Guarded Moments

by Cassie Miles

  Tasha dragged on a pair of yellow rubber cleaning gloves, rolled up her sleeves, hiked up her skirt and dug in, salvaging as many of the blooms as possible, swabbing like a cleaning lady possessed until every surface glistened and every trace of the destruction had been erased. Unfortunately, most of her flower stock was also gone.

  It was past one o’clock when she stuck the Yes, We’re Open sign in the front window and unlocked the door. It was a matter of pride to stay open for business. Even if she only had one carnation to sell, Tasha would open her doors.

  Her determined professionalism belied the fact that she looked like Cinderella after a bad day in the ashes. But how could she go home and change clothes? There was no one else here to watch the store. Tomorrow, she would contact one of the women who worked for her during peak times, like Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day. But there was no point in doing so today. On a Sunday when she was only open for a few hours, anyway.

  Tasha rested her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands. Too much. This was all too much.

  Yet, when the tinkling bell over the door announced the arrival of a customer, her smile was ready. “May I help you?”

  At a glance, she realized that this fellow definitely needed help. His posture was atrocious, almost deformed, with a nerdlike hunch to his shoulders. His flowered Hawaiian print shirt and too-baggy, too-short trousers worn with sloppy socks and sneakers were not the standard upscale uniform of Cherry Creek shoppers. His baseball cap with a logo for the Oregon Ducks pulled low on his forehead. Tinted-blue glasses obscured his face. His goofy grin was an orthodontist’s nightmare.

  Though Tasha tried to be charitable, this guy was a mess. Though he wasn’t a teenager, he appeared to be stuck in the throes of male adolescent clumsiness. He had a Spiderman tattoo on his forearm, for goodness’ sake!

  In a nasal voice, he said, “I hear you’re looking for an assistant, and I like plants a whole bunch.”

  “Do you?” The fact that she even considered hiring this guy indicated the level of her desperation.

  “You betcha,” he said.

  He thrust out his jaw, and a spark of recognition went through her. She noticed that his forearms were muscular. The vee collar of his ridiculous shirt revealed crisp, curling, dark chest hair. “David?”

  He straightened. The breadth of his shoulders expanded by several inches. “You’re perceptive. I thought this was a great disguise.”

  His voice was its natural baritone but with a lisp, and he spat out the dental appliance that turned his straight white teeth into the world’s worst overbite.

  Delighted to see him, Tasha laughed. “I knew it was you. Right away.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I’d have to be an idiot not to recognize you,” she said as the door to her shop swung open. “After all, I slept with you last night.”

  “Tasha!” The person who had entered was Janet Pola. Obviously, she’d heard Tasha admit to spending the night with this grotesque nerd, and Janet was purely appalled. Gaping, she stared at David’s back, then at Tasha.

  David slipped in his fake teeth, hunched his shoulders and turned around to face her. “Hi ya,” he squawked. “I’m Tasha’s new assistant.”

  “Really?” Her upper lip curled in disgust.

  “Yuper-duper,” David said, sticking out his hand. “My name is Wally Beamis.”

  “Charmed.” Janet allowed him to grasp her fingertips before brushing past him to the counter where she took in Tasha’s disheveled clothing and general air of exhaustion. “Darling, are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better,” she admitted. “I had a break-in last night, and someone destroyed most of the stock in my refrigerated unit.”

  “With all my guards next door? I can’t believe it.”

  “Me, neither,” David said, clumsily leaning against the countertop. Despite his weird disguise, she saw a glimpse of the real David.

  “It’s my own fault,” Tasha said, addressing her words toward David. “I was in such a hurry to take Mandy to the hospital that I didn’t set the alarms. Getting in here was simply a matter of picking a door lock.”

  “If you’d like,” Janet offered, “I can have Inspector Henning pay a visit and revamp your security. I loathe his cigars, but he’s quite the expert in his field.”

