Tough As Nails

by Jackie Manning

  Brianna stood and moved behind him, placing her hands on his back, gently kneading the tight muscles between his shoulder blades. “Bailey said that it sometimes takes a while with a case like this.”

  Mike huffed. “Bailey believes that TALON-6 is invincible.” He turned and smiled up at her. “I’m hoping we never disappoint her.” His smile faded. “Or you.”

  Brianna dropped her hands to her sides. “You won’t, Mike.”

  The door rattled with a loud knock, and Liam called out, “I’m comin’ in, ready or not.”

  Mike gave him a warning look, then his gaze dropped to the package in Liam’s hand. “Is that the police artist’s sketches?”

  “Sure is. Here, take a look at these.” Liam pulled the computerized drawings from the envelope and laid them on the desk in front of Mike and Brianna. Liam pointed to the sketch of a close-cropped, white-haired man. “Ever see this man, Brianna?”

  Brianna frowned. “No. Should I know him?”

  “This is the composite of the priest from Erickson’s description.” He pushed another drawing beside the first sketch. “Here’s another one of the priest drawn from the furniture mover’s description.”

  “The basic features are similar,” Brianna said. “But I’ve never seen this man, either.”

  The third sketch was Brianna’s description of Leonard Braewood. She moved it beside the other two and compared them.

  Mike stood up and peered over her shoulder. “Dammit. They’re different. I was hoping…” He let the words fade away. Leonard Braewood was younger, beefier. The priest had pale-colored eyes, almost an aristocratic nose, with well-defined eyebrows. His head shape was all wrong, too. And from the physical descriptions given by Brianna and Hershall, Braewood was a much taller, larger man.

  “I think this proves there might be two of them working together,” Liam said.

  Mike shook his head. “Stalkers are usually a solo act. They’re like serial killers. Of course there are always exceptions.”

  “What do you think, Brianna?” Mike asked. “Think the priest looks like Braewood?”

  Her gaze remained on the two faces. “Maybe.”

  Liam straightened, surprised. “How so?”

  She ran a finger along the brow line of the priest. “If Braewood had worn a wig and a false beard, the hair would have concealed a high forehead and a square jaw.”

  Mike shook his head. “The body build is different. Erickson said the priest was of slight stature.”

  Liam looked up and crammed his fists in the pockets of his jeans. “Let’s say he stuffed a big pillow in his gut and he wore shoe lifts.”

  Mike sat back in his chair. “It’s possible.”

  “But not impossible, especially if he has an obsessive personality,” Brianna finished for him.

  Mike and Liam remained silent, studying the sketches.

  Liam scratched his head. “After we run your clients’ names through our computer bank, we’ll get a better handle on him.” Liam picked up the report and leafed through the first few pages. “Let’s see what we do know. This guy is smart enough to use general photographic paper and supplies. Nothing traceable in those black-and-white glossies he sent. Nothing criminal about their content, which eliminates the police.” He looked up, his gaze on Brianna. “Mike thinks he lives close by, maybe Upper East Side. He might have a law-enforcement or military background. Does that ring any bells with any of your clients, your neighbors or casual acquaintances?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “He possibly works or worked for the FBI or CIA,” Mike added.

  “Definitely knows his stuff when it comes to electronic surveillance equipment,” Liam said, his eyes fixed on the report.

  “That description could be anybody,” she said.

  “What about the furniture mover, Gary Hershall?” Liam asked Mike, his finger holding his place on the page.

  Brianna looked questioningly at Mike.

  Mike shook his head. “Hershall was waiting with the priest for the elevator when Erickson arrived on the sixth floor. From his statement, Hershall had been moving file cabinets all afternoon. From 1:00 p.m. until 4:00 p.m. to be exact.”

  “Do we have a picture of Hershall?” Brianna asked. “How do we know he’s not Leonard Braewood?”

  “His description doesn’t fit the description of Braewood that you gave Erickson,” Liam answered. “Besides, I checked Hershall out. He’s so clean he could be Man of the Year.”

