by Paula Graves
“We looked at the prison records after Frank Dorian went after Lila,” she said. “There were 178 executions during her administration. The Texas Ranger Division is still looking into all of those and should have a threat assessment in a couple of weeks. Didn’t anyone tell you about that?”
“You just did,” Harlan said with a grimace. That many executions made for a lot of potential suspects. He had an old Marine Corp buddy who was working with the Texas Rangers these days. He’d have to give Steve a call and see if his old pal could pull any strings for him.
“You can’t be an effective governor without making enemies.” She shifted position until she sat cross-legged in the armchair. After dinner, she’d changed into a comfortable pair of knit pants and a faded Rice University T-shirt. It should have made her look a lot less sexy.
It didn’t.
He nodded at the shirt. “I thought you were from Arkansas.”
She looked down at the tee. “I went to Rice for college. Alabama for my master’s. Vandy for my PhD-that’s where I was working when Anthony decided we should move to Texas.”
She really, really didn’t care for her ex. He could tell from her tone of voice when she spoke of him. Of course, given what little he knew about the guy, he couldn’t blame her. He wondered why she’d ever married him in the first place, but he didn’t think he had a right to ask that question of her. After all, who was he to cast stones when it came to bad judgment in spouses?
But her mind seemed to move in the same direction, and, apparently, she didn’t mind asking questions of her own. “I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Matt were talking about at the diner. Your ex-wife is getting remarried?”
He nodded. “She’s marrying her divorce lawyer.”
Stacy winced. “Ouch.”
“We married young. And foolish.”
Her smile was wry. “I wish I had that excuse. I was nearly twenty-six when I married Anthony. It was a whirlwind thing-my first serious relationship, really. I spent high school and most of college so immersed in my studies I barely looked up to notice the opposite sex.”
He couldn’t imagine how a woman as lovely and interesting as Stacy had managed to get through so many years of school without having a serious relationship or two. “Were you shy or something?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if her mind were traveling back to her past. “Not shy. I was just really disciplined.”
“Your parents were strict?”
“They were,” she admitted. “They had reason to be. Not because of me, though. It was really about my older sister Tracy. She gave them a lot of trouble. Gave herself a lot of trouble, really.”
“And they tried to make sure the same thing didn’t happen to you?” he guessed.
“They didn’t have to try hard. I saw the kind of messes Tracy got herself into. I didn’t want that for myself. I guess maybe I went a little overboard with the self-discipline. I was terrified I’d do something to derail my goals.”
“So how did Anthony sneak under your radar?” he asked with a smile, more interested in her answer than he liked to admit.
“I was twenty-six, burned-out and lonely,” she answered, her cheeks flaming as if the answer embarrassed her. “He was smart, charming, sophisticated and experienced. I was completely unequipped to handle a man so determined and skilled at seduction.” She met his gaze. “I asked him once, near the end of our marriage, why he’d chosen me out of all the women he could have pursued.”
Because you’re interesting and challenging, Harlan answered her question silently.
“He said he liked the idea of being with someone who’d never loved anyone but him,” she answered with a bitter laugh. The sound made Harlan’s stomach ache.
“He was an idiot, then,” Harlan blurted, unable to school his tongue. He rose from the sofa, pushed by an urge he couldn’t seem to squelch.
She rose, as well, like a gazelle startled into alertness by his swift movement. They stared at each other over the low coffee table, their gazes locked and blazing.
She was the first to look away. “I should get ready for bed. We have a lot to do over the next couple of weeks, and I need to get as much rest as I can manage with the schedule we’ll be keeping.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, although he wanted nothing more than to follow her into the bedroom and do what his body was screaming for him to do. “I should probably take a walk around the perimeter, make sure everything’s still.”
They both moved at the same time, around the coffee table, and nearly collided. He put out his hand to steady her, his fingers brushing against her rib cage.
Her soft gasp sent need rocketing through him.
“Harlan,” she murmured, her voice raspy and low.
Kissing her was the worst possible thing he could do at that moment. He knew it was.
He just didn’t give a damn.
Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against hers. He kept the touch light. A question, not a statement.
She made a sound low in her throat and rose on her tiptoes, her mouth pressing back against his for a long, electric moment. Her hand flattened against his chest, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.
Then she was suddenly halfway across the room, moving at such a fast clip she was in the kitchen before Harlan could do more than catch his breath.
She disappeared into the back of the house, her movements quick and nervous, reminding him again of prey trying desperately to escape the notice of a deadly predator on the prowl.
Hell, maybe that’s exactly what she was.
Her escape leaving him feeling frustrated and edgy, he headed outside, glad for the chilly October night, which went a long way toward cooling the heat burning at his core. He took a couple of slow circuits around the house, keeping an eye out for movements in the dark. To the north, only a few lights burned inside the main house, but the white facade glowed in the moonlight like a pale wraith.
