He walked past her, and at once the room seemed smaller. Dylan Kraft stood six foot three with wide shoulders. Two hundred and forty pounds, she guessed, and it was all muscle. The gym equipment likely didn’t go unused like the set she’d bought Gerald a few years ago. He was mid-to-late-thirties and in his prime. She felt at a disadvantage being on his turf for the first time.
“Please sit down,” he said. His tone had always been quiet but forceful. She sensed a pent-up power in him, like he was a predator waiting to pounce.
The first time she’d met him, she’d been fresh out of college. He was her father’s new chauffeur-cum-bodyguard. So new, in fact, that her father hadn’t had time to mention him. She’d thought she’d move back home for a couple of months. She’d felt at loose ends since Adam and wanted the comfort of home—under her own terms—those terms being to get her own house as soon as possible, and use her degree in Marine Biology to apply at Scripps Institution of Oceanography.
Dylan had picked her up at the airport. At first, she wasn’t about to go anywhere with him. He wasn’t bad looking if she didn’t count the jagged three-inch scar on his left cheek. But she did count it, and the guy was scary. She called her father, who told her it was okay; Dylan was the new muscle.
He had never been anything but completely gentle and polite with her, and she soon learned to tolerate him. Within a few weeks she’d bought a condo overlooking the ocean and moved into it. Now that Gerald was gone, Dylan was no longer needed, but she dreaded telling him.
She sat on the couch and he took the easy chair. He looked at her inquisitively while she cleared her throat and looked everywhere but at him.
He finally broke the silence. “You aren’t here to force quiche on me, I hope.”
“I . . . no, uh, well, if you want some, I’ll see that you get it.” He didn’t say anything. She waited to hear a real man’s answer, and noticed that his scar seemed to have faded somewhat over the years. How was it she had never paid any attention to his cobalt eyes? She shook off the uninvited thought. “Well? Do you?”
“No thanks. Not that I don’t like it.” His expression told her he knew exactly why she asked.
She hoped she didn’t blush in embarrassment. Guess the old saying is wrong. “Okay. If you change your mind, you know where the kitchen is.”
“That I do. Why are you here?”
“Well, now that Daddy is gone . . . well, I know he liked the show of having a chauffeur, and I also know he considered you his bodyguard, though I’m sure it was part of the show, too, since I don’t know why he would need a bodyguard.” She shut her mouth as she realized she was babbling to delay the denouement.
He saved her the trouble. “You want to fire me.”
She sighed. “That’s not the word I would use, but I don’t need your services. I will be happy to give you a glowing reference.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. However, Ms. Avidon—”
“Laurel.”
“Laurel. I can’t leave.”
She raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean you can’t leave?”
“Your father insisted I stay on.”
“Oh? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Dylan raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Are you telling me your own father never mentioned something so important to you?
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, which means it wasn’t as important to him as you think. Or maybe you’re lying. You have a nice, cushy job. You don’t do anything but drive him around and keep an eye out for him. And for those paltry duties, you have a place to live—for free, no doubt. Plus, I’m sure you get a substantial salary. I can understand you not wanting to give up all that.”
He steepled his fingers and shook his head. “I guess he didn’t tell you anything.”
“What’s to tell? You were his employee and now you’re not. And you certainly aren’t mine. I’ll give you a couple of weeks to find a place to live and a month’s severance pay.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that. He must have been paranoid to retain you, but I’m not. I don’t need you or anyone like you.”
He stood. His bulk blocked out some of the light. She wondered if he was going to attack her and shrank back. He walked out of the room, returning a moment later. “Read this,” he said and handed her a piece of paper.
It was her father’s stationery with his distinctive monogram etched in silver as the letterhead. She recognized his handwriting and read to herself:
Dylan, I know it isn’t going to be long now. I am in pain all the time and weigh practically nothing. If I had my choice, I’d remain on this earth until my daughter was safely married. Alas, she seems to like playing private detective and I don’t know if she will ever give herself over to those things women usually want. I didn’t choose her profession, but she is headstrong and I never could deny her what she wanted. I trust you like a son. As long as she is in such a dangerous career, I want you to continue to watch over her as you have me (and her). I have set up a trust fund for you. They will pay you every month. In effect, you will still be working for me so Laurel can’t fire you. I have put the apartment in your name. It is the only part of the estate I’m not leaving to Laurel. And if the opportunity ever comes up, please tell her I know how hard it was for her to put her career on hold for me these past two years. She is the only person I love, and I have loved her dearly since I first laid eyes on her.
All the best,
Gerald
She crushed the stationary in a fist. Shit.
“What does he mean ‘watch out for her’? How did you watch out for me?” She glared at him.
Her father hadn’t even trusted her enough to tell her. She didn’t care about the apartment. Dylan could live there until he was ninety-three for all she cared, but no way was he going to trail her around looking out for her when there wasn’t any reason for it. The sooner she could move back to her condo, the better. Her father never worried about her safety on the job when he was alive. She said as much.
“Wrong. I put a tracking device in your car. If you went someplace he didn’t like, he called me. My Jeep was perfect cover, there are so many of them.”