  “No, thanks,” Tasha said vehemently. “My losses are only a couple of hundred dollars worth of greenery. I’m glad that the African violets weren’t damaged because I need them for an order. Thanks, Janet, for allowing the deliveryman to leave them with you.”

  “No problem.” Dismissively, she waved her ringbedecked hand. “How’s Mandy?”

  “She had a baby girl, six pounds, eight ounces. Her name is Ruby and she’s absolutely perfect.”

  Glad to think of something other than the break-in, Tasha described Mandy’s labor and delivery while Janet listened with rapt feminine attention and empathy. David, alias Wally Beamis, made appropriate nerdlike grunts of disgust.

  Glancing toward him, Tasha concluded, “And David was wonderful. He spent the whole time pacing in the waiting room.”

  “David?” Janet frowned before she remembered. “Oh, yes, your handsome boyfriend.”

  “Not anymore.” Tasha cast a bemused glance at the man in the ghastly Hawaiian print shirt.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He had to return to New York.”

  “Such a shame! He was so terribly good-looking, and I think he cares a great deal for you, Tasha. I caught him watching you with very possessive eyes.”

  Tasha was momentarily pleased by her friend’s observation until she realized that a bodyguard’s scrutiny would naturally appear to be possessive.

  “In any case,” Janet continued, “I’m happy for Mandy. And her baby’s name gives me a terrific idea for a baby gift. A silver spoon with a tiny, little ruby in the handle.”

  Though Tasha could hardly think of any gift less practical for a teenaged mother, she said, “Mandy will love it.”

  Janet headed to the door, turned and regarded David with a critical look. “Don’t take this personally, young Wally.”

  “Huh?”

  “Dear boy, you’ve absolutely got to change your style before you start working in Cherry Creek.”

  He gave her a huge, dopey smile. “Okeydokey.”

  With a shudder, Janet left.

  “She could be right.” Tasha looked him up and down. With mock concern, she said, “I can’t have Wally Beamis lurking around Bloom’s. You’ll frighten my customers.”

  He popped out the dental appliance. “Come on, Tasha. I might be homely, but I’m not scary.”

  “Some of my regular customers pay a hundred dollars for a pedicure. Tackiness horrifies them.”

  “Tacky?” He pantomimed “Who me?” His elbows went flying. His shoulders hunched even higher. “Moi?”

  She struggled to keep the laughter out of her voice. “Where did you get that dorky outfit?”

  “Hey, it wasn’t easy to find pants that were both baggy and too short.”

  “And the teeth?”

  “The teeth and the glasses were especially made for me by a Manhattan makeup artist.”

  “Someone who was, no doubt, going for the stylish Hunchback of Notre Dame look,” she suggested.

  “Sometimes, in my line of work, I need a disguise.” Triumphantly, he added, “And it works, doesn’t it? Janet had no idea who I was.”

  “Congratulations,” she said dryly.

  “So, what do you think? Can I be your assistant?”

  “Well, I suppose I could hide you in the back.” Suiting the action to the word, she led him away from the front counter to the back of the store. “I’ll explain to people that you’re a genius botanist who I’ve hired to create a special signature flower for Bloom’s.”

  “Then I’m hired?”

  “Yes, David.” She slid her hand along his forearm. If only he weren’t so doggoned honest and law-abiding…“
I’m glad you’re here.”

  In one swift gesture, he doffed his baseball cap and the silly-looking, blue-tinted glasses. He straightened up and became her David again. “You know, Tasha, it isn’t the clothes that make the man.”

  “I know.” She glided into his embrace.

  Whether or not she could trust him remained to be seen, but she very much needed someone to watch her back. She needed him on so many levels. His steadfast presence might be her only anchor in a sea of fear. “I want you with me. Here in the shop. And at home.”

  “That’s handy.” He pressed lightly on her spine, and she molded her body against his. “Because I want to stay.”

  “Does this mean you’ve decided I’m not a cat burglar?”

  He feathered a kiss across her forehead. “It means that I’ve always liked felines.”.

