Читать книгу Risk It All - Anna Perrin - Страница 11

Chapter 2

Brooke stared into Latschenko’s cold eyes and remembered another time, another place, when she’d found herself staring into the barrel of a gun. Would today end the same way? With bullets ripping into her flesh? With her collapsing onto the ground and blood trickling out of her like water out of a leaky garden hose?

Latschenko’s gaze shifted downward to the camera, then back to her face. “Damn, I thought that was a gun. What the hell are you doing here, lady?”

Fear clogged her throat like a massive rock, preventing her from uttering a word, a sound or even swallowing. She knew her silence would make this confrontation even more dangerous, but her vocal cords had shut down at the first glimpse of his weapon. She knew the damage it could unleash. She knew the physical agony that came with a gunshot wound and the mental terror of wondering whether it was severe enough to result in death.

He made an impatient gesture with the weapon. “Hand over the camera.”

She told herself she had no choice, that he had the power to take it from her, so there was no point resisting, but anxiety had short-circuited her brain’s signals to her muscles. Her arm wouldn’t budge. She was paralyzed. Helpless. Useless. A complete disgrace to the profession she had once revered.

“Yo, Latschenko.”

The yard-maintenance guy was back from the tennis courts, and his calm voice was at complete odds with the tense situation. Was Joe clueless or cocky, or a mixture of both? Given her current situation, Brooke didn’t care. As she watched his tall, athletic figure stroll across the manicured lawn, she experienced a wave of relief so strong her legs nearly gave out. Surely, Latschenko wouldn’t shoot her in front of a witness.

Joe spoke again. “What’s with the gun? Why are you scaring my girl?”

“Your girl?” Latschenko sputtered. “What are you talking about? What the hell is she doing here?”

Joe continued walking until he stood next to Brooke. The mirrored sunglasses made it impossible for her to see his eyes, to gauge what he was thinking. With a half smile, he slung one heavily muscled arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze that felt oddly protective. He still held the hedge trimmers, which hung down beside his jean-clad leg. Heat radiated from his body, and the warmth seeped into her, easing her fear-induced paralysis. “She noticed I’d forgotten my lunch at home and didn’t want me to go hungry.”

“What about the camera?” Latschenko demanded.

Brooke stole a glance at the street. How good was Latschenko with that gun? It was harder than most people thought to hit a moving target. She flexed her leg, relieved to feel the muscles respond. Maybe she should run for it—

Joe’s fingers tightened on her arm, a subtle warning not to do anything rash. “I told her about the terrific gardens here,” he said. “I guess she wanted to take a few pictures.”

She coughed to hide her surprise. Joe was the best liar she’d ever met. Better than her, which was seriously impressive, given her success at her job often depended on her ability to dissemble. She was only screwing up today because of that damn gun.

Latschenko’s scowl intensified. “She came onto the property without permission and she brought a camera.”

“That’s my fault,” Joe said. “I forgot to tell her about the rules here. She was only being thoughtful of her man. That’s not such a terrible thing, is it?”

Latschenko’s gun eased downward until it was no longer aimed at her torso. “No, more women should be like that,” he agreed.

What a load of chauvinistic crap, Brooke thought. Did Joe really believe what he was saying or was it part of his boyfriend ruse? She supposed she shouldn’t complain, as he was doing a good job of bonding with Latschenko, and that could work in her favor. Although being passive ran contrary to her nature, she decided to stay quiet and see if Joe could talk her way out of this mess.

The guard stuck his chin out belligerently. “In spite of her good intentions, your girlfriend’s coming here is a breach of security. I’m paid to make sure only people approved by Sidorov come onto the property.”

“I get that, man. Totally.” Joe’s voice was mild and nonconfrontational. “It was a simple misunderstanding and won’t happen again. Mr. Sidorov doesn’t need to know she was ever here.”

“If he finds out, it could cost me my job.”

Joe’s lips turned down, suitably chagrined. “You shouldn’t get into trouble over something meaningless like this.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“She was leaving when you stopped her. Let her go. Please.”

