Dying for You Read online

  Lucie wasn’t cut out for the line of work she had chosen. Not now or in the past. Whatever had possessed her to think she would make a good FBI agent, he’d never understood. She’d had the intelligence, the grit and the determination, but not the temperament. Lucie had always been volatile. Even as a kid, she’d been high-strung and emotional.

  There had been a time when they hadn’t been enemies. When they were teenagers, he had looked out for her the same way he’d looked out for his kid brother, Brenden. But that had been a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

  Sawyer placed a call to the security office in the building that housed Dundee’s. When one of the officers on duty answered, Sawyer said, “This is Sawyer McNamara. Send someone upstairs to the Dundee Agency on the sixth floor. Have him go to my office and wait there with one of my agents, Lucie Evans, until I arrive.”

  “Yes, sir. Is there some problem we need to know about?”

  “Ms. Evans has threatened to wreck my office if I don’t arrive there within the next fifteen minutes. I prefer not to contact the police, but handle this internal problem myself.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll send someone immediately.”

  “Thank you.”

  The next call Sawyer made was to Lucie’s abandoned client who had hired Dundee’s for a bodyguard assignment. Taylor Lawson was a has-been TV star whose claim to fame was a role as a brash young space cadet on a futuristic drama that ran four seasons some twenty years ago. He had been invited to act as host for this year’s TV Sci-fi convention in Las Vegas.

  “I want a capable bodyguard,” Lawson had said. “But I want a woman. A good-looking woman that I can pass off as my girlfriend.”

  “I know just the agent.” Sawyer had known immediately that it was the type of assignment Lucie would hate. And whenever possible, the cases she hated were the ones he chose for her.

  “Yeah, who the hell is this?” the man bellowed and Sawyer realized he had no doubt disturbed Taylor Lawson’s sleep.

  “Mr. Lawson, this is Sawyer McNamara from Dundee’s. I’m calling in reference to—”

  “That crazy bitch you sent me tried to murder me,” Lawson said. “I’ve got a good mind to sue Dundee’s and you and her.”

  “Exactly what happened?” Sawyer asked.

  “I told you, she tried to kill me.”

  “Why would Ms. Evans try to kill you? Her job was to protect you.”

  Lawson coughed a few times, and then grumbled several obscenities. “She was supposed to play the part of my girlfriend. That was understood when I hired her.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

  “Well, apparently you didn’t make that part of her assignment clear because she sure as hell refused to act the part.”

  A nagging suspicion tightened Sawyer’s gut. “Precisely what did Ms. Evans refuse to do?”

  “She refused to sleep with me. I paid top dollar for her services and I expected her to be worth every cent. But when I told her to strip and get in bed, she refused, so I took matters into my own hands.”

  “And did what?” Sawyer swallowed hard.

  “I slapped her and the crazy bitch sucker punched me. Knocked me on my ass and—”

  “Mr. Lawson, Dundee’s provides bodyguard services, nothing more. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you. If Ms. Evans had to defend herself, then consider yourself lucky that she didn’t kill you. Believe me, the lady is more than capable.”

  “Hell, you’d think she would have been thrilled to have Lieutenant Jack Starr fuck her. Most women would be.”

  “Then there’s your problem. You see, Lucie Evans is not like most women.”

  “I figure she’s a butch, despite the way she looks. You should have warned me. You’ll definitely be hearing from my lawyers. I’ve got a broken nose, a couple of cracked ribs and a black eye.”

  “Unless you want Ms. Evans to file charges against you for attempted rape, then I’d think twice about siccing your lawyer on us. Now, you have a good day, Mr. Lawson.”

  Son of a bitch! That over-the-hill has-been had tried to rape Lucie. No wonder she was pissed at him. He’d known Lawson was a sleaze, but he’d also known that Lucie could handle him. And she had. What he hadn’t considered was that the man might actually try to rape her.

  LUCIE EYED THE security guard with disdain. Don’t blame him. He’s just doing his job, doing what Sawyer told him to do. Watch her and make sure she doesn’t follow through with her threat to demolish the CEO’s office.

