Guarded Moments

by Cassie Miles

  Apparently, she’d heard that much of the conversation. David shook his head. “No.”

  “Delia Marie wouldn’t tell me, either.”

  She shrugged within the oversize robe. With the warmth of sleep still clinging to her, she looked tousled and cuddly. Her eyelids were heavy. Her mouth, untouched by lipstick, curled innocently.

  But David refused to be charmed by her. Efficiently, he moved on to the necessary business of the day. “I have a number of security measures that need to be put into effect immediately. What time do you usually leave for work?”

  “In about an hour. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll hop into the shower and get dressed.”

  “Tasha!” His voice halted her before she could pad down the hall to the bathroom. “There’s one thing I’ve figured out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Keep in mind that there are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been hired to protect you for two weeks.”

  She nodded. Her expression was blank.

  “The Sheikh’s Rubies are on display at Pola and Tweed for two weeks.” He held up two fingers. “Two weeks. The same two weeks that I’ve been hired to guard you. There’s got to be a connection. The danger to you is connected to those gems.”

  AT THE STORE, Tasha took delivery of fresh-cut roses, lilies, irises and assorted other specialty flowers for the day’s arrangements. This was a Saturday, not a heavy schedule, but there was usually more walk-in traffic. After the flowers were stripped and cut, the cash register filled and the Yes, We’re Open sign placed in the window, Tasha went into her office and closed the door. Mandy could wait on the customers for a while.

  Tasha needed time to think, to consider David’s deduction. She sat behind her desk with a fresh mug of coffee cradled in her hands.

  The rubies represented a threat—as much of a danger to her as to any of the sheikh’s unsatisfactory wives. Though she didn’t know why, she’d expected as much when she’d seen Inspector Henning at the premier showing. The creepy inspector from Scotland Yard emanated trouble.

  Also, if the danger came from jewels, Tasha was sure that it also connected in some way with her mother and sister. The passion for precious gems was a family trait. The desire to acquire such stones had, more than once, been the family’s undoing.

  She sipped her coffee and stared at the five-by-seven portrait photograph on her desk. The formal picture showed her mother from the waist up, seated in a thronelike chair. Long live Queen Martina! In a better world, that would have been her aristocratic calling. She was imperious and lovely in a black velvet gown, an elaborate diamond-and-emerald necklace and the tiara that Tasha had sold in Miami. Martina Lancer was a handsome woman with strong features and dark, tragic eyes.

  Far less imposing at age ten were her two daughters. Tasha and Stacey stood on either side of their mother. Their bodies were in profile, but they looked toward the camera. Simple white dresses, ridiculously expensive for two young girls, contrasted with their long black hair. Ten-year-old Tasha was serious in her expression and her pose. Her hand gripped the arm of the throne. Her slight smile did not mask the worry in her eyes. Stacey grinned impishly. Even at that age, she had an air that suggested she was ready to take off and fly at any given moment.

  “Oh, Stacey,” Tasha murmured, “I hope you’re not in trouble.”

  There was a tap on her door. “Come in.”

  David was accompanied by a large, rumpled-looking man whose bulging belly dropped over his large silver belt buckle. “This is Jimmy Jenson. He’s going to be your bodyguard during those times when I need to be gone.”

  Tasha shook Jenson’s meaty hand, but her comment was directed toward David. “Do you really think I need two bodyguards?”

  “I can’t be with you twenty-four hours a day.” David glanced around the room. “By the way, this office is perfect for security. No windows. A telephone where you can dial 911. Only one door to guard. After I pick up a brace lock for the door, this is the place you should hide if someone threatens you in the shop.”

  “You don’t think that’s likely to happen, do you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure what to expect.”

  “I’m a little concerned about Mandy. I couldn’t bear it if there was any danger to her. Even if she was frightened, in her condition, the results might be disastrous.”

  “Are we talking about the kid?” Jenson asked. “The pregnant kid?”

  “Her name is Mandy,” Tasha informed him coolly. She didn’t particularly like Jenson. “And yes, we are.”

  “You should give her the sack, right now. A stakeout is no place for a pregnant kid.”

  “Thank you ever so much for your opinion.” Tasha’s voice dripped venom. She definitely didn’t like this guy.

  “It’s more than an opinion, lady. I’ve been in this business for six years, and I’m telling you—”

  “You’re telling me nothing.” She flew from behind her desk to confront him. “This is my shop, Mr. Jenson. I make the decisions.”

  “Not while I’m taking care of you. Not if you want to stay in one piece with all of your arms and legs attached.”

  David intervened. Physically reaching across Jenson’s broad belly, he turned his backup bodyguard around and dragged him toward the door. “Tell you what, Jenson. You go out front and keep an eye on the door. I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

  “You got it, pal.” He waggled a warning finger at Tasha. “And you pay attention to what I’m saying, young lady.”

  David closed the door behind him.

  “Where did you find him?” Tasha demanded. “Did you rent him from Morons ‘R’ Us?”

  “He’s from a reputable detective agency here in town.”

  “Really?” She hiked up an eyebrow.

