I've known Isaac West for years. He's never expressed an interest in me romantically, but tonight…I got the distinct impression… No, I must be wrong. My head is
a mess. Now that I think about it, it's just silly. I'm so sorry. I'm overreacting.”

“You should trust your instincts,” he said, his mouth tightening with worry before his gaze returned to the crowd, suspicion in his narrowed stare. “Where'd he go? Maybe I should go talk to him.”

“No, please don't,” she pleaded with him. “I'm sure I overreacted. It's nothing. He's a wonderful friend of the family. I mean, he even persuaded my father to calm down before he came here and made a scene.”

“All right, but if he comes around again, I want to be there.”

She nodded her agreement and it took all she had not to lean into him in the hopes of absorbing some of his strength. She straightened with a deep breath. She was the hostess of the Winter Ball; she couldn't lose it right here in front of everyone.

“Is Bella here tonight?” Dillon asked, to which Emma shook her head.

“Because alcohol is served at the event, Bella has to remain home. She fought me on it but I had to stand my ground. Besides, she was hoping to talk with her friend Ben tonight. Apparently, we needn't have worried about the boy. He's back home with his real parents after I made a formal inquiry into his welfare in the social services system. There's been an investigation started on the foster parents, which makes me feel good. I have to tell you I was really stressed about the possibility that he wasn't who he said he was. This whole situation has me jumping at shadows in the hallway.” She gave a short, rueful smile at the situation, but when she saw the tension on Dillon's face she swallowed with apprehension before she could ask, “Why? What's wrong?”

“I'm uncomfortable with Bella being at Iris House alone
given the circumstances. I think we should get back to the house. I have a bad feeling.”

Just hearing him say that made her feel like something was wrong but she could easily chalk that up to agitated nerves. “If I leave everyone will know that something is wrong. I'll send Chick with you back to the house,” she said, but he shook his head. She made a sound of exasperation. “Be reasonable, Dillon. This event is what keeps Iris House alive. Everything has to run as smoothly as it always does.”

“Screw Iris House. There are bigger issues at stake here,” he said tightly, and she couldn't help but react.

Excuse me?
She stiffened.
Screw Iris House?
She glanced around, hoping no one else was listening to their conversation and said in a cool tone as she put more distance between them. “It may mean nothing to you but it means the world to me and my boarders. I'm sure everything is fine. Call me if you find anything of concern.”

And then she left him behind.

 

He knew the minute she returned to the ballroom, her face pale but otherwise still as beautiful as she ever was—a true testament to her spirit, which he adored.

But as much as he wanted to admire her as she held court among the people clustered around her, he had work to do.

He was a patient man but he'd come to the end of his waiting.

Soon, dear heart. Soon.

B
ella awoke with a splitting headache and a knot on her head. Seconds later she realized she was bound and gagged.

Tears of panic squeezed from her lids and she tried to remember what happened. She was supposed to meet Ben at the corner but he hadn't shown up. She'd waited for fifteen minutes but just as she was about to turn back, a pair of hands jerked her into a van and something sharp had hit her in the back of the head.

She rolled to her side, wincing at the stabbing pain in her shoulders at the pressure, and narrowed her vision at the darkness surrounding her. Wherever she was, it smelled musty and old, filled with dust and neglect. An abandoned building or house perhaps. She was definitely lying on hardwood instead of carpet. Her ears pricked at the slightest sound as sweat trickled down her temple. A light flared from a lighter and Bella sought the source.

A man in a…
tuxedo
sat in a corner, smoking a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. “I knew you'd be a fighter. That's why I had to knock you out. Couldn't have you kicking and clawing, trying to get away. I don't like complications to my plans. And you're an important part of my plan. I'll be honest because I think it's cruel to give someone false hope—and I'm not a monster—but you're a loose end that will end up getting snipped because I can't afford to let you ruin everything.”

She wiggled her fingers to see how much play she had but found whoever had tied her had done a pretty good job. Still, she slowly twisted her hands, working the rope until she felt the bite of it against her chafed skin. She ignored the burn and kept slowly working it as the man, whoever he was, continued talking.

“Don't get me wrong, I think you're beautiful. Even if you are a whore. I liked them all—Sweetie, Charlotte, even Ursula. Well, Ursula had a mouth on her. In the end, she was a liability. Have you ever watched a person die? Fascinating. Did you know you can keep someone alive for a very long time while inflicting a lot of damage?”

She fought back the urge to gag knowing that she could suffocate if she vomited.

“Too bad I couldn't take you with me,” he mused, drawing on his cigarette. “You could be my daughter with benefits.” He laughed at his own joke and then stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray beside him. The small light afforded by the glow of the cigarette extinguished, and the room was returned to stifling darkness. “Stay put. The ball should be over soon and I've got a few things to do before we take off.”

