Mob Mistress
Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To MJ for helping me write for the Romantic Suspense

line, to Patience for making me feel so welcome,

to Natashya for being my wonderful new editor,

and to Carl and Kim for the prison information.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Justin Elk squinted in the darkness, his vision blurred, his temples throbbing. Blood pumped through his veins as thick and cumbersome as liquid lead.

The last thing he remembered was stopping at a roadside diner for a cup of coffee and a club sandwich. He’d been headed to the Gulf of Mexico, to loll on the beach, to enjoy a much-needed vacation.

And then he’d awakened here.

In an unfamiliar bed, stripped down to his jeans. His shirt and boots had been removed. His silver-buckled belt was gone, too.

He shifted his weight and cursed the emasculating wooziness. He’d been drugged. He could feel the sluggish beat of his heart, the sleep-induced, head-spinning intoxication.

Someone must have spiked his coffee at the diner. Slipped him a Mickey or whatever it was called. He’d gotten groggy when he’d climbed back into his truck, but at the time he wasn’t sure why. He’d been too tired to drive, so he’d sat behind the wheel, trying to combat the sudden fatigue.

Which meant what? That they’d waited for him to conk out before they’d carted him off to…

He gripped the side of the massive bed, doing his damnedest to pull himself up.

His surroundings seemed grand, even in the vault of night. The sheets bunched beneath his fingers, the fabric soft and luxurious. Egyptian cotton, he thought. Probably four or five hundred bucks a pop. He’d never slept on anything this high-dollar before, but he knew how expensive quality linens could be. His family owned and operated a guest ranch that pampered its city-slicker guests.

He finally managed to sit upright and fumble for a lamp. With an unsteady grip, he illuminated the room.

The light glared straight at him, making pinwheels twist and turn before his eyes. Fighting another wave of dizziness, he turned his head, catching glimpses of his glamorous gilded cage.

Even though the furniture mutated in the drug-laced fog, he noticed opulent antiques. A French door, which he assumed was securely locked, showcased what appeared to be a terrace, and a hallway led to what he assumed was the rest of the suite. He suspected this was a guest room in someone’s house.

Weren’t kidnapping victims supposed to be bound and gagged and crammed into dark, dingy basements?

Whoever did this wasn’t holding him for ransom. They probably had more money, more power, more social standing than his family could ever have.

He tried to drag himself out of bed, but before his feet hit the rippling floor, the whole damn room spun. Everything went by in a mindless blur.

Shit.

The sedative sluicing through his system was keeping him prisoner. He hoped that he didn’t OD. He didn’t want to croak in some rich man’s castle. Then again, maybe the person who’d arranged his captivity was a woman.

Yeah, right. A decadent heiress just dying to have him, a Texas-bred horseman, as her sex slave. A Hill Country cowboy who gave riding lessons and guided tours.

Get real, he told himself. He hadn’t been abducted because he looked good in a pair of Wranglers.

The room wouldn’t quit spinning, so he turned off the lamp, shutting out the pinwheels, the glaring little lights flashing like camera bulbs beneath his eyes. He spewed a string of profanities and fought to stay conscious.

But he lost the battle and passed out again.

When Justin came to, he sensed the presence of another person.

Someone watching him.

Angry, he forced himself to sit up. He didn’t care how wasted he was. This time he was going to pound his way out of this mess. But as he reached for the lamp to expose his captor, a woman’s voice came out of the night.

“I unplugged it,” she said. “I unplugged all of them.”

Justin cursed. He couldn’t very well pound a nameless, faceless female. Her tone was barely audible, barely above a whisper. He wondered if his heiress theory wasn’t as far-fetched as it had seemed. “Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’ll get into trouble. I’m not supposed to be in your room.”

Was this a game? Or was she on the level? He followed the direction of her voice and caught sight of her shadowy outline. She was only a few feet away.

Not that he could make out her features. He couldn’t even distinguish the color or length of her hair. She seemed misty, like a ghost.

Or an angel.

Maybe he was dreaming. No, he thought. It was the drug. The room was spinning again.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“That’s a stupid question,” he snapped. The digital clock on the nightstand displayed blurry red numbers. He had no idea what time it was, what day it was.

She moved closer, and he struggled to focus, to see her more clearly, but the runaway-carousel motion hadn’t stopped.

When she touched him, placing a cool hand against his cheek, his heart bumped his chest.

“Is the medication making you nauseous?” she asked.

“Just dizzy.” He tried to breathe in her scent, but she wasn’t wearing a fragrance. Everything about her remained a mystery. “Are you a nurse?”

“No. But I saw them carry you in here, and I heard them talking about you. I could tell you were drugged.” She removed her hand from his cheek, her featherlight touch fading. “I assume they’ve given you a couple of doses since then.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Since yesterday. They said that you were important to them. That they’re not going to hurt you.”

