She smiled slowly. “All of those, but I don’t think I’d carry off being a man very well. I tried that one Halloween and—”
He sighed as he kissed her.
Then he leaned back. “Yes?”
Her one dimple pitted her cheek and her eyes sparkled. “That’s a yes, as crazy as this has all been. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Jock, you persistent man.”
“Pays off, doesn’t it?”
She laughed as he kissed her while the waves crashed below and the wind blew across them.
Chapter 10
Kaitlyn hurried past the desk as her shift ended. She was working at a hospital and got off at two today, and she wanted to hurry back to the hotel to get ready. Jock wanted to take her out this evening.
She’d found a job after returning from Ireland. A day after, to be exact. They’d been home from Ireland now for two weeks. She’d started her job at a local ER and was fitting in, or she thought she was. Her coworkers respected her opinion, though one didn’t seem to like anyone. Her boss was funny and great to work with. She’d also applied to med school and was waiting to hear back. If she didn’t make it into Johns Hopkins, she knew she could apply elsewhere, but she wanted Johns Hopkins. As she told Jock, she wanted Hopkins because it was what she and her father had always talked about. It was the school she wanted and she was going to get there. Period. Might take her a bit longer than she’d originally planned, but that was okay as well.
Jock didn’t press her about a wedding date, though he did say he’d like it soon, but it was up to her.
She wanted to get married around the holidays for some reason. Thanksgiving? Christmas? She wasn’t sure.
“Bye, Kaitlyn!” Pat yelled. “See you tomorrow! We’ll get drinks after our shift, okay?”
She nodded and waited on Pat. “That sounds great.”
They walked out the doors. “You still riding the bus?” Pat asked her, grabbing her bike.
“Not today. I’ve got a ride.” She motioned to the dark Cadillac parked at the curb.
A cop car followed an ambulance into the ER bay.
She looked back as they unloaded someone.
“Wonder what’s up?” Pat asked as she climbed on her bike.
“No idea.”
“Not a wreck or the cops wouldn’t be here. Maybe a shooting?” Another cop car pulled in and parked not very far away.
“We always miss the good stuff after we get off.”
“Bite your tongue. The medical gods will curse us with the night from hell when we get our next night shift.”
“True.” Pat waved and took off through the parking lot.
Kaitlyn sighed and leaned back, rolling her neck.
She started toward the dark Cadillac. She really needed to have another talk with Jock. She wanted her own car. Or a bike, though she knew the latter was probably out as the hospital wasn’t close to the hotel. She didn’t need anything fancy and there was enough money in her savings, she could get a loan and—
An arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her back.
Kaitlyn kicked back and yelled.
“Be still,” a voice hissed in her ear.
Landon.
No. No.
“You’re coming with me. We have things to discuss, Katherine, and you’ve made me wait long enough.”
“No!” she yelled as he dragged her back a few feet.
The man leaning against the Caddy’s hood straightened and started their way.
“Put me down!” she yelled.
“I don’t think so.” She heard him open a door of the dark brown car beside them.
She hadn’t been paying attention, had been dreaming about a blue car instead, and—
Kaitlyn struggled and twisted. “Help! Help me!”
People turned. She saw the cop slam his car door and run toward them, but he was so far away.
Something bit into the side of her neck and she tried to jerk away.
“Let me go!” she yelled, though the last words warbled.
The ground tilted and she felt herself lifted, heard a car door slam.
Someone screamed and she felt the car move before the graying mist grew and darkened.
Jock . . .
• • •
He looked into the mirror. The damned policeman was still following him. He’d driven out of D.C., running red lights, taking curves fast enough he heard Katherine fall off the seat into the floorboard.
“Damn it!” he cursed as another police car joined the first.
He pressed the accelerator to the floor and wished he was in his Mercedes. He needed more speed. Needed to get far enough in front of them to get away. Get to his house, to the room.
He had to show her how things could be with them. How perfect they were together.
He hadn’t been home since everything happened. He’d shown up at work, but the looks he’d gotten after he was told he no longer worked there . . . Anger licked through him hot and fast at that thought again.
Damn that man.
A friend had mentioned how it had taken one visit from Jock Kinncaid and the board had hung him out to dry.
Jock. Fucking. Kinncaid.
Mr. Perfect.
He’d ruined his life.
Stolen Katherine away from him.
Katherine was perfect.
His. His. His.
He hit the steering wheel again.
He just had to make her see that. He’d seen their engagement announcement in the paper earlier this week. He’d gone to the hotel and had waited, wanting a glance at her. She’d always ridden the bus, but half the time Jock either took her to work or picked her up, or someone drove her. There was never any pattern that he’d made out.
Which made it harder for him to take her.
He’d almost taken her two days ago, but he’d waited.
He should have taken her then. Now, now he had the police on his tail.
The roads opened up a bit between D.C. and Baltimore, but then this time of day there wasn’t a lot of traffic.
He pressed the pedal closer to the floor and noted they were speeding along at almost ninety miles an hour.
“We’ll be there soon,” he said softly.
• • •
Jock Kinncaid was in a meeting with Frank DeSaro and his son, Vincent. The two had wanted to see him. He knew about what, though he’d rather they had not felt the need to come see him. The DeSaros were also in the hotel business and just as successful as the Kinncaids. The difference, though, was that the Kinncaids liked to keep things clean. Kinncaids were in business, the hotels, had joined the Army or Navy through the generations. They became whoever they were expected to become and family was everything. The DeSaros, Sicilians based in Chicago, were only different in that they were rumored to be in tight with an East Coast crime family.
They’d just shared a laugh when Jock’s assistant, Rachel, opened the door. “Sir.”
