License to Thrill (29 page)

“It’s okay to cry.”

“Hell, I don’t want to cry over that creep. I’m still just so mad that I fell for his bullshit.”

“What did you do?”

“I thought about causing a scene. I thought about dumping his champagne over his head or knocking food off the buffet or just clawing his eyes out but a weird sense of calm came over me. I introduced myself to the actress and his parents. Gregory’s face went white as a sheet. He told them I was some weirdo who’d been stalking him. Imagine. The night before he’d told me he had loved me and he had taken my virginity and now he was denying he even knew me. Gregory had security guards throw me out of the house. And I’m afraid I’ve held a grudge against rich guys to this day.”

“You used me to get even with this Blankensonship guy,” Mason said flatly.

Pressed against him in the darkness, Charlee couldn’t see his face, but she felt his body tense beneath hers, heard his heart rate speed up. She’d hurt him and the knowledge pricked her conscience. Had she used him? Were her motives that shallow?

“Not intentionally.”

“Face it. Whether consciously or subconsciously, you used me.”

“I didn’t say it was right. I’m not proud of myself.”

He exhaled sharply, the sound of it echoed in her ears. “I suppose I deserve that. I should have told you about Daphne. I should have realized we were both feeling vulnerable after everything that had happened to us. I should never have made love to you.”

“Mason, we didn’t make love. We had sex. There’s a huge difference.” It wasn’t true. Charlee
had
made love to him last night, even though she struggled to deny it.

Reject him before he rejects you,
every protective instinct inside her cried.
Don’t, under any circumstances, let him know how you really feel.

“Yeah.” Mason swallowed hard.

She heard the pain in that gulp and knew she’d caused it. Feeling incredibly wretched, she closed her eyes and pretended she was asleep.

Charlee jerked awake sometime later. While they slept she and Mason had managed to shift around so she was off his lap and butted up against him. They were face-to-face, in the beanbag chair, both their legs spilling off onto the bare wooden floor. The rope bindings around her wrists hurt like the dickens and her fingers were numb but her mind was clicking.

She’d dreamed of escape and the dream had given her the answer to their dilemma.

“Mason, wake up,” she whispered, her ears tuned for sounds from the rest of the house.

He mumbled.

“Psst, wake up.” She raised her knees and bumped against his.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Damn, was he ever adorable with his hair mussed and that impossibly sexy beard stubble. “What is it?”

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, and then told him about her plan.

Two minutes later, Mason started groaning loud enough to wake the dead three counties over.

Right on cue Petey and Sal burst into the room, guns drawn, looking bleary-eyed and smelling of beer and cigarette smoke.

“What is it?” Sal demanded, waving his Glock at Mason. “What’s going on?”

“He’s bad sick,” Charlee said.

Mason upped the groaning.

“Oh, yeah, like you expect us to fall for that.”

“I’m not kidding.” Charlee put her toughest tone into her voice. “The guy’s a diabetic. If he doesn’t get something to eat soon he’ll go into a coma.”

“He don’t look like no diabetic to me,” Petey said.

“Yeah, like you know what a diabetic looks like. You didn’t even finish high school.”

“I got a GED,” Petey shouted. “It’s the same thing. And they don’t teach you about diabetes in high school.”

“How would you know? You didn’t go,” Charlee asked.

Petey leaned over the beanbag and shoved his gun in her face. Charlee stared back at him unblinking. He looked a little rattled by her lack of fear. “I’ve had about enough of you.”

Mason made retching noises and he was so good at it that for a couple of seconds there Charlee thought he was actually going to throw up.

“Ew, ew, get him away from me before he vomits in my hair,” she said.

“You’re not scared of a gun but you’re scared of a little vomit?” Petey shook his head in disbelief.

“They’re playing us, man,” Sal exclaimed.

Mason kept retching. His face turned red and the veins at his forehead popped out. Damn, but he was his grandfather’s progeny all right. Give that boy an Oscar.

“Oh, God,” Charlee screamed. “He’s going to have a seizure. Untie him, untie him. If he dies, you guys know Cahill will finger you for the murder rap. Who are the police going to believe? A powerful CEO of a movie studio or two hired guns who didn’t finish high school?”

