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‘I insist, Whitney,’ he told her in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Please don’t hesitate to contact me again if you need any more information for your article,’ he invited derisively.
And I’ll get you measured up for the concrete shoes, Whitney thought furiously as she left the restaurant after giving a mocking inclination of her head to the two watchful ‘minders’.
The man had been pleasant, not a hint of a threat to his tone, and yet Whitney knew she trusted him even less now that she had actually met and spoken to him. Maybe it was the constant coldness of his eyes even when he laughed, or perhaps the complete assurance of his manner, as if he knew himself to be invincible, but she suddenly knew he was guilty of everything she thought he was.
She had too much of an uneasy knot in her stomach to feel jubilant at the knowledge, knew that she still had a long way to go before she had all the facts together, and that Tom Beresford had no intention of letting her write those facts. ‘Know your enemy,’ they said. Well, she knew hers now, and she wished that she didn’t.
She knew that she had also been hoping for some sort of breakthrough, despite her denial earlier to Martin. But Tom Beresford was as likely to calmly hand over the combination of his safe as he was to deny or confirm her suspicions about him. Damn the man, he—–
‘Miss Morgan?’
‘Yes—–’ She was prevented from turning around to face the man who had spoken to her by one hand being placed on her shoulder and the other clamped about her wrist. ‘What on earth—–?’
‘Walk over to the car, Miss Morgan.’ He directed her towards a long black limousine with darkened windows. So that she couldn’t see out or other people couldn’t see in? ‘Don’t make a scene,’ the man urged as she began to struggle.
‘Make a—–! You can’t do this to me!’ she protested indignantly. ‘We’re in the middle of a crowded street!’
‘I’ve already done it, Miss Morgan,’ the man told her with satisfaction as he urged her inside the back of the car so that she stumbled slightly, the door closing behind her before she could straighten and face her accoster.
She frantically pulled at the door handle. Locked! Her panic increased as she heard the low purr of the car engine being started, banging on the black glass partition between her and the man now driving the car; she could see out of the window after all, which meant no one was supposed to see in!
The partition window lowered only enough for her to be able to see the back of the man’s head, his hair thick and dark, a pair of enquiring brown eyes meeting hers in the driving mirror. And as Whitney had never bothered to take note of the colour of eyes of Tom Beresford’s two dark-haired ‘minders’ it could be either of the men driving the car.
‘Yes, Miss Morgan?’ His voice was cajoling, as if he found the situation amusing.
‘Stop this car immediately and let me out of here!’ she ordered with a confidence that had long deserted her. She had been kidnapped, for goodness’ sake!
‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ he shook his head.
Whitney sat forward on the edge of her seat, wishing she could see more of the man through the inch-wide gap at the top of the glass than the back of his head and a pair of amused brown eyes! The man was sick if he actually enjoyed abducting terrified women off the street and then watching them squirm. ‘I—–Where are we going?’ she demanded weakly, her head starting to spin as the seriousness of what was happening to her washed over her. She was too young to die!
‘Not too far,’ he answered non-commitally.
They were driving towards the river! My God, Tom Beresford had been so incensed by her nerve in daring to question him the way that she had that he was getting rid of her right now!
‘Look,’ she moved closer to the glass, smiling at the eyes in the driving mirror, knowing he couldn’t see her smile but hoping he could tell what she was doing by the warm expression in her eyes. ‘I realise you’re probably paid very well for doing this sort of thing—–’
‘Very well,’ he confirmed softly.
She swallowed hard. ‘I have some money of my own, enough to recompense you for letting me go, I’m sure. And look—–’ She desperately held up her wristwatch for him to see. ‘This is worth a few thousand pounds.’ God, he was actually smiling now!
‘It’s very nice,’ he said disinterestedly, ignoring the watch after only a cursory glance.
Whitney breathed raggedly; how much was a life worth nowadays! ‘I have other jewellery I can give you. And money. I’m sure I—–’
‘I’ve been paid to do a job, Miss Morgan,’ he cut in patiently. ‘And I always deliver.’
Oh my God! Whitney fell back against the black leather seat, random thoughts flitting through her brain in panicked succession. This couldn’t actually be happening to her, it was like something out of an old Edward G. Robinson movie! And she would bet he had lost count of how many of his enemies had met this fate during his film career.
