Chapter 1 #2
In a black skirt that ended just above mid-thigh and a form-fitting short-sleeved top, she might have fit in at a barn dance.
If not for the footwear. Two-inch heels on leather sandals bearing an over-abundance of bling.
Her hair, dark and silky looking in the sun, hung almost to her waist, completely uncontained. And yet…perfectly sculpted, too.
All about the haircut. He’d had enough experience with human disguises to have that one down pat.
The bag slung over her shoulder—thin strap, small, black—also bore bling.
She reeked money.
Yet the SUV, while a recent model and bearing temporary tags exposing it as a new purchase, was a mid-level vehicle from a common manufacturer. Not a high-end brand.
Imperial’s clip-clopping gave them away before Harc was close enough to see the woman’s expression clearly as she spun around.
But it wouldn’t have mattered. He was down off his horse, facing away from the woman, walking Imperial to the barn before anyone had a chance to call out a greeting.
The woman on his property was not Nicole Compton. Nor was she welcome there. As soon as he had Imperial secure, he lifted his flannel shirt enough to pull out his Glock. Checked it for ammunition, though he knew full well the chamber was loaded. And with the weapon raised, headed back outside.
No way in hell was Charlotte Duran taking another thing from him.
The woman and her father had already cost him his soul.
* * *
She’d heard the man was a tough one. Intimidating as they came. Nicole had not been prepared, in any way, to meet her host with a gun pointed straight between her eyes.
Raising her arms above her head, she realized, too late, that she had no idea if the gunman steadily approaching was Harcus Taylor. And quickly called out, “I’m Nicole Compton! I have an appointment with Mr. Taylor.”
She was half an hour early.
The man obviously had tight security. Something she’d lived with her entire life.
And based on what she knew about Taylor, something he’d be wise to keep for the rest of his.
But while the gun boded well for her in a future association with the CIA agent, she couldn’t take her eyes off the barrel as the dangerous-looking man approached.
“What’s your business?” He barked the words as a challenge. As though if he didn’t approve of her response, she’d be dead in seconds.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Taylor,” she said again, pulling on the bravado Eduardo Duran had trained into her from her first memory of him.
As long as she didn’t have a bullet between the eyes, she could hold her own with the best of them.
The man with the gun didn’t lower his weapon. Nor did he slow his advance on her. At the moment, she was just thankful that the shakiness taking over her insides hadn’t been apparent in her voice. The cliché Eduardo had been fond of came to mind. Never let them see you sweat.
She’d been through a lot in the past few months—too much. She had been in critical danger. But she’d never in her life had a gun pointed at her.
She’d only ever seen them pointed at others as part of her protection.
And had never witnessed an actual shooting.
The threatening man stopped a few feet in front of her. “I’m asking you one last time to state your business,” he said menacingly, speaking through gritted teeth.
She had nothing but the truth. Looking the man straight in his slitted dark eyes, she repeated, “My name is Nicole Compton. I have an appointment with Mr. Taylor.”
Always speak with authority. Another one of Eduardo’s oft-repeated life lessons came to her aid without forethought.
When the gun lowered slightly, Nicole’s chin started to drop. She quickly shut her mouth. Duran had gone from pauper to billionaire. Of course he knew how to manipulate people to make things happen.
Thankful for the rules he’d taught her, even while she hated that they were a part of her, she continued to maintain eye contact with Taylor’s watchdog.
“If you’d just let Mr. Taylor know I’m here,” she said politely but in a tone she’d heard Eduardo use every time he was speaking to someone in his employ.
The gun was no longer pointing at head, but it drew Nicole’s gaze as it moved to point at her chest, as accents to each word the man spoke. “Show me some ID.”
Four words. Four distinct points of the pistol.
His hand was big. The knuckles worn. No mistaking the strength there. At such close range, and with her unarmed, the man didn’t need to pull the trigger to kill her.
He could drop the gun and just do her in with his bare hands.
Bury her out there.
And no one would ever know.
Because she hadn’t let a single soul know where she was going and why.
Taking a note from her wise sister’s playbook, she’d chosen not to involve her far-too-generous older sister, or Savannah’s expert friends, in finding her absolution.
Just as Savannah had set out to find Charlotte on her own just a few months before.
Rescuing her from the nightmare she hadn’t known she’d been living in.
Savannah had used a cruise as her cover. Nicole’s was a dude ranch.
Which meant she had to get past security and have her hour to ingratiate herself into ranch life. Leaving one hand up, she lowered the other, palm out, to the small clutch she wore everywhere, at all times.
“Don’t move!” The voice was gravelly, and Nicole’s gaze shot to her aggressor, seeing the gun aimed at her chest.
“You asked for my identification.” Eduardo would be proud of the even tone.
Nicole hated that she was thankful for his tutelage.
“I know who you are, Charlotte Duran. And I’m giving you one more chance to state your purpose for trespassing on my ranch before I pull this trigger.”
He wasn’t going to shoot her. The impression hit as the man’s voice faltered over those last words.
He knew who she was. The second fact hit and rocked her more.
And the third… “You’re Harcus Taylor?”
He’d said his ranch.
And was clearly ready to order her off from it.
Not at all an auspicious start to what might be her only chance at success.
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