Читать книгу Wanted: Bodyguard - Carla Cassidy - Страница 6

Lana Tyler silently crept out of the small bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. Getting almost four-year-old Haley down for a nap was always a bit of a challenge and today had been no different, but finally, after two stories, a backrub and a drink of juice, the little girl had fallen asleep.

Now if Lana were lucky she’d get a couple of hours to herself. As she walked through the living room she eyed the overstuffed hunter green sofa with a touch of longing.

A nap for mommy wasn’t such a bad idea, but she had a big jewelry show coming up in two weeks, and the best time for her to work on her new pieces was when her daughter was either napping or tucked into bed for the night.

A knock on the front door halted her progress from the living room to the kitchen, and she backtracked to see who was at the door.

Two men stood on her porch, both clad in dark suits and wearing matching somber expressions that led her to believe they were either there to save her soul or to serve a warrant. She hadn’t broken any laws that she was aware of, and as far as she was concerned her soul was in pretty good shape.

“Yes? May I help you?” she asked through the screen door.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Tyler. I’m FBI Agent Bill McDonald, and this is Agent Frank Morrel.” He opened a badge holder and held it up so she could see his official identification. “May we come in and speak with you?”

FBI? For a moment a rush of hope filled her, hope that somehow they’d come to tell her the name of her husband’s killer, that finally, after twenty long months, she would have some closure.

She looked carefully at the badges and assured herself they were real, then unlocked the screen door and opened it to allow the two agents into her home. “Is this about Joe? Have you finally caught the person who murdered him?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Tyler, this is about another matter,” Agent McDonald replied.

She frowned. “Another matter?” She gestured them into the living room, where they both sat on the sofa. “If this isn’t about Joe, then what’s it about?”

“We need your help,” Agent Morrel said.

“My help?” Lana sank into the chair facing the two men. What could the FBI possibly want with her? She was just an ordinary single mother working hard to get by.

“We’d like to put an agent in your home for the next week or two. He’d be undercover, and we’d like him to pose as your new husband.”

Lana stared at first one man and then the other. “Excuse me?” She must have misunderstood what he’d said. “Did you say husband?”

Bill McDonald nodded and leaned forward. “We understand that you’re friendly with your neighbor Greg Cary.”

Again a rivulet of surprise swept through Lana. “Yes, we’re friendly,” she agreed. “He’s been a good neighbor over the years and a huge support since my husband was murdered. Why, is he in some kind of trouble?”

“I’m afraid we can’t go into any specific details,” Agent Morrel replied. “All we need from you is the okay to put an agent here in your home to do some surveillance work. We can assure you that there is absolutely no danger to you or your little girl. All we ask of you is that you go along with the charade of a marriage and don’t tell anyone the truth. Not family, not friends. It’s imperative that everyone believe Special Agent Riley Kincaid is your husband.”

“Riley Kincaid?” She felt like a parrot, repeating random words as she tried to make sense of what exactly they wanted from her.

Morrel nodded and looked at his wristwatch. “He’s a good man and has been assigned to this particular piece of the operation. He should be here within the next fifteen minutes or so.”

Lana felt as if things were spinning way out of control. “Fifteen minutes? You certainly aren’t giving me any time to think about all this,” she said with a touch of resentment.

“What’s to think about?” Agent McDonald asked. “We need you and your house, and as the widow of a law-enforcement official, we know you’ll want to help out, to do your civic duty.”

What on earth was going on? What could Greg have done that would warrant FBI interest and an undercover operation? “Is there somebody I can call and speak to about all this?” she asked, reluctant to agree to anything before talking to somebody in authority, somebody not currently sitting on her sofa.

Morrel nodded. “You can call Associate Deputy Director Chris McCall at the Kansas City field office.”

Lana got up out of her chair and grabbed the cordless phone. It took her only minutes to get the phone number for the Kansas City FBI field office from information, dial it and be connected to Chris McCall, who had obviously expected her call.