But prevalent in her thoughts was the knowledge that she would never have the chance now to tell Hawk how much she loved him.
Her heart sank even further as she saw they were rapidly approaching the Thames, her thoughts becoming hysterical now. Where did the man keep his supply of concrete? Maybe he would just tie a rock to her body and hope for the best.
Body …!
She couldn’t just meekly sit back and meet her fate like this. This sort of thing just couldn’t happen in the capital of England in broad daylight!
She sat forward so that she could meet the man’s gaze again, her heart pounding rapidly. ‘Look, I think there’s been some sort of mistake,’ she began cajolingly. ‘I’m not—–’
‘I’ve made no mistake.’ He shook his head. ‘I was told to bring Whitney Morgan here, and that’s what I’ve done.’ He had parked the car while they talked, climbing out now to open her door for her.
‘Here’ was a marina for luxury yachts. My God, they weren’t going to dump her body here at all but take her out to sea and throw her overboard! She was not a strong swimmer and she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance if thrown into the icy Channel. And the chances of her being picked up were about nil. Which was probably the idea.
Then she saw the name of the gleaming white yacht moored closest to her.
And the man watching her with narrowed eyes from the top of the gangway.
CHAPTER TWO
TWO things became apparent to her at the same time, firstly that she wasn’t about to be killed after all, and secondly that her driver hadn’t been employed by Tom Beresford at all. The latter won out, the relief of the first realisation overshadowed by the anger of the second.
‘You bastard!’ she burst out furiously, hurling herself up the gangway without a glance for the distance between that and the murky water below. ‘You unspeakable bastard!’ The second accusation was accompanied by a powerful slap to one lean cheek.
Long slender hands came up to grasp both her wrists to ward off more blows reaching their target. ‘Whitney—–’
‘I thought I was going to die!’ she choked, her eyes misted with tears as she looked up at him. ‘And it was you all the time!’
‘Mr Hawkworth—–’
Hawk glanced over her head at the driver as he stood hesitantly beside the car at the bottom of the gangway. ‘It’s all right, Peterson, I can handle Miss Morgan from here,’ he assured the other man confidently.
Maybe it was that arrogance, or maybe she just didn’t care what he thought of her behaviour after frightening her the way that he had, but suddenly she was kicking and scratching like a wild thing, Hawk unable to prevent all of the blows making contact, cursing under his breath as the pointed heel of her sandal caught him in the middle of the shin.
‘So I see, Mr Hawkworth,’ Peterson softly derided.
Tawny eyes, a clear golden colour, narrowed on him with displeasure. ‘Just send me your bill,’ he told the other man abruptly.
‘There’s nothing else I can do for you?’ The other man lingered, obviously enjoying the show.
‘Nothing,’ Hawk grated, his eyes flaring with anger as he glared down at the still struggling Whitney. ‘Stop it, you’re making a damned fool of yourself!’ he instructed through gritted teeth.
She stopped struggling only because she had run out of energy, knowing she wasn’t the one to look the fool, he was! And looking foolish didn’t sit well on the broad shoulders of James Charles Hawkworth. He towered over her now as he watched Peterson climb into the limousine and drive away, topping her five-feet-ten inches in the high-heeled sandals by at least four inches.
‘Martin must have called you as soon as I left his office,’ she muttered resentfully.
‘He had better have done,’ Hawk rasped with barely a movement of his lips.
Whitney glared up at him, resenting the fact that she had to do so. ‘You scared me half to death,’ she accused heatedly. ‘I thought I was on my way to be fitted for a pair of concrete shoes!’
‘That could still be arranged,’ he told her with icy control.
‘Don’t you threaten me,’ she snapped. ‘I could still have you arrested for kidnapping.’
Hawk eyed her mockingly with those curiously gold eyes fringed by thick dark lashes. ‘You’re a little old to be called a kid!’
‘Don’t prevaricate.’ She wrenched out of his hold on her arm, facing him now, wishing he didn’t look quite so handsome in the open-necked white shirt and tailored white trousers, the Gucci shoes also white. ‘You had me abducted in broad day—–’
‘On whose evidence?’ He quirked brows the same dark colour as his lashes, his hair a dark blond with gold streaks among its thickness from the amount of time he spent aboard Freedom in warmer climates than the one in England; the name Hawk suited his colouring perfectly.
