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“Get some sleep.”
She laughed. “Yeah. That’s gonna happen.”
He looked at her hard, that furrow between his eyes deep and serious. Green. She hadn’t seen that in the bedroom, but his eyes were a dramatic green. They weren’t like emeralds, or the grass outside her house. Maybe like the ocean by the pier in Santa Monica. “Sleep is the thing that will help the most,” he said. “It won’t be easy, and if you can’t fall asleep, you should at least lie down and close your eyes. You’re going to need everything in the next few days. All your brains and all your reflexes. If you’re too tired, you become a liability instead of an asset. From what I’ve heard, you’re not going to want to sit back and watch. So do us both a favor and go to bed.”
Christie felt as though she should be insulted. But that was probably just his tone, not his message. And it wasn’t really his tone, because he’d talked in that whisper of his. “You’re right. I’m exhausted. Will you wake me when you’re finished?”
“I’d rather wait until morning, if you’re willing. You could use the rest.”
“If I’m still sleeping, then let me sleep,” she said. “But whenever I wake up, you’re going to tell me what I want to know.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am. Right.” She turned to Milo, who was still having his way with the rawhide bone. She wanted him to come to bed with her, but his chewing would keep her awake, and she didn’t have the heart to take the treat away. Instead, she stood up, thought once again that she was quite insane for letting Boone stay in her house, and doubly so for going to sleep while he had the full run of the place. But she was so damn tired, it didn’t matter. “There’s fruit in the fridge. And stuff to make a sandwich.”
“Thank you.”
“I threw out the rest of the cake.”
He nodded slightly, then went back to examining the stuff. By the time she reached her bed and turned off the light, she was halfway out. Hitting the pillow was just dumb luck.
BOONE HAD SEEN THIS EQUIPMENT many times. It was top-of-the-line, and mostly unavailable to the public. John Q. Public couldn’t get it from the neighborhood spy store, but it could be found. Whoever the stalker was, he knew what he was doing. He’d placed the bugs perfectly—in the smoke detector, in a loose tile by the refrigerator. If Boone hadn’t known the ropes he’d have missed at least one.
He got up, stretched and dismissed the idea of getting a sandwich. There was too much to do before Christie woke up. He grabbed his bag, slipped on his night-vision goggles, and headed for her office.
It took over two hours to do the bug sweep. The stalker was inventive, that’s for sure. Boone was certain he was someone in security, maybe even a spook, and that made Boone damned uncomfortable. The stalker’s obsession most likely had nothing to do with his profession, but it did make him far more dangerous.
Stalkers weren’t all the same, but they all had things in common. They were socially immature loners, unable to establish or sustain close relationships. They tended to pick unattainable victims, and create intimate fantasies that could turn deadly in the blink of an eye. Intelligence was a factor, too. Many delusional stalkers were smart as hell, which made catching them more difficult.
Boone had never gone after a stalker before, but he’d had a lot of experience going after people who didn’t want to be found.
He sat down at her computer, took off the goggles, then booted up. He’d already found a bug at her desk, but now he was looking for software. Particularly key-logging software. If this guy was a security geek, he would have used his time inside the house to get more access. If he had key-logging technology, he’d be able to read her every keystroke, and see every message she wrote. The more personal the better.
He wouldn’t be obvious about it, either. It wouldn’t be under the software name. Boone would have to look for hidden files, for specific code. Luckily, he had his own program that did just that. He inserted the disk and let it run. It would take a while, and in the meantime, he could continue with his sweep.
He stood, and his gaze caught on a picture of Nate and Christie, barely illuminated by the light near the computer.
Nate had told him a lot about his sister, but not how beautiful she was. The picture, taken in better times, showed him how much this ordeal had taken out of her. She’d lost weight, which was understandable. But the bones were there. Big brown eyes, dark hair that swept her shoulders. Everything was right about her face, especially her smile. Warm, inviting. He wondered how long it had been since she’d laughed. Since she’d known any peace at all.
