The Perfect Murder (Maximum Security #4) - Kat Martin Page 0,72

control. “You wanted the Poseidon. The kidnappers are demanding Reese back out of the purchase in exchange for Griff’s release.”

Arthur swayed. He might have fallen if Reese hadn’t gripped his shoulder, dragged him over to a nearby chair, and shoved him down into the seat.

“Mother of God,” he said. “I didn’t know, I swear. I owe them money. They said they’d get the rig for me so I could pay them back, but...but...”

Reese stared down at him. “But what, Arthur?”

Arthur said nothing.

“By now your housekeeper is gone and we’re all alone in this big house,” Reese said. “On most occasions, I’m a civilized man, but I can promise you I’ll do whatever it takes to wring the information out of you.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “I’ll do what I have to—and enjoy every minute of it.”

Arthur just sat there shaking his head. “I didn’t know about Griff until you just told me. They said they’d get me the platform. They never told me how.” His eyes, a pale shade of blue, found Kenzie’s across the bedroom. “I’m sorry, my dear. So sorry. I’d never do anything to hurt the boy.”

“Who’s behind this, Arthur?” Reese pressed. “Give me a name.”

For a moment, Arthur’s eyes slid closed. He dragged in a shaky breath of air.

“Now, Arthur,” Reese demanded.

“His name is Sawyer DeMarco. He owns the Pot-of-Gold casino, among other clubs in the state. I owe him several million dollars.”

“Keep talking,” Reese commanded.

“DeMarco says the Oklahoma casinos are cutting into his profits, costing him a lot of money. He wants to build clubs in northern Louisiana to make up for the losses. He needs me to convince Daniel to help him. He knows if Daniel supports the proposal, the legislature will fall into line and the state will grant him the permits he needs.” Arthur looked at Kenzie with regret-filled eyes. “More casinos mean more money. That’s what this is all about.”

“What does Daniel think of this?” Reese asked. “He willing to go along with DeMarco’s plans?”

Arthur shook his head. “I went to see him over the weekend. He refused to even consider DeMarco’s request.”

Kenzie’s throat tightened. She just wanted her son to come home. “Please, Arthur, if you have any idea where they might have taken Griff—”

“I don’t know!” He shot up from the chair and his gaze jerked to Reese. “DeMarco killed Lee!” He swallowed. “He murdered my son and now Daniel is also in danger! I’d tell you where the boy is if I knew!”

The anguish etched into his face said it was the truth. Reese flicked a glance at Kenzie. “Let’s go.” As they stepped out into the hall, he turned back and pinned Arthur with a glare.

“We were never here. You understand that, Haines? Because you open your mouth about any of this and Sawyer DeMarco won’t be the only one you’ll have to deal with. I can personally guarantee, you won’t walk away in one piece.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

They were back in the town house, Reese making phone calls to bring everyone up to speed while Kenzie paced back and forth across the kitchen floor and Flo distracted herself at the sink, dicing vegetables for a fresh pot of soup.

In the last twenty minutes, Reese had watched Kenzie go from shocked disbelief, to grief, then anger.

She turned toward him and something shifted in her face and posture, a subtle change as her shoulders squared and her back straightened. The worry lines across her forehead smoothed out, and resolve hardened her expression.

“We’ve got less than three days. We know who’s responsible for all of this. We can be in Shreveport in less than three hours. We need to go there ourselves, see what we can find out.”

Admiration stirred emotions Reese couldn’t afford to feel. Her courage and strength impressed him more every day. With admiration and respect came arousal, which he firmly tamped down, but it didn’t make him want her any less. Even with the bruise on her jaw and the skin turning purple around one eye, she was beautiful. And she was determined. She wouldn’t give up until she brought her son home.

Reese had never known a woman like her. Not the tough girls he’d dated when he’d been a teenage delinquent, nor the debutantes after he’d reformed. Certainly not his wife, whom he’d married because he’d wanted a home and family only to discover Sandra’s reasons for marrying him were exactly the opposite.

His mother had been a strong, self-reliant woman. Perhaps that was where he had