‘Mine!’ she claimed indignantly. ‘And Peterson—–’
‘Oh, he wouldn’t back up the kidnapping story,’ Hawk denied with confidence.
Her eyes flashed. And to think that a short time ago she had been lamenting the fact that she hadn’t had the chance to tell this man she loved him; she didn’t love him at all, she hated him! ‘I think you’re overestimating your power of persuasion—–’
‘It isn’t a question of persuasion, Whitney,’ he mocked. ‘I’m sure that where a man is concerned your accomplishments in that direction are much more successful than mine could ever be.’ He made it sound like an insult. ‘But Peterson believes your protests to have only been part of the game.’
Whitney’s eyes narrowed. ‘What game?’
‘Shall we go inside?’ he suggested with a pointed glance at the crew members standing about watching them curiously. ‘If you’re going to give another display like the one earlier I would rather it was a private showing.’ He indicated that they should go into the lounge.
Whitney preceded him with a disgruntled scowl. She had been on Freedom several times in the past, and its elegant beauty didn’t impress her at all at this moment, although she acknowledged that Hawk had refurbished the spacious lounge that was larger than a single floor of her house. She knew there was also a library and dining room on this upper deck, that below, the hundred-foot yacht also boasted six luxurious bedroom suites, as well as accommodation for half a dozen crew members. Hawk spent a lot of time on board, and as such the furnishing in leather, brass and glass was of a high standard; it was more than a home-away-from-home for him. Hawkworth House had never seemed as warm and welcoming.
‘What game?’ she demanded once more as he closed the door behind him, only the hum of the air-conditioning on this hot July day to disturb the silence; the crew were paid well to make themselves inconspicuous.
Hawk shrugged broad shoulders. ‘You don’t think Peterson—procures women for a living, do you?’
‘He did a good job of abducting me,’ Whitney maintained stubbornly.
Hawk limped over to the bar, drawing attention to the fact that she had bruised him earlier, taking a jug of the fresh orange juice he knew she liked from the fridge and pouring them both a glass. Whitney ignored hers once he had placed it on the glass-topped coffee-table, and with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders Hawk moved to sit down in one of the brown leather armchairs.
‘Hawk!’ she demanded impatiently as he sipped his drink, feeling suspiciously like stamping her foot at his infuriating behaviour, resisting the impulse with effort.
His expression softened, if a face carved out of granite could soften! He had the hard features that should only have appeared on a sculpture but were in fact flesh and blood, his cheekbones high, his cheeks fleshless, his mouth a hard, uncompromising slash. And those eyes could be just as hard and uncompromising, as they had been the day he walked out of her life.
‘Peterson believes it’s a game we play,’ he drawled in a bored voice. ‘You’re the madly desirable woman and I’m the wicked abductor. Kinky, hm?’ he derided.
‘It’s sick!’ She dropped weakly into a chair, at last understanding the driver’s amusement at her predicament, heated colour flooding her cheeks at how well she had played the supposed game. The man must think she was a pervert!
‘Don’t look so worried, Whitney,’ Hawk mocked. ‘He assured me it wasn’t the most unusual request he’s received since he began his limousine service three years ago!’
‘Just one of them!’ she groaned her mortification.
‘Oh, I don’t know, the one about the sheikh who—–’
‘Hawk, I’m really not interested in the idiosyncrasies of an Arab too rich to have anything better to do than play ridiculous games!’
‘No, maybe not,’ he agreed slowly. ‘That one did go a bit far. I was only trying to show you that Peterson didn’t find anything unusual in our request—–’
‘Don’t try and drag me into taking part of the blame,’ she protested indignantly. ‘I’ll never be able to look the man in the face again!’
He quirked dark brows. ‘Were you thinking of engaging his services in the future?’
‘Hawk, all this is very amusing,’—her tone implied she thought it the opposite—‘but it doesn’t alter the fact that I almost had a heart attack when he made me get in the car. I felt so damned helpless, I didn’t know what to do!’
‘If Peterson had been a real kidnapper I would lay odds on you emerging the victor from the encounter!’
‘Even though I realise there was no real danger I still don’t feel very victorious,’ she said shakily. ‘I thought I was going to die,’ she repeated breathlessly.