Bella heard his retreating footsteps and then a door closing behind him. She waited a few minutes and when she heard an
engine starting and then the sound of the car driving away, she struggled in earnest.

If she didn't get loose, her life was over.

And she wasn't ready to die.

 

Emma's hand shook as she ended the call. Bella was missing. She didn't even try to hide the fear on her face as she made her hasty exit, giving short instructions to Cari before taking off.

The drive to Iris House felt like an eternity, and her thoughts kept her trapped in a level of hell that was nearly driving her crazy.

She should've canceled the ball. What had she been thinking? Now Bella was missing and she wasn't so naive as to think that this was coincidence. Someone had been watching and waiting for the right opportunity, someone with the resources available to him to accomplish this, and yet, she'd refused to leave the Winter Ball with Dillon.

Rage at herself for being so damn stubborn and clinging to something normal prevented her from keeping the tears at bay. She dashed at the moisture leaking down her cheeks and tried to stay focused on the road at the very least so she didn't end up kissing the bumper of the car in front of her.

She pulled up to Iris House and saw a familiar sight—agents and police tape. Ignoring all this, she went straight past the agent guarding the scene and went to find Dillon, who was comforting Chick, who was sobbing noisily all over his white dress shirt.

Chick saw Emma enter and immediately straightened. “Oh, God, Emma…he took her,” she cried. “It was him and he's going to do terrible things to that poor baby girl if we don't find him first. He's a monster!”

Emma swallowed and looked to Dillon, whose expression
was tight and drawn. “What is she talking about, Dillon?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet for fear of screaming.

“There was a note slipped under the front door,” Dillon answered as he walked toward her, steering her away from the forensics teams dusting for fingerprints. “Now before I tell you what the letter says—”

“Just tell me, Dillon,” she cut in, her voice thin.

His lips compressed to a fine line and she knew whatever was about to come was going to hurt like hell or make her want to scream.

“He wants you to trade yourself for Bella.”

“What?” She couldn't help but stare and think that perhaps she hadn't heard Dillon correctly.

“He says if you come willingly…Bella will walk free.”

“Then let's do it,” Emma said without hesitation.

“Hold on now, Emma,” Dillon warned. “Before you get a false sense of hope, think this through. You know it's a trick. He's going to kill Bella either way. She's a liability. He's using your affections for Bella to get to you.”

“I don't care,” Emma said. “I can't take the chance that he won't hurt her if I cooperate.”

“That's out of the question. I won't allow it.”

“It's not your call. It's mine. Where's the agent in charge? I want to get this going. Where am I supposed to make the trade?”

Emma stared at Dillon through a wash of tears. She'd do anything to save her girls, but most of all, Bella. She hadn't plucked that girl from hell just to let her die at the hands of a psycho—not if she could do anything about it.

“This is my fault somehow,” Emma said through the lump in her throat, reaching to caress Dillon's face. He started to protest but she shushed him with a shake of her head. “Maybe if I'd let her go instead of stubbornly holding on to her for
selfish reasons she'd be safe right now. I have to do what I can to make this right for her.”

“Not by bloody sacrificing yourself, you little fool,” he said. “Think about it…Bella wouldn't want that on her conscience. We'll figure out a way to save her without sending you to the slaughter instead.”

“These things never work out,” Emma said, fear in her voice. “I'm not naive. I know that sometimes the bad guy wins and I can't take that chance! Let's make the trade, get Bella, and then I trust you will find a way to save me, too.”

Dillon opened his mouth but closed it again, the wheels working in his mind even when he didn't want them to. “You know I'm right,” she said, using the momentum of her argument to push her point. “You have the best chance to catch him by using me as bait. As long as Bella is safe…I can do this. I
want
to do this. Please, Dillon…she means the world to me.”

She stared up at the man whom she was giving all her trust, watched as he struggled with something she wasn't privy to, and then when he pulled her into his arms, she sank into the embrace, drawing strength for the fire she was willingly walking into for the sake of a girl she loved with all her heart.

Heaven help me. Let this work…

 

Sanford appeared in Dillon's peripheral vision and he bit back a swear word. He needed more time to talk Emma out of this idea. It was coming from a good place but he wasn't willing to take the chance if something went wrong. They weren't dealing with an amateur here. Likely, this guy had all the bases covered. And they were at a serious disadvantage because they still hadn't figured out who he was.

“Ms. Vale, may I have a moment?” Sanford asked, ignoring Dillon's hard stare.

She disengaged herself from Dillon and faced the other agent, a resolute look on her face. “I want to do this. I will consent to the trade.”

“Normally, I'd say let's find another way—”

“We
will
find another way,” Dillon interrupted sharply. “This is a suicide mission and you know it, Sanford. I won't sacrifice Emma for another.”

