Found Wanting (47 page)

Mitch pulled into Layton Keller's driveway and stared at the tall front gate. Alaina should have been here by now. Where were the federal agents Chuck had summoned to intercept her?

He'd just flipped out his phone to call Chuck when he saw a man he pegged as a fed walking toward him. He looked familiar, and Mitch remembered him from the ER waiting room right after the shootout at Rachel's. He was one half of the two-member newbie brigade. Itchy and Scratchy, he'd nicknamed them. As young and inexperienced as this guy was, Mitch was still glad to see him and got out of the car.

"Where is she?" he asked, too anxious to see Alaina to bother with a greeting or even an introduction.

The newbie agent responded by going for his gun. His first shot slammed into the driver's side door of Mitch's rental car.

Mitch dropped to one knee and, in an instant, had in his hand the gun he kept strapped to his ankle. He nailed the rookie in the shoulder with the first bullet, but not before the guy got off another shot.

Mitch's head snapped back as a searing pain flashed along the side of his head, and the day went black.

Chapter 36

The throb of her pulse in her jaw brought Alaina awake, and she lay still, disoriented, taking in white and black furnishings, a high ceiling, marble floors. Glass and chrome accents gave everything a sterile gleam.

"She joins us at last."

She turned her head, wincing at the answering ache, and saw Layton sitting across from her on a plush, black overstuffed chair, a complement to the white sofa beneath her.

His legs were crossed, his posture relaxed, maybe even amused. He wore an impeccable black suit with a yellow silk shirt and blue tie. He had changed little in fourteen years, his blond hair curly and thick, his waist lean, his clothes corporate, if a good bit more expensive. He was still a very attractive man. On the outside.

Pushing herself up, she put her feet on the floor. Her head spun, but she shoved the weakness away. "Where's Jonah?"

Layton waved an elegant hand, a subtle ring of gold and diamonds winking on his left ring finger. "We'll get to that in a minute."

"I want to see him now."

He sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I may be way off on this, Alaina, but it appears to me that I am the one holding the cards here."

Taking a moment to get oriented, she glanced around the large living room, seeking possible escape routes and potential weapons. She ordered herself to remain calm. Jonah was depending on her to keep her cool.

A set of double doors was to her right, probably leading to a kitchen or perhaps a library. Behind the sofa where she sat, a wide, arched doorway looked like it might lead to a front entryway. To the left, a bar stocked with liquor, a large mirror behind it. As for potential weapons, a hefty-looking crystal vase on the glass-and-chrome coffee table before the sofa looked promising.

"Don't even think about it," Layton said. "You bean me with that, and you'll never find out where he is, let alone ever see him again."

She focused on him, her eyes narrowing. Her muscles twitched with the need to lunge at him. "Is that how this is going to go? You're going to taunt me to death?"

Amusement quirked at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, here's the bravado. As usual, it's stunning on you."

Unable to sit still and let him goad her, she shoved to her feet. Only to sway.

Layton rose, too, reaching out to steady her. "Perhaps you should stay seated."

She slapped his hand away. "You got me here. Now what do you want?"

His eyes glittered like blue diamonds. "There's only been one thing I've ever wanted from you, Alaina."

A noise above them, as if someone had thrown a heavy object at a wall or a door, brought Alaina's head up. But then Layton stepped around the table between them. Startled by his sudden move, she jerked back. The backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa, and off-balanced, she toppled backward onto the cushions. Before she could scramble away, Layton came down on top of her. In one smooth motion, he trapped her hands above her head and clamped her thighs between his. Then he started to chuckle.

"Getting you under me again wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought it'd be," he said, nuzzling his nose just under her ear.

Alaina struggled to think above the fear that rammed into high gear. She couldn't breathe, his weight crushing on her chest as memories erupted, nearly stalling her brain. Don't lose it. Make him talk. Let him gloat. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, annoyed at the strangled sound of her voice.

"Isn't simple revenge enough? You took my son away from me."

She held off the fierce need to thrash, to try to squirm away from him. But doing so would only enflame him, and as far as she could tell, he was already enflamed. She concentrated on being still, on breathing shallowly, focused on surviving. It was the only way she would be able to walk out of there with Jonah. "How can you want revenge for that when you didn't even want him?" she asked.

"You're right," he said with a sigh. "I didn't want some snot-nosed kid anywhere near me. You see, your father was crazy about me. That kid would have been deadly competition for everything I wanted. I was glad when you took off with him. That solved lots of my problems. The daily reminder of my transgression with you would have eventually eroded my relationships with your sister and father. They couldn't have stayed mad at you forever, and they no doubt would have fallen in love with an adorable helpless little baby. Their allegiances might have shifted to you and the kid, and I would have been left in the dirt. I couldn't afford for that to happen." He eased back some, clamping one hand around both her wrists, then leisurely trailing his free hand down her torso. His fingertips glided over a breast, taunting, teasing. "Ah, Alaina, every time I see you, you're more lovely."

Panic threatened to make the breath hitch in her chest. Keep him talking. Jesus, keep him talking. "But you hired detectives to find us."

