The Biker's Wench (8 page)

Jabbing at the elevator call button, she swiped a tear from her cheek with the other hand. Her muscles tensed at the sound of footsteps coming from the direction of Betsy's apartment. She pressed against the wall in a dark corner, hoping whoever it was would walk right past. When the minister who had performed the wedding ceremony strode by, she exhaled long and slow. Ian must have gone to Betsy's first, and then called Harley. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside, steeling herself to see her father again.

Harley watched Monica go, wondering if he'd ever see her again. He knew he should go after her, but he couldn't leave Betsy here alone. Not with the possibility of her ex running around.

"You should go after her," Betsy said, echoing his thoughts. “That was uncalled for and you know it. She just wanted to help."
He turned to meet her reproachful gaze. "I'll talk to her later. Your safety is more important right now." He fought the urge to look over his shoulder when he heard the front door open and close. "When did Derek get out of prison?"
"A couple weeks ago. Look, I know I should have told you, but--" she stopped, looking over his shoulder. He turned, nodding to Ian who was standing in the doorway. His jaw was set, his expression stern, but that sad, longing look in his eyes he always wore around Betsy was still very much intact.
"Ian," Harley said, holding out his hand. The minister gripped it then turned to Betsy, whose face had suddenly gone beet red. Harley reached across the counter and slid the photo to his friend. "Someone left this under her door this morning. We need to get her out of here, at least until I can figure out what's going on with Derek."
The minister nodded. "I offered to loan her the money, but she refused. I was hoping you could talk some sense into her." He grabbed the photo and flipped it over with a sneer.
"I don't want to go anywhere," Betsy said quietly, her eyes on the stone counter top. "If I run, he wins."
"If you run, you stay alive," Harley countered. "I've got all sorts of crap going on here right now and Derek is just one more thing. I'll find him, and I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again, but you have to get out of here so I won't be worried about you every second of the day." He looked at Ian. His friend had said repeatedly that he wasn't interested in anything with Betsy, but the concern in his eyes seemed like more than just friendly concern to Harley. Maybe a week alone together would decide the issue once and for all. An image of Monica's stricken face flashed in his head and he wished they could have a week together, just the two of them. He needed to go find her. Now.
He curled a hand over Ian's shoulder. "I need you to take her away from here. I don't care where, and I don't need to know, just find somewhere safe to hole up for a week or so. Charge it to the ranch. Just keep her safe."
"But I--" Betsy stood up, her eyes flashing fire.
Harley held his hand up, giving her a stern look. "He's the only one I trust to take care of you, sis. Don't argue. Just go." He walked around the counter and gave her a quick hug, then headed for the door, pausing to glance back over his shoulder. "Don't give him any trouble, Bets. This is serious." Without waiting for an answer, he walked out. With any luck, he could catch Monica to apologize before she left.

When he reached the main floor, Harley took a right just beyond the stairs and followed a narrow hall to the end where it opened into a large, dark parlor. Candles in antique wall sconces dimly lit the crowded room where the dinner party guests were mingling and enjoying small glasses of sherry and port. He chose a spot along the wall just inside the doorway and scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Monica's long, curly hair. Twice he thought he saw her, but the face didn't match the hair. Then he spotted Stephen Burns near a window across the room, and made his way through the crowd to stand beside his new father-in-law. It was all he could do not to immediately ask about Monica.

The older man nodded thoughtfully, taking a small sip of the dark amber liquid in his glass. "Well enough, well enough. I couldn't help but notice you disappeared - is everything okay?" The hint of disapproval made Harley bristle, but he worked to maintain a bored look.

