Guardian of Her Heart

by Linda O. Johnston

  The thunk it made told the tale. Farley went slack.

  FOR A LONG MOMENT, Travis didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  His shoulder hurt like hell.

  He wasn’t sure what Dianna had done, but whatever it was, it had taken care of Farley—for the moment.

  Travis rolled so that he, and not Farley, was on top. Bastard. Was he playing possum? Travis checked the man’s closed eyes, his pulse. Farley didn’t move. Definitely unconscious.

  “Did I kill him?” Was that hopefulness in Dianna’s voice? Travis couldn’t tell. Pain overshadowed his reason just then.

  “He’s alive.” Travis’s voice sounded thick even to him. “That’s good. I want to see him stand trial.”

  “He has to pay for all he’s done,” Dianna agreed.

  The jerk still held the rope he’d obviously planned to use on Dianna. Travis felt too weak to be sure he could control the guy, so he rolled him again and tied his hands behind his back, then tested the knots. They held.

  He retrieved his knife from the floor, careful to touch only the edges. It would be evidence of what happened here. He glanced admiringly toward Dianna. “We’ll turn you into a juggler yet.” His words were slurring even more now, damn it.

  “We need to find you help,” Dianna said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Soon,” Travis agreed. He slowly drew himself to his feet, then turned to face the bomb. “That thing armed?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice shook. She stared at him as if he was going to blow apart even as she watched.

  Not now. He had too much to do.

  Travis hunched over as he loped unevenly toward the bomb. Damn, he hurt. He bent and looked at the nasty contraption. “The timer’s not set yet. We can get the explosives guys here.”

  “Okay. I’ll call for help.” Dianna, standing over him, reached into her purse for her cell phone.

  And then, with a gasp, she fell to her knees. He shook his head to clear it. What was she doing?

  Before he could figure it out, she picked up that big concrete rock she’d used before against Farley.

  Suddenly, Travis’s head was rocked with pain, and everything went dark.

  “TRAVIS? TRAVIS, please wake up.”

  He didn’t want to, damn it. He hurt too much. All over. Mostly his head. But how could he resist, with Dianna’s sweet voice enticing him?

  “Hey, lieutenant. Gotta wake up now.”

  Startled, Travis opened his eyes. Dianna was there—a couple of her. His vision was blurred. Snail was there, too. They both leaned over him.

  What the hell was Snail doing here? And where was “here”?

  He remembered all at once what had happened. Sort of. He glanced around. They were still in the basement.

  “Bomb?” he croaked.

  “The Bomb Squad guys have it,” Snail replied. “It wasn’t set, but if it had been, it could have caused a bit of a mess.”

  Yeah. Like the end of Englander Center.

  Travis started to sit up but was gently pushed back down.

  “Hold on there, lieutenant,” said an unfamiliar voice, and a uniformed emergency medical technician began to work on him. “Let’s count your wounds, shall we?”

  Travis only grunted as the pain intensified.

  “Will he be all right?” That was Dianna’s voice, sounding as if she cared. Maybe this agony was even worth it.

  Dianna. This agony. The cement block…

  “What happened?” Travis demanded, sitting up. Damn. That hurt like hell.

  “You were playing hero, boss,” Snail said. “Too bad that turd Farley’s dead. He—”

  “What do you mean, dead? He’s alive. I checked him.”

  “Not with a slug the size of the San Fernando Valley in his chest.”

  “But—”

  “Just relax,” said the EMT.

  “He didn’t see,” said Dianna’s voice. “And I don’t know who it was. The person was in disguise. He hit Travis over the head, then shot Farley.”

  “What!” But Travis couldn’t quite take it in. The EMT must have drugged him, for he lost consciousness again.

  THE NEXT TIME Travis woke up, he was in a hospital. He could tell by the god-awful medical smell and the ugly, sterile stuff surrounding him. He opened his eyes.

