Romancing the Tycoon. Debra Webb
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right all the way around. The thought pleased her immensely.
The woman jumped when her gaze collided with Amy’s once more. “Oh. I’d forgotten all about you.”
Amy kept her smile in place in spite of the indifference radiating from the other woman. “I just need to deliver this report to your father.”
The woman, who Amy had decided was Miss Winterborne, nodded. “He’s at the Caldwell facility.” She started for the door. “I’ll give you directions or the number. Whichever you want, but I’m in a hurry here.”
Amy followed, the white envelope clasped in her hand. Victoria’s instructions had been for her to deliver it personally to Mr. Winterborne. Driving to another destination wouldn’t be a problem as long as she accomplished her mission. “Directions will be fine.”
Miss Winterborne opened the door, but then quickly closed it. She turned back to Amy, her eyes round with something like horror. “They’re here,” she said on a breath that rushed out of her lungs as if she’d seen a ghost.
Who was here?
Whoever it was, it was none of Amy’s concern. She had a job to do. Failure wasn’t an option if she wanted to keep Victoria Colby-Camp impressed. “You were going to give me directions to—”
“Ah…stay right here.” Miss Winterborne rushed to the other end of the long hall and grabbed something. As she hurried back to the door Amy recognized the object as a designer suitcase, the kind that looked like a huge old-fashioned purse and had probably cost more than Amy’s monthly salary. “I’ll be right back,” the woman assured Amy before slipping out the door.
What was going on here? Amy suddenly remembered the telephone conversation and how Miss Winterborne had promised to get the next flight…
Surely she wasn’t leaving Amy here to fend for herself. She glanced around the enormous hall. The house seemed empty. How would she find out where Mr. Winterborne was if the daughter disappeared on her?
She couldn’t.
And that was unacceptable.
Amy jerked open the front door and strode out onto the landing that topped the dozen half-moon steps which descended to the U-shaped drive.
A long black limousine sat at the bottom of the steps. A driver placed the bag Miss Winterborne had exited the house with into the trunk and closed the lid. He smiled at Amy and quickly hurried around to the driver’s door.
Where was Regina Winterborne?
Amy looked left then right but saw no sign of her. Her gaze went straight to the tinted windows then. She must already be inside the car. Annoyed, Amy charged down the steps intent on demanding to know where Mr. Winterborne was.
“Good afternoon, Miss Winterborne,” a male voice said bringing her up short two steps shy of the car. “I’m Mr. Beckman.”
Amy whipped around expecting to see the woman right behind her somehow, instead the only thing she found was a tall, well-dressed gentleman smiling down at her.
“Where’s—”
Before Amy could complete her question, the man gestured to the car’s passenger-side door. “The plane is waiting. Mr. Winterborne already informed us that he would arrive later in the weekend.”
The plane? What plane?
Amy shook her head, confusion bearing down on her now. Where was the woman? Regina Winterborne? Amy had to deliver this report. “I’m supposed—”
“We’re behind schedule as it is,” the man said, his tone direct. He moved past her and opened the door. “We don’t want to keep Mr. Calhoun waiting.”
Mr. Calhoun? Who…?
The image of the man astride the horse immediately flashed in her brain. The guy in the report. She looked down at the white envelope. Mr. Winterborne’s report.
“The flight will take about three hours but the bar is fully stocked and you can watch a movie if you’d like.” He grasped her arm firmly and urged her toward the open door. “We have several to choose from.”
Wait a minute! Realization belatedly sank through the fog of confusion. He’d called her Miss Winterborne.
“But I’m not—”
Mr. Beckman smiled patiently. “I’m sure you will be by the time this weekend has concluded. Mr. Calhoun is quite the charmer.”
With that said, he promptly hoisted her into the car and closed the door. Before she could even blink he slid into the seat next to the driver and ordered, “Let’s go.”
Just when Amy would have roared her indignation something caught her eye…or, actually, the lack of something. Her car was gone. She whipped around in the seat as the limo circled the fountain and headed down the long drive. It was gone all right. She’d left the keys in the ignition since she’d only expected to deliver the report at the door, not go inside. Who would have expected it to be stolen here of all places?
And then she knew.
The woman—Miss Winterborne—had stolen it. To go to the airport to catch a flight to Vegas where she would rendezvous with her boyfriend.
Shaking her head, Amy turned around and moved to the edge of her seat. “Look,” she said to the two men in the front seat, “there’s been a big mistake.”
The one named Beckman glanced over his shoulder at her. “Everything will be fine, Miss Winterborne,” he said again in that patient, practiced tone. “Just relax and this will go a lot more smoothly.”
What would go a lot more smoothly? Anger jolted Amy. Dammit, why wouldn’t the man listen to her? “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not—”
Before she could finish her statement the privacy window powered up between the passenger compartment and the front seat, leaving her talking to herself.
Fury exploding in her like an erupting volcano, she pounded on the tinted glass that separated her from the only other two people in the vehicle. “You’ve got the wrong girl,” she shouted for the good it would do with the privacy glass up, making the passenger compartment not only invisible to them but also soundproof. She tried the door handle but it was locked. Not that it would have done her any good anyway. People might jump out of moving cars all the time in the movies but she certainly had no desire to.
Okay. She eased back in the seat and took a breath. He’d said the plane was waiting which meant they were headed to an airport. Once there they would have to let her out of the car to board the plane. She would explain then that she wasn’t who they thought she was.
She fumed at the idea that the real Miss Winterborne had stolen her car. Fear momentarily paralyzed Amy. What if Miss Winterborne was in some sort of trouble and had left Amy to take the heat for her?
Beckman could be some kind of loan shark or…her eyes widened in fear when she considered the numerous other possibilities.
Then she remembered that he’d mentioned Mr. Calhoun. Amy relaxed marginally. Mr. Calhoun was waiting, so they were obviously headed to meet him. Amy’s eyes widened once more. Calhoun lived in Texas.
She snatched up the envelope and pulled out the report on the man. She’d skimmed it while she fueled up and hadn’t noticed anything negative. Maybe she’d better read it more carefully. Men who were on the up and up surely didn’t send the hired help to collect a woman against her will. Had Regina Winterborne wanted to take this trip she wouldn’t have run off after her ex in Vegas. Amy steamed when she thought about how Beckman had all but shoved her into the car and then locked her inside.
No wonder the real Miss Winterborne had run away.
Amy’s eyes rounded again. What if her father and this Mr. Calhoun had made some sort of deal that Miss Winterborne was trying to escape?
What if