He remembered one night, several years ago, when he and Nate were stuck together doing some surveillance in a damp, cold building in the middle of a burned-out Serbian village. There was nothing going on, and nothing to do. They couldn’t sleep, so they talked. Nate got on to the subject of Christie. He never talked much about his family, so Boone had paid attention. It was clear Nate loved her, and felt protective of her, but it was equally evident that he was proud of his baby sister. How she’d gotten through college on a scholarship, how she’d become a designer to the stars. The way he described her, as funny and sarcastic, had stuck in Boone’s mind long after the conversation and the mission ended.
He’d thought a lot about her after that. He had no one close, except for the men in his unit, so she’d become a comfort to him when things got rough, much as she had for Nate. He’d imagine her at Christmas, when he was stuck in a jungle or a town where he didn’t know the language. It wasn’t anything sexual, just comforting. But now that he’d seen her, he’d never think of her as a little sister again.
She also reminded him of Nate. The way she lifted her right eyebrow in doubt. Rubbing her lower lip when she was nervous. They were both habits Nate had, ones Boone hadn’t consciously noted until seeing them echoed in Christie.
He picked up the photo, studying her, filling in the blanks. Once Seth had sent out the SOS, Boone had used his slippery network of inside sources—some from the military, some from domestic agencies—and found the records of the stalker immediately. He’d spent the next five hours digesting everything he could about the geek. Then he’d come here. He didn’t live far—a rented house in Pasadena. It hadn’t taken any time to gather his equipment. He always had it packed.
The only problem was the work he’d left behind. He might be living under the radar, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t busy. Since he’d come back from the Balkans, he’d found a lot of people who needed his services. Others, like himself, who worked in the shadows, came to him when they had security problems. Someone listening. Someone they needed to listen to. Although he’d been a radioman in Delta, he’d acquired a lot of gadgets and the know-how to get the jobs done.
Seth had stepped up to the plate once more. If anyone knew more about covert surveillance than Boone, it was Seth, and he’d agreed to take over Boone’s jobs until the stalking bastard had been taken out. It was a relief to know that despite the mess they were all in, the unit had never lost touch. They were a team, now and always.
Boone moved on. The hallway. The guest bedroom. The back porch. The collection of bugs grew. Most of them were listening devices, but some were also cameras. The freak understood about security grids, so that there were pitifully few places for Christie to hide.
He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the prick.
The first hints of daylight were changing the sky when Boone felt as if he could stop. He wasn’t finished. He wanted to do more sophisticated tests, but that could wait until he’d caught a few hours of sleep.
Besides, it looked like Milo, who’d been following him from room to room, carrying his mangled bone, wasn’t going to rest until he did.
Instead of going to the guest room, which was too far away from the doors, Boone would crash in the living room. He’d left the computer running, his software checking every line of code. By the time he woke up, he should know exactly what the geek had planted.
There was only one more thing he had to do before he could rest. In four different spots in the house, Boone put in four different cameras. His own. Not to spy on Christie, but to catch the geek. Maybe he wouldn’t need them, but Boone wasn’t a man to take chances. He also put a bug in the phone. If the stalker called again, Boone wanted a record.
After running a quick check to make sure everything was running properly, he went to the living room and decided the couch was too narrow, so he stretched out on the floor. Milo joined him, not touching, but close. Boone closed his eyes, and he was gone.
3
CHRISTIE HEADED TOWARD THE GUEST ROOM, tightening the belt of her robe and wondering just how much of last night was real, when she saw him on the floor.
He was on his back. No pillow, no blanket. Just flat out, his mouth slightly open, his right arm flung across his chest. Milo, who was curled up next to Boone’s hip, looked up at her questioningly, as if defending his choice of sleepmates.
Okay, so the Boone part hadn’t been a dream. Which meant the bugs and cameras weren’t, either.
She headed to the kitchen and got busy making coffee. She felt odd, and not just because of the stranger in her home. After the fourth scoop of Sumatra Mandheling, it dawned on her that she felt rested. Not week-in-a-spa rested, but it was the first morning in ages she could actually see clearly. More than that, the panic that had become her heartbeat was gone. No, not gone. Dampened. Definitely dampened.
