The Billionaire's Heir: Billionaire Obsession (Tycoon Billionaires Book 4) (6 page)

Jake sat in his rundown living room listening to the ceiling fan whirring above. He took a drag on his cigarette and enjoyed the soothing sensation, but his anger simmered beneath his skin.

He hated his one-bedroom apartment – which was up on the eleventh floor of a crumbling old building. The wallpaper was peeling, the furnishings were dilapidated, and his dusty window looked over the central courtyard, meaning – if he really wanted to – he could see directly into the opposite living rooms. The courtyard wasn’t even very nice – it was all metal fire escapes and cracked paving. And it was sweltering in here because the AC never worked properly. He’d had enough of this dump, and he’d been about to leave Texas to try his luck in another state, when Langdon had contacted him last month offering him this weird job.

And thank goodness he had. He couldn’t believe what he was currently holding in his hand. He held it under the lamp on his rickety desk, to check again.

Yep, it was definitely Ivan Quinlan’s driver’s license… could it really be him? Fate sure had a funny sense of humor. But it was more than fate – it was nothing short of a miracle. Apart from the fact that the eldest Quinlan brother was supposed to be dead, Jake had been digging deep into their family history for years, and finally one of the brothers had happened to show up where he was working. 

If you could
call
it work. This was definitely the most boring job Jake had ever taken. But Mr. Langdon was promising to pay him handsomely, so he was happy to follow Mrs. Langdon around, for the chance to pay off the debts his late-father had left him.

It was pure gravy. Mrs. Langdon didn’t do much so she was easy to track, and damn she was hot, so it was no hardship to shadow her all day – standing around in the sunshine. Mr. Langdon hadn’t been forthcoming with information on what he actually wanted Jake to uncover. All he’d said was “Follow my wife and give me daily updates on where she goes and what she does.”

Well, no problem, he could do that. And once he got paid after this was over, he’d be able to live off the money for years. He rubbed his eyes, remembering how much he needed that money. Four years ago he’d been shot in the hip as a cop on a stakeout – then dismissed from the force with no compensation. He’d made the mistake of killing a scumbag drug dealer – but the dealer had been unarmed and it was deemed gross negligence on Jake’s part. The NYPD had hardly cared that
he’d
also been shot himself that day. His limp was hardly noticeable anymore, but his pride was still in tatters after he’d been told he should be happy no one was pressing homicide charges.

Homicide? For taking out a heroin dealer who’d inflicted misery on hundreds of people?

Bitter fury rose in his chest even now at how he’d been wounded in the line of duty, then brushed aside so causally. Well, his ex-colleagues back in the NYPD would be delighted to poke their noses into Langdon’s shady affairs – or at least to gloat to the Texas police as they handed him over.

It was pretty obvious that Langdon was using his wife as a drugs mule, but Jake was prepared to turn a blind eye. He wasn’t a cop anymore –
they’d
made sure of that. He ground out his cigarette and scrunched up the packet, then threw it across the room, over the ironing board and toward the wastepaper bin. It landed among the empty liquor bottles and discarded newspapers – which were all full of articles about Joseph Quinlan and his new anti-drugs campaign that he’d been on since his bandmate had died two weeks ago.

Jake laughed. It seemed that him and Joseph Quinlan had something in common… Jake hated drug dealers too. But Joseph was naïve if he thought he could make the world a better place by removing a few gangsters from the streets. There would always be people like Langdon – carrying out shady deals across the border. But Joseph was young – he’d soon learn how things worked in the real world. Or perhaps he wouldn’t, now he was living in the bubble of his rockstar lifestyle.

Jake thought back to how stupid
he’d
once been to think he could make a difference in the world by joining the NYPD and fighting crime. But all he’d gotten was bitter and impoverished, then wounded and rejected. Nowadays he knew everyone was simply out for themselves – and Jake was too. Okay, so Langdon might be a bad guy, but Jake felt entitled to a better life than this. Once this job was over, Jake planned to take his money and live the highlife in Los Angeles. Or perhaps Miami…

He shook himself out his thoughts and realized it was ten o’clock so he grabbed his phone. Time for his daily call with the man who was promising to make him very rich for doing very little.

“Hey, Mr. Langdon,” Jake said, as his client answered. “I’ve got something more interesting today.”

