Dead By Nightfall Read Online Free PDF Page A

would be among them. Bouchard was a wily old fox who kept a low profile and had proven impossible to locate. But if luck was on his side, Rafe just might meet the elusive billionaire tonight.
    â€œI have no idea who the other guests are,” Cassie admitted in a quiet whisper as they entered the dining room. “I so hope one of the royals is here. I’ve fancied meeting a prince for ever so long.”
    Upon close inspection, Rafe saw that the table was set for twelve. A quick scan of the people present told him that he and Cassie completed the party and were apparently the last to arrive. As that nefarious toad, Sir Harlan, rose from his seat at the head of the table and waved a cordial welcome, Rafe steeled himself in preparation for what lay ahead this evening. Every instinct he possessed urged him to go in for the kill, to rip out the old pervert’s heart, and feed it to his guests.
    Harlan Benecroft had grown older, fatter, and balder with age. He had to be at least seventy by now. Age spots dotted his round, ruddy face and not even the elegant cut of his expensive tuxedo jacket could camouflage his wide girth.
    Did he still prefer pretty young girls who had just reached pubescence? Girls of eleven or twelve with small newly blossomed breasts and their virginity intact?
    There had been a time when Rafe couldn’t have been in the same room with Benecroft without vomiting. And even now, the sight of the man sickened him.
    With iron control over his emotions—anger, hatred, revulsion—Rafe managed to nod and smile when their host urged them to take their seats. In his role as a gentleman, Rafe assisted his date and then pulled out the chair beside her. Once seated, he ran his gaze quickly around the table, concentrating only on the men, the two older men in particular. He had not seen Yves Bouchard in person for more than sixteen years, not since Bouchard’s last visit to Amara. And there were no recent photos of the man. None.
    Would Rafe actually recognize Bouchard?
    One of the two older men, he dismissed immediately when he heard him speak to the woman next to him. His accent was decidedly Scottish. And his eyes were blue, not brown.
    â€œI believe that Ms. Wilder needs no introduction,” Sir Harlan said as he focused his gaze on Cassie. “But, my dear, perhaps you would like to introduce your young man to the other guests.”
    As all eyes turned to Rafe, his heart stopped beating for one gut-wrenching moment when the white-haired man with the neatly groomed gray mustache and Vandyke looked directly at him. Yves Bouchard, in the flesh.
    Got you, you son of a bitch. After all these years, I’ve finally found you.
    Cassie reached over and laid her hand atop Rafe’s. “Sir Harlan, please let me introduce my date for tonight, my dear friend, Leonardo Kasan.”

Chapter 3
    Derek paced the hallway as he and Yvette waited outside Griffin Powell’s study. Whenever he heard a shout or a crash, he paused to exchange concerned glances with Yvette, who stood serenely at the end of the corridor, her head bowed and her hands folded in a prayerlike gesture. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Derek checked his wristwatch. Although it had been barely twenty minutes since Sanders had gone into the study with Griffin, it felt more like twenty hours. The horrifically painful roar Griffin initially released had sent chills through Derek’s body. Then several minutes later, silence had replaced the sound of unbearable pain. But only momentarily. One loud crash had followed another and then another, interrupted by periods of ominous quiet. And then Griffin had begun bellowing at the top of his lungs. His loud, gruff voice resonated with anguish, his words of remorse and self-condemnation clearly audible through the closed door. And all the while, they heard the soft, steady drone of Sanders’s calm voice interspersed throughout Griff’s ongoing savage tirade.
    Derek