  “So where did Leonard Braewood disappear to?” Liam asked, his expression open with possibilities. “We know the elevator stopped with him on it at the sixth floor. He could have gotten out, taken the stairs—”

  “No. I was coming up the same stairwell,” Mike said. “I would have seen him.”

  “Okay.” Liam pointed a finger. “Braewood gets off at the sixth floor, which Brianna verified by watching the elevator dial.”

  She nodded.

  “And Braewood picked the sixth floor,” Mike said, his attention on Brianna, “because he knew the patients and nursing staff had been vacated. The only people left were the moving guys. So Braewood goes to the empty linen closet where he’s previously stashed a disguise.” Mike pulled out a paper tube from the stack on his desk and unrolled the blueprint. Spreading the sheet across the top of his desk, he leaned over it. “Here it is,” he said, running his finger along the floor layout to point out the small supply closet adjacent to the nurse’s station.

  Liam folded his arms. “Then our orderly changes out of his scrubs and puts on the priest habit.”

  Brianna picked up the priest sketch in one hand, and the composite of Leonard Braewood in the other, her face grim.

  “Then the priest slips through Erickson’s net,” Mike adds, “because they were looking for a large, bearded man dressed in scrubs.”

  “And the priest rides the elevator to the main floor where he walked out, pleased as punch with himself.” Liam shook his head and slumped in the chair across from Mike. “It’s a possible.”

  Brianna frowned as she put the sketches on top of the desk. “Whoever he is, the stalker is a very tormented soul. I saw the hate and rage in his eyes when he looked at me. If we knew what caused his problem, it might give us a clue. Maybe his mother abused him. Some female in his past must have done something horrible to make him transfer that rage toward me.”

  Mike straightened. “I recognize that tone, Brianna. Don’t try to cure this guy. Some people are beyond help. Don’t even go there.”

  Her shoulders stiffened and her eyes shone with exasperation. “Don’t play mind reader with me, Michael. You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

  “This guy is a loony,” Mike retorted. “He’s a very dangerous man. He’s not some misguided soul who was frightened by his potty chair when he was two.” Mike grimaced, then shook his head. Dammit, why did I say that? He glanced at Brianna. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  Brianna cast a shuttered look at him. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, her tone cool, “I think I’ll see if I can help Bailey or something.” She turned and strode from his office.

  Liam looked at the closed door, then back to Mike. “I think you’ve just lost your objectivity, partner. What in hell got into you?”

  Mike rubbed his face. “Dammit, Liam, I know that I-want-to-save-the-world look of hers. If she starts thinking that maybe she can save this guy, she won’t take him seriously. He’s dangerous, and she’s got to be made to understand that.”

  “Okay, okay. She’s a smart lady. She knows the stalker can be dangerous. She was the one who went eye-to-eye with the orderly, remember?”

  “My point exactly. Brianna went eye-to-eye with him before she knew he might be the stalker. This guy is dangerous. He’s close by, and I think she sees him or passes him every day. Which means he’s in a position of harming her before she can call out for help.” He pounded his fist. “And if I’m right, I may not be able to keep
him from her.”

  Liam stood up and leaned his hip against the corner of the desk. “Okay, Mike. What do you want me to do?”

  When Mike looked up, all tension was gone. In its place was a cold, frosty stare. “Once you install the new dead-bolt lock on her waiting-room door. I want you to install a video camera inside her office.”

  “Do you think the lady will sit still for having her clients taped?” Liam’s mouth tightened. “We could lose our license over this, not to mention a host of lawsuits if anyone found out. And they will, you know.”

  Mike’s jaw clenched. “I’m not suggesting something illegal. We have enough evidence in your report to get a judge to sign a court order. Lieutenant Mercer owes us quite a few things. See if he can hurry this through to someone who can get the necessary legal orders so we can install that camera.”

  “What good will the camera do?”

