Bedding The Billionaire (13 page)

Tarken straightened, drew himself up to his full
height
—
which was still a good four inches less that this fellow,
he realized
—
and glared back at the dark haired man.

His face was grave and a small muscle jumped in his
throat. He looked like a man barely holding onto his self control. Tarken
swallowed.

"My name is Damien Vane," the man said. He
held out his hand. "I believe we met the other night."

Tarken swallowed at the sound of that voice. It was the
same voice that had sent the waiter scuttling over and him eager to leave on
Tuesday night. In the cold light of day, Tarken wasn't proud of his hasty
retreat then. He should've stayed and confronted him. He should have fought for
Abbey.

"Yes," said Tarken, shaking his hand,
"I believe we did. Are you the Software Solutions representative?"

He nodded. "And you are?"

"Tarken Pratt from JJC Pharmaceuticals. This is
my associate, Max Donaldson. We'd like to have a look at your
application."

"Certainly," said Vane stiffly. He led them
to a table where a laptop was set up and he began to run through the features
of his software.

After ten minutes, Tarken yawned loudly. "Okay, I
think we've seen enough. Come on, Donaldson, let's go."

"But I've got a million questions," cried
Donaldson. "What operating systems can it run on?"

Tarken rolled his eyes and Vane launched into his
spiel. Donaldson, curse him, asked his million questions and Vane, double curse
him, answered them all smoothly.

The guy knew his stuff, that much was clear even to
him.

Finally Donaldson finished. His smile indicated he was
satisfied with the answers.

Tarken wondered if all of Vane's customers came away
satisfied. Did Abbey?

He let out a loud huff and politely thanked Vane for
his time while hustling Donaldson away from the stand. He should've started the
ball rolling on a deal, but he just wanted to get away and think this through
first.

They were halfway across the room when he felt a large
hand clamp down on his shoulder. He winced. He knew it had been too easy. Vane
wanted to confront him on Abbey's behalf, probably prove how macho he was, and
tell him not to call her again. Well, too bad. He wasn't giving up on Abbey
that easily, especially not to a computer salesman.

"Mr. Pratt, I'd like to talk to you."

Tarken spun round, ready to do battle. The grim
determination on the other man's face made him stop. Going by the grip on his
shoulder, this guy could beat him to a pulp if he felt like it.

Maybe Tarken could keep him talking. If he remained
inside, where hundreds of people were milling about, what could the guy to do
to him?

"Please call me Tarken," said Tarken. "Is
this about business?"

"No."

"I didn't think so." He turned to Donaldson.
"I'll meet you back at the office."

Donaldson smiled awkwardly, glanced from one man to
the other, then scurried away.

"Look, Vane," said Tarken, puffing out his
chest, "Abbey's my girlfriend."

"She told me you broke up. You slept with a girl
called Melinda."

"That was a small misunderstanding. I've realized
I can't live without Abbey. I've called her and explained and it's only a
matter of time before we're back together."

"I don't think so."

"
You
don't think so? And what's my
relationship with Abbey got to do with you?"

"That's none of your business."

The man's eyes flashed at him like two black opals.

Tarken cleared his throat. "This conversation is
getting nowhere. If you've said all you want to say
—
"

"I haven't."

Vane glanced away thoughtfully and Tarken wondered if
this indicated a chink in the armor.

"I wanted to ask you something about Abbey."

"And what makes you think I'll answer anything
you want to know?"

Vane's lips drew into thin white lines. "Because
something tells me you're afraid of me."

Tarken blinked in surprise. He laughed. "I'm not
afraid of you. Why would I be? In fact, you should be afraid of me. I'm a
potential customer. I could decide to not buy your software. I could decide to
spread nasty rumors about how terrible your software is, and how much of an
arrogant scumbag Software Solutions' VP of Marketing is."

"Go ahead," said Vane. "And while
you're at it don't forget that I'm a womanizing drunk. That detail is very
important."

Tarken took a step backwards. This man was mentally
unbalanced. Maybe he should at least listen to his questions, just in case he
was a maniac. Besides, he didn't have to actually answer any of them.

"Go on."

"Where can I find Abbey?"

Tarken laughed. "You mean you don't know?"

But Vane didn't nod or shake his head. He just stood,
stoically, staring unblinking at him. Then he took a step forward and grabbed
Tarken on the arm. And squeezed.

Tarken flinched. This guy looked dangerous enough that
he might cause trouble.

"I won't give you her address. I don't trust
you." The grip on his arm tightened. "Okay, okay. I'll give you
Lucy's office address. That's her best friend, in case you didn't know. Richmond
P.I." He recited the address of the decrepit little office. Let him deal
with Lucy. If she didn't scare him off then he deserved Abbey as a prize for
bravery.

Vane's brows drew together. He didn't let go of
Tarken's arm. "Richmond P.I.? Lucy's a private investigator?"

Tarken nodded. "You really don't know much about
Abbey, do you?"

Vane glared at him. "Tell me then."

Tarken shrugged. Just the bare facts, he thought. Nothing
personal. "She's helping Lucy out on a case right now."

Vane's eyes narrowed. "What sort of case?"

"How should I know?"

"So you're not her boyfriend?"

Tarken shrugged and sighed. "Not since she found
out about Melinda. But that's over now, and I'm going to get her back. So don't
get in my way, Vane."

The arrogant S.O.B. actually smiled at that. No, not a
smile, a snarl. A vicious one.

"I figure there's not much money in Lucy's line
of work so in a few days Abbey will come crawling back."

