by Debra Webb
Jana drew in a big breath and let it out slowly. “I’m accustomed to doing what’s expected of me.” She held up her hands before he could ask anything else. “Gregory is generally irrelevant to the case. Let’s move on. So, where exactly did you find that key? I’ve tried to place it and I can’t. I’m certain I’ve never seen it before.”
“Hidden in the star statue on the office bookshelf.”
“Weird. Hopefully the bank will be able to help.”
But shortly after they arrived, the bank manager explained their internal numbering system didn’t match the key. Though she leaned hard on the longstanding family business with the bank, the manager couldn’t—or wouldn’t—offer any suggestions or insight.
With more sympathy for her loss echoing in Jana’s ears, they left the bank and headed for her house. “What now?” she asked Dylan. “Am I supposed to just traipse into every local bank and ask?”
“That might raise more eyebrows and Twitter trends than you and Gregory at Cavelli’s.”
“Stop it,” she said without any real ire. “What do you suggest?”
“Let me do a little legwork. Claudia, my technical assistant, can run it down.”
“Okay. I’ll search Dad’s papers for other banking connections.”
He turned into her driveway. “Have you considered it might not be his key?”
She hadn’t considered that at all. “Then why would it be in his office?”
“Beats me,” Dylan said. “We’ll figure it out.”
Dylan performed the usual search of the house, before allowing her to come inside. When he’d locked the door and set the alarm, she breathed easier. She glanced at her watch and decided she had almost two hours before she had to dress for dinner.
“You have time for a glass of wine?”
“A glass of wine is exactly what I need.” She wished she were going on a date with him rather than dinner with Gregory. Jana bit down on her bottom lip just in time to prevent saying as much out loud.
Dylan poured her a glass as they sat down at her kitchen table.
“Thank you.” She sagged back in the chair, swirling the red liquid in the glass. “Why don’t you have a glass as well? You don’t have to drive. I can take a cab.”
“I do have to drive.” His tone left no room for argument. “But I won’t interfere with your date.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what? I promise I’ll be as close as a text message.”
“Nothing.” She felt her cheeks heating and she reached for the book full of hate mail. “It’s just strange.” It barely qualified as an explanation, but she couldn’t find the right words to describe the confusion inside her. Knowing he’d be watching her gave her goose bumps. It should’ve been creepy, instead she relished the unexpected thrill.
“You can do better than that.”
She stared at him across the kitchen table. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
Blue eyes held hers and she refused to look away or to give in and say more. “Suit yourself,” he said. Using his cell phone to take a picture of both sides of the key, he seemed to shift seamlessly into investigative mode.
She did her best to follow his example until the alarm she’d set went off. Reluctantly, she left the hate mail she’d been trying to coordinate with legislative voting records and went to dress for dinner. She selected a simple black sheath with matching high heels. Rummaging under her lingerie for the slim box where she kept her mother’s pearls, her fingers bumped a smaller velvet box. She pulled it out and opened it. The sparkling diamond felt so heavy, so permanent, and it wasn’t even on her finger.
Her friends would’ve bubbled over with envy and happiness at the sight of this ring, but she had yet to experience anything other than dread when she looked at it. Gregory was nice enough. Accomplished. Connected. But he wasn’t...
Dylan.
She snapped the box closed and dropped it back into the drawer as if it held the next plague. How could a couple of days, hard words, a harder body, and only the smallest kindnesses mean more to her than a man she’d known most of her life? What would Dad think of Dylan? The question startled her almost as much as the immediate answer: the two of them would’ve gotten along well.
Her phone sounded another alarm and with a final glance at her reflection, she dropped the device into her evening clutch and walked back to the kitchen.
“You’re sure you don’t mind giving me a ride?”
“If you drove yourself, I’d have to follow you and...” Dylan’s voice trailed off as he looked up from his laptop.
He stared at her for such a long moment, she started to worry she’d overdone it. “What’s wrong?”
Dylan got to his feet, belatedly remembering his manners. He closed his computer with a snap and shoved it back into the bag along with the hate mail from the book. He considered her a moment more, and then he shrugged. “You look stunning.”
She scowled at him.
For the first time in a very long time Dylan was at a loss for words. What the hell was a man supposed to say when a woman walked in looking like that? The black dress hugged her curves, stopping just above her knees. Her hair was up, but she’d done it differently, and the effect was softer with a few loose curls framing her face. The black heels were sexy as hell, but the pearls gave off a classy, good-girl vibe. She made him want to remove the whole get-up, one gorgeous piece at a time, and then just sit back and stare.
“I’m ready,” he said. For anything, he thought, as he helped her into her coat. Whatever fragrance she’d applied was feminine but understated and nothing like her stepmother’s power scent. He decided the original Mrs. Clayton had influenced Jana more than Camille.
He liked that about Jana... he liked a lot of things about her.
As they drove away from her neighborhood, he couldn’t believe he was delivering Jana to a date with another man. She wasn’t his, wouldn’t want to be his, but his unexpected spike of jealousy was real enough.
“What will you do about dinner?” she asked, fidgeting with her small, sparkling purse.
