YULETIDE PROTECTOR (17 page)

He pushed open a secluded door and shoved her inside.

She tumbled off one of her heels, wrenching her ankle, but it wasn’t enough pain to stop her from charging toward the door and pummeling the muscle-bound bully who’d put her here. “Damn it, Max, it’s as dark as a closet in here. Where’s your flashlight?”

“Here’s your light.” Another voice. A woman’s voice.

Bailey spun around.

“What?” Suddenly, there was a bright light shining in her eyes, blinding her after the darkness. Bailey shielded her eyes against the sharp beam of the LED flashlight and squinted at the face that went with the woman’s voice into focus. “You’re...Regina Hollister.” Brian Elliott’s executive assistant. Always lurking in the background whenever her employer was around. The papers she’d brought for Mara Boyd-Elliott to sign had probably been fakes. She hadn’t come to the ball for a signature. She’d come for her. “What are you doing here?”

“Cleaning up a mess. Just like I clean up all of Brian’s messes. He needs me for that, you know. From the time we started building his company together, I’ve always taken care of whatever he needs.”

The Cleaner.

Instinctively, Bailey backed away from the woman’s cold, unsmiling stare. But in the small butler’s pantry, she quickly bumped into Max. He hadn’t budged when she’d struck a moment earlier, so she tried pleading. “Please call Spencer. Whatever this woman is holding over you, whatever she’s paying—it’s not worth it. I’ll double whatever she’s paying you.”

“Max,” Regina warned. “We have a schedule to keep.”

Even in the dim tunnel of illumination inside the room, she could see the regret stamped on Max’s bulldog features. “It isn’t the money, Miss Austin. I’m sorry I have to do this.”

“Do what?” The rustling of her long dress was the only sound for several long seconds.

Then a soft cloth came down over her head and she was plunged into utter darkness. Bailey screamed. The flashback to fear was instant and overwhelming. But she was a different woman now than she’d been that night.

She bit down on the hand that covered her mouth. Max swore. She pushed off the hood, but his hands were on her again. Bailey punched up, catching him in the throat. When he grabbed her by the hair, she clawed at his hands, clawed at his face. Her fingers fisted around those ridiculous sunglasses he’d worn tonight and she ripped them from his neck, tossing them away into the shadows.

“Damn it, Miss Austin, quit fightin’ me.”

“You’re wasting my time. Give me that.” Something long and hard struck Bailey in the back of the head, driving her to her knees and knocking her woozy.

“Spencer,” she murmured, feeling the floor rush up to meet her. “I need you.”

She was vaguely aware of her wrists and legs being bound, of the hood sliding over her face. Her head felt like a swinging cannonball when Max picked her up over his shoulder.

This was her nightmare all over again—struck from behind, bound—her world reduced to the blackness inside the hood. Only one thing remained in the re-creation of that horrible night.

The last thing she heard was Regina’s clipped, matter-of-fact voice. “Bring her. He wants to see her before I finish her off.”

Chapter Twelve

Spencer stood in the doorway of the butler’s pantry
holding a twisted pair of sunglasses and the midnight-blue heel of Bailey’s
shoe.

He’d known she was gone long before they’d gotten the power
back on and had cleared the entire mansion. If she was here, she’d have been
right by his side, right in the middle of things—asking questions, straightening
his tie, adding light to his dark old soul, listening, loving, standing up to
make a difference.

But it had taken twenty minutes longer for the Zeiss security
guard to report the drops of blood on the rug back there. It wasn’t enough blood
to indicate a serious injury, but it was enough to know that she hadn’t gone
willingly.

Keep fighting
,
sweetheart
.

Now he just had to get to her in time.

Losing Bailey the way he’d lost Ellen wasn’t something a man
could survive.

Spencer unhooked his tie and loosened his collar. Time to go to
work.

“What do we know?”

Hans, the muscular German Shepherd who partnered with big Pike
Taylor, was panting in the hallway. Pike rubbed the dog’s muzzle and ears,
rewarding him for completing his task. “Hans followed the trail to the staff
parking lot where Max Duncan’s truck was parked. He had enough of a scent to get
us out to the highway. They turned east, into the city.”

“The only prints are Max Duncan’s on the door knob.” Annie
Hermann pulled a giant pair of tweezers from her crime-scene kit and plucked a
tiny filament from the rug. “I’ve got a black thread.”

“They put a hood on her.” Spencer couldn’t prove it, but he
knew how to put together the pieces of the puzzle. The hood was part of the Rose
Red Rapist’s M.O. His stomach twisted into knot. The darkness? The
disorientation? Bailey would be terrified.

Nick’s gut had him sniffing the air at the back of the pantry.
“Do you smell that? Perfume. Unless it’s Bailey’s?”

“No.” Bailey was clean, fresh, citrusy sunshine. “It’s hers.
The Cleaner’s.”

Nick’s phone buzzed on his belt and he read the information
there. “Got a text from Sarge. Once we narrowed the search to Duncan, she got a
hit. Apparently, Duncan has a past he’d like to keep in the past. That’s how she
got him to turn on Bailey.” He flipped open the key pad and replied, “I’ll tell
Sarge to put an APB out on his truck.”