“Who are they?” he asked, praying that she was being honest. That she wasn’t part of the conspiracy.

“The West Coast Family,” she responded.

“What?” Confused, he gazed at her hazy image.

“The media calls them the Hollywood Mob.”

His befuddled brain kicked into gear. “The Halloways? That’s who did this to me?”

“Yes.” She sat on the edge of his bed, rustling the pricey sheets. “How well do you know them?”

“I don’t know them at all. My uncle testified against Denny Halloway, their old boss, but that was ages ago. Twenty-nine years or so.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “So that means Reed Blackwood is your uncle?”

“He’s my mother’s brother.” Justin frowned, wondering why Reed’s name came so easily to her. “He went into the witness protection program.”

“Yes, I know. I read about him in old newspaper clippings.”

He stalled, analyzing her response. If she were closely associated with the mob, she would have known about Reed firsthand.

“My uncle has never been part of my life,” he said, admitting that he was scarcely related to the other man. “I was about a year old when he went into the program. He means nothing to me, and I mean nothing to him.” He paused, curious about his surroundings. “Is this the Halloways’ house?”

“Yes. You’re in their mansion. In West L.A.”

He contemplated what they’d done with his truck, if they’d hidden it somewhere. Surely they hadn’t left it at the Texas diner where he’d been abducted.

“Do they have a private plane?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you think that’s how they brought me here?”

“Probably.”

When a sudden beat pulsed between them, he lifted his hand and attempted to touch her the way she’d touched him. For a split second, she seemed to sway closer to him. Then she pulled back, and he came up empty.

“Why did you sneak into my room? Why are you giving me information?”

“Because I want you to help me later.”

He wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe that she was being sincere. But who the hell knew? “With what?” He squinted at her. Her hair was long and thick, he decided. Falling past her shoulders. Either that or the shifting shadows were playing tricks on his eyes.

“I can’t tell you. Not now.”

“Can you least tell me your first name?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I need to be careful. I’m telling you things I’m not supposed to know.” She stood up, leaving him alone on the bed. “There’s something going on with a dead baby.”

His blood drained from his face. He could feel the sudden clamminess of his skin.

Her voice went quieter, even more hushed. He had to lean forward to hear her.

“A baby’s bones were discovered about a month ago. It was a newborn, buried in a makeshift coffin. Its death was never registered.” She exhaled a fragile-sounding breath. “The Halloways think it’s connected to you.”

His stomach clenched. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But supposedly that baby has been dead for as long as you’ve been alive.”

His mind reeled. “Who discovered it? And where was it found?”

“I don’t know. But it was buried with a toy identical to one you had when you were little. A musical pony.”

Justin went back to his childhood. He remembered his pony. His mom still had it somewhere. But she kept all sorts of sentimental stuff. “How do the Halloways know the toy was identical to mine?”

“I have no idea. I’m only repeating what I heard.”

He made a face. An infant decomposing for thirty years was a ghastly image, especially with a stuffed pony that played a lullaby by its side. “Does Reed have anything to do with the baby? Did they mention him?”

“I didn’t hear anyone say his name.”

“Who was having this conversation?” he asked, keeping his voice as low, as cautious as hers. “Exactly who did you eavesdrop on?”

“Denny Halloway’s sons. Brian and his brother, Richard. They were talking to their security chief.”

Justin pictured her skulking in a doorway, straining to hear their cryptic words. “Is Brian the boss?”

“Yes, and Richard is the underboss. But I only picked up bits and pieces of what they were saying.”

“That they aren’t going to hurt me? That I’m important to them?” His thoughts scattered. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

She hesitated, and he wondered if his question had given her goose bumps. He imagined her running her hands over her arms, up and down chilled skin.

“Do you?” she finally asked.

“Traditional Cherokees do,” he responded.

“Are you Cherokee?”

“I’m a quarter-blood. From my father’s side.” He considered his culture. “They say that murdered souls are forced to roam the earth, unable to go to the next world.”

“Why are you talking about murdered souls?”

“Because I think that baby was killed. Otherwise its death would have been registered. There would have been a legal burial.”

“The Halloways didn’t talk as if it had been murdered. It seemed important to them, too. Like you,” she added softly.

“Me and a dead baby. How creepy is that?” He shook his head. “This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“It’s strange for me, too. I keep hoping I’m doing the right thing. Involving you in my life.”

Was that what she was doing? He couldn’t tell. So far she’d revealed nothing about herself, nothing tangible, nothing he could grasp.

Moonlight drifted into the room, but it wasn’t bright enough to illuminate her, to give him a clearer image.

Was she wearing a nightgown? Or a filmy dress? He noticed how flowing her garment looked, how sleek and watery.

Of course the Mickey medication was still messing with his mind, still distorting his vision.

