“We’re not paid enough to put that many men on it.” Flynn sounded indignant. “Besides, isn’t protecting her your job?”
“Sure.” Travis wanted to shove the guy right in his smug face—though he had a point. “But wouldn’t you like to show the execs who pay your bills how much better you are than the cops?”
“Maybe. But we’re doing exactly what we were hired to do.”
“And that is…?” As little as they could get away with. But Travis didn’t say that.
“We screen people coming in and out. We patrol the building and garage on a schedule, plus do random rounds.”
“You haven’t added security cameras to record entrances and exits. Any reason why not?”
“We weren’t paid to.”
It was all Travis could do not to sing along with that anticipated tune. But the guy was right. A good video system had a high price. Was it worth it here?
Yeah, if it’d catch Farley. Even if the guy had been in the security business, knew the tricks, he’d not be able to knock out surveillance stuff up high but in plain view, wired to avoid tampering. Travis would make sure some high-tech zingers were added fast, even if just temporarily, before the bash next week.
“But with all you’ve been doing,” Travis said, “Farley got by you, at least twice. Why is that?” When Flynn opened his mouth, Travis beat him to the punch. “Yeah, I know, he’s gotten past me, too. What do you say we coordinate better, Flynn? Who knows? Maybe that way we’ll actually catch the SOB.”
THAT MEETING HURT, Travis acknowledged to himself as he pushed the little yellow cart out of the elevator onto the eighth and top floor of the Center. But he’d had to do it. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that the farce of a security force actually could come in handy. But there were only so many guys assigned here from “L” Platoon, and sometimes being out in the open evoked even more results than all the covert stuff in the world.
He knocked on the first office door. “Goody time,” he told the receptionist for the retired judges officed inside, guys who did both mediations and formal courtlike trials.
He described some fake two-for-one coffee and doughnut offer he made up on the spot, the better to get a look at as many people in the place as possible. Only then did he go into his spiel about how ugly that bomb scare had been the other day, and had anyone seen anything suspicious? After all, he was putting together entertainment for the big anniversary celebration next week, and he sure didn’t want to bring his performing buddies into a hotbed of danger.
Everyone agreed. But no one had seen anything worth gossiping about either on the day of the bomb scare or otherwise.
He hit all the offices on the floor. The seventh story housed several mock courtrooms, all busy, so he couldn’t interrupt. The fifth floor, too. But he visited as many offices as he could.
Nothing useful. But it gave him an excuse to smile into a lot of faces that he studied, looking for Farley.
Didn’t find him, though.
He took his time at the sixth-floor offices of A-S. Not that he expected to learn anything new there. But he made it a point to check whether Snail was doing a good job as Dianna’s secretary-bodyguard. He was.
Dianna didn’t seem too pleased, but at least she was safe. And seeing her was the main reason Travis wasn’t in a big hurry to leave….
He talked to Beth. The pretty receptionist was still bent out of shape that he’d shoved his cart by her, burst in on her bosses. Maybe they’d made a stink about it.
“I don’t understand why they didn’t kick you out,” she said, pouting. “They never order that kind of stuff.” She looked him square in the face. “What are you really selling them?”
“Love Potion Number Ten.” He grinned and pulled a ten-dollar bill from behind her ear. “Better than number nine any day.”
Though she laughed, her gaze remained speculative. Was there a reason for her curiosity besides good old bulldog loyalty?
When he finally made it downstairs to the lobby again, he pushed his cart into the little coffee shop, giving a big, friendly grin when its bad-tempered owner Bill Hultman hustled over and tried to shoo him out. The background check Travis had ordered on him had been clean. That didn’t mean the guy was perfect, just not caught at anything bad…yet.
Was it show, or did Hultman really think about getting out of his lease by setting a bomb? He got a lot of customers from out on the plaza. What if one was Farley?
