Watching You

by Gemma Halliday

  “Stop,” she said. She swatted at his arm. “You’re so bad.”

  Dale felt his fists ball at his sides.

  Luckily the waiter took that moment to return with their champagne selection. Leo fussed with tasting before proclaiming the vintage fit for consumption. Isabella sipped her drink, making the appropriate murmuring sounds as Leo ordered appetizers.

  And Dale ordered another beer.

  It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  11:15pm. Leo’s flashy red beemer pulled up in front of Isabella’s loft. Dale watched as he took her hand, leading her inside. He strained against the ambient street noise to hear their conversation in the elevator, but all he could make out were muffled murmurs. Cheap transmitter. But as soon as they stepped out at Isabella’s floor, the reception cleared, and her soft voice filled his ear.

  “Well, thank you for another lovely evening,” she said, unlocking her front door.

  “It was my pleasure.” Leo stood in the doorway, looked past her into the apartment.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Dale mumbled to the silent interior of his car. He shifted the binoculars.

  “You have an early morning?” Leo asked.

  “Yes,” Dale prompted.

  But Isabella shook her head. “No. Not really.”

  Dale watched Leo’s expression change, one eyebrow rising, wolfish grin spreading across his too-handsome face, devil of a gleam hitting his eyes.

  Fuck.

  “Would you mind if I came in for a minute, then?” Leo asked. He punctuated the question by slowly trailing one finger up Isabella’s arm.

  Dale could swear he saw her shiver, her eyes closing for half a second, her lips parting.

  “Don’t do it, honey, don’t do it…” Dale chanted softly.

  Isabella dropped her purse on the side table. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” she responded.

  That was all the invitation Leo needed. In a second he had his lips on hers, his hands roving her body, grabbing at her ass beneath her silky little dress.

  Dale felt his skin grow hot, his stomach clench. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene.

  She was making little mewing sounds in the back of her throat, soft and sexy like some cross between a virgin and a porn star. Her arms wrapped around his neck as Leo danced her backward toward the bedroom. Dale willed her to resist, to push him away, to tell him to take it slow.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she kicked off her heels, wrapping one leg around Leo’s waist as he lifted her off the ground, depositing her on the big, empty bed.

  Dale lost audio. They were too far away from her purse and the transmitter. But it wasn’t like he needed it to know what was going on. He watched the dress come off, revealing a pair of sexy red panties and matching bra. Lacy, expensive. This was not the wash day special, this was lingerie to be flaunted. She’s dressed to impress.

  She wanted this as much as he did.

  Leo’s wingtips flew off next, his suit jacket falling to the floor, perfectly pressed dress shirt on top of that. Dale watched as the man lowered his head to her breasts, a sick sense of fascination and disgust warring in his gut. Leo reached around her back, undoing the clasp on her bra, shifting the lacy fabric from her skin.

  Dale dropped the binoculars in his lap, shutting his eyes.

  This was fucked. Even he had limits. He would not watch Isabella have sex with another man.

  As if to ward off any change of heart, he shoved the binoculars into their nylon case, zipping it shut and tossing it into his cluttered backseat.

  That was it. This had to stop. Now. Bella didn’t need Leo in her life. He didn’t need Leo in her life. He had to fix this.

  Now.

  * * *

  “Excuse me.”

  Leo looked up. “Can I help you?”

  Dale shot him a smile, extending his hand. “Dale Langley. Trina recommended I speak to you about a couple of investments I’m looking to make.”

  Leo gave him a slow up and down, pausing a moment before his charming salesman face slid neatly into place.

  “Of course. Please, have a seat,” he said, indicating a pair of leather club chairs in front of his large, mahogany desk.

  “Thank you.” Dale did, creasing his slacks as he sank into the chair, crisp leather squeaking against his thighs.

  “Uh, who did you say recommended me, again?”

  “Trina,” Dale repeated the fictitious name. “At Federal Credit Union in San Jose. She said you’re the best.”

  Leo sat back, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. Finally a slow smile lit his face. “I am.”

  Cocky ass.

  “And I’ll have to thank Trina for spreading that tidbit around. So, what exactly can I do for you?”

  “I recently received a small inheritance from my grandmother.”

  “I’m sorry to hear she passed” Leo answered, not missing a beat.

  “Thank you. But, it was hardly unexpected. I’m looking to put the money into a mutual fund, something secure, long term.”

  Leo nodded. “I’d say that’s probably your best bet at the moment. We have several options available…” He turned, his back to Dale as he pulled a handful of prospectuses from his shelf.

  The second Leo’s eyes left his new client, Dale’s hand shot out, and, in one swift movement, the bug was securely fastened underneath the lip of Leo’s massive desk.

  “Now, this one,” the stockbroker continued, swiveling back to face Dale, “has done remarkably well for my clients this year.”

  “Really?” Dale asked, trying to keep the triumph out of his face. “Please, tell me more.”