But even so, he pictured her in silk. And he suspected that she was a brunette. Her hair seemed as dark as the night that shrouded them.

He fingered the sheet and felt it slide against his hand. “Are you as beautiful as I imagine you are?”

Her breath caught. He could hear the quick, sharp sound. “I didn’t come here to feed your imagination, Justin.”

“You know my name?”

“I heard them say it.”

He knew it was crazy, but somewhere in his drugged-out mind, he was attracted to her, to a woman he couldn’t even see. The whispered lilt of her voice sent God-help-me heat up his spine.

“Why didn’t you call the police after you realized they’d kidnapped me?” he asked. “That’s what most people would have done.”

“I couldn’t take that chance. If the Halloways found out it was me who made the call…”

“Dialing nine-one-one would’ve been easier than slipping into my room. You could have got police protection if you’d made the call.”

“Yes, but I would have been forced to leave the mansion. And I want to stay here. I need to stay.”

He couldn’t begin to understand her. She talked in riddles. “Why?” he asked. “Tell me why you insist on living here. Give me a reason to help you.”

She hesitated, and he waited.

Finally she gave in. Her voice turned sad, shaky, isolated. “Someone in my family went missing. I don’t have any proof, but I believe the Halloways are involved.” Silence fractured the air, then she added, “So will you promise to help me later? Will you promise to be there?”

He wasn’t about to refuse. If the Halloways had kidnapped him, maybe they’d kidnapped her loved one, too? Then again, she kept saying the mob wasn’t going to hurt him. “I promise. I’ll do what I can.” When he wasn’t sedated, he thought. When he could think clearly.

“Thank you.” She moved toward him. Within the blink of a blurry eye, she was almost touching him again.

Almost.

“I better go,” she whispered. “But I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”

He kept silent. Next time he would make sure that he had access to a light so he could see her.

Next time?

He should be plotting an escape, but she compelled him instead, haunting him like the angel she was.

Her footsteps sounded softly. As she made her way to the door that would take her out of his suite and back to the mansion, he struggled to focus his gaze.

To watch her shadowy form disappear.

Sunshine blasted through the blinds, invading the room. Justin squinted at the clock. It was the middle of the afternoon.

He sat up and tested his equilibrium. He was hung over, feeling the aftereffects, but the drug itself had worn off. Or so he hoped. He climbed out of bed and thanked the Creator when his feet hit solid ground.

And then his world went woozy again. Not literally. But figuratively. A big clumsy puppy that had been sleeping on the floor jumped up and bounded toward him.

The black dog yipped and wiggled, but he could only stare. With its Dumbo ears and droopy eyes, the mutt looked like Chester, his childhood pet.

Only Chester had been dead for nineteen years.

“Where’d you come from?” he finally said.

The dog grinned in response. He wasn’t Chester. He wasn’t a canine ghost. But his uncanny resemblance to Justin’s boyhood companion threw him for a loop.

Wary, he checked out the suite, the puppy on his heels. Nothing. No one. Nada. Whoever had dropped off the dog was gone.

So this time he took a closer look around. He went into the walk-in closet and saw that his suitcase had been unpacked. His clothes were hanging on wooden hangers. Even the shirt that had been stripped from him was there, laundered and pressed.

Apparently he was a welcome guest, a valued captive, just as his nighttime angel had said.

He walked into the bathroom. His toiletries, the travel-size toothbrush, toothpaste and shaving kit he’d brought along, were lined up on the counter. Complimentary bottles of shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap had been provided, much like a hotel. They were the brands he used at home.

He doubted the suite had been readied while he’d been occupying it. They’d probably done it before they’d even carried him in here.

The puppy pestered him for attention. He didn’t want to get attached, so he ignored the goofy mutt and headed for the sitting room, where leather couches and an entertainment center dominated the masculine décor.

A sculpture by Frederic Remington, his favorite western artist, was displayed in a glass case. Justin had a recasting of it at home. But he suspected that this was the real deal.

Original Remingtons rarely came on the market, and when they did, major museums and private collectors scooped them up at astronomical prices.

But the Halloways could afford it, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the statue had commanded a four or five-million-dollar price tag.

Had they purchased it to impress him? To entice him?

Taking a chance, he went to the main door and tried to open it. It didn’t budge. It didn’t even rattle. He was still holed up. But aside from the hangover, he was clearheaded, which meant the mob wanted him to be coherent. If they didn’t, they would have sedated him again instead of dropping off a dog.

Justin checked the French door in the bedroom and discovered it was unlocked, the terrace providing a place for the pooch to pee. When he went outside, he realized that he was on the third floor.

He examined the view. Lush grounds erupted into stone walkways, bubbling fountains and leafy plants and flowers.

