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Her voice sounded tight. Although she was calm on the outside, he could sense she was wound tighter than a six-day clock. He wished he could make this easy but he couldn’t.
“Gifts are an easy way for the stalker to get electronic equipment into your home or office without detection,” he said finally. “You’re certain you haven’t overlooked something?”
She shrugged. “I’ve received flowers, presents for my birthday. The usual gifts from friends and colleagues. That’s all.”
“I’ll want a list of all gifts you’ve received in the past twelve months.” He frowned at her look of dismay. “It’s important or I wouldn’t ask.”
She brushed her hair from her face. “I’m sorry. I’m not making this any easier for you. I—I guess I’m still in denial.”
“It’s perfectly natural, Brianna.” God help him, but he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the worried crease between her eyes.
He forced his attention back to the form. She had checked off that she hadn’t had any recent repairs or redecorating done in either her home or office. He had other questions, but they could wait until she was less tense.
“I’ll start by having security devices installed in the halls and entranceways to your office and home—”
“But my apartment building already has surveillance cameras. The stalker got around them.”
“My devices won’t be detected, and they are tamper-proof.” He glanced at his watch. “Ready to go home for the day? Or would you like to stop off at your office first?”
“Michael, I have clients scheduled until four o’clock. Then I have a mountain of reports to finish. Can’t we wait until tomorrow?”
He stood. “You don’t have to be at home while the equipment is being installed.” He grinned when she shot him another questioning glance. “We’ll go to your office. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready to go home.”
She shot him a look of exasperation. “That’s not necessary. I’ll give you my key, and when you’re through with the apartment, you can drop it off with my secretary at the office.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention on the form that your secretary has access to the keys to your apartment.”
She sighed. “Well, my secretary usually doesn’t, but sometimes—”
“She either does or she doesn’t.”
Brianna’s eyes snapped. “I forgot. So shoot me.” He could see her composure slip away. No doubt she felt it had been a mistake to come here. “I don’t need a bodyguard. All I want is to identify the stalker on video so I can press charges against him.”
“Brianna, I’m not trying to scare you, but from what the police said, whoever is stalking you has the expertise—”
“Please, I don’t need to hear how much danger I’m in, okay?”
“It’s okay to be scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
He studied her. Beneath that stubborn pride she was terrified for her life and she hated that he knew it.
Her mouth tilted at the corners. “Okay, I’m scared.” Her eyes snapped green fire. “Satisfied?”
“Nothing wrong with being afraid,” he said gently. “It’s what you do with your fear that’s important.” He tucked the compact computer into his jacket pocket and grabbed an attaché case from the bottom desk drawer. “Let’s get a taxi and start at your office.”
BRIANNA FELT her insides shake when Mike slipped beside her in the back of the taxi. After giving the driver the address of her office building, she leaned back and willed the butterflies in her stomach to go away, to no avail.
Maybe she was entitled to react foolishly where Mike was concerned. She’d known it would be hard to confront all those memories. How silly to have remembered him as that rebellious young daredevil. She glanced at him as he clicked his seat belt into place.
One thing hadn’t changed. He’d always been able to see right through her, long before she was aware of her own true feelings. Her thoughts went back to that time so long ago, in that backwater town in Maine. She’d been a college sophomore, spending the summer with her father in Maine. She’d first seen Mike when he’d caddied at the local country club.
Mike had worked for her father, or sort of. Harrison Kent III had been owner of Kent Paper Industries, and Mike had worked there on a hydro-pulper. He lived with his father on Mill Street, the row of company houses the paper-mill employees rented.
She’d been nervous that warm, late-June afternoon when she found out where Mike lived and went to see him. She had planned to ask him if he’d volunteer as lifeguard for the country club’s annual children’s charity.
She located him in the backyard of one of the typical two-story clapboard houses that were built more than fifty years ago. Mike’s jaw dropped when he saw her, then he quickly recovered when he crawled out from under the body of an old-model, yellow Trans Am.
He was naked except for a pair of faded denim shorts. She took a deep breath, trying not to appear unnerved at the sight of him. Serves you right for not calling him before dropping in, she chided herself.
“I was running errands for my aunt and thought I’d stop by.” Although it was true, the statement sounded lame. The disbelieving look he gave her only increased her nervousness.
He eyed her sideways as he wiped his large, tanned hands on a clean rag. “Don’t tell me. You just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Why, yes, I was.” Her tone sounded defensive. “I just dropped off some proofs for my aunt at the printer’s, which is only two blocks from here.” She was talking too fast, and she forced herself to be cool.