In theory, Boone could be the bastard. Somehow, though, she didn’t think so. He would have tried something last night. She’d crashed in bed, he’d disabled the phone and she had no weapons. He already knew that if she were too scared, she passed out like a little girl. Instead, he’d gone to sleep on the floor of her living room. She didn’t understand that part at all. There was a perfectly nice guest bedroom just down the hall—so, what, he had a bad back?
What she needed was coffee and an explanation. She desperately wanted him to be just what he said he was. It embarrassed her to realize how badly she needed to be rescued. Her, the woman who’d built her life around the fact that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That the knight in shining armor was nothing but a myth. And a destructive one at that.
She poured the water into the coffeemaker and pressed the On button. The gurgle was a welcome sound, as was the click of doggie nails on the bamboo floor. Turning to face a very guilty-looking Milo, she crossed her arms and gave him the glare. “Breakfast time and who loves Mom now, huh? Didn’t your new best friend bring kibble, too?”
“Nope. Forgot it.”
Christie looked up to find Boone, his hair sticking up and his shirt wrinkled, standing just outside the kitchen.
“Is that coffee?”
“It is.”
“You have cream?”
“Milk.”
“It’ll do. I’ll be back.” He turned and headed toward the bathroom.
She looked at Milo. “What do you see in him? Besides his big bone?”
Milo wagged his tail, but that was probably more to do with the fact that she’d picked up his bowl than any prurient interest in Boone.
As she gave Milo his two scoops, she had yet another revelation. She’d made a joke. An admittedly poor joke, but still. Nothing had been funny, not since that first phone call. She put the dog dish down and when she stood, she pushed her hair back. It was longer than she liked it, and she hadn’t had highlights in four months. Hair care, along with other nonessentials such as eating and sleeping, had slipped away as she’d been forced into her nightmare existence. Seems, however, that like her sense of humor, she’d discovered she still had some vanity left, and she wished she’d showered before coming into the kitchen.
When Boone joined her, he’d changed into a plain white T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. Her idea of him as a businessman fell away as he reached down to pet Milo. The muscles of his back strained the shirt, making her wonder how he kept in such good shape. Of course, her gaze shifted downward and his jeans were just tight enough for her to see the curve of his small, tight, high rear end. Not that she had any prurient interest, either.
He stood and she blushed.
“Coffee?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower. Help yourself. And don’t leave. We need to talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
She headed to her room, curious, concerned, confused. But she couldn’t interrogate someone while in her bathrobe. After gathering her clothes, she went into her shower, making the water as hot as she could stand it. She’d had three nozzles installed, not just one, and they hit her in all the right places. Head, upper back, lower back. Perfect to release tension. Maybe today it would do just that.
THE PHONE RANG WHILE SHE WAS in the shower. Boone went to the living room and checked that the answering machine was on. After four rings, the message played—Christie’s voice, no nonsense, nothing provocative. Just a request for a name and number after the tone.
The voice he heard after that wasn’t so benign. He knew immediately that it was distorted by a digital signal processor, and there was a low electronic hum in the background so that nothing could be traced.
“Naughty girl, Christie. You know we can’t let your friend come between us. If he leaves now, he won’t get hurt. And neither will you.”
There was a click, and then the dial tone. Boone opened the answering machine and lifted out the tape. Despite the tricks the prick had used, Boone was going to let Seth give it a look.
He went back to the kitchen, debating the wisdom of telling Christie about the call. She was upset enough. What she needed now was confidence. The decision made, he went back to his duffel and put the tape in a small bag, ready for Seth. He’d drop it off later.
He poured her a cup of coffee as soon as he heard her in the hallway. He’d already had one, but another wouldn’t go to waste. If he was going to be here for a while, he’d have to get to the market. She didn’t have much, and he was a stickler for his coffee his way. Besides, she needed to put on some pounds.
She walked in, changed from her robe into a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt that he guessed used to be her size. The jeans were big, and where the shirt had a V he could see too much bone and not enough flesh. Shopping, definitely. After he’d done another sweep outside. He wasn’t taking any chances. By tonight, he’d know everything the geek had planted in or around her house. He’d check out her car, too.
