Читать книгу The Men In Uniform Collection - Barbara McMahon - Страница 29

BOONE DROPPED THE SCANNER and had his weapon out before her scream died. He saw her in the room, her hands splayed to her sides, her posture rigid, her mouth open in horror. What he didn’t see was the geek.

Instead of just slamming into the room, he came in soft, checking the right, the left, the windows, the closet door. Nothing. Nothing but a terrified woman standing over a blood-stained bed.

“Shit,” he said, looking Christie over, even though he knew it couldn’t be her blood. “Are you hurt?” He kept his voice low, although after that scream, it made no difference.

She shook her head.

“Did you see him? Was he here?”

“No.”

“Go into the kitchen,” he said, “and stay there.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere alone.”

Boone knew it wouldn’t do him any good to argue with her. He moved closer to the bed. There was an extraordinary amount of blood. It had drenched the comforter, splattered the pillows and the wall behind it. Too much blood, and it didn’t smell right. There was none of that copper odor he knew too well. He touched the comforter, dipping his finger in the wet, and brought it to his nose. He smelled sugar. “This is fake. It’s stage blood.”

“That’s not as big a comfort as you’d think.”

“I know,” he said. “It still means he was in here, and he’s probably listening, if not watching us right now.”

Christie clutched her robe, but she kept her composure.

He walked to her, touched her arm. “Go into the kitchen. Take your weapon. I’ll be right there.”

She went into her closet and came out holding the Glock. She looked once more at the bed, at him. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“Okay. You stay here. Don’t say anything.”

She nodded. Boone doubted the camera would catch the trembles that ran through her body.

He reached for his scanner and remembered he’d left it in the other room. He looked to Christie. “I’ll be right back. Stay put.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t object.

It took him a minute to retrieve the gadget, and another to get Milo from the kitchen. The dog followed him to the bedroom and immediately went to the bed to sniff the syrup. Christie called him over. Milo looked regretfully at the treat, but he obeyed and the two of them went to the corner of the room where there were no windows and hunkered down together on the carpet.

Boone’s first instinct was to go over to her. She still looked incredibly scared, and her palm was smeared with the sticky red goop. He’d seen the back of her robe, which looked ruined. Just like everything else in her life. But the way he could help the most was to catch this sick freak. So he got to work.

The first camera he looked for was the one he’d placed in a hinge on the door. He didn’t touch it, or even look at it, in case there were other cameras, but his meter showed him it was there and functioning. He’d look at the tape later, after Christie was asleep. The camera would have caught any activity in the room, and with luck, would identify the geek. He could then get a still, and use his buddy at the FBI to run facial-recognition software. It would be a simple matter of tracking the stalker down once they knew who he was. Boone couldn’t wait to get his hands on him. He wouldn’t be stalking anyone else. Not in this lifetime.

As he went inch by inch over every surface, he thought about the significance of the blood spatter. For one thing, the geek had managed to get into the house. Boone had checked every lock, and they were damn good. He’d even jimmied a couple of them to make them stronger, but that hadn’t stopped him. The fake blood was a message, but what kind? That the geek had access to her bedroom. That he wanted her dead. Or that he wanted her even more vulnerable, more frightened, now that she had someone in her corner.

He’d gone to a lot of trouble to make that quantity of goo. And he’d had to transport it here, get it inside, spread it around, all without having any idea when Christie would return home. At least, theoretically.

He couldn’t have tailed them and done this at the same time. He could have an accomplice, although Boone had never heard of any stalkers who didn’t work alone. Killers, yes, but not stalkers.

What mattered was that the geek had made it into the house. That was bad. He’d scared Christie just when she was starting to get a little confidence back. That was also bad. The question now was how to make the geek do it again, only on Boone’s terms.

Christie was another problem. Could he get her out, without the geek knowing? The chances of that were minimal. So they’d fight it out here, if they couldn’t ID the prick. But Boone was no fool. This was a lot more complex than he’d first imagined, and he wasn’t above getting help. He’d call Seth tonight, get him to take a look around.