“I grabbed a microwave dinner while you were dressing.” He kept his eyes on the road when they wanted to wander over her again. “Claudia’s blocked out time for me... us—your case, I mean—tonight.” Good grief. Horny teenagers on first dates didn’t get more flustered than he felt right now. He didn’t know what it was about her, but if he got distracted, she could get hurt. With another check of the mirrors for motorcycles or other aggressive activity, he pulled himself together. “So I’ll be working.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“Enjoy your meal and don’t worry about me or the case. We’ll find the person or persons responsible. I haven’t let a client down yet.”
“Hmm.”
“Have you thought of something new?” Or maybe she wasn’t so sure about his claim. It was true he’d screwed up his career in Montana, but not once since coming on board as a Protector had he failed to get the job done.
“No.” She drummed her fingers on her bare knee. “It’s just a challenge cataloging suspects knowing what you said is right about who had access to the study.”
A terrible thought occurred to him. One he should’ve had hours ago. “Does Gregory have a motive?”
Her fingers went still and she turned toward him, but she didn’t immediately defend the man. Dylan counted it progress. He knew what she was going through, having been blinded and betrayed so completely by a woman he’d thought he loved.
“I can’t think of a valid motive for Gregory to want to harm Dad. He did have insider access,” she admitted, “but Dad’s support increased his very slim chances of marrying me, which makes me think he would have wanted Dad around. Dad liked him and Gregory was well aware of how important pleasing my dad was to me.”
Dylan pulled the truck into the line for the valet at the restaurant. “You would have married him to make your dad happy?”
She reached up, checking he
r earrings. “Honestly, the idea of becoming Mrs. Gregory Atkins makes me cringe. I wanted to marry for love like my parents, but I’ve learned not everyone is lucky enough to find that special someone.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Dylan found himself holding his breath.
Her gaze settled on his and he saw what could only be called longing. For him? Or for the other guy?
The valet opened her door, breaking the charged moment.
“I’ll let Gregory bring me home.”
Whiny Gregory stood just inside the restaurant waiting for her. Dylan suddenly didn’t want to let her go. “Wait I—”
She patted his arm. “Relax. It’s the right compromise.”
“I’m as close as a text message,” he reminded her as she closed the door. “Damn it.” He pulled away from the restaurant and circled the block, searching for a good place to park and keep an eye on her.
“Going soft, Parker,” he reprimanded himself. A pretty, smart woman dressed like that and talking about murder suspects and marrying for love in practically the same breath was a heady combination. The spurt of jealousy and general apathy about his personal life took him by surprise. It was his fault he’d passed thirty a couple of years back without any prospect of a wife or family. Considering his current employment status, he couldn’t see his prospects improving.
Why should anything change? He didn’t need a wife and kids and a dog lounging on soft, green grass behind a white-picket fence. He liked his job. He even liked the attorney who’d hauled him out of that San Antonio jail cell and pushed a Protector contract under his nose. More importantly, he was good at this job. He kept people alive and leveled the playing field when circumstances were off balance. Right now, it was his job to make sure Jana survived long enough to turn her professional and personal goals into reality.
He should be in that restaurant, eyes on her. It was protocol. For a moment, he debated blowing off Claudia and doing just that. He knew how to convince people to let him have a small dark corner to complete an assignment.
Who knew what Gregory was capable of or who he was cooperating with?
Dylan gave himself a mental kick. Gregory might be a pawn, but unless Claudia had news to the contrary, he wasn’t any real threat. Based on Jana’s self-defense efforts last night, Dylan thought she could take down Gregory if he got out of hand. Dylan had the make and model of Gregory’s car, and he had eyes on the only exit from the parking lot. If Gregory or anyone else went after her, Dylan could intervene.
Unless they were inside already... Damn it!
His phone hummed with a text message from Jana. The smiley face left him wondering how she knew he needed confirmation of her safety. Pushing a hand through his hair, he pulled out his computer for the meeting with Claudia. He wished the online chat came with a visual, but it didn’t.
“Tell me you have something,” he said as soon as she came online.
“Hello, Parker. I take it your surly mood means the client didn’t find anything helpful in the hate mail?”
“No,” Dylan replied. “And my mood is fine.”
“If you say so. What you’ve sent me is too general. And old.”
“Great,” Dylan mumbled. “Anything on the key?”
“Yes, actually.”
Dylan heard the click of her fingers racing over her keyboard, but she didn’t say anything. “And?”
“I’m getting there. Whatever it is, it’s not related to any of the banks in the Austin area. Wait.” That familiar tapping of the keys echoed. “It matches one used by a small Texas bank that closed thirty years ago.”
Well, hell. “You’re sure?”
“Seriously?” she asked, her voice flat.
“Sorry.” Questioning Claudia’s research was high-risk. He caught a flash of movement in his side mirror. “I appreciate your hard work,” he added quickly, watching for any other movement. “I may have to cut this short.”
“What’s wrong?”
Two men dressed in dark clothing were converging on the truck. A smart man would hope they were simply headed out to the social action on Sixth Street. Unfortunately, Dylan had gone stupid tonight. Right now he wouldn’t mind a place to unload some of the pent-up frustration this case was causing.