“I got a GED,” Petey howled, but he did reach down to cut the ropes binding Mason’s arms with a knife he pulled from his pocket.

Sal put a hand to Petey’s shoulder. “I’m telling you, it’s a bluff.”

“You willing to take that chance? She’s right. The guy dies and Cahill’s gonna have our heads.”

Mason started bucking and his eyes rolled back in his head, then he flopped over onto his stomach.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Petey exclaimed. “He is having a seizure.”

“Untie him, untie him, untie him,” Charlee repeated her mantra, hoping it would sink into Petey’s thick skull and override Sal’s objections.

Petey cut Mason’s feet loose.

Mason’s jerking intensified.

“His hands too! And turn him on his side,” Charlee said.

“Yeah, man,” Sal said. “If he pukes and inhales it he’s gonna croak just like a rock star.”

From the expression on Petey’s face Charlee could tell he was relieved to have his partner backing him up at last. He clipped the twine binding Mason’s wrists.

And Charlee figured Petey regretted that move for the rest of his life.

Like Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan and Jean-Claude Van Damme and Chuck Norris combined into one malevolent force, Mason leaped to his feet and he started kicking ass and taking names. His performance was a thing of beauty to watch.

Blam, blam, blam.

Three quick blows and Petey was out. He smacked facedown on the floor like a felled redwood.

Timber.

Completely unnerved, Sal pointed his Glock at Mason’s heart but his hands shook so badly one round-house kick from Mason sent the gun flying across the room.

“Your turn.” Mason smiled and put Sal on top of nisi buddy.

He retrieved Petey’s knife while the two men lay groaning, then quickly sliced through Charlee’s bindings. He grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the door.

“Wait, wait.” She pulled away from him just long enough to snatch up Sal’s Glock on the fly.

They tore through the house in a blind panic, through the back door and into the peaceful, cool predawn darkness. Charlee paused to tuck the Glock into the waistband of her skirt.

“Come on, come on.” Mason took her hand again and hustled her across the empty field toward the vineyard lying like a dark oasis a quarter mile away.

Good thing they were both in good physical shape. Unfortunately cowboy boots didn’t make for the best sunning shoes. Charlee’s feet kept slipping in the sandy oil and she almost fell twice but Mason pulled her up and kept her from tumbling over.

“You can do it. We’re almost there,” he urged at the time moment the first shot rang out.

“They’re shooting at us.”

“I noticed. Better get a move on.”

“We’re out of range.”

“They have a car Won’t take ‘em long to catch up with us.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He tugged her around the edge of the vineyard and into the road but stopped abruptly.

“What is it?”

He swore. “The rental car’s gone.”

More shots resonated from behind them and then they heard the sound of a car engine firing up.

They looked at each other.

“Into the vineyard,” Mason said.

She was beginning to feel like a yo-yo the way he kept jerking on her arm.

“Get low, get down.”

“Too bad it’s not a cornfield,” she grumbled, dropping to her knees and following Mason as he crawled through the rows. “They can spot us easily in here.”

“At least it’s still dark.”

“Not for long.” Yellow strips of sunlight were already staining the eastern sky.

“Shh, let’s listen. Flat on your belly. Head down.” He reached out and splayed a palm to her back and pushed her into the sand with his fingertips.

“We never tried that position.”

“This isn’t the time for jokes, Charlee.”

“No better time than when you’re about to die.”

“Well, if I have to die, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather die with.”

What? He sounded completely serious. Charlee swallowed, not knowing how to take his declaration. “I know being dramatic runs in your family, Gentry, but I’m not about to let the likes of Sal and Petey do us in.”

“Shh. Listen.”

Charlee lay breathing in the dirt, every muscle in her body tensed, her ears sharply attuned to the sounds of the Malibu inching slowly along the road.

The car stopped, engine idling.

Oh, dear.

She ached to turn her head and glance behind her to see how close the car was. Mason must have been feeling the same way too because he whispered, “Don’t do it, Charlee. Don’t move.”

Like a kid playing statues, she froze. She didn’t even; blink. Blood rushed through her ears loud as a forty-piece tympani band. The Glock poked her uncomfortably in the ribs, but at least they had a weapon. Mason. lay directly to her left, his fingers wrapped securely around her upper arm.

