Beneath Her Skin Page 15

  They’d protect him. He’d be safe.

  Brooke wrapped her hands around her middle, trying to stifle the quaking chills running over her. She took several steps backwards, her eyes fixated on the monitors. Damon, Donavan, and his team continued to search, but they found nothing.

  No one was here.

  A noise behind her made the hairs on her neck raise.

  Before Brooke could turn around, his arm banded around her and a hand clamped over her mouth. She twisted and jerked against his hold until he pushed a knife against her throat. The cold metal sliced against her flesh, just enough to sting and for her to know she was caught.

  She went limp in his arms.

  The man pulled her flush up against him, and his whisper penetrated the silence, “Hello, Ms. Stone. We are alone at last.”

  ****

  In a guarded position, Donavan stood in front of Damon, his weapon trained on the slightest movement. Damon stowed his gun in the waistband of his jeans, and a thousand pounds of gut-wrenching fear welled deep inside, along with a wave of relief.

  “All clear, sir,” Donavan said, slinging his weapon over his shoulder with a curse under his breath.

  “What the hell happened?” Damon asked in a gruff tone, glaring at the other man. “When you called, you said you had picked up an intruder?”

  The other man inclined his head. “Yes, sir. Sinclair House is wired with infrared technology. I saw the perp clearly, but the assailant disappeared.” He cursed again, his expression twisting with disgruntled anger. “Why are you here and not in the panic room? Damn it, Damon, you shouldn’t be here—out in the open—exposed. Why did you have a panic room installed, especially if you’re not going to use it?”

  Damon snorted. “Dial the anger down a notch,” he growled. “You were minutes away and I’m not about to sit around doing nothing. That’s not how I’m wired.”

  Donavan scrubbed a hand over his bald head. “Well, dial into this news flash, sir,” he said in an equally rough timbre, his eyes glittering. “We’ll grab Ms. Stone and take you back to S-Tec—ASAP!”

  “Agreed.” His phone vibrated in his pocket. He snatched it out, finding Antoine calling.

  Glancing at Donavan, the other man waved him off. “Take your call. I’ll secure Ms. Stone.”

  With a nod, Damon answered, “Not a good time, man.”

  Antoine guffawed. “No, crap! Donavan called me and told me what’s going down, but this next bit of news is going to rile a few feathers and change life as we know it.”

  “What is it?” A sinking feeling pitted against his gut.

  “Eileen Patel with the Washington Times sent me an advanced copy of tomorrow’s headline. You’re not going to be pleased with her expose,” he said tightly. “The file is incoming. I’ll wait.”

  Pulling his phone away, he flipped into his email. As he scanned the headline, hell unloaded. Sinclair Widower Found Late Wife’s Twin Sister after Clinic Scandal. Stuffed between his picture, Olivia, and Brooke, the article clearly outlined all the facts of Olivia, her family, and the screw up with the in-vitro clinic, exposing Brooke and her millions. According to Eileen Patel, the sources are verified as public record, except for the last line, an anonymous source of the grieving family reports, ‘I’ll be happy to see my darling again.’

  A hot slice of anger ripped through Damon.

  There was only one person on the planet that would use ‘darling’ like water.

  Damon seethed with more anger as he placed the phone to his ear. “Chantal did this.”

  His assistant huffed. “What? How did we miss this?”

  “Call Kirk. Find her—now!”

  Antoine paused before he said, “Kirk went on vacation. You signed off on it six weeks ago.”

  With a curse under his breath, Damon threaded a hand through his hair. “Send a team to find Chantal and bring her to S-Tec.”

  “It’s 2 A.M,” Antoine said wryly. “I doubt she’ll come willingly.”

  “Make her.” His mind raced. “Kirk probably left Hugo in charge. Get him working on Chantal’s finances and send me a list of all her assets. I need to see what I’m dealing with. If she’s the one that exposed her family’s secrets, we need to understand why. Hurry.”

  As he hung up, Donavan appeared, grim faced. Another hit of trepidation filled him. “What is it?”

  “Did you place Ms. Stone in the panic room?”