“Got a business proposition for you, Bill,” Travis said, deflating his pumped-up ire. “I don’t just sell food. I represent some entertainers who’ll be here next week for the big anniversary celebration. Giving a show attracts a lot more customers.” But though his lead-in convinced Hultman to let him question his employees about things they’d heard and seen—ostensibly to make sure Travis didn’t lead his buddies astray about their performing gig—no one reported anything amiss.
Not even any crazed customers talking to their boss.
He even spoke with the managers of the bank and the convenience store. The bank had its own security. He made a mental note to have his boss secure copies of their videotapes. He’d let Dianna watch them, see if she recognized Farley.
It was late by then. He’d pretty well wasted the whole day. He checked in again with Snail, made sure Dianna was okay, then headed out to the Van Nuys Police Station. There, he went up to the second floor—actually the third floor, since the fifties-vintage building’s basement was really street level. Travis talked to some of the detectives he knew. They’d kept in touch with the Bomb Squad, coordinated with investigators who’d been working the explosion at the redevelopment area downtown, near the Convention Center.
Still a waste of a day. No one knew anything.
Damn.
As Travis helped Manny pack up his stuff for the day, his cell phone rang.
“Lieutenant, it’s Snail.”
Travis’s gut became one huge mass of painful spikes. “What’s wrong with Dianna?” He began sprinting inside as he continued to speak.
“Nothing, but she’s gone.”
“What do you mean? I told you to—”
“To stick with her. Right. Except when she went to the john, and that’s what she did. I think. See, she told me she intended to go home with Jeremy Alberts and his little girl, who came here after school. I said I’d come along, and she got mad. So, I told her I’d call you. She told me she’d rather I be the one to tag along, just to wait till she was out of the rest room and we’d catch up with the Alberts. Only—”
“Only she gave you the slip. Damn it, Snail—”
“Yes, sir,” said the glum voice at the other end.
“FREE!” Dianna whispered as she turned on the lights in the basement of Englander Center.
For now.
Travis would probably have poor Snail’s tail for letting her out of his sight, but she couldn’t stand it any longer. She hated feeling like this: under a microscope, every second of every hour.
But she’d come spontaneously, telling no one, and made sure she wasn’t followed. Even brought a can of mace in her pocket, just in case. She was prepared. Alert.
Of course she’d hate it worse if she had another day like yesterday, where Farley continuously found ways to frighten her.
Later, she would call Travis from the Alberts’ and let him chew her out, stay the night again. That torture—unfulfilled desire—was the worst punishment he could give her, other than handing her over to Farley.
She’d called several subcontractors today to make appointments for them to see this area. She would obtain bids, then A-S would hire the subcontractors to get her children’s day-care-playroom started. She’d neglected it long enough.
But was it a totally unachievable dream? This room looked worse each time she visited it. Or maybe removing the trash only called attention to its shabbiness. But surely a new plastering job and bright paint would get rid of the cracks in the walls, and a nice floor with designated play areas, the
right staff—it would be wonderful when she finished it.
If she finished it.
If she lived long enough…
Damn! Farley wasn’t going to intimidate her like that. Still, she reached for her cell phone. She should call Travis, to avoid being alone. Instead, she took the elevator upstairs.
“Ms. Englander!” Cal Flynn hurried over to her. “Are you by yourself?” He peered behind her into the empty elevator.
“Not anymore. Would you mind walking me to my car?”
“Not at all.”
And that gave Dianna an excuse not to call Travis. She’d get in touch with him. Soon.
But for the moment, she’d continue to enjoy her freedom.
Only, as she thanked Cal and headed her little red car down the ramp, she realized she missed her ornery, overbearing bodyguard. Which was all the more reason to request that he send someone else over to watch over her that night.
It most likely wouldn’t be poor Snail, after she’d given him the slip. Travis would probably sic someone as sticky as he was on her after that.
She headed her car south, onto Van Nuys Boulevard.
At six in the evening, the civic center was no longer crowded. Most official business was concluded by late afternoon. Since it was winter, the streets were dark, though the streetlights rained soft illumination.