"Just a family tiff," he said, glancing at faces walking past and wondering if Derek was still here. "I handled it. Speaking of family, did Monica come see you?"
He could see his words hit the intended mark as Burns blinked, the lines on his face hardening. Apparently he didn't care for being reminded that they were family now. That fact gave Harley a great deal of pleasure, and he was hard-pressed to stifle a laugh.
"She was here briefly," Burns replied. "Said you asked her to check on me, and that she had some things to do down at the saloon. She didn't look happy, son. I'd suggest you--"
Harley held up a hand, his gaze fixed on a figure walking toward the door. Betsy was right - Derek was here at the ranch. "Hold that thought," he told Burns. "There's something I need to go do." Without giving the man a chance to respond, he shouldered his way through the crowd and intercepted Derek just as he stepped into the hall.
"What the hell are you doing on my ranch, Wilson." The man grinned, his thin lips stretched too tight on the left against a scar that spanned his jaw line. Harley felt a moment of satisfaction knowing that his baby sister had put that mark there.
"Just taking care of some unfinished business, Majors. Lucky thing I ran into Mr. Burns in Reno the other day. He told me all about this place, and how the man who runs it just married his daughter. Wasn’t real happy about it, if I recall. If I hadn't heard your name, probably never would have found you." He nodded as though pleased with himself, thumbs tucked casually into the front pockets of his weathered jeans. Frowning thoughtfully, he cocked his head to the side. "So how is your sister these days, Majors? Still breaking hearts and heads?"
Ignoring his better judgment, Harley swung back and sent his fist into Derek's face, pain exploding through his hand and spidering up his arm. Caught completely off guard, the other man hit the wall hard, his head bouncing off the dark brocade fabric before he sprawled on the floor between two antique chairs.
Harley opened his fist, wincing as he flexed his fingers to make sure nothing was broken. The din from the crowd had grown quieter, and he glanced over at the crowd looking on in horror. Burns stepped out of the mass and came to stand beside Harley, looking thoughtfully down at Derek's bloodied visage.
"Well son, looks like you've met Mr. Wilson. And from what I see, it's probably a good thing he was just leaving." He lifted one finger, and two of his bodyguards separated from the crowd. They went to Derek and picked him up, carrying him down the hall toward the door. Burns turned to the crowd, a smile on his lips. "Show's over, folks. Enjoy the rest of your night."
The din of murmured conversation rose quickly, and Harley stood in the hallway, anxious to make his escape. He glanced at Monica's father, then back down the hall. "Derek Wilson isn't welcome here, sir, and I'll send him back to jail in a heartbeat if he's not off my property in thirty minutes. Just so we're clear."
"Fine." Burns nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "My men will escort him into town and drop him off at the nearest hospital. Mind telling me what he did to get you all riled up?"
"It's personal. Now if you don't mind, I need to go--"
"Whatever it is will have to wait. I need you to go deliver a package. It's in room three-twelve, just like we agreed, and should be delivered to this address." Burns took a folded slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Harley. "There's a courier with the package - you're just the driver. After the transaction is complete, bring the courier back."
Harley looked down at the note. Beneath the scrawled address it said "11pm, sharp." He checked his watch, it was already ten, and it would take at least thirty minutes to reach Reno. They'd barely make it in time if he left right now for the dorms. If Monica had gone, there was little reason to play along except that Burns still held the deed to the ranch.
Shoving the paper into his jeans, he nodded and walked away without comment. He'd stop by the saloon on his way to the dorm, and if Burns had a problem with that, he could go to hell.

Monica peered out from behind the fake tree in the hotel hallway again, determined to find out what was going on in room three-twelve. She'd stopped by the saloon and told Mavis where she was going, just in case something happened. Some small portion of her mind admitted that she hoped Harley would track her down too, though it was unlikely he'd be able to get away from her father for the rest of the evening. He'd been so angry, but she couldn't blame him. He'd wanted to help and now his whole life was turned upside down because of her. No wonder he hadn't wanted her take on his family issues. He'd married her, but they weren't family. He was probably afraid she'd screw Betsy's life up too.

The door to three-twelve opened and a tall man stepped out. "Room service should be here any minute. You'll have to eat fast - someone will pick you up at ten for the appointment." Monica couldn't hear the reply, but the man pulled the door closed behind him, and walked down the hall away from her. She took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly as she left her hiding place. She couldn't have asked for a better opportunity, though her hands were already shaking at the thought. Walking quickly toward the elevators, she slipped into a small room to one side just as the staff elevator doors opened.