Latschenko stared at Brooke for a long moment while she tried to appear apologetic and naively innocent. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made strategic use of the misconception many people had about blond hair and a low IQ. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”

The guard’s expression became less fierce, his stance less intimidating. Mostly, he looked hot and irritated. The danger had seeped out of the situation, Brooke realized. He was going to let her go. Nice work, Joe.

Finally Latschenko spoke. “I need to check her camera.”

Oh crap. This was bad. Very bad. Those shots of Sidorov couldn’t be explained away, no matter what Joe or she said.

Once again, Brooke’s fake boyfriend interceded on her behalf. “That’s just going to waste time,” Joe objected. “The longer she stays here, the bigger the risk your boss sees her and blames you.”

The guy in leather mulled over Joe’s comment, and his head began to nod in agreement. Then he suddenly seemed to reconsider, his face hardening in resolve. “If the camera shots are of flowers, she can leave. If they show anything else, Sidorov will have to decide what to do with her.” His outstretched palm came toward her while the gun in his other hand prevented her from bolting.

Her first impulse was to hurl her camera onto the flagstones underfoot, which would smash the viewing screen. Unfortunately, that would only delay, not solve, the problem. The memory card would still be intact, and the images on it could be downloaded onto a computer.

Latschenko lifted his gun until the barrel was level with her chest. “Give me the—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. The metal blades of Joe’s hedge trimmers cut through the air and slashed down on Latschenko’s outstretched hand. The guard doubled over, clutching his injured hand against his groin while his weapon dropped near his feet. His cry of outrage warned he wasn’t ready to give up, and with his head down like a bull, he charged his attacker. Brooke darted around both men and kicked the gun. It skidded across the grass until it lay out of reach.

Sidestepping him, Joe swung the trimmers again. This time they connected with the side of Latschenko’s head. Thunk. The burly man pitched onto the ground, flattening a wide patch of grass.

Brooke stared at the unmoving figure, feeling a mixture of relief and horror. A little blood matted the hair at his temple. Was he dead?

Joe pressed his fingertips to the man’s neck and answered her unspoken question. “He’s okay, but he’ll have a helluva headache when he wakes up.”

That awakening probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Latschenko looked to be out cold. Good. He deserved to feel some pain for threatening her, as well as stirring up the terrifying memories she wanted to keep buried deep down in her psyche.

Joe grabbed her arm. Hustling her over to the Green Thumb pickup, he shoved her into the cab from the driver’s side and followed her in. As the truck reversed quickly down the driveway, the lawn equipment slammed around in the open bed of the vehicle.

Her mind couldn’t let go of the image of Latschenko’s gun pointed at her, primed to maim or kill her. Her new line of work wasn’t supposed to expose her to life-threatening situations; that was one of the reasons she’d quit being a police officer. Her near-death experience and months-long recovery wasn’t something she was willing to put herself—and her family—through again. But if Joe hadn’t been holding the hedge trimmers and been willing to use them, she might be the one bleeding on the grass instead of Latschenko. Or alternatively, they might have been forced into a confrontation with Sidorov. If the home owner had discovered the shot she’d taken of him holding a gun on Trevor, she had no idea how he might react. Would he have been content to confiscate her camera’s memory card, then release her and Joe? Or would he have decided they were witnesses who needed to be disposed of? And what about Trevor? Would their presence have endangered him even more?

When she’d agreed to Savannah’s request to check up on her husband, it had seemed straightforward and simple, even silly. Instead, it had morphed into a dangerous incident that could have ended in multiple homicides.

Brooke managed to fasten her seat belt only seconds before a trio of familiar sensations hit her: a steel band squeezing her ribs, the runaway pounding of her heart and an overwhelming urge to throw up.

She closed her eyes, swallowed repeatedly and ordered herself to calm down. Naturally, that only exacerbated the problem, and her anxiety spiked higher. The truck lurched to one side, and she grabbed on to the dashboard to steady herself. Meanwhile, she kept up an inner reassuring dialogue. This is nothing new, she reminded herself. You know what to do. Sucking air deep into her lungs, she concentrated on a slow, even count. One...two...hold. Three...four...release. Again.