She approached an intersection, realizing at nearly the last moment that the light was already amber, about to turn red. She stepped on the accelerator and made it through, then glanced guiltily to make sure no cop had observed that ungraceful maneuver.
As she looked into the rearview mirror, she noticed that a car had followed her through the intersection—on the red light. “Wow, you’ve really got guts,” she murmured into her empty car.
Except for road noises, only quiet surrounded her, so she turned her radio to a news station.
She scanned the road, slowed for traffic ahead, then glanced into the rearview mirror again to make sure no one was about to thump into her.
That same car was awfully close to her rear bumper.
Just some bad driver, she tried to convince herself. Yet, at the next opportunity, she made a quick right turn without a signal.
So did the car behind her.
Oh, heavens! She couldn’t make out the driver in the darkness, or even the car, except that it was a whole lot bigger than her little sports vehicle—a minivan, maybe, or an SUV. Light color.
She made another unheralded maneuver, to further convince herself she was being followed.
She was.
Her heart thumped at triple its normal rate. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away. She didn’t dare allow anything to interfere with her vision or any other sense she might use to get herself out of this.
Especially touch. She reached for her cell phone and pushed the button to recall recently phoned numbers. She called Travis.
Only then did she realize the mistake she’d made. She should have stayed on Van Nuys Boulevard, a main thoroughfare. Now, she was on a side street, with fewer cars and dimmer lights.
What was she going to do?
“Dianna?” Thank God! Travis’s calm but irritated baritone sounded in her ear, a little tinny due to cell phone static. His caller ID had told him who she was.
“Travis, I’m in trouble. I think it’s Farley. I’m in my car, somewhere on Cedros Avenue, I think. I’m being followed.” She heard a sob in her voice but got herself back under control. “Where are you? Can you help me?”
If only she’d listened to him. Called him before. If only—
“Yeah, I can help you,” he said, just as the car behind her speeded up and pulled alongside her.
She nearly screamed—till she got a good look at the driver.
And then she swore aloud.
The person in the driver’s seat of the other car was Travis, his cell phone held to his ear.
He didn’t look at all happy.
TRAVIS WASN’T USED to helping kids with homework.
But after giving Dianna the usual chewing out—stronger this time, since she’d gotten Snail in trouble—he’d given in to her plea. She’d been on her way to the Alberts’ to help Julie.
He’d followed her there.
Nice place they lived in. Studio City, up in the hills, behind a security gate and winding, eucalyptus-lined driveway. There must have been money in real estate development.
Now, they all sat in a kitchen the size of his Hollywood apartment. Maybe bigger. The table was glass on wrought-iron, with matching chairs whose seats were covered with green pillows.
Jeremy, who’d removed his tie and loosened the top buttons of his white shirt, was reading a stack of mail that was more than Travis received in a month. His thin cheeks were sucked in as he scowled at something. Probably a bill. Maybe worrying over them had been what caused his hair to go gray. He sat across the wide table from Travis, nearest Dianna. Of course.
Travis had already figured that the guy had the hots for his employee. Who didn’t?
“But I don’t care if Indianapolis is the capital of Indiana,” Julie was wailing. She was at Dianna’s other side, where Travis wanted to be. Instead, he sat at Julie’s left.
Poor kid. He hadn’t cared, either, at her age.
But then, at her age, he’d tried damned hard to learn that garbage anyway. He’d always assumed that, if his grades were good, the latest foster family wouldn’t send him back so fast.
Usually, he’d been wrong.
“Your test is in two days,” Dianna said patiently. She, too, looked more relaxed away from the office—though he could only wish she’d loosen a few buttons of her soft and clingy cream-colored blouse so that he could drool over her soft curves even more….
Of course he could see the blue and green bruising at her neck now, not all hidden by her shoulder-length blond hair. He grimaced as he realized how tight his fist was clenched.