Her gaze glued to his brilliant blue eyes, although she was aware of his stunning, sun-bronzed torso. She wanted to stare at the fascinating way the black whorls of hair covered his hard muscles and funneled into a dark V past the button of his jeans.
His expression turned cold and flat. “What are you doing here?”
He was obviously upset that she’d come unannounced. If she had a lick of sense, she’d never have come.
“My aunt wanted me to ask you if you’d volunteer at the country club. They need a lifeguard for one weekend a month.” Nora hadn’t exactly asked her to ask Mike, but Brianna had seen his name at the top of the proposed list of candidates. “The summer program for underprivileged children is in high gear, and—”
“I told your aunt that I’d do it when she asked me last Saturday.”
“Oh.” Brianna felt like a fool. “I saw your name on the list and…” She took a deep breath to recover. “Nora didn’t tell me.”
His bottom lip quirked in disbelief. “Your aunt is quite a lady. She and the Judge have done a lot for me, and I owe them, big time.” His blue eyes darkened and he lowered his stare to her breasts. She felt caged by his look, and a delicious weakness coursed through her.
“Why did you really cross the tracks to come all the way down to Mill Street, Brianna?”
She stepped back, not wanting to admit the truth, even to herself. “I—I told you.” His dark look made her feel like a groupie at a rock concert. “Obviously my aunt either forgot or wanted to confirm that you hadn’t changed your mind,” she lied. She turned and almost ran toward her car. When she reached the backyard gate, with his long strides he had caught up with her.
Mike folded his arms across his broad chest, biceps bulging. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“I—I was curious.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Didn’t your country-club friends fill you in on all the details? Did they tell you my old man is a drunken bum? That my mom ran off when I was two? That I’m no good? Didn’t they warn you to leave me alone?”
She met his gaze evenly. “I make up my own mind.”
“And have you?”
“Yes.”
He waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he added, “If you’re trying to make your old man angry, I’m not your guy.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m not about to risk my job at your old man’s paper mill just so you can prove to Daddy that you’re a big girl. Now that you’re eighteen and inherited your mom’s money.”
He must have noticed her look of surprise. “Oh, yeah. The country-club gossip doesn’t limit itself to just Mill Street, Brianna. The Kent family is gossiped about, just like everyone else.”
“If you’re trying to make me uncomfortable—”
“Nothing like that. I don’t care what you’ve got to prove, just leave me out of it.”
“You self-centered jerk. How dare you think I’m interested in you. If you believe for one minute that I’m here to…to…” She watched a muscle clench in his jaw. She was frightened and excited by the sudden change in him.
His gaze dropped to the low neckline of her jade-green sundress. She’d carefully chosen the outfit before coming to see him. She knew the color complemented her golden tan and brought out the green in her changeable eyes. She knew the cut of the bodice accentuated her high breasts and narrow waist.
She went very still as he pulled her into his strong arms. Her breath caught as his mouth, hard at first, covered hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss. She wanted to wrench free, to prove that she was outraged, but instead, her body leaped to life and she felt her outcry melt beneath the heat of his kiss. She opened for him, her body full of sharp, exciting sensations.
Her arms circled his neck as her tongue twinned with his. She’d been kissed before, many times, but nothing like this.
Beneath the thin cotton of her dress, she felt his heart hammer with hers, and she was aware of the hard bulge in his jeans pressing against her.
He wanted her. The thought thrilled and frightened her as she drew him closer.
Just as suddenly, he released her. “That’s why you came here.” His voice was husky. “And we both know it.”
He turned without looking at her and stormed toward the house.
Breathlessly, she stared after him, rigid with anger. Then she dashed to her car, never more humiliated in her life. He’d known why she’d tracked him down long before she’d known, herself. That was a trait of Mike’s that had continued to amaze and infuriate her.
But he’d been wrong about one thing—she’d been attracted to him because of who he was, not because her father would disapprove of her dating him. Yet she knew that a part of Mike believed she’d married him to prove to her dad that she had a mind of her own. If she could have convinced Mike, would it have made a difference?
Hell no. She’d never been able to tell Mike anything. Well, as his client, she wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand.
“…your reports?” Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“W-what reports?”
From the seat beside her in the taxi, he’d been studying her. His blue eyes were bright with unreadable emotion. “The mountain of reports you said you have to finish. I asked if you can work at home on your reports.”
She was aware of his subtle aftershave, spruce or maybe desert sage, and she felt a jolt of feminine response. God, he was so handsome. She fought to remember what he had asked her.
