by Lakes, Lynde
Lisa had already memorized the license number, but to be certain she didn’t forget it, she jotted it down the minute she entered the house. Her buddy, Police Sergeant Dave Martin, would run a check on the number. The insolent, masquerading cowboy wouldn’t have refused to tell his business there if he’d been on the level. He was guilty of something.
Chapter Three
Jay drove about a half mile and turned into a narrow road that went deep into the Corning orange grove. He parked near a knoll that overlooked the estate where he could observe things unnoticed. He wished he’d thought of this place sooner. He’d spent a lot of time here in his teens. Tom was right about one thing, Jay thought as he stretched out on his stomach with his binoculars aimed at the activity below. Too much was going on to ignore.
Spying wasn’t new to him, but personal spying put a new spin on it. Jay studied the mansion’s French mansard roof and second-story balcony that had given him boyhood access to the slippery gray slate roof. Now he studied the structure with an intruder’s eyes. It would be a last resort, but no one was going to keep him out.
Damn. If his buddy, Frank, could see him now, acting like some cheap gumshoe in a made-for-television intrigue. Family surveillance wasn’t why he’d spent the last two years in intelligence service. But he’d sure as hell use what he’d learned.
He watched Bud roar up the driveway and skid to a stop. He could handle Bud—he was the only one who could. Even though his older brother had always been a brawler, a bully, and exhibited their parents’ explosive temper, Jay felt confident that his acquired qualities served him better—his grandma’s mental toughness and control. Even in their teens, before his weight and strength had caught up with Bud’s muscular physique and powerful fists, he’d learned to outwit him. He still had that on his side, plus the combat tactics he’d learned in the Air Force Special Training Unit.
Growing up he’d had bitter battles with Bud, battles that left scars and hard feelings, but most of their fights were with others. It was them against the world. With Cousin Tom, it was another matter. Tom would walk blocks out of the way to avoid a confrontation. But Tom had his sneaky ways of hurting them, constantly reminding the kids at school that their parents were jailbirds, not to mention forever blaming Bud and him for things they hadn’t done. But what hurt most was when Tom taunted that their momma had sold her only daughter, and would have sold him, too—except nobody wanted him. He’d hated Tom when he said that. Jay knew there was some truth to the story. He’d had a younger sister, all right. “Not his father’s child,” his aunt had whispered to a neighbor. The next day the adorable baby in the pink blanket was gone. Jay felt his stomach tighten. No one spoke of her again, except Tom.
Jay shook his head. The irony of Cousin Tom having to call on one outcast to stop another must really have galled him. A silent, mirthless chuckle tickled Jay’s throat. Tom hadn’t apologized or admitted he’d been wrong about him, nor had he given any praise for his accomplishments. Of course, Jay hadn’t really expected any. After all, he hadn’t returned because of Tom. He was there only to protect Grandma.
Bud wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow, but Jay wanted to get a jump on the situation. Maybe Bud would leave again, perhaps with the woman. Jay still had his key. If the locks hadn’t been changed, he’d like to get inside and look things over before Bud knew he’d arrived. If the locks were changed, he’d have to take the other option—catch his brother off guard and confront him head-on.
How could he accomplish that without upsetting his grandmother? He felt guilty about not visiting her more often these past years. She was the only one who hadn’t treated him and Bud as though they were tainted by the sins of their parents. Then, so they could hold their heads up and start fresh, she’d adopted them, giving them the Corning name, the name of one of Redland’s most respected families.
Jay shook his head. How could his mother have gone so wrong with Grandma and Grandpa as her parents? He’d been only ten and Bud fifteen when their parents got caught robbing that bank—old enough to know what was going on, especially with the rest of the family making sure they knew and remembered. The Sun Newspaper’s catchy headlines splashed across the pages in giant print. Clever reporters kept the story brewing for weeks. Months later, when the cops killed his dad in an attempted prison break, the newspapers rehashed everything. Going to school was a constant battle, but he determinedly stuck it out, fighting his way through each day. Grandma praised his staying power and encouraged him to be the best he could be. She told him to hang in there and that things would get better. And they did, for awhile.
