Читать книгу Jack's Christmas Mission - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 10

“H owdy, ma’am,” Jack said. “I’m the Dundee agent you hired. Jack Parker.” He held out his hand.

The woman stared at his proffered hand, hesitated, then clasped it in hers. He liked the feel of her small, soft hand and the strength of her firm handshake. But he was a bit uncertain about the way she looked him square in the eye. He was accustomed to ladies being a little more subtle and not quite so straightforward. But, being the man he was, he couldn’t help noticing how green her eyes were and how long her thick, dark lashes were. Under different circumstances and with a different woman, he would have commented on her eyes. But knowing what he did about this particular lady, he figured she wouldn’t take kindly to a compliment that she was sure to see as flirting.

When he held on to her hand a minute too long, she jerked free and stepped backward just enough to show him that she needed a perimeter of personal space around her in order to feel comfortable. Jack prided himself on being a good judge of body language, so he heeded her message.

“I suppose, to be polite, I should say it’s nice to meet you and I’m glad you’re here.” Peggy Jo maintained direct eye contact with him. “But in all honesty, Mr. Parker, I really don’t want a bodyguard and I greatly resent the fact that I need one.”

“Call me Jack,” he said, and smiled. But when she didn’t return the friendly gesture, he realized he’d been right about this woman. His gut instincts had warned him that she wasn’t going to be easily charmed, that she was going to make this assignment the job from hell. And his gut instincts were seldom wrong. “By all means, Ms. Riley, be honest with me.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being impolite, but—”

“Why don’t we clear the air immediately?” he suggested. “You hired me because you need protection, and you want the Dundee Agency to put its manpower and brainpower to work on finding out who your stalker is. But you hate the idea of having a strange man being with you twenty-four/seven.”

Her eyes widened, apparently surprised by his frankness.

“It’s not necessary that you like me,” he told her. “But it is necessary that you trust me. Can you do that?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. It’s difficult for me to trust others, especially men.”

“Don’t think of me as a man.” Jack noted the startled look on her face and barely restrained a chuckle. “Think of me as your protector, someone whose sole purpose is to keep you safe from harm.”

“I’m used to taking care of myself. I hate the idea of having to rely on anyone else to protect me.”

“I admire your self-reliance, but with an unknown stalker determined to keep you off balance, the only smart thing to do is rely on me and the Dundee Agency until we apprehend this guy and take you out of harm’s way.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” Peggy Jo nervously rubbed her hands together. “I promise that I’ll do my best to cooperate with you, as long as you remember that I’m your employer.”

“Meaning?” Jack knew damn well what she meant. She wanted him to agree that she was the boss. Heck, she could call herself whatever she wanted—employer, boss, the one in charge—as long as she realized that he was the expert and if he issued her an order, she’d damn well better obey it.

“Meaning just that. I’m the employer and you’re the employee. Our relationship is strictly business. No first names. No unnecessary familiarity.” Peggy Jo finally broke eye contact as she surveyed Jack from head to toe, leisurely, as if she were studying him under a microscope. “And as soon as the Dundee Agency has a female bodyguard available, I want you replaced.”

Jack laid his hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. “Oh, Miss Peggy Jo, you wound me, you do. You haven’t even given me a chance to prove my worth and already you’re talking about replacing me.”

“Cut the crap, Parker,” she said, her expression somber. “Your ‘aw shucks, ma’am’ attitude is wasted on me.”

“You’re one tough cookie, aren’t you, Miss Peggy Jo? Tell me, is ball-busting a second job for you or just a hobby?”

She gasped. The nerve of the man! How dare he speak to her that way. Just who did he think he was? Obviously, he didn’t know a damn thing about her or he would have realized that she didn’t take back talk from anyone—and never from a man!

“Let’s get one thing straight—” Peggy Jo punched the tip of her index finger into Jack’s chest “—if you make another remark like that, I’ll fire you and get Dundee to send me another agent. One with a more agreeable attitude.”

The man laughed. He actually laughed. Right in her face! She felt her skin burning, felt a heated flush creeping up her neck. He glanced down at where her finger hovered over his chest. When she jerked it away, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. A wild rush of adrenaline pumped through her body at his touch. Their gazes collided. She tugged to free herself, but he held tight.

“I apologize, Miss Peggy Jo,” he said, a warm, winning smile on his face. “I’m not usually such a jackass. As a matter of fact, I’m known for my Southern charm, but I figured charm wouldn’t work with you, so I tried a different tactic. Obviously, I made a mistake. So how about forgiving me and letting us start all over again?”

