Hostage Midwife. Cassie Miles
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Monday, Noon
During the drive from Valiant to Serena’s farm, Nick was steamed. He hated that Kelly was being harassed. She was completely innocent—a bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
When he got her phone call, he’d been tangled in a mass of corporate red tape generated by the lawyers, the police, his family and employees. Everyone looked to him—as the most senior member of the Spencer clan—to make the necessary decisions. Nick was expected to step up and take control.
Truth be told, he was probably the least informed person in the room. Working out of his office in Breckenridge, he managed to avoid most of the corporate decisions. That was his brother’s job. Unfortunately, Jared was still in Singapore.
At a mailbox painted with flowers and butterflies, he made a left turn and drove down a long, curving driveway. Hearing Kelly’s voice had given him a focus—a problem he could deal with. He needed to find out who had contacted her and why and, most of all, if she was in any kind of danger from this fake investigator.
Though he’d never been to the farm owned by Serena and Nigel Bellows, he knew he was in the right place when he saw the farmhouse—a mash-up of architectural styles that Marian had described as crazy. From modern A-frame to the Victorian tower topped by an ornate weather vane to the wild splashes of color painted on the barn, none of the construction made sense. And yet, he felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he parked and got out of his SUV.
In keeping with the fanciful atmosphere, a fat goat sashayed toward him, followed by a little blond girl wearing a yellow sweatshirt and a tiara. “You will be the prince,” she said to him. “You’re supposed to slay the dragon. It’s your job.”
He reached down and scratched the goat between her floppy ears. “Is this the dragon?”
“That’s a goat, silly. It’s Fifi.”
“And what’s your name?”
She flipped her hair away from her small, freckled face. “I’m Princess Butterfly.”
She was a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He wanted to hug Princess Butterfly and her pet goat for reminding him that being irritated by lawyers and accountants was a sheer waste of time. If he wanted to get the job done, he had to step up and slay the corporate dragon.
Kelly raced around the corner of the house, wearing a red sheet as a cape and a cardboard hat with scales and spikes. Her brown sweatshirt was raggedy and oversized. Two other small children and a llama accompanied her.
“Hi, Nick.” She gave him a little wave, and then she roared. “The dragon is nigh.”
Princess Butterfly ducked behind him. “Get her.”
He braced himself and pointed imperiously toward Kelly. “No way, dragon. I banish you.”
She whipped off her cape and hat as she collapsed into the dirt. “Oh, no, I’m melting.”
All the kids ran to help her. “No, dragon, don’t die. That’s not how it works.”
She stopped melting. “It’s not?”
“No,” they chorused. “You turn into another princess.”
“Okay.” She popped back up. “I’m Princess Kelly.”
After a few more reassurances, she sent the children back to the house and came toward him. Her straight hair was messy from being a half-melted dragon, and she tucked the loose strands behind her ears. “Thanks for playing along.”
“I didn’t know you were so ferocious.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m a fire-breather.” She picked up the sheet and folded it under her arm. “You really didn’t need to come all the way out here. I could have driven into town.”
“Seeing this house is worth the drive.”
“Unusual, huh?”
“I’ve never experienced anything like it.” And that was saying a lot. Nick had a master’s degree in architecture and had designed hotels, condos and custom houses. “I did a house in Aspen that looks like a flying saucer, and a Gothic-type castle for a rock star. Fun projects, but not as unique as this farmhouse.”
“The people who live here make it happy and interesting.”
“That’s always true. A house is only a shell.”
She reached toward him and lightly rested her hand on his sleeve. Her chin tilted up, and her pale green eyes scanned his face as though searching for something important. “I’m sorry about your uncle’s death.”
Other people had offered condolences, but he sensed true empathy from her. “I appreciate your concern.”
“Tell me about Samuel.”
“He was a crazy old man, eccentric as hell.” That was the standard line. Most people would describe his uncle that way, but Nick appreciated the creativity that came along with Samuel’s unusual perspective. “I admired his talent. We didn’t talk every day or even every month. But we were close. Maybe it was the DNA, but I understood who he was. At least, I thought I did.”
Without another word, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. Her touch reached through the wall of self-control he’d built to keep going. There wasn’t time to fall apart; he needed to take care of business.
Nick hadn’t cried for his uncle, hadn’t shed a tear or acknowledged the pain of losing him, but as he enfolded her in his embrace, raw emotion poured through his veins. His sadness was tempered by anger. How could Samuel commit suicide? Why would he choose death? Nick should have been more aware of his uncle’s state of mind, should have talked to him, should have seen his desperation.
He lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against her silky hair while inhaling the strawberry scent of her shampoo. Holding Kelly grounded him and gave him clarity. “I’m going to miss him.”
“He was a part of your life.”
She shifted her weight and leaned back. Just as easily as they had come together, they separated. It surprised him that he didn’t feel uncomfortable about their embrace. Having Kelly in his arms felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m glad I came out here,” he said. “I like seeing you, and I needed a break from Marian and the lawyers.”
“Did any of them know Trask?”
“No.” Time to get down to business. “Show me his card.”
She dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a plain, white card with the name, occupation and a phone number. “He seemed real concerned about Samuel’s dying words, and he didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t remember him saying anything that made sense.”
Nick recalled the scene from last night. When Kelly took over with his uncle, he had stepped aside. “I wasn’t aware that he said anything.”
“He was barely conscious, mumbling. He told me to close the door. I guess he was talking about the door we crashed through.”
There was one other door in the room, the door to a closet. Though he’d assumed that Samuel committed suicide, Nick had opened that door and looked inside to make sure no one was hiding there. “What else?”
“Gold,” she said. “He repeated it several times. And he said something about a heart of stone or a stone heart. It reminded me of a lyric in a country-western song. Does it mean anything to you?”
He shook his head. “You said that Trask didn’t believe you. What made you think that?”
Her lips pulled into a frown. “He told me that I’d better not be holding anything back.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“I’m not sure if it was