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She snatched up her purse from the ground, but Parker got to the umbrella first. He glanced up at the clear blue sky, gave her a flat look and slapped the umbrella into her open, waiting hand.
Bailey didn’t even attempt an umbrella explanation.
She marched toward the side door. Bailey jammed the key into the lock, threw open the door and started slapping on lights. She also deposited the umbrella into the basket near the coatrack. Since she was sweating from her heated encounter with Parker, she adjusted the thermostat for the air-conditioning.
Unfortunately, she didn’t think she could get the room cold enough to neutralize the effect this man had had on her.
“There’s a need for a bodyguard all right.” Parker McKenna was right on her heels, and he followed her inside, those cowboy boots thudding on the hardwood floors. “The black car proves that.”
Bailey had already started across the reception area toward the stairs and her office, but that stopped her. She eased back around to face Parker. “What black car?”
He took a deep breath, as if this might be a long explanation, and he planted his hands on his hips. The exterior door behind him was still open, and the hot sticky breeze rushed through the room, bringing his scent right toward her.
Not sweat.
Not even the leather of his boots.
A scent that went right through her in a lust-provoking kind of way.
She cleared her throat and motioned for him to get on with whatever he had to say. For reasons she didn’t want to explore, it was best to get Parker McKenna out of her life ASAP.
“The bank on the street near your house has a security camera,” he finally said, “and the angle is such that it recorded the cars entering and exiting your street. I’ve spent hours sifting through the footage, and thanks to the Department of Motor Vehicles’ database, I was able to rule out all vehicles. Except one.”
“What do you mean?” Judging from his tone, this was bad news.
“Nearly all the vehicles belong to people who should be on that street. The woman in the truck who delivers your morning newspaper. Your neighbors. Your lawn guy. But there’s this one car that doesn’t belong to anyone here in Freedom. In fact, the plates are bogus.”
He extracted something from his front jeans pocket and walked closer. When he handed it to her, she saw it was a photo of a black car.
“Recognize it?” he asked.
Bailey studied it a moment but had to shake her head. “Maybe it’s a would-be burglar casing the neighborhood.” Strange, she hadn’t thought that would ever be a good thing, but that explanation was better than the alternative.
He lifted his shoulder, dismissing that. “The car was in your neighborhood the night someone slashed your tires.”
Oh, God. She doubted a teen playing pranks would go so far as bogus plates to conceal his identity. “Do you know the identity of the driver?”
“Can’t tell from the tapes. He appears to be a white male, but he wears a baseball cap that he keeps low on his head so that it partially covers his face.”
That required a deep breath. Because she had to do something, anything, Bailey straightened some wooden puzzles that were already neatly stacked on storage shelves next to the stairs.
“Ms. Lockhart, I believe you’re in danger,” she heard Parker say.
Maybe. But Bailey wasn’t ready to accept that just yet. “Someone driving through my neighborhood doesn’t constitute a danger. And the tires? It really could have been a teenager. The bottom line is I don’t want a bodyguard, and that means you can leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I moved my son here, and he’s just starting to get settled.”
“You have a son?” she blurted out, wishing that she hadn’t. It really wasn’t any of her business.
“Zach. He’s thirteen.” He paused and watched her fix the next row of puzzles. “His mom died five years ago, and since then I’ve moved him seven times. I’m looking for something more permanent for him here in Freedom.”
So, the hot cowboy/bodyguard was a widower and a dad with a desire to put down roots in her hometown. Bailey hadn’t pegged him for fatherhood or even marriage. Probably because he looked more fantasy material than anything else.
Forbidden fantasy, that is.
“Well, I hope Bart Bellows has another assignment for you,” she told Parker. “One that can keep you here for your son’s sake. Maybe in Amarillo, that’s not too far away. But that assignment won’t be me. Repeating myself here, but I don’t think I’m in danger.”
Bailey stopped fidgeting with the puzzles and headed up the stairs. She had a busy day ahead of her and didn’t have time for this.
“You are in danger,” he reiterated again. He followed her up the stairs. “Last year the sheriff installed a camera on the traffic light on Main Street. I went through that footage as well, and in the past week the same black car has driven in this direction nearly a half dozen times.”
Bailey forced herself to keep walking. “Did anyone see the driver get out and do anything criminal?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“If they had, it would have been reported to the sheriff, and he in turn would have told you. But that doesn’t mean this guy doesn’t have criminal intentions.”
When she made it to her office door, Bailey turned back around. She just needed to make this simple and clear. “I was sixteen when my mother first got into politics, and that means for fifteen years I’ve been subjected to people who don’t agree with her. Sometimes those people do stupid things, and that’s all there is to this. Now, please leave before the children and my staff arrive.”