  * * *

  9:07pm. Isabella stepped through the front door, kicked off her heels - spiky black things today - and dropped her briefcase by the door. Dale watched her cross into the kitchen for that glass of wine. But while his eyes were glued to her tiny form in his binocular lenses, his focus was elsewhere. On the audio recording, playing through his car’s cheap stereo system.

  “When are you leaving?”

  It was a man’s voice, deep, slightly accented.

  “Soon. Next week at the latest.”

  Leo. Dale listened intently to the squeak of leather, imagined the two men sitting.

  “No need to wait that long.”

  “It was the earliest I could get away without seeming too eager.”

  “Eager?” The other man laughed. “As if you could appear anything else. What did you pay for that suit? You look like a fucking politician.”

  Dale snorted.

  He’d been listening to the tapes for three days now. During the day, he let the bug do its work, recording every word anyone uttered in Leo’s office, then spent the night playing them back, hanging on every detail. He hadn’t slept in days, living on watered-down coffee and pure suspicion.

  The man with the accent had been in twice. Shuffling papers, talking about money. Not odd considering Leo was a stock broker.

  But Dale listened anyway.

  He couldn’t not. Obsession was too mild a word for what was happening to him. He’d be the first to admit he was starting to lose it.

  He watched Isabella come back into the room, glass of wine in hand, twisting her head side to side to work the kinks out of her neck. She was tense, he knew. The trial. He wanted to take it away for her, ease her worry, ease her tension. He’d drifted off for a moment last night and dreamed of doing just that. Dreamed it was just him and Bella and her big white bed.

  Before he’d awoken with a start to the sound of Leo’s voice still playing back through his speakers.

  She sipped her wine, hit the play button on her answering machine.

  Dale wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, watched her tired expression melt into a slow smile, her eyes going soft.

  He flipped a switch on his receiver, shoved an earpiece in pulling up audio in her apartment.

  Leo’s voice.

 
“… missed you today, gorgeous. I’m working late, but I’ll try to stop by on my way home. Call me when you get in.”

  The machine beeped, and Isabella immediately picked up the receiver, dialing.

  Dale cursed under his breath.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” the man with the accent said.

  Reluctantly, Dale doused the audio from the apartment, focusing on the recording from Leo’s office as he watched Bella twirl a strand of dark hair round her fingers, giggling as she talked into the phone.

  “What kind of change?” Leo asked.

  “We need to move things up a bit.”

  There was a pause, then the squeak of leather as Leo shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

  “Fuck what you’re comfortable with. You’re not being paid to be comfortable.”

  Isabella hung up the phone, went into the bedroom and stepped out of her sensible skirt and blouse. A soft, white slip went over her head instead, hugging her hips in the moonlight. Dale couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he wanted to.

  “How?” he heard Leo ask.

  “The same. Details are yours to work out, payment will be transferred to your account.”

  A shiny red BMW pulled up the street, parallel parking at the curb in front of Bella’s building. Leo got out, looked both ways, made his way into the lobby.

  “When?”

  “How soon can you make it happen?” the man with the accent inquired.

  Another pause, more leather squeaking.

  Dale felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck, his binoculars trained on Isabella’s front door, his entire body poised, focused. He could imagine the sound of the bell echoing through her apartment as Leo rang it.

  “Tomorrow,” Leo answered.

  “Not good enough.” Fabric shifting as the other man rose.

  Bella skipped out of the bedroom, pausing just long enough to check her hair in the mirror by the front door before throwing it open.

  Leo stood on the other side, smiling down at her.

  The man with the accent spoke again. “Tonight. This needs to end tonight.”

  Dale froze, his gut clenching, his skin going cold in the heat, his grip on the binoculars deadly as he watched Bella let Leo in.

  “Fine. Consider it done,” Leo answered.

  Dale dropped the binoculars, vaulted from the car. He didn’t even remember sprinting across the street, but in seconds he was inside Bella’s building, taking the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. He reached the first landing, grabbed the railing propelling himself higher with one hand, the other reaching into the waistband of his jeans for his 45.

  His fingers wrapped around the trigger, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell as he hit the door to the fourth floor, shoving it open, racing down the hall to the door of 4F.

  He rammed his shoulder against it, feeling pain erupt along his arm. He heard a thud from inside, shuffling of feet. He didn’t stop, didn’t think, didn’t try to process anything. Instead, he flung himself at the door again, hitting just above the knob, hearing the answering splinter of wood as it flew open.

  “Freeze,” he yelled.

  Bella stood in the middle of the kitchen, her eyes round and wide with fear, her skin as pale as her slip, her mouth hanging open in a silent plea.

  Behind her stood Leo, a gun to her temple, an arm wrapped around her throat, slowly choking the life out of her.

  “Get away from her,” Dale commanded. He held the 45 straight out in front of him, his stance solid, his finger loose on the trigger, his eyes shooting a bullet sized hole right between the bastard’s eyes.

  Even while his insides shook so hard he thought he might throw up.

  Leo didn’t answer, instead tightened his grip on Bella’s neck, lifting her off the floor.

  She let out a gurgling sound, her toes skimming the kitchen tiles, dangling beneath her as she clawed at Leo’s arm.

