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Chapter One
B.J. Samples. Private investigator extraordinaire.
Almost strutting with pride, she climbed out of her rental car and approached the Missouri farmhouse that lay at the end of a long, wide driveway. Actually farmhouse did not do the structure justice. This was practically a mansion. Pillars, dormers, balconies. Fountains and a swimming pool and detached pool house. Landscaping that looked like a photograph from a home-and-garden magazine. There was even a private airstrip behind the house.
Having come from a childhood of poverty and homelessness, Daniel Castillo—now known as Daniel Andreas—had apparently done quite well for himself.
He had not, however, been an easy man to find. She had spent the past week trying to track him down, finally getting a lead that had brought her to this spreading east Missouri farm an hour's drive from St. Louis. It hadn't been effortless, but she had gotten the information. And she couldn't wait to boast about it to her three uncles who owned the private investigation agency that employed her.
Her confident steps slowed as she approached the front door. She had the oddest feeling that she was being watched. She glanced around and saw no one, not even in the many highly polished windows at the front of the house.
Maybe it was just an attack of nerves. After all, she didn't usually do fieldwork. Computer searches were her specialty. The only reason she had been sent on this trip was because it was a low-priority assignment. One that could hardly get her into any trouble.
Maybe it was the place itself that was getting to her. Her hand wasn't quite steady when she reached for the doorbell. Was it any wonder? The only mansion she had ever visited regularly in her middle-class upbringing was her wealthy aunt Michelle's. Yet with Tony and Michelle's four children and assortment of pets, that sprawling estate had alwa
ys been homey and welcoming.
She glanced down at her olive-green camp shirt and khaki pants. Perhaps she should have dressed more professionally. But it was too late for that now. The front door opened, and a very large, very bald man in a shiny gray jacket, a pale blue shirt and sharply creased jeans growled, “Yes?”
He didn't look like a butler. Nor a farmer, for that matter. He looked more like a bouncer in a low-rent strip joint. Not that she'd ever actually been in a place like that. Drawing herself to her full five feet three inches—still a foot shorter than this man—B.J. tried to speak confidently. “I'm looking for Daniel Andreas. Is he here?”
The man's heavy eyebrows rose toward his shaved pate. “Daniel Andreas?”
Never known as a particularly patient woman, B.J. swallowed a sigh. “That's what I said.”
Comprehension seemed to light in his dull brown eyes. “Oh! You made it. I'm sure he'll be pleased. Come in.”
She didn't have a clue what he was talking about. “I don't—”
“Daniel!” the man bellowed, practically hauling her inside. He glanced toward the staircase. “Oh, there you are. Look who's here. Your missus.”
B.J. glanced in the same direction, then simply stared. She had wondered how Daniel would look in person after thirteen years. Now she knew.
He looked fantastic.
For a moment he stared back at her, no expression at all on his incredibly handsome face. She doubted sincerely that he recognized her. It had been too long, and she was sure she had not made the impression on him back then that he had on her.
Before she could speak, he was coming toward her with swift, graceful movements that were vaguely feline. Just a bit predatory. The smile that lit his face was blinding, but she had a moment to notice that his obsidian eyes were deadly serious before he grabbed her and yanked her toward him. “Darling! I'm so glad you could make it after all.”
A moment later his mouth was on hers in a kiss hot enough to melt the soles of her leather sandals.
When the kiss ended, he didn't give her a chance to speak—even if she had been able to, which certainly wasn't guaranteed just then. Gripping her shoulders hard enough to leave fingerprints, he looked at the bald man, who hovered nearby with an oddly sentimental smile on his broad face. “Bernard, would you give us a minute alone? We have some catching up to do.”
Bernard? B.J. found herself mentally repeating. Was that really that man's name?
The big man nodded. “You and the missus can use that little parlor just behind you. You won't be disturbed. I'll let you know when we have to go. In the meantime, I'll call the boss and tell him your wife will be joining us, after all.”
“Oh, but—”
Daniel's fingers dug more sharply into B.J.'s shoulders, causing her words to end in a gasp. “Yes, do that,” he said to the other man.
Bernard was frowning at B.J. “Something wrong, Mrs. Andreas?”
She glanced up at Daniel in bewilderment. The look he gave her in return had her turning back to Bernard with a strained smile. “I just need to talk to my, er, to Daniel in private for a moment.”
The large man's face cleared, his somewhat scarylooking smile returning. “Right this way, ma'am.”
He ushered them into an elegantly furnished little parlor and closed the door behind him to leave them alone.
