Seducing an Heiress (20 page)

If her mother were still alive and she had the chance to be with her again, nothing would stop her from making that happen. Family was important. Why would he throw that away?

Had her worries of what her father might do to her gotten to him? Did he feel guilty for holding her to a bargain that might mean the loss of everything she'd worked for? 

Dakota frowned. If so, then Trey had picked a fine time to find his conscience. Grabbing the phone, she quickly dialed Chelsea.

Now she was going to have to rescue him. 

*  *  *

"Right, so I picked up Hamlet and got Eileen and the twins lined up to cover orders and the register," Chelsea said as she slid the last pan of rolls into Dakota's industrial oven. "Reggie's promised to come in near closing and help them with cleanup and next-morning prep."

"Excellent. I got Richard's answering machine when I called him, so I left a message with your number on it."

"You think his boyfriend will come and help out with the cooking?"

Dakota shrugged. "I've known them a long time. They're good guys. I'm hoping he will." Pushing down on the dough she was kneading, she nodded toward the bulletin board on the wall by the back door. "I left my recipes in case he does. Guard them with your life. There's going to be a lot of press here, today."

Chelsea took the recipes down and stuck them into her back pocket.

"Very secure, Chels."

"You have nothing to worry about. No one's been in my pants for a long time."

Despite her worries over Trey, Dakota suppressed a smile. "Not for lack of trying, I'm sure." 

Ignoring her, Chelsea moved to the front of the kitchen and peered out the beaded curtain. "They're lining up outside the door, kiddo. Looks like it's show time."

Patting the dough into three even loaves, Dakota gently placed them on a floured tray and covered them so they could rise. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"You sure he's worth it? He did give you an out."

"That's what makes him worth it."

Chelsea looked at her, her brows drawing down in speculation. "You're falling for him, aren't you?"

"Fallen. Hook, line and sinker." The words sprang out of her from someplace deep in her heart, and with a thrill of insight, Dakota knew they were true.

Her friend's eyes got wide. "Wow, you really mean it. In that case, go get him. We'll hold down the fort for as long as you need us to." 

"If I don't come back in a week, send the cops." 

*  *  *

The morning flew by and as the hours passed, Dakota began to hope that Trey had done the impossible and talked Dad into leaving her alone.

Just before noon, a ripple of excitement went through the crowd outside her café and she knew she was wrong. She looked up from the table she was wiping down. On the sidewalk, people craned their necks to get a better view of something happening farther down the street. Others ran excitedly from one point to another, or pulled children back from the curb to a safer distance.

Anxiety skated along her nerves just like it had the day after her mother's funeral. 

They were here.

She carefully folded the clean rag she'd been using as three black limousines, their side windows tinted too dark to see through, cruised up to the curb. Even knowing exactly what was about to happen, her heart stuttered into a pounding rhythm as half a dozen men in dark suits and sunglasses got out.

The crowd parted and the men headed for her front door. Reporters pressed forward, flashes popping off like firecrackers.

At the table beside her, Mrs. Tilster glanced up, her brow furrowed. "Dakota, what's going on?" 

The cheerful tingle of the bell echoed through the now silent restaurant. Her customers grew tense, their expressions turning suspicious as four of the grim-faced men strode in, leaving the other two in position outside the door. The tallest one, his temples touched with gray, approached her while the rest spread out through the small dining room.

"Are you ready, Miss Jamison?" he asked.

Dakota went behind the new counter Trey had built and retrieved the backpack she'd prepared that morning.

Mrs. Tilster's eyes widened. "Dakota, you are not considering going with these people!"

"I'll be fine," she said, heading toward the door. She hoped she was right.

The older woman stood up and blocked her way. "It doesn't look all right to me." She rounded on the tall security guard. "See here, young man, this is most irregular. You can't just waltz in to our town and take our Dakota willy nilly like this. Where are your papers? Your ID? This is nothing short of kidnapping!" She swept the room with her steely gaze. "We won't stand for it, will we?" 

