The Biker's Wench (13 page)

This is going to work
. Harley glanced at Monica as they went out the back door of the salon. He wouldn't have recognized her on the street after Alex finished with her. Aside from the prim gray suit and demure shoes, Alex had applied latex with some sort of skin glue and thick make-up to her face and neck, transforming her into an older, almost sickly looking character. The wig she wore was a dark blond color rolled up into a classic twist at the back of her head to fit with the professional attire. Harley was both amazed and frustrated with the transformation. The suit was sexy, the rest just made him feel disoriented.

Monica looked up at him, smiling, though the faux skin kept it from reaching her eyes. "You look so...different," she said, reaching up to almost touch his face before dropping her hand back to her side. "I'm afraid to touch it - wouldn't want to ruin all that hard work."

"The wig itches," he complained, scratching carefully at the back of his neck. "Or it could be all those pins he used to keep my hair under the cap." He had a new appreciation for actors and anyone who had to wear a wig on a regular basis.

She took his hand and laced her fingers through his. "No one will recognize you though, and this will be over soon. What time is the meet?"
"Three this afternoon. We need to get to Reno, find the original clients and get everything set up." He squeezed her hand and pulled away, needing to put his focus back on the project. He pointed to a sleek green car parked a few feet away. "That belongs to the ranch - we'll take it into the city, since it doesn't have any markings. Ready?"
She nodded, falling into step beside him. "As ready as I'm going to get," she said, stepping carefully on the gravel. "I should have kept my tennis shoes for this part."
Harley grinned. "I can carry you if you want." He remembered how she felt in his arms the last time. A perfect fit. Although seeing that cute little ass hanging over his shoulder might be fun too.
She shook her head and cocked one highly plucked eyebrow in mock disapproval. "We wouldn't want to cause a scene, now would we, Mr...ah...what are our names again?"
"Nick and Darcy Benoit. I'm a wealthy oil magnate from Alaska, and you're my trophy wife-slash-office manager."
Monica snorted. "Your buddy has an interesting interpretation of 'trophy wife'," she said, sliding into the passenger side of a big green Cadillac sedan. Harley got behind the wheel and put the box of equipment on the seat between them. He reached over and popped another button on Monica's white silk shirt, running his finger over the lacy edge of her bra.
"I think Alex got this one right," he said, feeling her shiver under his touch. "He knows the real prize is what's underneath." Reluctantly he pulled his hand away and started the car, feeling her stare as he pulled onto a back road that would take them out of the ranch. Monica took the box and put it on the floor, scooting closer. He knew he was in trouble when her hand caressed his thigh and then drifted between his legs.

She stroked her fingers lightly up and down the front of Harley's pants, thrilling at the way his cock jumped to meet her fingers each time. Maybe it was all the makeup, but she felt detached from this altered version of the strong, biker-tough man she loved. She needed something familiar to reorient herself. To remind herself that she knew him on a more intimate level than a change in looks and clothing could hide. Fumbling for his zipper, she was so intent on her task that she gasped when he grabbed her wrist, hard, and pulled her hand away.

Looking up at his expressionless face, she tried to free herself to no avail. She looked away, blinking back tears. It wasn't just the makeup then. He really wasn't the same. He held her wrist until he pulled off the road onto the shoulder, then let her go. She stared out the window. How appropriate that a thunderstorm seemed to be moving in.

