pouting, but decided she wasn't the type. She was too direct. More likely, she was thinking about what had happened last night, how close she'd come to being a victim, and how drastically her life would change during the following days, maybe even weeks or months. There was no way to tell how quickly the authorities would nab the would-be kidnapper, or even if they would ever discover his or her identity. Money, if that were the true motive for the kidnapping, was a powerful inducement. There was the constant danger that he or she would try again.
'Turn here,' Addy said pointing. 'It's the second house. White with black shutters.'
He parked the car in the small narrow driveway, killed the motor and glanced at Addy's home. Where her father's house was a replica of antebellum splendor, sporting huge white columns and a wraparound veranda, this house was authentic. Nick didn't know much about styles, but he could tell the house was old. Built long before the turn of the century would be his guess. Glistening snowy white in the noonday summertime sunshine, the house boasted a fresh coat of paint as did the glossy black shutters. Someone had spent a fortune restoring this place. That someone was probably Addy McConnell.
Opening the car door, Addy stepped out onto the sidewalk, stretching her long, slender frame that had been cramped in the confines of the small sports car. Nick watched the way she moved, all fluid and graceful. Her arms arched above her head, hiking up her skirt. He got a good view of her legs—small ankles, well-shaped calves, and long, trim thighs. Nick felt a tightening in his gut, and cursed himself for being a fool. Kidding Addy about seducing her was one thing, but actually doing it would be quite another matter. Kidding her was fun; the thought of making love to her actually scared him.
'Are you getting out or are you going to sit there staring at me all day?' she asked.
'I'll get my bag.' He grabbed the battered brown leather suitcase he'd used for countless years and followed her up the steps leading to the small front portico supported by double columns on each side. 'How long have you lived here?'
'For five years.' She unlocked the front door. 'Before that I shared an apartment with Janice. Before Ron came along.'
'Ron's the boyfriend, right? The sulky-looking guy who picked her up last night?' Nick stepped over the threshold and felt as if he'd been transported back in time. The pale yellow walls added warmth to the wide foyer. A dramatic staircase, built against the left wall, curved upward.
'I didn't know you'd met Ron.' Addy soaked in the beauty of her home, glancing around, proud of each familiar piece of furniture, each picture on the wall, every detail over which she'd fretted. 'He's all right, I guess. Janice loves him and says they're getting married eventually. He's got a big chip on his shoulder when it comes to people with money. I think he's the type that would like to be rich, but doesn't want to work for it.'
'Is Janice rich?' Nick ran the toe of his shoe over the blue and cream wool rug that covered the wide plank floor.
'It's a nineteenth-century Chinese rug.' Addy pointed to Nick's feet. 'And, no, Janice isn't rich. Her father squandered most of her mother's inheritance. All she has left is half interest in our grandparents' home, Elm Hill.'
'Is everything in this room old?' Nick asked.
'Almost every item is antique,' Addy said. 'From the Federal period piano built around 1815,' she pointed to the small musical instrument placed directly beneath the staircase, 'to the Chippendale cherry side chairs, to that original Jan Weenix still life on the wall.'
'Mmm… Is Elm Hill worth anything?'
'Yes, Elm Hill is definitely worth something. Why do you ask?'
'If Janice isn't rich, why doesn't she sell her half of the estate?'
'Our grandparents' will prohibits Janice from selling her half to anyone but me.'
'Has Janice asked you to buy it?' Nick wondered about Janice's boyfriend. Rusty had told him that Ron Glover was a low-life creep who'd spent most of his teen years in and out of juvenile court. He'd been arrested numerous times as an adult, but had never been convicted.
'No. Why?'
'Just curious.'
'Curious about Ron Glover, wondering if he's money-hungry enough to plot my kidnapping?' Addy placed her foot on the bottom step of the staircase.
Gripping his walking stick with one hand, Nick tightened his hold on his suitcase with the other. 'Is he?'
Addy continued up the stairs, Nick following. 'I don't know about Ron. It's possible. He's not a very nice man, but then neither is my ex-husband.'
'Gerald Carlton? You think he might be behind the kidnap plot? Why? Rusty said his second wife's father is quite wealthy, that he made Gerald a vice-president in his company.'
Addy opened the door to the first bedroom. 'Gerald's
Nick walked into the guest bedroom, a medium-sized square room. The upper walls were pale cream, the bottom wainscoted surface had been painted a light olive green. The bed, with tall, thin posters, stood in the middle of the room, an embroidered chenille spread covering it. To the left of the bed a wooden cupboard filled with knickknacks fitted neatly into the corner and a huge bedside table rested on a large area rug to the right. A stack of books lay atop the old chest nestled at the foot of the bed.
'Reminds me of a bed and breakfast I stayed in once a few years back.' He set down his leather suitcase. 'You really hate your ex-husband, don't you?'
'I did hate him for a long, long time. Now—now, I'm not sure. I don't wish him dead, but—but I hate seeing him so happy with his wealthy wife and fat, healthy babies.'
'So we have two suspects,' Nick said, sitting down on the bed, testing it by bouncing lightly up and down. 'New mattress?'
'What do you mean we have two suspects?'
'Well, not counting the fact that the kidnapper may be some stranger, some unknown criminal out to get rich quick, we have an ex-husband who obviously hates you and your father as much as you hate him
'I see.' Addy's face paled. 'My room is right next door. I'm going to take a bath and change clothes. Why don't you look around and check the place out for yourself?'
'What sort of locks do you have on the doors? Dead bolt? And what about the windows? Is there a security system?'
'I don't know about the doors and windows, but, yes, there is a security system. It isn't on right now. I often forget to turn it on. I forgot last night. Daddy's always fussing at me.'
'What about some lunch?' Nick suggested.
'Are you cooking?' she asked, then walked outside into the hallway.
'How about if we order pizza?'
'No anchovies,' Addy said, 'and lots and lots of black olives.'
Nick inspected the room, wondering if the entire house looked like this. Picking up his suitcase, he lifted it onto the bed, then looked around for a closet. There wasn't one. Instead he found a large, mahogany armoire, empty except for several ladies' straw hats lying across the single top shelf.
Within a few minutes, he heard water running. Addy was taking a bath. His mind quickly spanned the short distance between Addy's bath and her naked body. He wished he wasn't so damned curious about what she looked like without her clothes. Probably skinny, he thought, then remembered the glimpse of her shapely thigh. Hell, he'd been a fool to agree to Rusty's request. He had no business playing bodyguard to Dina's future stepdaughter. He should have insisted Sam Dundee send in one of his best men from Atlanta.
Nick hated admitting that he didn't want another man guarding Addy McConnell night and day for God knew how long. She was a needy woman, ripe for the picking and he couldn't bear to think of her giving herself to some other guy, some guy who would break her heart. He, on the other hand, had the willpower to stay with her and protect her without seducing her, despite what he'd led her to believe.
And … he didn't trust anyone else to keep her safe. That was the bottom line. Addy was in danger, and there was something about her that brought out all the possessive, protective instincts deep inside him. The only way anyone was going to hurt Addy was over his dead body.