He made his way back to the front door of the guesthouse, feeling more in control now, although he still burned with anger at what Stacy had told him about her husband. What kind of narcissistic creep had he been to say such a thing to her? To make her think the only asset she could offer a man was her inexperience and her single-minded devotion to his needs?
Jerk.
He climbed the wide, shallow steps to the front door and halted just before he reached the landing, his gaze falling on something lying next to the woven welcome mat.
It was a deep golden bloom with four long petals. It looked freshly picked. He must not have looked down as he left the house, he realized. He’d been too busy trying to cool down his uncooperative sex drive.
He had no idea if it was possible to get fingerprints off a flower. Probably not. And for all he knew, the bloom had blown here on the West Texas breeze that sometimes swept across the plains like a runaway train.
But if he was wrong…
He opened the front door and called Stacy’s name. She appeared in the doorway, looking apprehensive.
He showed her the bloom. “Do you know what that is?”
Her expression shifted to curiosity. “A canna lily, I think.” She bent to pick it up.
He bent, catching her hand to still her movement. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and intense.
He forgot about the flower. About the threat. About anything but how the Texas moonlight made her look more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in his life.
He wanted to kiss her again, more than he wanted to take his next breath. And if the fire gleaming in her eyes meant anything, she wanted the same thing.
But she looked away, her struggle for control visible and ultimately successful. She stood, pulling her hand away from his grasp. “They grow in the governor’s garden,” she said in a strained voice. “Do you think it could have blown here?”
“I considered it.” The porch light overhead wasn’t on. “Can you turn on the light for me?”
A second later, the porc
h light cast its golden glow across the stoop. Harlan pulled out his cell phone and snapped a couple of shots, then took a pen from his jacket pocket and used it to flip the bloom toward him to get a better look. The flower had been pinched off, if the slight bruising on the pale green stem was anything to go by.
He rose from his crouch. “Could Zachary have pulled the flower from the governor’s garden and brought it here?”
“No,” she answered, her gaze still on the bloom. “He got stung by a bee one time while smelling a flower. Now he has a phobia about flowers.”
“Do you have a plastic zipper bag-like a sandwich bag?”
“Sure.” She disappeared inside and returned with a clear plastic bag with a sliding snap closure.
Harlan used his pen to nudge the flower into the bag. He followed Stacy back into the house, watching to make sure she locked the door behind them. “I’ll run this by the agency in the morning. Someone there will know if there’s any way to get fingerprints off the flower.”
She rubbed her arms as if she were cold, although the October night was unseasonably mild. “I don’t know why I’m so creeped out by a flower.”
“It’s not just the flower,” he said, almost reaching out to touch her before he realized what a bad idea that would be. He had to stay here tonight to keep watch. How much good would he be if he spent the whole time wishing he were naked with her in her bed?
That train’s already left the station, McClain.
Too bad he hadn’t gotten the number of the hotel in Amarillo where Alexis and her fiancé were staying. One two-minute conversation with his ex ought to be enough to cure him of his newfound fascination with Stacy Giordano.
Just thinking about his failed marriage helped him regain some of his equilibrium. By the time he settled on the sofa across from Stacy, he felt as if he might make it through the night without losing his mind.
“A flower is a strange means of making a threat, isn’t it?” Stacy asked, after a couple of minutes of strained silence.
“Without a note, yeah. I guess it’s an odd choice.”
“Maybe it’s not connected to what’s happening with the governor at all.”
“Have you received anything else like that? Like the strange phone call, or anonymous gifts?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m not really the type of woman who attracts secret admirers. I don’t go out much, most of what I do is behind the scenes-”
“Maybe someone on the governor’s staff?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t think of anyone who even gives me a second glance.”
“Maybe you’re so busy with your work, you’re just not paying attention to who might be watching you,” he suggested.
“You’re creeping me out again.”
“Sorry.”
A weak smile crossed her face. “Well, not you. Just what you’re suggesting.”
“It could be a coincidence,” Harlan said, although he couldn’t put much conviction behind the suggestion. The flower alone might not mean much. Nor would the hang-up earlier. But coming so close together-and so soon after a deadly attack on the governor-Harlan couldn’t help but see a connection.
He just didn’t know how the pieces fit together.
Stacy went to bed a little after ten, after helping him turn the sofa into a narrow but surprisingly comfortable bed. After she had closed the door behind her, he pulled out his phone and called the CSI offices, planning to leave a message on the operator voice mail to let his fellow agents know where he was and what he was doing.
But Nolan Law answered the phone instead of the voice mail system.
“You’re working late,” Harlan said, although he wasn’t really surprised. The first of Bart’s Misfits, as Harlan had come to think of himself and his fellow CSI agents, Nolan was Bart’s right-hand man. He was also the most enigmatic. From what little Harlan had been able to glean from the guy, he’d been badly hurt in combat, suffering burns that had resulted in extensive plastic surgery. He also claimed to have little memory of his life before his injury, although Harlan wondered if that was really true.