  Even though she had no intention of actually wreaking havoc on Sawyer’s expensive sculptures and paintings—she had too much love and respect for good art to destroy such beauty—he had no way to know for sure what she might do. Yes, she had, during one of her classic hissy fits, broken a Waterford crystal paperweight, but the piece had not been one of a kind. A duplicate now resided on his desk in the precise spot where the original had sat. She would no more toss one of his Salvatore Fiume or Marino Marini pieces on the floor than she would take a knife to his Charles Ginner or Clare Avery paintings. One of the things she admired about Sawyer was his eclectic tastes in art, music, food and sports. He was a man who enjoyed the good things in life and appreciated them to the nth degree. He possessed a suave sophistication that disguised the primeval warrior beneath his Reuben Alexander suits.

  Lucie knew how ruthless he could be. She had seen the man in action and had been the recipient of his cold, relentless retaliation for the past nine years. If she had thought time would soothe his inner demons, she had been wrong. Like Jane Austen’s fictional Mr. Darcy, Sawyer’s favor once lost was lost forever. Even now, despising him for the way he’d treated her—the way she had allowed him to treat her—Lucie could not deny that some small part of her still held on to a tiny shred of hope. Someday Sawyer McNamara would forgive her. But before he could forgive her, he would first have to forgive himself.

  No, she wouldn’t have harmed his expensive artwork, but if not for the ever watchful guard she would have dearly loved the chance to do some damage. Maybe she could have removed the contents of his desk and scattered it all over the floor. Or better yet, she could have tossed his laptop out the window. A six-floor fall onto the solid concrete below…

  “He should be here soon,” Daisy Holbrook said, breaking the awkward silence. “While we’re waiting, would either of you like coffee? Or maybe a Danish or muffin?”

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” the young, intense guard replied.

  “Nothing more for me, thanks.” Lucie offered Daisy a don’t-worry smile.

  “Then if you’ll excuse me…” Daisy looked pleadingly at Lucie. “If you need to talk afterward, I’ll take an early break.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop by your desk on my way out.”

  Daisy tried to smile, but the effort failed. Lucie genuinely liked Daisy Holbrook and the two had formed a strong friendship over the years despite the difference in their ages. But she supposed a seven-year gap wasn’t a great barrier between women over twenty-one. If they were ten and seventeen, it would matter. But at twenty-nine and thirty-six, they were contemporaries.

  As the minutes ticked by, Lucie sat behind Sawyer’s massive desk, occasionally tapping her foot on the floor or drumming her fingernails on the desktop. She checked her watch. It had been twenty-one minutes since Daisy had called him. Unless she missed her guess, he would arrive sometime within the next few minutes.

  Brace yourself. Gird your loins, Miss Lucie. This day has been a long time coming. If you want to walk out of here with your pride in tact, keep your emotions under control. And whatever you do, don’t cry. God in heaven, do not cry.

  TWENTY-THREE MINUTES from when he’d taken Daisy’s call, Sawyer entered Dundee’s sixth-floor office complex. Daisy hopped up from her workstation chair and rushed toward him as he made his way down the corridor toward his office.

  “She hasn’t touched anything,” Daisy assured him. “The guard is keeping an eye on her.”

  Sawyer paused, patted Daisy
on the arm and assured her, “Everything is going to be all right. I spoke to the client personally and understand why Lucie left her assignment without notice. I’ll talk to her privately.”

  “She was fit to be tied when she first got here, but now she’s calm. Much too calm.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry as long as Lucie’s not armed.”

  Daisy gulped. “I’m afraid she is.”

  Sawyer tried not to grin. “She won’t shoot me, if that’s what concerns you. If she were going to shoot me, she’d have done it before now.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sure you’re right.”

  The door to his office stood ajar, the security guard standing at attention a few steps over the threshold. Sawyer cleared his throat. The young man turned, looked at him and seemed to instantly relax. He entered his office, shook the guard’s hand and effectively dismissed him.