Boone stopped. The red light was beeping, and the gadget was pointed at the edge of her blinds. He reached up and found the tiny camera, debated holding it for Seth, but decided it was too risky. He put it under his boot heel and squished it into mush.

Of course the geek knew that Boone wasn’t Joe Ordinary by now. He’d known that when the first bug was smashed. It hadn’t scared him off. It had spurred him on.

The geek had to be a spook. CIA, most likely, with cash to spend and incredible access, who was focusing all his energy on one woman. Why? Why her? What did he want? Was sexual obsession the whole story?

He finished the room fifteen minutes later, still with no strong theories as to how to obtain his objective. All he knew for sure was that he’d need help, and that he couldn’t leave Christie alone.

He put away his scanner, and went to the corner, where Milo was taking care of Christie. Boone crouched down so he was eye level with her. “It’s all clear in here now. You’re okay. What do you say we get you into a bath.”

She looked at Milo, rubbed him behind the ears. “I don’t need a bath.”

“Yeah, you do. You might need to move tomorrow. Without wincing.”

She continued to pet Milo, staring at his big, brown eyes.

Boone was gonna have to shift position soon, as his leg was gonna cramp, but he didn’t want to push. Tonight had given her one hell of a shock, on top of a whole lot of other shocks.

She leaned toward him slightly without lifting her gaze. “What if he can see me?”

“There are no cameras in the bathroom. I checked.”

“You checked the locks. You checked the windows.”

He was the one wincing, and not from his leg. “I know. I’m sorry. I underestimated him. I won’t do that again.”

Finally, she looked at him. “Will you come with me?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ll get the bath ready together. And then I’ll stand right outside the door. No one, nothing, is going to get through me, you got that?”

She sniffed, leaned over and kissed Milo on the top of the head, then she stood. It wasn’t the smoothest of moves. He knew her legs, her back, her whole body had to be hurting.

He stood, his knee popping loudly, and followed her into the bathroom. It was like something out of a magazine. Not that he hadn’t seen fancy baths before, but this wasn’t just for show. Everything in the room was designed to pamper. The multiple showerheads, the Whirlpool tub complete with neck pillow and a wide variety of bath salts and oils. She had candles, a boom box, a dimmer switch. The towels were thick and huge, with a matching rug.

He turned on the water, made sure it wasn’t going to scald her, then he looked under her sink for the Epsom salts. He found a box, and dumped a large amount into the tub.

When he stood, Christie was still standing by the door, holding the top of her robe closed with a tight fist. He got close and reached out to touch her arm, but she flinched away. Dropping his hand, he stepped back, made himself look as harmless as possible. “Soak as long as you want. I’ll be right outside. I won’t move, I won’t need to get a glass of water. I won’t make a phone call. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” she said, “but…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have any clothes. For after.”

“What do you want? I’ll go get them.”

“I’ll go.” She stepped to the door and opened it, but she didn’t walk into the hall. “Come with,” she said.

He walked next to her, not touching, and kept it up until they were back in her bedroom, inside her closet. She got underwear, jeans, a T-shirt, a bra. Socks and sneakers. Then she headed for the door.

“What about pajamas?”

She shivered. “I can sleep in these.”

He didn’t say a word. It was smart to be prepared for anything.

They got back to the bathroom, which was warm and steamy as the tub was almost full. He’d already made sure there were no new bugs in here, so she could soak in peace, although he doubted that would happen. “I’m going to be right outside,” he said. “No one’s getting past me. So don’t worry about it. Take as long as you want.”

She put her clothes down on the counter by the sink. For a long minute, she simply stood there, staring at her T-shirt, her back to Boone. Her hands quivered by her side.

“Christie?”

She didn’t turn around. “Go on. It’s fine.”

