“Martha?”
“My assistant.”
Steve placed the letters aside. “If you thought they were written by a crank, why’d you keep them?”
Kate raised her arms in a dismissive gesture. “You know me. I’m a pack rat. I keep everything.”
“They need to be shown to the police immediately,” Steve said. “You also need to file a report about what happened in front of the post office. Despite what you heard, they might be able to find a witness. I’ll make a note for whoever’s assigned to act as your personal protection specialist to see to this immediately.” Picking up a pen, he began scribbling on a legal pad.
The thought of someone other than Steve acting as her bodyguard sent her into a near panic. “No,” she said.
His pen stilled. “No?”
“I want you to be my bodyguard, Steve.”
“I’m sorry, but I no longer work in the field.”
Kate bit her lip. Her fingers played restlessly with the straps of the canvas bag. “Couldn’t you make an exception in my case?”
“Because we used to be married, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Impassive as ever, he stared at her and said, “Tell me something, Kate. Three of your brothers are cops. Why didn’t you go to them with this? Why come to me?”
How to explain what she didn’t completely understand herself? All she knew was that she wouldn’t feel safe with anyone but Steve. The need to have him by her side during this crisis felt as elemental as breathing.
“I live in a small town. Even though Carlo is chief of police, the force itself is too small and inexperienced to give me the protection you can. And you know how my brothers overreact when it comes to me. They’d go off half-cocked, finding crazed fans behind every tree. Sooner or later, someone would get hurt, and I’m afraid it would be one of them.”
His lips curled into a sardonic half smile. “So, if anyone’s going to get hurt, you’d rather it be me. Is that it?”
Thoughts of him getting hurt had never crossed her mind. Even when they were married, and he’d worked undercover, she’d never worried. She’d always thought of him as invincible.
“Isn’t that your job?” she asked.
Instead of answering, he surprised her by commanding, “Take off your glasses.”
“Why?”
“I want to see your eyes.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Scared?” he challenged.
She hadn’t backed down from a dare since she was three years old, and she wasn’t about to start now. Kate slowly lowered the glasses to her lap. When her gaze locked with his, she felt more exposed than if she had removed her shirt.
“All right,” she said, her voice sounding brittle. “I took them off. Satisfied?”
Blue eyes that glittered like sapphires stared into hers for what seemed an eternity. “Why’d you come to me, Kate?” he asked softly.
Unnerved.by the intensity of his regard, she looked away. Several answers, all of them flippant, hovered on the tip of her tongue. She bit them back. Instinctively she knew that everything hinged on what she said next. Nothing but the truth would serve her now.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath. What good was her pride when it was standing between her and the thing she wanted most? Turning her gaze back to his, Kate no longer bothered to hide her confusion. Or her fear.
“I’m scared, Steve. Really scared. Someone tried to kill me! I don’t know what to do about that. But I know that you do. Please, will you be my bodyguard? I... I need you.”
To her surprise, a look of pain crossed his face. “If you only knew—” he said gruffly, then broke off.
“Knew what?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Give me a minute, will you?”
He picked up the phone, and for the next ten minutes Kate listened while he made the necessary arrangements to take a temporary leave of absence. While it was obvious he had a well-thought-out backup plan in place for just such an eventuality, she couldn’t help wondering why he’d go to all that bother for her.
“Okay, Kate,” he said when he hung up the phone. “I’ll be your bodyguard.”
All thoughts of why he was accepting her case were swept away as sweet relief coursed through her. The only thing that mattered was that Steve was going to help her. For the first time since she’d found herself on her knees in front of that bus, she felt safe.
“Thank you.”
“Tell me,” he asked, all business once more, “why do you automatically assume it’s a man who wrote these letters? Why do you think a man pushed you?”
“The voice that growled in my ear was definitely male,” she replied. “The hands that pressed against my back felt big and masculine. Besides, aren’t most of these people men?”
“For the most part. There are women stalkers, however.”
Stalker. She didn’t like the sound of the word. She didn’t like it at all. Somehow, it had seemed less threatening when she’d thought of her letter writer as a fan. A very sick fan, but a fan, nonetheless.
“So, what do we do next?”
Steve twirled the pen in his hand. “I come home with you and set up a command post. Then we figure out who this guy is and turn him over to the police.”
Because it looked so out of place amid the sleek, modern furnishings of the room, the bottle of antacid on the corner of his desk caught her attention. She shook her head and bit back a wry smile. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
“Stomach still bothering you?” she asked.
“I eat too much spicy food.”
He kept too much inside, she silently amended. That was why he suffered from heartburn. It had nothing to do with indigestion. How many times during their marriage had he walked away whenever an issue between them had escalated to the point of argument? Oh, how that had infuriated her. If he would just let go of his emotions once in a while, empty himself out, he’d probably find he no longer needed an antacid.
Steve reached into a desk drawer and removed a sheet of paper. “This is a listing of our fees. It’s pretty standard for the industry.”
Kate barely glanced at it. It really didn’t matter what he charged, she would have agreed to any terms. “Looks good to me.”
“Fine. I’ll have a contract drawn up.” Bracing his palms against the edge of his desk, he pushed his chair back. “Did you drive downtown or take the subway?”
“I drove.”
“I’ll follow you home.” He removed his suit coat and draped it across the back of his chair before opening another drawer and removing a gun and holster. After checking to see that the gun was loaded, he secured the holster around his left shoulder. He strapped a second gun around his right ankle.
“Are they necessary?” Kate asked.
“They’re a precautionary measure.” He shrugged back into his suit coat. “You wouldn’t expect a surgeon to operate without a scalpel, would you?”
“No, but...”
He turned his gaze on her. “What’s wrong, Kate? You’ve never been squeamish about my wearing a gun before.”
“I know. It’s just...” It made it all seem real. Too real. “Nothing. Let’s-go.”
When they reached his office door, Steve opened it and stood aside. “After you.”
Kate waited patiently. “You know I don’t stand on coremony.”
His smile, such as it was, was sardonic. “My mistake. I forgot. Except when your life’s in danger, you don’t take help from anyone, do you? Sufficient unto the end is Kate Garibaldi.” There was an unmistakable note of bitterness in his voice.
Kate blinked. Is that how he thought of her? Sufficient unto the end? Yes, she enjoyed her independence; she’d fought long and hard for it. And yes, she liked the fact that she could stand on her own two feet. But that didn’t mean she didn’t need other people. She needed her family. She needed her friends. When they were married, she’d needed Steve. Too much.
&n
bsp; Instead of challenging his words, she simply followed him out the door. All that was in the past. What good would it do to rehash it now?
What on earth was he doing? Steve wondered as he tailed Kate’s forest-green Subaru. Had he completely lost his mind? He must have, because instead of dumping Kate’s case on one of his employees’ desks like the good administrator he was supposed to be, he’d taken it himself. Why?
Two reasons, he decided. The first was that she’d looked at him with her big, doe-brown eyes and begged for his help. How many times dunng their marriage had he prayed in vain that she would turn to him in need? Finally, now that it was all over, she’d done exactly that. And, when it came down to it, he could resist anything but her needing him.
The second, more important reason was that he didn’t trust anyone but himself to keep her safe. Not even the six overprotective bullies she called brothers.
“You were born a century too late, pal,” Quincy had been fond of teasing him. “A hundred years ago, you could pull out your six-shooter and single-handedly rid the world of all the bad guys.”
Qumcy.
Over the past eighteen months, Steve had tried very hard not to think of his former best friend. Almost as hard as he’d tried not to think of Kate, and the child they’d lost.
She’d said she was surprised that he’d left the police force. Little did she know how close she’d come to the truth when she’d asked if Quincy had had something to do with his decision. First, he’d lost his daughter, then his wife, and finally his best friend. After that, nothing had made much sense, especially work in a field that often seemed as riddled with corruption as the people he had a sworn duty to protect. At least now he could pick and choose who he decided to put his life on the line for. Like Kate.
The camera in his mind replayed the minute she’d walked into his office. Even in that ridiculous getup, and with a bruise on her cheek and a split lip, she’d looked beautiful. When Liza had announced that Kate was there in answer to his ad, he’d assumed the worst. All of his protective instincts had risen to the fore. Now that he knew the truth, he almost wished he was dealing with a batterer. A batterer he could easily handle. An unknown fan, however, was a different story altogether. Steve knew he had his work cut out for him.
His suspicions were confirmed when he parked in front of her house, climbed out of his car and got his first good look at his surroundings. The sight so dismayed him that he nearly groaned aloud.
With its outdated windows, many doors and close neighbors, Kate’s house was a protection specialist’s worst nightmare. If someone truly meant to do her harm, it would be all too easy. He’d wager the house didn’t even have an alarm system. Anybody could use the stately maple tree in the front yard to gain access to the windows on the second floor. And the park across the street...a person could find a million different places to hide there.
“I see you bought the old house you always wanted,” he said when she joined him.
She gazed with obvious fondness at the three-story, redbrick building that had probably been built sometime in the early twenties. “Yes. I love these old places. They have so much character.”
Steve didn’t feel quite as charmed by the square, architecturally-undemanding structure, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He also kept alert for any suspicious activity while she slid her key into the front door lock and turned the knob. A step behind her, he wasn’t prepared when she stopped dead in her tracks. Body still in motion, he barreled headlong into her. His hands shot out and closed around her shoulders, pulling her against him as he struggled to keep them both from falling.
The heat of her skin seared him at the same time that her scent took his breath away. Anticipation tightened his stomach muscles. Lord, he’d forgotten how good she smelled. How good it felt just to hold her.
When the urge to slide his hands down her arms and nuzzle his nose in the silkiness of her hair grew overwhelming, he thrust her away from him. “Sorry,” he muttered, then forgot all about his response to her when he saw the look on her face. The color had drained from her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with fear.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Someone’s been here.”
Chapter 3
“Get down!” Steve grabbed Kate by the arm and pulled her along behind him.
