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Her strained expression didn't change. “I'm sure he does.”
“Can I get you anything? Soda? Bottled water?”
“No, thank you.”
Daniel trusted that Bernard would attribute B.J.'s terseness to a fear of flying, as he had intended when he had mentioned it. Bernard wasn't the sharpest pencil in the cup, but he wasn't entirely unobservant either. B.J. was hardly acting like a loving wife on her way to a luxurious resort with her husband.
He was going to have to be on his toes every minute to cover for her. He really hadn't needed this complication.
They were in the air for almost four hours. While Bernard played a video game built into a console in the private jet and Daniel read what appeared to be a book about the Spanish-American War, B.J. simply stared out a side window.
She declined the magazines Bernard offered her and had no interest in watching the television he pointed out to her. She was unable to doze. She spent the time wondering where they were going and why and what to expect when they got there.
Had she made a huge mistake going along with this charade? Should she have made it clear that she was not Daniel's wife? Perhaps treated it as a joke? But he had given her little time for that option and he had looked deadly serious when he'd told her that her very life was in danger.
Seeing the gun tucked beneath Bernard's jacket had seemed to illustrate that warning quite clearly.
Still, was she any safer now, flying toward who knew where for who knew what purpose?
Daniel spoke to her occasionally, using a lovingly solicitous tone that made her back teeth set. She had to make a real effort to respond in kind, but apparently her acting skills were better than she had thought, since Bernard didn't seem to notice anything unusual between them. Maybe because Daniel mentioned several times her supposed fear of flying and commented about how brave she was being, even though he knew she must be anxious.
She hadn't been afraid of flying, but this nightmare trip could definitely leave permanent trauma, she decided.
When they finally landed, it was on another private airstrip. From what B.J. could guess from peering out the window, this strip was a part of a luxurious ocean-side resort. She had seen swimming pools and cabanas, sprawling buildings and cozy cabins. Private beaches. Two golf courses.
Florida? South Carolina? She really had no clue.
Maybe the place would have looked more beautiful to her had she been arriving for a voluntary stay. As it was, the only thought on her mind was wondering how soon she could leave.
“See, Mrs. Andreas?” Bernard asked jovially. “Back on the ground, safe and sound.”
She would have liked very much to smack him right in the middle of his condescending smile. Instead she merely nodded.
Once again Daniel spoke for her. “My wife is exhausted from so much traveling today. I hope we can be shown to our suite quickly so she can get some rest.”
B.J. hoped that suite had a back door she could dash out of as soon as no one was looking. At the very least, she would be on the phone at the first opportunity telling her uncles to get busy rescuing her. Well, she would make that call as soon as she figured out where she was.
Bernard ushered them off the plane. A man stepped forward immediately to greet them. In marked contrast to the beefy and belligerent-looking Bernard, this man was handsome, slender and suave. Yet something about his smile made B.J.'s blood run cold.
His heavily moussed hair was sun-streaked blond, and his eyes were a glittering green. He had a perfect profile, a perfect tan, perfect teeth and a perfect physique. She would have bet hard-earned cash that none of those attributes had been bestowed upon him by nature.
As her cowboy uncle Jared would say, this fellow was so slick she could have slid him through a keyhole.
“Daniel,” he said, shaking Daniel's hand. “It's good to see you again. And this—” he turned to B.J. “—must be your lovely wife.”
His voice practically coated with pride, Daniel replied, “Yes, this is B.J. Darling, I'd like you to meet Judson Drake, the man I've told you so much about.”
Judson Drake. If that was his real name, she would eat her shoe.
She nearly flinched when Drake took her hand, holding it more snugly than necessary. “It's my pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Andreas.”
“Mr. Drake,” she murmured. As much as it unnerved her to be called Mrs. Andreas, she didn't encourage him to use her nickname.
“Bernard tells me that you've had a difficult time. I understand that your luggage has been misplaced.”
He was still holding her hand. B.J. gave a slight tug, freeing it, before she replied, “Yes. I suggested that I should stay behind…”
“Nonsense.” He waved a hand dismissively. “We have everything you could need in our shops here. I'll make arrangements for you to select whatever you like. Just give the shopkeepers your name, and anything you need is yours.”
