Kiernan, page 3
part #4 of Sea Dragon Shifters Series
Concentrating, he studied her face and body language. No doubt about it, his assistant was bursting to give him her opinion.
“Tell me what you think,” he said, “I want to know.”
“You’re one of the top three most successful Muirdris directors. Partly because, even when we have a wildly successful fiscal year, you always manage to remain calm and rational. You reinvest a good portion of your profits. And when you do splurge on something personal, it’s for a reasonable amount of money and on sensible items.”
She paused. He waited patiently for the hit.
“Until now,” she said. “Why the heck would you want to pay an astronomical amount of money to buy an island? Talk about a money pit. And isolated. You’re a social man not a hermit.”
Rachel ducked her head and checked his reaction with a sidelong glance under her lashes. “I could go on…”
“No need,” he muttered. “I get it.”
She sucked in an audible breath and the knuckles on her clasped hands turned white. “Sir, I—”
“Wait,” he said and patted her hands. “Don’t backtrack on me now. You’re absolutely right. Cancel the realtor. I was frustrated and antsy stuck up in Boston, just went a little stir-crazy. Guess I was looking for an easy place to hide out, somewhere to pout in private.”
“May I offer alternatives?”
“Shoot.”
“First, you could benefit from a bit of fun company. Ji your friend from corporate security called en route from Tokyo. He’s on his way here. Landing in Atlanta in two hours, then he’ll fly here instead going home to Boston. He wants to check up on the search team he arranged for you. Also, he mentioned a couple of weeks relaxing. A vacation. According to him, babysitting Devlin’s interests in Tokyo earned him comp time. He asked me if I knew of any big beach houses for rent near Savannah.”
“So, instead of buying an island, you’re suggesting I rent a house on an island, like Tybee?”
“Exactly.” Rachel smiled at him, nodding her approval.
“Ji and I can directly supervise the search for Delia in between hanging out at the beach? Leaving no time for me to pout?” He pictured diving into the Atlantic off a long dock and shifting into his sea dragon as soon as he was under water.
Rachel smiled sweetly and remained silent.
He grinned back at her. “Ms. Sampson, you’re truly a gem. Ask the realtor to find us something right away. We’ll need lots of room, lots of security, a decent workout room, and as secluded as possible. Then if you’ll hook us up with grocery delivery, especially premier seafood, lots of crab and lobster, as well as steaks for Ji?”
“No problem,” Rachel murmured.
“And find out exactly what time his flight from Atlanta is getting here so we can meet his plane.”
“I already have that…” The incoming text signal on Rachel’s phone interrupted her.
“Excuse me.” She swiped to read the text and her eyes widened. “Son of a bitch—excuse my French. It’s one of Ji’s men, the one tailing the man they suspect mugged Delia at the parade in March. The mugger checked out of his motel on I-95 and is currently driving south. Ji’s man will keep us apprised.”
“He didn’t mention seeing Delia?”
“No. But Ji’s people have gathered a fair amount of background on her. We have time before Ji lands in Savannah. Would you like to go to the office?”
“I’d like to change and unpack.” He needed to be near his full hoard again. He touched the travel pouch around his waist, filled to overflowing with small portable pieces of gold from the hoard. Not the same as being with all of it.
“Let’s go to the condo and you can tell me all the lurid details.”
She pressed the button for the intercom and directed the driver to his condo. When she turned back, her face was impassive—unreadable.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Ms. Cordelia Sorrel is in the middle of a very nasty high-stakes court battle over a double inheritance. Some of the details are disgusting, however, none of it is Ms. Sorrel’s fault or her doing. It’s a family war with millions of dollars and a huge corporation involved. More than enough motivation to incite violence.”