He looked at his guests, Mr. DeSaro and his youngest son, who had already graduated from Yale. “Not now, Rachel.”
This was not a man he wanted for an enemy. A couple of months ago he’d been in the right place at the right time to stop the younger DeSaro from getting killed by men who were beating him. Jock had merely done what anyone else would have.
DeSaro did not agree.
“Sir.” Rachel walked into the room. “I apologize but Nathaniel is outside with a policeman and—”
He stood and said, “Show them in—”
“Mr. K.” Nathaniel just walked in anyway, sidestepping Rachel. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry to interrupt and I tried to get here as soon as I could, but the police wouldn’t let me leave at first and . . . I was waiting. There was nothing I could do and—”
“Where’s Kaitie? Where’s my fiancée?” he asked softly, staring at Nathaniel.
Nathaniel was young, a retired boxer, a veteran back from Nam whom Jock had hired months ago as a bodyguard for guests who asked for extra protection. Other times he drove Jock, or filled in wherever needed. He’d been Kaitie’s shadow for the last two weeks.
“I’m sorry, Mr. K. I tried to get to her before he got her into the car, but I didn’t reach them in time.”
Jock strode from behind the desk and pinned Nathaniel up against the wall.
“Mr. Kinncaid!” Rachel yelled.
“Sir, let him go,” the cop said.
“Who put her into a car?” he asked, though he knew. He knew.
“I-I think it was that doctor, sir. The one you showed me a photo of. But I can’t say for—for sure. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Jock,” another voice said, a calm one.
“Sir, put him down,” the policeman said.
“Jock, I think we would learn more if you put the man down, and I assume time is of the essence?” The Italian voice slid over the room.
Jock let Nathaniel go, paced away and planted his hands on his hips. “Talk.”
“Miss Kaitlyn walked her friend out, to a bike chained up. Rack’s in the parking lot. The other nurse, her friend—Pat. She was there, just down the street and saw it. She stopped when Miss K. yelled.”
Jock merely stared at the young man.
“The guy, he just slid out of his car behind her as she walked back toward me. Grabbed her. She fought him, struggled, but I couldn’t get there fast enough. He had her in the back of the car and she wasn’t moving.”
“What did the car look like?” Jock asked, striding back to his desk. He picked up the phone.
“Dark brown Buick, sir. Newer.”
The cop cleared his throat. “One of our officers had just arrived. His partner had already gone into the ER but our guy gave chase until the state boys took over in Maryland. Last I knew, there was a chase down the freeway following the man who abducted your fiancée, Mr. Kinncaid. Your man here tells me there was some trouble with a doctor in—”
Jock held up his finger and dialed the chief. When his secretary answered, Jock only had to give his name and he was patched through.
“What now?” the chief asked.
“A certain doctor just kidnapped my woman. I want her back. In one damned piece without a mark on her.”
He turned from the occupants of the room and looked out his office window on the third floor and down onto the parking lot. He needed his car.
As the chief cursed, he looked at Rachel. “Have my car brought around. Now.”
She nodded and left.
“Don’t do anything stupid. When did this happen?” the chief asked.
He looked to the policeman. “When?”
“About half an hour ago.”
Jock nodded and relayed the message. “You need to have your boys ready.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, boyo.”
Jock shook his head. “I’m leaving.”
“We’ll check his house and put pressure on the parents for any other properties he might have.”
“Do what you have to do and so will I.” He hung up and said to the room, “I have to go.”
The policeman followed him. “Sir, I really think you should wait.”
“Get my information from Rachel. You can come see me tomorrow when I have her back.”
He didn’t wait on the elevator but took the stairs down to the lobby.
DeSaro followed him. As Jock waited for his car, he looked to the other man. “I’m sorry, our meeting will have to be rescheduled.”
The man’s dark eyes looked past Jock to, Jock saw, DeSaro’s son. “You helped my family. Saw to it one of mine was safe. He’s my son. I know who hurt him, and know he’d be dead if not for you. Whatever you need, Jock, for this, let me know.”
Jock held his stare and nodded once.
The man turned and told the valet he needed his own car brought around.
The younger DeSaro just nodded and said, “Thanks again, Mr. Kinncaid.”
Jock’s car came screeching around the corner. At least his staff knew to hurry.
“Mr. Kinncaid, I’d really suggest you let us handle—”
As he climbed into his Stingray, he said, “Call the chief of police in Baltimore. He’ll explain.”
Jock tore out of his hotel driveway and into the traffic. He fisted his hands on the wheel.
He’d promised to keep her safe.
Keep her from being near that bastard again.
And he’d failed.
This I’ll defend . . .
He wasn’t doing a very good damned job of it.
What was the bastard doing to her? Jock couldn’t . . . He wouldn’t . . .
Instead he focused on what he was going to do to Dr. Dick when he caught up with him. Because he was damned well going to catch up with the bastard.
Whether or not he killed him was another matter. But he’d worry about that when he got there.
Surely he wouldn’t take the woman to his house, but where the hell else would he take her?
• • •
Landon checked the mirror again.
No one.
He’d finally lost the damned cops, and look how long it had taken him. The clock on his dash told him he’d wasted precious time. He’d stopped earlier in an abandoned lot and had switched Katherine from the backseat to the trunk. Just in case anyone was to look in the back of the car while he was busy.
He’d driven up and down his street twice.
They’d be here soon.
He pulled into a driveway two blocks down from his house. He put the car into park and waited.
No one moved. Most people on this street worked, thank goodness. They were younger couples, some with children, most with nannies. No little old busybodies to be sitting on the porch to see what he was doing.