Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy) (13 page)

She’d experienced the best sex of her life, is what, and with Clayton Morrison no less. How could that happen? He annoyed her to distraction at work and rode her case constantly with his rules and regulations: don’t be late for work, don’t mix up orders, and don’t date the customers.

What about don’t sleep with the manager? Apparently, that wasn’t a rule!

At least, she wasn’t hung over. She moved her arm off her eyes and glanced at the clock on the night stand. She sat bolt upright and gasped. Quarter to twelve! She was forty-five minutes late for work. Why hadn’t Clayton woken her before he left? Oh, God, his housekeeper would arrive for work in fifteen minutes.

She needed to escape, now.

Cassidy leapt out of bed, dashed to the ensuite, and froze in her tracks. Clayton stood at one of the sinks, shaving the old-fashioned way with a straight razor.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

He glanced her way and then added additional lather to his cheeks with a small brush. “Getting ready for the day.”

“We’re both late for work.” Cassidy stood, arms crossed, silently fuming.

“Nope.” Clayton rinsed the razor in the water.

“What do you mean nope? It’s almost noon.”

“Called in sick for both of us.” Clayton met her eyes and grinned. “Explained that we’d contracted a frightening case of food poisoning last night at dinner, and neither of us could possibly work today.”

“You didn’t!”

“Did so.”

“Food poisoning?”

“Sherry believed it. Hook, line, and sinker.”

Cassidy peeked into the mirror and grimaced. Her short hair stood on end in places and stuck to her head in others. Dried remains of supposedly waterproof mascara smudged the area under her eyes. She met his eyes in the mirror. “So, I have the day off. I still need to go home.”

Clayton wobbled his eyebrows. “No need to rush off. Let’s maximize our day of freedom. Crawl back into my bed, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Forget it. Elsie is due any minute, and I’m leaving with one thread of decency still intact. I’ll use the bathroom down the hall.” Cassidy turned and strode out of the room.

“Elsie’s not coming in today,” called Clayton.

Cassidy retraced her steps, poked her head into the ensuite. “What on earth did you tell your housekeeper? That we’ve contracted bubonic plague and she should avoid all contact with us?”

“No, I told her a respectable young lady stayed overnight, and we’d appreciate the house to ourselves today.” Clayton dried his clean-shaven face with a towel.

“That’s an oxymoron. How can I be a respectable lady if I’ve slept here overnight?” Cassidy shook her head and swept out of the room again.

Clayton stuck his head into the hallway and shouted at her rapidly retreating back. “I didn’t mention anything about us cavorting naked in the pool. I just told her that you’d stayed overnight. We’ll mess up the bedding in one of the spare rooms, she won’t know the difference.”

“And we’ll convince her that Mata Hari was a virgin,” muttered Cassidy, as she dashed into the closest bathroom and slammed the door shut.

After using the facilities, Cassidy discovered a large white wicker basket on the vanity. She dug through several travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, body lotion, a toothbrush and toothpaste, face cream and small sample tubes and packets of cosmetics. She found a brush, a comb and styling gel in the basket as well, and clasped them to her chest. “Thank you, Elsie, for your attention to detail and thoughtful consideration of Clayton’s guests,” she whispered aloud. Assorted sizes of fluffy white towels were stacked on the other side of the vanity.

Cassidy showered and tended to her hair and then returned to the master bedroom wrapped in a bath sheet. Turning in a circle, she gushed, “What do you think? Should I keep it or return it to the store? Is it my color? Do you think the strapless, wraparound design is too revealing?”

“Cute.” Clayton tucked his white t-shirt into khaki cargo shorts. “I assumed you’d need something to wear, other than your designer towel that is. Elsie keeps spare clothes here to change into after gardening, and she’s about your size. I laid out a blue t-shirt and a pair of those short pant things.”

“Capri pants?”

“Right, blue t-shirt and tan Capri pants.” Clayton pointed to the bed. “I fetched your underwear. It dried overnight. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

“Thank you, you’re very considerate.”

“Get dressed. I’m cooking eggs and toast.” Clayton grinned. “Don’t even consider ordering anything else, that’s all I know how to make.”

“Eggs and toast it is.” Cassidy grinned. “But I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now.”

