Guarding Suzannah

by Norah Wilson

  ~*~

  John leapt off the leather covered couch the moment she pushed through the big oak door and into the reception area. Suzannah suppressed a smile at the sight of him. His tie hung askew, and his suit, which she knew for a fact had looked almost passable this morning, was impossibly rumpled. What on earth had he been doing? She lifted an eyebrow. “Rough day?”

  His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  “It looks like you been wrestling alligators.”

  Following the sweep of her gaze, he looked down at himself, then back up. “I resent that remark. I’ll have you know I’ve been pushing paper all day.”

  Her smile broadened at his offended tone. “Sorry.”

  “So, you ready to go?”

  “I have my own car, you know. A temporary replacement courtesy of the insurance company.”

  “Saw it. Thought I’d follow you.”

  He did, did he? “I don’t need an escort every time I leave the building, John.”

  “Agreed,” he said easily. “You can go lots of places without an escort. You can go to court. You can go to lunch. You can go to the Registry Office. In fact, you can go most anywhere there’s lots of people around. But you can’t go home.”

  At her station, the receptionist tapped away at her keyboard without missing a stroke, but Suzannah knew the younger woman wasn’t missing a word.

  “Candace, could you excuse us a moment?”

  “Of course. No problem.” The tapping stopped, and Candace slipped out of the reception area, letting the heavy door fall closed behind her.

  Suzannah swung her gaze back to John, but before she could say anything, he went on the offensive.

  “Don’t even start with me,” he warned. “I told you this morning it’s not safe for you to go home alone.”

  A tendril of hair had escaped her neat French twist, and she pushed it behind her ear with an impatient hand. “Dammit. I hate that I’m scared to stay alone in my own house.”

  “We’ll find the creep. In the meantime, you can stay with me.”

  Stay with me.

  The prospect sounded frighteningly attractive, on too many levels.

  “No.”

  His eyebrows rose, making his forehead wrinkle in a way that was becoming familiar.

  “No?”

  “Bad enough I let him drive me out last night,” she said. “Bad enough that I feel constrained as to where I can go and what I can do. I will not be driven out of my house.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Then we’ll move in with you.”

  Her pulse jolted. John, living in her house?

  Suddenly, she remembered the scene she’d been trying to banish all day, the memory of the raw yearning that had blazed from his eyes last night just before she’d closed her bedroom door on him. Her parting comment had been meant to make him suffer, but it had backfired on her. She was the one who’d tossed all night, burning with curiosity and something more.

  Dear God, it would be the height of insanity to let him move in. Which meant that she must be losing her marbles. Suicidal as it might be, she wanted the danger of being alone with him. Then her addled mind finally registered his use of the plural. “What do you mean, we?”

  “Me and Bandy. Unless you want me to kennel the mutt.”

  A week ago, she might have missed the flicker of shadow in his eyes, the subtle change in his voice. He didn’t want to subject the neuroses ridden old dog to the stress of a kennel situation, but he would if he had to.

  “God, no, don’t do that.”

  “Good. ’Cuz he’s in the car. It would have broken his heart if I’d dropped him off at the doggie hotel. Shades of the dog pound and all that.”

  Her jaw dropped. “He’s here? Right now?”

  “Yup.”

  “Dog dish, kibble and all?”

  “He likes to be prepared.”

  “What about Bandy’s master? Are you all packed for a sleepover, too?”

  He rolled his shoulders, tugged at his already loose tie as though it were strangling him. “I like to be prepared, too.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Am I really that predictable?”

  A shrug. “I figured it wouldn’t sit well with you, being driven out of your house like that. And there’s no way I’m gonna let you stay alone.”

  Let her stay alone? As usual, his choice of wording could use some work, but she didn’t pursue it. This was old ground, and well covered. No point arguing she didn’t need his protection, especially when it was looking more and more as though she did. She searched his face, but it held no clue as to how he felt about her decision. “Do you think I’m being stubborn, wanting to go home? Stupid?”

  “I’d feel more comfortable with you at my house, no question,” he said, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “But at the same time, it might not be a bad idea to show him you’re not intimidated. As long as you’re smart about it. And bloody careful. That means you don’t go there without me. That means we keep Bandy around; he’s actually a helluva watchdog. Barks up a storm at the slightest noise. Looks pretty scary, too, if you don’t know better.”

  The same strand of hair fell down again, and Suzannah tucked it back behind her ear. “What are the chances that plan of action—your moving in with me—will just make him escalate his campaign?”

  “Pretty high, I expect.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s what you want him to do, isn’t it? Take more chances so your guys can catch him.”

  “You want it to be over, don’t you? You want your old life back?”

  Her old life. Life without fear.

  Life without a bossy, interfering cop underfoot every way she turned.

  He was watching her, she realized, waiting for a response. “Of course I want my life back.”

  “Then we need him to mess up. And he’s more likely to do that if he’s a little pissed.”

  “And moving a man in should do the trick?”

  “Moving your lover in,” he corrected. “And yeah, I think that’ll do the trick, especially if you thumb your nose at him by doing it under your own roof, the place where he threatened you the strongest terms.”

  A shiver skittered up her spine, and it had nothing to do with the admittedly aggressive air conditioning in the empty waiting room. She licked lips gone dry. “If this does draw him out, are we equipped for it?”

  The strand of hair fell forward onto her face again, and this time it was his fingers that tucked it back in place. She shivered again.

  “You want to change your mind?” he asked, his voice pitched low, quiet. “We can stay at my place if you like, lay low. Or you can take a few weeks’ vacation and get right out of town, leave the boys to work on it.”

  “No!” Then, less sharply: “No. I want it over. I don’t want to think about it anymore when I cross a busy street. I don’t want to jump when I hear some guy gun his engine, or when some old clunker backfires. I don’t want to cast backward glances when I’m walking down a deserted corridor and hear footsteps behind me.”

  “Good girl.”

  She felt his hand on her arm, warm and approving.

  “And to answer your question,” he continued, dropping his hand, “I think we’re well prepared when this guy crawls out from whatever rock he’s hiding under. With your new security system and the beefed up exterior lighting, you’re in a much better position than you were before. And I’ll have my radio, not to mention my service weapon.”

  A gun. In her house. Oddly, the idea wasn’t as disturbing as she thought it should be. So much for her pacifist principles. She pushed the thought away. “You’re forgetting our biggest asset in that laundry list of security measures.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Bandy.”

  “Right.” He laughed, a throaty chuckle that made her pulse skip a little faster. “Speaking of which, we’d better get going if I want to have any upholstery left.”