After several repetitions, her nausea retreated, and her heart settled into a rhythm that was still quicker than usual but no longer insanely fast. She released the dashboard and concentrated on keeping her hands open and relaxed on her thighs. As the panic attack gradually faded, awareness of her rescuer crept in. She thought about Joe’s unruffled demeanor throughout their ordeal and the way he had disposed of Latschenko. No hesitation, no wasted moves, no excess force. Just ruthless efficiency. As if handling armed thugs was nothing new to him...

With the truck speeding down the road and her mind rehashing everything that had transpired, she realized one undeniable fact.

She had trespassed in the wrong damn place.

* * *

As Jared drove the truck, every muscle in his body was tense with frustration. Usually, he found rescuing a victim from a dangerous criminal deeply satisfying and one of the reasons he stayed committed to his job despite the long hours, reams of paperwork and internal politics. Today, however, that satisfaction was overshadowed by anger and self-recrimination. His altercation with Latschenko had ruined his chance to search the house and possibly uncover proof Sidorov had been involved in his younger brother’s disappearance. But what else could he have done? The blonde trespasser had been in imminent danger. Her survival had to take precedence over his original plan, which was a long shot born of desperation. That logic was inescapable to any reasonable person. So why did a niggling voice in his head question his motives? Why did it accuse him of placing the well-being of a stranger over that of his own flesh and blood?

No, that was ridiculous. Despite the fact that he and Steve had a complicated relationship, colored with anger and resentment and hurt, none of that had influenced his decision to run interference for the woman. He had made the right call, according to his training and conscience. The noise in his head was caused by worry and uncertainty.

Next to him, his passenger was hyperventilating, her rapid breathing audible in the confines of the truck. She was obviously terrified, and her reaction didn’t surprise him. Latschenko was a tough, scary dude, and Jared didn’t regret knocking him out.

When the woman had first crawled out of the garden, he’d known her presence was a complication he didn’t need, but he’d been confident he could control the situation. Her claim that Sidorov had drawn a gun on his visitor had substantiated his suspicions the supposedly retired mafia boss hadn’t completely walked away from his criminal past. Jared had warned her to make a speedy exit. Everything would have been fine if she’d moved a little faster or if Latschenko had been content to hang out a little longer at the tennis courts. The difference of a few seconds had proved disastrous, a point driven home when Jared had spotted the two facing each other, the guard’s gun aimed at the blonde’s slender stomach. He could have walked away from the situation, but he’d felt compelled to intervene. What if he hadn’t? Would the woman have managed to escape on her own? Or would she have ended up like Steve—missing, with family members trying desperately to figure out what had become of her?

There was no point dwelling on what-if scenarios; he had to decide his next move based on what had actually gone down. He would take her to her car so she could contact the police, even though the last thing he wanted was lawmen swarming all over Sidorov’s place. If the former Russian mobster felt he was under scrutiny by the authorities, he wouldn’t go about his usual routine or take part in the candid, potentially incriminating conversations Jared had hoped to record on the bug in his office.

When his passenger’s breathing had evened out and she was no longer gripping the dashboard, he spoke to her. “Where’s your car?”

She expelled a long breath. “A couple of blocks south of Sidorov’s property. You’ll need to circle back.”

He glanced over at her. Strands of pale blond hair, shaken loose from her ponytail, hung straight and delicate as corn silk around her face. A deep blue, sleeveless top hugged the generous curves of her breasts, and faded jeans emphasized her narrow waist and extremely long legs. She possessed a spectacular body that had felt awfully good pressed against his side.

He returned his gaze to the road, checked traffic and made a U-turn. “What type of vehicle am I looking for?”

“A white RAV4.” She shifted around in her seat, probably still feeling the lingering edginess of adrenaline. “Thanks for helping me. If you hadn’t stepped in... Well, I’m not even going to attempt to finish that sentence. Do you always think really fast on your feet? That lunch-toting, garden-loving girlfriend story was darn creative, and you told it so convincingly it seemed like the guard was going to let me leave.”

He slowed the pickup to allow a van to merge. “I figured it was worth a try, but unfortunately, Latschenko didn’t quite buy it.” He added, “What’s your name?”

“Brooke Rogers.”