“Our man Special Agent Kincaid will be as unobtrusive as possible in your home, in your life,” he assured her smoothly. “I understand that this is short notice, and we certainly appreciate your cooperation in allowing us to use your home for the next couple of weeks. Agents Morrel and McDonald will be your contacts should any problems arise.”

He went on to praise her once again for her cooperation and willingness to step up and help. The way Lana saw it, she didn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter.

She hung up the phone and returned to her seat in the overstuffed beige chair, not thrilled by this crazy turn of events. She’d only recently gotten accustomed to not having a man in the house. She wasn’t exactly excited to welcome in a stranger.

“Why does he have to pretend to be my husband?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t all of your neighbors find it odd for you to suddenly have a man living here?” Agent Morrel asked. “How could you explain the presence of our man to Greg Cary? I doubt if he’d believe that Special Agent Kincaid was your brother.”

“I’m not sure he’ll believe that I have a new husband,” she replied.

Agent McDonald held her gaze intently. “It’s important that you make him believe.” There was a sudden harshness in his tone and a darkness in his eyes that caused a ripple of apprehension to waltz up Lana’s spine. Again she wondered what they thought Greg had done.

“We’re putting a lot of manpower and resources into this operation. We just don’t want things to get screwed up.” Agent Morrel offered her a tight smile, but the friendly gesture didn’t quite reach the winter gray of his eyes.

At that moment there was a loud knock on the door and then it whooshed open. “Honey, I’m home,” a deep voice called from the foyer. Lana stiffened.

He stepped into the living room and it was as if he sucked all the oxygen right out of the room. Tall, with curly dark hair and a face that had the bone structure of a model, he wore a pair of jeans that hugged his slim hips and a white T-shirt that tugged across impossibly broad shoulders.

He was definitely hot and exuded bold male sexuality, and as his vivid green eyes met hers, then slowly slid down the length of her, she felt a blush heat her cheeks and had the irrational desire to kick them all out of her house and quickly lock the door behind them.

He approached where she sat and held out his hand. “Riley Kincaid, and you must be my lovely bride, Lana.”

Lana didn’t take his hand, but she did stand, not wanting him to hover over her. “I can tell you right now, Mr. Kincaid, I’m not real happy about this,” she said with a cool tone.

“Please, call me Riley, or better yet, call me honey,” he replied with a slow, sexy grin. “And I promise you this won’t be too painful. In fact most women I know would love to be my bride, pretend or otherwise.”

“Then I guess I’m not like most of the women you know,” she replied stiffly.

Agent Morrel cleared his throat. “We’ll just get out of here and let you two work out all the details,” he said. “Again, we appreciate your help,” he said to Lana as he and his partner headed for the front door.

It had all happened so fast. One minute she’d been a simple, average widowed mother of a young daughter and the next she was part of a covert FBI operation with a man too sexy for his shirt looking at her expectantly.

Special Agent Riley Kincaid wasn’t thrilled about the way this particular operation was going down, but he was definitely eager to get Greg Cary and his accomplice behind bars.

He’d been worried that this mock marriage thing could be awkward. After all, Riley was a healthy male, and being cooped up with a hot woman for a couple of weeks could definitely prove tempting, but thankfully Lana Tyler wasn’t his type at all.

She had that girl-next-door, fresh-scrubbed look that had never attracted him. He preferred his women a little exotic, a lot sexy and definitely without happily-ever-after shining from their eyes. Although he had to admit that Lana’s blue eyes were rather pretty.

“So, what happens now?” she asked, obviously ill at ease.

“I go get my things from the car and then we sit down and figure out our cover story.” He headed for the door and then paused and turned back to her. “Oh, and for future purposes, as my new wife you should know that I love a big breakfast in the morning, I take my coffee black, and I sure wouldn’t turn down a nice shoulder and back massage at the end of a long day.”

She narrowed her blue eyes into a steely gaze. “Then I guess it’s important for you to know, as my new hubby, that I do as little cooking as possible, I drink hot tea, not coffee, and if you really think I’m going to offer you a massage at the end of the day, then you’re not only the most unprofessional FBI agent I’ve ever met, but also completely delusional.”