  Damon nodded. “Yes. She was secure before I came downstairs. Why?” His heart skipped a beat as he waited, wishing like hell he hadn’t left her alone.

  Donavan rubbed his head. “She’s gone.”

  ****

  Adrenaline pumped through Brooke. She sucked in a deep breath, her heart slamming against her ribs. Fight or flight seized her, but with the cool metal of the knife pressed against her skin, there was nowhere to go.

  Who was this guy?

  She had to get him talking and discover whom he was. Maybe she could stall, create a diversion with the hope of allowing Damon or Donavan to arrive and help her.

  “Who are you?” she hissed.

  The knife he held at her throat sliced against her flesh again. The sting hurt. She panted a harsh breath, wincing.

  Turning her head, she closed her eyes, willing the gush of tears away. Now wasn’t a good time to fall apart, yet nothing prevented the wetness from falling down her cheeks. Nausea churned through her stomach as she took several deep breaths to calm her nerves.

  “Another sound,” he rasped, “and I’ll slit your throat.”

  He yanked on her from behind. She stumbled, but followed his silent direction.

  “Turn around slowly and place your wrists together. And no more questions.”

  Without any sudden movements, she turned. Her eyes scanned him. Dressed all in black, he was a head taller; he had a medium build, and wore a ski mask. Another tremor cut through her. Pushing her shaky hands together, she lifted them. He fastened a cable tie about her wrists, cinching it tight. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, trying to keep her thoughts from taking her captive.

  He jerked her forward, opening a door at the back of the panic room. Deeper than her fears, she knew once she stepped foot down this rabbit hole, the chances of survival narrowed. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Donavan moving closer. He stopped beside the panic room as her kidnapper pulled her into a dimly lit passageway. On another keypad, he typed in a few digits, and the door closed, sealing her fate.

  ****

  Damon stilled. He thought he knew the internal ‘dark place’ after Olivia died, but nothing had prepared him for Donavan’s words. Brooke was missing from a sealed panic room. How was that even possible?

  Rage ripped through him.

  Reaching for his gun, he flipped the safety off. Donavan strode closer, cupping his hand over the weapon, and he glared at his security guy. “Get out of my way,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

  The strength of Donavan’s gaze was harsher. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? You need to get into the Hummer and get back to S-Tec. We’ll find Ms. Stone.”

  Damon shook his head, flipping the safety back on the gun, hitching it in his jeans. “I’m not leaving without her.”

  The other man grunted. “Even if my team knows you’re searching the grounds, all it takes is one wrong visual and you’re dead. We are not in the business of talking people off the ledge, sir. We are here to keep you safe. Period. ” He jerked his head to the side. “You don’t pay me to get you killed, so hang tight.” He grabbed the radio clipped to his belt, ordering his team to search again with caution that Brooke was missing. “We’ll find her and if we don’t, we’ll keep searching—”

  Damon snorted. “Not ‘if,’ but ‘when’ you find her.”

  “Is there any chance someone spooked her and she left the panic room?” Donavan asked.

  “I don’t know.” A terrible feeling wormed through him.

  Someone snatched her. He felt it as surely
as he drew his next breath. His promise to keep her safe was blown to hell. After several minutes, Donavan’s men reported in, confirming what he already suspected: she wasn’t here.

  Donavan took action, issuing another order to his men, “Set up a hundred yard perimeter. I want constant visual. If something moves, you find out why. Report when you have something.”

  Before Damon could discuss the new plan with Donavan, his cell phone rang. Hugo. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Sinclair,” he said very businesslike. “I have bad news and really bad news.”

  “Start at the beginning, but hurry,” he said.

  Hugo released a hard breath. “I don’t know what Kirk was thinking before he left, but he scheduled a system dump, but the weird thing is… it had a virus embedded in the code.”

  Damon stilled. “What?”

  “Yeah, if it had actually kicked on, it would have wiped out all of S-Tec.” He sighed. “After I fixed that and retrieved the file, I discovered all his research on Mrs. Chantal Wilson-Elson, Ms. Stone, and your late wife, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  A shaky feeling netted his body, making him feel numb. He took a step back, grateful for the wall at his back. “What are you saying?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Was Kirk behind this? A man he trusted with all their lives.