Would this be his eventual escape route? Could he climb down the terrace without tripping an alarm? And if he got to the bottom safely, could he scale the cement wall that framed the yard and disappear without getting caught? Not likely. He spotted a uniformed guard at the edge of the building. But for now it didn’t matter. He wasn’t ready to leave, not until he found out why the mob had kidnapped him. And then, of course, there was his angel. Between his circumstances and hers, his mind was cluttered with unanswered questions. No, he thought. He wasn’t about to attempt a premature escape.

Needing to combat his hangover, he took a shower. After soaping down and washing his hair, he combed it straight back and frowned at his hard-edged reflection in the mirror. His former fiancée used to say that he looked like a desperado, especially when he neglected to shave, so he grabbed a disposable razor and went to work on the stubble.

With a towel wrapped around his waist he came out of the bathroom, and the dog whined at him.

“Fine. I’ll pet you.” He reached down to scratch the mutt’s elephant ears.

The happy-assed, ugly-as-sin dog rolled over on his back, exposing his belly and kicking his feet in the air.

So much for not getting attached. Justin decided to call him Lester since it rhymed with Chester.

He got dressed and took the puppy onto the terrace. Justin stood there for about fifteen minutes, checking out the situation again, wondering if he would be able to get past the guard at night, if when the time came, he could—

“I’d suggest using the stairs,” a deep voice said from behind him.

He spun around and stared at the giant who’d uttered those smart-mouthed words.

Instinctively, Justin clenched his fists. His opponent outweighed him by at least eighty pounds, but Justin had the advantage of youth. The Hulk was probably on the far side of sixty.

“I’m glad you’re up and about. But I figured you would be by now.” The other man extended a beefy hand and introduced himself. “Leo Gordon. I’m in charge of security.”

Justin didn’t return the gesture. “Screw you,” he said instead. He wanted to kick the crap out of the security chief, not make friends with him.

Leo grinned. He had a slightly crooked smile and a nose that had probably been broken a dozen times. His razor-buzzed, pseudo-military hair spiked into fuzzy gray points. He was dressed in a dark suit, as if he were trying to pass himself off as civilized. His shoes were high-dollar loafers.

“You’ve got balls,” Leo said. “Like your old man.”

Justin angled his head. “My old man?”

“Your dad. We were friends. Once upon a time.”

Justin considered Michael Elk, his half-Cherokee father, the man who’d taught him right from wrong. Dad had been a hellion in his day, but his rebellious antics had been petty, smoking-in-the-boy’s-room kind of stuff, not consorting with the mob. That had been Uncle Reed’s turf. Or so Justin had been told. But now he didn’t know what to think.

Unfazed by the tension, Lester yapped happily at Leo, and the security chief picked him up, allowing the mutt to give him an affectionate nuzzle. But he’d probably brought the puppy to the room to begin with.

“Where am I?” Justin asked, pretending that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. That he didn’t have an angel on his side. “Whose house is this?”

“It’s the Halloway mansion.” Leo cradled the dog.

“Halloway?” He repeated the name, playing his part, doing his damnedest to seem surprised. “Like the Hollywood Mob?”

“You catch on quick, kid.” Leo didn’t smile. No more half-cocked expressions. “We need to cut the chitchat and get going. Your family is anxious to see you.”

Justin flinched. His parents were here? Had they been abducted, too? And what about his sister? She was in Europe, but had they gotten to her, as well? “My family? If you did anything to them, I’ll kill you.”

“Lighten up. They’re fine. Now let’s go.”

Justin followed Leo out of the suite and into the mansion, where the architecture made an affluent statement. When they came to a sweeping staircase, Leo started his descent. Lester rode with his chin propped on the security chief’s shoulder.

The puppy gazed at Justin and barked excitedly, as if they were on a grand adventure. Leo didn’t falter. He simply patted the dog to quiet him.

When they reached a black-and-white tiled foyer, the other man finally stopped and turned. “This way,” he said, indicating a gentleman’s parlor.

Sturdy sofas and wing-back chairs governed the room, with chestnut tables and built-in bookcases.

Justin glanced around, looking for familiar faces. But the parlor was empty. “Where’s my family?”

“They’ll be here.” Leo put Lester down, and the puppy scampered around. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself.” Leo stood, too. He took an unassuming spot by a window where burgundy drapes, loaded with tassels and trim, were open, displaying a cluster of palm trees and a rolling-green lawn. As he adjusted his jacket, he flashed the holstered gun clipped to his belt.

Justin gave him a hard look. He wanted to jam his fist down the security chief’s throat. And he would, when all of this was over, when he knew his family was safe.

A uniformed maid wheeled a serving cart into the office, and Leo snapped at her. “You’re intruding on a private meeting.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she responded in a respectful tone. “But the chef sent me. Mr. B. requested some hors d’oeuvres.”

Leo waved his hand, allowing her to proceed.