The hell resumed when he was twelve and Bud was seventeen, and his mother got out of prison and came for them. At first, they were thrilled to be with her again. As kids they were ready to forgive a momma they loved. They believed her when she said she’d changed and wanted nothing more than to be a good mom. But she hadn’t changed. She thrived on trouble, chaos, and her constant parade of men. Worse yet was the neglect and abuse from her… and her men. Unable to live like that anymore, finally when he reached the age of seventeen, he’d run away, joined the Air Force, took courses, and slowly got his college education. And now he was a lieutenant in Air Force intelligence. It had been a hard struggle, but he’d made it. So why did he still feel incomplete? Jay shook his head. He didn’t have time for self-analysis. He had a job to do and hard decisions to make.
Still grumbling to herself about the insolent, masquerading cowboy, Lisa entered Meta’s bedroom with the matriarch’s lunch tray. The dear woman welcomed her with a mood-brightening smile and set aside her Bible. Her shift of position swung her long, silver braid across her bosom. She sat up straighter in bed, removed her octagon-shaped rimless glasses, wiped them with a cloth, and put them back on with a grace that few women recovering from a mild stroke could achieve. Weeks of terror followed by a stroke would have cowed most people, but not Meta. She looked bright-eyed, undaunted, and much younger than her eighty years. Lisa studied Meta’s face more closely. Her eyes were a bit red and puffy. Had she been crying over Gulliver again? Lisa had removed the cat’s pillow from the foot of Meta’s bed and stowed it in the closet, yet, there it was, in its usual place. A wilting violet lay across it.
“Did you rest well?” Lisa asked as she gingerly placed the tray in front of Meta.
“Wonderfully,” Meta said, lifting the silver food cover and peeking beneath it. “How delightful, chicken salad.”
Amazing, Lisa thought. A killer was after Meta, yet her sharp features showed no signs of stress. Still, Lisa suspected that the strength in Meta’s voice was forced, that she was merely keeping up her usual brave front. Rather than giving in to an urge to kiss the dear woman’s forehead, Lisa merely plumped her pillow.
“Thank you, dear,” Meta said. “It’s sweet of you to tend to my needs, but serving me isn’t your job. And I could probably make it downstairs now and whip up a little something for myself.”
“The doctor ordered bed rest for another day or two. Besides, I like doing things for you.” It’s a darn good thing since Bud fired the help. She and Meta had interviewed new staff, but Carlos, Lisa’s assistant investigator, a computer-whiz/researcher/extraordinaire, hadn’t completed the security screening.
Lisa bit the corner of her lip. Surrounding her employer with competent and trustworthy help was taking too long. Damn it. The matriarch was in danger now.
Lisa touched Meta’s shoulder. Her throat constricted. She’d grown to love Meta as if she were her own grandmother.
Meta tilted her head and looked up at Lisa. “Something is bothering you, dear,” she said. “I see it in your eyes.”
The stroke hadn’t robbed Meta of her perceptiveness. Lisa forced a smile. “You didn’t hire more protection and forget to mention it to me, did you?” The imitation cowboy’s dark good looks flashed in her mind. “Maybe an inept gumshoe in a cowboy hat?” She kept her tone light and arched her brow.
“Honey, with you here, why would
I need anyone else?” Meta’s hazel eyes took on a spirited gleam. “Except maybe a cute little white poodle to stay at my side and keep me company when you’re busy.”
“A poodle? You’re joking, right? But don’t think I haven’t thought of dogs. I’ve ordered a couple of Dobermans. Perimeter Dobies. Their handler will deliver them in a couple of days when they complete their training.”
Meta frowned. “Dobies, indeed. You can’t soft-pedal the difference between a sweet little lapdog and a killer Doberman by calling them Dobies.” She looked down and toyed with her silverware, appearing thoughtful. “All these changes must be giving my stalker a great deal of satisfaction. It goes against my grain to advertise my vulnerability.” Her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. “But he’ll be surprised, won’t he? You’re my little secret weapon.”
“This isn’t a game, Meta. This guy means business.”