"Monica, look at me." His voice was gentle, soothing, and she nearly heeded his request.
She shook her head. "It's not you," she said, carefully patting under one eye with a finger. "This whole costume thing is just weird, is all. I’ll get it together, just give me a minute, okay?"
His warm hand slid over her shoulder, pulling her toward him. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't look at my face, look in my eyes."
She didn't fight, trusting him on a level she didn't quite understand. Her gaze met his and she nearly leaned back from the intensity in of emotion in his eyes. "There you are," she whispered, her fingers lightly touching his neck, his shoulder, his chest before falling back to her lap. "I just..."
"I know," he said, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. "But this costume thing is one of the last things standing between you and your freedom. Unless you know how to fix whatever we ruin, we're going to have to behave ourselves until after the meet."
She nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slow and easy. It was followed by a wide yawn that she tried and failed to stifle. "Sorry," she said, shaking it off. "I think I'm just really tired. You must be too - we didn't exactly sleep last night."
Harley put the car back in drive and pulled onto the road again. "I'm not too bad. Why don't you try to get some rest on the way?"
"Are you okay to drive?" she was already leaning back against the seat, her eyelids so heavy it was all she could do to blink at him.
He glanced quickly at her, then looked back at the road, chuckling. "I'm fine. Get some sleep."
The next thing she knew, someone was jiggling her arm.
"Wake up, sleepyhead." Harley's amused voice pulled her out of a rather naughty dream, and she felt her cheeks heat as she opened her eyes to see his smirking face. "That looked like some dream. If we didn't have things to do..."
"Promises, promises," she mumbled and leaned forward, remembering not to rub her face at the last second. "How long was I out?"
He handed her a bottle of water. "It's two-thirty. The Benoits are in that gray house over there." He pointed to a house across the street and several lots down. "You stay here and wake up. I'm going to go knock and leave a note that the meeting place has changed. Hopefully they'll leave right away so we have time to set up. I'll come get you when they're gone."

Harley walked briskly down the block, his head up and shoulders back to portray a man who knew exactly where he was going and why. When he reached the gray house, he pulled the note he'd scrawled out of his pocket, and knocked on the door exactly three times. It opened almost immediately, a distinguished middle-aged man in a sharp gray jacket that matched his house peering out at him.

He held out the paper. "Message for Mr. Benoit."
The man took it from him, frowning as he scanned the contents. "Darcy!" Heels clicked purposefully across the hardwood floor as a tall blond with impeccable

makeup came into view. "What's wrong? Are they not coming? Did they change their minds? Oh--" She stopped short when she saw Harley. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."

"He's not company." Nick tucked the note in his pocket, then took his wallet out. "Get your purse. The meeting place has changed and we need to leave now if we're going to make it." Darcy disappeared and Nick handed Harley a ten dollar bill. "Thanks," he said, turning away and closing the door. Clearly dismissed, Harley walked down the street, past the car and around the corner, just in case Benoit was watching. He turned up the alley and went back to stand in the bushes adjacent to the Benoit house, watching and listening for any activity. He heard the garage door go up, and then a car started. From his vantage point he could just barely see the side of the Cadillac as it glided out into the street and pulled away.

He picked the back door lock and went inside, making sure there were no alarms or cameras already in place. Leaving the back door unlocked, he went back down the alley and around the corner to where Monica waited in the car.