Clayton strolled across the room and stood beside her. “Coffee I can do.” He leaned in, brushed her lips with the softest kiss, and then left the room.

Cassidy fell backward onto the bed, loosening her towel in the process. She’d spent the night at a date’s house before on occasion, but the next morning always felt awkward. With Clayton, however, everything seemed almost ‘domestic’.

“I actually feel at home.” Cassidy smiled, and an entire day with Clayton lay ahead of her. She softly squealed, leapt off the bed, and quickly dressed.

Could her obligatory dinner with Clayton result in something more permanent? The idea thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. Because she was almost certain she’d fallen in love with him last night.

CHAPTER 12

Mr. Theodore Donahue deplaned and strode into the South Terminal of the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport. He wore a charcoal gray custom-tailored suit, white shirt, striped silk tie and Italian leather shoes. A passerby would notice the monogrammed leather briefcase in his hand and assume the well-dressed gentleman travelled on business. But the purpose of his journey was strictly personal: he’d located his daughter, and he intended to take her home.

“Espresso Macchiato to go, please.” Theodore purchased a Starbucks coffee upstairs.

“Thank you. Keep the change, miss.” He smiled at the young female barista and reached for the coffee.

Several fellow travelers fell into step with him as he strode toward the baggage claim area. While he drank his coffee and paced beside the designated carousel, Theodore listened to everyone grumble about the delay. The cacophony of muddled conversations assaulted his ears, and his head pounded from all the chatter and noise. To prevent a full-blown migraine from spoiling his trip—his mission took priority over everything else in his life—he popped an Imitrex into his mouth and downed it with the cold remains of his coffee. He strode across the floor and tossed his empty cup into a nearby garbage receptacle.

Theodore glanced at his Rolex. Twenty minutes had passed, and the carousel remained motionless. “Shouldn’t have checked the damn bag,” he muttered and dragged his right hand through slightly disheveled silver-gray hair. He set his briefcase on the floor, leaned against a cement column, crossed one foot over the other and slammed his hands into his trouser pockets.

Patience wasn’t his strong suit.

The white-haired grandfather who’d been Theodore’s seatmate during the flight fussed over his four grandchildren. The kids chattered like squirrels while the family waited for granddad’s luggage. Every time one child completed a story—scoring a goal in the soccer game or receiving a 100% on a spelling test—another grandchild launched into a lengthy tale of his own.

The poor old fellow’s ears will be bleeding before the bags arrive, thought Theodore. And then he swallowed hard, attempting to quell the sudden flash of jealousy he’d experienced. How he longed for a grandchild of his own. Did the old fellow realize how lucky he was?

A few feet away, a baby fussed in his mother’s arms despite extensive pacing. Finally, the young woman flopped onto a nearby chair, dug into a diaper bag, and stuffed a bottle into the child’s mouth. Theodore pictured Cassidy, sitting with a baby in her arms. And then he shook himself out of his reverie. “Someday,” he whispered.

Theodore stared at the gaping hole above the carousel willing the luggage to appear. Overcome by momentary exhaustion, he closed his eyes.

For the past several weeks he’d moved through each day in a daze, distracted and worried sick about his only child. He’d passed off his entire caseload to other partners or underlings while he spent endless hours on the telephone and on the internet searching for Cassidy. He’d questioned his daughter’s friends and co-workers hoping for any tidbit of information that might lead to her whereabouts.

And then he’d received the break he needed.

Yesterday, he’d paused unseen in Jeannie St. James’ office doorway, searching for the words that might convince her to divulge everything he suspected she’d been withholding concerning Cassidy. His ears pricked up as he eavesdropped on the one-sided telephone conversation. Jeannie mentioned ‘Anchorage’ and ‘Patricia Graham’ during the brief call, and Theodore slipped back into his office uncharacteristically giddy with excitement.

Graham
. Why had that name sounded familiar?

As frustrated as a Jeopardy contestant with failed recall, Theodore had telephoned his wife who’d reminded him that Cassidy’s college roommate was Sheila Graham. And then he remembered a pretty blonde, hazel-eyed, young blue-blood from Philadelphia who’d spent several long weekends and holidays with the Donahue family. Hadn’t she mentioned a younger sister named Patricia?

