Читать книгу Winter Hawk's Legend - Aimee Thurlo - Страница 11

Once her presentation came to a close, Holly smiled at her largely enthusiastic audience and thanked the group for their patience. “Now I’d like to answer all your questions. Please ask me whatever you’d like.”

The question-and-answer session took another thirty minutes. Afterward, they broke for a well-deserved lunch.

Holly followed the attendees to the small cafeteria at the other end of the building. Going down the buffet line, she opted for a large bowl of fresh mutton stew, warm fry bread and hot coffee in a big white mug with the tribal emblem on the side. With her tray full, she headed to a table by the windows. As she approached the spot, a tingle of awareness spread through her.

Female intuition… She knew even before she could confirm it that Daniel Hawk was looking at her.

As Holly set her tray down, Daniel came up and introduced himself, but according to Navajo customs, didn’t offer to shake hands.

“No introduction is necessary, Mr. Hawk,” she said, noting how low and masculine the timbre of his voice was and how it seemed to fit him perfectly. “I know who you are and I’m glad you came over.” She sat down and invited him to join her. “I owe you a big thank-you.”

“No thanks are needed, but I thought you could use some pointers on how to spot trouble before it happens,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “We can talk now while you have lunch.”

For a moment she wondered if he was somehow blaming her for what had happened. “I’d like to hear what you’ve got to say,” she said, “but my job is to give presentations. If there’s a problem, security has to handle it.”

“They will. I just thought a few tips might give you an edge. If nothing else, it could give you time to duck.”

She smiled, but before she could answer, two more session attendees came up with their trays to join them at the table. They’d only been there a minute or so when Daniel’s pager went off and he was forced to leave.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Jennifer Long, a representative from a local utility cooperative, whispered.

Holly watched Daniel until he left the cafeteria. “He’s observant, too. I get the feeling very little gets past him.”

“Do you suppose he knows he’s total eye candy?” Mary Randall, an attorney for the tribe, said with a mischievous smile.

They laughed, and as Holly ate lunch, two more people joined them. It wasn’t until later that afternoon, during a pause in the schedule, that Holly saw Daniel again. He met her by the coffee urn as she stepped out of a meeting room during a short break.

“I’m glad we ran into each other,” Holly said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and I would like to get some of those tips you mentioned. If I remember things right, you were on the move today before the trouble with Keeswood began. How did you know what would happen?”

“I watched him from the moment he came into the room. His shoulders were rigid and he looked like a man looking for trouble. I went with my gut and stayed close.”

“So it was reading his body language that did it,” she said with a nod.

“There was more,” he answered. “I noticed that he kept checking out the location of security with his eyes, but not moving his head to stare directly. This is all part of what I wanted to talk to you about. If you’re willing to set aside some time, I’d be happy to teach you a few things.”

“I’ll be through here at four-thirty. Would you like to meet then?” she said.

He checked his watch, then shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve still got two more meetings to attend today. One of them will probably run over, too, since we’ll be working out the details of our next security training exercise. How about if we meet for dinner tonight? You name the place?”

She hesitated. She didn’t date people associated with her work. That hard-and-fast rule had helped her company run smoothly.

“Please don’t think of it as a date. It’s business,” he said, almost as if he’d read her mind.

She nodded, relieved. “How about we meet at the Simple Pleasures Café in Hartley, off Twentieth Street? Do you know it?”

“I’ve never been there, but I’ve passed by. I can meet you at, say, seven?”

As she looked at Daniel, in his weathered brown leather jacket and jeans, she wondered if his tastes ran closer to the Bucking Bronco, just outside of Hartley and a world away from Simple Pleasures.

The Bucking Bronco was a bar and grill well-known for the good ol’ boys it attracted. It wasn’t a rough place, at least not if you judged solely on the number of police visits per month. The bar, in county jurisdiction, had its own way of handling trouble. She’d heard that disputes there were settled inside a cage until one of the parties went down.

“Seven it is, then,” she said, realizing that her thoughts had wandered.

“For what it’s worth, I admire how you kept your cool when Keeswood confronted you. It showed courage and character.” He flashed her a heart-stopping half smile, then his gaze shifted. “Martin needs me,” he said, giving their boss a nod. “I better get back to work.”

“Me, too. Break time’s over,” she said, looking down at the foam coffee cup she’d never filled.

