Romancing the Tycoon. Debra Webb
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John Robert Calhoun, IV, had anything to hide, she was certain the Colby Agency would have found it. All Amy needed to do was scour these pages and then maybe—just maybe—she could save Miss Winterborne from whatever fate lay in store for her in Texas. Surely Miss Winterborne’s father wouldn’t send her to a man who was anything less than honorable.
Another realization struck Amy then. Mr. Winterborne hadn’t seen the report. He had no idea what kind of man Calhoun really was. By the time this car reached the airport Amy had every intention of knowing all there was to know about John Robert Calhoun, IV.
VICTORIA SURVEYED her desk once more. She never misplaced notes. Never.
“Mildred,” she said to her longtime secretary who waited patiently nearby, “I’m sorry, but I seem to have lost them.”
“That’s all right. I can bring you a copy of the one I made for the file after Trent dictated the information to me.”
Victoria nodded absently. This simply wasn’t like her. She never lost anything, certainly not something as important as preliminary notes on an ongoing case.
“Thank you, Mildred. I’ll try not to lose this one.”
Mildred went off to make the new copy and Victoria huffed her impatience. Thank goodness the notes hadn’t mentioned anyone by name, only the negative activity that Trent Tucker, one of her best investigators in the art of tracking and surveillance, had discovered. If the notes had accidentally ended up in the trash, rather than being filed or placed in the burn bag for destruction, at least no one would know to whom the illegal activities were connected.
The Colby Agency prided itself on discretion.
Victoria sighed wearily. It was Friday and it was late. She should go home and put work out of her mind. Everyone else, except Mildred, of course, had already left for the day in anticipation of the holiday weekend.
She might as well do the same.
Lucas didn’t want her putting in too many hours at the office just yet.
Warmth welled in her chest.
It was nice having someone to worry about her.
There was absolutely no reason for her to worry about anything except sharing a holiday weekend with her husband and son. Her family.
All else would take care of itself.
Chapter Three
This was bad.
Amy stared at the words on the final page of the Calhoun report. On the surface this guy appeared to be above reproach, but behind the perfect facade lurked incredible evil.
She shivered as she read the words once more. Calhoun was suspected of having ties to the mob and would apparently do almost anything to make money. Amy frowned and shuffled the pages once more. The entire report was squeaky clean except for this one page. At first she’d thought maybe this page didn’t even go with the report, but then she’d read in there somewhere that any additional information discovered would be attached. Well, this was definitely additional information even if unconfirmed. Trent Tucker was working on confirmation at this very moment.
Amy chewed her thumbnail. It was downright awful. Mr. Winterborne certainly wouldn’t have sent his one and only daughter off for the weekend at Mr. Calhoun’s had he suspected any of this. Amy was certain of that, though she was still irritated at the woman’s audacity. She’d stolen Amy’s car and taken off, leaving her to face this mess. But then again, she was trained for this sort of situation. She knew how to handle herself, physically and emotionally.
Amy stilled. Maybe this was her chance to prove her worth as an investigator. She could ferret out the truth over the weekend. Lord knew she didn’t have anything else to do. Right now all the agency had was suspicions. But she could find the connection, she was sure of it. She would have access to Calhoun’s home…to his private files maybe.
A smile spread across her lips as anticipation rushed through her. This could be her first case, even if she had come by it unexpectedly. Beckman had said that Mr. Winterborne wouldn’t be joining them right away and neither he nor the driver appeared to realize that she was not Regina Winterborne. If that held true with Calhoun, Amy would have some time, maybe even the whole weekend, to covertly investigate the man.
The smile turned into an outright grin. Oh yeah. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. If she could make the connection, turn suspicion into fact, then she would have proven not only her ability but her value as an investigator.
All she had to do was play along with this little game of mistaken identity. That Mr. Calhoun was gorgeous amounted to mere icing on the cake. God had finally answered her prayers.
It was fate.
That’s all it could be.
The limo braked to a stop at a private airfield and Amy allowed Beckman to escort her to the Learjet standing by. She supposed that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Calhoun would have a private jet. He was, after all, an oil tycoon. So she wouldn’t count that against him, but such pretentiousness definitely set her instincts on point. Though she didn’t know any men who owned a jet, she could imagine arrogance went along with that kind of presumed self-importance. Well, she had news for Mr. Calhoun: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
His secrets were about to be revealed.
There were a number of other things about him she’d like to have revealed, but the job came first. She shivered at the thought of his picture.
Amy utilized the flight time to recall everything she’d ever heard about the Winterbornes. She didn’t know that much but she felt as though she had enough information to fake it. If—very big if—Calhoun had not met Regina as she suspected, pulling off this charade would be easy. But she wouldn’t know until she got there…unless…
She decided to go for broke.
“Does Mr. Calhoun prefer to be called John or Robert?” she asked of Beckman who appeared immersed in the files he’d brought along in his briefcase. She wasn’t the only one who’d decided to make this a working flight, she mused.
Beckman looked up at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. “John,” he said after studying her for a moment. “He prefers to be called John.”
Amy nodded, not certain whether that was a positive response or a negative one. She still didn’t know for sure if Regina had met him. For some reason Beckman looked at her suspiciously now. Had she blown it already? Her pulse tripped into overtime.
Putting his files aside, Beckman leveled his gaze on her. “Miss Winterborne, John is an honorable man. He doesn’t expect this to be easy at first. But, in the long run, it is the right thing to do for both of you.”
Amy had a bad feeling about the “it” he referred to. It was her understanding that Mr. Winterborne intended a business deal with Mr. Calhoun and hoped his daughter would like the man, which would facilitate future business dealings. Maybe she was wrong about that.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said as vaguely as possible with her heart pounding. That bad feeling had morphed into something resembling fear. Call it intuition, call it ESP, but Amy was suddenly certain this whole charade might just be a really bad idea.
“Why, a marriage between you and John, what else?” Beckman said as if she should have known precisely what he meant.
Marriage?
“You really expect Re—” Amy caught herself just in time “—me to marry a man I don’t even know?” Well, there. She’d said it plainly enough. If Regina had, in fact, met John before, Amy’s cover was blown completely.
A kind of haughtiness that bordered on ugly flickered in Beckman’s eyes. “Let’s be honest here,” he said, his tone matching his hateful expression. “It’s not as if you’re some naive little maiden now, is it? As I understand it, you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself