Dusk

by Miller, Maureen A.

  “I will do that,” he declared thickly. “I won’t stop until you and your family are safe.”

  If it weren’t for the disruption of the car rental agent approaching his window he might have sworn she squeezed back.

  CHAPTER NINE

  For the first time in her adult life Amanda was too troubled to address her business. It was impossible to think clearly, and her clientele deserved her full attention, not this angst-ridden, unfocused woman. She clutched her cell phone in her lap and tried not to glimpse at the man seated beside her.

  Truth was, she stole open glances at him every opportunity she could get. He grounded her just by his proximity. He represented strength and intelligence, a formula that was a sirens’ tune. There were some pretty serious looks to add to that recipe but they weren’t what was attracting her now. Heck, now she wanted to clamp her fingers onto his strong forearm and hold on for dear life.

  On her next furtive glance he caught her eye. It was too late. She couldn’t look away. Golden swirls of empathy and resolve tempted her to do a swan dive into that vortex.

  “Are you okay?” his husky voice rumbled.

  “I need to get home,” she replied wearily.

  At the touch of his fingers her hand jerked. She controlled the reaction and at his prompting, flipped her palm up to link her fingers with his. It felt good. Surely this was not a function of a security contractor. Or did she appear so out of control that he took pity on her−that he needed to placate her?

  One more glimpse into that cognac whirlpool and she knew it was not. His hand tightened around hers.

  “You smell like butter,” she whispered.

  It was so subtle, had she not been staring she wouldn’t have caught the quick curl of his lip, or the flash in his eyes.

  “Some woman in the movie theater doused me in it.”

  This is all fake. He’s only here because I hired him to protect me.

  Still locked to his gaze she saw him shake his head in the negative as his hand squeezed around hers.

  Could he have possibly read my thoughts?

  Before that question could be answered, Ray’s cell phone went off. A few passengers sent glares even though they had reached the safe cruising altitude.

  “Gordon,” he affirmed.

  Amanda watched and listened, waiting for some indication of who the call was from and whether it was positive news. She glanced down at her phone, its screen misted with the perspiration of her tight clutch.

  “Alright. He’s calling?” Ray asked. “Good. I’ll tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” she asked, leaning forward.

  “Your uncle should be calling you in a few minutes,” he said with a rugged grin.

  “What!” She nearly lunged at him in demand.

  Ray held up his hands in defense. “Your uncle should be calling you in a few minutes.”

  Her jaw dropped. She stared hard into his eyes to ensure this was real.

  It was there. Assurance. Gladness for her. A slight ease of the tension permanently etched around his eyes, and maybe a glimpse of something else. Tenderness? Awareness?

  “He went to your office as he told your aunt, but stopped in the lobby bathroom. As it was post hours he had to use the key to gain entrance to the lavatory, but he couldn’t find the exit lock key on his keyring. He was stuck in there.”

  “He’s been in the loo all this time? What about his cell phone? What about the early morning cleaning crew?”

  “His cell phone was located in his car. He must have forgotten it or dropped it. And the early morning crew just discovered him. Apparently they work top floors down in the building.”

  She had become so attuned with his face that she witnessed the restraint secreted there.

  “My uncle would not lose a key, and he would not forget his cell phone.”

  Even as she vehemently made the declaration a nagging sense of disbelief wormed into the back of her brain. Her uncle was well into his seventies. For as spry as he claimed to be, the truth was that he could be absent-minded on very rare occasions.

  Occasional absentmindedness or not, the fact remained that this had happened to her uncle directly after a threat to a family member was unveiled by her nameless foe. He was demonstrating that he could reach out and touch her family and she was powerless against it.

  A sob racked her body. Soundless. Tearless. But it shook her spine and rattled her rib cage. Before it could repeat her cell phone vibrated in her lap. Uncooperative fingers tried to grab it, but only managed to shove it to her knees where it tumbled over. Ray scooped it into his big hand before it ever hit the floor. He handed it to her with a sympathetic smile.

  Amanda raised the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Well, it would appear that I’ve made a royal mess of things,” her uncle’s blithe voice filled her ear, and her heart.

  “Are you alright?” It was all that mattered.

  “Yes. Yes. Much to do over nothing.”

  Distance and technology could not conceal his attempt to trivialize. Later she would analyze the events in person with him. Now was not the time.

  “Are you home with Aunt Joyce?”

  “Yes, yes. The damn woman is marching around me like a hen,” he complained in his snarky, but good-natured voice.

  She could also hear his fatigue and her heart melted.

  “I’m on my way. We’ll talk more when I get there and after you’ve had a good nap.”

  The man snorted through the phone. “I have to get to work. You know that.”

  Amanda smiled with tears pressing at the backs of her eyes. “Your boss will let you have a day off, I think.”

  “I’ll get your aunt to call her,” he said. “The two of them can cluck at each other.”

  A combined laugh/sob passed over her lips.

  “Okay,” she said. “Get some rest and I’ll see you soon.”

  This was certainly not the time to grill the man. And she was positive that Ray would do plenty of grilling with the police.

  Ray.

  She wasn’t even aware that she had been leaning in so close to him. Gravity−the weight of the world slumped her in his direction.

  Sun boring through the small circular window illuminated his face. It enabled her to see such exquisite detail. Previously, the stubble on his face was just a shadow−an afterthought. Up close she could distinguish each coppery bristle. She had an irrational desire to feel them scrape against her cheek.

  Short-cropped sandy hair, which had looked brown only minutes ago now glistened under the sun’s splendor. Full lips revealed slim cracks, faint lines of torture from the desert.

  She wanted to kiss him. Maybe it was the adrenaline of relief. Maybe it was this close proximity. Maybe it was the comfort she had felt with him last night. Or maybe it was just raw sexual attraction. Whichever it was, she felt faint with the need to touch his mouth.

  Ray moved. His hand rose and cupped her jaw, angling her head so that he could look down into her eyes. She witnessed exotic worlds there. Torment. War. Peace. Hope. Desire.

  Her gaze dropped to his lips again which she swore whispered her name. Suspended on a precipice atop a boundless trench, she waited. With torturous deliberation his head lowered. The dust of his breath−the faint whiff of coffee−the agonizing deliberation−and then his lips brushed hers. After a painful delay they returned for another sweep. Longer. More demanding.

  All the blood in her body charged from the back to the front, leaving a trail of pinpricks from her collarbone down to her thighs. His kisses were restrained, when all she wanted was passionate abandon. That probably wouldn’t go over well with the person across the aisle who had complained about their cell phone. Imagine how high his eyebrows would rise if she were to hike her skirt up and climb face-forward onto Ray’s lap.

  “Whoa,” the raspy sound broke into her reverie.

  Wait. Where was his mouth? Where were those erotic lips? Where were his kisses? She was losing herself in th
em.

  Opening her eyes she found that they were all withdrawing. And she dreaded the misgivings in his gaze.

  His wide hand reached up and brushed his mouth and chin. Was he wiping away her touch?

  “Amanda−” he began in a deep rasp. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry? As in regret?

  Unable to find her voice, she sat there mutely.

  A strangled breath finally worked its way into her lungs. It was immediately followed by another—this one slightly more measured. Soon she was rising from her tilted position and her chin inched up.

  “It’s okay,” she managed. “You obviously felt sympathy for me, but I’m okay now. My uncle is safe. I appreciate you being kind to me in a time of need.”

  As composed as she was, her eyes still gravitated towards his lips. She swore they uttered the word, fuck.

  “No, Elena,” he whispered in that deep tone that made her stomach tremble. “I didn’t kiss you because I felt sympathy for you. I kissed you because I wanted to.” He sucked in a breath. “And that’s a bad thing.”

  Composure flew out the 35,000 foot-high window.

  “It is?”

  Whatever her expression was, it made him smile. He looked so damn sexy when he smiled.

  “It’s a bad thing because I need to focus on keeping you safe. I can’t focus on your lips, or the way you smell, or the—”

  Okay, this time she was sure he said, fuck.

  “Look, please try to forget I did that. You were so close, and well—” he sat upright and stretched his legs out, “—I won’t let you get that close from now on. We’ll get back to London and I’ll work with the police, and I’ll follow up with my contact in South Africa, and I might even fly there to investigate in person.”

  “No—” she choked.

  His head swerved to look at her inquisitively.

  “Not without me,” she commanded, still trying to gather herself after his raspy declaration that he wanted to kiss her.

  All she could see now was his profile. The square angle of his chin. The scruff of his jaw. The pinch at the corner of his eye. The bob of his Adam’s Apple.

  “Let’s just get to London and figure out what’s going on there. Your assailant has some serious atoning to do, and I’m going to draw it from him personally.”

  Amanda rested her head back against the seat. Her heartbeat had regulated. Thoughts of this attacker and the fact that he most likely had personal contact with her uncle stamped out her passion. She angled her glance out the window, staring at the swirl of cumulous clouds below and willed the plane to fly faster.

  ***

  Ray condemned himself to Hell for all eternity. Great way to encourage repeat clientele−maul them.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Well, that was the problem. For that brief moment he had stopped thinking. She was so close. Those soft lips. The floral scent. The sleek skirt brushing his thigh.

  God, he loved how she tasted. That brief kiss had only stoked his desire. How the hell was he going to curb himself when all he wanted was to kiss her lips raw and then work his way south?

  Fidgeting in his seat to ease his discomfort, his arm connected with her elbow.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered.

  Get a grip, he berated himself.

  There had been relationships in the past. Well, not so much relationships, but there had been encounters. When he returned to the states he needed a physical connection, but nothing more than that. Conversation was difficult. Everything he had to say was dark and brooding. No woman was interested in hearing about his time in the Mideast. After the physical part, there was little left to establish a relationship.

  The woman beside him tantalized more than just the southern half of his body. Dark and brooding shadows trailed behind her. Those specters attracted him. He could relate to them. It made her a whole person. Granted, the shadows did not attract him as much as that silky blonde hair, and those eyes that could trump the blue sky outside the window. But both sides of the woman, physical and emotional appealed to him far too much. Why couldn’t he find this sort of captivation with a nameless female at a bar? Why did it have to be Amanda?

  Using the internet on his phone, Ray submitted more inquiries and called in on some old connections hoping to turn up more on Amanda’s parents. The hours crawled by with at least three inadvertent (yeah, right) brushes with Amanda’s calf. As the plane rumbled down the Heathrow runway, any distractions retreated and Ray honed in on the mission ahead. Although Amanda’s uncle was safe at home, the threat by her assailant had become all too tangible. It was time to find this man and take him down.

  ***

  As promised, the police were at the airport waiting outside Customs. They quickly whisked them off to Notting Hill, and the home of Amanda’s aunt and uncle. As the sedan pulled up to the curb, she was out of it despite Ray’s fading command, wait until I come around. The white front door on the quaint blue house opened, and there was George looking weary, yet smiling nonetheless.

  She charged up the sidewalk towards him, but pulled up short and pinned back her shoulders.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  George straightened his shoulders as well. “Indeed,” he nodded.

  The restraint fled her body and she surged forward to loop her arms around his neck. Seconds later he wrapped his arms around her.

  “It will be fine, Mandy-girl. This letter. It ended up being bogus. Poor timing for me to grow absentminded. Such a fuss was made.”

  Even as she listened to his platitudes, she could tell he didn’t sound convinced.

  “This is your uncle?” A deep voice asked behind her.

  George’s tepid blue eyes glanced over her shoulder with amusement.

  “Prior to you, Amanda refused any personal security. An uncle has to do what an uncle’s got to do. It was the only way she would let me keep an eye on her.”