“If you don’t study now,” Dianna continued, pointing a slender finger toward the page in the textbook, “you won’t learn it, and—”
“And let’s give the kid a little incentive here,” Travis interrupted, drawing his attention back to the little girl with long hair spilling down the back of her knit top. The sooner they got her on the right track, the sooner they’d get out of here. Back to Dianna’s place, he figured. She’d had the cleaning crew in, so he doubted he’d convince the stubborn woman to spend the night somewhere else.
Like at his teensy, dingy flat.
“What do you mean, Travis?” Julie asked.
“Well, first, you’re right. Memorizing fifty states and all their capitals is the pits. It’s just names. But what if you plan to visit them someday? That’ll make it more interesting.”
Julie’s young brow furrowed skeptically. “But what’s to visit in Indianapolis?” She singsonged the name.
“You gotta be kidding! Ever hear of the Indy 500?”
She shook her head.
“It’s only one of the greatest annual car races there is.” As the kid’s eyes brightened, Travis went on, “Bet you can find out something about each of these towns, though they won’t all be fantastic car races. Honolulu, Hawaii, has the hula, and Juneau, Alaska, has a glacier you can nearly walk up to.”
“Wow!” Julie said, showing her slightly crooked teeth in a large grin.
“Tell you what,” Travis said. “You study now for half an hour. When you’re done, tell me what you’d like to see in a dozen capitals, and then I’ll give you another juggling lesson. And if you ace that test, you and I will spend a whole afternoon together juggling one of these days.”
“Yeah!” Julie said, taking the study guide eagerly from the smiling Dianna.
Too bad the kid’s father’s glare didn’t look so happy.
Get over it, Travis thought.
“THAT WAS REALLY NICE of you,” Dianna told Travis later, when they were at her house.
She’d known he would suggest that she spend the night somew
here else, even the Alberts’, but she wanted to go home. To make sure the cleaning crew had gotten everything.
To assure herself that Farley wasn’t in control of her life.
“Yeah, I’m just a nice guy.” Travis’s sexy leer belied his words. Good thing they were in her living room with the TV turned to the day’s news. He leaned back on a comfortable chair, his jeans pulled taut at the thighs as he crossed one leg over the other. The lights were bright, the atmosphere not at all conducive to lustful thoughts.
Otherwise, she just might want to do something about the pulse of desire that shot through her.
“A nice guy who’s spending entirely too much time on the job,” she observed. “Don’t you ever take any R and R?”
“Every day, when I’m juggling,” he said. He sounded serious. Maybe he was serious.
She certainly didn’t find juggling relaxing. Fun, but not relaxing.
“I really enjoyed our lesson,” she told him, meaning it. Julie had put in the required study time, and Travis had kept his promise, tutoring her in juggling. He’d invited Dianna to join in, and she’d jumped at the opportunity. Travis hadn’t had his usual equipment along, so he’d practiced with tennis balls with Julie, and Dianna had gotten her wish: working with knives. Blunt, safe butter knives from a kitchen drawer, to be sure, but he had assured her that the techniques were the same with the brutal, sharp blades he tossed. Dianna was proud of how well she’d done, but she’d really had to concentrate.
Now, Travis took a swig of the imported beer she had handed him from her refrigerator. Right from the bottle, of course. No wimpy glasses for Lt. Travis Bronson.
She, on the other hand, had decided on a glass of merlot. Probably a bad idea. Didn’t alcohol minimize inhibitions? Maybe she would turn her feigned seduction of Travis real that night. It’d be his own fault, since he’d insisted on staying here rather than getting some other member of his team to babysit her.
As if she wanted a babysitter. And she wasn’t exactly a pro at seduction.
But she did like the feeling of security it gave her to have someone here, after Farley’s last barrage. Particularly Travis. He’d claimed to have been joking about being willing to give his life to protect her, but deep down she knew it was real.
Guardian of Her Heart Page 13