She remembered all the times she got home from work to find Dylan’s Jeep gone. Stupidly she’d always thought he was running errands. Come to think of it, maybe he was. He didn’t have to stick close to her if her car was bugged.
“You didn’t follow me around all the time? You bugged my car?” If she had known that, she’d have gone on a lot more adventures. “Did you watch the stupid tracking device all the time?”
“Of course not. I do have other things that occupy my days.”
“So it was all a waste of time. You just installed it to keep Daddy happy.”
He hesitated. “Not exactly. He could also keep tabs on you anytime he wanted.”
She cringed. “So he knew about my nightlife, I suppose.”
“He certainly might have but never mentioned it to me. I guess it didn’t worry him.”
The bar she frequented was a long way from home. How did her father expect to send Dylan to the rescue if home might be an hour or more away from her? For that matter, how would he know whether she was in trouble or not? She went to a bar—true, it wasn’t upscale, but it wasn’t a dive, either. Maybe he thought she went with a girlfriend.
“Hah,” was the only brilliant thing she could think of to say. With all the dignity she could muster, she stood and marched out of his apartment, leaving his door wide open. It soon closed with a soft click behind her.
Dylan wanted to slam the door, but damned if he’d give her the satisfaction. That woman was so contrary! The day she was born, she probably told her parents she wasn’t ready yet and wanted to go back into the womb. She didn’t realize everything he did was for her own protection. Better not ever tell her. She’d kick him out the door for sure, father’s wishes or not.
He recalled the first time he ever saw her, four years a
go. She’d stood on the sidewalk outside the airport, surrounded by suitcases, looking for her ride. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, from the neck up. He was bemused by her less-than-fashionable wardrobe of ragged jeans, loud Hawaiian shirt, and dirty sneakers. She’d looked about as much like a wealthy man’s daughter as he did. He’d wondered if her father would have apoplexy when she walked through the door, but it wasn’t any of his business. For all he knew, she dressed that way all the time. Instead, he’d spent a few moments admiring the view.
She had a perfect, milky complexion. Her chin was small with a dimple in the middle, her cheekbones were high, her mouth kissable. Her eyes looked like emeralds. Yeah, even from a distance, he could see that color. Boy could he ever. And as if that weren’t enough, her face was framed by shoulder-length dark red hair.
Might as well say it. She was gorgeous. He’d seen pictures of her, but the camera couldn’t possibly do her justice. He’d freely admitted he was in lust and couldn’t remember any other woman hitting him in the solar plexus the way Laurel had.
She took in her surroundings then, with an impatient toss of her head, drew her lips into a thin line, put her hands on her hips, and tapped her foot. She looked mad as hell.
Why? Dylan didn’t know and wasn’t sure he wanted to tangle with her to find out. Unless it was between the sheets. But he wasn’t allowed to entertain such a thought, so he’d pushed it away and done the gentlemanly thing. He approached her cautiously and introduced himself. For some reason, that had made her angrier.
“My father taught me not to talk to strangers and you’re a stranger. Get lost. I’m waiting for Ben.” She’d turned away and ignored him.
“Ben doesn’t drive for your father anymore.”
She’d glared at him. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer. I’ll get a cab.” She began walking toward the taxis lined up near the airport entrance.
“Look, Ms. Avidon, call your father and he can straighten this out.” He offered her his cell phone.
“Back off. I’ll use my own.”
He chuckled at the recollection. She hadn’t changed. She still wanted her way and could be a spoiled brat if she didn’t get it. Not all her fault, he conceded. To his knowledge, Gerald had always pampered and given in to her when what she needed was an old-fashioned spanking.
He was tempted to call her and tell her he quit. She’d be happy and he would be, too. Heaven knows he didn’t need the aggravation. But a job was a job. At the moment, his job was to protect Laurel and keep her from learning the truth. What kind of relationship with her he might want or wish for didn’t matter. Anything he imagined with regard to Ms. Avidon had to remain there—in his imagination.
He picked up an 8 x 10 picture frame from his coffee table. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at the smiling young woman. Sandy. His twin sister. If only he’d protected her from the signs he ignored, that she was using heavily. If he had, he sure as hell wouldn’t be here now protecting a woman who didn’t have a clue about the bad side of life. A woman who didn’t even want him here. He returned the picture to the table and for the first time ever, allowed himself to cry over Sandy’s death.
Chapter 2
Laurel took a week off after the funeral before realizing she had to go on with life. She could hear her father insist, and she had to admit she was bored silly moping around the house all day.
She pulled into the parking garage of her office building and sighed with relief, happy to be out of traffic but even happier to be away from home. At least here she was her own boss. She knew that now, she was in charge at home too, but not for long, she hoped. Without her father, it wasn’t where she wanted to be.
As she waited for the elevator, she suddenly felt profoundly lonely. She shook her head as the elevator doors opened.
Riding to the ninth floor, she thought about the stories Gerald had told her from the time she was barely old enough to understand. She remembered how they had moved to San Diego when she was a baby.