Riley nodded in amused satisfaction. Good, she wasn’t a total pushover. Beneath that long sandy-blond hair and those charming freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose was a touch of sass and a strong will. It was probably going to take both to get through this ordeal.

As Riley left the house and headed to his car in the driveway, he glanced next door where Greg Cary lived. These homes were small ranch houses, with little yard between them.

By setting up a camera with a telescopic lens in Lana’s spare bedroom he would be able to see not only who came and went from Greg’s home but also see into the man’s living room. He was their initial target, but they suspected he had an accomplice and that’s who they wanted to identify. Hopefully, within a couple of weeks they could get them both under arrest.

Greg Cary’s house was painted white with traditional black shutters and a row of summer flowers lining the walkway that led to his front porch. It looked neat and respectable.

Nobody ever wanted to believe that the guy next door was a criminal. Whenever it was on the news that one of these creeps had been arrested, there were always interviews of stunned neighbors exclaiming that they never would have guessed that the quiet man next door was a maniac.

He fought against a small wave of irritation. This wasn’t what he wanted to be doing. He was too impatient to be stuck on surveillance, but as he lifted the two suitcases from the trunk of the car he felt the painful twinge in his shoulder that had kept him on light duty for the last three months.

Nothing like a bullet to the shoulder to slow you down, he thought. He supposed he was lucky not to be on desk duty. He supposed he was lucky to be alive.

He definitely wasn’t looking forward to sharing his personal space with a woman. As far as he was concerned women were good for a few hours, maybe a night of pleasure, but before dawn broke he wanted them out of his bed and out of his life.

As he reached Lana’s porch he shot one more glance next door. Nothing stirred and nobody was in sight. By the end of the day he wouldn’t be the only person keeping an eye on Greg Cary. There were at least half a dozen agents ready to rotate shifts to make sure that Cary didn’t burp without somebody knowing about it.

Lana stood in the living room, her arms crossed and her features unreadable. “I don’t really understand why you’re here or exactly what it is you need.”

“The first thing I need is your guest bedroom. Why don’t I get unpacked and settled in and then we can talk about how this is all going to go down.”

At that moment Lana’s daughter cried out from down the hall. “Mama! I’m up!”

“You go take care of the kid. I’ll unpack and we’ll meet in the kitchen in half an hour or so,” he said.

He followed her down the hallway and couldn’t help but notice that her butt looked damn good in the tight jeans she wore. Her sleeveless pale-blue blouse exposed slender arms that held the faint blush of a summer tan. Most of the women he dated had that fake-bake tan, but Lana’s looked all-natural.

She stopped at the first doorway on the left. “This is Haley’s room. The guest room is that one.” She pointed to the second doorway on the right, then disappeared into Haley’s room and closed the door behind her.

She definitely was more than a little bit uptight, he thought. He sighed. That would only make his job here more intolerable.

He carried his suitcases into the guest bedroom, a small room with uninspired navy bedding and a generic landscape painting on the wall. It would do for as long as he was here.

The first thing he did was store his gun in the top dresser drawer, where it was out of the reach of a toddler who might get curious.

Then he focused on getting the two cameras set up and pointed in the right direction. They were high-tech stuff, infrared for night shots and with an option that would signal an alert if any movement was detected and he wasn’t standing right there.

He angled one toward the front of the house, where it would capture shots of anyone approaching Cary’s front door, and then focused the other toward the living room window.

At the moment there was nothing to see, no movement of any kind, nothing to indicate that anyone was in the room. But he knew Greg was home and probably plotting his next move.

A flash of an ancient memory exploded in Ri-ley’s head. The scent of baking cookies, a familiar body crumpled on the kitchen floor and blood everywhere.

His chest tightened at the memory and for a moment he felt as if he couldn’t draw enough oxygen. Breathe. Breathe, dammit, a voice whispered in the back of his brain.

It wasn’t until he consciously willed the vision away that he could draw air into his lungs again.

He didn’t store the clothes he’d brought with him in the dresser drawers or the closet. He’d live out of his suitcase for the next week or two. Hopefully, this particular assignment wouldn’t go on any longer than that.