Crouching low and shielding her body with his, he took cover behind the intricately carved Victorian sofa located to the right of the front door. As he removed the gun from beneath his suit coat and disengaged the safety, he mentally berated himself for his dangerous lapse of control. It could prove deadly.
“How do you know someone’s been here?” he whispered, carefully scanning what he could see of the room. Though he wasn’t familiar with the layout, at first glance nothing looked odd or out of place.
“The furniture’s been rearranged,” she whispered back.
Damn, damn and triple damn! He wasn’t in the house more than three seconds, and already his worst fears had been realized. This place was going to be a bear to secure.
“Anything missing?”
“Not that I can tell.”
Which pretty much ruled out robbery. Not that any self-respecting burglar he’d ever arrested had bothered to rearrange his victim’s furniture. Unless, that is, the rearranging was of the destructive sort.
“What do we do now?” Kate asked.
Good question. In a perfect world, he’d have backup, someone to watch over Kate while he checked the place out. But this wasn’t a perfect world. They could do one of two things: go forward or backward. Going backward meant going outside, where they’d be sitting ducks for whoever might be lurking there. Like it or not, they were safer inside. Which meant their only viable option was to go forward.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Figure out whether or not we still have company.”
“And if we do?”
“Immobilize whoever it is and call the police. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Her face was a pasty white, and her voice shook. Steve felt a flash of admiration for her courage. All in all, she was having one heck of a day. He just hoped it didn’t get worse.
“Keep behind me, and stay close.”
“Don’t worry. I plan on sticking closer than your shadow.”
Cautiously, sweeping his gun in an arc in front of him, Steve inched forward to peer around the sofa. True to her word, Kate stuck to him like a burr. His gaze quickly roved the room in a counterclockwise sweep.
The only sounds were the soft ticking of a grandfather clock and the whoosh of cool air passing through the wall vents. No shadowy figure lurked in a corner, waiting to pounce. What Steve did notice were scattered indentations in the pile of the rose wall-to-wall carpeting. Indentations indicating the spots where pieces of furniture had previously rested.
“See anyone?” Kate asked.
“No.” He eased the gun down to his side. The house had a feel to it, an emptiness that told his gut they were alone. When it came to his personal safety, he’d learned long ago to trust his gut. It had saved his hfe on more than one occasion. Still he planned on covering every inch of the place, just to be sure.
“I think whoever was here is long gone,” he said.
“Why?”
Now that the immediate danger didn’t seem so immediate, he grew suddenly aware that her hands had settled on his shoulders. Her breath pulsed warmly against his neck. He stood up, and she followed, her knee brushing his calf. She was too close for comfort. His comfort. If she leaned any closer, her breasts would nestle in the middle of his back. The thought made his blood race in anticipation.
He turned to face her, and her hands fell away. “Two things. Number one, if someone broke in here intending to do you bodily harm, he wouldn’t warn you in advance by rearranging your furniture. Number two, we weren’t exactly quiet when we came through the door. It would have been easy for anyone lying in wait to pick us off. Whoever did this is toying with you, Ka
te. He left his message and beat a hasty retreat. Wherever he is, he’s probably getting a sick thrill out of imagining your reaction.”
She digested his words in silence. He hadn’t thought it possible, but her face seemed a shade paler. “My biggest fan?”
Steve supposed there was always the possibility that a phantom interior decorator was on the loose in the neighborhood, but he doubted it. It would be just too much of a coincidence for someone to break into her house the same day someone else had threatened her life. One thing he didn’t believe in was coincidence. To his way of thinking, every effect had a specific and identifiable cause.
Even though her presence stirred up memories and emotions that were best forgotten, he was suddenly, fiercely glad she’d come to him. It would give him the greatest pleasure to catch this sick SOB and toss his sorry carcass behind bars.
“Anyone else have a key to the house?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only me.”
“What about your assistant? Could she have shifted things around in here?”
“Martha? Why would she? Besides, I sent her home before I left for your office.”
“Any disgruntled lovers with an ax to grind?”
“Nor.”
Did that mean she had no lovers, or that none of them were disgruntled? Just because he hadn’t been able to date seriously since their divorce didn’t mean she’d experienced the same difficulty. Given that she’d left him, the odds were probably against it. He couldn’t see the unattached men of this town leaving a woman like Kate alone for long. Whatever, it was no longer any of his business.
“Anyone angry at you, or maybe someone with a penchant for practical jokes?”
“Just the ardent opposition.”
“The ardent who?”
“Opposition. That’s what Martha and I call the people who write me letters, telling me how wrong I am when they disagree with one of my columns. Then there’s the psychiatrically challenged, which I don’t think I need to define for you. Out of both groups, so far as I know, only one person seems to know where I live.”
“Then to answer your question, yes,” he said, “the evidence seems to indicate your intruder was the psychiatrically challenged man who calls himself your biggest fan. It isn’t unknown for stalkers to enter their victims’ homes and move the furniture around. It’s almost as if they’re moving in, putting their stamp on the place, so to speak.”
Guardian Groom Page 4