Figuring that was pretty good exit line that would get Parker moving, Bailey threw open her office door.
And her heart dropped to her knees.
“Oh, God,” she heard herself say, though she had no idea how she managed to speak.
Parker caught her arm and shoved her away from the doorway. In the same motion, he reached down, to the holster strapped to his right boot.
And he drew his gun.
Chapter Two
With his gun aimed and ready, Parker inched inside Bailey’s office. His gaze whipped to all the corners. Then to her desk that had been tipped onto its side. Papers and her laptop were now in a heap on the floor.
Two chairs had also been overturned, and the room had generally been trashed. But what was missing was the person who’d done all of this.
Parker walked farther into the room toward a storage closet.
Also vandalized.
The small adjoining bathroom hadn’t escaped, either. Someone had poured out the liquid soap. And then he spotted the open window on the far wall. When he got closer, he saw the ladder propped up against the side of the building. Probably the point of entry and escape.
He glanced back at Bailey to let her know the place was clear, that her stalker was likely long gone, but the look on her face had Parker walking toward her. There was no color left in her cheeks, and her blue eyes were wide with shock. She was breathing way too hard and fast, and he didn’t want to risk her hyperventilating.
Parker caught onto her and pulled her back into the hall. But she maneuvered herself out of his grip and returned to her office. She was still visibly upset, but he could see the initial shock had worn off.
Bailey stood there, her back to him, her upper body moving with her still heavy breath. She was literally the only spot of order in the room. If it hadn’t been for the mess around her, she would have looked ready for a staff meeting in her perfectly fitted turquoise top and gray pants. There wasn’t a strand of her dark blond shoulder-length hair out of place.
“You still think you don’t need a bodyguard?” Parker asked.
Yeah, it wasn’t a nice question, but he couldn’t play nice here with Bailey and her safety. He needed her to understand how the slashed tires and hang-up calls could escalate.
And now she was looking at proof of that escalation.
She didn’t acknowledge his question. Instead, she stooped down and reached for a framed photo.
“Don’t touch anything,” Parker warned. “The sheriff will probably want to process the scene for prints or other evidence.”
Her hand froze, and Parker saw then that it was a picture of Bailey, her mother and her two siblings. The glass and frame had both been shattered.
Parker kept an eye on her and called Sheriff Bernard Hale. Freedom’s police department wasn’t exactly large or cutting edge, but he’d already had several discussions with Sheriff Hale and knew the man would do his best to find something, anything, that would help identify the person who was trying to make Bailey’s life a living hell.
“The sheriff’s coming out now,” Parker informed her after he made the call. He slipped his phone back in his pocket, caught her arm again and took her out of the room. “Is there a way for you to get in touch with your staff and students so you can tell them not to come in today?”
Well, that put the color back in her cheeks. “That won’t be necessary. It’s obvious the stalker’s not here. It’s also obvious that his venom is aimed only at me.”
“For now,” Parker mumbled. “But it could get worse.”
“I don’t want to close Cradles to Crayons,” she snapped. “I’ll add security. There’s a system already wired in, but we don’t normally use it. We will now. And maybe I can hire you to watch the place.”
Parker gave her a flat look. “I already have a job.”
“That’s debatable.” She mirrored his flat look.
Oh, no. They weren’t going back to that argument. “How can you say that after seeing this?”
Bailey opened her mouth, closed it and then huffed. “I know I sound like a lunatic, but I can’t let this control my life—”
The sound shot through the room. Bailey gasped and then mumbled some profanity when she realized that it was just the phone ringing. It was on the floor but obviously still working.
“Don’t go in there to answer it,” Parker reminded her when she moved to do just that.
While the phone continued to ring, Parker had another look around. There were other rooms on the top floor, but nothing in them appeared to have been disturbed.
The phone finally stopped ringing, and Bailey’s answering machine kicked on. “Hi, you’ve reached Bailey Lockhart at Cradles to Crayons Day Care and Preschool,” the recorded message said. Man, her voice was downright perky. “I’m not in my office right now, but please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you. Have a nice day.”
After the beep, Parker heard the caller. “Where are you, Bailey?” the woman asked. She wasn’t nearly as cheerful as Bailey’s recorded message, but he recognized the voice—it was Lila Lockhart, Bailey’s mother. “If you’re there, pick up…Bailey?”
Bailey took out her cell. “I’ll call her,” she grumbled. “I want to talk to her anyway, about you.”
But before she could do that, Lila continued, “Look, I know you’re probably angry about the bodyguard I hired, but it was necessary. And I knew you’d be too stubborn to hire him yourself. How did I possibly give birth to such a bullheaded daughter who won’t listen to reason?”
Bailey’s mouth tightened. Her eyes narrowed a bit.
