Ben's Wife Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Cast of Characters

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  She had to be crazy…

  Coming here alone in the middle of the night. In fact, ever since Morgan had arrived at Ben’s estate a week ago, she had been doing crazy things. She hoped trusting Ben Wells wouldn’t prove to be one of them.

  After hearing his explanation of her father’s death, she had agreed to act as Ben’s liaison with Josh whatever-his-last-name-was, his private investigator. If Ben’s story was accurate, only Josh’s assistance stood between her and Ben and the man who stalked them. And only with Josh’s help could they expose her father’s killer.

  Gathering her courage, Morgan knocked at the sagging door. The hoof of an owl in the lonely meadow gave her the shivers. But chills of a different, intimate sort ran down her spine when a deep masculine voice from the darkness said, “Come in.”

  Morgan moved forward blindly, and not only because she couldn’t see. She knew even less about the mysterious Josh than she did about Ben Wells.

  Dear Reader,

  You’ve told us that stories about hidden identities are some of your favorites, so this month we’re happy to bring them to you, in the all-new HIDDEN IDENTITY promotion.

  Charlotte Douglas’s men are indeed hidden—whether swathed in bandages or cloaked in disguise. But the sex appeal can’t be denied. Find out how Ben’s Wife learns to find the real man behind the mask.

  The author of several Harlequin American Romance novels and Harlequin Intrigue books, Charlotte lives in the Tampa Bay area with her high school sweetheart, whom she married over three decades ago.

  We hope you enjoy it—and all the books coming to you in HIDDEN IDENTITY.

  Regards,

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street

  New York, NY 10017

  Ben’s Wife

  Charlotte Douglas

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Morgan Winters—She hopes to catch her father’s killer before the killer can murder her.

  Ben Wells—He offers Morgan a safe haven.

  Josh—A mysterious private investigator who isn’t who he claims to be.

  Frank Winters—His invention caused his murder.

  Robert Lashner—Ben Wells’s business partner, who has murdered once and will again…unless he’s stopped.

  Terrence Appel—A board member who warns Ben and Morgan of Robert’s treachery.

  Rhonda Covill—A member of Ben’s board of directors with a powerful but uncommitted vote.

  William Holton—A board member who delivers her father’s last message to Morgan.

  Esther Clark—Frank’s neighbor, who may hold the key to Robert’s guilt.

  Prologue

  Ben Wells, president and chief executive officer of Chemco Industries, grabbed the telephone on his desk at the first ring. He’d been troubleshooting all day and didn’t expect this contact to be any different. Overseeing Chemco’s success had taken a heavy toll on his personal life, making social calls only a distant memory.

  “You busy?” Frank Winters’s genial voice was a pleasant surprise.

  Ben welcomed his friend’s interruption of his study of quarterly financial reports that weren’t balancing. “What’s up?”

  “Maybe nothing.”

  Ben frowned at the concern in the chemist’s tone. “I’m listening.”

  “Rob Lashner asked me to meet him in the lab at seven. Said he wants to talk about the formula.”

  Ben swore under his breath. Every time there was trouble lately, Robert Lashner’s name popped up. It was Lashner, his partner and vice president, who had vouched for the accountant who had botched the reports on Ben’s desk. And Lashner had fought Ben’s and Frank’s refusal to sell the formula for Frank’s latest discovery.

  “Is Rob still pressuring you to falsify your findings?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know what part of no he doesn’t understand. Maybe if we talk to him together—”

  “Good idea.” Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s almost seven. I’ll be right over.”

  Ben left his office and crossed the avenue that ran between the plant’s administration building and Chemco’s laboratory facility. Hurrying along the landscaped plaza toward the low, modem structure, he scanned the area for Rob Lashner. The dark street was deserted. Lashner must have reached the lab ahead of him.

  Inside, as Ben headed toward the hallway that led to Frank’s lab, the art deco clock above the reception desk in the lobby showed 7:00 p.m. He was halfway down the hall when the air rocked with a deafening explosion.

  Like a giant hand, the concussion knocked him to the floor, punched the air from his lungs, bludgeoned his ears. When the shock wave passed, Ben dragged himself to his elbows. The blast had ripped the double lab doors off their hinges. Acrid smoke billowed from the opening.

  The lab was burning!

  And Frank, his best friend, the man who was like a father to him, was in there.

  With his ears ringing, Ben scrambled to his feet. Groping blindly through the smoke, he activated the fire alarm on the wall, yanked an extinguisher from its bracket and plunged into the lab.

  “Frank!” He could barely hear himself over the roar and crackle of the flames. “Where are you?”

  Thick heat from the blaze at the far end of the room clasped around him like a sweaty fist. Gasping and choking for air, he stumbled between the counters toward the fire. The automatic sprinkler system hadn’t kicked in. Had the blast disabled it?

  And where was Frank?

  “Frank!” He gagged on deadly smoke. “Answer me!”