What became known as the Golden Triangle was an empty expanse of brush and rattlesnakes. Gerald Avidon could see the potential in land accessible from three freeways so he’d bought a parcel at rock-bottom prices and began to develop. Now the Triangle was home to malls, office buildings, high-rise apartments, and insane traffic.
Her assistant was at her desk when Laurel arrived, late as usual. “Hi, Sue. Rough night?” Sue Burdette loved to party and often came to work hung-over. Today, her eyes were scrunched up as if the light was too much for them.
“I’m okay. Good to have you back. I’m sure you’re glad the funeral is over.”
Laurel got a cup of coffee. “They should be outlawed. Any messages?” She didn’t really want to talk about funerals anymore.
“No.”
“Good.” Laurel went into her office and shut the door.
The office suite was in a ten-story building. The sign on the door read ‘Avidon Investigations.’ She had started the company soon after graduation when her application to the Institution of Oceanography was turned down because there were no openings. But we will keep your application on file.
She had never been sure why she chose P.I. work. It had just seemed like a fun thing to help mark time until the Institution called.
She stared at her blank computer screen, remembering the times she spent evenings in bars, rejecting and occasionally accepting advances from jaded, half-drunk strangers. She didn’t know if she was trying to get back at Adam or rebelling against her father.
How childish her behavior seemed to her now. After being lucky for almost a year, fate caught up to her one night. She was pulled into an alley and nearly raped; if it hadn’t been for the Tae Kwon Do classes she took all through college, she knew she would have been.
She never told anyone, but the nameless man who almost violated her told her she deserved it, the way she ran around. She’d felt shame and anger—anger at the slime who’d done it and the shame of thinking he was probably right. He had said something else, something her shock caused her to forget even though it seemed important. That ended her great adventure, but the taste of being her own woman, free of Gerald’s obsessive need to run her life, wouldn’t leave.
She’d signed up for a couple of business courses, took advanced Tae Kwon Do classes—which she still attended weekly—and practiced daily. She also bought a couple of pistols and learned to shoot them. With money she had saved from her college fund, she’d finally rented an office and opened for business.
“Your ten o’clock is here,” Sue announced. Laurel smirked. Sue liked to make it sound as though Laurel had appointments all day. Actually, this was her only client in two weeks, but if Sue had her way, no one would ever know it.
Sue was a godsend. Laurel had met her in a bar when she sat on the barstool next to her. Sue nursed a beer and cried. After they’d both had a few, she told Laurel she was trying to finish college, but didn’t have the next semester’s tuition because her job didn’t pay enough. Something about her tugged at Laurel, and before she knew it, she was offering Sue a job. She warned Sue she wouldn’t have much to do, but she could spend her spare time in the office studying.
“Please send her in.” She stood as her client entered and stopped in the doorway. Gloria Gunderson, nee Grant. She wore a powder blue suit. Her ash blonde hair framed a pretty face. She was small and slim. Laurel had been acquainted with her in high school. She was the cheerleader who got the quarterback and made no pretense of looking down her nose at people she felt beneath her—one of whom, for reasons Laurel could never figure out, was Laurel herself. Laurel ignored her then and wanted to ignore her now.
“Gloria, come in,” she said, walking around the desk and extending her hand. Gloria gave it a firm shake.
“Laurel, how are you? It’s been a long time. I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. Please . . . sit down.”
She sat in a
leather chair next to Laurel’s desk and crossed her legs. Laurel couldn’t help noticing how shapely they were. She pulled her own skirt over her knees.
“Nice office,” Gloria said. Laurel glanced around. She didn’t pay much attention to it anymore. It had become too familiar. A ficus and a rubber plant were about all the amenities she had, plus a silver tea and coffee service her father had given her as an office-warming gift, and which she had never used.
“Thank you. How’s Brad?”
Gloria gave a tinkling titter. “Oh, he’s old news. Be thankful you didn’t marry the star quarterback.”
“I am. So what can I do for you?”
“I want to hire you to spy on my current husband.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a compact. After opening it and glancing at her image as if to reassure herself she was still beautiful, she snapped it closed and looked at Laurel. “He’s fooling around, and I want proof I can take to court. I plan to divorce him, but he’ll fight alimony unless I can prove I deserve it.”
“Is there a pre-nup?”
“No. There’s just a stingy s.o.b.”
Laurel took notes. “How do you know he’s fooling around?”
“Just a feeling. He makes excuses not to come home, he talks on the phone and if I come into the room he lowers his voice or hangs up.”
“How long has he been doing this?”
“Several months. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but there comes a time when you can no longer ignore your suspicions.”
“But that’s all they are at this point? Suspicions? You haven’t any concrete proof of infidelity?”
Gloria looked down. “No. That’s why I’m here. I want you to get me the proof. I’ve had my suspicions for a while, as I said, but they really came to a head when I suggested a trip to Paris. He loves Paris but made excuses not to go. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. The sooner I can get him served, the sooner I can kick him out of the house. For now, I’m leaving for Paris by myself tomorrow. I’ll be gone a couple of weeks. If you need to get in touch, I’ll leave my contact information with your secretary.”
For The Love Of Laurel Page 2