  “You’re awake,” Dianna said unnecessarily. But having her there was certainly necessary. She looked like an angel, soft hair falling over her face as she bent her head to look at him. Her pretty blue eyes were narrowed—surely she wasn’t worried about him. But those lips he’d loved to taste were smiling.

  “You’ll be fine,” she continued. “The bullet took a chunk out of your shoulder but didn’t hit bone. You just need rest.”

  It all rushed back to him then. “But Farley—”

  “You don’t have to worry about him now. None of us do.”

  Travis struggled to sit up. Damn it all, there was a needle stuck in his arm, an IV. He hated needles. “He was alive.”

  “No, Travis,” Dianna said gently. “He’s dead.”

  That brought him fully awake. He scowled. “He was alive,” he repeated. “I checked him.”

  “The person who hit you over the head grabbed Farley’s gun from the floor and shot him.”

  “What? Who?” This made no sense. Travis had wanted the guy alive, so he’d stand trial, suffer knowing that he’d be punished for the ugly stuff he’d done. And he’d been alive.

  He remembered a little more now. Dianna’s lifting a lump of concrete from the floor. The pain.

  What had Dianna said? “He has to pay for what he’s done.”

  He’d thought she was agreeing that Farley had to stand trial. Instead… What had she done?

  He reached out and grabbed Dianna’s arm. Something on his face must have told her he’d remembered, for her eyes widened. She looked afraid.

  “Why did you kill him, Dianna?” Travis demanded.

  A BRAND-NEW NIGHTMARE. That was all Dianna could think a while later as she remained in Travis’s hospital room. They weren’t alone. His boss, Captain Hayden Lee had joined them. The senior policeman looked as grim as Travis did.

  At first she’d believed Travis was hallucinating. Now she knew better.

  “It’s true,” she told them. Too upset to sit, she paced Travis’s tiny room, edging past Captain Lee in the stiff chair beside Travis’s bed. “Someone rushed in the door and hit Travis over the head with something. I grabbed the nearest thing I could, a piece of concrete, since Travis had taken back his knife and Farley’s gun. I wasn’t fast enough. As Travis lost consciousness, whoever it was grabbed the gun and shot Farley.”

  “And your description of this mysterious stranger was what?” Dianna cringed once more at the cynicism in Travis’s voice.

  “He wore all black, including gloves, and had a ski mask over his face. It happened so fast that I can’t tell you more.”

  “Yeah.”

  The moisture in Dianna’s eyes threatened to spill over at Travis’s continued cynicism, but she refused to let it.

  One horror in her life was over. Farley was dead.

  But now Travis was trying to hang her for it. Accusing her of murdering an unconscious man.

  And she’d no proof her story was true.

  “And what had you just said about Farley a little earlier?” Travis asked. Again. They were rehashing details in front of his boss now, but this was the third or fourth time they had gone over it all.

  “I said he had to pay for all he’d done,” she whispered.

  She saw the glance that passed between Travis and Hayden Lee.

  How could Travis believe that of her? He knew her better than that, didn’t he?

  Not really. They’d been good in bed together. But he’d never indicated that their apparent relationship was anything more than maintaining his damnable cover.

  He’d berated her over and over for not following his orders. She’d done what she’d needed to maintain her dignity. To sur
vive.

  She’d fallen in love with another domineering man. But this one didn’t love her back.

  Instead, he believed her a murderer.

  She could almost feel the handcuffs on her wrists….

  “I’m sorry you don’t believe me,” she said. “I can’t prove that what I’ve said is true. But you can’t prove it isn’t, either. I admit I hated Farley, but I didn’t kill him.”

  Slowly, she walked from Travis’s hospital room, leaving a piece of her heart there with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two days had passed since the anniversary fiasco.

  Two days in which Dianna couldn’t sleep, hardly ate, and cringed each time the phone rang, both here in her office and at home.

  Not that she expected any more hang-ups, or messages, from Farley.

