He finished chatting up the Martins, and looked around the ballroom for Torie. He was ready to dance. With her. Then, he decided, as soon as he could, he was going to steal her away, up to the room he’d reserved. There was already champagne chilling, and more flowers. Maybe somehow, between her change of heart and his abject groveling, she would forgive him.
It might take a few more months of courting to heal the wounds he’d caused, but if he did it right, cared enough, loved enough, then perhaps she’d agree to marry him.
He thought of the ring he’d looked at earlier in the day. It would suit her.
He pressed open the door to the hallway, felt the rush of cooler air. It felt heavenly on his heated skin. Tuxedos were dashing, for sure, and fairly comfortable, but with all the dancing and alcohol, he was well warmed up.
Thinking of Torie again, he decided he was way past warmed up, and moving well toward open flame.
He saw Martha leaving the alcove marked for Ladies, and waylaid her. “Hey, Martha, you look lovely. Did you see Torie in there?”
“Thank you, Paul. No, no one else was in there.”
“Okay. If you see Torie, would you tell her—”
He didn’t get to finish. A shout went up from a nearby seating area. He turned in time to see Pratt toppling over, off the sofa, and onto the floor.
“Good Lord,” Martha exclaimed, and ran to help.
Suddenly, Paul had a terrible feeling in his gut. Torie was missing. Pratt was in trouble. He remembered the cops in the hotel lobby.
He had to find Torie. Now.
Rushing toward the reception area, he looked in every nook, every seating area, near all the phones.
A mansion employee came up, asking if he needed help.
“Have you seen a woman from the party? She’s wearing a dark blue short dress. Long blond hair. She was taking a phone call,” he said, putting his hand to his ear as if answering the phone.
“Ah, yes. She went out the door, there.”
The young man pointed to an exit which led into the gardens, and Paul wasted no time. Whipping out his own cell phone, he rolled through calls till he found Tibbet’s, then redialed.
“Tibbet, it’s Jameson. Torie’s missing. Old man Pratt collapsed, and I can’t find Torie.” Damn, he was repeating himself. Where was she? Why couldn’t he find her?
“You’re sure? She’s not just—” He cut himself off. “You’re sure. Never mind.”
Paul rattled off the address. He heard Tibbet start his car.
“Hang tight,” Tibbet said. “I’m sending black and whites. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
His dress shoes rang on the concrete walkway as he searched for Torie. A bench loomed out of the semi-darkness, and he heard the faintest sound of voices.
On the ground, half-buried in a flower bed, was Torie’s phone.
“Hello? Who is this?” Paul demanded.
“Paul, is that you?”
“Pam? What’s going on? Where’s Torie?”
“I don’t know. She was there one minute, talking to us, then she was gone.”
“Us?”
“Dev’s back.”
“That’s good,” Paul acknowledged briefly, then hurried on. “How long ago?”
“A couple of minutes.”
Paul ran into the parking lot, spun in place checking the exits. Searching for any sign of Torie. Where the hell was Mike? He’d hired Mike to watch the exits, keep Torie in his sights.
As he worried, he searched. The driveways were long and twisting. Way off in the distance, he saw a car turn on its headlamps as it sat at the traffic light. When the light shifted to green, it turned left.
“I have to take the chance.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Somebody’s taken Torie. Kidnapped her. I think I saw him leaving. I gotta hang up, call Tibbet, and tell him where I’m going.”
“Call us,” Pam shouted as he turned that phone off and opened his own again.
“Jameson? That you?” A man hurried over, his tuxedo rumpled.
“Mike, where the hell were you? You were supposed to be watching the lots, making sure she didn’t get snatched.”
“I have been. I’ve been out front. One of the staff came out, said you were looking for me. I went inside and saw the commotion. No one knew where you were, so I figured there was trouble. I’m sorry I let you down.”
“Never mind that now. Where’s your car?”
“Right here,” Mike said, and pointed to a silvery gray Oldsmobile. “I was going to—”
Paul cut him off. “You drive. Go out that way,” he instructed, pointing to the exit. “We’re following a car that I think took Torie.”
He redialed Tibbet as he flung himself into the passenger seat, and they peeled out after the phantom car.
“He’s got her, I’m following.”
“Who? Who is it?” Tibbet demanded.
“I don’t know,” Paul snarled. “Turn, turn,” Paul ordered Mike as they got to the light. They squealed through on red.
“Where are you?”
Heading north on Kelly Drive along the river. We just left the Bradshaw Mansion. I’m with the guy I hired for tonight,” he said.
“Shitty hire if he let somebody get Torie.”
“Agreed. The tags are—” he began, then turned to Mike.
“R-S-A-three-two-five,” the bodyguard snapped, taking the turns on the winding road with competent speed.
Paul relayed to Tibbet.
“Okay, keep me posted. There’s a black and white on the way to intercept. I’ve notified the park rangers as well, but their patrol’s in another area. I’m en route. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Hurry.”
Paul dropped the phone into his lap and searched the night.
“There!” he shouted to Mike. Faint taillights off a side road betrayed the other car’s direction. They’d been pretty close; it must be him.
He prayed it wasn’t kids out for a little nookie in the backseat. They searched for a way to follow, and passed the overgrown entrance to a rutted road.
“Stop,” Paul insisted, pointing to the road. “There.”
“Got it,” Mike grunted as he cranked the wheel to turn the car onto the overgrown drive.
A faint dust cloud was the only other clue that anyone had gone that way.
It was enough. It had to be enough.
“Tibbet, you still there?” Paul picked up the phone.
“Yeah. Black and white’s closing in on your location.”
“We’re turning off onto a dirt road. There’s nothing marking it, but I saw taillights. I’m pretty sure it’s him.”
“Wait for the black and white.”
“No. He’s got Torie. I can’t. I just can’t.” He let Tibbet’s protests fade into the background as he focused on the bumpy, pockmarked, and narrow way. Mike doused the lights as he rounded a bend.
It was his worst nightmare.
Torie in her glorious dress, with her blond hair cascading over her shoulders, was silhouetted in the glare of the other car’s headlamps. The shadows concealed her kidnapper, but it was obvious that she was afraid. She wobbled where she stood, and he heard an indistinct shout of anger.
“Go back to the road, flag down the cops,” Paul ordered.
“I’m trained—” Mike began.
“Shut up. I think I know this guy, and I have a chance to talk him out of this. I hope. You don’t. Go back, make sure the cops find the damn road.”
Reluctantly, Mike agreed, and like a ghost, he disappeared into the darkness. When Paul tried to slip out of the car the same way, the sound of the door opening gave him away.
“I’ll kill her, Paul. I know it’s you. Only you would have come looking. You’re such an idiot. Get over here, and let me do it properly and kill you both.”
He sprinted to her side, as well as he could in the patchy light, turning his ankle as he did. He stood in front of her, blocking the gun he could see. It was steady, held firmly in the gloved hand of Melvin Pratt Jr.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, reaching back to grip her hand.
“Woozy,” she slurred. “He drugged me. Horrible taste. I think I’m going to be sick.”