He approached her softly, but he made sure she knew he was there. “Tell me what I can do,” he said.

“Make it go away.”

He could barely make out the words, but he heard the soft sniff. She was crying. He fought back his panic and concentrated on her, on what she needed. He’d never been able to deal with crying women. Kids, sure. Give ’em a piece of candy and they shut right up, but that didn’t work so well with anyone over ten. “I will. I wish it could go faster, but trust me. He’ll be gone. For now, you’ll feel a lot better after a long soak in the tub.”

He glanced back and saw he’d better turn off the water.

As he bent over the spigot, he felt her beside him. When he stood, she stared at him with reddened eyes, her skin so pale she looked as white as her robe.

“Stay,” she whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I mean in here.”

He bit his lip, not wanting to say the wrong thing. It was so quiet in the small room, not even the faucet dripped, and he wished he was someone a hell of a lot smarter. “Are you sure that won’t make you uncomfortable?”

“Maybe. But I’d rather be uncomfortable than so scared I can’t breathe.”

He nodded, trying to understand. After looking at her hopeful gaze, he decided he didn’t need to understand. He needed to do what she wanted, whatever that was. “Sure. I’ll go sit over there,” he said, pointing at the toilet. “You go ahead.”

He went over to the toilet, put the lid down and sat, angling himself so she’d have privacy and he could see the door. His weapon was at his back, ready should he hear anything. The only thing he heard, however, was the sound of her undressing. The soft thump of her robe hitting the floor. Then there was the whoosh of her touching the water. He wasn’t sure at first if it was her hand or her foot, and then it kept on going, so he knew she was naked. She was lowering her body into the tub. Getting wet. Getting warm.

His face heated as his mind pictured every inch of that body sinking into the tub. He thought about that moment at the gym, when he could have kissed her, and he wanted to shoot himself for being such an idiot.

After a deep breath, he forced himself to focus again. He was her bodyguard, not her lover. He had no business thinking what he was thinking, and he deserved the discomfort in his pants. His dick didn’t know any better, but he did. Christie was his client. Clients and sex didn’t mix.

“Boone?”

His name echoed slightly in that soft, whispery voice that came from fear. “Yeah?”

“Talk to me.”

“About?”

“Anything. About you. Where were you born?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, clicking through the alternatives. There were several things he could tell her, and if she checked, they’d all pan out. But it felt cowardly to lie in this room, with her being so incredibly vulnerable. “Tennessee.”

“I’m surprised. I don’t hear the accent.”

“Yeah, I had one. I got rid of it.”

“Why?”

“I needed to blend in.”

“Oh, okay.”

He waited, unsure what she wanted from him. But then he decided she just wanted noise, something to cover the sound of her washing. “I had an older brother. Teddy.”

“Had?”

“He was killed in Desert Storm.”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. He was a great guy. A hell of a soldier.”

“Is that why you became one?”

“No. It’s just what we did. My father was a lifer. Hell, no one ever called him anything but Major. We were an army family, all the way. ROTC, enlisting the day we came of age. I never thought of doing anything else.”

“What about your mother?”

He sighed. “She was a good army wife. She could pack up and move a house in a week. Nothing fazed her. She took everything like a good soldier.”

“Are they still around?”

“Yeah, they are. Back in Tennessee. My father’s retired. He likes to hunt now. Hunt and fish.”

“Must be nice.”

“What, hunting?”

“No, having parents who approve of you. Who care.”

He laughed. “Boy, are you off by a mile.”

The water sloshed. “But you were in Delta. That had to have made them happy.”

“It did. For a while.”

“What happened?”

He took in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Things didn’t turn out the way any of us expected.”

“You’re talking about the Balkans, aren’t you? About the mess that got Nate killed.”

“Yeah.”

He listened as she washed. At least that’s what he pictured. A sponge moving over her pale skin, down her arms, dipping under the water to caress her long legs.

“Boone?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you miss your mom?”