Justin assumed that Mr. B. was Brian Halloway, the boss. Referring to him as Mr. Halloway was probably confusing since there was more than one Mr. Halloway at the mansion. The angel had mentioned Richard Halloway, too.

The dog, curled up in the corner, perked his ears as the maid pushed the cart farther into the room.

Justin took a closer look at her, and when he did, his pulse jammed his throat.

Her hair, dark and rich, was coiled into a tidy bun, exposing the stunning angles of her face. Her bronze-toned skin appeared soft and touchable, and the greenish-gold color of her eyes enhanced what Justin called ethnic ambiguity. He had a similar look. People were never quite sure of his heritage.

She was what he imagined his angel to be. Sleek, sexy, exotic. But she was cautious and proper, too.

She moved around the room without disturbing him.

He wanted to catch her gaze, to force her to look at him, but she focused on her task, arranging the appetizers just so.

Was she the mystery lady who’d come to his room? Or was he grasping at straws? Wrongly evaluating the first woman he saw? Maybe if he heard her speak again. Maybe her voice…

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

She took an audible breath, and Leo frowned.

“If you’re itching for female companionship, we can get you a woman,” the security chief told Justin, not allowing the maid to answer.

Damn it. Justin cursed his mistake. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious, so openly attracted to her. “I’m not itching for anything, I just want to know her name.”

Leo gestured for her to respond.

“It’s Maya,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast and fussing with a silver coffee service. “Maya Reyes.”

Her voice didn’t trigger familiarity. But he couldn’t ask her to whisper, to talk in a softer tone, to mimic his angel. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you.” She finished her work and left the parlor without meeting his gaze.

“She’s supposed to know her place,” Leo said. “All of our employees are.”

Irritated, Justin glared at the Hulk. “What’s taking this meeting so long to happen?”

Leo shrugged.

But several minutes later he announced that Brian Halloway had just entered the room. Tall and trim with graying blond hair, Brian carried himself like a corporate billionaire, exhibiting a commanding sense of style.

He extended his hand, but Justin refused to shake it, spurning him the way he’d spurned Leo.

“What’s wrong?” Brian asked, a humorous glint in his eye. “Were you expecting Tony Soprano?”

Justin remained silent. He knew the West Coast Family wasn’t an Italian outfit. They were equal-opportunity criminals.

“My brother asked me to apologize for his absence. Richard intended to be here, but he got called away on a business trip.” Brian remained standing. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

Justin snapped back. “I don’t care about your brother. And I don’t give a damn about you. I want to see my parents. And my sister, if she’s here.”

Brian made a perplexed expression. “I don’t understand.”

“Your security chief said my family was anxious to see me.”

“Your family, yes. Your parents and sister, no. Leo misled you.” Brian frowned at the Hulk, but the big man kept his cool. He didn’t even blink.

The boss returned his attention to Justin, playing the ultimate host. “Can I get you something? Crab canapés? Garlic and cheese bruschetta? Liver paté? You must be starving by now. This should hold you over until dinner.”

Screw the food. Justin didn’t care if he hadn’t eaten in two days. “I want to know what the hell is going on.”

“Then I’ll tell you, straight from the hip. I’m your family. Me, my brother.” The mobster held his gaze. “You’re not Justin Elk.” He paused for effect. “You’re Justin Halloway.”

Chapter 2

Justin glared at the other man. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“No game. Your mother was my sister, Beverly. She died without telling us that she’d had a child.”

His gut tightened, tying itself into ropey knots. “This has to be a mistake.”

“It’s the truth. I’ve got the DNA test to prove it. We swabbed you while you were sedated.” Brian reached into his jacket pocket and removed a sealed envelope. “You’re welcome to review the results.”

Justin took the envelope, but he didn’t open it. He wouldn’t give Brian the satisfaction. “If Beverly’s my mother, then who’s my father?”

The boss made a distasteful face. “Reed Blackwood.”

The man he’d been told was his uncle? He glanced at Leo. Reed was the once-upon-a-time friend the security chief had mentioned. “My parents wouldn’t have lied to me. They wouldn’t have let me think that I was their son.”

“But they did, Justin. Look at the report.”

“This could be a forgery.”

“You’re right. It could be, but it isn’t.” The mobster poured a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Being a Halloway is your legacy, your birthright. Whether you like it or not.”

“You drugged me. You kidnapped me.” Justin all but snarled. “What kind of legacy, what kind of birthright is that?”

“We got your attention, didn’t we? And no matter how much you try to deny it, we added some excitement to your life.” Brian had the gall to smile. “We know you were restless. That your daily routine was getting mundane. Besides, if the test had been negative, we would have returned you to Texas and never revealed ourselves.” He glanced at Lester, and the pooch wagged his tail. “We would have sent the dog along, too.” He smiled again. “And the Remington.”

