Wild Stallion. Delores Fossen
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want to lose her.
But he was damn concerned about who she might really be.
His house manager answered, but Jackson didn’t get a chance to issue the order to shut the gate.
“We have a problem, sir,” Steven said. “An exterior sensor was tripped, so I checked the security feed. We have an intruder.”
That didn’t ease the knot in his stomach. “You don’t mean the decorator in the van, do you?”
“No, sir. I mean the person who just scaled the west fence on the back side of the property. He’s armed, and he’s making a beeline for the estate.”
Chapter Two
Bailey blinked back the tears. She couldn’t cry. She’d save those tears for later. For now, she needed to get off the Malone estate and away from whoever had been alerted because of Jackson Malone’s suspicions about her.
Her face had no doubt been caught on a security camera. She’d anticipated cameras of course, but she hadn’t anticipated that she would alarm the estate owner to the point where he would have her investigated.
It’d been a huge mistake to come here today.
She wanted to kick herself for not being able to resist the chance to see the baby that Jackson Malone was adopting. Now, her weakness had put her in a position where she had to regroup. Heaven knows how long it would be before she got another opportunity to get back on the grounds and see the baby.
The estate road leading to the highway was a series of deep curves, and she had to ease up on the accelerator. She certainly couldn’t risk crashing into one of the massive pecan trees that were on each side of her.
An injury could delay her search.
Bailey spotted the wrought iron gates just ahead. In only a few seconds she’d be on the highway where she could turn onto one of the side roads and get out of sight of anyone that Jackson would send to follow her.
But the gates started to slide shut.
Her heart went to her knees, and despite the danger from the trees, she hit the accelerator. She had to make it through them before they closed. If not, Jackson might have her arrested for trespassing.
Bailey took the last curve, the tires squealing in protest at the excessive speed, and for just a moment she lost sight of the gates. When she came out of the other side of the turn, her heart did more than drop.
The gates closed right in front of her.
Bailey slammed on the brakes. She smelled the rubber burning against the asphalt. Her body lurched forward, the seatbelt digging into her stomach and chest. And then there was the sound. Metal slamming into metal when the front of the van collided with the wrought iron.
The airbag deployed, smacking into her and pinning her against the seat. Bailey didn’t take the time to determine if she was hurt. She had to get out of there now. There was a footpath gate next to the wrought iron ones, and she might be able to leave that way.
She fought with the airbag and managed to shove it aside. Maybe because her hands were shaking, getting out of the seatbelt was no easy feat either. She finally got her fingers to cooperate and she disengaged the lock. Ready to run, Bailey threw open the door.
But she didn’t get far.
A rail-thin young Hispanic man came bursting through the shrubs and trees. She recognized him. He was with the estate gardening crew who had told them where to put some exterior lights.
He was dressed in work clothes, jeans and a dirt-splattered denim shirt, and with his breath gusting, he caught onto her arm. “Mr. Malone says you’re to come with me,” he told her. “A man just climbed over the security wall. An intruder.”
Oh, God. “Where is he?”
He started to run with her in tow. “He’s headed to the main house.”
Bailey didn’t know how she managed to hold on to her breath after hearing that. Was the intruder after the baby? Was that what Jackson’s threatening letter was all about? He was a very wealthy man, and someone might be attempting to kidnap the little boy for ransom.
She had to help keep the baby safe, even if he wasn’t hers. And even if it meant putting herself in danger.
Bailey didn’t ask where the man was taking her, but she did make sure he wasn’t armed. There was no visible weapon, and he wasn’t big or strong enough to be hired muscle. If she had to, and she might, she was fairly certain she could fight him off if he turned out to be someone who wasn’t concerned about the baby’s safety.
They cut through a garden on the east side of the property. The man didn’t stop running. Neither did Bailey, though the icy December air was knifing through her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She hadn’t put on a coat for her escape, and the chill was slowing her down.
She finally spotted the estate, but the man stopped next to some thick shrubs and checked around them before they ran the last hundred yards across the lawn to an east entrance. It was a sunroom decorated with plenty of lush green plants and pristine white furniture.
“Miss Hodges,” someone said the moment they entered.
Jackson Malone was standing there in the opening that divided the sunroom from the main house. Unlike when she’d seen him earlier in the foyer, he’d ditched his perfectly tailored midnight blue business coat and loosened his tie. His storm black hair was rumpled. His eyes were troubled.
And he had a gun pointed at her.
Bailey wanted to scream at herself. How could she have been so stupid? She’d bought the gardener’s story about an intruder, and in doing so, she’d come right back to the lion’s den.
Jackson looked at the gardener who’d rescued her. “Thank you, José. Now go back to your quarters and lock the door. I don’t want anyone out on the grounds until we know what we’re up against.”
The man gave a shaky nod, mumbled something in Spanish and hurried away, leaving Bailey alone with an armed man.
“I would have gone after you myself,” Jackson said, as a threat, “but I didn’t want to leave my son.” He motioned for Bailey to follow him.
She didn’t. Bailey stayed put. “Is there really an intruder?”
“There is.” His tone left no room for doubt. He held up the sleek, multifunction cell phone he had in his left hand, and on the tiny screen she saw what appeared to be video feed from security cameras. The man was dressed in camouflaged clothing and a ski mask.
And he was carrying an assault rifle.
“My advice?” Jackson added. “Bullets can go through glass, so if I were you I’d move.”
She glanced at the sunroom, three sides of which were indeed glass. Still, Bailey didn’t budge. Going inside could be just as dangerous as staying put. Jackson didn’t have his gun aimed at her exactly, but it was angled so that aiming it would take just a split second.
“Is this some kind of trick?” she asked. “Do you want me dead and out of the way?”
Jackson just stared at her. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Bailey shook her head. “The last thing I want is you dead.” And she meant it.
He stared her, those ice-gray eyes seemingly going right through her. “Get inside,” he ordered. “You might not value your life, but I’d prefer you stay alive so I can figure out who the hell you are.”
She debated it, but in the end she couldn’t dismiss the part about bullets going through glass. Yes, despite his comment that he preferred her alive, Jackson Malone might indeed have murder on his mind, but right now Bailey felt safer with him than she did with the ski-masked intruder. She only hoped she didn’t regret trusting her instincts.