  It was late evening now, dark outside her windows. Dark inside her. She should go home. Why? To listen to her messages there as she just did here?

  Why bother?

  She straightened papers on her already neat desk. It had been hard over the past days to concentrate on work, but, then, there had been little work for the manager of Englander Center to do. After a second bomb threat, the public wasn’t exactly waiting in line to come here for alternate dispute resolution.

  She’d just replayed nearly a dozen messages. Two were cancellations. None had been from prospective customers. Most were the media.

  Three were from Travis.

  Though her heart leapt at the sound of his voice, his assurance that he was doing well, she had refused to call him back. He wanted to talk to her, he said.

  Why? To interrogate her further about how he believed she killed Farley when he was unconscious? Dianna shut her eyes as pain surged through her again.

  She had lowered her guard, permitted herself to care again for a man who was sure he should be in charge, that everyone should take orders from him.

  And since she didn’t meekly comply, he considered her capable of murder.

  The media had picked up on the idea. Though they had dutifully reported her story of an “alleged” masked assailant who’d administered Farley’s finishing shot, it was obvious no one bought it.

  Media coverage had been vile. The whole horror of Brad’s murder was rehashed over and over on television, the radio, newspapers. Even the most objective commentators seemed to assume she’d jumped on the opportunity to avenge Brad’s death. Dianna expected to see even more when the next issues of weekly news magazines were published.

  She particularly wasn’t looking forward to the way the tabloids would sensationalize the whole thing.

  Over and over, she replayed the scene in her mind. Who could it have been? Farley had hinted in his calls at being paid this time for his threats. The only person she could think of who would believe he’d benefit from the destruction of Englander Center was Bill Hultman. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to talk to him, but—

  Her phone rang again. She let it roll over into voice mail. And then, since it would be her last call before she left for home, she listened to the message.

  “Dianna, it’s Travis. I’m coming over right now. I know you’re still there, so wait for me.”

  Sure she would. Just like she’d welcome him with open arms.

  She was aware he’d been released from the hospital only today. He would know she was still at her office since he’d ordered his men to continue to keep an eye on her. She saw Snail around a lot, talking to Beth, as usual. But he wasn’t there to flirt. This time, his presence wasn’t for Dianna’s protection, either. It was undoubtedly to see if she’d do something to give herself away, prove she’d murdered Farley.

  Maybe to keep her from fleeing L.A.

  She sighed and removed her purse from a bottom desk drawer. She wasn’t a quitter. And flight wouldn’t diminish her current notoriety.

  A knock sounded on her open office door. Startled, she looked up. Had Travis gotten here so soon?

  No, it was Jeremy. “I thought I still heard you here,” he said. “How are you doing, Dianna?”

  “Fine,” she lied.

  His morose eyes slid over her. She figured he saw through her fib. She’d put on one of her nicest business pantsuits this morning—charcoal, with a beige silk shirt—but it seemed to hang on her. When she had last refreshed her makeup, it hadn’t done much to hide the dark circles beneath her eyes or the gauntness in her cheeks.

  “I’m glad,” he said. He stepped inside and leaned against the door, straightening his suit jacket. “Care to join me for dinner?”

  “Not tonight, thanks.” Then, to change the subject, Dianna asked, “How’s Julie?”

  “Resilient, thank heavens. She’s at a friend’s house right now working on a school project. I’ll pick her up soon. She was so scared when we finally found each other outside the Center that day, so afraid you were going to die. Fortunately, Beth saw her first and kept her safe until we located one another.”

  “That bastard Farley told me right in front of her that he intended to kill me.” Iciness inched its way up Dianna’s back once again, but she refused to let the horror get to her any longer. She was alive. And safe—at least from Farley. He’d never stalk her again.

  “It’s been hard on you, hasn’t it? I’m very sorry. But it’ll be over soon.”

  “It is over,” she said firmly. “The police won’t be able to prove I killed Farley because I didn’t.”