"They're gone," he said, leaning in the open driver's side window. "Hand me that box, and we'll go in the back. The less people who see us at the front of the house, the better."
She handed the box through the window then rolled it up, locking the car as she got out. "How far did you send them?" They retraced Harley's path up the alley and through the Benoit's back yard.
"Next town over," he said, setting the box on the dining room table. "It's about a thirty minute drive, so by the time they get there and realize they've been scammed, it will take them awhile to get back. Hopefully long enough." He checked his watch. "We've got about fifteen minutes - help me get this camera set up in the living room."
They hid the camera at the base of a large potted tree, and Harley cut a hole in the back of a couch pillow and put a small audio recording device inside aimed at the room. Monica put the box under the kitchen counter, and they took a quick tour so they'd know where everything was. Back in the living room, Harley looked at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand count down to the hour.
At three-o-clock sharp, there was a knock at the door.
Harley glanced at Monica and nodded. He straightened his suit jacket and opened the door, standing back to let the woman from Room 312 back at the ranch in, followed by her bodyguard. The woman carried a car seat covered with a fleece blanket. The man carried a silver briefcase.
Monica stepped forward, and Harley was impressed with the expression of longing she managed as she looked at the bundle hanging from the woman's arm.
"Is that my baby?" she asked, moving closer, a hopeful smile playing at her lips.
Damn
, Harley thought.
She's good
.
The woman swung the carrier neatly out of reach. "Payment first," she said firmly, nodding toward the man who had opened his case on the entry table.
"I think we should see what we're getting first," Harley said, noting that the bodyguard seemed almost bored with the situation. That was good. The more normal things appeared, the less skittish they'd be.
"You wanted a girl baby, you get a girl baby. Payment first. Those are the terms. Or we can leave."
Harley stroked his chin, looking over her head and out the window. A black sedan was parked outside and he could just make out a person sitting in the passenger seat. Burns had come along after all then, overseeing this drop personally. That would make things a lot easier.
"I think if that baby was healthy, you'd have no problem showing me the merchandise, so to speak," Harley said, looking down at the woman. "I think there must be something wrong that you don't want us to know about."
"Nothing's wrong with the kid." The gruff tone from the bodyguard told Harley he was pressing the right buttons. Just a few more, and hopefully they'd call Burns in.
He turned to face the bodyguard. "Why should I trust you? You just want money. I want to be sure I have a healthy child." He looked over his shoulder at Monica. "I don't think this is a good idea, honey. I don't trust them."
"Just give them a quick look," the bodyguard said, frustration in his voice. "Let's get this done already."
"But we're not supp--"
"Just do it."
The woman reluctantly set the carrier on the couch and removed the blanket. Nestled in another blanket lay a small child with a shock of dark hair already on her head. She was sleeping, and Monica leaned in for a closer look while Harley stood back and watched. Would she do that with their child someday?
Monica straightened, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "There's a bruise on her arm," she said, wringing her hands in front of her. "It's fading, but--"
High-pitched beeps drew their attention to the bodyguard, punching numbers on his phone. He held the device to his ear. "We might have a problem. There's a bruise on the kid's arm." He hesitated, then nodded. "Okay." Disconnecting the call he pushed the phone back into his pocket and went to the door. "The boss wants to verify for himself."
Harley suppressed a grin as the man opened the door, and Stephen Burns walked into the trap.

Monica avoided Burns’ eyes as he walked in. Clasping her hands in front of her, she willed them to stop shaking. Harley didn't so much as glance her way, but reached out to shake Burns’ hand. Burns ignored it, brushing past Harley to take the baby out of the carrier and hold her up at arms length.

Monica stepped up and pointed, her eyes meeting Harley's over Burns’ arms. He'd thought she made it up, judging from the look on his face.
"Mmm-hmm." Burns turned and handed the child back to the nanny. "It's a pretty small thing - and kids do get bruised occasionally, but you wouldn't know that, of course." His patronizing tone grated on Monica's nerves, but she managed to remain silent as he continued. "How about we knock off three percent of the price for damaged goods. This will be my last deal for awhile, and I'm feeling generous."
Harley stroked his chin, appearing to consider it. "I was thinking more like five percent," he said. "Don't want the neighbors thinking we beat up on our kid."
"Four percent."
Harley smiled as if that was what he wanted all along. "Done." He handed a credit card to the man behind him then rubbed his hands together. "So are you taking a vacation or retiring?"
The baby started crying, and the nanny handed her off to Monica. "You may as well start now," she said, taking the bag off her shoulder and setting it on the couch. That's the diaper bag, and there are some diapers in the side pocket."
"Thank you," Monica said, pitching her voice lower than normal. "I'll just take her too her room..."
Burns held a hand up. "Did that payment go through yet?" The bodyguard nodded once, and Burns dropped his arm. "That's fine then. Enjoy your new baby, ma'am."
She nodded and put the diaper bag over her shoulder, keeping her eyes downcast as she carried the baby down the hall. Leaving the door open she changed the child as quickly as she could, thankful for the few babysitting jobs she'd had as a teen. Putting the baby in the crib, she went back to the door and tried to hear the conversation from the living room, but the voices were too soft.
Noting the child was sleeping again, she decided to leave the girl there, where she'd be safe if anything happened. Closing the door behind her, she walked back down the hall, unsure whether she should join the others, or wait until Burns and his people were gone. It was odd they hadn't left yet. They had the money. Maybe something was wrong.
She stepped into the living room just as the front door burst open. A man came through the doorway, his face tight with anger as he surveyed the scene.
"What the hell is going on? Who are you people, and what are you doing in our house?"