“We're going to do our best to catch this guy before it comes to that, McIntyre. Don't forget…we're on the same side, right?”

Sanford was trying to calm Dillon down but it wasn't working. Dillon's heart rate was kicking up and he was scared. Damn it, he was the liability at the moment and he'd better get a hold of himself or things would only get worse. Dillon didn't trust himself to answer so he looked away with a muttered agreement.

Sanford returned to Emma. “Is there anyone you can think of who might be obsessed with you? Anyone who made you feel a little off? Sometimes it's the subtle things that we overlook that are actually a big help in putting the pieces together.”

Emma started to shake her head but then she shared a look with Dillon and he knew she was thinking the same thing as he.

“Maybe…well, it's probably nothing but…tonight…Isaac West was acting a little oddly. He said a few things…” Her cheeks colored and she looked ready to backtrack but Dillon nodded in encouragement. She drew a deep breath and continued. “He said some things that made me uncomfortable. Something about the way he talked about young girls and then I felt his…oh, goodness…” She swallowed and her blush deepened. “I felt his erection when we were dancing.”

“Has he ever shown any kind of affection for you in the past?” Sanford asked.

“No, he's always been a perfect gentleman. I feel terrible for even suggesting he might be involved with this, but…I did feel uncomfortable with his behavior tonight.” A sudden thought came to her and she visibly paled. “Agent Sanford, can you please check on my parents? Isaac said he'd spoken to my father tonight before coming to the ball and I'd feel better knowing they were safe.”

“Of course. I'll put someone on it right away,” Sanford promised, then turning to another agent he said, “Get me some intel on an Isaac West.” He returned to her. “Listen, the exchange is supposed to happen at midnight. That doesn't leave us much time to prepare. We're going to put a GPS locator in your bra so that we know where you are at all times. Don't worry…we're going to catch this guy.”

Sanford offered Emma a short, perfunctory smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but Dillon knew Emma was shaking even if she was resolved to see this through.

“Tell me everything you know about Isaac West,” he instructed her, needing to keep her focused as much as he needed the information to do his own investigating.

“He's like a member of the family,” she admitted. “He's been a friend of my father's since I was in high school. When I opened Iris House he was always my biggest supporter. He always seemed so committed to helping our cause because his donations were always so generous. My father said he came from a monied family that went all the way back to the nobility of some kind. Beyond that I never thought to check.”

“Why didn't he want publicity for his donations?”

“He said he didn't need accolades,” Emma answered, her brow dipping in a slight frown. “At the time I thought it was so noble. A lot of donors enjoy the publicity because it feeds their egos, and I don't really care why they donate just as long as I can keep Iris House open. I guess I should've looked a
little deeper. I should've been at the very least curious as to why he didn't want any publicity.”

“This isn't your fault,” Dillon reminded her, hating that defeated look creeping into her features. “This is the work of a madman. Stay focused. Now tell me more. Really reach into your memory. Did he ever have a relationship with any of the girls?” She shook her head.

Dillon speed dialed D'Marcus. The sleepy agent answered the phone. “I need you, Jones. Run the name Isaac West for me. It's a matter of life and death.”

“Now I remember why I transferred out of investigations,” D'Marcus grumbled, but Dillon could hear the man rustling around and a computer booting. “Got a DOB?”

“No, but he's an older man. Just run the name and see what pops up.”

“Got it.” A few seconds later, he said, “Man, someone is smiling on you tonight. I got a hit. Seems his passport was flagged for something. Looks like the Thailand government has filed a complaint for something but it looks like the case was washed. Does the guy have money?”

“Apparently lots of it,” Dillon muttered.

“Yeah, well, he must've massaged someone's sense of duty with a lot of green. So in the simplest terms, no charges but his passport has been flagged.”

“Got any addresses attached to that name?”

“Plenty.”

“How about one for a warehouse?”

“No warehouses… Besides, he'd probably put a commercial property under a business name. What does he do for a living?”

“I don't know…” He turned to Emma, who was chewing her bottom lip with a worried expression as he talked with D'Marcus. “What does West do for a living?”

“Do?” She gave him a blank look. “He doesn't do anything. He's a philanthropist.”

“Does he have a foundation or anything like that that he might use to funnel donations to charity?”

Emma thought for a moment and her face brightened. “Yes! West Ventures. That's the account he uses to write the checks to Iris House.”

Dillon returned to D'Marcus. “Check out West Ventures.”

D'Marcus came back with a surprised, “Yeah…I've got an address in The Avenues that, according to satellite, is an abandoned house on Springfield Drive. It sure doesn't look like something a millionaire would call home.”

“It's worth a look,” Dillon said. “Thanks, man.”

“You bet. If I find anything else. I'll give you a ring.”