“Oh, well,” Lila added. “You’re obviously in a snit right now, but get over it, sweetheart. It’s not as if I saddled you with a Neanderthal. Bart sent me Parker Mc Kenna’s photo and his bio. In addition to being incredibly easy on the eyes, he’s a decorated army officer….”
Hell. Parker didn’t need to hear this, and judging from Bailey’s expression, her mother’s opinion of his looks and his military record weren’t helping with his argument to convince her that she did indeed need him.
“I’ll wait downstairs for Sheriff Hale,” Parker mumbled to Bailey.
But on the way down the steps, he could still hear Lila’s voice oozing through the answering machine. “Parker took a bullet for the Under Secretary of Defense a few years ago when things went bad on a hush-hush visit to the Middle East. It shouldn’t be too difficult having him around. In fact, he’s a good catch, and you’re not getting any younger—”
Thankfully, the machine clipped off the rest of what the governor had to say. Also thankfully, Parker heard someone at the front door. Probably the sheriff who could take a stab at talking some sense into Bailey. But when he looked out the small sidelight window, he didn’t see Sheriff Hale. He saw the woman with red hair fumbling with her keys.
Parker unlocked the door and opened it. The woman went stiff when she saw his gun, and she sucked in her breath. “Who are you?”
“Parker McKenna. I’m Bailey’s bodyguard. Who are you?”
“Charlotte Manning. I work here, and I usually come in through the back entrance, but I wanted to see Bailey first. Where is she? Is she all right?”
Since this woman didn’t seem much a threat, Parker put his gun back in his boot holster and hitched his thumb toward the stairs. “She’s in her office. Someone broke in and vandalized it.”
“A break-in?” However, Charlotte didn’t wait for him to confirm it or that Bailey was all right. She mumbled an Oh, God and went racing up the stairs.
Hopefully, this Charlotte Manning could make Bailey understand how serious this situation was.
And another possible ally arrived.
Parker saw the sheriff’s car pull to a quick stop in front of the building. Parker recognized the African-American man who exited. Sheriff Bernard Hale. He was in his late forties and had been sheriff for years. Plenty of experience and he knew Bailey. Hopefully, he could accomplish more than her mother’s call had.
“Captain McKenna,” Bernard greeted when the sheriff reached the front door, and he shook Parker’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
“Parker,” he offered.
“I got over here as fast as I could. You think this is related to that car you showed me on the surveillance film?” the sheriff asked.
“Yeah, I think it probably is.” And he was about to give the sheriff what few details he knew about the break-in. However, his phone rang, and when Parker saw the identity of the caller, he knew he had to answer it. “Bailey’s upstairs. If you need me, just let me know.”
“Zach?” Parker answered the moment the sheriff stepped away. “What’s wrong?”
The question was a given, especially since his son rarely called him. Heck, Zach rarely spoke to him, especially since this move to Freedom. Parker loved his son more than life itself, but he was positive Zach didn’t feel the same about him.
“You forgot to leave the money for basketball camp,” Zach snarled. Or maybe it wasn’t a snarl. Come to think of it, that was the only tone Parker had heard his son use in years.
Parker groaned. Yes, he had forgotten, though Zach had left him a reminder note taped to the fridge. His son needed twenty-five dollars for a half-day camp being held at the town’s community center.
“You said I could go,” Zach accused. “You said you’d leave the money.”
Yes, he had—Zach’s request and his approval had also been delivered in notes they’d left for each other. And Parker had meant to put the money on the kitchen counter, but this morning he’d gotten caught up viewing those surveillance disks, and then he had rushed out of the house so he could follow Bailey from her home to work. He’d been doing that for over a week now in the hopes of not just protecting her but also catching her stalker.
“I’m at Cradles to Crayons on Main Street,” Parker explained. He heard footsteps behind him, turned and spotted Bailey and Charlotte making their way down the stairs. “And I can’t leave right now. I’m on the job.” Whether Bailey considered it a job or not.
Parker obviously couldn’t see his son’s face, but he heard Zach’s silent disapproval. Of course, Zach disapproved of everything, so this was nothing new. “I’ll ride my bike over there and get it.”
Since their new house was only a quarter mile away, Parker couldn’t object. Well, he could because he was always worried when Zach was on his bike and near traffic.
Heck, he was always worried about him, period.
But he wanted Zach to attend that camp. It was a chance for him to meet some new friends before school started in mid-August, just six weeks away. God knew his son needed someone to help him adjust to the move and yet another new school.
“Zach, when you get here, don’t come inside.” Parker didn’t want Zach underfoot during the sheriff’s investigation, not that his son would want to be underfoot anyway. “I’ll meet you on the porch. Oh, and remember to wear your helmet and watch out for cars.”