  Mike leaned back and crossed his long legs. “The stalker has lost complete contact with Brianna. He must be getting desperate by now. He doesn’t know where she’s staying, but he does know that she’ll be in her office, like a sitting duck. It’s my guess this is where he’ll strike next. He’ll try another bug, maybe.”

  “Okay. I’ll check with Mercer over at the police department. He’ll know a judge who’ll cooperate. He’s never failed us yet.”

  “Good. You can install the camera so it shows only the front of the office. It will capture whoever enters, but what goes on inside Brianna’s office will remain private.”

  “You’re going to have to tell her about this, you know.”

  Mike looked up. “And I will. But I’ll tell her in my own sweet time, and not before.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I didn’t mean what I said,” Mike told her ten minutes later when he’d caught up with Brianna at the front desk. She was alone, perched on the side chair beside the desk, sipping a steaming mug of coffee.

  She peered at him from over the rim, then put the mug down. “Yes you did,” she said, her eyes bright with hurt.

  Mike came toward her. “I respect your work and what you do. I didn’t put into words what I really meant—”

  “No need to explain, Mike.” Her tone offered no easing of tension. “We’ve had this conversation before. Seven years ago, if memory serves.”

  “Dammit, Bria, I spoke out of fear.” The admission brought a flash of surprise to her eyes. “Yeah, I’m scared. Do you know how I felt when I got your call from the hospital and knew the stalker had had you alone in the elevator?” He looked away, his easy self-confidence suddenly deserting him. An overwhelming uneasiness took over; he felt unsure how to proceed. He wasn’t used to admitting his feelings, especially feelings he wished to hell he didn’t have. But how could he admit to the woman he loved that with all his experience, his know-how, he was afraid he couldn’t protect her?

  “Michael,” she said in a sexy whisper. She stood and came to stand beside him. “I think we really need to talk.”

  He nodded solemnly and glanced at his watch. “Over lunch. Let’s get out of here.”

  For the next twenty minutes, neither one of them spoke until they were seated at a quiet booth inside Clancy’s Pub. After Ben took their orders, Brianna unfolded the napkin in her lap. She was still stunned at the pain in his voice at the admission of feeling that Mike had shared with her. Never had she heard him divulge a weakness in himself. Before today, she wasn’t sure he was capable of such a feat, but a little while ago, Mike Landis had admitted that he was frightened. She was filled with a mixture of joy at the breakthrough and bittersweet longing to comfort him. But to do so might close him away forever. Instead, she took a sip of water and waited for him to speak first.

  He cupped her hand, caressing her fingers as he gazed at her. “I appreciate you, Bria. I’m so proud of you and what you’ve done for the women’s shelter. I didn’t mean to sound as though I discounted your work.”

  She tried not to shiver with the sensations his fingers elicited. She forced her attention on to the subject. “When Bailey showed me the exercise gym and explained the need for security, I realized that, in a way, you and I have the same professional goals. You protect people from those who wish to do them harm, so do I. Our client base might be different, but we strive to help others.”

  His fingers stilled. “I respectfully disagree. To do your job, you need the help of lawyers, police and other agencies for protection. You can’t protect yourself, regardless of how right your cause.”

  She pulled her hand away. “I never said I could. But understanding the sick mind is a tool, as well. If we know how the stalker thinks, it will help us know what he’s going to do next.”

  “Brianna, I need you to promise me you’ll not go off on your own. Promise me, okay?”

  “There you go, treating me like a fool.”

  “Promise me, okay?”

  “Of course I promise.” Any further conversation was halted when the waiter approached with their salads. After he left, she leaned forward and stabbed a fork into a small wedge of tomato.

  “Am I forgiven?” Mike asked, grabbing his goblet of water.

  She twisted her mouth. “For the time being.” She caught his look and was surprised that instead of the lighthearted grin she’d expected, his eyes were dark, his mouth serious.

  “Yes, I accept your apology,” she said barely above a whisper. Oh, Mike, don’t you know it’s okay to be scared? Okay not to be perfect? The words edged in her tight throat. She pushed an arugula leaf around the gold border of her plate. Now who’s not communicating? Why not tell him that being frightened is perfectly natural?

