Guardian of Her Heart

by Linda O. Johnston

  He didn’t continue to stand there but followed her down the hall. “I’d say it’s very much my concern,” he contradicted as she reached the door to A-S Development. “So, will you tell me what the problem is, or do I have to follow you all morning?”

  She sucked in her breath. “No, thank you, Lt. Bronson,” she hissed. “It wasn’t anything. Just a phone call with no one at the other end.”

  “I see. Was that the only time?”

  She sagged against the hallway wall. “No,” she admitted. With a sigh, she found herself telling him of the spate of hang-ups, the myriad of non-messages on her answering machine. “I figure it’s Glen Farley trying to unnerve me.”

  “Sounds like he’s succeeding,” Travis said. “Let me come in, make some calls, and we’ll use his little trick against him, okay?”

  Dianna didn’t want to feel heartened by this man or what he said or did, but the way he took her at her word with no proof made her feel light-headed with relief. “How do we do that?”

  “If we can trace those calls, we’ll find him. And arrest him. And, bingo, he won’t bother you any more.”

  She hadn’t imagined she’d feel like grinning right then, but she did. “As simple as that?”

  “Almost.” He smiled back and they both entered the office suite.

  The reception area was empty, though the door was unlocked. “Wally?” Dianna called. He didn’t respond, so she looked into his office. He wasn’t there. “He gets here early,” Dianna said, “and opens the door. He sometimes goes back out for coffee.”

  “Not a good idea to keep the door open like that,” Travis said with a frown.

  “The Englander Dispute Resolution Center is filled with lawyers at this hour of the morning,” Dianna replied with a shrug. “And even they have to go through the security check downstairs.”

  But a minute later, when Travis had followed her into her office, she wished she had not been so cavalier.

  For there was a wrapped package right in the middle of her otherwise clear desk.

  And it was ticking.

  Chapter Four

  Hell. Too bad Travis couldn’t pull a trick from up his sleeve to deal with that.

  “Oh, no. Farley.” Dianna’s whisper was little more than an agonized breath. Her knees appeared to buckle, and she grabbed at the closest chair.

  As Travis snagged Dianna’s arm to support her, he memorized the package in a glance, in case he needed to describe it later: brown paper, like a grocery bag, cellophane tape globbed all over so this present would not be easily unwrapped.

  Not till it unwrapped itself. In one big ka-boom!

  ’Course it might not be a bomb. Yeah, it could just be a tiny teddy bear with a bad heart.

  And if he believed that, he’d give the next telemarketer who called him his credit card and social security numbers.

  As he studied the ticking SOB, he propelled Dianna in front of him. Not that his body would be much protection if the thing went off. “Let’s get you out of here.” He spoke calmly but was already shoving Dianna from the room. Fast.

  She was shaking, but damned if she didn’t drag her feet.

  “What if it goes off? What about all the other people in the building?”

  “You take care of that out in the hall. Set off the fire alarm. We need to evacuate the place.”

  “Okay. Sure. But what are you going to do?”

  “Deal with the damned bomb.” And he was. Indirectly. Without a hint of finesse, he pushed Dianna through her office door, out of the thankfully still-empty reception area and into the hall. He glanced quickly down the well-lighted corridor. Its off-white walls were decorated generously with wooden molding at upper and lower edges. Carved door frames matched. All attractive stuff but hardly useful… His eyes lit on the fire alarm beneath a sign heralding the emergency exit. “There.” He let go of Dianna’s arm and pointed toward the control box. “Set the damned thing off.”

  “Okay.”

  As she made her way in that direction, he ducked back into the reception area and picked up the phone. He had to use a land line. If the bomb was set to go off by a remote signal, he couldn’t take the chance that his cell phone frequency would do the trick. He’d even shut off the computer if he’d had time, but if it hadn’t set the damn thing off already, it wasn’t likely to.

  He thanked his lucky stars and good memory that he connected first thing with the LAPD Explosives Section. He quickly gave the particulars to the bomb tech who answered the phone.