  “Let. Her. Go.” Dale ground the words out, calculating just how much time he had before Bella’s world went black.

  “Fuck you,” Leo spat back. The eloquent words of a desperate man.

  Dale knew from experience that desperate men had nothing to loose.

  And he wasn’t taking that chance.

  Not with Bella.

  He fired off three rounds, one right after another. The first caught Leo in the shoulder, swinging the gun from his hand. The second in the knee, dropping him to the ground. The third in the middle of his chest, silencing any further debate as an ugly red stain spread across the kitchen floor.

  Bella fell to her knees, gasping, crawling as far away from Leo as she could. Her hands instinctively went to her throat where the red outline of the bastard’s fingers stood stark against her pale skin.

  Dale’s hands shook as he shoved the gun into his waistband again, knelt beside her.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her wide eyes met his. She silently shook her head back and forth.

  “It’s all right, it’s over now.” He took her by the hand, leading her to the sofa, away from the body staining her kitchen tiles.

  “Who…” She faltered, her voice coming out on a choked sob. “Who are you?”

  “Agent Dale Langley. FBI.”

  Her gaze cut to the body on the floor, her jaw clenching, eyes going hard, the sharp defense attorney in her rising to the surface. “And him?” she asked.

  “Leonardo Beckett. His mother is Anna Gianni Beckett.”

  “Gianni.” It was a statement not a question. “As in Aldo Gianni.”

  Dale nodded, watching the same pieces he’d picked up earlier falling into place behind her eyes. “Aldo’s sister. It was Leo’s job to make sure his uncle’s former attorney never took the stand about what she’d seen. What you’d seen,” he added softly.

  Bella nodded, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I should have known,” she whispered.

  “How could you?”

  They shot open. “I’m a defense attorney for Christ sakes, it’s my job to know when people are lying.”

  “Clients, yes.” He remembered how often she’d checked her silent voicemail, how she’d come home, alone, every night, the unseen man across the street her only companion. It wasn’t her fault she’d wanted to believe in Leo. “But love turns even the most intelligent people into morons. It…” he paused. Cleared his throat. “It can make even the best of us lose it.”

  “I didn’t love him,” Bella said softly. Even though he could tell that was only half true. Maybe she hadn’t yet, but she’d quickly been falling.

  He looked down. Her hands were shaking. He took one in his.

  “I didn’t have time for a silencer. I’m sure one of your neighbors has called the police by now. Reporters won’t be far behind. We need to get you out of here.”

  She jerked her hand away. “I told the feds I didn’t want witness protection,” she protested.

  “I know.”

  She turned to face him. And something shifted in her eyes, sudden understand lighting them. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? That’s how you knew Leo was…” She trailed off, shot up from the sofa and crossed to the windows. Her eyes immediately locked on his Festiva across the street.

  Her voice came out flat. “You’ve been watching me.”

  Dale paused. Then nodded.

  “How long?”

  “Long enough.”

  She shook her head. “This is a fucking nightmare.”

  “Look, I understand this is scary. If you aren’t up to testifying this week, we can get a continuance, but I need…”

  But she cut him off. “Oh, I’m testifying all right.” Her eyes blazed. “You bet your ass I’m testifying. First Gianni thinks he can bully me into doing his dirty work for him, then he thinks he can silence me? Put a hit out on me? Fuckers don’t know who they’re dealing with.” She crossed her arms over her chest, indignation radiating from her tiny form.

  And D
ale couldn’t help but smile.

  She caught him. “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing less than I’ve come to expect of you.”

  She cocked her head at him. But didn’t comment. Instead, she said, “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “About?”

  “I do want protection.”

  He nodded, relief flooding his system. As much as he wanted to see Gianni behind bars, the evening had taken about ten years off his life. The thought of Bella exposed again wasn’t something he thought he could stomach.

  “Under one condition,” she hedged.

  “Name it.”

  “You.”

  He paused. “Me?”

  She nodded. “You’re good. Before I could even call for help, you were here. Hell, you knew before I did that I even needed help. I want you. Watching me.”

  He needed to sleep. He needed a shower, a decent meal, a day to clear his head, remember who he was, what life looked like outside a pair of binocular lenses.

  But he felt himself nodding.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Her shoulders sagged, tension draining out. She licked her lips. “Promise?”

  He nodded again. “Promise. Now, let’s get you out of here.”

  “Okay. But I have one more condition,” she said as he took her hand, led her from the room.

  “What?”

  “We’re taking my car.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “There’s no way I’m riding around town in that shit Festiva.”

  He felt the corner of his mouth tug upward. Then the other. Then a full blown laugh escaped him. When was the last time he’d laughed. Days? Weeks? It felt good.

  “Baby, I’ll get you a limo if you want one, let’s just get the hell out of here.”

  She smiled then, too. A tiny one.

  But it was a start.

  * * * * *

  About the author:

  Gemma Halliday is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, and the Deadly Cool series of young adult books. Gemma’s books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, a National Reader’s Choice award and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she is hard at work on several new projects.