The Conspiracy Read online

  Mindy was good. He was thinking of bringing her aboard full-time.

  “If a problem comes up, go to Bran or Jason. They should be able to handle it.”

  “Okay.”

  Turning, he walked over to his youngest brother, who had just gotten off the phone. Bran was a PI who specialized in personal protection, law enforcement being a tradition on their mother’s side of the family. The Devlins, including Chase’s grandfather, great-grandfather and a handful of uncles, had all worked as cops, FBI or been career military men.

  His younger brothers were two very different people, Bran a former special ops soldier turned bodyguard, Reese the extremely successful businessman, CEO of Garrett Resources, the Texas-based oil company founded by their great-grandfather. Both brothers had blue eyes, but Reese’s hair was black, Bran’s dark brown. Both were an inch taller than Chase’s six-foot-two-inch frame.

  “Something’s come up,” Chase told Bran. “I’m leaving the country for a few days, maybe longer. I need you to keep an eye on things while I’m gone.”

  “No problem. What’s up?”

  “Missing-persons case. Michael Winston’s disappeared. His sister needs help finding him.”

  Bran grunted. “Guy’s probably off drunk somewhere or loaded on drugs.”

  “According to Harper, he’s turned his life around. Been clean five years.”

  Bran sat up a little straighter. “Well, that’s good to hear. He was a great guy before he went haywire.”

  “For his sister’s sake, I hope he hasn’t fallen off the wagon.”

  One of Bran’s dark eyebrows went up. “His sister? I thought I recognized the luscious little blonde who was in here earlier. Seems to me you had a yen for her way back when.”

  “She was Michael’s sister and way too young. Plus she’s a Winston. That family’s nothing but trouble.”

  “So why’d you take the case?”

  “Moment of weakness, I guess. Or maybe for old times’ sake. Mike was once my best friend. Worst of it is Harper’s going with me.”

  Brandon laughed. “Jeez, big brother, you must have a masochistic streak.”

  Chase grunted. “With any luck, we’ll find Michael and be home in a couple of days. Harper Winston is trouble I don’t need.”

  And no matter how much he’d like to find out if she was the cold fish people believed or the passionate woman he had glimpsed, it wasn’t going to happen.

  Harper had picked the right guy to go with her. She was definitely safe from him.

  * * *

  It was still dark when Harper heard the knock on her door early the next morning and hurried to open it. Chase stood on the porch in a pair of light blue denim jeans and a yellow knit polo shirt, looking as perfectly groomed as he always did.

  She wasn’t surprised at the brown lizard cowboy boots on his feet. Except for her birthday party when he had been barefoot and wearing a swimsuit, she couldn’t remember seeing him in anything other than boots.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She yawned. She preferred to work late rather than get up early. “More or less. I’m packed, at any rate.”

  He didn’t crack a smile. “Good, let’s go.” Spotting her carry-on, he grabbed the handle and headed out the door.

  Harper caught the rope handle of her striped, multicolored, oversize canvas bag, part of EC’s accessories line, slung the rope over her shoulder and followed him out to the long black stretch limo parked at the curb. The driver held the door as they slid into the plush red leather interior.

  This early, the thirty-minute drive to the Dallas–Fort Worth airport went off without a hitch, though it felt strange sitting in the car next to Chase, his elbow occasionally brushing hers. She tried not to notice the impressive biceps stretching the sleeve of his yellow knit shirt.

  They went through precheck and boarded an American Airlines A320 for the seven-hour trip to Aruba, putting them on the island late afternoon. Chase told her he’d made contact through a friend with a man in Oranjestad who would pick them up at the airport and be their guide while they were on the island.

  “He’s the kind of guy who knows what’s happening and can get you whatever you need.”

  She cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “Including weapons?”

  He just shrugged. “If necessary. Too much hassle getting guns through customs. With luck, I won’t need to be armed.”

  But Harper wondered. If Mikey could have called, he would have. He wouldn’t want her to worry. If something had happened to him, it wasn’t going to be good.

  They settled back in their first-class seats and Harper took out her sketchbook. She was working on next year’s clothing designs. Although her partner, Shana Davis, was the primary designer, the idea for the type of clothing the company would market had been hers, a concept developed during the year she had spent doing volunteer social work in Ecuador.

  She had recognized a need for versatile, durable women’s sportswear and accessories. But she believed it should also be stylish and not too expensive.

  She’d spent the following year at the Harvard Business School, then gone in search of a designer. She’d met Shana, a beautiful African American two years her senior, through a friend of Michael’s.

  Shana had immediately grasped the concept Harper had envisioned and was wildly excited about it. As luck would have it, her designs were exactly what Harper was looking for, practical fabrics trimmed with bright, colorful accents that made the designs unique.

  Using a portion of her inheritance to fund the company, Harper had formulated a business plan and she and Shana had gone to work.

  Harper hadn’t expected to be steaming garments at two in the morning, dealing with suppliers who demanded to be paid far too soon, poring over receipts that didn’t add up while trying to manage production and get fabric and trim to manufacturers on time. But she was committed, willing to do whatever the job called for.