  “I’ll lay the facts out quickly,” Hugo murmured. “Mrs. Wilson-Elson holds a separate bank account from her husband.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s hardly unheard of.” Damon thought of his separate account with Olivia. For tax purposes, it had been easier.

  Hugo made an affirmative sound. “True, but it’s strange how her husband only gives her five hundred dollars a month and she has no other income source, but she still manages to spend thousands a month. According her financial records, Mrs. Sinclair was sending her twenty thousand a month up until her death.”

  His jaw tightened. “Why?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting,” Hugo said. “Another document from the Marx Clinic lists Chantal Wilson-Elson as the primary donor for the in-vitro procedure.”

  Understanding hit Damon, along with the sensation of ice traveling his veins. “Are you saying that Chantal was Olivia’s mother?” And Brooke’s mother. A fire burned steady through his stomach, a festering kind of anger that threatened to overcome him.

  “Yes. Farrah Kindell was listed as sterile.”

  His hand tightened on his phone. “Chantal was blackmailing Olivia to keep herself in her high society lifestyle.” Damon rubbed his neck. “With Olivia out of the picture, she would be desperate enough to seek out Brooke because she’s listed as Olivia’s beneficiary.”

  “Not only that,” Hugo said in a grim tone. “There’s a copy of the will here too.”

  Damon snorted, but didn’t say more. No wonder Jim Bartley was murdered. He was probably up to his neck in this fiasco.

  “According to Mrs. Sinclair’s will,” Hugo explained, “if anything happens to Ms. Stone, then Mrs. Wilson-Elson inherits everything. Not only the ten million from the in-vitro clinic lawsuit, but also all the Kindell holdings. The last estimate listed is over fifty million.”

  A hard thud knocked against Damon’s heart. If Chantal managed to kill Brooke, she’d receive everything, which was an excellent motive to kill. “But this still leaves two questions unanswered.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “If Chantal was spending thousands a month, where was she getting her money?” Olivia was gone, so she wasn’t blackmailing her.

  “She’s been selling off her assets piece by piece. There’s only one that she couldn’t touch, land willed to her by her brother-in-law, Stephen.” He paused, the sound of shuffling papers could be heard before he said, “A ten acre property in Bel-Air. It looks like it has been in the Kindell family since 1901. It’s the only asset tied to Mrs. Sinclair’s will and not sellable.”

  Damon knew the place well. It was a cabin in the woods. He and Olivia often went there to get away from their busy lives. He felt physically sick, but he knew he had to work through this and find Brooke. “And how does Kirk fit into all this?” The traitor.

  Hugo exhaled. “From some transcripts between him and Chantal, he helped keep you busy and unaware of everything. Once Chantal receives all the money, she plans to give him five million.” There was a slight hitch in his voice. “Sir? They plan to kill Ms. Stone.”

  “I won’t let them.” He ended his call and looked at Donavan. “Anything?”

  The other man shook his head. “She’s not here, sir.”

  “I think I know where she’ll be taken.” He held up his phone, dialing Antoine. He answered after the first ring. “I need you to contact Detective Abbott in Bel-Air and tell him we are on the way to the Kindell cabin and we’ll need backup.”

  “Will do.”

  There was no time to waste and Damon moved quickly. He headed for the Hummer, hoping he wasn’t too late.

  Chapter 13

  A battery powered lamp burned in the tunnel and the smell of dirt overpowered Brooke, suffocating her. She coughed several times, trying to clear her lungs, yet there was no fresh air. She eyed her captor, through her tears.

  Who was he? She had no idea from his voice.

  “Grab the lamp and move,” he said. “If you scream, you die.” He held up his knife and it flashed wickedly.

  She turned, grabbing the lamp handle with her bound, shaky hands. Tears continued to pour down her face, but she managed one-step in front of the other. The dirt-covered floor was soft under her bare feet, but she winced every now and then when she stepped on a rock.