The rest of the day went by in slow motion. She’d always prided herself on her ability to stay focused, but Daniel Hawk was proving to be a very persistent distraction. She was curious about the man she’d heard women whispering about around the coffee machine. No matter what else, it promised to be an interesting dinner tonight.

HOLLY ARRIVED HOME in Hartley shortly after six. She stepped inside her small, World War II era casita, a two-bedroom home in an established middle-class neighborhood, and felt the tranquility of the house welcome her. She’d worked hard to make the fixer-upper place she’d bought two years ago into the home it was today.

She smiled as she looked at the light apricot-colored walls, her favorite color, and the old hardwood floors, worn in the center and slightly concave in places from decades of foot traffic. She’d lovingly refinished the thirties era armoire and the solid oak bookcase to match the honey glow of the tongue and groove floors.

All her furniture had a past and its own history. She’d bought most of the pieces at auctions or estate sales. Each had called to her in a special way, maybe because of an intricate carving in the wood, or the construction itself.

Most important, all her belongings spoke of endurance and stability. Growing up, change had been the only constant in her life. Her father, a gambler usually on the run from creditors, the law, or on the lookout for fresh pigeons, had kept them on the move.

Her own home was a reminder that those days were finally behind her. It was a symbol of permanence and security, the very things that had always eluded her and what she valued most. To the observant, her home’s whispers revealed much about her, things she wanted to keep private. Maybe that was why she usually only invited close friends over.

Holly stopped by the big cardboard egg crate that held all her Christmas ornaments. She’d set it against the wall, ready to open up as soon as she brought her Christmas tree home. It would be a six-foot blue spruce this year, with lots of branches. She already had an image of what it would look like in her mind.

Reaching down, she picked up the hand-carved angel she’d placed on top of all the other ornaments. It was a lovely piece signed by a turn-of-the-century Spanish carver in Santa Fe. The other ornaments were also antiques, salvaged here and there from unlikely places. Even the metal stand, though simple in design, dated back to the nineteen-fifties.

As her cherrywood grandfather clock chimed the half hour, Holly hurried into the bedroom. She needed to shower and change before meeting Daniel.

Twenty-five minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom wearing a simple emerald-green turtleneck sweater and dark, comfortable wool pants. Grabbing her coat from the rack as she left, she set out.

It was a perfect evening, so she’d decided to walk to Simple Pleasures. The night temperature was unseasonably warm, and tonight there was going to be a meteor shower. The chance of seeing a shooting star was too good to pass up.

Though it was still early in the evening and she knew that most celestial activity would be after midnight, she kept her eyes on the heavens as she walked. The cloudless sky would make it easy to see nature’s light show. The streets here were dark enough for that, with streetlamps only at the intersections between blocks. No one minded, since the neighborhood was as safe as could be.

Although the south side of the boulevard beginning at the end of the block was zoned commercial, ordinances restricted light pollution and business signs. The coffee shop on the corner and the converted homes beyond served mostly as law and real estate professional offices and didn’t shout their presence.

There was no traffic at the moment, so Holly decided to leave the sidewalk and cross diagonally. There was a big pine tree in the median and she loved its Christmassy scent. As she stepped out into the street, Holly heard footsteps approaching from behind.

She turned, ready to greet a person she assumed would be one of her neighbors—but she was wrong. A man wearing some kind of dark bandanna over his face lunged toward her. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he grabbed her hard by the shoulders, pulling her close.

“Let go!” she yelled, pushing him in the chest as hard as she could.

Holly tried to scream, but a heavy glove quickly covered her mouth, cutting off her breath. The man spun her around, wrapped his free arm across her middle like a vise, then dragged her over the curb and onto the grass between the trees. When she kicked him in the leg, he lifted her off the ground, leaving her flailing in midair.

Grunting, he pushed her face down into the grass, his knees on her back. He smelled of sweat and strong aftershave, and his weight was crushing the air right out of her lungs. For a moment his hand slipped off her mouth and she screamed as loud as she could.

Holly felt him slip the loop of heavy cord over her head and knew he intended to strangle her. She was in a fight for her life. Terrified, she scrunched her chin against her chest and slipped her hand up under the cord, trying to keep it away from her throat. Her fingers pressed into her throat painfully, but if she wanted to live, she had to keep them in the way. It was her only hope.