  Amazingly, the company had succeeded beyond her expectations. Little by little she had discovered her own design abilities and began to contribute ideas each year. Fortunately, Shana had also learned to handle both sides of the business, and as soon as she’d learned of Michael’s disappearance, had taken over so Harper could focus on finding him.

  But there was always work to do. Flipping open her drawing pad to a clean page, she began to sketch a design for culottes. The knee-length pants were slightly gathered at the waist, fashioned in a bell shape, a modification of last year’s design, which was fitted in the hips and flared in an A-line. Both garments were stylish yet allowed maximum freedom of movement. She had a wrinkle-free khaki version of the A-line in her suitcase.

  Harper glanced up to see Chase watching her. He didn’t ask what she was doing, but she could tell he was curious.

  “I own a company called Elemental Chic. We specialize in women’s sportswear. I started the company in Houston, but recently we relocated to Dallas.”

  “So you’re a businesswoman?”

  “That’s right.” She smiled. “You seem surprised.”

  “I guess I figured you had enough money you wouldn’t need to work.”

  Or be interested in doing anything productive, she figured. She was a Winston after all. “You thought I’d just marry some man my father picked out and have babies?”

  His mouth curved. “To tell you the truth, I probably made that assumption. I suppose I mostly just hoped you wouldn’t end up like your brother.”

  “I told you, he isn’t—”

  Chase held up a hand, stopping her words. “I know what you said. I hope you’re right.”

  But Harper didn’t have the slightest doubt. She remembered all too well the agony her brother had endured as he fought to conquer his heroin addiction. He would never go back to drugs again. He didn’t even drink anymore.

  She glanced up at Chase. “I’m not the least surprised at what you do for a living. Michael always said law enforcement was in your blood.”

  Chase’s wealthy father, Bass Garrett, had married down, or so it was said—an Irishwoman named Margaret Devlin, a beautiful dark-haired, blue-eyed secretary in his office.

  When they’d divorced years later, Maggie had taken Chase and Brandon to live with her while Reese had remained with his dad. According to Michael, Maggie Devlin Garrett was close to her family, many of whom had law enforcement backgrounds. Police work, in some form or other, was all Chase had ever wanted to do.

  Even after Bass died and Chase inherited a third of the family fortune, that hadn’t changed.

  “I remember Michael telling me your grandfather was a sheriff.”

  “That’s right. Sam Devlin was sheriff of Titus County for fifteen years.” He settled back in his seat. “I guess you could say I’ve found my calling. I’m good at what I do, and I like the challenge. I like making sure people have the kind of protection they need, or helping them get justice.”

  Harper just hoped Chase would be able to help her find her brother.

  She went back to her drawing, but every once in a while she could feel those penetrating golden-brown eyes on her. Just sitting this close made her stomach quiver.

  She was glad he didn’t find her attractive. Chase was a definite temptation, the first man to make her think of sex in months. She was too busy to date very often, and she wasn’t the type for one-night hookups. She hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since she had broken up with Stephen Larsen last year, well before she had moved to Dallas.

  She hadn’t really missed the sex. She told herself it was just that she hadn’t met the right guy, but she had heard what people said about her. She had a reputation for being cold and unresponsive.

  She almost believed it. Except that when she looked at Chase Garrett, she felt warm all over. Last night she had dreamed about him. She remembered the way he had kissed her in the dream, the feel of his mouth on her breasts, and her skin flushed.

  It was a fantasy, she reminded herself, though even now she felt a tug low in her belly.

  Harper forced herself to ignore him, pretend he wasn’t sitting right beside her and was finally able to concentrate on her work.

  But it wasn’t that easy to do.

  Chapter Five

  Chase pulled his MacBook out of his carry-on, opened it and went to work. He’d spent yesterday afternoon and most of the night digging up information on Michael Winston and setting up contacts he might need in Aruba.

  According to everything he’d read, Michael had done exactly what his sister claimed, rebuilt his life. He was the owner of BUZZ, a successful tech solutions company that dealt in problem solving and computer programming. A happy-faced, buzzing bee was the company logo.

  As Chase thought back on it, Michael had always been fascinated with anything digital, from cell phones to computer games. As he read articles describing Michael’s successes, something loosened in his chest.

  He’d never really stopped caring about his friend, never completely given up on him. It felt good to know Michael had finally been able to overcome his demons.

  Which meant his sister might be right and something bad actually had happened to him.

  Where are you, Mikey? It was the nickname Michael had acquired as a kid, one Chase hadn’t used in years. Not since the last time he had found his friend passed out in his apartment, overdosed on heroin—for the third time in six months. The wild ride to the hospital had saved Michael’s life but ended their friendship.

  Chase couldn’t deal with it any longer. It was just too painful to watch a man who meant so much to him destroy himself. In a way it had destroyed Chase, too.

  After that night at the hospital, Chase had finally come to believe the only person who could save Michael Winston was himself. According to Harper, that had happened. Chase could only hope it was true.