  Dragging the extinguisher, Ben dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward the flames. If the volatile chemicals in the adjacent storage area ignited, the explosion would take out the whole building. Breathing from the thin stream of oxygen sandwiched between two layers of lethal fumes, he scurried forward until he struck an obstacle in the aisle.

  Frank.

  Instinct demanded Ben stop and help his friend, but intellect reminded him they’d both be beyond saving if the flames progressed much farther.

  Ben gulped air, shoved himself to his feet and lunged at the fire. With heat singing his eyebrows, he sprayed the fire with retardant, emptying the extinguisher, praying it would be enough. Slowly, the hot orange flames flickered and died beneath the blanket of foam, leaving a shroud of dense smoke hanging throughout the lab.

  By the hellish crimson glare of the emergency lights filtering through the fumes, Ben returned to Frank, slumped against a counter, his lab coat damp with blood from a wound on his forehead.

  He wasn’t breathing.

  Ben grabbed him by the shoulders. “Dammit, Frank, don’t die on me.”

  He eased his friend onto his back, tipped the chemist’s head and cleared his windpipe, then began counting breaths and compressions for CPR.

  After a couple minutes that seemed like hours, Frank coughed and stirred.

  “Take it easy,” Ben’s smoke-scarred voice rasped. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

  “No time.” Frank clutched his sleeve. The older man’s speech was little more than a wheeze, and Ben le
aned closer to hear. “Get out. Fast.”

  “Don’t worry. The fire’s out. There’s no danger—”

  “Lashner. He set the explosion.” Frank inhaled with tortured, sucking gasps and attempted to rise. “He wants to kill us both. For the formula.”

  Frank’s blow to the head had made him delusional. Ben pressed Frank’s shoulders to the floor. “This can wait.”

  “No.” Frank gripped the front of Ben’s shirt and pulled him closer. “You must look after Morgan. Please, take care of my daughter, Ben.”

  “You can look after—”

  The older man’s grip tightened. “Promise.”

  “I promise. Frank. Now, just lie back—”

  “No time. Two explosions.”

  “Two?”

  “Lashner set the first one to bring you running. Didn’t know I’d already called you.”

  So Lashner really did intend to kill him. Fury cleared Ben’s mind and speeded his actions. From beneath a counter, he dragged out a blanket used to smother lab fires. After slinging Frank in a fireman’s carry, he tossed the blanket over both of them and raced down the aisle between the counters. His lungs burned from smoke and chemical fumes, and the weight of Frank’s inert body racked his shoulders, shooting waves of agony through his muscles.

  If he could just get them outside, they’d be safe. Then together they’d see that Lashner paid for his treachery.

  “Take care of Morgan, Ben.” Frank’s ebbing voice wheezed against his ear.

  Tears from smoke, anger and grief coursed down Ben’s cheeks. “I’ll get you out of here, buddy, so you can take care of her yourself. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  The detonation of the second blast drowned his words, and a wall of flame seared him with white-hot agony. He stumbled through the lab entrance and forced his buckling knees and bursting lungs to carry him, with Frank still over his shoulders, up the hall. In the lobby, he collapsed into the hands of two firemen rushing in the front door.

  He was conscious only of someone lifting Frank from his shoulders before the lobby floor came up to meet him. The cool, hard ceramic tiles smacked his cheek, and the world turned black as smoke.

  Chapter One

  “You’re a lucky woman, Miss Winters.”

  “Lucky?” Morgan Winters said with stunned surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “You have to look on the bright side.” The young emergency room clerk with the cheerleader smile returned Morgan’s insurance card. “Without your car’s side air bags, you would have been killed.”

  “That’s what the police said.” Morgan forced a shaky smile, but she didn’t feel lucky. Not after losing her father. She rubbed her aching shoulder, then tucked her card into her wallet. “Would you call me a cab, please?”

  “Sure.” The clerk reach for the phone on the admittance desk. Suddenly her grin faded. “Hey, you look pretty wobbly. You’d better sit down.”

  Morgan didn’t argue. On unstable legs, she turned toward a row of vinyl-covered chairs, collapsed onto a seat and rested her throbbing head against the wall.

  She was hundreds of miles from home in the unfamiliar city of Gulfside, Florida, and had never felt so totally alone. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall details of her father’s funeral, the minister’s brief eulogy, the blur of strange faces.

  “Miss Winters?” The clerk’s summons jolted Morgan from her grief.

  Maybe her cab had arrived.

  Morgan peered through the double glass doors at the emergency room entrance. Except for an idling ambulance, the driveway was deserted. She turned back to the clerk.

  “Telephone for you.” The clerk waved the receiver and motioned her toward the desk.

  Still dazed from the morning’s funeral and subsequent hit-and-run collision, Morgan took the call.

  “Miss Winters,” a strangely muffled voice said, “this is Ben Wells.”

  She needed a few seconds to identify the vaguely familiar name. Benjamin Wells was president and CEO of Chemco Industries where her father had worked as head chemist, where he had died in the laboratory fire. According to police, Wells had nearly lost his own life trying to rescue her father.