  Because he had turned the tables on her again, and she didn’t know how to handle this sudden change in him. So what if he’d changed? Really changed? Could she risk her heart to find out? No, it was easier to blame him, put the fault of their failed relationship on his inability to confide his feelings to her.

  What if she needed a man to turn away from her? What if she was so afraid of being hurt that she’d rather be alone, unhappy, than to risk opening herself up to him?

  When she glanced back at her plate, unshed tears stung her eyes. She put down her fork. “I—I guess I’m not very hungry.” She didn’t look at him as she grabbed her bag and headed for the powder room.

  When she returned to the table a few minutes later, he was on the cell phone, talking to Bailey.

  “Anything new?” she asked, noticing Mike’s serious expression. He broke off the call and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. Leaning forward, he put his forearms on the table. “Bailey ran a check on some of the people from your list. Did you know that the doorman at your apartment house has a criminal record?” He noticed the surprise light her eyes, but she recovered quickly. “Has he ever said anything or done anything—”

  “I didn’t know about his record, that’s true. But lots of people make mistakes, Mike. That doesn’t make them criminals. In fact, I remember when you were sixteen. If you hadn’t had the good luck to come before a judge who saw in you a decent boy who just made a mistake, you would have a criminal record, too.”

  “I’ve never forgotten what your uncle did for me, Brianna. Okay, I agree with you. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check out everyone with whom you come into contact.”

  “My doorman, Mr. Farentino, has always been polite, with impeccable manners. His daughter is a senior in high school and makes Christmas wreaths. I buy one every year.” She shrugged. “Checking everybody with whom I come in contact each day is going to take years.”

  “Not with our contacts. Once you give me the final list of names, it will be a matter of hours before we have them processed.” He leaned back and studied her. “Bailey also mentioned that your secretary’s ex-husband has a criminal record.”

  Brianna shot her head around. “Yes, that’s why he’s Simone’s ex.” She took a deep breath. “Mike, I’ve known her for four years. She was volunteering at the women’s shelter when I first met
her. Her ex had done everything he could to destroy her self-confidence. After much therapy and dating more Mr. Wrongs than you can imagine, Simone has her life straightened around and she’s just recently met a man. He’s moved into her apartment building. He has a cat, like she has. He’s Lithuanian, like she is. They love opera. He makes her potato cepeliniai…” She saw Mike’s eyebrows arch in a puzzled look. “Potato pancakes,” she explained. “His mother’s recipe.”

  “I’d like the name of this new boyfriend.”

  “Oh, Mike!” She shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t want to cooperate, but I don’t want to alarm Simone. She’s finally met someone who—” She waved her hand. “Oh, never mind. You’re the professional. If you think we need to drill her about her friend, fine.”

  Mike gave a relieved sigh. “It’s for Simone’s own protection, too.”

  Brianna jotted another line in the small notebook in front of her. “Okay, so far you want a list of my clients who have had violent partners, a copy of my appointments for the last three months, a list of all people with whom I come in contact during the day. And I shouldn’t mention to Simone about the listening devices.” She looked up. “Anything else?”

  IN THE ELEVATOR on the way up to her office, Brianna tried not to think of the stalker or that he’d ridden the same elevator she and Mike were now on, but she couldn’t erase the face of Leonard Braewood from her mind. “I know it’s good for me to confront my fears, but I can’t help thinking about him whenever I’m in an elevator,” Brianna whispered to Mike.

  “Remember, I’m here, honey. That’s what’s important.”

  “I know, but…” She drew her hand through her hair. “He hasn’t given us so much as a clue as to why he’s doing this. Not that it would make any difference. But it all seems so crazy.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I promise you, we’ll get him.”

  She looked up at his handsome face and smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  The elevator stopped with a soft thud and the doors whooshed open. As they stepped into the corridor, they heard voices at the end of the hall.