The Millionaires' Club: Ryan, Alex and Darin. Cindy Gerard
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and himself along with David Sorenson, Clint Andover, Alex Kent and Sheik Darin ibn Shakir—had been trying to unravel the mystery that started one chilly night in November and just kept getting more bizarre. Yes, they knew a lot more now than they had that night when the then-unidentified woman had stumbled into the Royal Diner with a newborn baby girl and a cool half a million dollars stuffed in a diaper bag, but there were still questions.
That woman, who had promptly collapsed, fallen into a coma and only recently recovered and regained her memory, was Natalie Perez, now Travis’s fianceé. The baby was Trav’s baby, the unexpected but wonderful result of an affair they had both decided it was best to walk away from almost a year ago.
The two men became very quiet. Ry pondered the label on the long-neck he cupped loosely in his hands on the bar in front of him. “How is Natalie?” he asked finally. “And little Autumn?”
Trav contemplated his own beer, as sober as Ry had ever seen him. “They’re doing okay. Man… I can’t believe I ever walked away from her. I can’t believe I almost lost them. That bastard Birkenfeld…he could have killed Natalie, sold our baby.”
Ry let out a deep breath, the enormity of the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders as he recalled the details. He hadn’t been at the diner that November night when Natalie showed up with a Texas Cattleman’s Club business card clutched in her hand. Neither had Travis or Darin, who had both been out of the country on assignment until the end of the December.
Maybe if Trav had been in town when Natalie had first appeared on the scene, they’d be further ahead of the game. But he hadn’t, and it was only when she’d spotted Travis at the New Year’s Eve party after he’d returned to Royal from Europe and a TCC mission, that Natalie had started to remember.
She’d finally recalled Travis and their brief but intense affair that had resulted in little Autumn. It wasn’t until weeks later that she’d remembered why she’d ended up in Royal carrying all that money in a diaper bag. The story was so bizarre that even now Ry had trouble digesting the magnitude and the far-reaching effects.
Natalie had been worked at a birthing clinic run by Dr. Roman Birkenfeld. Over several months she’d noticed that an alarming number of single women had lost their babies at birth. She’d been so alarmed she’d decided to secretly search the computer files. When she did, she discovered that the babies hadn’t really died but had been sold. Before she could confront Dr. Birkenfeld or go to the police with this damning information, she’d gone into labor.
And that’s when her trouble had begun. The good doctor, it seemed, had had the same plans for Natalie’s baby as he’d had for the others. He’d drugged her, and the next morning, after she’d given birth, she’d realized he intended to tell her, as he had the other women, that her baby had died. Somehow Natalie had escaped the clinic undetected, and followed Dr. Birkenfeld and his nurse accomplice to the airport where Natalie was positive they intended to fly with the baby to the prospective buyers.
When the nurse took the baby into a rest room to change her diaper, Natalie had made her move. She shoved the woman to the floor, grabbed the baby and the diaper bag—which, it turned out, was full of money that the TCC men now held in the club’s safe. She’d fled to the bus station, but Birkenfeld and his nurse had caught up with her in Amarillo.
And from that point on, Natalie’s memory was still a blank slate, which was why Trav and the rest of the guys were still on guard.
Ry angled Trav a look. “Has she remembered anything else?” he asked, knowing they needed something more to help them resolve this nasty business.
Travis shook his head. “No. Everything after Amarillo is pretty fuzzy. All she remembers of Birkenfeld catching up with her is that there was a struggle and she hit her head.” He stopped, and Ry could see a hundred emotions cloud his friend’s face. Everything from rage to helplessness to relief that his woman and his child were safe to frustration that Birkenfeld had dropped out of sight but was still a threat. They wanted to put this entire episode to bed.
“She doesn’t know how she got away from them,” Trav continued. “Last night she told me that the only thing that kept her going was knowing she had to stay conscious long enough to find me.”
He swallowed hard. “And then I wasn’t there for her.”
“Hey.” Ry’s hand on Trav’s shoulder pulled him out of his anguish to meet Ry’s eyes. “You’re here for her now. You’re here for both of them.”
All the TCC guys were, until they caught Birkenfeld and his nurse, who were still on the loose and evidently desperate, if the threats against Natalie’s life were any indication. Ry figured they were. And after Tara Roberts, who had taken Natalie home with her to recuperate, had ended up with her house mysteriously burning down, none of the TCC men felt they could let down their guards or ease up on their continuing investigation.
“Birkenfeld is still out there somewhere,” Travis said, his voice chillingly cold. “Until he’s caught and put behind bars, neither Natalie nor Autumn are safe.” He turned to Ry. “That’s why I need you, man. Carrie—”
“Is a big girl,” Ry insisted, still determined to work his way out of this. He was more or less in agreement with Carrie on this issue. “I really don’t know why you think she needs protection. She’s not a part of this.”
“But I am. And I figure Birkenfeld knows that. Do you feel comfortable—no, strike comfortable. Do you feel one hundred percent sure that this sick bastard who drugs women and tells them their babies are dead so he can sell them, wouldn’t stoop so low as to try to get to Natalie through me and what’s mine?”
Ry closed his eyes, knowing in his heart of hearts that Trav was right. Ry didn’t feel one hundred percent sure about that. And since Carrie was part of Trav’s world, he had a legitimate point. “You’re right. It takes a twisted as well as a corrupt mind to do what he’s done.”
“And it takes someone I trust to look out for my sister until we find him and finish this.”
Ry rocked his beer bottle slowly back and forth on the bar and finally nodded in defeat. How could he turn Trav down in the face of such a compelling argument?
He expelled another deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. Okay. I’ll do it. But I still don’t understand what Nathan Beldon has to do with any of this.”
Trav shrugged. “Probably nothing.”
Ry whipped his head toward his friend. “Then why am I watching out for him?”
“Because I don’t like him.” Trav gave Ry a bland look. “Do I have to have another reason?”
Three
“I don’t believe I’m doing this,” Ryan muttered under his breath later that night. He tugged his Resistol low over his brow. Slumped behind the wheel of his new black SUV, he watched with a scowl as Carrie walked toward the Royal Diner on Nathan Beldon’s arm.
She worked fast. He’d give her that. Or maybe it was Beldon who’d “put the moves” on her. Now, there was a statement that was going to haunt him into the next decade. Just like spying on Carrie was going to be his undoing.
Trav may call it keeping an eye on her, but Ry figured Wayne Vincente, the Royal police chief might have a different take on it—like maybe stalking. And Ry, hell, he called it a whole lot of other things. Like uncomfortable, and stupid and…hey. He sat up straight, all senses on red alert. Had he seen that right? Had the slimeball doctor’s hand slipped a gentleman’s distance too low at the small of Carrie’s back where he’d planted it with a little too much familiarity?
The diner door closed behind them before he had a chance to decide if it had been an accident or an illusion.
Slimeball.
Ry didn’t even know the guy, yet after seeing that—whatever that was—the assessment felt like a good fit. Without an ounce of hesitation, he slipped out