Taking his Risk (Year of the Billionaire Part 2) (11 page)

His cock was just as hard and thick, his back as strong, his arms still capable
. His muscles still rippled dense and firm under his smooth skin. But there was a depth, an indescribable nuance that transformed us as we pressed against each other.

I pulled my knees up against my sides, urging him to go farther, to reach
forever into me. My clit ached as he pulled himself in and out of my pussy, dripping with my body's welcoming wetness. He began to groan, but his pace remained purposeful and heavy inside me. I locked my legs around his waist and my hands pulled his shoulders tight each time he reached the apex of a thrust. Our bones ground together with our bodies' desperate need to be closer, to have more.

Our orgasm was long and quiet. We locked onto each other and crashed into the spasms of ecstasy we knew well, yet not at all. Tristan collapsed against me and I held onto him for a long while.

"Stay with me," he whispered into my hair. "Stay safe, with me."

"I am safe," I answered. "Safe with you."

***

The plane touched down at Teterboro
a little after seven in the evening, local time. I should have felt tired, but I was so keyed up and anxious that I couldn't wait to get off the plane. I wanted to be with my father. I knew he'd be just about losing his mind with worry.

Kwan got us to Park Slope in record time. I called ahead and Dad was waiting for me when the car pulled up outside our house. I could see him pacing in the living room--a shadow on the lace curtains that hung on the windows there.

There were cop cars on the street and a uniformed officer was sitting on the lower step in front of the house drinking a cup of coffee.  Tristan and I bolted past him, taking the steps two at a time.

"Daddy!" I rushed into my father's arms.

"Oh, Angelcakes . . ." he held me tight and I could hear him choking on his tears."It's all my fault. I should have shut my trap like your mom told me to."

"It's going to be all right, Daddy. We'll get her back." Even though I had seen my father cry on occasion--when Grandma died, when we lost Chester, his beloved cocker spaniel, even when his grandkids were born--it was still hard. I wiped the tears away from the corners of his eyes and kissed his worried brow.

Tristan was huddled in the corner with a couple of plain clothes guys and the man I instantly figured was Archie and the unmistakable George. George was even slighter than Kwan. Even though I knew the guys were capable, measured against the kind of men who I'd seen at occasional protests or rallies, the Asian men just didn't seem very intimidating.

I sat my father down at the kitchen table and went to get something to drink. I suppose I needed to do something--anything--to feel at least a little useful. My father accepted the glass of water I gave him and I sat down beside him. We waited for the group of men to finish their briefing. It was short; most of what needed to be said had already been handled by phone.

Tristan joined us at the table. He had a piece of paper in his hand that Archie had given him.

"This is your list of people who know your wife's nickname. I know you've been over this somewhat, but I'd like to go over the list again."

"I appreciate your efforts, Tristan, but I explained more than once that only our family and closest friends would call Marjorie 'Jazzy'. There has to be some mistake. Maybe George misheard something."

"Don, George has a heavy accent, but his hearing is perfect. I want you to consider the possibility that the kidnapping is not related to the union problem. Maybe someone is using the union issue as a convenient cover."

My father looked confused.

"Dad, how many people on that list know about Tristan and me?" Difficult as it was to accept, I was forcing myself to consider the possibility that Tristan wasn't just being paranoid. Dad looked at the list, but it was clear he was having trouble focusing. "This is important," I persisted.

"Honestly, I can't remember discussing the two of you with anybody. Why would I? I just met Tristan. You know I haven't time for gossip, even about you, Honey. I don't mean any disrespect to either of you, but until there's a ring on someone's finger . . ."

Tristan smiled a little at that remark. "I completely understand. What about your wife?"

"I can't speak for her. She might have told any number of the hens she hangs around with. Why is this so important?"

"Because I think that it is very possible, I would say even likely, that someone abducted Marjorie to extort money from me. Your trouble with the unions would be the obvious rationale for the kidnapping and throw any investigation well off the scent."

"If they hadn't used Mom's nickname . . ."

"Why you, Tristan? Who the hell are
you
? I've never even heard of you."

"It doesn't surprise me. I'm not a very public figure."

"Dad, Tristan is extremely . . . wealthy . . . and well connected," I motioned to the group in the corner of the living room. "As you have seen."

"So . . .
" my father spoke slowly, "your theory is that someone my wife spoke to connected the dots and used my union troubles as an opportunity to grab Marjorie?"

"What else would explain the 'Jazzy'?" Tristan asked.

"Lemme see that list again."

Eleven

By ten that night, I had broken my rule about no coffee after noon. Dad, Archie, Kwan, George, one of the FBI guys and I were all sitting at the table. We had managed to cross off most of the names on the list. Family members were the first to go. Most of them hadn't seen Mom and Dad since the whole drama began anyway.

By midnight we had come up with a short list. It was a distressing process. The short list had some of my parents' oldest and dearest friends on it. We were all exhausted when Archie and the FBI agent went to catch a little rest before they started quietly investigating. Meanwhile, we all waited for the call that would take us to the next step. When were we going to find out what the kidnappers wanted?

Dad leadenly crawled up the stairs when we decided there wasn't going to be a call that night. Kwan and George went down stairs to snooze while Hoc, the third bodyguard took up a watch on the steps. Tristan didn't really think we were going to see any trouble, but wasn't taking any chances.

"Let's get some sleep, too," I told him as I took his hand and led him up the stairs. "It's only a few hours until sunrise. You have to be as exhausted as I am."

"Someone needs to take the call."

"Tristan, I have Mom's cell, Dad's cell and you have yours. We'll put them all on the nightstand." Even though he looked like he wanted to argue with me, I could see the glaze of fatigue all over his face. I led him to my old room and opened the door.

It was pretty much the way I'd left it when I went off to college. Mercifully, I had gotten rid of the most embarrassing reminders of my teenage years, but the room still reeked of youthful innocence. Tristan grinned with delight when he took a look around.

I was never much for stuffed animals, bu
t I loved my American Girl collection. The dolls still occupied an entire shelf above my dresser. On top of the dresser was my jewelry box. Tristan opened the white wooden lid and up popped the ballerina who still danced to the Nutcracker Suite. He fingered a couple of the trinkets inside--a heart shaped rainbow colored pendant, a broken silver bracelet, a key ring with a monkey hanging from it.

He placed them all back inside and gently closed the lid. "You spent a happy childhood in this room, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. I never felt deprived of anything."

"I felt deprived of everything." He sat down on the well-loved quilt my grandmother had made long before I was born and stroked his hand across the faded squares. "My bedroom looked more like a hotel than a kid's room, at least after we moved into the city. A lot of my stuff got left behind. At the time, I didn't care and I think my father was just as happy not to be reminded of our life with my mother."

I took off his shoes and put them beside the bed. Then I gently pushed him back against the pillows. The double bed seemed terribly intimate after spending nights with him on board his plane and boat with their giant mattresses. He scooted over and made as much room for me as he could and I crawled in beside him. We lay there fully clothed and shifted into a spooned position, my back to his front.

I heard him sigh and remembered his caustic comment about his "delicate, damaged soul" on the way to
Carcassone
. Sarcastic, yes. But also true. He'd lost the two women he had loved most in the world. As I felt his body relax against me I told myself that I would do anything I could to make sure that he didn't lose me.

***

My mother's cell phone rang at 6:30. Tristan and I both became instantly alert.

"Answer it."

I pressed the button to answer the call and held my breath. "Hello?"

"It's me, sweetie." I was thrilled to hear my mother's voice even if she sounded ragged and scared. "I'm okay. Tell your father I'm okay." Then another voice came on the phone.
I held the phone so that Tristan could also hear what was being said.

"No harm will come to her if you follow my instructions to the letter.
"

"What do you want?" I couldn't help but sound belligerent.

"You listen. I talk. One million, cash, circulated, non sequential $100 bills. Get it together and you'll get your instructions in 24 hours." Click.

I dropped the phone into my lap. Dad was standing at the door. He must have been sleeping with one ear straining like we were and heard the phone. Tristan had been right, after all. I had pretty much come to that conclusion anyway. It wasn't about the union at all. It was about Tristan and his money.

Tristan stood up and walked over to the window. "I'm so sorry, Don, Raina. I've brought trouble to your family. I can't begin to tell you . . . oh God, I can't believe I allowed this to happen."

"You couldn't possibly have known," my father replied. But of course, I knew better. Tristan
did
know what kinds of things happen to billionaires and the people they care about. I felt chilled thinking about it. What kind of life would it be to have to look over your shoulder all the time? Much as I cared for him, was I willing to risk not just my safety, but that of the people I loved the most to be part of his life?

What about the future? What if we did move forward and made a life together? What about children? How did the very rich stand it? In an instant, I knew that my fantasies about Tristan were never going to become reality. How could I subject myself, my family and even my yet to be born children to a life of
bodyguards and precautions, security systems and stealth?

It was all too much to think about. My mother was the focus of the moment. Not tomorrow, not yesterday. I summoned up all the strength inside me and turned my attention to the only thing that mattered. "Tristan, what's the next step?"

***

All sorts of uniformed and plain clothes folks had gathered at our kitchen table by eight o'clock. The general consensus was that there would be no contact for 24 hours, just as the voice on the phone had said. Other than getting the cash together, there wasn't much that their combined investigative power could do. A quick check of the cell phone indicated that the call had come from one of those pay as you go mobile phones, now likely at the bottom of the Hudson River.

"Those phones are a criminal's best friend. Used to be we could check phone records, and even if a perp used a public phone the location would give us something to go on. With these disposable phones, we got bupkis." The detective shook his head sadly. "I hate waiting."

I hated waiting, too. By nine, the house had cleared out pretty much. Just Dad, Tristan, the three bodyguards and I remained. Tristan had been on the phone, presumably to his banks, to arrange for the cash.

"If they were real pros, they'd have asked for a lot more and by wire transfer." Archie had remarked on his way out the door.

Of course, to me, a million sounded like a hell of a lot of money. Tristan didn't even
bother to discuss that part. His biggest concern was having to wait 24 hours and his worry about my mother during that time.

My father was pacing like a caged animal. He announced that he was going to work because he had to "get the hell outside" and do something physical or he'd lose his mind. Hoc had taken the night shift, so George made a move to follow my father.

"Forget about it, George. I don't need watching. They've already got Marjorie. What more can they do to me?" No one was ready to argue with his logic so Dad took off down the block toward the subway by himself.

The three Laotian men disappeared downstairs. I could hear their sing-song-y rhythm of their language faintly through the kitchen floor.

"Would you like to get out of here, too?" Tristan asked me. "We could go into town . . . I don't know. I could show you my apartment. We've got time to kill. Anything you want--just say the word."