The Texan's Contested Claim: The Texan's Contested Claim / The Greek Tycoon's Secret Heir. Katherine Garbera
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somberness of his tone turned her blood to ice. “What do you mean, it’s not safe? We’re talking men toting cameras here, not Uzis.”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said hesitantly. “I wasn’t completely honest with you about why I wanted my presence here kept a secret.”
She dropped her head back with a moan. “I really hate middle of the night confessions.”
“My life’s been threatened.”
She snapped her head back up to stare. “Somebody wants you dead?”
“It appears that way.”
“But…why?”
“If I knew that, I’d probably know who wanted to kill me.”
“And you think whoever that person is, is outside my house right now?”
“No. I’m fairly confident it’s only photographers out there. But once they make my presence here known,” he added, “I can almost promise you the person who threatened me will come here looking for me.”
She stared, trying to make sense of what he was telling her, then held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Just because somebody wants you dead, doesn’t mean I’m in danger.”
“I’m afraid it does. If he comes here and finds me gone, he may take you.”
“Me?” She choked a laugh. “Like anyone would want me,” she said wryly.
“He would, if he thinks you’re important to me.”
Her heart faltered, then kicked hard against her chest. “You mean he might use me as a hostage?”
“It’s possible and it’s a chance I’m not willing to take.”
Vivid images of every movie or news clip she’d seen involving hostages filled her mind. And not a one of them were pretty. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re getting out of here.” He rolled off the bed and snatched up his jeans, tugged them on. “I’m going upstairs to pack my stuff and make some phone calls. You’ll need to pack a bag, too. Enough to hold you for a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks!” she cried. “I can’t be gone a couple of weeks!”
“Hopefully you won’t be,” he told her. “And no lights,” he warned, as he headed for the door. “We don’t want them to suspect we’re up to anything.”
Garrett took the rear stairs two at a time and broke into a run when he reached the second floor. Getting out of Austin was imperative, but where to go was a problem. He couldn’t call for his private jet. It would take too much time for his pilot to fly to Texas. Public transportation was out, as it made him too visible. That meant finding some place close to hide out for a while, somewhere no one would think to look for him.
He knew of only one place that fit his needs: his stepmother’s son’s ranch.
Muttering a curse, he paced his room. He didn’t want to call Jase. Calling him meant explaining where he was, what he was up to, and his stepmother had made them promise they wouldn’t search for Ali, that they would respect her request for privacy and leave her alone.
But he hadn’t promised, he reminded himself. Jase and Eddie, Jase’s father, had promised.
Admonishing himself of any guilt for his actions, he pulled his cell phone from his briefcase and scrolled through the address book until he found Jase’s home number.
Mandy, Jase’s wife, answered on the second ring.
“Hello?” she said sleepily.
“Mandy, it’s Garrett.”
“Well, hey, Garrett,” she said, sounding surprised to hear from him. “What are you doing calling me in the middle of the night?”
“I’m in a jam. Is Jase there?”
“He’s in Washington visiting his mother. Haven’t you seen him?”
“No, and I really need his help.”
“Call him at Barbara’s. I’m sure he’ll do whatever he can to help you out.”
“I can’t call him at Barbara’s,” he said in frustration. “You’ll have to help.”
“You know I’ll do whatever I can, but wouldn’t it make better sense to just call Jase, since he’s in Washington and I’m in Texas?”
“That’s just it. I’m in Texas, too.”
“What!” she cried. “Where?”
“Ali Moran’s house.”
A pregnant pause followed his announcement.
“You’re at Ali’s?” she said.
“Yes. I’ll explain later, but we need a place to hide out for a couple of days. I was hoping we could stay in one of the hunting cabins.”
“Of course you can,” she told him, then asked hesitantly, “Does Ali know you’re Barbara’s stepson?”
“No, and you’ve got to promise me you’ll keep it that way.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked doubtfully. “Barbara made y’all promise you’d leave Ali alone.”
He felt a stab of guilt and quickly shrugged it off. “Jase and Eddie promised. I promised nothing.”
“That’s splitting hairs, don’t you think?”
He drew in a breath. “We can discuss this later, okay? Right now I’ve got to get us out of Austin.”
“Okay. But when Barbara finds out about this, I’m pointing all ten fingers at you, buddy. Understand? I’m not chancing getting on my mother-in-law’s bad side just to save your butt, even if it is a cute one.”
The next call Garrett made was to the head of his company’s security department.
“Joe, it’s Garrett. We’ve got a problem.”
Four
The plan Garrett devised for his and Ali’s escape included every mode of transportation, with the exception of air. He probably would’ve considered that, too, if he or Ali had known how to fly.
Their adventure started on land, with them sneaking down to the pier and climbing aboard the rowboat Ali kept on hand for her guests to use. With moonlight as their only illumination, they’d rowed across the lake and docked near the shoreline of the Hyatt Regency. From there, they’d grabbed a taxi for the airport, where Garrett had insisted Ali rent a vehicle, claiming if he rented it he would be leaving a paper trail that could easily be followed.
After loading their luggage into the rental, they’d left Austin, with Ali behind the wheel. She had thought he would insist on driving, had even suggested it, but he had reminded her she had rented the car and had listed herself as the sole driver, a legality Ali was willing to overlook in exchange for some much needed sleep. Apparently Garrett wasn’t.
Though she’d repeatedly asked him their final destination, the most she had been able to get out of him was that he’d arranged for them to stay in a friend’s hunting cabin.
“I feel like I’m playing connect the dots,” she said wearily, as she made the turn off the highway that carried them beneath an iron arch bearing the brand CCC. “Turn here, turn there. Go straight. At least tell me if we’re getting close.”
“We’re almost there. Keep driving until you see a small wooden arrow on the right that says ‘Hunting Cabins.’”
“Are you sure these people are expecting us?” she asked uneasily. “It’s four o’clock in the morning. I don’t