Christmas Ransom
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B.J. Daniels
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HarlequinChapter One
The whole desperate plan began simply as a last-ditch attempt to save his life. He never intended for anyone to get hurt. That day, not long after Thanksgiving, he walked into the bank full of hope. It was the first time heâd ever asked for a loan. It was also the first time heâd ever seen executive loan officer Carla Richmond.
When he tapped at her open doorway, she looked up from that big desk of hers. He thought she was too young and pretty with her big blue eyes and all that curly chestnut-brown hair to make the decision as to whether he lived or died.
She had a great smile as she got to her feet to offer him a seat.
He felt so out of place in her plush office that he stood in the doorway nervously kneading the brim of his worn baseball cap for a moment before stepping in. As he did, her blue-eyed gaze took in his ill-fitting clothing hanging on his rangy body, his bad haircut, his large, weathered hands.
He told himself that sheâd already made up her mind before he even sat down. She didnât give men like him a second lookâlet alone money. Like his father always said, bankers never gave dough to poor people who actually needed it. They just helped their rich friends.
Right away Carla Richmond made him feel small with her questions about his employment record, what he had for collateral, why he needed the money and how he planned to repay it. Heâd recently lost one crappy job and was in the process of starting another temporary one, and all he had to show for the years heâd worked hard labor since high school was an old pickup and a pile of bills.
He took the forms she handed him and thanked her, knowing he wasnât going to bother filling them in. On the way out of her office, he balled them up and dropped them in the trash. All the way to his pickup, he mentally kicked himself for being such a fool. What had he expected?
No one was going to give him money, even to save his lifeâespecially some woman in a suit behind a big desk in an air-conditioned office. It didnât matter that she didnât have a clue how desperate he really was. All sheâd seen when sheâd looked at him was a loser. To think that heâd bought a new pair of jeans with the last of his cash and borrowed a too-large button-down shirt from a former coworker for this meeting.
After climbing into his truck, he sat for a moment, too scared and sick at heart to start the engine. The worst part was the thought of going home and telling Jesse. The way his luck was going, she would walk out on him. Not that he could blame her, since his gambling had gotten them into this mess.
He thought about blowing off work since his new job was only temporary anyway and going straight to the bar. Then he reminded himself that heâd spent the last of his money on the jeans. He couldnât even afford a beer. His own fault, he reminded himself. Heâd only made things worse when heâd gone to a loan shark for cash and then stupidly gambled the money, thinking he could make back what he owed and then some when he won. Heâd been so sure his luck had changed for the better when heâd met Jesse.
Last time the two thugs had come to collect the interest on the loan, theyâd left him bleeding in the dirt outside his rented house. They would be back any day.
With a curse, he started the pickup. A cloud of exhaust blew out the back as he headed home to face Jesse with the bad news. Asking for a loan had been a long shot, but still he couldnât help thinking about the disappointment heâd see in her eyes when he told her. Theyâd planned to go out tonight for an expensive dinner with the loan money to celebrate.
As he drove home, his humiliation began to fester like a sore that just wouldnât heal. Had he known even then how this was going to end? Or was he still telling himself he was just a nice guy whoâd made some mistakes, had some bad luck and gotten involved with the wrong people?
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