Meta’s gaze zeroed in on the cat pillow and the wilting violet. “I know, dear. But I’m not used to the idea of living my life behind walls and bars.”
Lisa sent her a warning look. “We have a deal.” The deal included installing a high-tech alarm system that interfaced with security tapes. “Don’t you dare start having second thoughts. I get enough flak from Bud.”
Lisa turned the vase at the corner of the lunch tray so the prettiest side of the violets faced Meta. “There was a big black van parked in front of your place all morning. The guy behind the wheel wore a lowered Stetson and sunglasses to conceal his features. When I questioned him, he—”
“You walked up to a strange van? Sounds risky, dear.”
“Part of my job is checking out strangers. For all the good it did me. He was evasive, insolent, and then he took off like demons were after him without telling me anything. I got his license number, though.”
“Good going!” Meta said. “But maybe he was with the police. They promised to keep an eye on the place after the last attempted breakin.”
Lisa thought about it. With those sunglasses on, she couldn’t judge if he had cop eyes, and since he didn’t get out of the car, she couldn’t tell if he had cop moves. “He didn’t talk like a cop, and instinct tells me he has a personal interest in the comings and goings on this property.”
“Well, next time, invite him in for tea, and I’ll ask him outright to state his business.”
“Splendid idea,” Lisa said in a mocking tone, “I’ll show him some Southern California hospitality.” Even if I have to break a few of his bones to do it. “My buddy at the Redlands PD is running a check on the van’s plates with the DMV. Don’t worry, I’ll ID this guy.”
From her window, Lisa watched the setting sun slide lower behind the towering purple San Gabriel Mountains. Soon it would be dark. Was the mysterious stranger in the cowboy hat close by waiting for darkness? Somehow she had sensed his presence all afternoon. She scanned the grounds below. With the last of the construction crew gone for the evening, even in this dusky light, the cowboy’s van would stick out like a red-striped carnival trailer. But the street was clear of vehicles.
Even so, minutes later, when she dashed outside to get the evening paper, she half expected to see him. Damn, who was he, and why had he been watching the house? A prickle stiffened the fine hair on her neck. Is he watching me even now?
A Harley-Davidson Road King sped toward Lisa, engine roaring. The rider wore jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather boots. When he roared right up to her, she recognized him—Gus Dunn, the nineteen-year-old hoodlum who had robbed Howard’s house that past summer. Meta had identified him in court. This wasn’t good, Lisa thought. He’d sworn to get even with Meta when he got out of jail.
Lisa knew Gus not only from the newspaper articles that Howard had shown to her, but from the time she’d arrested him and his buddy, Perry Roberson, for “Drunk and Disorderly” when she’d worked on the police force. Perry lived across the street. Maybe Gus was paying him a visit.
Gus glanced up at Meta’s window, adjusted his tinted goggles, and sped toward the mansion, leaping the half-constructed low section of the front wall. He roared across the lawn and through the flower bed, tearing up everything in his path. He swerved toward Lisa. She saw only a flash of black T-shirt with a skull and crossbones on it as she cursed and dodged out of his path. Heat from the engine scorched her skin, and the fog of gasoline fumes choked her. The dangling gold earring in his right ear still danced as he paused and revved his engine.
“Tell the old lady I’m back,” he growled. His blond hair, short on the neck and around the ears, was long on top and twisted into a tail.
“Stay away from here,” Lisa shouted.
He sneered, curling his lower lip. “Think you can keep me away?”
“Don’t push me, or you might find out. And don’t forget about Bud.”
Bud had had a run-in with Gus. He was certain it was Gus who had stolen the radio out of the Thunderbird. They had exchanged blows. If Gus was like most people around Redlands, he wouldn’t want to tangle with Bud a second time. Or even with her, for that matter. Without her police uniform, Gus obviously hadn’t recognized that she was the ex-cop he’d tangled with in the past, or he might have thought twice about trying to run her down.
Gus turned his motorcycle around, revved the engine, and aimed at her again. She looked around for something to use as protection. The steel rebar was too far away. She assumed a defensive karate position.