  “Yes, really. I know the owner, Earl Rockman. He’s former CIA, and he’s generously offered me the use of facilities and personnel to check things out, like tracking down the license plate on the car that tried to run you down yesterday.”

  “How reputable?” she demanded.

  “Very. Earl retired to Colorado to ski, and his firm regularly provides security for visiting royalty while they’re in the mountains. That was how I got to know him. I was bodyguard for a duchess who came out here on a ski vacation, and I needed some help keeping track of her on the slopes.”

  Though Tasha had to admit that Earl Rockman sounded okay, she still wasn’t impressed. “Is Jenson the best he can offer?”

  “He’s the best I can get on short notice. Try to get along with him today, Tasha. He’ll only be here for a few hours.”

  “An eternity,” she muttered.

  “It’s not that bad. In spite of his manner, Jenson’s qualifications are excellent.”

  “I don’t care if he’s guarded Di and Charles and Queen Elizabeth on skis, Jenson’s not going to tell me how to run my shop.”

  “I understand.”

  “He’s probably out there right now upsetting Mandy. You know, she’s due to deliver her baby in three weeks. She doesn’t need any kind of hassle.”

  David held up both hands, warding off further argument. “Hey, I agree with you. Next time we’ll get somebody else. But for today, we’re stuck with Jenson.”

  He sat in the chair opposite her desk, reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small spiral notebook and a gold Cross pen. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the page and made a scribble.

  “What are you doing, David? What’s that?”

  “My list.” He held up the lined page that was covered with chicken scratching. “These are my brains on paper.”

  Wryly, she said, “I take it that logic isn’t your strong suit.”

  “If I write it down, I don’t have to think about it. I can keep my brain free for more important things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Making sure nobody runs you down with a car. Or sticks a gun in your
face.” He consulted the page. “When do you want to go down to the police station and run through mug shots?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Tasha, if the Russian man who attacked you is a known criminal, the police can pick him up.”

  “Well, he told me his name was Mr. Brown.”

  “That’s great,” David said. “There can’t be more than two or three hundred Browns in the local phone book.”

  Remembering, she said, “There was something else he said. He apologized for his comrade’s behavior. Do you think he was talking about the guy who tried to run me down with his car?”

  “Yes,” David said tersely. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

  “Didn’t think of it.” It was still hard for her to take this seriously. Even though she’d been attacked, even though she truly believed in the danger, Tasha had other things to worry about. Her shop, for one. Mandy, for another. And the rubies. In the back of her mind, Tasha was painfully aware of the fabulous fortune in precious stones that was right next door. If the odious Inspector Henning had not been standing guard, she would have slipped over to Pola and Tweed and begged until Janet allowed her to touch the stones. If only for a moment, she longed to wear that necklace and fasten those bracelets to her wrists.

  David rose from the chair and glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s ten-thirty right now. I have a few errands to run, and I’ll be back at about noon.”

  “Jenson will be here until then?” she said with obvious disgust.

  “Until noon.”

  Tasha followed him to the front of the store. Fortunately, Mandy was busy with the guy who did deliveries for Bloom’s and Jenson hadn’t had a chance to pester either one of them.

  “Let me tell you something, ma’am,” he said. When he walked, his stomach preceded him. “This is no way to—”

  “Excuse me,” Tasha interrupted. “I am running a business here. And if you don’t mind, I would very much appreciate if you stayed out of the way.”

  “Listen to her,” David said. “She’s the boss.”

  “Hell, she ain’t no bigger than a minute. How can she be telling me what to do?”

  “I’m telling you,” David said. He pointed to a padded leather chair beside the rear exit. “You sit there and listen. If there’s a disturbance, get up here fast.”

  Muttering to himself, Jenson obeyed.

  That was exactly what Tasha wanted, but she didn’t need David to give orders. This was her shop. She was the boss. Archly, she informed David, “I could have done that.”

  “I know. And the next time somebody needs telling off, it’s your turn.”

  He went out the front door as a customer came inside. The man who entered was so big that he filled the doorway. The blond, Nordic-looking man moved in a lumbering manner, like a bodybuilder whose neck was too developed to turn his head. Tasha could tell without asking that he had a name for each of his muscle groups: Pecs. Abs. Gluts. But he was sophisticated for a jock. His beige suit jacket, worn over a green polo shirt, was marvelously tailored.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Tasha called out with a smile.

  Before she could get to him, Janet Pola swept through the door. “Tasha! When you have a chance, stop by. The small display with the brass lamp needs freshening.”

  Another customer arrived. This was quite a rush for a regular Saturday that wasn’t Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day.

  The tall man leaned toward her across the counter. “You’re busy. I’ll come back.”

  “I should only be a minute. Please wait.” When she looked up at him, she was struck by the dullness of his gaze. His greenish eyes were flat and cold as a reptile’s.

  “Before noon,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  Mr. Green left her shop and stood outside, inhaling the crisp September air. A beautiful day with blue skies, even if it was only Denver. He could wait to see Miss Lancer. There was no safe way to talk to her when the shop was crowded, anyway.

  He crossed Third Avenue to the coffee boutique on the opposite corner. Before entering, he flipped open a cellular phone and speed dialed. “Cerise,” he said.