The pressure of his grip on her wrist lessened until she could have easily broken loose. But she didn’t. She stood there for an endless moment, their gazes locked, her breathing ragged, and allowed his statement to sink into her befuddled brain. She didn’t like the way this man made her feel—all soft and hot and feminine. And vulnerable.

“I think you switched tactics on me again, didn’t you?” When she pulled on her wrist, he released her. “If I have to choose between the jerk and the charmer, then I’ll take the charmer. But you’re right—all the charm in the world won’t work on me, Mr. Parker. I’m immune.”

“Does this mean you aren’t going to fire me?”

He was still grinning, damn him, as if he knew perfectly well that if she fired him after his sincere apology, then she’d have to admit to herself that she couldn’t stand her ground against him.

“No, I’m not firing you. But keep in mind that I can dismiss you at any time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and clicked his heels.

“So, now what?” she asked.

“We start by going over some ground rules,” he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his golden-brown eyes. “My ground rules.”

Before Peggy Jo could comment, she looked past Jack to where Ross Brewster stood just inside the doorway, a couple of mugs in his hands. She motioned for Ross to come to her.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Who’s this guy?” Jack asked, and when Peggy Jo glared at Jack questioningly, he explained, “I need to know the identities of all the people who work here at WLOK and what their positions are and their relationships to you.”

Peggy Jo nodded, understanding his need for this information. “This is Ross Brewster,” she said as Ross approached her.

“I’ve brought you some fresh coffee,” Ross said, handing a mug to Peggy Jo. “And I brought some for you, too.”

Jack accepted the bright purple mug emblazoned with the WLOK emblem. “Thanks.”

“Ross is a student at UTC,” Peggy Jo said. “He works here at the studio every morning before classes and various hours between classes.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack said, and shook hands with the young man. “I’m Jack Parker, Miss Peggy Jo’s bodyguard. We’ll probably be seeing a great deal of each other for a while.”

Ross visibly flinched. “A bodyguard?”

“Yes,” Peggy Jo said. “With the stalker getting more bold—bold enough to ransack my dressing room here at the studio without being caught—I decided that it was in my best interest to hire someone to watch my back.”

“I think that’s a really good idea,” Ross said, his gaze scanning Jack from head to toe. “Do you carry a gun?”

Jack grinned. “Sure do.” But he made no move to reveal the whereabouts of his weapon.

Ross swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah. Mr. Compton said to tell you that Leda and Burt are here.”

“Thanks.”

Ross smiled, then walked backward, exiting slowly, melting away like snow in the sunshine.

Peggy Jo turned her attention back to Jack and before he could ask her, she said, “Leda Seager is the director of Self-Made Woman and Burt Morgan is our production manager. I wanted to speak to them and explain about your presence on the set…well, actually, your presence in my life. I asked Chet to let me speak to them first. I was afraid that if he told them about you, he would…well, he might—”

“Chet? Chet Compton, the station manager. Right?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“His name stuck in my mind after I read your file that Dundee put together quickly and gave me before I left Atlanta yesterday. If I recall correctly, Chet’s also a former boyfriend of yours.”

“Chet was never my boyfriend,” she corrected. “He and I dated occasionally, but we’ve never been anything except friends. And not even that anymore. We’re business associates and that’s all.”

“Who broke whose heart?”

“What?”

“If you two were friends before you started dating and now that you don’t date any longer, you aren’t friends, then that tells me somebody took the relationship seriously and got hurt when it ended.”

“You’re quite astute, aren’t you?” Peggy Jo sipped her coffee. “Chet wanted more than friendship. I didn’t.”

“Any chance Chet is your stalker?”

Peggy Jo wanted to reply in the negative, but she couldn’t. Chet had a temperamental nature and tended to be possessive. She didn’t like the idea of suspecting him, but she knew she couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Probably not,” she said. “But it’s possible.”

“And what about Ross? It’s obvious the boy’s got a crush on you.”

Peggy Jo shrugged. “I doubt it’s Ross. He’s such a sweet boy. But then again, I suppose he could be considered a suspect.”

Jack harrumphed. “Just how many lovesick fools do you have in your life?”

Peggy Jo narrowed her gaze and glowered at him. “What happened to that good-ole-boy charm of yours?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The corners of his mouth lifted, but didn’t quite form a smile. “Let me rephrase that. How many men do you suspect might be your stalker?”

Before Peggy Jo could answer his question, Leda and Burt entered the studio. She glanced at her watch and realized that she had only a couple of minutes to introduce Jack Parker and explain his presence before it was time for a quick rehearsal. They would begin taping the first of the Christmas week episodes in less than an hour. And the audience would be allowed into the studio in about thirty minutes.

“I’ll go over all the possible suspects with you on my lunch break later today,” Peggy Jo said. “But for now, come meet two very important people who have helped advance my television career.”