  And then he hustled into the hall after Dianna.

  Fortunately, he’d completed the call to the bomb squad while he could still hear himself think. The corridor seemed plenty roomy before, but now it filled with the eardrum-shattering blare of the fire alarm. He resisted the urge to cover his ears. There were more important things for his hands to do.

  People began to spill from other doors. Despite the continuing din from the alarm battering his skull, he heard irritable mutters and curses from men and women whose somber suits announced they were part of the legal profession. What, no ordinary folks, like their clients? It was probably too early in the morning, which was good. The building was less crowded.

  At least now Dianna seemed steady enough to leave, only she headed for the elevator bank. “No elevator,” he insisted, waving to direct the surge of people toward the emergency exit. He made sure Dianna was at the head of the line as they reached the door. The narrow but well-lighted stairwell had already begun to fill with people streaming from the two floors above.

  At least the blare of the alarm was muted here, but he still felt it grate against his teeth. He ignored it, putting his hand on the back of Dianna’s dark green jacket. The material felt expensive. Soft to his touch.

  If just her suit gave him tactile fits, he wondered what her light hair that just skimmed the jacket’s collar would feel like.

  Okay, Dumbo, straighten up and do your duty. He pushed gently to propel her into the fray. This was no time to be polite and let others ahead. Not when his job was to take care of the witness who would net him Farley.

  He fought his real inclination. It took every ounce of self-control to follow her downstairs. He wanted to stay, get everyone off the floor. Out of the building. Not play bodyguard to one lady, no matter how pretty she was, how soft or costly her clothes, how necessary her knowledge or powerful her connections. Or how much she appealed to each of his damned senses.

  But she was the core of his mission. He’d make sure she was out and safe, and then do what he had to.

  He’d make damn sure. Never again would someone for whom he was responsible be hurt. Or killed. Like Cassi…

  If she’d only listened to him.

  And so he followed Dianna, one hand on her slim, squared shoulder to make sure she kept moving. He stayed one step above her as they descended.

  Shrill, scared voices reverberated from the stairwell walls. “Is this a drill? Why weren’t we notified? Where’s the fire?”

  Above them all, above the blare of the fire alarm muffled by the stairwell, one strong female voice right in front of him shouted, “It’s probably nothing, everyone. A suspicious package was found. We’re just being cautious and getting everyone out.”

  The voices in the stairwell became louder, more frantic, as people relayed the message to others who hadn’t heard: “Bomb!”

  But Travis had to admire Dianna. Scared as she might be, she was taking charge, calming others.

  Keeping her safe just might wind up being one hell of a worthwhile endeavor. And not just because she could ID Farley.

  “WHAT’S GOING ON?” Jeremy Alberts demanded, maneuvering toward them, suit jacket flapping and dark leather briefcase in hand. “Dianna, are you all right? Why is everyone out here?”

  Dianna and he stood across the street, catty-corner from the second newest structure in the area, with a lot of other people evacuated from Englander Center. They were more than three hundred feet away, which Travis said was
the minimum evacuation area when a bomb was found. Hopefully, the Marvin Braude Center for Constituent Services wouldn’t become the newest building around here again.

  Dianna had also hoped, in this crowd and in the shade of the civic center buildings blocking the early-morning sun, that Jeremy wouldn’t find her immediately. She hated the idea of having to tell him that the center he’d conceived of and built, that now—besides his daughter Julie—was the focus of his world, was in danger of being destroyed.

  She’d been in danger of being destroyed. That wouldn’t sit well with Jeremy, either.

  Dianna felt laughter bubble from somewhere inside her. Realizing it would sound hysterical, she quashed it by taking a deep, calming breath. But Jeremy had made it obvious over and over that he considered her more than an employee, more than a surrogate aunt to Julie. Though Dianna had been careful never to encourage him, he might consider her expendability on a par with his beloved building.

  At least Julie was another matter. His wife, Millie, was dead now, and he loved no one more than his daughter.