Men and women around the dining room, and even Mike, who was six and loved her chocolate chip muffins, stood up, their expressions darkening.

Mike glared at the security team. "You don't have to go wif them, Dakota."

The leader stood calmly, but the others shifted nervously, their hands hovering near the openings of their jackets. 

Dakota touched Mrs. Tilster's plump arm, anxious to defuse the situation before someone got hurt. "It's all right. It's all right everyone," she said louder, addressing the other people in the room. "These men are from my father."

Mrs. Tilster surveyed the group with open speculation. "They look like FBI to me. You can't trust those FBI goons."

"We are not associated with the government in any way, ma'am," rumbled the man who seemed to be the only one cleared to talk. "Mr. Jamison would like to see his daughter as soon as possible, now that she's found. We're here to assure Miss Jamison's safety during her journey."

"Humph." She narrowed her eyes at him, but unlike most people he didn't back down or give any indication of being impressed whatsoever. Mrs. Tilster gave another huff of displeasure and turned back to Dakota.

"If you think you'll be all right..." she said, her voice touched with concern.

"I'm hoping to be back tomorrow." She gave the older woman a spontaneous hug. 

Turning to the senior security guard, she lifted her chin defiantly. "Let's get this over with."

*  *  *

Pacing to the conference room door and back, Trey had to face facts. He was about to be fired. If he were lucky. His big revelation had come too late.

He'd awakened that morning knowing something had changed in him. For most of his life he'd kept his past buried, stripped himself of who he really was and lived like a chameleon--taking on whatever persona he needed to keep real life at arm's length.

As he watched Dakota sleeping, the curves and slopes of her beautiful face relaxed and peaceful, the wall he'd built cracked and he'd realized that he couldn't compartmentalize himself like that anymore. He itched to be free, to drop the shackles he'd imposed on himself. 

But first, he had to make things right with Dakota. He had to find a way to keep her dreams safe without sacrificing his ambition to reunite his family. 

After catching an early flight to New York, he'd spent the morning trying to find a way to give Jamison the net cash he seemed desperate to have. Without involving Dakota.

When Debbie had called his office to tell him Jamison wanted a meeting, Trey still hadn't fully pieced together a viable option. He had a good start, maybe enough to capture Jamison's interest and motivate him to drop the deal for Dakota Nights. Hopefully enough to encourage him to follow through with his promise to provide Rosie's records.

When the limo had pulled up to collect him, he was too busy running sale scenarios through his head to realize things weren't quite what they should be. Even when he climbed in and discovered two of Jamison's stone-faced security men sitting on the opposite seat, he'd dismissed the warning bells clamoring in his head. 

Working out a few more numbers, he'd ignored the contained tension radiating off the other men. When the limo pulled up in front of Jamison's Long Island mansion, he was glad he'd soon be rid of them. 

The taste of relief dissolved when his traveling companions escorted him to one of the smaller conference rooms in the lowest level of the mansion, taken his cell phone, locked him in, and left him to wait.

The buzz and click of the electronic lock disengaging broke Trey from the frustrating loop of his thoughts. He sprang to the far wall, putting the table and as much space as he could between himself and whatever was coming. 

The guards stepped in, flanking either side of the door like stone lions. A moment later, Jamison marched into the room.

Trey gritted his teeth and casually lowered himself into a chair, using all his skills to appear calm and unconcerned.

"You've failed me, Peters," Jamison said, his rough voice grating along Trey's nerves like sand paper.  

Jamison gave a quick nod of his head and a guard stepped forward to pull a chair away from the table for him. He settled into it, his penetrating gaze locked onto Trey.

Trey lounged back, idly tracing random patterns on the table with his forefinger.

When he didn't start babbling into the tense silence, Jamison folded his hands on top of the conference table and gave him a cold smile. "I expected Dakota to be returned to me by now. Satisfied, compliant, and willing to do anything the man she loved wanted her to do."

A snap of outrage hit him followed by an icy wave of repulsion. He couldn't believe he had been so blind that he'd once admired this man and what he represented. Dakota had known and he'd been too arrogant to listen to her. 