  “A cat like me might be too independent, David. On a whim, I might scratch your eyes out.”

  “Your purring makes up for it.”

  Before he could kiss her, the bell at the door tinkled and the parade of afternoon customers began.

  It was just before five o’clock closing when Jenson sauntered into the shop. The white plaster of his wrist cast shone like a warning beacon in Tasha’s eyes, reminding her of Green and of danger:

  Guiltily, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

  He held up the cast. “Doesn’t hurt a bit. The docs say I’m going to be fine.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “And I’m really sorry that you were injured.”

  “Not your problem, lady. Although if you’d done like I told you and kept me posted at the front door, I would’ve spotted that guy as a bad cookie. Would’ve shot him right quick.”

  Then you might be dead, she thought. Tasha doubted that Jenson could have beaten Green in a showdown.

  “Anyhow,” he said, “that’s not why I came by. I’ve got a package for David from my boss. Do you know how to reach him?”

  “Yes, I do.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Wally? I have a package for you to deliver.”

  David in his disguise loped from the rear of the store. As he approached Jenson, he nearly tripped over his own feet.

  “Whoa, there. Who in the heck are you?”

  “My new assistant,” Tasha said. “You can trust him as much as you’d trust David himself.”

  “You think so?” Jenson was clearly disbelieving.

  “I promise,” she said.

  Reluctantly, Jenson handed over the eight-by-twelve envelope to David, who pivoted in a grossly ungraceful pirouette and retreated to the rear of the store, into Tasha’s office.

  Jenson leaned toward her. “That’s some strange kid.”

  “Isn’t he?”

  A puzzled Jenson left the shop, shaking his head. He hadn’t recognized David. Nor had Janet. His disguise masked his appearance, and his klutzy behavior hid his strong masculinity. If Tasha hadn’t witnessed the transformation before her very eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible.

  After finishing with her last customer, Tasha locked the front door and went into the office where David sat in her chair with his feet upon her desktop. He’d discarded the cap, glasses and teeth, and the serious expression in his gaze was purely David. Intelligent. Cool. Ever watchful.

  Tasha knew from his look that this was not the time for teasing and joking. “What was in the package from Jenson?”

  “Information.”

  For the past several minutes, he had debated with himself on whether or not he should tell her the findings that Earl Rockman’s Detective Agency had discovered after the inquiry to Interpol. If Tasha were in cahoots with this gang that called itself Spectrum, he wouldn’t be telling her anything she didn’t know.

  “David?” Tasha’s eyes widened as she closed the office door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  She wasn’t naive. She had to be aware of Spectrum’s reputation for callous cruelty. How could she be involved with these people, even for a moment?

  He watched her expression carefully, knowing that she was an accomplished liar, as he tossed his snapshot of Green onto the desktop. “According to Interpol, this man sometimes goes by the name of Green. He has half a dozen other aliases. His real name is Callahan.”

  Tasha sat in the chair opposite her desk. “What else?”

  “He was arrested twice in the United States when he was in his teens. Both times for assault. Both times, the victims dropped charges before he came to trial.” He looked up at her. “His first victim was his grandmother. He beat her with a kitchen chair.”

  Tasha’s jaw clenched. Though she sat perfectly still, her eyes were moving, glancing to the right and the left as if she sought escape from his information.

  David’s instinct was to comfort this delicate woman who seemed as fragile as a broken rose. Deep in his chest, he felt an urge to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right. But his protectiveness was overbalanced by anger when he thought about her working side by side with Green to pull off this caper.

  Harshly, he continued, “In his early twenties, Green moved to the Middle East where he was, apparently, employed as a mercenary for several years. In Europe, he was suspected in four contract murder cases.”

  “Contract murder?”

  “Someone else hired Green to kill the victim. One of these murders was particularly brutal. The woman was bludgeoned almost beyond recognition. Both her legs were broken. The police suspect that death took several hours.”

