Banning's Woman

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  There it was again. That tiny fear nibbling at the edges of her consciousness. Now that it had been planted, she couldn’t seem to ignore it. In a fit of anger she swept a pile of documents from her desk, watching as they drifted to the floor. Then, annoyed at her reaction and humbled by the thoughts she was entertaining, she got down on her hands and knees and began picking them up and stuffing them into her briefcase.

  Minutes later she stepped out of her office. “Juana, I’m leaving for the day. If you need me, I’ll be at my mother’s.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You’ve been putting in way too many hours.” The older woman noted the bulging briefcase. “You should leave that here and deal with it tomorrow.”

  “Not a chance.” Bren managed a wry laugh. “If the reporters are waiting to pounce on me again in the morning, at least I won’t be caught with nothing to say.”

  “You did just fine.” Juana ignored the ringing phone long enough to add, “I watched your segment of the news. I was proud of you.”

  Bren blew her a kiss as she sailed out of the office without waiting to see who was calling. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with the phone messages. Right now she was going to relax and forget about everything except sharing a few laughs with her family.

  The Beltway traffic had long ago dissipated. As Bren headed home she felt her heart soar at the familiar sight of the Washington Monument towering over the graceful landscape. She loved this city. And though she often felt overwhelmed at the amount of work she’d un dertaken, she loved her job, as well. It was frustrating at times, trying to please both her constituents and her fellow congressmen. But she’d known going into the job that it wouldn’t always be smooth sailing. She’d always loved a challenge. And now that she’d had a chance to bounce thoughts and ideas off her levelheaded family for the evening, she was feeling once more in control.

  There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do if she set her mind to it. And right now she’d decided that she would get to the bottom of this police corruption scandal, and let the chips fall where they may.

  As she pulled into the parking garage of the Middlegate Apartments she experienced that odd tingling along her spine and berated herself for her weakness. She couldn’t go on cringing every time she came home late at night. Still, she fished her cell phone out of her bag before getting out of the car. Tossing her purse over her shoulder she grabbed up her briefcase and headed for the elevator.

  All the way up she felt uneasy. When the doors slid silently open, she glanced around before stepping out at her floor. As she started along the hallway she could feel the hair at the back of her neck begin to rise. Twice she paused and, seeing no one, continued on. Long before she reached her door she had the key in her hand. She unlocked her door and stepped inside, relieved to be home at last. But when she lifted a hand to the alarm pad, she realized that it had been turned off.

  Had she forgotten to set it this morning? She’d been distracted over thoughts of Chris. Still, she hadn’t been that distracted. She distinctly remembered setting the alarm.

  Her hand was shaking as she punched in a phone number on her cell phone.

  She could hear Chris’s voice, thick with sleep. “Banning here.”

  “Chris.”

  When he heard her fear, his tone sharpened. “Bren? Where are you?”

  “I just got home. Someone’s been here. My alarm was turned off.”

  “Get out of there. Dial 911 and lock yourself in your car. I’ll be right over.”

  “All right. I—” She was about to run from her apartment when she saw something red scrawled on her bedroom door. “Wait. What’s this?”

  Chris was shouting at her through the phone while he struggled into his clothes and snatched up his weapon from a drawer beside his bed. “What do you see? What is it?”

  “There are words. Scrawled on my bedroom door. I think they’re—” she paused “—written in my lipstick.”

  “Bren.” His tone was frantic now. “Don’t stay. Don’t read what it says. Just get out of there.”

  She wasn’t listening. Aloud she read, “‘This is what happens to meddlers.’” She shrugged. “That’s all it says. But there’s an arrow pointing to the doorknob.”

  “Bren.” Chris headed out the door of his apartment and ran toward his car. “Don’t break this connection. Do you hear me? Just stay on the line. And whatever you do, don’t open that bedroom door.”

  “But I—”

  He swore violently as he turned the key in the ignition and began racing through the darkened streets of the city. “Just this once, don’t argue with me. Just hang on, and I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

  He was as good as his word, leaving his car parked beside hers at the Middlegate Apartments and taking the stairs at a run rather than wait for the elevator.

  With gun in hand he kicked in her apartment door and glanced around the empty room. His first thought was that she’d been abducted. Then he realized that the door to her bedroom was standing open.

  He walked past the message written in bold letters in blood-red lipstick.

  “This is what happens to meddlers.”

  Inside he was relieved to see Bren staring wordlessly at her dresser. The mirror above it had been shattered. Glass littered her dresser top and the floor around it.

  He waited just a moment, until he felt his heartbeat begin to settle. Then he holstered his gun and went to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, drawing her back against him.

  “Are you okay, baby?”

  At the sound of his voice she swallowed, then nodded, still too overcome to speak.

  He pressed his face into her hair. “You can’t stay here.”

  She took a deep breath. “I have to. Don’t you see?”

  “No, you—”

  She pushed free of his arms and turned to face him. “I can’t let someone run me out of my own space.”