Chapter 6
Kiernan
May 9th
An hour later, Kiernan was in his condo, comfortable in pressed shorts and a t-shirt, reading his way through the electronic file of news articles about Cordelia that Rachel had gathered. The first story was a couple of years old. A gossipy, photo filled article about Delia’s mother, Jan Sorrel, who the reporter called a ‘serial bride’. The breaking story was her ‘spur-of-the-moment’ wedding to groom number four, Tucker Watson, multi-millionaire business tycoon. The next page combined candid photos with several snippets of the newly wed couple’s travels.
There was one feature story on Leopold Watson, only son and heir apparent to the company owned by Tucker. Business-wise, the writer assumed the son would eventually take over the businesses. She also hinted at Leopold’s wildly extravagant lifestyle and spending, very public issues that caused the on-again/off again working relationship between the Watson men, father and son. And more recently, a flurry of investigations into Leopold and his possible connections to organized crime.
There were multiple articles covering the shocking news of the private jet crash and the deaths of Cordelia’s mother and stepfather. About six weeks following the crash, Leopold filed a lawsuit contesting the father’s will, citing the terms of the pre-nuptial agreement signed by both parties.
The court battle over Delia’s late mother’s estate and her stepfather’s empire was still raging.
What a mess.
From across his living room, Rachel signaled. “The limo will return in one hour, take you to the airport to pick up Ji.”
“One minute,” he said and finished reading the paragraph. He glanced up to Rachel. “You and I still need to talk. Please instruct the driver to go ahead without us. Send him inside to get Ji and bring him here.”
“No problem.” She accessed her phone and turned aside to relay instructions to the driver. Rachel swiped her phone closed and turned to face him. She rested one hip against the tall back of a dining room chair. She often preferred to stand when they met in his office.
He gave her a smile, nodded toward the opposite end of the couch.
Her eyebrows arched in surprise, maybe partly in question, but Rachel had worked for him long enough to understand perfectly. He wanted her opinion, her input. Before Ji got here. She brought a giant mug of tea, her iPad, gathered her notebook and briefcase and sat opposite him on the couch.
He smiled his approval. “Get comfortable.”
She spread out her things on the coffee table, kicked off her heels and tucked stocking clad legs beneath her on the cushion.
“You want chronological order?” she asked.
“Please.”
“Right. I believe Delia was blind-sided by her mother Jan’s decision to marry Watson. The union with Delia’s father seemed a love match and together they started building a comfortable life. After he died suddenly, Delia’s mother married two seemingly rich, money grubbing cads in a row. No surprise, both marriages ended badly. Husband number four, Watson, was truly mega-rich. Making her appear to be the gold digger. Maybe she was. It’s possible the woman had reasons we don’t know about. I might be able to dig a little deeper into her finances and—”
“No. I appreciate the offer to help, but no. Once I find Delia, get her somewhere safe, I’ll see if she has learned any more about her mother’s motives.”
“Okay.”
“If Delia has been in hiding all this time, why didn’t she hide further away?”
“I’m guessing this area of Georgia is her comfort zone, and she is compelled to stay nearby, despite the fact she was discovered in Savannah and threatened. We know she’s a sharp cookie so that seems like the only logical answer. Unless the poor girl has a death wish.”
His sea dragon took Rachel’s word choice: ‘death wish’, literally and went berserk.
Unaware of his inner battle to calm the dragon, Rachel fiddled with her iPad, and a picture of Delia appeared on the screen.
The sea dragon went from crazy to desperate. It’s her, Cordelia. She’s ours. Find her. Protect our mate.
Settle down. Again, Kiernan fought hard to keep from shifting. Stop right now, he yelled at the beast internally. Calm down. If we shift, you’ll destroy the condo… and give poor Rachel a heart attack.
The dragon huffed and paced, digging in razor sharp claws on every turn. His low menacing growls reverberated through Kiernan’s aching head.
“Shit.” His breath caught in his throat. He was worried about his mate, too. He’d been desperately trying to find her since March. Ever since she’d no showed the Muirdris St. Patrick’s Day party. That evening, no one he’d spoken to had seen Delia since the parade. No one knew where she was. Lily and Beau were at Muirdris, dancing and singing along to traditional Irish songs. As were many of the Irish Heritage group.
