Georgia’s eyes went wide. “You don’t want Logan to know you’re on the computer? Are you going to send someone nasty e-mails? I’m really good at those.”
Melissa had left the file open. Damn. It looked like the receptionist kept tabs on everyone. There were notes on every single therapist. Eva apparently was the one who stole yogurt out of the fridge. Thanks for the hungry days, Eva.
Nick hit on his clients? Yeah. She could buy that. He hit on just about anything with breasts, but apparently he’d gotten caught with a client, though Nat hadn’t heard anything about it. Nick hadn’t even been called out on it.
Or had he? Nick had been awfully quiet lately.
Nat frowned as she read the notes about herself. Melissa didn’t like the pink hair, thought she was rude, and had made a note to watch Natalie for possibly not reporting all her tips to the IRS. There was a small note about how much that information might be worth.
Holy shit. Was Melissa blackmailing the employees?
Nat looked around. Still no one. She needed Chase. Chase could figure this out. Chase would be able to look at it and logically deduce the truth. Nat used the mouse to pull out the e-mail, and there it was. A whole file of e-mails sent to her fellow therapists.
Gretchen? There were several sent to Gretchen. What the hell had Gretchen done?
Nat knew she should leave well enough alone, but she couldn’t. She had to look. Had Gretchen been stealing tips? Yogurt?
Natalie gasped because that wasn’t what Gretchen had been doing. Pictures of her with Stan Kirkman had been attached to an e-mail requesting an enormous amount of money or she would tell the sheriff that Gretchen had been screwing Kirkman for months and starting rumors that it had been Natalie. She also threatened to out Gretchen for working at a strip club.
Tears pricked Nat’s eyes. No wonder Juliet thought she was sleeping with Stan. Gretchen had apparently been telling everyone.
And she’d likely killed Stan. Damn it.
“Georgia, we need to get out of here.”
“Uhm, I don’t think that’s happening.” Georgia’s voice shook just slightly.
Nat looked up. Gretchen stood beside Georgia, a nasty-looking gun in her hand. It was pressed to Georgia’s temple. “I think we should move this to somewhere a little more private.”
Nat stood, her heart pounding. “I don’t think so, Gretch. I don’t think you can handle both of us, and Logan will be here in a minute. Think about this for two seconds.”
Gretchen wasn’t bad. She was just lost.
Or maybe not because the smile that slid across her face was pretty fucking nasty. “I don’t think so. And I don’t have to handle you on my own. I have my Master.”
Nat turned and was immediately assaulted. A white cloth covered her face and a horrible smell assailed her. Fuck. Chloroform. Her world went hazy, but she could see a man’s face in front of her. Tate’s usually lazy green eyes seemed intense and dark. He stared down at her even as the chloroform started to take effect.
“Tell Cooder we have an extra girl to auction off tonight and she looks like she’ll be a fun one. Blondes go for a lot, you know.” Nat could hear the words but they didn’t seem to make sense.
She opened her eyes, but he was gauzy. Why was Tate here? Why was he holding that cloth? Why couldn’t she move her arms?
“But I won’t sell you, love. I waited a lifetime for you.” The words that came out of Tate’s mouth seemed low and long. Every syllable took forever to say.
Freaking hell. She started the long slide to the floor. Nothing worked anymore. She couldn’t stand.
Tate was here, and she was going back to hell.
Chapter Eighteen
Chase tried Nat’s number again. Fucking voice mail.
“Tell me again.” Ben’s voice was tight as he made the turn from the long dirt road that led to the highway from the Barnes-Fleetwood ranch. “How is that fucker Tate involved in this?”
Chase’s gut was churning. Why the hell wouldn’t she answer? Logan wasn’t answering either. Motherfucker. “Tate isn’t his real name. Dane sent over a whole dossier. We only scratched the surface in the initial skip trace. I believe the man we know as Tate Evans is actually Tate Evans’s brother, a man by the name of Donald Evans, who was an investment banker in Houston up until last year. I should have seen it, but they look a lot alike. Their driver’s license photos are very similar, but I can verify that Tate Evans is happily working in San Diego.”
“I ran that skip trace,” Ben said, his voice tight.
And Ben would be feeling righteously guilty. “Dude, it was a background check for a job. If I had looked at that driver’s license, I wouldn’t have thought twice. Neither man has ever had trouble with the law, but Donald Evans has serious ties to Eric “Hawk” Norris. They worked together in several business ventures. Don Evans served as the investment consultant for Hawk and for several of his rather unsavory business partners. He wasn’t connected financially in any way that wasn’t on the up-and-up, but I can put two and two together.”
The cops couldn’t, but Chase could. Don Evans had likely been one of the men who ran in Hawk’s criminal circle.
“He’s the one who wanted to buy Natalie.” Ben’s voice was a tortured groan. “Fuck. I approved his application seven months ago. I did this.”
Chase tried Nat’s number again. Fucking voice mail. What was going on? Why the hell wasn’t she answering? “You did not do this. I would have approved the app, too. There was no reason to think Tate Evans, a man who had been working at a resort in San Diego, wouldn’t want to come here. He was screened by Julian and passed all the tests. We just didn’t know that he was Don and not Tate. They’re practically fucking twins.”
And one of them was a complete psycho who wanted to buy Chase’s wife.
His gut was in a horrible knot.
“Try Kitten if Logan isn’t answering.” Ben sped up, the SUV barreling down the road. His eyes narrowed as though all he could see was the blacktop in front of them and the space that separated them from Natalie.
The resort. They all had to still be at the resort. It was up ahead. A white van emblazoned with a local cleaners logo barreled by. Everything looked perfectly normal. They would get to the resort and Natalie would be standing around talking to her work friends, and she would be alive and perfectly fine. Sure, she would be a little shocked when he walked up to the fucker Tate and put a bullet in his brainpan, but that was just the way things went sometimes.
Or he could have Ben snipe the fucker.
“Did Barnes loan you a rifle?” Ben could always practically read his mind.
“There’s a rifle with a scope in the back if we need it and extra clips for the SIGs.” He growled a little as he found Kitten’s number. He was going to kill that fucker, and if Gretchen had anything to do with trying to set Natalie up, he would very quietly kill her, too.
“Hello, Master Chase. How are you this morning?” Kitten sounded bright and sunny and perfectly happy. Thank god.
“Hey, Kitten, I need you to put Natalie on the phone, and tell Logan that I’m kicking his ass for not answering his phone.”
Kitten laughed. “Oh, Master Logan is stuck in the rosebushes. Georgia decided to throw his phone into the gardens.”
“He’s going to have to do something about her. Now let me talk to Nat.” Ben turned down the final drive. The spa was up ahead. In the distance, he could make out the SUV Logan had been driving. He squinted, trying to see if he could find Natalie’s pink hair shining in the sun. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he’d put his hands on her.