“Just business, Claudia. I’ll check in later.” Dylan closed the laptop and slid it across the seat, then placed his hat on top of it. He reached into the glove box for his weapon and tucked it into his waistband.
At his tailgate, the two men separated, coming up on either side of the cab. The man at the driver’s side window rapped on the glass and motioned for him to step out of the truck. Dylan barely kept the eager smile in check.
“What’s the problem?” he asked through the glass.
“Just want a word,” the man—the Talker, Dylan decided—said.
“Sure thing.” Dylan looked to the guy hovering at the passenger window and then back to Talker on his side of the truck. He powered down the glass. “What word do you want?”
“Can you step out of the truck?” Talker asked, sounding all cop like.
“Do I need to? I don’t see a badge.”
“It would be in your best interest, Mr. Parker.”
The quiet guy, Silent Partner, at the passenger window tested the door handle. Dylan shot him a look.
“We haven’t seen you in Austin before,” Talker said.
“It’s a big place,” Dylan replied.
“We think you should leave town.”
“Really?” What the hell?
Silent Partner tested the door handle again.
Dylan tipped his head that way. “Are you talking for him, too?”
“You aren’t welcome here. Jana Clayton doesn’t need you. Leave right now and no one gets hurt.”
Dylan wanted to laugh. “I’m a librarian,” he lied. “I’m gathering information for Senator Clayton’s memorial at the university library.”
This declaration apparently stumped both men for a second, then Talker shot a hand through the open window, grabbing Dylan’s collar in a ham-sized fist.
Dylan was ready. Manacling the bastard’s hand, he opened the door and slammed it hard into Talker’s chest as Dylan lunged out of the truck. Using his bodyweight, he brought the guy’s wrist down hard on the doorframe. Talker screamed and Dylan dropped down, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him.
Talker rolled away, cradling his wrist, just in time for Silent Partner to charge into the fray.
“Round two.” Dylan dodged a big roundhouse punch and drove his elbow into the man’s windpipe.
If the guy had ever possessed the power of speech, it was muted now. He tried again to plow Dylan into his truck, but Dylan dodged and his fist met metal rather than flesh. “Ouch,” Dylan taunted. “Bet that hurts,” he added, driving a knee into the guy’s kidney.
Talker was back up and swearing. Dylan caught a glancing blow on the side of his face and swore as blood dripped onto his best white shirt.
“Who sent you?” he demanded trading punches with Talker and guarding any access to the truck. Neither man replied, so Dylan started tossing out names. “Maguire? Camille? Atkins?” It was hard to read reactions in the dark amid wild swings and strikes. “Any chance you two are into motorcycles?”
He didn’t think the answer would’ve been yes even if this pair was inclined to talk. The motorcycle crew would’ve come armed and shot him. Not to mention, the bikers had lean builds. These guys were big, muscle-bound types. He wasn’t sure what the all brawn and no brains selection said about the person who hired this pair of incompetent wannabe tough guys.
Growing bored, Dylan upped his game with a few smart, swift moves and both men went down on the pavement. “Thanks for the workout,” he said, climbing back into his truck. “Tell your boss I’m staying right here in Austin as long as it suits me.”
He started the truck and pulled out of the parking space, not too worried about whether or not he ran over his assailants. They didn’t seem
the type to press charges. Dylan pulled up to the Cavelli’s valet stand and gave the kid twenty bucks to keep his truck close. Then he walked around to the kitchen entrance of the restaurant. Everyone was too busy to notice him so he planted himself at the door where he had a good look at the dining room.
Spotting Jana and Gregory at a cozy table near the front window, he pulled out his phone and sent her a smile with a question mark. He watched her react, more than a little pleased when he got a smile on her pretty face followed by a bored face via text.
He’d update Claudia later. After that pathetic attempt at intimidation, he wouldn’t let Jana out of his sight again.
Even bozos could be dangerous sometimes.
Chapter Eight
Jana walked into her house and locked the door, watching from the window until Gregory finally drove away. A moment later, she saw Dylan’s truck roll by and turn at the corner. He’d sent her a text letting her know the house was clear. Apparently he’d done his usual walk through while she fended off Gregory’s attempts at a goodnight kiss in the car.
It had been such a relief to know Dylan was close, not because she feared Gregory, but after being attacked twice she was a little nervous. Throughout the evening she’d hyper analyzed every word out of Gregory. She had checked her surroundings for anyone too interested in her despite Dylan’s assurances that he was close.
Exhausted now, she slipped out of her heels and headed to her bedroom. Dinner had been such a drain considering the primary topic was the governor’s appointment. Gregory meant well, but she resented wasting time with him when she could’ve been working on her dad’s case. And she kept hearing Dylan’s voice in her head calling him Whiny Gregory. How had she ignored that tendency all this time?
She turned on the bedside lamp and reached back to unzip her dress. If Gregory refused to let her return the engagement ring in person, she’d have it delivered. She couldn’t allow him to keep hoping she’d eventually say yes.
Replacing her shoes in the organizer, she dropped her dress into the dry cleaning bag, and slipped her favorite silky nightshirt over her head. When she finished washing her face and brushing her hair, she saw her phone flashing with an alert.