Since the end of the parade, they’d all asked him if he knew how Delia was feeling. Was she coming to the party?
That night, when he’d reached the end of his contact list and closed his phone, he’d stared out the huge window watching the lights around the Port. He’d leave the party as soon as he could, after getting her address from Lily. He’d check at Delia’s house. If she wasn’t there, he’d call in a professional: Ji, Muirdris Shipping’s chief of corporate security.
“Kiernan?” Across the couch, Rachel’s voice brought him back to the moment. “Shit what?”
“Death wish is a little harsh, don’t you think?”
Rachel went red. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just an expression. A bad one. Forgive me.”
Bad expression? Kiernan had to agree. “Let’s stick with positive thoughts.” The day of the parade, he’d known damn well it wasn’t a lamp pole that had attacked Delia. She’d been assaulted by a real person. Most likely something to do with the high stakes law suit. An ugly attempt to frighten her. Instead, she’d been stubborn, determined to finish the parade. Then the woman had vanished.
When he remembered her bruised face and seeing her destroyed cottage later that evening, real fear, pure terror for her safety rampaged through his blood stream and left him woozy.
“Only positive thoughts,” Rachel said. “Okay, will do.” She gave him a gentle smile. “I have one for you right now. Cordelia Sorrel maybe a bit of an introvert, most at home in a university library, but deep inside I believe she’s strong. And the thing about bookish females, avid readers? They tend to be extremely clever and full of all those fiction ideas. You must admit, she’s been an ace at avoiding whoever’s threatening her, for months at a stretch. The incident at the parade seems to be the only time they were able to find her. And as a result, she’s even more cautious now. Think about it. If Ji’s people can’t find her, she’s extremely well hidden.”
While Rachel’s conclusions sounded all well and good, how could he protect her if even Ji’s experts couldn’t locate her? Where was she?
Chapter 7
Cordelia
May 10th
Delia tossed her sport bag, purse, two totes, and then Barb’s borrowed carry-on suitcase and hiking backpack over the seven-foot wrought iron fence. After quickly scanning up and down the dark fence-line, she moved to the center of the arched double gate, grabbed two of the spiky rods lined up across the top, and used the curved design of the gate to haul herself up and over. Breathless from fear, exertion, and excitement, she hurriedly gathered up all of hers and her borrowed luggage.
“Loaded down like a damn pack mule,” she muttered into the night as she staggered to the edge of the crushed shell driveway. Reluctant to use a flashlight, she did as she’d been warned to do, and stuck to the edge of the drive. Midway through the first easy bend, the trees on both sides thickened, and behind her, the gate disappeared from view. She continued to follow the border, a line where the white crushed shells met red dirt. Shadows and outlines of shrubs and trees on both sides gave the illusion she was hemmed in.
“Bet this jungle is beautiful in daylight,” she quipped in an undertone. The driveway continued straight for about a hundred yards then started to bend into another curve.
“Are we there yet?” She was sweaty, thirsty, and her arms quivered from carrying all the bags. Her legs had always been stronger but even those muscles were beginning to burn.
A drop of sweat ran down her temple headed for her chin. She raised a hand to flick it away and whapped herself with one of the tote bags.
“Okay, joke’s over,” Delia grumbled under her breath. “Where‘s this alleged house? Or the ocean? I ‘d settle for a tiny beach breeze.”
Was she far enough from the gate to set down and pull Barb’s rolling carry-on? The noise of the wheels on crushed shells was loud. She stepped off the driveway and one wheel snagged on a rock in the seashells. The unexpected jerk on her arm was the last straw. Disgusted, she let go of everything and sat, surrounded by luggage.
Wait. The dirt was gone. She was sitting in sand.