Justin squinted. They would have given him a four-to-five-million-dollar statue for the inconvenience? Talk about having money to burn. “That sounds like a better deal to me.”

“What does? Not being related to us and going home with a costly consolation prize? Your inheritance is worth far more than that, nephew. And the Remington is yours either way.”

Nephew? “No harm? No foul?”

“Exactly.”

Except for his angel, Justin thought. The woman who’d already told him who they were. “I could press charges against you.”

Brian tilted his head. “Yes, you could. Kidnapping is a federal offense.”

How poised could the other man be? How calm? How sure of himself? “But you don’t think I will, do you?”

“No. I think you need us. That there’s an emptiness inside of you we can fill. And we need you, too. You’re all that’s left of Beverly. I can’t tell you how much we loved your mother. How special she wastous.”

Justin bent the corner of the envelope. He still hadn’t opened it, still hadn’t looked at the results. He nailed Brian’s gaze instead. “My mother’s name is Heather Elk.”

“Heather raised you, but she isn’t your biological mother.” Brian tasted the pate. “Do you know how we figured out that you might be Beverly’s son? My father, your grandfather, came across a newspaper article in the prison library about a dead baby, and it triggered his memory. Something from the past.”

Justin turned morbidly silent, as though he hadn’t heard about the infant before now.

Brian continued, “The police were looking for the public’s help to identify the baby. They offered all sorts of details. They said it was a newborn that had been dead for thirty years. A boy with Native American genetics. They can tell a lot about a corpse by its bones.” He finished the appetizer. “Dad knew he’d stumbled onto something. The location where they’d found the baby rang a bell. Thirty years ago, we tracked Reed, Beverly and Heather there.”

“Why?”

“To kill Reed and bring Beverly home. They’d run off to elope, and Heather was trying to help them. They all managed to escape. This was before Reed went into WITSEC. Witness Security,” Brian clarified.

“That still doesn’t explain my paternity.”

“Both women were pregnant. Of course at the time we didn’t know there was one baby, let alone two. Reed, Beverly and Heather were on the run for eighteen months. Even Michael had no idea where they were. When Heather and Beverly returned on their own, Beverly was terminally ill, and Heather presented Michael with a ten-month-old son.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. As far as we can figure, their real child died and was secretly buried. It’s the infant that was found, the one Dad read about. According to the article, it was laid to rest with a toy, a windup pony. And guess what? We discovered that you had one just like it. We got a hold of old photographs. You used to cart that thing everywhere.”

Justin narrowed his gaze. It was obvious they’d been investigating every aspect of his life, past and present, making sure he was connected to the dead baby before they kidnapped him. “So Beverly came home to die, Reed struck a deal with the government, and Heather and Michael became my parents?”

“Only it was Beverly who conceived you with that traitor lover of hers.” A slight pause. A slight thought. “Did you know that Reed was a West Coast Family soldier? Besides being an ex-con and an accomplished thief, he had a genius IQ and built countersurvelliance equipment in his spare time. He impressed us at first, especially Dad.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“We’re aware that you have a genius IQ, too.”

Meaning what? That he’d inherited his superior intelligence from a guy with no morals?

Justin finally opened the sealed envelope and looked at the contents. 99.9 percent positive. He wanted to crumble it, to trash it, but that wouldn’t change the results. He steeled his emotions instead.

The other man waited a beat, then continued, “When Reed seduced Beverly, all hell broke loose. She was a college student, the pride of our daddy’s eye. In the old mob way, you’re supposed to ask for permission to date the boss’s daughter.”

“So why didn’t Reed ask?”

“Because he botched up a job he was sent to do, and Dad stopped trusting him. There was no way he was going to let him keep seeing Beverly. He warned Reed to stay away from his daughter.”

“So Reed convinced Beverly to run away with him?”

“Exactly. And then Heather got dragged into it. She was naïve when it came to her brother.”

Justin gripped the back of a wing back chair. His mother rarely talked about Reed. Aside from admitting that he’d testified against Denny Halloway and entered the witness protection program, she kept her memories to herself.

“That bastard left you behind,” Brian said. “He could have taken you into WITSEC with him, but he couldn’t be bothered. You’d do well to hate him.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” Justin shot back, even though he was starting to despise Reed. “What’s the deal with Beverly? Why didn’t she admit to her family that I was her son? Why the big charade?”

“Beverly loved us, but she detested our lifestyle. I guess she thought you’d be better off without us.”

“I can’t say I blame her.”

“We’re different now.”

Justin blinked. “What?”

“We’re not involved in organized crime anymore. People still associate us with it, of course. But all of our businesses are legitimate now.”

Yeah, right. He might have been born under shaky circumstances, but he hadn’t been born yesterday. “You actually expect me to believe that?”