  Amanda snorted and explained to Ray, “The man was bored out of his skull. I only contributed to Aunt Joyce’s sanity.”

  “Amen to that,” a petite pale-haired woman appeared in the doorway. “I’m sorry you had to cut your business trip short, Mandy.” She gazed curiously past Amanda. “And please introduce us to your friend.”

  “He’s not my−” Amanda cut herself off. It suddenly didn’t feel right to refer to Ray as an employee. She also didn’t want to concern her aunt with the fact that she felt she needed additional security. “He was with me on the business trip to New York,” she explained feebly. “Ray, this is my aunt and uncle, George and Joyce Darby.”

  Ray stepped around her and extended his hand. Over a hard shake, he and George engaged a long stare that ended with a meaningful nod from the elder man. Aunt Joyce stepped back and waved her arm like she was guiding an airline into its gate.

  Pausing a moment, Ray exchanged words with the officer that accompanied them to the door, and soon the rain-coated young man was jogging back to his car and driving off.

  Amanda breathed a sigh of relief when she was ensconced in the living room with those she loved…and Ray. It surprised her to see how pleasantly social he was with her family, even winning over George’s stodgy temperament.

  “Where is Mule?” she asked.

  George shook his head. “He rushed off after the excitement was over. Had to get back to that job of his.”

  As soon as Aunt Joyce excused herself to prepare tea, Ray turned serious.

  “Do you still have the letter, or have the police taken it?”

  George sobered. He glanced towards the kitchen doorway, listening the innocent clangs of china, abnd then reached into an end table drawer.

  “The police made a copy.” He handed the paper to Amanda. “This is the original.”

  Beside her, she glimpsed Ray’s frown. Clearly he did not approve of their inattention.

  Amanda read the text. Holding the paper that had once been touched by the man who had t
hreatened her family caused her hand to tremble. Comforting fingers curled around her back. She welcomed them. She wanted to lean into Ray, but she couldn’t reveal weakness now. Not in front of these two men−each strong in their own right.

  “The key, Uncle George?”

  Her emotions were revealed in the intimate title. When her uncle had started working at BLUE-LINK he had ordered her to address him as George. He didn’t want the staff thinking he had acquired the job because he was a relative. To this day, no one on the staff knew the industrious chauffer was her uncle. Over time she had grown accustomed to simply calling him George, even in closed-quarters.

  “I swore I had it. I always have it,” he shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Mandy, and I can’t dispute it. But those keys were in my possession at all times. If someone was to have removed one, it would have to have been days ago when I left them in my coat pocket at work.”

  George was sharp enough to identify when his keys were last left unattended. There was no diminished mental capacity in this man. Her uncle was as sage as ever. It relieved her tremendously, but it also set her completely on edge. Someone had come close enough to the man to retrieve his keys.

  “If this person was determined enough to leave a warning, there was little you could do,” Ray inserted. “This man has conveyed his message loud and clear. He warned Amanda that he could reach her family, and now he has demonstrated it. So, the next step is to determine what Amanda has that this man wants.”

  George exchanged a glance with her. She was no fool to think it went undetected by Ray’s sharp eyes. That would have to be dealt with later. Right now, all that mattered was that her uncle was home safe.

  “Tea.” Aunt Joyce chimed like the proverbial dinner bell. “I made biscuits.”

  Everything was on hold.

  Aunt Joyce had made biscuits.

  ***

  They sat in the driveway, the car idling with a soft purr. Ray reached behind his neck to massage a phantom pain from an injury long gone.

  “I won’t let anything happen to them,” he vowed in a low voice. “I will find this coward.”

  Amanda remained silent. On a quick glance one would never be able to tell that she had been up for 36 hours. She had changed hastily in the hotel from her jeans and Yankees shirt into a calf-length black skirt and high black boots. Under the glow of the garage light her blonde hair fell in a polished sheen across her shoulders. An angular chin still challenged gravity, raised to contest anything in her path. Only in the soft shadows that crept beneath her eyes was there a sign of fatigue.