Jack stood on the sidelines, off to himself just enough to keep a close watch on his client without being seen by either the camera or the small local audience that fitted snugly into the studio. As he watched and listened to Peggy Jo Riley doing her thing, he marveled at how adept she was at putting her guests at ease, even those with whom she disagreed. Why hadn’t she used a little of that charisma with him? he wondered. She’d been downright hostile. Of course, he hadn’t put his best foot forward with her, either. The score was pretty much even in the ornery and unpleasant department. Face it, Jacky-boy, you aren’t used to women taking an instant dislike to you. Miss Peggy Jo kinda bruised your ego, didn’t she?

When she had threatened to fire him, why had he all but pleaded with her for a second chance? Ego! Male ego! It would be one thing if he quit, but another thing altogether if she fired him. He intended to contact Ellen tonight and tell her that he wanted a female agent to replace him on this job as soon as one became available. That way both he and the client would be happier.

The well-rounded young woman Peggy Jo had introduced to him as Kayla Greene, her assistant, came up beside him and said softly, “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“Huh?” Jack glanced at the friendly Ms. Greene, whose gaze was glued to the set where her boss lady was discussing with a dietician how to eat well during Christmas without putting on extra pounds.

“I’m talking about our Peggy Jo,” Kayla said, keeping her voice low. “Isn’t she wonderful? Everybody in the whole state of Tennessee just loves her. That’s why I can’t figure out why anyone would want to hurt her. Do you think it’s possible that her stalker is just some misguided guy who’s in love with her?”

“Sure, the guy stalking her could think he’s in love with her, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.”

“I’m really glad that Ms. Lennard talked Peggy Jo into hiring you. If anything happened to her, we’d all be just devastated.”

Jack laid his hand on Kayla’s plump shoulder. She gazed up at him and smiled. He indicated with a nod that he wanted her to move back farther away from the set. She followed him into the nearby corner.

“What is it?” she asked, her blue-gray eyes sparkling and her round cheeks flushing a rosy pink.

“I was wondering if you’ve got any idea about who Miss Peggy Jo’s stalker might be,” Jack said. “You probably know everyone she works with and the guys she dates and—”

“I’ve got my suspicions, that’s for sure. If it’s somebody who cares about her, then it might be Mr. Compton. He’s been peeved at her ever since she stopped dating him.”

“Yeah, I already know about him, and he’s at the top of my list. But what about someone else? What about Ross Brewster or Burt Morgan?”

When Kayla shook her head, her halo of chestnut-brown curls bounced about her moon-pie face. “It’s not either of them. Ross is such a sweet guy and Mr. Morgan is super-nice. They both adore Peggy Jo.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Jack patted his Stetson on his leg. “So, Chet Compton is your only suspect?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said it might be him. But if I were a betting person, I’d put my money on either Buck Forbes or Tia Tuesday.”

“According to my files, Buck Forbes is Miss Peggy Jo’s ex-husband, so I can see why you’d consider him a suspect, but who is Tia Tuesday?”

“Tia? She’s the airhead bimbo on a local rival station who has an exercise-and-fitness show on at the same time Self-Made Woman airs. Our show has been beating hers in the ratings ever since her show debuted last year, and the woman has made no secret that she despises Peggy Jo. She’s been saying some pretty mean things ever since Peggy Jo’s show got picked up for national syndication.”

“Is that it?” Jack asked. “Anybody else?”

“Those are the only people I know about, but couldn’t the stalker be somebody Peggy Jo doesn’t know?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s always a possibility.” He patted Kayla on the shoulder. “Thanks for you help.”

“Anytime. I’d do anything for Peggy Jo.”

Jack glanced back at the set where his client was finishing up the last shot of the segment with the dietician. As soon as the spot concluded, Peggy Jo shook hands with her guest and thanked her profusely, then turned and walked off the set. She came straight toward Jack, walking with a confident strut, as if she owned the world. There was something downright appealing about a woman who was that self-assured. He couldn’t help wondering if her cocksure attitude was for real or just for show.

“You weren’t interrogating Kayla, were you?” Peggy Jo asked, her voice slightly on edge.

“I asked her a few questions,” Jack said, his tone defensive. “After all, she is your assistant and I thought she might have some insight into who your stalker might be.”

“Let me guess—her number-one suspect is Tia Tuesday.” Laughing softly, Peggy Jo shook her head. “Tia might dislike me, but she isn’t my stalker. For one thing the woman can’t go anywhere in Chattanooga without being recognized. Believe me she has the most recognizable boobs in town.”