“Just catching up on some paperwork,” Law answered. “What’s up?”
Harlan told him about the possible threats to Stacy Giordano and her son. “I know it could be nothing, but she’s a vulnerable point in the governor’s defenses.”
“Because of her son?”
“Hostage to fortune,” he murmured. “She’d do anything to protect him. Someone who wants to harm the governor would almost certainly know that.”
“Are you going to watch her tonight?”
“Yeah, but I can’t be here all the time. I have to be on top of the whole security operation. I think we need to set up a checkpoint here at the guesthouse, as well. Do we have any more people on our most trusted list to add to the security detail here at the ranch?”
“I’ll get on that and get you three more guys to take eight-hour shifts. I should be able to round them up by tomorrow morning if I start now.”
“Thanks,” Harlan said. He flipped his phone shut and stared up at the faint shaft of moonlight casting a pale streak across the ceiling.
He might have finally brought his body under control where Stacy was concerned-for the moment, at least-but his mind seemed to be charging full speed ahead, twisting in knots as he tried to figure out all the ways Stacy Giordano might be targeted by a clever assassin wanting to do harm to the governor.
There were at least two strikes against her-she was the governor’s most trusted personal aide, and she was the mother of a vulnerable child with special needs. Someone ruthless enough to blow up a bomb in a crowd of innocent civilians was ruthless enough to use Zachary to force Stacy into a devastating act of betrayal. Harlan had no doubt that she’d do whatever was necessary, no matter the consequences, to save her son.
But would she be able to live with those consequences?
His stomach aching, Harlan made a silent vow. Whatever it took, he would find out who was trying to kill the governor. And he’d make sure nobody got close enough to Stacy to use her as a pawn. He just didn’t want to look too closely at the real motives behind his determination.
Because the only thing more dangerous than the job he’d just taken on was the way he was starting to feel when he was with Stacy Giordano.
Chapter Ten
When Stacy walked into the empty living room the next morning around six, she found the place nearly spotless, cleaner than she’d left it the night before. The pillows and blanket she’d supplied to Harlan were gone. The dishes she’d left drying on the sink were now in the cabinets. Even the counter had been wiped down, erasing Zachary’s sticky fingerprints. It was as if he’d never been there.
But she had a memory of a sweet, hot, too-brief kiss that assured her otherwise, even if she had no idea what she was going to do about it.
“Harlan?” she called aloud, though not too loudly for fear of waking Zachary. His preferred wake-up time was six-thirty. Any earlier-or later-and he’d be a bear to deal with, and Zachary trouble was the last thing she needed to deal with this morning.
Hearing the muted sound of voices outside, Stacy opened her front door and found Harlan, fully dressed, standing at the bottom of her porch steps, talking to a clean-cut Hispanic man wearing a leather jacket and jeans. They both turned at the sound of the door opening.
Harlan’s expression was hard to read. He didn’t look uninterested, exactly, but there was a sort of hardness to his gaze that caught her by surprise.
“Stacy, this is Rob Sanchez,” Harlan said, nodding to the other man. “He’ll be covering the seven to three shift.”
Distance, she thought. That’s what she was seeing in his eyes. He was putting a wall firmly between them after last night’s brush with intimacy.
She should be glad about it, shouldn’t she? Wasn’t that what she wanted, as well?
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Sanchez.”
He extended his hand. “Rob’s fine.
”
“Call me Stacy.”
Harlan cleared his throat. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’m going to spend some of the morning at CSI, so I won’t be back here until later in the day.” He started walking away.
Damn it, she thought. He knew she couldn’t leave Zachary alone in the house to chase after him. He was going to walk away without so much as a goodbye, after spending the night on her sofa, keeping her and her son safe.
After that tantalizing kiss.
Was she supposed to be okay with that?
Yes, Stacy. You are supposed to be okay with that, remember? You’re glad things are going back to normal and that you don’t have to spend another night dreaming about Harlan coming into your bedroom and reminding you what it’s like to have a man in your bed again.
She swallowed a sigh and smiled at Rob Sanchez. “How’d he round you up so fast?”
“Corps Security called me last night around ten-thirty. They call, I come running.” He cocked his head, giving her a look that wasn’t entirely professional, though he didn’t cross any lines that made her feel uncomfortable. “Do you need to know my credentials or anything?”
She shook her head. “If CSI hired you, I’m sure you’re qualified.” She slipped back into the house and closed the door behind her.
“Alone at last,” she said aloud to the silent, empty room.
And she felt every bit of the solitude.
“SANCHEZ MUST HAVE gotten there early.” Nolan Law greeted Harlan when he walked into the CSI offices shortly after seven-thirty that morning.
“He did.” Harlan shrugged off his jacket and hooked it on the back of one of the chairs at the conference table where Nolan sat. “Seems like a good guy. Where’d you find him?”
“He’s one of Matt’s Army buddies. Combat decorated, well-respected by his fellow soldiers and his commanding officers alike.”