A car door shut.

“You see anything?” Sal’s voice broke the silence.

She closed her eyes. Was Petey stumbling through the vineyard looking for them? Her pulse thumped in the hollow of her throat.

“It’s too dark.”

“Well, get the flashlight out of the trunk, dumb ass.” They heard the sound of the Malibu’s trunk being unlatched and then slammed back down. One set of footsteps echoed on the asphalt.

They were totally screwed. Petey was bound to see them. She didn’t want to die in a gun battle in some godforsaken spot in southern California.

If I have to die, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather die with.
Mason’s words rang in her head.

It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her, but she wasn’t quite ready to die. Not yet. Not by a long shot. For one thing, she wanted more of Mason. Wanted more of his long, hot body in her bed. She wasn’t going to let any half-brained thugs cheat her out of some seriously good sex.

Or a once-in-a-lifetime love,
the little voice in the back of her head dared to whisper.

But Charlee wasn’t ready to hear it. A panicky sensation that had nothing to do with the trouble they were in ‘and everything to do with the terrifying thought that she might be falling in love with Mason squeezed her stomach with a sharp pressure.

“Damn. Batteries are dead.” Petey’s voice wrapped around them in the darkness. It sounded as if he were standing close enough for Charlee to encircle his wrist with her hand but she knew sound carried. He couldn’t be as close as it seemed.

“There’re more batteries in the glove compartment.”

“Dammit, my nose is still frickin’ bleedin’,” Petey complained.

“It’s your own fault. I told you they were up to something.”

“Who woulda thought a rich guy would know that kung fu shit?”

“You’re just pissed ‘cause he kicked your ass.”

“Shut up. He kicked your ass too.”

“My nose isn’t the one that’s broken.”

“Oh, yeah? They got
your
gun.”

“Crawl on your belly,” Mason told Charlee. “Fast as you can while Dumb and Dumber are busy arguing.”

Charlee started crawling but the Glock jabbed her so hard she lost her breath. Quickly, she shifted the weapon to the back of her waistband. Mason was already several feet ahead of her.

“Stay with me.”

“I’m coming,” she said and then added mischievously, “And I don’t mean that in a sexual way.”

He merely grunted.

By the time the flashlight beam played over the grapevines above their heads, they’d traveled another few yards from the road. The sun had edged up a notch and when she turned her head to the left, Charlee could see the outline of a dilapidated barn squatting in the field several hundred yards away from the farmhouse and directly parallel to their current location.

The flashlight beam returned, this time sweeping lower to the ground.

“I see something,” Petey called out.

“Is it them?”

“Can’t tell.”

“Hang on.”

The car door slammed again. Sal and Petey were now both in the vineyard.

Charlee grabbed the Glock with both hands, rose to her feet, and spun around. As Maybelline always said, the best defense is a good offense.

“Charlee!” Mason cried out in despair. “What are you doing?”

The flashlight beam hit her in the face, blinding her, but she pretended she could see. She kept her wrist locked, the gun extended out in front of her.

She was taking a huge chance that he didn’t have his own gun at the ready. “Back off, Petey, or I’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders, I swear I will.”

She heard him moving toward her. He kept the flashlight trained on her face. “Sorry, but I don’t believe you.”

Moistening her lips, she cocked the hammer. “Hear feat?”

“I hear it, but do you have what it takes to kill someone? Come on, put the gun down, and play nice.”

“Freeze. Don’t take another step.”

Petey kept moving toward her. “Oh, and by the way, since you’ve got a light in your eyes you probably aren’t aware that I’ve got my gun trained on your head too and lucky for me, there’s no light in my eyes. Guess we have ourselves a Mexican standoff.”

“I don’t want to kill you.”

She stood with her legs splayed. Her heart rate curiously slow. She’d never been so calm in her life. She was vaguely aware of Mason having gotten to his feet behind her. She had no idea where Sal was at and that bothered her.

“You’re not going to kill me,” Petey said.

Charlee squinted against the powerful beam. Petey was just a few feet in front of her and sure enough, she saw that he held the thirty-eight in his right hand, the flashlight in his left.