Brian laughed a little. “No, I suppose not. Not after we kidnapped you. But aside from that, we haven’t broken the law in years. Richard and I weeded out the bad blood in our organization. We made a conscious choice to change who and what we are.”

Justin glanced at Leo, but the security chief didn’t react. He stood like a sentry, gun clipped to his belt, with the sun illuminating his Hulkish form.

People don’t change, he thought. Not like that. “Whose idea was it to kidnap me?”

“Dad’s.”

“So he’s still calling the shots? Even though he’s locked up?”

“Dad thought it was important to expose you to the kind of power our family wields. Whether we’re criminals or not.”

“I don’t give a crap about your power.”

“Eventually you will. Once you get past the kidnapping, you’ll enjoy the entitlement that comes with being a Halloway. And you’ll admit that your life was getting boring. That we managed to spice it up.”

Screw this. “I’m going back to Texas.”

“What for?”

“Why the hell do you think? To talk to my mom and dad.” To rage, to vent, he thought. To fight the pain, the lies, the deceit.

“We were hoping that you’d spend the rest of your vacation with us.” Brian made a joke. “After all the trouble it took to get you here.”

Frustration hit him hard and quick. He wasn’t in the mood for petty humor.

The other man caught his scowl and turned serious. “Are you angry at your parents?”

Justin didn’t answer the question. He spun it around on his supposedly “reformed” mobster uncle. “Are you mad at Beverly for keeping the truth from you?”

“It’s tough to be angry at someone who’s gone, who died so tragically. But I wish she had allowed us the opportunity to know you when you were young. That she wouldn’t have robbed us of her son.”

“It could have turned out the other way. The other baby could have been Beverly and Reed’s child.”

“Yes, it could have. And we would have notified the authorities if that had been the case. We would have asked for its remains so we could give it a decent burial. I imagine Heather and Michael will want to do that. But the police will probably grill them. They’ll have to answer some difficult questions. According to the article we read, this is being treated like a homicide.”

Justin nodded. He’d assumed the infant had been murdered, too.

“After you go home, after you settle things in Texas, will you come back?” Brian asked. “Will you visit with us? Will you give us a chance?”

Justin stalled, thinking about his angel, about the possibility that she was Maya, the maid who’d been too uncomfortable to meet his gaze. How could he keep his promise to her if he didn’t return?

“We’d like to make a formal announcement,” Brian added. “Introduce you to the rest of the family and tell all of our friends who you are. Maybe host a few parties.”

Parties? Justin snagged Leo’s gaze and felt his bones go cold. He didn’t want to get caught up in being the long-lost nephew, in being Denny Halloway’s revered grandson, in having men like Leo standing guard. But he’d already made his mind up earlier that he wasn’t going to abandon the woman who’d asked for his help.

“Our pilot can take you to Texas,” Brian said. “And he can bring you back. It’s the family jet. That’s what it’s for.”

“Where’s my truck?”

“Here. In the garage. But you’re not going to drive, are you?”

“No. I’ll fly. On your jet,” Justin responded, praying that he was making the right choice.

That his angel was worth it.

The chef scowled at Maya. A wiry man with a shaved head and a neatly trimmed goatee, he used his apron strings like tentacles.

Maya didn’t like him. But none of the kitchen maids did. Behind his back, they called him Lucifer.

She finished preparing the cart, and he peered over her shoulder, inspecting her work.

Several hours after Justin had attended the private meeting, he’d ordered dinner for himself and the puppy she’d seen in the parlor. Or she assumed it was Justin who’d requested the meal. He was the only visitor at the mansion.

“Maids aren’t allowed to consort with guests,” Lucifer said, lifting his pointy nose at her.

Her pulse wouldn’t quit pounding. “I know.”

“Mr. Elk specifically asked for you.”

Damn, she thought. Damn. “I didn’t provoke that.” Nor had she known that Justin’s last name was Elk.

The chef measured her. “I certainly hope not. Now get going. He’s in the Garden Tower.”

Maya didn’t respond. The suite where Justin had been held hostage, the room she’d secretly visited, was aptly named, towering over the garden with a prestigious view.

She took the service elevator to the third floor and traveled down what suddenly seemed like an endless hallway.

She knocked on Justin’s door, and he gave her permission to enter.

Maya wheeled the cart into the sitting room, and the puppy ran toward her. Justin stood beside the sofa. Tall and dark with rangy muscles, he shifted his stance. His hair rebelled against the way he wore it, falling onto his forehead even though he’d combed it straight back. A glimmer of silver winked in his left ear. She hadn’t noticed the tiny hoop before, but it fit his Cherokee side, the quarter-blood roots he’d told her about.

Taking a deep breath, she warned herself to relax. When she looked up and met his gaze, she saw the scrutiny in his eyes.

He suspected her.

“Where would you like to eat?” she asked.

He kept watching her, trying to figure her out. “At the table is fine.”