  “Mr. Wells—”

  “There’s no time for talk.” His peculiar wheezing voice vibrated in her ear. “Just listen. Your father’s death was no accident.”

  “What?”

  “Your father was murdered.”

  Light-headed, she felt the room begin to spin. “But—”

  “And the hit-and-run driver at the cemetery today tried to kill you, too. He almost succeeded.”

  “How—”

  “I can’t explain now, but you’re in great danger. My injuries prevent my coming to you, but if you’ll take a cab to my house—”

  “How do I know you are Ben Wells?” She struggled to understand through the throbbing in her head. “I’ve never met you.”

  “You trust your father’s secretary. Call Brenda Jernigan and ask for my home address. She’ll vouch for me.”

  The room rotated again. “I don’t know—”

  Uncertainty crippled her. Ben Wells had been her father’s friend. Yet, for all she knew, the man could be as paranoid as he was rich.

  But if he was right about her father’s death and her accident…

  “Hurry,” the wheezing voice commanded. “Every minute you waste places you in greater danger.”

  The line went dead.

  MORGAN STUMBLED through the midnight darkness along an unfamiliar path Ben Wells had said would lead her to an isolated cottage on the bay.

  The papery rustle of palms accompanied her steps, and the fragrance of flowers and salt air filled the gentle breeze. In the distance at the mouth of the secluded bay, the Gulf of Mexico, silvered by the rising moon, stretched toward the horizon. Under different circumstances, the vista would seem a postcard-perfect Florida scene.

  She had to be crazy, coming here alone in the middle of the night. In fact, ever since she first arrived at Ben’s estate a week ago, she had been doing crazy things. She hoped trusting Ben Wells wouldn’t prove one of them.

  After hearing his explanation of her father’s death, she had agreed to act as Ben’s liaison with Josh, his private investigator. If Ben’s story was accurate, only Josh’s assistance stood between her and Ben and the man who stalked them. And only with Josh’s help could they expose her father’s killer.

  With reluctance, she climbed the rickety steps to the porch and stepped into the deep shadows of tangled Virginia creeper that overran the house. Maybe nobody would be home. Then she could flee to the safety of Ben’s mansion once more. Gathering her courage, she knocked at the sagging door, and powdery aging paint dusted her knuckles.

  The splash of distant surf broke the stillness, and at the mournful hoot of an owl, she shivered despite the warm night air. Josh whatever-his-last-name-was was certainly taking his own sweet time.

  She brushed oxidized paint from her fingers, rapped again and heard the knock reverberate through the empty rooms. No one responded, and she turned to leave.

  The high-pitched creak of door hinges stopped her cold. Peering past the half-open door, she could see nothing but inky blackness.

  “Josh?” she said with a waver of hesitation.

  “Who are you?”

  At the voice’s deep richness, tinged with a hint of menace, a chill radiated through her. “It’s Morgan. Ben Wells sent me. He said you were expecting me.”

  The door shrieked as it opened wider. Only a thin stream of moonlight, spilling through an uncurtained window in a room at the far end of the hall, was visible.

  “Come in before someone spots you.” The disembodied voice floated eerily on the night air. “And watch your step. I won’t turn on a light until I’m certain you weren’t followed.”

  Treading with caution, she entered the dark hallway. The door swung shut behind her, and she jumped as a dead bolt slammed home. With effort, she willed her tightened muscles to rel
ax.

  Ben wouldn’t have sent her if it wasn’t safe.

  Would he?

  A strong hand grasped her elbow, and she flinched and muffled a squeal of surprise.

  “Sorry to startle you—” regret tinged his voice “—but if I don’t guide you, you’ll trip over something.”

  With her sight restricted, Morgan’s other senses shifted into high gear. Josh’s touch, solid evidence he was more than just a voice, warmed her elbow, and he loomed tall and powerful beside her in the darkness. Inside the shuttered cottage, the subtle aroma of spicy soap, a hint of leather and the tangy scent of the sea floated on the still air.

  She moved forward blindly, and not only because she couldn’t see. She knew even less about the mysterious Josh than she did about Ben Wells.

  Josh led her into a room awash with pale moon glow and steered her to a chair. Before she could glimpse his face, he retreated into the shadows.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  Amazingly, she was. The roomy armchair embraced her, and she sniffed a lingering mélange of lemon oil, beeswax and soap. She had expected a dirty, deserted house, draped in cobwebs and smothered with dust, but the room smelled fresh, as if just cleaned.

  From Josh’s corner came a twisting sound, a splashing of liquid and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  “This will keep us awake,” he said, “while you tell me what’s going on.”

  As he handed her a steaming cup, weak moonlight silhouetted the squareness of his jaw and a profile like a Greek statue. Standing over her, Josh appeared both dangerous and enigmatic. That Ben had refused to divulge Josh’s last name only added to the private investigator’s mystery.

  Morgan sipped the hot liquid, thankful for its warmth. “I’m not sure how to begin.”

  “Explain,” his velvet voice directed, “how you became Ben Wells’s ally.”