“Is this for me?” She nodded at the mug he’d poured.
“Yeah.”
Her look was more suspicious than grateful.
“You had questions?” he asked.
She went to the fridge and got out her low-fat milk, then to the cupboard for a packet of sugar substitute. When the coffee was to her liking, she sat down across from him. “Tell me about you and Nate.”
“We met at Fort Bragg. We’d both been recruited into the First Special Forces Operational Detachment, and we trained together. He became a team leader, I was the radioman. There were four of us, basically, and some UN personnel. We were all together in that picture I showed you. We did a lot of hairy missions. Never lost a man. Never fell short of the objective.”
“Nate would never tell me what he did. Just that he was working for God and country.”
Boone could hear him say just that. In bars, mostly, when he was trying to impress the ladies. As if he’d needed a line. The women fell all over him. Not that Boone had done so badly, but he’d never been the magnet Nate was.
“Why are you smiling?”
He hadn’t realized he was. “Just remembering.”
Christie leaned forward, and he could see the hunger in her eyes. The need to hear about her brother, lost so young.
“He was hell on wheels when we were out of pocket. It didn’t matter where we were. D.C. or Kenya or Panama. He’d own the room before we left, and leave them wanting.”
She bit her lower lip, and he wasn’t sure if it was to stop from laughing or crying.
“I can’t tell you how many times he’d fall back into his cot at three in the morning, totally AWOL, drunker than shit, then get up an hour later and outrun the whole team on the obstacle course. I still don’t know how he did it.”
“God, he was just like that at home. Not the drinking part, he was too young, but he was always sneaking out of the house, and he never got caught. I ditch one day of school, and I’m on restriction for life.”
“Sounds right.” He drank some coffee, more for the distance than the taste. He wasn’t here to get nostalgic and emotional. In fact, the last thing he needed was to care about anything but the job. He’d need to be on his game, and there was nothing that screwed up a man faster than letting his defenses down. “He talked about you.”
“Yeah?”
Boone nodded. “He worried about you. But he was proud. Real proud.”
She turned to look at Milo for a long minute. The dog wagged his tail at the attention, then came to her for a pet. “He was a great brother, until a couple of years ago. Then, I don’t know.” She looked at Boone again. “He changed. He got paranoid, and he hardly ever called. When he did, he wouldn’t tell me squat. Just that he was in the middle of something. I only saw him the one time—”
She stood up and put her mug in the microwave. “What were you guys doing in Kosovo?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Great. That’s just perfect. And I’m supposed to trust you with my life?”
“Yeah, you are. And I’d hope you’d realize that my silence, Nate’s silence, was for your protection.”
“Spy central. Jesus. Don’t you know your big-boy games can get people killed?”
“Yeah. I know. But that’s not the issue now. What’s on the table is the stalker and how we’re going to stop him.”
“Wait.” The microwave dinged and she came back to the table with the steaming coffee. “I’m not finished with the question portion. What’s with the pizza parlor?”
Boone bit back his impatience. She was scared, she didn’t know him from Adam and he needed to make her trust him. “It’s got a special phone. One that monitors calls from the old team. Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“Things didn’t exactly end for any of us. Not for Nate, not for me. We needed a way to communicate with each other that wouldn’t get us noticed. So we have Gino’s.”
“Didn’t end? You mean something bad went down in Kosovo, don’t you? Something that shouldn’t have happened. And someone isn’t happy about it, right? That’s why Nate left the service. That’s why he was killed.”
Boone nodded.
“Great. Are the feds going to bust in here and arrest us both? Because, while it would solve the stalker problem, it doesn’t seem like the best possible outcome.”
“Now I really know you’re Nate’s sister. Don’t worry. No one knows I’m here. No one’s going to. And while this has been fascinating, we have work to do.”
“What kind of work?”
He leaned forward, glad the Q & A was over, although a little surprised she hadn’t pressed for more. “I’ve written an e-mail I want you to send. The geek installed key-logging software on your computer, and I want to use that.”
“Wait, what?”