Vane frowned, then a shadow of alarm flashed across
his black eyes. Good. Whatever he'd said was having an affect.

"You give her money?"

"Well, yeah. Good money. She works pretty hard
for it though. And I have to admit, she's good at what she does."

The hand on his arm tightened and Tarken swallowed. Already
his limb was becoming numb from the lack of blood flow. But it was worth it
just to see the look on Vane's face. It was almost a look of...fear?

"I didn't really realize how good until she quit.
Always the way though, isn't it? You're employees leave and you find no one
else in the company knows how to do what they do. I've advertised for a
replacement, but so far the agency hasn't come up with a suitable
applicant."

Vane's grip relaxed and so did Tarken, clenching and
unclenching his fist to get the blood flowing again. Vane frowned at him, his
eyebrows knitted.

"She works for you?"

"That's what I just said."

"What does she do."

"Nothing, she quit."

"Before she quit, Idiot."

Tarken smarted. "She was my personal assistant."

Vane's arm dropped to his side. "Personal
assistant?" His voice was vague, distant.

Good. He had Vane on the ropes. He didn't know how
he'd managed it, but that didn't matter. It was the end result that was
important, and the end result was that Vane was on the back foot. Obviously his
answers were the opposite of what Vane had expected to hear. Or wanted to hear.
Excellent. Tarken was winning. He enjoyed winning.

"Yeah, my P.A. Things are a little hectic since
she left, but when I get her back, it'll be okay again."

"And how will you get her back, Tarken?"

Tarken didn't like the inflection in Vane's voice when
he said his name. It was arrogant, self-assured. The uncertainty of moments ago
had completely disappeared from the computer salesman's tone.

"Offer her more money of course." He
snorted. What a stupid man Vane was.

***

The taxi was taking way too long. Nick drummed his
fingers on his knee, glanced at the ancient driver squinting through
bottle-thick glasses at the traffic, and willed him to hurry.

The day had dragged on after Tarken had left the
seminar. Nick hadn't felt the urge to punch someone since he was twenty, but
he'd been very close to punching Tarken's patrician nose when he'd spoken about
Abbey as if she were an object, easily bought.

The guy was a first class idiot, and he didn't
understand what Abbey had ever seen in him. She could do much better than the
likes of him. He'd tell her that too, when he saw her.

Hopefully that would be soon.

He'd thought about calling Lucy's office first, but
decided he'd rather speak to Abbey face to face. What he wanted to say couldn't
be said over the phone. Actually, he didn't really know what he wanted to say
to her yet, but at least the taxi ride gave him a chance to think things
through.

To think about what Tarken had said.

Abbey wasn't a hooker. That was definitely a load off
his shoulders. He should've believed her when she told him, but that wasn't his
fault. He liked proof, and all the evidence had pointed to her being a less
than reputable woman. The masseur story, sex within minutes of meeting him, and
then again the next night. And of course, the clothes had 'easy' written all
over them.

Nick drew in a deep breath to calm himself down. They
were traveling through a nice part of town, east of the city center, but the
houses quickly became smaller and denser as they crossed a major intersection.

"Richmond," said the driver. "Good
factory outlets and seconds shops if you're looking for a new suit."

"No thanks."

The taxi pulled into a street, turned a few corners,
then stopped outside a warehouse. The street was full of warehouses. Some
looked like they'd been converted into trendy apartments with balconies and
garages. Others, with crumbling facades and broken windows looked less loved.

Nick paid the driver and got out. He scanned the dull
brass labels beside the glass door and spotted the P.I. agency. Suite 2C. He
pushed open the dirty glass door and entered.

The hallway smelled moldy and the carpet looked it. Nick
held his breath as he glanced at the staircase. He went up, dodged the broken
step, and paused at the top of the landing. It was darker on this level with no
natural light. There were no windows in the corridor.

The first door belonged to a lawyer's office, the
second to a medical clinic and the third was Richmond P.I. Nick knocked on the
grimy opaque glass door. No answer. He knocked louder. Still no answer.

Damn. He should've called. He really didn't want to
have to go all the way back to the hotel and return again another time. Maybe
he should wait. Lucy would arrive eventually and point him in Abbey's direction
if she wasn't with her.

He leaned against the wall and paint flaked off onto
his sleeve. Enough of this. There was only one option. He would break in.

It wouldn't be breaking and entering, as such. More
like just entering. He wasn't going to steal anything or break anything. He
just wanted to talk to Abbey. He might as well wait in relative comfort.

He bent and studied the lock. Nothing fancy. He fished
in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a credit card and lock picks. Old
habits died hard. He still carried although he hadn't used them in a long time.

The lock was just about to give way when a door opened
along the corridor. A giant of a man with the physique of a Neanderthal stepped
out. Nick looked up, nodded, and waited for the guy to leave.

He didn't.

"What you doing?" he asked.

"Waiting for Lucy."

"Looked like you were trying to break in."

"Do I look like a burglar to you?"

The Neanderthal looked Nick up and down. "Guess
not."

"Lucy's a friend," Nick said.

The man grinned crookedly. "She's every man's
friend." He passed Nick and stepped heavily down the stairs making them
creak dangerously under his weight. When he reached the bottom he looked back
up and grinned. "Just don't let her give you that shit about being busy. That's
her kiss-off line. Besides," he signaled the closed office door, "she
never looks busy to me."

He opened the front door and disappeared outside into
the sweltering heat.

Nick took his hand out of his pocket and returned to
his task. A moment later he stepped inside and congratulated himself for
remembering a bad habit from the less respectable years of his life.