  He gazed steadily at Tasha. A sharp pallor cut all the color from her face. Through tight lips, she said, “Go on.”

  “For the past several years, Green has been working with a gang that calls itself Spectrum. They specialize in theft, and their methods are high-tech. Green is the muscle. There’s never been enough evidence to charge him, partly because Spectrum is careful never to leave witnesses.”

  He tossed her sketch of Brown on the desk. “Interpol had no information whatsoever on this guy.”

  The next photo showed Tasha and Cerise in conversation. David said, “The lady’s real name is Farrah Mauser. She was born in Australia, moved to California when she was three. She has a record as a juvenile of shoplifting. Five years ago, she was charged in Los Angeles as an accessory to theft, but she got off. Like Green, she’s suspected of involvement in several jewel heists and, once, in stealing artwork from a small museum in Barcelona. No hard evidence. No witnesses. In the museum theft, four guards were executed, shot in the head.”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Tasha? If you cooperate with these people, there’s a hell of a good chance that somebody’s going to die.”

  She kept her silence. Her slender fingers laced primly on her lap. Her knees pressed together. Her ankles were crossed. She appeared to be holding tight to the reins of control.

  David looked back at the picture that lay on the desk like an open accusation. “The other woman in this photo—”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Tasha. You.”

  Her dark eyes flashed with surprise. “Interpol has a record on me?”

  “They identified you as Natasha or Anastasia Lancer. Neither of you have ever actually been charged, but both of you are suspected in jewel heists that go back ten years. You remember, Tasha? The diamonds, the emeralds, the rubies.”

  “But Interpol?” She seemed honestly appalled. “What does that mean?”

  “When the cops round up the usual suspects, you’re going to be included if the crime involves precious gems.”

  “That’s not fair!” Color crept back into her face. “I’ve never stolen anything. Never!”

  “According to this information, you and your sister worked scams, using your identical appearance to provide each other with alibis.”

  She blinked twice, a small signal of distressed recognition. David knew that he’d hit a chord of truth. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? Stacey stole the jewels, and you provided the alibi
.”

  Her head lowered. She stared down at her hands.

  A typical ploy of liars. David knew that she was shielding her eyes from him, covering up any flicker that might inadvertently betray her.

  “Dammit, Tasha!” Frustrated at every turn, he finally erupted, surged to his feet. He circled the desk and stood over her. “What does it take to get at the truth with you?”

  She whispered, “I’m not a thief.”

  He wanted to help her, to save her from herself. “Are you telling me that Interpol is wrong? Henning is wrong? This photograph of you and Cerise, is that wrong?”

  He grasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Holding her upper arms, he shook her. “Tasha, look at me.”

  She lifted her chin. Her thick lashes were spiky and wet with tears, but David steeled himself. There was a poison inside her, the poison of lies, and he needed to exorcise it.

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me about the thefts that you and your sister pulled off.”

  Her voice did not quaver. “I never meant for it to happen. The first time, I thought it was a joke on some of the obnoxious rich people we’d met while performing our magic act. I was sixteen, and the only thing that seemed important was not to get caught.”

  “You robbed them.”

  “I was the alibi. I changed clothes twice and went to two different places while Stacey pulled the robbery. I thought we were going to return the jewels after we’d made our point, but Stacey had fenced them. She bought a Volkswagen with the money.”

  A single teardrop, pure as a crystal, traced a path down her cheek, but David tightened his grip on her upper arms. He would wring the truth from her, no matter how much it hurt.

  “It happened again, didn’t it?”

  She tossed her head. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Don’t push me, David. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Not good enough.” He couldn’t stand by and watch as she perpetrated a heist that would likely result in murder. “Tell me, dammit.”

  “Twice more.” She gasped out a sob, then quickly recovered. “Stacey used me two more times. I couldn’t turn her in, David. I couldn’t. She’s my twin. And Stacey’s a good person. She really is. I’m sure she would never intentionally hurt anyone.”