“You said your brother-in-law was being held at gunpoint. What’s he mixed up in?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes...of course.” Her slight hesitation indicated a little less conviction than her first denial.

“Why were you looking in Sidorov’s window?”

She muttered something under her breath that sounded like “neurotic sister.”

He shot a sideways glance at her. “I didn’t catch that.”

“It has nothing to do with you.” Pink infused her cheeks, a sure sign she was embarrassed, but he’d been trained to get all the facts, and he intended to keep after her until she came clean.

“I ran interference for you and nearly got shot. The least you can do is answer my question.”

A dark green Ford Explorer switched into their lane without warning, forcing him to brake hard to keep from rear-ending it.

“My reason for being there is personal,” Brooke said. “What were you doing there? Why were you pretending to be a gardener?”

He shot her an offended look. “What do you mean, pretending?” Bracing the bottom of the truck’s steering wheel with his knee, he held up his hands to prove his point. “There’s nothing phony about these calluses. I cut grass, trim hedges—”

“—and warn off trespassers, which I doubt is part of your job description,” she finished for him. “You walked up to a guy with a gun like it was no big deal, you tried to use his fear of his boss to manipulate him, and when that didn’t work, you got the drop on him.” She paused. “You’re an undercover cop.”

He stiffened. “You’ve got some imagination.”

“You insisted I leave because you didn’t want me to come into contact with Latschenko, and also because I was distracting you from your assignment.”

Damn right, she’d been distracting. Then again, any man with a pulse would’ve had a tough time ignoring a woman whose face and body were more striking than any Hollywood starlet’s.

“How long have you been watching Sidorov?” she asked.

He needed to shut down her curiosity, without letting her know she was on the right track. “Hey, I’m not watching anybody, Blondie. I get paid to do lawn maintenance, and that’s what I do.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t want to seem ungrateful for your handling of Latschenko, but my brother-in-law is in danger, and I need to know what’s going on.”

He kept his eyes on the road and his manner benign. “I understand your concern, but I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“I don’t believe you. And until you admit the truth about why you were on Sidorov’s property, I won’t talk about my reasons for being there.” She sat up straighter and pointed through the windshield. “That’s my vehicle.”

He checked his rearview mirror, then slowed the Green Thumb truck to a crawl while he scanned the immediate vicinity. There were no occupied parked cars and no one hanging around who could have her SUV under surveillance. Satisfied with his findings, he pulled to the side of the road opposite it.

The instant he parked, Brooke jumped out. As he joined her on the street, he noticed her top had slipped down, exposing pale pink bra straps and the upper swells of her breasts. His body hardened as if she were topless, which annoyed the heck out of him. Work boots clomping, he crossed the street ahead of her.

“What are you doing?” she called out.

“Making sure your SUV hasn’t been tampered with. I assume you wouldn’t want me to drive off and then discover you have a flat.”

“No, that would be bad. Thanks.” Her lips curved in a smile that shimmered through his body.

Whoa. That felt good. Too damn good.

He must have looked at her for a few seconds too long because her smile faltered as she stared back at him. What was she thinking? More important, what was she feeling? The same attraction he was?

Eventually, she cocked an eyebrow as if to say, “What are you waiting for?”

What, indeed? With her blond hair, long legs and dynamite figure, she must have guys gawking at her all the time. The thought that he was one of a crowd of admirers cooled his ardor like a few ice cubes tossed down his jeans, and he jerked his gaze away from her.

“Move your car after you call the police,” he told her. “Latschenko might wake up and come looking for you.”

While she unlocked the driver’s door, he circled the vehicle, checking each tire in turn. At the last one, he leaned down and attached a GPS tracking device to the underside of the car. Now wasn’t the time for a lengthy conversation, but he definitely wanted to talk to her again and check out the contents of her camera. Based on their earlier exchange, her cooperation was unlikely unless he produced his FBI credentials, which he wasn’t in a position to do; he’d left them in his car at the lawn-maintenance company when he’d gone undercover. And there was another reason he needed to keep track of her. She was related to the guy in the suit who had been threatened by the Russian mobster he’d been watching. Maybe he could learn more about Sidorov by questioning her sister’s husband.