“The reports. Yes. Yes, I’ll bring them with me.” Her mind felt scattered. Maybe it was a good thing she wouldn’t be working late at the office tonight.
She turned her head to glance out the taxi window and was surprised to see the cab pulling to a stop in front of her office building.
Chapter Three
Her office was on the fourteenth floor of a professional building that looked like most any other high-rise in upper Manhattan. From the street, a set of revolving doors opened onto a glass foyer with more greenery inside than Central Park.
The crowded lobby made Mike feel uneasy. Too open and public. Serious-faced businessmen and -women, dressed in designer suits, clattered across the gray marble floor to their offices and appointments. A stalker could easily blend into the crowd, pull out a 9 mm with a silencer, fire two quick shots at Brianna and get away before anyone would be the wiser.
Mike hurried her toward the bank of elevators. Thirty bronze nameplates, framed in glass, lined the wall. He gripped the attaché case and followed her into the first available car.
“Why don’t I call you when my last patient leaves,” she whispered when he moved beside her. “I’ll be perfectly safe in my office.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
She shrugged.
When they stopped at the fourteenth floor, the doors opened and a tall, bearded man in his mid-thirties, wearing a tweed blazer, corduroy slacks and loafers, waited. Mike instantly recognized him from the photo as Larry Cunningham. He dressed more like a college professor than a psychologist. He wore no wedding band.
Cunningham’s face lit up when he saw Brianna. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Missed you at lunch, Brianna.” His smile faded when he saw that Mike had stepped from the elevator with her.
“I took the morning off,” she explained. “I had…an appointment.” She gave Cunningham a weak smile as she strode beside Mike down the hall, rummaging in her bag.
Cunningham ambled on the other side of her, his attention back to Brianna. “I was hoping to have a moment with you.”
She looked up, a key chain in her hand. “Can it wait, Larry? I’m running late.” She paused in front of a frosted-glass door with her name stenciled across the window in gold letters. With an uneasy glance at Mike, she turned to Larry and introduced them.
Mike noticed that she didn’t bother to mention that he was her ex-husband or that he was a surveillance specialist. No doubt Cunningham thought Mike was one of Brianna’s clients, and he wondered if she’d meant to do so.
Cunningham gave Mike a sharp, assessing glance before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, Brianna.”
So Cunningham and Brianna had a dinner date for Saturday night? Mike caught her look, and when Cunningham was out of earshot, she said, “It’s a business dinner. A charity event. Hundreds of people will be there.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he teased, but he didn’t like the relief that knowing his ex-wife wasn’t seriously involved with another man gave him. She could be dating a dozen guys and it was none of his business, he reminded himself.
Brianna pushed open the door and led Mike into a long, narrow waiting room. Warm, homey and welcoming. Two maple rockers flanked an oval coffee table. Two antique deacon’s benches, covered in floral-print pillows, stood along each wall. Tiffany-glass shades adorned the lamps, and variegated ivy spilled from baskets on the side tables.
Installed into the ceiling were two inconspicuous air ducts, a perfect place for an unsuspecting video camera or recording device. So would the wall clock, the Tiffany lamps and the ivy arrangements.
“Do I detect a possessive streak in your friend Larry?” Mike asked after she motioned for him to have a chair.
“Heavens, no. I told you, we’re only friends.”
Mike wondered how happy Larry was about that arrangement, but he didn’t say anything. Who could blame any guy for wanting to deepen a relationship with Brianna?
She frowned at the attaché case in his hand. “What will you be doing while I’m seeing clients?”
He hesitated. He didn’t like being vague with her, but if the stalker had bugged her office, Mike didn’t want to give out any information. “I’ll be taking notes,” he said finally. When she gave him a puzzled look, he put his finger to his lips, then pointed to the ceiling, in a gesture that meant whatever they said might be overheard. “Don’t worry,” he added. “I won’t do anything we haven’t already discussed.”
She arched a brow and gave him a look that suggested he better be damn sure that he didn’t. “Excuse me while I check my messages.”
He strode back into the waiting room and leaned his briefcase against the bench. First, he’d sketch a preliminary layout of the office. After her clients left, he’d check the phones for listening devices. If someone wanted to overhear Brianna or her clients, the easiest place would be the telephone. All the stalker would need was a high-tech listening device, easily obtainable through the Internet.
He’d wait to check the office furniture and fixtures when Liam brought in the monitoring equipment and did a full sweep. He wished he’d been able to speak to Liam before he’d left for deep-sea fishing with his uncle. From what Liam’s sister had said, Liam was expected back at the Cape by evening. Mike should hear from him as soon as he returned.