  Her face was deathly pale. So pale it frightened him. But he could already see the fire of anger in her eyes. “All right, then. I’ll bring in a team of police…”

  She stiffened and backed away. “I don’t want them here.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ve already got them here. Like it or not, I’m one of them, Bren.”

  “I know.” She clasped her hands, then unclasped them. “I can’t believe I called you. I have a brother in the security business. Another who has more connections in Washington than the president. Yet I called you.” She shook her head, as though trying to fathom what she’d done.

  He took a step closer and touched a hand to her shoulder. “You called me because you know in your heart I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  She looked up, meeting his eyes. After several long moments of silence she nodded. “You’re right. Until this moment, I wasn’t sure. But now…” She let out a long, slow breath. “Thank you for coming, Chris. I was so scared.”

  “So was I, baby.” He drew her into the circle of his arms and allowed himself to breathe deeply. Against her temple he whispered, “Oh, God, you’ll never know how much.”

  Chapter 8

  “Come on.” Chris kept his arm around her shoulders as he steered her toward the kitchen. Once there he urged her into a chair. “What’ll it be? Coffee? Or your grandfather’s Irish whiskey?”

  “I think I’d like the whiskey.” Bren could feel the reaction setting in. She felt suddenly cold and weak and light-headed. She glanced toward the bedroom door, where the lipstick-smeared words mocked her.

  Seeing the direction of her gaze, Chris filled two tumblers with whiskey and sat down across from her. When she arched a brow, he gave a weak grin. “Last time I only had to face an armed coke-head. This time I had to face my fears for you all the way here. You’ll never know how many things I imagined.” He drained his glass in one long swallow.

  Bren took a sip and felt the whiskey burn a path of fire down her throat. Then she shakily got to her feet. “I’d better start cleaning up that glass.”
<
br />   He stood and closed a hand over her arm. “Sorry, Bren. Not yet.”

  She shot him a look.

  “Like it or not, this is a crime scene. And that means that I need a team of professionals to go over it.” When she started to protest he merely sighed. “I know you don’t know who to trust right now. But you’ve admitted that you trust me. Right?”

  She nodded.

  “And I intend to handpick men and women that I trust.” He drew her close and began rubbing his hands up and down her arms. She was so cold. He could feel her shivering with each touch. “If the intruder left even one small clue, Bren, I want it. And the only way to find it is to let my people go over your apartment with a fine-tooth comb. I promise you, they’ll be every bit as concerned about your safety as I am.”

  As much as she wanted to resist, she wanted even more to feel safe again. To be free of this fear. “I guess, if you think it’s right…”

  “I do.”

  She gave a slight nod of her head. “All right. I’m too tired to argue.”

  “That’s my girl.” He kissed the tip of her nose as he reached for his cell phone.

  A short time later he said, “You’ll need to pack some things.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “My team will be here most of the night going over your apartment. I think it’s best if you pack enough clothes for tomorrow and sleep elsewhere.”

  “And where would you suggest I sleep?”

  “I was thinking about my place—” he gave her one of those devilish smiles that always stopped her heart “—said the spider to the fly.”

  “I hope you understand this is only for one night.” Bren wearily followed Chris through the door of his tenth-floor apartment.

  They’d waited more than an hour for his team to arrive and begin the tedious task of sifting through every shard of glass, every thread on the floor, countertop and piece of furniture. Once the professionals had gotten started, and had given Bren their word that this latest incident wouldn’t become public knowledge, Chris had led her to his car for the ride across town to his place.

  She glanced around as he began turning on lights. It was a purely masculine space. Deep-green carpeting, with caramel-colored leather sofa and green-plaid armchair and ottoman. Two walls of the great room were lined with bookshelves. Tucked between rows of books were framed awards. She walked closer to study them. One for marksman. Another for officer of the year. On one shelf was a framed photo of a much younger Chris with an older man and woman, all smiling for the camera.

  She looked up and saw him watching her. “What did you do with the Bannings’ house?”

  “Sold it.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It was time to move on with my life. And this was closer to my work.”

  She glanced around. “This is nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  She motioned to the exercise machines that took up the other half of the room. “Can’t the department afford a gym?”

  He laughed. “We have a really great gym.”

  “Then why all this?”

  He shrugged. “On nights when a particularly tough case keeps me awake, I like to work out until I’m tired enough to fall asleep.”

  He touched a button, lighting the gas fireplace. Within minutes warmth flooded the room while the flames flickered silently.

  He crossed to the door and picked up her overnight bag. “You can have the bedroom.”

  “Where will you sleep?”

  Again that wolfish smile. “If you’re going to be selfish and keep the bed all to yourself, I’ll have to sleep on the sofa. But if you’re feeling generous…”

  She took the bag from his hands and stepped into the bedroom. “Enjoy the sofa, Captain Banning. You can have that cozy fireplace all to yourself.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  He watched as the door closed. He waited until the count of ten before knocking.

  Bren crossed to the door and opened it. She’d already removed her suit jacket and had kicked off her shoes. She eyed him suspiciously.