“Ah, one of those.” Jack couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread across his face. “But even the most recognizable boobs in Chattanooga could hire somebody to do her dirty work for her.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Peggy Jo reached out to touch his arm, but paused, her hand in midair. “Look, we’ll talk on my lunch break. Right now, I need to freshen my makeup and glance over the information on my next guest, a counselor who’s going to discuss dealing with depression during the holidays.”

Jack nodded, then when she headed toward the door that opened into the corridor that led to her office, he followed her. The minute she realized he was marching along behind her, she stopped and turned to face him.

“I’m just going to the powder room,” she said.

“Where you go, I go.”

“You are not going into the bathroom with me!”

“No, but I’ll be standing guard right outside. So just holler if you need me.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Parker. I hardly think I’ll be accosted in the bathroom. And I’m perfectly capable of doing anything I need to do in there without your assistance.”

With that said, she turned and stomped down the hallway, shoved open the door to her office and made a beeline straight to her private bathroom. Jack leaned against the doorjamb, crossed one ankle over the other and waited.

Usually an optimist, Jack didn’t understand why he couldn’t shake this pessimistic feeling he had that things with Miss Peggy Jo were bound to get worse. It was clear as the nose on his face that the woman was determined to dislike him. And even though she was well-known as a feminist, he didn’t think she hated all men. No, her feelings of animosity toward him were personal. But what could it be about him that rubbed her the wrong way? He wasn’t bad looking. He was fairly smart. And he had a likable personality. Most ladies found him downright irresistible.

Heck, maybe he reminded her of her ex-husband in some way. If that were the case, he’d just have to show Miss Peggy Jo that he wasn’t anything like Buck Forbes. He’d never struck a woman in his entire life, not even with provocation. Why, he’d rather cut off his right hand than to ever hit a member of the fair sex.

Jack noticed a shadow outside the office door. Just as he took a step forward, a perky young lady carrying a bouquet of red roses came prancing into the room.

“A delivery for Ms. Riley,” she said.

“Do you work here or are you delivering for the florist?” Jack asked, wondering if the station’s security people had allowed a delivery person to simply walk into Peggy Jo’s private office.

“I work for Humphrey’s Florist,” she replied.

Jack growled under his breath.

“Sir, is something wrong?”

“No. At least nothing that’s your fault.”

“Where shall I put these?”

“Set them on the desk.” He inclined his head toward the ornate cherry desk.

She hurriedly placed the arrangement on the desk, and when Jack reached for his wallet, she shook her head. “It’s already been taken care of by the person who sent them.”

The minute the woman left, Jack walked across the room, snatched the attached card from the flowers and opened the small envelope. But before he could look at the card, Peggy Jo emerged from the bathroom, took one look at the roses and cursed.

“Damn! Get those things out of here. Right now!” She glared at the gorgeous floral arrangement as if it were a grotesque two-headed snake.

“You want these roses tossed out?” he asked. “You don’t even know who they’re from.”

“I don’t care who sent them,” she said. “Anyone who knows me well enough to be sending me flowers would know better than to send me red roses.”

An alarm went off in Jack’s head. He glanced at the card he held in his hand. Hellfire! Peggy Jo’s sicko stalker had no doubt sent the flowers.

“What does it say?” she asked.

He hesitated, then lifted his gaze and looked her square in the eye. “‘Red roses for a dead lady.’”

Her mouth rounded in a soundless gasp. “They’re from him.”

“It would appear so.” Jack stuck the note in his pocket, then lifted the clear glass vase and dumped vase, flowers, water and all into the nearby wastebasket. “I’ll contact the florist and see if they have any idea who the sender was.”

“Do you think they’ll know?” Peggy Jo stood ramrod stiff as she gazed at the wastebasket.

“Probably not. Our stalker will be smart enough not to give himself away by letting himself be identified by the florist.”

Why the hell did she keep staring at the discarded flowers? It was as if they held her under some sort of demonic spell. What was the significance of red roses? And why did she hate the one flower that most women adored?

“Miss Peggy Jo?”

“What?” Still she continued to stare, as if hypnotized by the floral arrangement that she had told him to deep six.

“How about filling me in on the fascination you have for those dumped flowers?”

She snapped her head around and all but growled at him. “I’m not fascinated, I’m repulsed.”

“Why?”

“Why? How can you ask such a question. The person who is tormenting me sent those flowers, and you ask me why they repulse me.”

“You told me to get rid of the roses before you knew who they were from. Come on, level with me. Remember I’m the one guy you’re supposed to be able to trust.”

With her gaze boring a hole into him, she said, “My ex-husband used to send me red roses to apologize. Every time Buck beat the hell out of me, he sent me red roses the next day and a note saying ‘I’m sorry.’”