With his equipment all in place, he left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, where he could hear the sounds of Lana talking with her little girl.

As he entered the kitchen he instantly spied the toddler in her booster seat at the table, a streak of strawberry jelly across one plump cheek and a tumble of blond curls on top of her head. Even though Riley wasn’t into kids, this one was definitely a little doll.

“Hi, kid,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Hi, Daddy!”

“Her name is Haley,” Lana said. “Haley, this man is Riley. Can you say Riley?”

Haley nodded. “Daddy,” she repeated, and clapped her hands together in happiness.

Lana leaned with one hip against the counter. “I don’t know why she’s doing that,” she said, obviously irritated.

“Do I look like your husband did?” he asked.

Lana shook her head. “Not at all. Joe was blond, and he was a smaller man than you are.”

“Her calling me daddy works well with the little make-believe world we have to build quickly.” He sat down at the table. “Is that coffee I smell?”

She nodded, her shoulder-length hair shining in the sunlight that streaked through the windows. “I decided to brew a pot to show you that I intend to cooperate, but in return I want you to tell me everything that’s going on and exactly why you’re here.”

She poured him a cup, then sat at the table opposite him. He took a moment to study her features. She had a cute upturned nose and full Cupid-bow lips that looked as if they were just begging for a kiss. He frowned, irritated by his own wayward thoughts.

“Basically, I’ll be staying in your guest room, although I’ve got extra backup at night so I can catch a couple hours of sleep. During the day I’ll be manning a camera and watching what goes on next door at the Cary house, taking down license plate numbers and trying to identify anyone who comes to visit him. Everyone you know, especially Greg Cary, has to believe that I’m your new husband.”

“That’s the part I’m having trouble with,” she said. “How am I supposed to explain the sudden appearance of a husband in my life?”

He took a sip of the coffee, then explained. “We’ve got a cover story already in place. You and I met online about six months ago, one of those dot-com dating services, and of course the minute you saw my photo it was love at first sight.”

She laughed and it lit up her face, making her look prettier than she had moments before. “Full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Maybe just a little,” he replied agreeably. “Anyway, we met online. I’m from Arizona, and we talked on the phone and e-mailed each other for the last six months. We got together twice, once in Santa Fe and another time in Denver. The FBI knows that over the last six months you’ve traveled to jewelry shows in both those cities. We realized how much in love we were, and so last weekend we tied the knot in Vegas.”

“Because you know I was at a jewelry show in Vegas last weekend.” Her smile fell away and her eyes grew guarded. “What else do you know about me?”

“Lana Tyler, twenty-nine years old. Widow of Joe Tyler, fallen police officer shot at a convenience store while buying a gallon of milk. Your daughter was a cesarean birth, and since your husband’s death you’ve been trying to build a line of jewelry that expresses your love of nature. You like to take your daughter for walks in the park and to feed the ducks, and you sometimes still sleep in one of your husband’s old shirts.”

He’d guessed at the last part but realized he’d hit the nail on the head when she gasped and shook her head, obviously appalled by how much they knew about her, about her life.

He could almost feel sorry for her, the way they’d barged into her life with no warning. But as far as he was concerned, the end justified the means.

“Lana, we checked you out thoroughly before deciding to use you. We had to know that we could trust you, that you were smart enough to be able to pull off a fake marriage with me so I could get close to your neighbor.”

“But why? What do you think Greg is guilty of?”

He realized her eyes weren’t an ordinary shade of blue, but rather with a touch of purple like a periwinkle. He held her gaze for a long moment, trying to decide if he should tell her the truth or not.

As the wife of a cop she would have had to be strong to cope with the stresses of her husband’s work. As the wife of a murdered cop she had to use that core of strength to deal with her grief and still function as a single parent.

Lana Tyler was stronger than she looked, and he had a feeling she could take the truth, would demand it before truly offering her full cooperation.

“We believe Greg Cary has killed four women in the last four months and that within the next ten days he’ll claim his fifth victim,” Riley said. “Your neighbor, Lana, is a serial killer.”