"Is that for three-twelve?" she asked, relieved to see a glimmer of recognition in the young woman's eyes as she pushed the tray out into the hall.
The woman nodded. "You look familiar - are you new?"
"Sort of. I'm Monica...uh...Majors." The name felt right on her lips. Too right.
The woman's eyes got big. "You're the one that married the boss! Wow. All the girls are so jealous of you..."
Monica smiled, doing her best to look like a happy newlywed, and wondering how the news had spread so quickly. Then again, the compound did seem to run like a small town. "Thank you. I'm really lucky to have him." She paused, her own words reverberating in her head. The guest elevators dinged, reminding her of her mission. "Hey, I was hoping I could deliver this order personally, if you don't mind. Some of my father's friends are visiting, and I wanted to surprise them." She kept smiling, hoping the trembling in her limbs didn't come through in her voice.
"No problem - saves me the work." The woman released her grip on the cart, turning back to the staff elevator. "Just let me know if you need anything else - my name is Christy." Then she was gone, and Monica pushed the cart around the corner and down the hall to the correct door. Squaring her shoulders and schooling her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression, she raised her hand and knocked three times.
"Room service," Monica said loudly, her voice an unwelcome sound in the deserted hallway. A deadbolt snapped open and the door opened a crack, arrested by a short gold chain. A stern man peered out, his eyes moving up and down her body and over the cart as she waited. He closed the door, and she heard the scrape of the chain being removed. He opened the door wide and she pushed the cart in, disconcerted to hear the chain slide back into place and the deadbolt click home.
"This way." The man led the way through an average sized living room to a table in one corner. "You can leave everything here," he said, reaching for one of the plates. She nodded and put all the food on the table, finishing off with a rose in a vase for the center. She wanted to look around, but he watched her constantly, an odd look on his face. When they were finished, she grabbed the cart and walked toward the door, acutely aware of him following. She glanced briefly into a doorway, where a woman sat on a bed next to a child's car seat.
The woman looked up and met Monica's gaze, her eyes widening in recognition. She got off the bed and stood in the doorway, anxiously clasping and unclasping her hands. "What's she doing here?"
"You know her?" The man laid a firm hand on Monica's arm as she tried to continue toward the door. She didn't fight him, hoping that if she went along and acted nonchalant, they'd let her go. After all, she hadn't done anything, really.
The woman frowned. "You don't recognize her? That's Mr. Burns' daughter. I saw a picture of her in his room - is she supposed to be here? Does she know?"
"I know about the package," Monica said, the grip on her arm tightening. "My husband is supposed to deliver it later." A low cry came from behind the woman, and Monica peered into the bedroom, the woman moving to block her view. "How old is your baby?"
The woman laughed. "That's not my kid - I'm just the courier. I'd let you see him, but I wouldn't want you to get attached."
"Courier? But I thought..." Monica felt sick. "The baby - he's the package?"
The guard pulled her away from the bedroom door. "Enough. Irene, see to the child. The driver will be here in ten minutes. I'll call Burns." He pushed Monica onto a couch. "You stay there."
Stunned, Monica nodded. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't believe that any of this was legitimate - her father just didn't work that way. She tried to process the information, but her mind was spinning out of control. Harley. She needed Harley. Even mad at her, he'd know what to do.
"Yes, sir. I understand." The guard put his cell phone back in his pocket, and motioned for Monica to get up. "You come with me. Your father seems to think you being here will upset your husband and jeopardize our little transaction. So we're going in the bedroom, and you'll stay there until Irene and the kid are gone. Your father will be here shortly to talk to you."
Monica shook her head, staying out of reach as she backed around the couch and tried to figure out how to get past him to the door. "No," she said, her blood racing. "I won't let you do this. It's not right. You can't keep me here." She ran for the door only to be grabbed from behind, her arms pinned to her chest. She kicked and screamed as the man carried her to the bedroom and tossed her on the now-vacant bed. A knee in her back didn't stop her from trying to fight as her wrists and ankles were tied together and a scarf was put in her mouth, tied behind her head. He rolled her over and stood by the bed.
"You'll be more comfortable if you lay on your side," he said, reaching for her shoulder. She shrugged him off, her face hot and tears running down her cheeks. "As soon as Burns gets here, I'll untie you." He turned and walked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.