  “I’ll need my stuff.” He stepped into the bedroom and sauntered to the adjoining bathroom, wishing he’d given her just a little more time. Another ten or twenty seconds and she’d have been out of that skirt and blouse, as well. The thought of it had him sweating.

  After retrieving his shaving kit he paused at the door. “I’m afraid we’ll have to share the shower in the morning, since the other room has only a half bath. But because you’re my guest, I’ll let you go first, as long as you promise not to hog all the hot water.”

  “Generous of you.” She smiled as she closed the door in his face. A moment later he heard her turn the lock.

  “Hey.” He rapped a fist on the door. “What if I need something else?”

  “I guess you’ll have to do without.”

  “There’s a definite mean streak in you, Congresswoman.”

  “That’s what my brothers always said.”

  He was grinning as he strolled across the room and began undressing. Dropping down to the edge of the sofa, he picked up his cell phone and dialed. Moments later he kept his voice low as he said, “Banning here. How’s it going? Any clues?”

  He listened, sighed, then said, “Call me when you’re done there. And remember—I don’t care how unimportant it may seem. I want anything at all that seems out of place.”

  He set aside the phone and lay back, folding his hands under his head, watching the play of moonlight on the ceiling. It was bad enough knowing that someone in his department had gone outside the law. He’d known, since it had first become apparent, that it was only a matter of time until the rogue cop was caught. But now time had become a critical factor. Unless this nutcase was caught quickly, he could strike again. He’d made no secret of the fact that Bren was his next target.

  Or was she?

  Chris got to his feet and made his way to the first exercise machine, a step climber, working it until his legs ached from the effort. All the while he mulled over his latest question.

  Why had Bren been given this warning? If someone had wanted her dead, it would have been an easy matter to stand just inside her door and wait for her return. The alarm had already been disconnected. A quick hit, and the killer could have walked away without a trace. Instead, he’d scrawled words on a door, and smashed her mirror. As frightening as that might be, it wasn’t fatal. It was merely meant to frighten, leaving her a fighting chance.

  Was that what this was all about? Was the killer really looking for a fight?

  But what chance did a public figure like Bren, who’d made no secret of her distaste for guns, have against an armed intruder? Unless, of course, it wasn’t just Bren who was the intended victim.

  Chris thought about the black-tie dinner. It had been easy to spot the angry reactions of some of his colleagues. Not all the anger had been directed at the congresswoman who was investigating their department. Some of it had been aimed at him, for bringing the enemy through the gates. And then there was that first night when he’d been waiting at Bren’s door. She’d come barreling into him, scared out of her wits because she’d sensed that she was being followed.

  If she had been followed, and if that person had spotted him at her door, the connection had been made. The black-tie dinner would have sealed that connection. Anyone wanting to hurt one of them could easily decide that the best way to do that was to hurt the other.

  Chris made his way to the rowing machine and settled himself. As his arms strained against the tension of the oars, he realized it was all beginning to make sense. If someone had a grudge against him, what better way to hurt him than to hurt the woman who had suddenly begun to mean so much to him? He’d made no secret of his feelings. He paused to pass a hand over the sweat that rolled into his eyes. And he’d foolishly paraded her in front of everyone in the department at the awards banquet.

  He muttered a vicious oath. He’d unwittingly tossed her into a tank fi
lled with sharks. Now it was up to him to save her. He had to figure out who would want them both dead.

  He got to his feet and returned to the sofa, rolling into the blanket as he vowed to do whatever it took. Until this was over, his only mission was to keep Bren safe. If he failed that, his own life would mean nothing.

  In the bedroom, Bren lay in the big bed, breathing in the scent of Chris that lingered in the bed linens. There was something so calming about his presence. Something so fierce and protective about him, that gave her a sense of safety. Still, even knowing he was just outside her door, she felt alone and vulnerable.

  She could hear the hum of the exercise machines, and knew that Chris had found his own way to work off his frustrations.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. But sleep was impossible. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the door of her room and the lipstick-red words scrawled across it. With that image came the return of the sheer terror she’d experienced when she’d found her mirror shattered.

  It gave her such an eerie feeling to know that a stranger had violated her space. Had deactivated her alarm system. Had walked through her rooms. Had freely gone through drawers and cupboards, touching her personal belongings.

  She hugged her arms around herself, feeling her skin crawl at the thought.

  And then another thought intruded. She could have walked in on the stranger while he was there. She thought of the attack in her parking garage. Were the two related? The police had assured her that her attacker was still behind bars, awaiting trial. Did he have a friend? A family member, seeking revenge? But if so, why hadn’t he waited behind her door until she’d returned? After all, there was a rogue cop, or several of them, terrorizing citizens. And she had, as the spokesman for her congressional committee, turned up the heat. It seemed reasonable to assume that she would be on the top of a hit list. But she hadn’t been killed; merely warned. Maybe it was being done to make her squirm. A little fun, perhaps, before the final blow?