  She stumbled a few times, barely holding herself upright. “How far do we have to go?”

  The man grunted behind her. “Far enough, princess,” he sneered.

  That told her nothing. She had no idea where they were going. Or why.

  “Back in the civil war days, this tunnel used to be part of the underground railway. The Sinclair family used to help free slaves. I cleverly added a back door to the panic room,” he offered with a snide chuckle. “We have about half a mile to go, so keep walking and shut your mouth.”

  Brooke bit her lip, moving deeper into the darkness. Willing her tears away, she focused on the ground, carefully trying to sidestep any large stones. Her feet ached more and more, and she was sure the last step sliced into her foot. But she kept moving.

  At last, the stirring of fresh air wafted toward her. She paused. The man behind her planted his hand in the middle of her back, causing her to fall. The lamp went rolling and broke, throwing them into darkness.

  He bent at the waist, his hand sinking into her hair. He pulled hard. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he growled.

  Brooke gasped. Using her feet, she kicked him several times, trying to free herself from his grasp. “Let me go!”

  He raised a foot and kicked her in the side. Pain exploded. Her breath caught, as tears sprang to her eyes. The man seized her around the neck, his thumb pressing into the slices he had made earlier. The salty sting of his flesh against her wound, burned.

  He had taken the ski mask off, and up close, she saw his face.

  Kirk from S-Tec.

  “You!” she seethed between clenched teeth. “You work for Damon. How could you do this?”

  He yanked her closer, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “Because he’s nothing but a smear in my underwear compared to everything I’ll get when you’re six feet under. Now, unless you want to die here, keep moving.” He moved back, jerking her to her feet. “There’s someone that wants to meet you.” He pushed her out of the tunnel and into the dark night.

  A limousine stood waiting for them. Kirk dragged her by her bound hands, and the cable tie dug into her skin. Her side ached with every step, making her limp. She grimaced as she traveled over the raw earth, full of more rocks and sticks. Her feet had to be a bloody mess, while pain radiated up her calves. The closer she got to the limo, the door popped open.

  A woman’s voi
ce wafted closer. “Hurry up. We haven’t much time.”

  In the distance, headlights flashed.

  Kirk shoved her again, and Brooke got into the vehicle.

  She came face to face with an unknown woman and… a badly beaten and gagged Harry.

  Her nightmare just expanded. “Uncle Harry…”

  As Brooke’s eyes connected with his, the limo took off. A hint of remorse touched his gaze. He shook his head, as if pleading with her.

  The lady snapped her fingers, drawing her attention. She was a stunning woman, dressed in an elegant white dress with pearls studding her neck. Her blonde hair was carefully coifed in a chignon, her made up face pure perfection.

  “Who are you?” Brooke asked hoarsely. She was aware that Kirk sat beside her, turning his knife in his hand. Still threatening her, even without words.

  “Well,” the woman said to her in a cultured tone. “I think the only one you don’t know, darling, is me, so I’ll kick off the introductions.” She patted her hair. “I’m Chantal Wilson-Elson.”

  The name meant nothing to Brooke.

  One elegant brow rose. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  Chantal explained the history of the in-vitro process and ended her story with a shocking announcement. “So you see, I’m your mother. My sister couldn’t have kids. Her husband agreed to use my eggs, so ta-da!”

  Kirk grunted beside Brooke. “More like Mommy Dearest.”

  Chantal gave him an irritated glare. “Quiet.”

  “This still doesn’t explain why you’ve kidnapped me and Harry. Or why you’ve terrorized me these last few weeks.”

  The other woman sneered. “My dear Olivia—your twin sister—is to blame. If it weren’t for her, you’d be dead and none the wiser. But you were too protected by Damon. We had to dream up a new plan to get you alone.”

  Olivia?

  Surely, she didn’t mean Damon’s wife. A sensation of falling off a cliff, hit her. As she waited for the final blow, the finality of the truth twisted in her stomach. A sharp ache stabbed her heart. He hadn’t lied to her, had he? After everything, they had been through? Every emotion. Every word. Every touch.