Kate Kilpatrick waited in the hallway. “I talked to Bailey’s
parents and got a list of all the women invited to the party and any female
press or staff who were on their checklist.”

Pike stood up beside her. “But if Duncan’s the guy checking her
in at the door, he wouldn’t put her on that list.”

“Here’s the kicker.” Kate opened a manila file and pulled out a
photograph. “Loretta Mayweather is a wreck with her daughter missing—but that
woman knows her guest list. I had her look through the pictures the photographer
took, to help us match names to faces, and she spotted this.” She handed the
photo to Spencer. “The one person here tonight she didn’t invite.”

“The one person not dressed for a formal occasion.” Spencer
brushed his fingertip over the image of Bailey in the middle of her conversation
with Mara Boyd-Elliott and Gabriel Knight. But he was looking at the fourth
person in that photograph.

The one wearing slacks and a jacket.

Regina Hollister.

The Cleaner.

Spencer handed the picture off to Nick and the others. “Let’s
go get her.”

* * *

F
IGHT
. T
HAT
’
S
what you do
.
You fight
.

Spencer’s voice filled Bailey’s thoughts when she came to on
top of the plastic-covered mattress for the second time.

She rolled onto her side, facing the voices she could hear,
hating the sound of the crinkling plastic almost as much as she hated the hood
that had kept her in darkness earlier.

She wasn’t quite sure how she could take care of herself with
her wrists bound and her head throbbing from the knot on the back of her scalp.
A long silk gown with one shoulder and too many stays wasn’t exactly her regular
workout gear, either.

But she wasn’t giving up. Spencer would be looking for her. He
was smart and observant and knew how to get the best from the people he led.
He’d figure it out. He’d find her.

She wasn’t going to be another tragedy weighing heavily on his
noble heart.

Bailey tilted her gaze to the discarded leg brace and cane
lying on the floor beside the stack of lumber where Max Duncan sat, guarding
her. Meanwhile, Brian Elliott and Regina Hollister stood with their heads bowed
together over the workbench in the far corner of the construction site—laughing
and plotting and not looking anything much like a boss and his assistant.

The sun must be up by now, although there wasn’t a single
window in this demolished section of some floor in some old building that was
being renovated by Elliott’s company. He owned dozens of buildings across the
city.

But Spencer would find her. He would be there for her.

The setting was disturbingly familiar. An old warehouse,
stripped down to the studs, covered in layers of plastic. She sat on a
plastic-covered mattress in the middle of the floor.

The only difference was that Elliott was allowing her to see
her surroundings in detail this time. He was allowing her to see his face
without any effort to disguise it.

She knew the only reason they’d let her take off the hood and
see the details of her surroundings was that they had no intention of letting
her leave here alive.

“Why are you doing this, Max?” she asked, needing to do
something before the fear or helplessness got too strong a hold on her
again.

“I’ve done some things in my past I’m not too proud of. They
could cost me my job.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Let’s just
say I haven’t always made a living with my clothes on.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that answer from the tough guy she’d
once vouched for with the police. But then she supposed she didn’t much care
about the choices he’d had to make, since they’d led to her being held prisoner.
Surely, Brian Elliott didn’t think he could get away with the star witness in
the case against him.

But then, maybe that’s exactly what he thought. As difficult as
The Cleaner had been for Spencer’s task force to identify and capture, maybe
Regina had a plan that would allow Brian to get away without any blame. After
all, who was going to argue his guilt but one dead victim and a weak man being
blackmailed into silence?

“What about Corie?” Bailey ignored the ringing in her skull and
the throbbing in her injured cheek when she pushed herself up to a sitting
position. “She had a crush on you, you know. It wouldn’t have mattered to her
who you are or where you’ve been.”

Max leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and resting
his chin on his hands.

Brace. He’d removed his leg brace entirely and tossed it to the
floor near the edge of her mattress. Maybe he’d never been injured at all, and
it had simply been a ruse to gain her trust and give him access to her mother’s
guest list last night.

“I’m sorry about your friend. She was a sweet kid.” Bailey
scooted to the edge of the mattress and dropped her feet over the side,
gathering her long skirt around her legs. “She was spying on you, too. Between
her and me we had eyes on you almost around the clock.”

“I had no idea.” Now that hurt. Two people she’d trusted. Two
people who’d betrayed her.

Come on
,
Spencer
.

Bailey dropped the hem of her dress down around her feet,
letting the edge fall over part of the cane. “So was she killed because she
looked like me and someone made a mistake? Or was she collateral damage?”

“Neither. Corie was getting cold feet.” Max’s attention drifted
over to the far side of the room to the two conscienceless tyrants who didn’t
give a whit about anyone else’s lives but their own. “I don’t think she wanted
to see you get hurt.”

Bailey curled her toes around the cane and pulled it out of
sight beneath her dress. “I don’t suppose Regina lets you change your mind about
helping her.”