A quick internet search for the Anchorage telephone directory had led Theodore to Patricia Graham’s telephone number and home address. His eyes had misted as a wave of overwhelming relief washed over him. He’d anticipated this moment for so long. After booking a seat on the next flight to Anchorage, he’d rushed home to pack a suitcase. Due to doctor’s orders, a nasty ear infection had prevented his wife from accompanying him on the flight.

Suddenly, the carousel jerked and rumbled into motion, jolting him from his musings. “It won’t be long now, sweetheart,” he muttered aloud. As soon as he located her, he’d book two seats on the next flight to Chicago. His daughter was coming home where she belonged.

Luggage tumbled onto the conveyor, and Theodore grabbed his bag as it passed by. He turned so abruptly he crashed into a twenty-something fellow wearing a Gold’s Gym t-shirt and jeans, almost knocking the wind out of himself.

“Sorry, young man.” Theodore smiled and stepped to the right. The guy could compete as a bodybuilder, he thought.

“No problem, sir.” The human brick wall smiled.

Theodore continued dodging the throng of travelers moving through the concourse. He hadn’t anticipated the airport being so busy. Was a special event happening in Anchorage? Were all the hotels filling up? Thankfully, his secretary had reserved a room for him.

“Sorry, ma’am,” mumbled Theodore, reaching out to steady a white-haired lady he’d almost knocked over in his haste.

“Land Sakes! Where’s the fire?” admonished the elderly lady, shooting him a disgusted look.

Finally, he escaped through a pair of sliding glass doors, and the high noon sunshine almost blinded him. He dug his sunglasses out of his inside jacket pocket and flagged down a taxi.

A half hour later, Theodore Donahue checked into the executive suite that his secretary reserved for him at the Anchorage Hilton. He tossed his bag onto the king-sized bed and grabbed his cell phone. He called Madeline to let her know he’d arrived safely. And then he placed a call to his office to check for messages.

Everything was under control at home.

Theodore glanced at his watch and realized he hadn’t eaten a thing since leaving Chicago. While giving his order to a pleasant female voice on the other end of room service, he rummaged through his briefcase. He disconnected from room service, tossed his cell phone onto the bed, and finally found the crumpled paper containing Patricia Graham’s phone number and address. Theodore reached for the desk phone and dialed the local number.

“Hello?” A breathless female voice answered.

“May I speak to Cassidy, please?”

“She’s at the hairdresser, but she should be home soon.”

Theodore recognized the familiar background sound that explained the breathless greeting. Patricia was jogging on a treadmill.

“This is work…” Theodore left the little white lie hanging in the air. Cassidy’s workaholic tendencies led him to suspect his daughter probably found a job. Otherwise, his phone call would raise suspicions.

“Gold Diggers? Cassidy isn’t scheduled to work at the bar until the six o’clock shift.”

Bingo.
“Yes, there appeared to be a mix-up of sorts, but there’s no change regarding Cassidy’s shift. Six o’clock is correct.”

“I’ll be heading into work before Cassidy returns, should I leave her a written message?”

“No message. Thank you for your time.” Theodore quickly hung up the phone like a felon who suspected the police were tracing the call.
Gold Diggers?
What in hell was Cassidy doing working at a bar!

Apparently, he’d arrived in the nick of time. Cassidy’s mental state was questionable if she’d accepted a position in a damn bar. His daughter was accompanying him back to Chicago, even if he had to drag her to the airport, kicking and screaming.

Theodore shoveled the room service meal into his mouth and swallowed without tasting a bite. He tossed his napkin onto his plate, set it back on the room service tray, and set the whole thing on the floor outside his suite.

After washing up in the well-appointed bathroom, he returned to the desk and flipped through the Anchorage telephone book. There on the page in black and white stood the only thing standing between him and his beloved daughter—the address and phone number for Gold Diggers. He grabbed the telephone and dialed the number.

“Good afternoon, Gold Diggers.” A strong male voice answered on the second ring.

“Who am I speaking to, please?” inquired Theodore.

“Clayton, the manager.”

“Excellent. What time is Cassidy finished work today?” Theodore held his breath.

“We don’t give out that information over the telephone.”