“Oh yes?” Mr. Langdon asked in his clipped Mid-West accent.

“Yeah. Mrs. Langdon went out to Freer with one of your new ranch hands earlier. They met some woman there in a diner – I’ve yet to discover who she was. But Mrs. Langdon seems to be getting chummy with this cowboy…”

Jake let this hang in the air. It was his job to report the facts, not stir the pot.

Mr. Langdon sighed, then he went pensively quiet. Jake wondered whether
this
was actually why he’d been following Mrs. Langdon around over the last few weeks. To find out if she was having an affair. Perhaps she’d done it before in… wherever they’d come from. He’d dealt with plenty of suspicious spouses before.

“Do you have any information on the man?” Mr. Langdon asked, sounding irritated.

“No sir,” Jake lied. “I hadn’t seen him before today, so I guess he’s only just been employed on the ranch. Let me dig a little deeper. Is there anything you want me to do for now?”

“No… just keep an eye on them. Tell me if anything untoward happens.”

“Sure, okay.”

Jake finished the call, hoping Mrs. Langdon would be safe tonight after that revelation. He actually like her a lot, even though they’d never spoken. She seemed like a sweet girl who’d inadvertently gotten caught up in her jealous husband’s illegal contraband deals. Maybe it
would
be better if she ran off with a cowboy. Not that he was really a cowboy of course – Jake knew that for definite now. He was Ivan Quinlan…

Jake tore open another cigarette pack, lit up, then turned Ivan’s driver’s license over and over in his fingers, studying every detail of his chiseled face and big brown eyes.

Jake wasn’t sure why he’d lied to Langdon about having nothing on Ivan. It certainly wasn’t because he’d wanted to protect him – it was probably because he wanted to confront Ivan himself. He was looking forward to revealing the dirty little secret he’d been carrying around all these years. And what a showdown that was going to be.

After Ivan had calmed down last night and they’d made love, Samira had snuck back to the ranch-house and slept in her own bed, missing him and his gorgeous arms.

She awoke this morning, feeling excited and optimistic, and drifted to the dining room for breakfast – where Mr. Langdon was already tucking into his eggs and bacon, while reading his newspaper.

Samira still couldn’t figure Langdon out. He was superficially friendly, with a kind face, big eyes, and laughter lines. He possessed a full head of hair, and he was in great shape for a man in his forties. And he was obviously doing well to be able to afford this ranch… and of course there was the matter of the suitcases. But at times he seemed gruff and moody. Today the seething tension crackled from him like static in a storm. Had he found out what she’d been up to with Ivan?

“Morning.” She eased herself into a seat at the other end of the long mahogany table.

He didn’t look up from his newspaper. “Good morning, Samira.”

Samira reached over and grabbed the box of muesli that the housemaid always put out for her, along with a jug of milk. She loved this room – the huge windows gave sweeping views of the entire ranch on three sides, and the high ceilings were decorated with oak beams – giving it a farmhouse feel. Every morning she sat here contemplating how lucky she was… but today she just wanted to get her passport and leave. She’d always been a bit of a rebel back in Iran, and she’d hoped America would allow her to be free – to express herself. But on this ranch she felt trapped and stifled. Mr. Langdon had offered her salvation, but he’d clipped her wings.

All she wanted was Ivan. He was all she’d ever wanted…

She poured the milk over her muesli, hoping to warm Langdon’s chilly mood with some small talk. “Oh, here’s a strange thing. Yesterday I was standing by the creek near the servants’ cottages, and the bank suddenly gave way. It was so odd… it felt as if someone had loosened it. No one’s been doing any work there, have they?”

He rustled his newspaper. “What were you doing at the creek by the servants’ cottages?”

“Just riding my horse… enjoying the sunshine. I was lucky because one of the ranch hands pulled me out. I can’t swim… did you know that?”

He lowered his newspaper and gazed at her. “Yes, you’d mentioned it.”

His sinister tone sent a wave of apprehension up her spine. She opened her mouth to enquire about her passport, but he spoke over her. “So where did you go yesterday then, hmm?”

“Oh… I just had a coffee with some new guy… a ranch hand. We got chatting. Apparently he’s… we’ve got similar interests.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow. “You’re not planning to run off with a cowboy, are you? After all I’ve done for you?”