She moved toward the cozy dining area. Sniffing the air, the puppy followed.

“You can put his bowl on the floor,” Justin said.

She nodded and gave the dog his food. He ate it noisily, wolfing it down with chowhound vigor.

As she arranged Justin’s silverware, her heart struck her chest. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her, not even to blink.

She struggled to keep her distance, to not give herself away. Or to admit that she was attracted to him. That sitting beside him on his bed and brushing her hand along his cheek had made her warm.

Erotically warm.

“Do you know why I’m here?” he asked, attempting to call her bluff.

She didn’t respond.

“Because I’m a Halloway,” he told her. “A long-lost relative.”

Maya dropped his salad fork, and it chimed against the table. She recovered it quickly, but the damage was already done. Justin gauged her reaction, watching her with keener interest.

She’d sneaked into his room because she needed an ally. Because she was hoping that a man who’d been kidnapped would jump at the chance to fight back. But if she’d known who he was, she would’ve never approached him.

“According to Brian, my mother was his sister.” He pushed his hair back, battling the rain-straight rebellion. “Her name was Beverly. She’s dead now.”

Maya tried to focus on her job, to pour his wine, but her hand wouldn’t quit shaking. She’d seen Beverly’s portrait in the den, hanging on the wall like a shrine.

No wonder Justin was important to the Halloways. No wonder they hadn’t intended to hurt him.

How stupid could she be, seeking him out? But worse yet was admitting that someone in her family had gone missing. What if he told the Halloways? What if they found a way to connect her to her dad?

Justin pulled up a chair and sat at the table, forcing his proximity, making Maya lose her train of thought. Her mind was twirling like a press-and-spin top. She struggled to serve his meal.

“They said that Reed Blackwood is my father. But I always thought he was my uncle.”

She tried not to flinch. He was bringing up Reed’s name to get her reaction. She’d already told him that she’d read about his uncle…his dad. Heaven help her.

“I’m returning to Texas in the morning,” Justin said. “That’s where I’m from. I wasn’t sure if you were aware of that.”

“Then I hope you have a good trip,” she finally responded, trying to sound like a proper maid, as if she didn’t know anything about him.

“I’m coming back. I made a special promise to someone.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. He was staring straight at her, holding her captive. Kidnapping her the way the mob had kidnapped him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked.

She glanced away. “I’m not supposed to get too friendly with guests.”

“There’s no one here but us.”

“You requested me by name. You shouldn’t have done that.” Beyond nervous, she placed his dessert on the table. “You’ll get me fired.”

“No, I won’t. I’m a Halloway, remember?” He made a grand gesture. “One of the lords of the manor.”

“I’m not supposed to get overly familiar with family members, either.”

“I’m not telling you anything that you won’t find out about later.” He reached for his wine. “Brian wants to make a formal announcement. To introduce me to the rest of the Halloways. To host a few parties in my honor.” He paused, tasted the chardonnay. “Not that there won’t be a few skeletons left over in my closet.”

Like the dead baby? He hadn’t mentioned that. But it must have something to with his paternity.

“If there isn’t anything else I can get you, then I should go. The chef—”

“Warned you not to get too familiar with me?” He kept watching her.

“Yes.” She couldn’t think clearly, not with him looking at her like that.

“I’m not trying to get you into trouble, Maya.”

No, she thought. He was waiting for her to come clean, to tell him who she was. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, and he didn’t ask her directly, just in case she was the wrong girl.

“Will you look after Lester while I’m gone?” he asked instead.

She frowned. “Lester?”

He pointed to the dog, and the puppy danced in a circle. “He was a gift from the Halloways. He looks a lot like my childhood pet. It was tough to resist him.”

She glanced at the mixed-breed. He was so ugly he was cute. “I shouldn’t—”

“Get overly familiar with my dog? What’s the harm in that?”

She wanted to trust Justin. She wanted to believe that he was as honest as he seemed. “No harm,” she said, taking a small chance.

He smiled, revealing a set of boyishly lethal dimples, making her wonder what she’d gotten herself into. He actually turned her knees weak. How sexy could he be?

“I’ll tell Brian I’m leaving Lester in your care.” The dimples faded. He was no longer smiling. “It’s going to be tough seeing my parents. I’ll be glad to get it over with.”

She tried to seem unaffected, but she couldn’t help thinking about her own parents and the secret they’d kept.

“Are you okay?” he asked, as a shiver sliced her spine.

She looked up at the man who’d promised to help her. A man whose new family she believed was responsible for whatever had happened to her dad. “I’m fine.” She glanced at the food he’d yet to eat. “Just put the dishes outside of your door when you’re done.”

He reached out to brush her arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.” His concern, his deliberate touch, made her weak-kneed all over again.

A moment later, she left his room, anxious for him to return to the mansion.

And wishing to God she wasn’t.

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