  In any event, Dianna didn’t have to answer Jeremy’s questions, for he turned at the sound of sirens coming closer along Van Nuys Boulevard.

  The tall, scowling man beside her had no compunction about responding to Jeremy, though. Travis didn’t even keep his voice lowered, despite the throng of evacuees surrounding them. “There was a little present on Ms. Englander’s desk this morning. Since it ticked, we decided someone else should open it.”

  Hearing the murmur of voices around them segue into shocked exclamations, she glared up at him. “We decided?” What a stupid thing to say. She realized it the moment it left her mouth. But he hadn’t allowed her a shred of choice. Despite her fear, she’d wanted to make sure others got out safely. He hadn’t given her a chance. He’d simply shooed her out of there, as if she was a gnat with no mind of her own.

  Yes, she reminded herself, but she’d been a terribly scared gnat, and now she was a living, unharmed one, maybe thanks to Travis.

  “Pardon me.” His tone was as stony as his glare. “I should have allowed you to unwrap it first, and then if you survived the blast, I’d have issued you an engraved invitation to get into an ambulance to have your bloody hands treated.”

  “Lovely image,” she grumbled, but then added, almost apologetically, “but you’re right. Thanks for getting me out of there safely.”

  She almost grinned at the surprise that arched his sandy brows. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

  “No, thank you. Once was more than enough.”

  She met his gaze and actually did smile, in response to the sudden twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “I’ll make a note of it.” He was one good-looking guy when he wasn’t scowling.

  No, he was a good-looking guy even when he was scowling. But his masculine charm seemed multiplied when he relaxed, even a little.

  “Dianna, tell me about that package. Was it Farley’s work? You weren’t hurt, were you?” Jeremy’s concern jolted Dianna back to reality.

  But again she didn’t have to answer, for the distant sirens had grown louder, and a fleet of police cars screeched up before the building. A few of the vehicles were huge blue SUVs.

  “Hey, what’s happening?” asked Wally Sellers, who joined them. He was panting as if he had run to get there. “Why are the cops here? Is something wrong?”

  “Bomb scare,” growled his partner in a low voice.

  “You’re kidding.” But Wally’s sudden pallor showed that he believed Jeremy. Dianna worried about the chunky, out-of-breath older man. He seemed a prime candidate for a heart attack. “Where’s the bomb? Does anyone know?”

  “Mr. Sellers, Mr. Alberts, you okay?” Cal Flynn, head of the building’s security force, joined them. His blue uniform shirt was untucked, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his round, ursine face. “I’ve got my guys checking the floors for fire, but so far they haven’t found anything. Maybe it’s a false alarm.”

  “Or maybe not,” Travis said. “Get them out. Fast. There’s something that looks like a bomb inside. The bomb disposal unit’ll handle it.”

  Cal uttered an expletive, then yanked the radio from his belt. “I need to tell my guys to make sure everyone’s out.”

  Travis grabbed his hand. “Great idea, but no radio. It might not make a difference out here, but if any of your guys are close to the damn thing, the radio frequency could set it off.” He was pacing, as if it required every bit of self-control to keep himself from—what? Going back inside the building himself?

  Dianna heard the sound of a helicopter overhead and looked up. It was close enough for her to make out the call letters of a local news radio station.

  Damn! The media already knew what was happening.

  “Tell you what, Flynn,” Travis said, standing beside the security man. “I’ve got to go brief those guys on the package.”

  For an irritating instant, Dianna thought he was referring to the media parasites hovering overhead—a highly uncharitable thought for someone whose duties sometimes entailed feeding reporters favorable stories. But Englander Center did not need this kind of publicity. If word got out—no, when word got out—about the threat, it could have horrible repercussions. People would avoid alternate dispute resolution here for the next ten years. No, less, for the Center would fold long before then.