“If Regina wants something, she calls you. And if you don’t do
what she asks, she finds you.” Max snorted a derisive laugh through his nose.
“We’re just pawns. It’s all about Mr. Elliott for her. That is one sick
relationship. She’s lover, mother, caretaker, protector to him.”

“What does he do for her?” Weapon? Check. The cane seemed to
have done a decent job on the back of her own head. Bailey stretched out her
arms, making a show of flexing her fingers while she got her feet planted flat
on the plastic tarp beneath them.

“I’m not sure. The money. The job.”

Bailey reached down for the cane and came up swinging. Nose.
Pop!
She heard the cartilage give when she
smacked it across Max’s face. Holding his bleeding face, cursing, he pushed to
his feet. Throat. She swung again, catching him in the Adam’s apple and knocking
him back to his seat.

“Max!” Regina shouted a warning.

“Stop her!” That was Elliott.

Gut. Max fell backward over the stack of wood and Bailey
brought the cane down hard in his midsection, stealing the wind from his
belly.

The split second she paused to decide whether to hold on to the
cane or go for the gun in his belt was the split second it took for Brian
Elliott to reach her.

She screamed when his arms clamped around her body, lifting her
off her feet. He shook her like a rag doll until the cane dropped from her
hands. After kicking it away, he threw Bailey back onto the mattress and was on
top of her before she could scramble away.

“Get off me!” She scratched at his face, gouged at his eyes.
“Get off!”

“Oh, yeah. This is what I wanted.” He pulled at the folds of
her skirt, shoving the silk and petticoats up to her thighs. Bailey twisted,
screamed.

“Shut her up!” Regina yelled behind him. “Someone will
hear.”

Ignoring the warning, Elliott gave her a command. “Bring my
kit.”

Bailey heard Max moaning, footsteps running.

“You should have let me take care of her,” Regina insisted. “I
could have made this problem all go away.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Here.” Regina dropped a toolbox beside the mattress. “I hear
sirens.”

“Spencer!” Bailey yelled in desperation. “Help!”

A hard slap across the face silenced her plea. Bailey felt her
mind sliding back to that night. To this place.

She’d tried to fight. But her head hurt. Her arms were so
tired.

Elliott rubbed his hands together and she realized he’d
squirted some kind of disinfectant onto them. “Of all the women who have dared
to defy me, you have been the most brazen.” He covered the chemical smell with
the wretched cologne that sent her straight back to that night.

“Stop. Please,” she begged.

“Brian.” Bailey saw Regina come up behind Brian and touch his
shoulder. “The police are downstairs. You have to get out now.”

Police? “Spencer!”

Fight
.
That’s
what you do
.
You fight
.

“Not until I’m finished!” He shrugged off the warning and
ripped at the seam of Bailey’s gown. “Calling me out in the press? Picking me
out of a police lineup?”

“You raped me!”

“You needed it.”

Bailey had one move left. Groin.

“Brian!”

Her attacker fell onto the floor, writhing in pain, and Bailey
rolled off the mattress on the opposite side, pulling down her clothes, pushing
to her feet.

“Max, get up! Get rid of her! Brian?” Regina knelt on the floor
beside the man she idolized. “Darling?”

“KCPD! We’re coming in!”

A loud pop and the cracking of wood filled Bailey’s ears as she
lurched toward the door.

“Spencer!”

“Bailey!”

She caught sight of his red-gold hair. An army followed him
through the door and fanned across the room, each targeting a different
kidnapper.

“KCPD! Get on the ground! Now!”

A dog’s fierce barking drowned out the words.

Brian Elliott cursed. “Get that slavering dog away from
me!”

“You found me.” Bailey rushed forward, needing Spencer’s arms
around her now. “Thank God, you—”

Bailey jerked back, stumbling at the sudden shift in movement,
as Regina snatched the back of her dress. The taller woman wound her forearm
around Bailey’s neck and pulled her in front of her body to use her as a human
shield.

Regina must have recovered Max’s gun, or had carried one all
along, because there was definitely a hard metal gun barrel pressing into
Bailey’s temple.

“Everybody, stop!” Spencer ordered. “B?”

His gray eyes flickered over Bailey’s face, then hardened when
they met the threat in Regina’s. But his arms had frozen in the air, his gun
cradled between his hands.

“I missed on purpose last time,” Regina taunted. “Thought I
could scare some sense into your little girlfriend here.” Bailey cringed as the
woman pressed the gun against her cheek. “You let Brian go—” Regina slid the gun
to Bailey’s temple “—or I won’t miss again.”

Bailey’s eyes stung with tears at the anguish that lined
Spencer’s face. She could see the nightmare in his eyes. But his first love had
surrendered. She hadn’t trusted him enough to keep her safe. “I’m not Ellen,
Spence,” she said simply, filling her eyes and her voice with all the love and
trust she had for him. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

“Isn’t that sweet? Don’t worry, Brian.” Regina ground the gun
into Bailey’s temple, hard enough to tilt her head to the side. Brian Elliott
was already in handcuffs. But Regina would clean up his mistakes right up to the
very end. “I promise Miss Austin will never testify against you.”