Gus sneered. The motorcycle started to move, gained speed, then bore down. She couldn’t outrun him. Chancing that he was playing chicken wasn’t an option. If she was going down, so was he. Lisa focused. Her whirling kick had to connect just right to tumble the bike.
At the last minute, Gus swerved, missing Lisa by inches. He laughed evilly and roared away down the long driveway. He drove straight across the street and skidded to a stop in the Roberson’s driveway. Perry and his seventeen-year-old sister, Darci, ran out the door, looking excited. Gus said something to them. They all glanced over at Lisa and then went into Perry’s house laughing.
Damned delinquents! Lisa stooped and picked up the newspaper, crushed and imprinted with black tire tracks. Gus had caught her off-guard. Now that she knew he was out of jail, she wouldn’t come outside without her gun again. A bullet in the gas tank of his shiny new Harley might blow him to kingdom come, but perhaps just a shot into the chassis would be enough to prove that she meant business.
While Lisa waited for the corn muffins to brown, she picked up the current TV Guide and flipped through the pages, looking for a movie with romance and a “lived-happily-ever-after” ending for later, after Meta went to sleep. Reading and watching romances was Lisa’s escape from reality. They provided the needed balance to her life of dealing with bad guys.
An ad with a picture of a long-haired, blond bodybuilder made her think of Bud. When Meta firmly refused to go to a convalescent hospital after her stroke, Dr. Hendricks insisted that Bud hire a nurse. Knowing Bud as he did, the doctor was certain that the aging wild rebel wouldn’t give the ailing matriarch the care she needed. When Bud didn’t follow up on his request, Hendricks suggested several live-in nurses to Meta. However, even in her weakened condition, the strong-willed lady had a mind of her own, and she insisted on hiring her own caregiver. Aware of the danger lurking about her, she wanted more than just a caregiver. She wanted a bodyguard, someone not controlled by the family. Not one to admit her fear, she told everyone Lisa was her new nurse.
Dr. Hendricks was fully aware that Lisa was an ex-cop and figured out that she’d been hired as a bodyguard. He pulled her aside and told her she was the right one for the job. “I’ll never forget your bravery, compassion, and skill when you saved my children,” he had said. “Meta needs someone like you on her side, especially while she’s so vulnerable.” The good doctor had been referring to a year ago when she’d saved his two small children from a crazed and confused kidnapper who had firmly believed that the children belonged to him. With SWAT in position, she walked in unarmed
and talked the perp out—no one died that day.
Once Meta agreed to allow her to beef up security, Lisa didn’t think twice about accepting the job. Protecting people came naturally to her. But in her heart of hearts, she wanted to go to law school. She thought of the application and letter of evaluation in her nightstand drawer. They were all filled out, in an eight by ten manila envelope with a stamp on it. But she hadn’t mailed it. Was it because she feared she wouldn’t be accepted? Or was it because she wasn’t over the trauma and humiliation of her involuntary resignation from the police department?
Damn, it had been so easy to throw herself into this job and put her dream on hold. She’d rationalized that with her dwindling bank account the salary was too generous to pass up, and she gladly exchanged her cramped efficiency apartment for the large, comfortable suite in this mansion.
But the real reasons were Meta needed her and they had hit it off. The only drawback was Bud. He was a challenge and run-ins with him were common. He resented her and made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. Then, to her surprise, he did an about-face and made a grand play for her. Perhaps he thought seducing her was the way to get her fired. She’d quickly let him know she wasn’t interested. Not that he wasn’t attractive, in an immature devilish way, but she preferred a man, not a forty-year-old boy. Besides, she made it a fast rule not to get involved with clients or their families.
She didn’t expect Bud to show up for dinner. Not because he’d been angry when he stormed away from the house. Not showing up, or being late, was a regular occurrence. Still, for awhile, she’d held out the hope that tonight might be different. This time he had promised Meta he’d eat dinner with her up in her bedroom and watch Jeopardy. Lisa sighed. If she hadn’t set him off about his lack of concern for his grandmother, he might have come through on his promise. Now he wouldn’t keep his word just to show her who was king of the castle. Meta would have to be disappointed again, Lisa thought, cutting up only enough vegetables for two salads.