‘And we both know why you thought that, don’t we?’ Hawk stood up in forceful movements, having all the grace of a natural athlete when he didn’t have a bruised and aching shin, and replaced the orange juice with a glass of whisky. ‘I would have had Martin’s job if he hadn’t called me when he did,’ he revealed grimly. ‘You are definitely fired!’
‘You can’t do that!’ She stood up protestingly.
He raised his brows in cold fury. ‘Forgive me, as the owner of the National I thought I could.’ His tone was thick with sarcasm.
‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘You have no reason to sack me, none that would stand up to the union anyway.’
‘How about persistent absenteeism?’
‘I’m never off sick.’ She shook her head, her expression rebellious.
‘I don’t remember using the past tense,’ Hawk announced calmly.
Whitney blinked her surprise. ‘You have kidnapped me,’ she said incredulously.
‘Abducted,’ he corrected smoothly. ‘I don’t know of anyone who would pay a ransom for you!’
‘Beresford might,’ she pointed out tightly.
His eyes flashed deeply gold. ‘Maybe I should telephone and ask him!’
She knew she had gone too far, had always been able to tell that where this man was concerned. Hawk wasn’t a man to suffer fools gladly, and by meeting Tom Beresford in the way that she had Hawk considered her to be plain stupid rather than just foolish! But carrying her off the way that he had could have scared her to death, and she glared at him angrily. ‘You can’t keep me on board Freedom against my will—–’
‘Who says I can’t?’ he reasoned coldly. ‘You’ve been on board the Freedom plenty of times before; why should anyone assume this time is any different?’
‘Because I’m obviously a reluctant guest!’ Whitney pointed out exasperatedly.
He gave an unconcerned shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I’ll just tell them that you’re loath to rest as the doctor has told you to.’
‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she snapped irritably. ‘And just what do you hope to achieve by this display of muscle?’ she scorned.
‘Achieve?’ Hawk repeated with cold thoughtfulness. ‘Maybe I’d just like to keep you alive for a few more years.’
‘After presenting me with a diamond watch and kicking me out of your life a year ago—–’
‘I didn’t kick you out!’ he grated protestingly, his body taut with anger.
‘Fulfilled your obligation, then,’ she amended heatedly. ‘It amounts to the same thing. After that I’m surprised you care one way or the other what happens to me.’
‘Of course I care, damn you!’ He glowered at her across the room.
Whitney gave a disbelieving snort. ‘That’s why you’ve been so solicitous of my welfare the last year, I suppose!’ she derided.
‘Martin would have let me know if anything were bothering you; he told me you were doing fine,’ Hawk dismissed with accusing impatience.
‘Of course I’m doing fine, I don’t need you to survive,’ she claimed perversely. Hawk had always had this effect on her; she had resented it when he demanded to know her every mood, and she resented it just as vehemently when he seemed disinterested.
Hawk’s mouth tightened. ‘This time you just may do!’ he rasped.
‘You’re as bad as Martin,’ she sighed. ‘I’m only following through a story, for goodness’ sake.’
‘On Tom Beresford.’
‘Why is everyone so scared of the man?’ Whitney scorned exasperatedly.
‘It isn’t a question of being scared of him, and if you weren’t such a baby I’d tell you exactly why you should steer clear of this one,’ he rasped.
‘I don’t think I was ever a baby,’ she dismissed. ‘Certainly not since I met you.’
A pulse jerked in his throat. ‘Was living with me so bad?’
‘Worse!’
‘Whitney—–’
‘You know Geraldine is married to Tom Beresford now?’ She inwardly cursed herself for asking the question as soon as it left her lips; of course Hawk would know who the woman he still loved was married to!
He gave a cool inclination of his head, a shaft of sunlight streaming through one of the windows picking out the gold highlights in his dark blond hair. ‘I received an invitation to the wedding.’ His bored drawl revealed none of his inner feelings.
‘The bitch!’ Whitney gasped incredulously, colour heating her cheeks as she realised she had just insulted the woman Hawk loved. ‘I’m sorry. I—–’
‘It’s all right, Whitney,’ he derided drily. ‘I was never blind to Geraldine’s faults.’