  In any event, she was wrong about Travis, for he wasn’t looking up but across the street, toward where a dozen uniformed police exited their marked vehicles. Some headed toward the milling group, obviously charged with crowd control. Others surrounded the SUVs, and Dianna realized they must have something to do with dealing with bombs. That was confirmed as a few men donned what obviously was heavy-duty protective gear.

  “Flynn, the bomb—the package that could contain a bomb—was in Dianna’s office,” Travis continued, his attention back on the people closest to him. “This juggler just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Good citizen that I am, I’m volunteering to show the bomb guys right where it is. You can be most help here if you keep an eye on Dianna for me. You, too, Jeremy and Wally. Just stick close to Dianna while I do what I have to, okay? If she’s the target, we’ve got to protect her. I have to maintain my cover, and I need your help.”

  “No one needs to—” Dianna began, but Travis kept talking.

  “I’ll be back soon as I can, but for now, don’t let her out of your sight. Keep her in this crowd. You got a cell phone?”

  At Jeremy’s nod, Travis said, “Give me the number.” Wally, always ready with a pocket notebook and pen, jotted it down and handed him the page. “If everything’s clear—when everything’s clear and it’s safe to use the phone, I’ll call you.”

  “Fine, Bronson,” Jeremy acknowledged, stepping closer to Dianna.

  Cal Flynn did not look at all pleased about taking orders from Travis but gave a curt nod.

  Emotions warred inside Dianna. Despite his cover as a glib entertainer, Travis Bronson gave orders to everyone who knew about him. Even security specialists. Even her employers.

  Even her.

  She hated that. Really hated it.

  But what she couldn’t fault was that right now, those orders just might save her life.

  A WHILE LATER, Dianna stood across Van Nuys Boulevard and down the street, still flanked by her three impromptu bodyguards. They’d tried to get her farther away, but crossing the wide avenue and walking a few blocks had been her only concession.

  She glanced at her watch for the zillionth time in the last forty-five minutes and thought about Travis Bronson. Why hadn’t he called Jeremy, as he’d promised?

  He had gone inside the Center to help the other cops. Had he donned protective gear like the bomb squad? He was trying to maintain the pretense of being a street performer. Would the cops let a supposed civilian risk his life? If not, they should have heard from him by now. Like the rest of the crowd, she had been shooed too far away to see who was entering the building.

>   What if the place blew up? She would feel responsible if Travis was injured…or worse.

  And the idea of that vibrant man never being able to juggle or perform card tricks again. Never issuing orders again. Never breathing again…

  “If it was going to explode, it would already have happened, wouldn’t it?” Wally, who leaned against a metal newspaper dispenser, asked as if reading her thoughts.

  But of course they were all thinking about the Center now. What else could they think about?

  “Maybe,” Flynn growled. “Look, guys, I should be there helping.”

  “You’re needed here,” Jeremy contradicted with a scowl. He was the only one of her protectors who didn’t look wilted from the ordeal or the heat. “You’re under orders from the LAPD.” His tone made it clear that, as the one who signed the security company’s checks, Flynn was under his orders, too. “Like Travis said, we have to keep an eye on Dianna.”

  “You really think that Farley SOB will do something worse right now than set a bomb?” Flynn grumbled. The sheen on his face was even moister now, as the Southern California summer morning grew later and warmer. Dianna had her own suit jacket slung over her arm.

  “I don’t want to find out.” Jeremy put an arm around Dianna’s shoulders. She kept herself from pulling away. Even though she’d made it clear that she cared for him like a friend, maybe an uncle, there were times he tested her. She certainly didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He’d been so kind. But she simply couldn’t get involved with another man now. Brad’s death two years earlier still seemed too fresh.

  Besides, there were no sparks when it came to Jeremy.

  Sparks… Her thoughts again turned to Travis, and she immediately focused them back on here. Now. Reality.

  The reality was that Travis had probably gone into a building that might blow up, thanks to one man’s vendetta against her husband…and her. She shuddered.

  Reality was also Jeremy’s arm around her. It tightened at her shaking. “You okay, Dianna?”