  “Thank you,” Sawyer said as he glanced around the room, noting that nothing was out of place. “I’ll take over from here.”

  Once they were alone, Sawyer closed the door and faced the woman who had been tormenting him for the past nine years.

  Lucie rose from his chair to her full five-eleven height, a look of pure defiance on her face. Her long, curly hair hung in loose disarray over her shoulders and down her back. Apparently, she had forgone refreshing her makeup and had combed her hair with her fingers. Only a hint of eyeliner remained and that was smudged. The only color on her lips was a naturally healthy pink.

  She walked out from behind the desk and glared at him, her two-inch wedge sandals lifting her almost to his eye level. He noted the bulge her shoulder holster made beneath her gray cotton jacket that covered her white T-shirt and skimmed the top of her faded blue jeans.

  “I appreciate your giving me fair warning,” Sawyer told her. “You could have come in here and ripped the place apart before Daisy could have stopped you.”

  “Believe me, I thought about it. On the flight from Vegas, I not only envisioned tearing your office apart, I plotted how I could kill you and get away with it.”

  “I understand your anger.”

  She lifted her brows in surprise. “Do you really?”

  “I spoke to Taylor Lawson. He told me what happened. I’m sorry, Lucie. I had no idea—”

  “Bullshit. Don’t tell me that you didn’t know the man’s reputation before you assigned me as his bodyguard. You didn’t give a damn what I had to put up with. You never do. As far as you’re concerned, the worse my assignments are, the better. But this time, you reached an all-time low, even for you, Mr. McNamara.”

  He surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look any worse for wear.”

  “You don’t think so?” She lifted her T-shirt high enough to reveal the white lace bra beneath and the bruises on the swell of her breasts. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

  “Lucie—”

  “Would you like to see the others—the ones on my hips and butt?”

  “I’m sorry things got out of hand, but I never doubted for a minute that you could take care of yourself. You’re a trained professional.”

  She hissed like a snake preparing to strike. “You son of a bitch. You heartless, uncaring, unforgiving son of a bitch.”

  She reached out and slapped him. The force of her open palm against his cheek sent him reeling backward. The lady packed quite a punch. He stared at her, oddly surprised by her physical attack.

  “I’ve put up with your crap for nine years,” she told him, her voice deceptively calm. “I’ve jumped through hoops for you. I’ve taken every assignment you’ve given me, no matter how unpleasant, stupid or demeaning. I’ve taken and taken and taken, all in the hopes that one day you’d give me a chance to explain, to listen to my side of—”

  “There is nothing to explain. There’s no your side or my side. We both know what happened and why. And do you honestly think you’re the only one who’s been put through the wringer day after day for the past nine years? Lady, you’ve put me through hell.”

  “I’m glad to know that I haven’t been the only one suffering.”

  They stood no more than two feet apart, their gazes riveted with mutual anger and distrust.

  “This is your lucky day,” she told him. “I’m going to give you something you’ve been wanting for a long time. Let’s call it a Get Out of Hell gift card.”

  He eyed her quizzically. “What are you saying?”

  “Mr. McNamara, I quit. I’ll submit a written resignation later, but consider this my official notice.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “CARA, SWEETHEART, ARE you listening to me?” Grayson Perkins asked.

  “Huh?” She wasn’t paying any attention to Gray. She was too busy watching Bain Desmond, sitting three tables over, and hating the way he was smiling at his companion. She wanted to scratch the petite brunette’s eyes out.

  “I said we need to finalize plans for your trip to Ameca.”

  “Ameca?”

  “Are you feeling all right? You don’t seem to be yourself this afternoon.”

  Forcing her gaze away from the ruggedly handsome police detective and that brunette hussy, Cara Bedell turned to her brother-in-law. Former brother-in-law actually. Grayson Perkins had been married to her older sister, Audrey.

  “I’m fine, just preoccupied with business.” The business of keeping tabs on Lt. Desmond. She had lunch every Friday at the Hair of the Dog pub because she knew Bain would be there and it was her only chance to see him, even if from a distance.

