Page 35 of Donovan Blake: Adrenalin

“Sorry, you’ve lost me.”

“Beaumont Engineering? Otherwise known as B.E. Corp?”

“That’s a billion dollar company!”

“It sure is. That girl probably has as much money as you do. Maybe more.”

“Why did it take you so long to find out?”

“It just didn’t surface right away. And believe me, it was a surprise to all of us. Why would she be a nurse? And her condo isn’t exactly the Taj Mahal.”

“The flight attendant is about to tell me I need to get off this phone,” Donovan remarked, smiling at the attractive woman walking towards him.

“Okay, call me when you reach the hotel.”

“Will do. Bye, Sam.”

“Would you like something to drink, sir?” the flight attendant asked as she reached his seat. “We’ll be taking off in just a minute.”

“Do you have a decent cognac on board?”

“Yes, sir. We have Courvoisier XO Royal.”

“Works for me.”

As she nodded and walked away he pondered the startling news. Phoebe said she wanted to be in the trauma ward because she was an adrenalin junkie. But she’d also said her brother was a doctor and he had inspired her. Why had she followed his path and not her fathers?

“Here you are, Sir,” the flight attendant said, breaking into his thoughts as she handed him the snifter. “We’re taking off now.”

“Thanks.”

Staring out the window and sipping his drink, he considered Phoebe’s behavior. Her father had probably been embroiled in growing his company and hadn’t given her the time and attention she’d needed. Was that why she craved the discipline he offered? But as the aircraft taxied down the runway he realized he needed to turn his attention to the assignment. Opening the envelope he’d picked up at the airfield, he reached inside and found a Versace men’s wallet with a phony Driver’s License, a couple of credit cards, and a few business card. He was David Chapman, a freelance reporter.

“Nice job,” he muttered, studying the fake I.D.

Like most government photographs it was unflattering. Also in the wallet was a picture of a woman with a young boy and girl, supposedly his family. It would be more than enough to get him past a bored security guard at a party. He’d never personally crossed paths with Manny Trubello, but the mafia kingpin probably had a file on him from his BDSM club.

“What the hell am I flying into?” Donovan mumbled as the jet lifted off the ground. “Thank God I’ll be in costume.”

* * *

Nadia Chadwick was aware Donovan’s unlawful escapades had forced him into working undercover for the FBI. Though he swore he just helped them with white collar crime, she was a smart, savvy woman and knew better.

Donovan was a skilled marksman, a martial arts fighter, and a connoisseur of the con. But she didn’t judge him. On the contrary, she admired his bravado, his physical prowess, and his unique ability to outwit just about anyone. When his FBI handler called and told her they needed her help to watch over someone at the hunting lodge, she took it in stride.

As she pulled into the garage she had no preconceived ideas about the woman who was waiting, except she’d be sharp and quick-thinking. That was Donovan’s Achilles Heel. While he wasn’t attracted to a particular physical type, smart, independent, savvy females got his attention every time.

Climbing from her Jeep and looking around, the large space seemed emptier than usual, then decided it was probably because Donovan’s SUV beast was gone. Walking into the kitchen she noticed a lone coffee cup on the counter. It had been washed, but not put away.

“Hello? Phoebe?” she called, moving into the hall. “It’s Nadia, Donovan’s P.A.”

Receiving no response, she trotted up the stairs and called again. Still hearing nothing, she figured the girl was probably in the master suite taking a nap and walked briskly to the double doors.

“Hello? Phoebe? It’s Nadia,” she declared, knocking loudly, then pushed them open only to find the room empty.

An uncomfortable sensation began moving through her stomach.

Hurrying back downstairs, she made her way to the indoor pool.

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