  “Yes, Green. What is it?”

  “I will postpone contact until noon.”

  “Don’t bring her here.”

  “I know.” Miss Cerise treated him as if he was a fool. Green knew better than to bring Miss Lancer to their hideout. He couldn’t help adding a dig. “Maybe you’d rather send Brown to fetch her?”

  “How many times do I have to apologize? It was a mistake to send Brown.”

  “A big mistake.” Brown might be a genius when it came to computers, but he’d let Miss Lancer get the best of him last night. His eyes still smarted and he stank of perfume.

  Still, Green was glad that it had happened. Sometimes, Cerise took his talents for granted. “Where should I bring Miss Lancer?”

  “West side of the Capitol Building. At the top of the hill. Let her out of the car, and I’ll meet her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Green? Don’t be impatient. We have two weeks.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Don’t hurt her, Green.”

  He disconnected the telephone. All this planning and effort for one lousy necklace and bracelets? Green didn’t like it. After expenses, his total profit would probably be only six hundred thousand. Less if they had to give Miss Lancer a share.

  He went into the coffee boutique and ordered a double shot of espresso. With at least an hour to kill, he ambled along Third Avenue. He was tempted to cross the street and enter Pola and Tweed so he could have a peek at these damned rubies. But the gun in his shoulder holster might set off alarms. It wouldn’t be smart to get himself caught before the caper had begun.

  No matter what Cerise and Brown thought, Mr. Green was smart.

  At a quarter to twelve, he returned to Bloom’s. This time, the store was deserted. Miss Lancer and her homely, pregnant assistant were standing at the front counter, fussing with a flat arrangement of red and white flowers.

  Miss Lancer grinned when she looked up and saw him. “You’ve come back,” she said. “I’m so glad. Now, how may I help you?”

  He pointed to a hanging plant near the door. “Tell me about this one.”

  “It’s a Boston fern,” she said.

  “Easy to take care of?”

  “It depends on what you consider easy.” Tasha pulled off a pair of red gloves that matched her red-and-white striped blouse, accented by a pair of oversize red crystal earrings that weren’t rubies but glittered brightly nonetheless. She came around the counter and stood beside him.

  Up close, she couldn’t help being impressed by the sheer size of this man. The top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder, and his torso was wide as the trunk of a sequoia. Usually, the idea of such a large person being interested in small, delicate plants was endearing. But something in this man’s attitude alerted her to potential danger. “Are you looking for a houseplant?” she asked.

  With his back turned to the counter so Mandy couldn’t see, he opened his suit jacket. His right hand reached inside, grasping the handle of a gun. “I’m looking for you, Miss Lancer.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say.” Her heart leapt up in her throat. God, if anything happened to Mandy. “Let me get rid of my assistant.”

  “Fast. No funny business.”

  Tasha kept her voice unwaveringly calm as she glanced toward the counter. “Mandy, would you mind taking lunch now?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. I’m starving.” Mandy dropped the shears that she’d been using to clip ends on the banquet arrangement of red ginger and white stephanotis. She reached under the counter for her purse. Every movement was laborious. Her fist dug into the small of her back, and she stretched. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Tasha said with considerably more confidence than she felt. For an instant, she considered giving Mandy a clue, saying something about wanting tuna—her most despis
ed food—for lunch. But she decided against it. She wanted Mandy out of there. She wanted Mandy to be safe. “Go ahead, now. Hurry up. I’ll see you later.”

  After Mandy had waddled past them and out the front door of the shop, Tasha turned to the man. “What do you want?”

  “Come with me. Don’t make trouble.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Green.”

  She would have laughed if Mr. Green hadn’t been so scary, if his eyes hadn’t been so cold, if he hadn’t been big enough to break her in half. Sheer bravado compelled her to say, “Green? You must be a friend of Mr. Brown.”

  “That’s right.” He took out his gun and held the barrel against her rib cage. “We’ll go out the back door.”

  Tasha balked. The problem was Jenson. Once the substitute bodyguard had settled himself on the chair in the rear, he hadn’t moved. For the past hour and a half, he’d divided his time between complaining whenever she came near him and dozing when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  Tasha preferred not to have Jenson involved. Something in Green’s manner told her that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. And he would shoot to kill.

  “We’re right here by the front door,” she said. “Why not just go out here?”

  “So you can shout for help?”

  “I wouldn’t say a word. I promise.” She kept her voice quiet so Jenson wouldn’t hear. “I know that you’d shoot me if I did.”

  “I’m not supposed to hurt you,” he said.

  She tried a smile. “I’m glad for that.”

  “But I don’t mind disobeying orders.” His lip curled in a sneer. “Have you ever had a broken bone?”

  “Never.” There was a sick taste in her mouth. His implied threat was more effective than an outright demand. He wanted her to be frightened. And she was. Tasha felt as if she was going to vomit.

  “You can hear the bone snap. The pain is very bad. Most people pass out.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Back door.”

  He nudged the gun painfully into her side. When she winced, he pressed harder. “Go.”

  She’d reached the counter when Jenson appeared from the rear of the shop. He stretched and yawned. “You got pretty quiet out here, missy.”