"I hired them to write reports, tons of reports, about all the dead ends they encountered while looking for you."

"Two of them found me."

"The one in Colorado wasn't mine. Your mother -- God rest her soul -- hired her own detective. She didn't trust mine, she said. So she got one of her own, and when her detective found you, my detective was right behind him and tipped me off. That was a close call. Everything would have changed if she'd managed to bring you home. By then, your father was wishing like hell that he had a grandson."

Fury swelled at his flip tone. "You killed my mother," she said.

Layton hummed low in his throat, his tongue wetting his lips as if recalling what he'd done to Eve heightened his desire. "I had to make her pay for the skillet over the head. Plus, she'd seen me at my worst. I'm afraid I was terribly careless that day, but you see, I was very excited to see you, Ali, very eager to revisit what I considered an extremely good time."

She fought to school her breathing, fought to hold herself rigid.

Layton ground his hips against her. "God, I can feel the tension coiling in you, the rage. It's really turning me on."

She closed her eyes, closed her mind to the memory of him on top of her fifteen years ago. Keep him talking. "Why now? What do you want with Jonah now, after so many years?"

His smile turned grim. "That's where the story gets annoying." Suddenly, as if his passion had flagged, he released her hands and pushed off of her. "If you try anything, I'll flatten you," he warned as he straightened his clothes. Then he crossed to the black-lacquered bar and started fixing himself a drink.

Sitting up slowly, Alaina rubbed her bruised wrists and watched him warily, wondering why the hell he'd let her go. She considered making a run for it but figured that'd be foolish when he was still physically able to chase her down.

He faced her, a rocks glass a third full of amber liquid grasped in one hand. "I've got leukemia," he said.

She gaped at him, too stunned to do anything else.

"I was diagnosed a little more than two months ago," he said. "Right before your father's mugging, which I was not responsible for, by the way. Just plain old luck, that. Then his damn will muddied everything up even more. Not only did I not inherit the majority of PCware, like I should have, but suddenly my life had an expiration date." He paused to drink, his throat working as he took a liberal swallow. "My doctor found it during a routine physical. So far, I've just been tired. My only hope was a bone marrow transplant, and the donor had to be a relative -- a sibling, a parent. My son."

He drank again, draining the glass. "But Jonah's not a match," he said. "Apparently, that's not that unusual, my doctor tells me. She says siblings are more likely to be a match, but I don't have any of those. Jonah was my only shot."

For an instant, hope soared. "Then you have no need for him."

"You're right." He glanced at her, tilted his head as if with affection. "Ah, Alaina, always the optimist. You don't think I'm going to let him go, do you?"

"What more could you want of him?"

"He has something else I want. You both own a third of PCware."

"You can have it."

"You can't give away his piece of the company, Alaina. And neither can he. Not until he's twenty-one, according to your dad's will. But I can't wait seven years. I might have only three to five years to live, perhaps longer if the disease goes into remission. I need all the pieces of PCware now so I can sell it and live extremely comfortably on the proceeds before I die."

"Don't you already have enough for that?" she asked. "You're a millionaire."

"It's not just about the money, Alaina. You can't imagine how hard I worked. How many hours, how many years I devoted to making PCware the company it is. And for what? Your father gave me a fraction of what I deserve, what I earned. He gave the same fraction to you and your kid. He never even knew your kid, and you ... you he couldn't stand. It's a slap in the face, and I'll be damned if I'll spend what's left of my life babysitting the company -- and whiny, alcoholic daughter -- of the man who betrayed me."

"He betrayed you?"

"He was like a father to me. I thought I was like a son to him. But he obviously didn't feel that way or he wouldn't have cheated me out of what's rightfully mine. Can you imagine how infuriating that is?"

"It's probably as infuriating as having a sociopath turn your entire family against you." She couldn't hide her contempt. The man was like a bratty kid who didn't get what he wanted and was taking it out on everyone around him.

Layton nodded, smiled. "See? You get it. You know where I'm coming from. I had goals. I had dreams. And he took them away."

"Yeah, I can see how you've really been left out in the cold, Layton."

Grinning now, he set aside his empty glass and crossed to her. "You know, I felt pretty lousy when I decided you had to die. Not at first, of course. At first, I was so angry at your son of a bitch father that anyone who came near me risked getting hurt. Then, when I realized that our kid had no idea who I was ... well, that angered me, too, because of how difficult that was going to make it to win him over. I mean, there was no telling how long I was going to have to keep him around to help me beat this disease.

"But deep down, I felt bad about having you killed. I felt bad that I had to have you out of the way so I could do whatever I needed to with the company and the kid without you raising a big stink about it."

"What about the innocent people who got hurt?" she asked. "Do you feel bad about that?"

"You're speaking of the Maxwells," he said, frowning. "Yes, that was unfortunate. No one was supposed to get hurt in that altercation. Except you, of course. You were late, and my men didn't feel comfortable waiting any longer. And Mr. Maxwell ... well, according to my employees, Mr. Maxwell was very adamant about defending his home and your son. The situation escalated beyond their control, and they had no choice but to protect themselves."