Craning her neck, she squinted. Further up ahead she could make out the shape of a huge white house set against dark trees. Back on her feet, re-loaded with all her luggage, she took a deep breath and started forward. The smell of the ocean tickled her nose. The sound of waves breaking on the shore cheered her. She followed the drive toward the house and within minutes, the tree line on her right side stopped. In its place was a stretch of beach and an unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean.
“Holy shit.” For once the worn-out phrase ‘only steps to the beach’ was true. The house was literally on the sand. She turned her back to the ocean, faced the structure, and glanced up. Bet the view from the top floor is breathtaking.
She’d never know. Her little hideaway was on the bottom, garage level.
By the time she reached the triple garage, her shoulders ached, and she was tempted to once again simply drop everything. To get herself safely inside, splash cold water on her face, and then come back for her stuff.
Bad plan. Better to bring all evidence of her presence inside, asap.
She trudged around to the back of the garage. The housekeeper’s apartment extended from the rear wall and was about the same size as the space designated for three vehicles. Locating the hidden key, Delia stepped inside and punched in the code to disarm the intruder alarm.
The faint aroma of mildew and new paint lingered in the air. The garage and this apartment, comprising the ground level of the house, had flooded recently when a tropical storm blew in during high tide. With the housekeeper’s quarters, also advertised as a mother-in-law set up for vacationing families, engulfed with water. The property management company had been forced to take the house off the rental market while the water damage and aroma were addressed.
At the exorbitant rate the owners demanded for short term rentals, the property had better be in perfect condition.
She opened every window and turned on all the ceiling fans. Once it was aired-out she’d close the apartment up and turn on the AC. Adjusting the temperature on the full-sized fridge, she taped the security company’s drive-by schedule to the door.
Deciding to use the flashlight rather than turn on the overhead lights, she distributed her assortment of bags: tote of emergency food on the kitchen counter, all clothing in the bedroom, her laptop on the desk in the sitting room. She propped the main door open, closed the screen door, and crept around to the front of the house.
Settling in the sand, she listened to the surf and watched what she could see of the dark waves rolling onto the beach. There was just enough breeze to cool her skin and bring the salt sea smell to her.
Her eyelids were drooping when she heard the distant sound of the wrought iron gate creaking.
What the hell? Her heart in her throat, she scrambled to her feet and took off at a dead run toward the garage. The friend of a friend who’d told Barb the location of the hidden key along with the housekeeper’s security code, swore the house wasn’t going back on any active rental list until June 15th. No one should be anywhere near this house until the property management inspection on the 14th. She sprinted around the back corner of the garage just as a car came around the bend and headlights swept over the exact spot where she’d just been sitting.
Ducking into the apartment, Delia quietly closed and locked the door behind her. Catching her breath, she tiptoed through the rooms closing windows. The door between the apartment sitting room and a set of interior stairs up to the main kitchen was locked.
Ending up in the bedroom, she left one window open just a crack. The sound of two male voices drifted along the side of the garage to her. She couldn’t make out their words. Two car doors slammed. Footfalls sounded up the wood steps to the front veranda and the main door. She heard the front door open, followed by faint beeping. Someone with a key… the beeping stopped… who also knew the code. The main alarm had been silenced.
Then there were footsteps on the first floor and possibly the floor above. The noises all blended together until she gave up trying to keep track. She tried deep slow breathing to calm her racing heart. That was working pretty well until the sound of firm steps in the kitchen drew her out of the bedroom and into the housekeeper’s sitting room.
Sneaking across the new hardwood floor, she stopped inches from the sturdy-looking adjoining door. The locked adjoining door. Someone from the kitchen hurried down the stairs and rattled the doorknob. Her heart stopped.
A male voice called out, “Did you get a second key? There’s an apartment or a storage space, something down here, on the garage level. The door’s locked.”
Her ears rang with fear and the surge of adrenaline. The other man’s response was muffled garble. For an instant she was comforted by the fact they had a house key, and apparently the alarm code for the main system. They weren’t random burglars. Or Leopold’s hitmen after her. This was her sanctuary; she had so few options left to her.