  Chase spent the next hour digging around on the internet: Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, all Michael’s social media connections. His last Facebook post was a week ago, photos of a trim, athletic-looking, brown-haired man, lightly muscled, tanned and smiling. Nothing since then and nothing that hinted at any reason for him to disappear.

  It was too soon to think about the yacht going down. As Harper had said, Michael was an expert sailor, and she had alerted the authorities to be on the lookout for the boat. In that regard, at the moment, there was nothing else they could do.

  Chase turned to Harper. “What about enemies?” The words interrupted the quiet hum of the engines. “Anyone you can think of who might want to do your brother harm?”

  She shook her head. “Everyone loves Michael. You know how he is. People are just naturally drawn to him.”

  He remembered the popular young man Michael had been, outgoing and always smiling. Though both of them were from Dallas, they hadn’t met until college. Determined to compete with the Garrett family money, Knox had sent his son to Yale, where Chase was enrolled. He hadn’t expected Michael and Chase to become best friends.

  Michael had been a happy kid back then—before his mother’s suicide and his father’s constant verbal abuse had begun to whittle away his confidence.

  “You said he texted or emailed as often as he could.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did he mention meeting anyone? Someone in one of the ports he sailed into? Maybe someone he took on the boat with him?”

  “No. He wanted to make the trip on his own. Captain the yacht by himself. It was a lifelong dream.”

  “What was the name of the boat?”

  “BUZZ Word. For his company.”

  Chase settled back in his seat. He dug around on Google a little longer, but didn’t find anything useful.

  With a glance at Harper, he typed in Elemental Chic. On the webpage, he discovered the company was five years old, a partnership between Harper and a woman named Shana Davis. According to the articles he read, the business was amazingly successful.

  Chase had always been attracted to successful women. Harper’s business acumen only made the pull he felt toward her increase.

  It didn’t matter. The last thing he needed was to be sucked into a family that ran a criminal enterprise, no matter how attractive the daughter might be.

  Chase forced himself to focus on work. He would find Michael—hopefully unharmed. Then head back to Dallas, where he would put Harper Winston out of his mind. He’d call Marla Chambers and invite her over for the weekend.

  Sex was always good between them. And their relationship was far from exclusive. He’d spend some time with Marla, enjoy some mutually satisfying sex and forget the woman he wanted but couldn’t have.

  * * *

  After a brief stopover in Miami, the plane landed right on time, 3:30 p.m. at Queen Beatrix International Airport. The contact Chase had hired was waiting when they walked out the departure gate, pulling their carry-on bags.

  The hot Caribbean sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky. The temperature stood at eighty-five degrees, and a dry wind sifted through the fronds on a row of palm trees along the side of the road.

  Aruba was part of the Netherlands, its capital city Oranjestad, with an arid climate and sixty-nine square miles of cactus-strewed hills and white-sand beaches. The total population, a little over a hundred thousand, was a mix of Spanish, European, Black and Indian. It was one of the most popular tourist destinations in the Caribbean.

  Chase walked up to the big, sandy-haired Dutchman he had hired, a guy named—what else—Dutch, who stuck out a wide, meaty hand in welcome.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Garrett. I am Dutch van Noord. You can count on me to take care of whatever you need.”

  “It’s just Chase. Good to meet you, Dutch. The lady is Harper Winston.”

  “Please call me Harper,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “My car is parked in the lot. If you will please follow me.” He took the handles of both bags and started tugging them across the asphalt parking lot. When he reached a white Suburban, he paused to unlock the doors, loaded their bags into the rear and reached down to help Harper into the front passenger seat.

  “I’m fine in the back,” she said and climbed in without assistance.

  She was letting Chase take the lead, for which he was grateful. Just having her along was trouble enough. It took considerable willpower to ignore the faint arousal that hummed through him whenever he looked at her. Just the scent of her perfume, a soft, fragrant jasmine, turned him on.

  They settled themselves and put on their seat belts. Dutch climbed in and started the engine, pulled the SUV out of the parking lot.

  “You are staying at the Renaissance Resort and Casino, yes? At the marina?”

  Harper had made the arrangements in Oranjestad. The hotel was at the harbor where BUZZ Word had been docked, the last place Harper had heard from Michael before his disappearance. Chase knew the hotel. He had been to Aruba, but only once, and for pleasure not business.

  “That’s the place,” he said.

  As the SUV traveled along Lloyd Smith Boulevard from the airport to the hotel, Harper sat quietly in the seat behind him. Chase turned to look at her, found her staring out the window, her eyes full of worry.

  “We’ll check in and get settled,” he said. “Then see what we can find out down at the marina.”

  She just nodded, her gaze still glued to the arid landscape passing by outside, various forms of cacti and thorny shrubs, Aruba being desert, not tropics. Harper’s face looked pale, and tension formed lines across her forehead. It was the first time he had seen her succumb to uncertainty. Chase didn’t like the way it made him feel.

  “Look at me.”

  She blinked, slowly turned away from the window, and her troubled gaze found his.