“No, of course not. I just wanted to get out of here for a while, but I couldn’t find you to check if it was okay.”

He inspected her with a blank expression. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me, I’ll be very upset. Now I’ll ask you again – have you got friends or family in America?”

She chuckled nervously. She hadn’t told him about her cousin Tariq because he was technically dead – just like Ivan. Had the private investigator given Langdon some information? “I’ve told you, I don’t know anyone – just the people I knew in college, but I never see them and obviously they don’t know where I am.”

He sipped his coffee. “Good.”

“But I was wondering… have you had any news from the immigration department yet? With regards to my visa application?”

“Not yet – you know what these bureaucrats are like.”

“And they actually
have
got my passport, right?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Well… I’d like it back.”

“Like it back? Samira, they’re in the middle of processing your application to stay here.”

“I know.” She realized she shouldn’t be too obvious about wanting her passport – in case he got suspicious. She tried to be subtle. “I wish they'd speed things up. I was thinking I might give them a call, or even drop by and talk to them about it myself. I really would like my passport back.”

Anger flashed across his face. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Sure I do, but–”

“Everything I’ve asked is simply for your own safety, Samira. Think of Quin. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, do you? Get the immigration people asking too many questions? You don’t want to be deported, do you?”

It sounded like a threat. It sounded like ‘unless you do as you’re told, I’ll tell the authorities about you.’ The thought of returning to Iran filled Samira with dread – but with any luck it wouldn’t come to that. She just needed her passport and Clara’s friend could hopefully help her stay. She swirled her spoon in her muesli, plucking up the courage to ask the next question. “Look, there’s this guy who seems to be following me whenever I leave the ranch.”

“Is there?” Langdon had now resumed reading his paper. He sounded uninterested.

“Yes. Is he your guy? Or is he one of those immigration people you’re so worried about?”

Mr. Langdon smiled thinly. “He’s my guy – I’m employing him to protect you, okay. Just in case any others cowboys think they can take you out for coffee.”

Dread slunk through Samira’s heart as she realized she wasn’t a guest here, but a prisoner – just as Ivan had said. Her polite act dropped away. It was time to show Langdon the feisty Samira. “Listen, I’m going to need my passport back as well as my other personal things you’ve got of mine. My driver’s license – I need my driver’s license.”

He dropped his fork making it clatter. “I’ve told you, your passport is with the immigration people. You don’t want to ruin your chances of getting a visa, do you? You’re making it sounds as if I’m the enemy here, Samira. I just want to help.”

She could tell from the veiled panic in his eyes that he was bullshitting. The sooner she got her ID and got the hell out of here, the better. He’d been helpful while she’d been so lost and alone, but now Ivan was back, and she could see through his crap. She didn’t know exactly why he wanted her here, but just that he did – and he wasn’t keen to let her leave, which was extremely worrying.

“At least let me have my driver’s license. Just in case the police stop me with any of your contraband.”

He feigned shock. “Contraband? Whatever do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t looked in the cases, have you?”

“No. I told you, I don’t want to know.”

He stared at her for a moment, and she maintained eye contact, suddenly not afraid or beholden to him anymore. He looked away, then he pushed back his chair – making it scrape on the polished floorboards – before standing up to leave the room.

Samira’s heart thrashed with worry, tensing as he slammed the dining room door behind him. She gazed at her uneaten breakfast, wondering where the hell he’d gone in such a temper. What if he planned to hurt Quin? Or take him away from her?
No one
was touching her baby. She started to stand up with the intention of going after him, but he strode back into the dining room and threw her driver’s license onto the table in front of her.

“There. Happy now?”

She glared at him. “Thank you.”

Samira picked up her spoon and ate in silence, with the fallout from their row sizzling in the air between them. He slurped his coffee and went back to reading his paper, as Samira’s mind raced with questions about why he was so keen to keep her here. Why did he want assurances that she didn’t know anyone in America? It didn’t make any sense.

Unless
? No…

She just needed to be patient for a bit longer and find out what Clara’s friend in immigration said.
He’d
know whether Langdon really had sent them her passport. And if he hadn’t, she was determined to get back from him – before leaving with Ivan and Quin, and moving as far away from Langdon and those suitcases as she possibly could.