  “If there’s something wrong, something bothering you, and you want to discuss it, you know you can count on me to listen.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You must know how much I care about you.”

  She eased her hand from his. “It’s nothing, really.” She looked directly at Gray. He was much too handsome, too tanned, too buffed and polished. He had the same kind of old-time movie-star good looks that had made her grandmother’s generation swoon over matinee idols. “But I suppose we should discuss my trip to Ameca.”

  “Good, good. You realize that if you can pull off this deal with either Senor Delgado or Senor Castillo, you’ll prove once and for all that you’re definitely Edward Bedell’s daughter.”

  Cara offered him a halfhearted smile. She knew he’d meant it as a compliment, about being Edward Bedell’s daughter. Her father had been a genius at the art of making money, as had generations of Bedell men before him. But the patriarchal line had ended with her father. She was the last of the Bedell line and she had been trying for the past few years, since taking over the reins at Bedell, Inc., to give back to the world instead of simply taking, as her family had been doing for the past hundred-plus years.

  The pending oil deal promised a new source of oil to the United States and would no doubt make hundreds of millions for both Bedell, Inc. and whichever Amecan oil company she chose. If Cara had her way, one fourth of the profits would be reinvested in the people of Ameca. The country’s population was divided into the haves and have-nots, but in unequal proportions. The haves who ruled the small South American country consisted of less than three percent of the population. There were two major oil producers in Ameca: Delgado Oil and Castillo, Inc. Both were eager to do business with Bedell, but Cara was leaning toward Delgado because of the owner’s sympathy for the people of his struggling nation. Of course, Cara wouldn’t have known anything about either Delgado or Castillo without the input of Lexie Murrough Bronson, who headed the international charity organization Helping Hands, which Bedell, Inc. funded. Lexie had done her homework and presented Cara with the facts several months ago.

  “Your meeting with Senor Delgado is set for mid-September,” Gray reminded her. “That gives you only three weeks to pull together all your facts and figures, arrange for me to take over your duties while you’re away and decide whether or not you’re going to meet with Senor Castillo while you’re there.”

  “You think I should set up a meeting with Tomas Castillo, don’t you
?”

  Gray nodded. “You could at least listen to what he has to say. After all, you owe it to the shareholders to broker the best deal possible for Bedell, Inc.”

  Cara heaved a resigned sigh. “I know you’re right. It’s just that Castillo has a reputation, if true, I can’t condone. But if I meet with him, I can report to the board that I met with the heads of both oil companies. That should satisfy them.”

  Gray grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll miss you terribly while you’re away, but someone has to stay here and keep the good ship Bedell afloat.”

  She wiggled her hand, trying to free it from his tight grasp. He gave it a gentle squeeze as he looked longingly into her eyes.

  “You know I adore you, Cara. When are you going to put me out of my misery and marry me?”

  Oh, God, not again! For the past few months, Gray had begun pursuing her relentlessly, begging her to marry him. For nearly a year after Audrey died, he had asked her at least once a month. The second year, he had pulled back and reassessed the situation, proposing only three times. As time went by, his pursuit became more subtle and the proposals diminished to no more than three a year. She had hoped he had finally given up and accepted their relationship for what it was, and for what it would always be—a friendship based on family ties and a business association. But a few months ago, he had once again declared his undying love for her and since then hadn’t given her a moment’s peace.

  Cara managed to free her hand. She looked at Gray with what she hoped was warmth and caring. After all, she was fond of Gray and oddly enough felt sorry for him. She knew he didn’t love her, that although he had loved her sister in the early years of the marriage, what Gray loved most in this world was Gray. His love for the Bedell sisters was rooted in his love for the Bedell fortune. But Gray was family. Her father had loved him like a son. And at one time, when she’d been younger and very foolish, Cara had thought she was in love with him. Despite all his faults, she still had a soft spot in her heart for him and always would. And because of her father’s training, Gray was a good businessman and had become an asset to Bedell, Inc.