But he loved her in spite of that. It had never made any sense to Whitney, this unquestioning love Hawk had for the other woman. In business Hawk had no peer, the National only one of his successes, and at thirty-seven he was more handsome than any one man had the right to be, his very coolness exuding a power and cynicism that was a challenge to every woman he met. And yet he threw away all that he had to offer on a woman who wasn’t fit to be in the same room as him, let alone in his heart. It just didn’t make sense to Whitney.
Of course some of her dislike of Geraldine sprang from her own love for Hawk, but she had detested Geraldine even before she had made the mistake of falling in love with Hawk. Mistake, because Hawk was the type of man to inspire the sort of love that would last a lifetime, and his heart belonged to Geraldine.
‘Did you go to the wedding?’ She gave a pained frown.
‘Of course not.’ His tone implied it had never even been a possibility. ‘And watch some other poor devil go to his doom!’
Tom Beresford hadn’t given the impression of chafing against his love for his wife when they had spoken earlier. Like Hawk, he gave the impression of granting her every whim and fancy.
‘Tom Beresford isn’t like you.’ She spoke without thinking first, looking guiltily across at Hawk as she realised what she had said and how it must have sounded. ‘1 only meant—–’
‘I know what you meant, Whitney,’ Hawk grated harshly. ‘But you never understood my relationship with Geraldine. And I hope to God you never do!’
She wouldn’t wish the mindless love Hawk had for Geraldine on anyone, and on this proudly arrogant man it was particularly unpleasant to witness. She had tried for a while to make a place for herself in his heart, but even though she didn’t love or want him herself Geraldine had resented anyone else who did. For a long time she had managed to make Whitney’s life a misery.
‘Do you think Geraldine knows of Tom Beresford’s method of business?’ She watched Hawk closely for his reaction.
He shrugged. ‘Geraldine never cared where the money came from as long as there was always plenty of it.’
Maybe if Hawk’s love for Geraldine had been blind it would have given her hope in the past, but even knowing all the rotten things about Geraldine there were to know Hawk still love her. That sort of love could never be ignored or overcome, it just continued to consume, like a sickness.
‘You’ll never be free of her.’ Whitney spoke her thoughts aloud without realising it, blushing as she looked up awkwardly to meet his shuttered gaze.
‘Never,’ he sighed.
‘Hawk—–’
‘Whitney, let’s drop the subject, shall we,’ he cut in forcefully, obviously wearying of the subject. ‘I had the Freedom brought up to London with the intention of taking her out at the weekend for a week or so. This has changed my plans somewhat.’
‘I don’t see why,’ she protested. ‘If you’ll just let me go ashore—–’
‘No,’ he bit out before she could finish. ‘You’re staying right here until everyone forgets you were doing a story on Tom Beresford.’
She remembered the predatory look in the pale blue eyes of the other man and shook her head. ‘That could take weeks,’ she derided impatiently.
‘You have weeks,’ Hawk told her in a calm voice. ‘Months, if necessary. After all, you’re unemployed, and you don’t have a cat to feed!’
‘I—–’
‘And don’t even think about carrying out your threat to take this story to another newspaper,’ he added grimly, his eyes narrowed. ‘If you attempt to do that Martin will have to retaliate by quietly spreading the word that the absenteeism story was just that, that really you were sacked for embellishing the facts to get a better story.’
Whitney paled, knew her career would be at an end if such a rumour were ever started, however untrue. ‘I don’t believe you would do that to me.’ She shook her head.
Hawk shrugged, his expression cold. ‘Try me,’ he invited softly.
He had to know that a rumour like that, started from such a reliable source as Martin Groves, would finish her as a reporter forever. Not even a provincial newspaper would employ her after that. And she was damned good at her job. ‘You aren’t doing this to protect me at all,’ she accused.
‘Who, then?’ he grated harshly.
‘Geraldine!’ Her eyes were bright with anger. ‘If her husband falls so will she! I don’t believe any woman could be that close to a man and not know exactly what lengths he goes to to earn his money!’
‘No,’ Hawk conceded. ‘I’m sure Geraldine is aware of every corruption her husband is involved in.’
‘Then—–’ She broke off as his expression changed, blinking her confusion as he strode purposefully across the room towards her.
‘For God’s sake, Whitney, I’m not going to hit you!’ he growled as she flinched, his fingers biting into the tops of her arms enough to hold her in front of him but not enough to actually hurt her.