His only hope was that she was furious with him and had stayed in Harts Creek.

"Apparently, your reputation was more rumor than fact," Jamison continued, anger flashing across his eyes. 

"Apparently," Trey said with a flat sarcasm. Was there more to Jamison's plans than just needing her to negotiate with a recalcitrant client? 

"She's much like her mother you know; compassionate, impulsive, and infinitely blind to the faults of those she cares about. Her weaknesses may yet carry the day." 

He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Her plane lands in an hour. If my assessment is sound you may still be of some use to me." 

Striding to the door, he glanced at the guards. "No permanent damage. Just something showy."

He left the room and the locks snapped into place. Trey slowly stood as the guards advanced, their expressions flat. 

Please hate me, Dakota
,
he prayed.

The men sprang at him.

*  *  *

As Dakota entered her father's cavernous study and approached his desk, she had the disturbing impression that he hadn't moved the entire time she'd been gone--a spider sitting motionless, knowing that sooner or later the fat flies he'd tempted his way would land and hopelessly entangle themselves while he sucked them dry.

His cold gray eyes glittered with triumph and the image evaporated. "Welcome back, Dakota."

She held his hard stare, refusing to look away. "I don't plan to stay, so don't get your hopes up." 

"I never hope. I don't need to. I know."

Her gut constricted with anger. "Not as much as you think."

"For example, I know I have something you want."

"I don't want anything of yours. I never have." She glared at him, making no effort to hide her loathing. 

"But this is something special." 

Dread pushed up into her throat as her father touched a button on the small console inlaid in his desk. A door on her left opened and to her dismay, two security guards dragged Trey into the room. 

Dakota pulled in a horrified breath.

His suit coat was missing and the front of his white shirt was stained brown with dried blood. His nose was swollen, the bruising from it spreading under both eyes. Another wicked-looking bruise discolored his cheek. One of the security guards had a swollen lip and black eye, the other one's hair was matted with blood.

"What have you done?" Dakota demanded, glaring at her father.

 "Just as I suspected," her father said, his tone laced with approval.

"Spare us the theatrics, Jamison," Trey said, his voice jagged, but still conveying contempt. "After the going over your boys gave me, any woman would be upset to see me."

Astonishment rocked Dakota to the core. Slightly shady deals, cameras and bugs in his own home, and a team of men in black were one thing, but this....

"I don't understand," she said, her fear for Trey giving a sharp edge to her words.

Satisfaction flickered through her father's eyes. He steepled his hands together and tapped his bottom lip as if contemplating her question. "We caught him going through my private papers."

Dakota's gaze swung to Trey, but he refused to look at her. She turned back to her father. "Why?"

"He's been surprisingly stubborn about sharing that information."

"I'm nothing to her!" Trey snarled. 

Without changing expression, the guard on his right slammed his fist into Trey's stomach, folding him over on a painful whoosh of air. Grimacing, Trey struggled to regain his breath.

Dakota bit back a cry, but she must have moved toward him instinctively, because a hand gripped her wrist. She turned in alarm to see the same guard who had escorted her here, the tall one with the touch of gray at his temples. He pulled her back from Trey, relieving her of the cell phone in her back pocket as he did.

He pressed her into one of the overstuffed chairs that flanked her father's desk. Stepping back, he clasped his hands in front of him, his expression unreadable. 

Dakota looked at her father. "You've lost your mind." 

"Breaking and entering is a serious crime," her father said calmly. "Considering we found my office safe open and fifty thousand dollars worth of coins from my collection on him, I'd say he's facing ten to twenty years."

"You set me up, Dakota!" Trey shouted. She inwardly flinched at the anger in his voice. What was he trying to do, make her hate him?

Or was he trying to tell her something?

His gaze met hers for an instant and the intensity of it nearly took her breath away. Then one of the guards swung at his face and he ducked away. The blow missed his injured nose and nicked the side of his mouth. A thin ribbon of blood trickled from the wound.