  “Of course. Tell you what. If you can stand going back downstairs, come to the basement with me now and show me your plan to develop the child-care center. Though it may be gruesome to say, the company is getting some insurance proceeds from poor Wally’s death, and I want to use it for your nursery.”

  “Really? That’s kind of you, Jeremy.”

  “No, it’s good business.” But the way he looked at her, expectation of some sort written all over his face, made her uneasy. She thought she’d let him down gently enough, made it clear that she was not attracted to him. If he funded her project, maybe he’d feel she would have to do something in return, like show some interest in him.

  But the project had merit. And he was right. It was good business. Might even draw people back to Englander Center…eventually.

  “Sure,” she told him, vowing to make clear again, at an appropriate moment, that she would not date him. “I’ll show you what I have in mind.”

  Of course Travis was on his way here. Cal Flynn’s security team would let him into the building, but he would see she hadn’t waited for him.

  The idea of seeing him again, even so he could interrogate her, sent a pang of longing through her.

  Foolish woman.

  Jeremy and she talked about trivialities on the elevator ride down to the lobby: Julie’s schoolwork. Jeremy’s plans for A-S in the future. He and Wally had been discussing ideas for their next development project before Wally’s death. People with proposals had been parading through the A-S offices for weeks.

  In the lobby, they got on an elevator in a separate bank for the journey to the basement.

  And as the door opened on the dimly-lighted underground area, Dianna stifled a gasp.

  She remembered now where she had seen the person Farley had last been, in his disguise here in the basement where he had died.

  In the A-S office suite.

  He’d been there one day after school when Julie had been around. When she’d mentioned him as Mr. Glen when she was held captive down here, mentioned her dad, it hadn’t been because Farley had introduced himself that horrible day.

  Julie knew him.

  Jeremy knew him.

  But—

  “Come inside, Dianna,” Jeremy said. His calm voice had suddenly taken on a note of menace.

  “You know, I forgot that Travis is meeting me upstairs. I’d better—”

  “You’d better come here.” Jeremy took her arm. She tried to pull away gently, but his grip tightened like a vise.

  “Please, Jeremy. I need to go.”


  “What you need is to stay here.” He yanked on her arm, and she stumbled into the dank, gloomy room that was to be transformed into her child-care center.

  She drew in her breath at what she saw in the faint illumination. In the center of the floor sat the same kind of contraption that had been there two days earlier.

  A bomb.

  “What’s this about, Jeremy?” she asked, trying not to allow him to lead her farther into the room. But despite his greater age and his apparent slightness, he was strong. He shoved her so she nearly hit the closest wall.

  “It’s about Englander Center,” he said. “And about you, and my wife and Glen Farley.” He pointed a gun at her. Where had it come from? Not that it mattered. He aimed it at her heart.

  “I…I don’t understand,” Dianna whispered, her eyes on his weapon.

  “You know Farley came to see me in the A-S offices a couple of times in disguise, don’t you? If you didn’t recall it before, I figured you would eventually.”

  Dianna leaned against the wall for support as her mind raced. Maybe she could get Jeremy to explain. “I remembered seeing him with the same makeup on that he wore down here,” she admitted. “But how did you know him?”

  “It wasn’t easy tracking him down when all those law enforcement agencies failed after he killed Brad. But I enticed him to come to me. There are those magazines for mercenaries, and I placed a rather well-worded ad. Since you do promotional work, you’d be proud of how I did it—couched in trivialities yet obviously aimed at telling him I’d pay him to get the revenge he himself wanted.”

  “Against me?”

  “Of course.”

  “But why?”

  “It’s your own fault.” There was no pleasantness in Jeremy’s tone or on his face now. His ugly scowl suggested he was ready to pull the trigger. “You had to make Englander Center your own. Come down here and develop your wonderful idea of a child-care center. But as soon as you started, tried to pull permits, the truth would have been revealed. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t already suspect it.” He pointed behind Dianna.