All thoughts of wayward sponges ceased instantly with that word, but aside from the slight flash of guilt, he registered the tone of Christie’s question. She was hurt, alone and in one hell of a mess. “Sometimes,” he said. “Do you miss yours?”

“No,” she said, her voice a lot softer than a moment ago. “I miss Beaver’s mom.”

“Who?”

“You know, Beaver Cleaver. His mom. She would have been great, wouldn’t she? Always dressed so neat and tidy, always making sure the house was clean and dinner was on the table when Ward came home from the office. She listened to all their problems, no matter how silly they were. And she never made either of her kids feel stupid.”

“Versus your mother, who did?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s an expert. She loved us, I suppose, in her own dysfunctional way, but sometimes it was awfully hard to tell.”

“How’d you turn out so great if she was so awful?”

She didn’t answer, and he was tempted to turn and look, but he kept his focus on the doorknob, nothing else.

“Christie?”

“Just thinking,” she said. “Thinking that it was my dad’s influence, but it wasn’t. The good parts of me are because of Nate. He wasn’t that much older, but he was the adult in our house. Can you believe that? As crazy as Nate was?”

“Yeah, I can believe it. Why do you think he was the team leader? The man had some serious skills. I’ve never met anyone I could depend on like Nate. He was the rock, no matter what.”

“Yeah. A pigheaded rock, but man, when I needed him, he was right there. You know he beat up Scott Fairchild for me? That was excellent.”

“Tell me,” he said, wanting nothing more than for her to relax, and for him to stop thinking about how naked she was.

“Fairchild was an ass. He was a year ahead of me in high school, and he thought he was too damn cool for the rest of us mortals. What a jerk. He used to put a chalk mark on his locker for every girl he slept with. Well, that he said he slept with. The chalk was white, and when the janitor wiped it off, he’d just chalk them up again.”

“Why did Nate beat on him?”

“Because he wanted to put me on his list.”

“Oh.”

“No, no. It wasn’t like that. It was worse. I was young and stupid and totally into wanting to be popular. So when he asked me out, I was thrilled. I spent all my babysitting money on a new outfit, and talked about it for days and days before the actual event. He picked me up, introduced himself to my parents with his Eddie Haskell manners, and the minute we were in the car, he told me we weren’t going to make it to the school dance after all, but to this party at his friend’s house.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I’ll say,” she said. “Of course, we were the only two at the party, and of course, he’d laid in a stash of booze. I’d known that’s what he’d want, but I didn’t get it. Not really. So when it came down to it, I freaked. I couldn’t go through with it.”

“That’s good.”

“Not really. Because he took me home. Dropped me off at the end of the block, not even at my house. Then he put a big old chalk mark on the locker with my initials under it. He told everyone that mattered at the school that I was not only a total skank, but that I was so lousy he was sure I was really a dyke. Nice, huh?”

“And that’s when Nate showed up.”

“In his uniform, thank you very much. At school. With all Scott’s posse watching. Not only did Nate clean his clock, he told everyone that Scott was the most unsophisticated, foolish little boy he’d ever seen. That a real man didn’t ever need to broadcast it, that a real man had respect for women because they were the greatest of God’s gifts, and that since he knew for a fact that Scott had lied about doing anything with me, it was a sure bet that he’d lied about every other chalk mark on his locker.

“Bet Scott’s life was never the same again.”

“Damn straight.”

He angled toward her, but didn’t look at anything but her eyes. “And I’ll bet you wish more than anything in the world that Nate was here right now, cleaning this bastard’s clock.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Her lips trembled and then she was crying. Eyes closed, she turned her back to him, but he could see by the way her shoulders shook that this was bad, worse than before.

He heard her sob, and all he could think was that she looked so small, so helpless in that big old tub. And how he wished Nate were there, because she needed him so badly. She needed so much.

Then he thought again about what his job was, here in this house, in this room. And he stood.