Читать книгу Mountain Shelter - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 12

Chapter Four

The aroma of fresh coffee twitched in her nostrils. Chords of harp music tickled her ears. Where am I? Her usual wake-up alarm was as loud and as harsh as a fire engine, the better to wake her up. Then Jayne remembered that she wasn’t sleeping at home.

The harp continued as she lifted her eyelids and saw a man with long, sun-streaked brown hair sitting in the chair beside her bed. Dylan wasn’t wearing his glasses...or his baggy flannel shirt...or his baseball cap. His black T-shirt outlined his wide shoulders and lean chest. A handsome man, there was nothing of the nerd about him.

Without thinking, she extended her arm toward him. He caught her hand, raised it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles before she was aware of what he was doing. The gesture seemed absurd, given that she was wearing flannel pajamas. After being caught on her rooftop in a filmy gown and feeling exposed, she’d chosen the world’s unsexiest flannels on purpose.

“Nine o’clock, Jayne.”

“I love the harp music.”

“It’s a wake-up app called Morning Angels.” He gestured toward two china cups on a silver room service tray. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Her usual clumsiness was even worse in the morning when she wasn’t wide-awake, and she hated to risk slopping a hot beverage all over herself. But it couldn’t be helped; she needed caffeine. While she arranged the pillows against the headboard, Dylan went to the windows, where he opened the shades and the filmy drapes. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Those jeans were the same ones he’d worn yesterday, still rolled at the cuff. But today they seemed well fitted, not tight but snug enough to outline firm glutes and muscular thighs. Long legs—he had very long legs.

He returned to her bedside and poured steaming coffee from a white room-service pot. He added two dollops of cream and gave it a quick stir before passing her the eggshell-white cup and saucer.

“I never mentioned that I took cream but no sugar.”

“If you know your way around the internet, you can find almost anything.”

She figured that discovering her coffee preference required a search that went deeper than a quick identification. He’d researched her. On one hand, she didn’t like being spied upon. But she was complimented that he’d taken the trouble. Last night, she hadn’t been sure he’d want to stick around after she’d slammed the door and thrown out an unveiled threat to fire him.

He took a sip from his cup. “How are you feeling?”

“Are you asking whether I’m alert enough to proceed with the scheduled surgery?”

“I am.”

Jayne tasted the delicious coffee and considered for a long moment. “Not sure.”

After he fiddled with his wristwatch, the harp music went quiet. “I’m resetting an alarm for eight minutes while you make up your mind. You’ve already had a bunch of phone calls and—”

“Stop!” She held up her palm to halt him. “About these calls, why didn’t I hear the phone ringing?”

“I took your cell phone into the outer room.”

“Are you telling me that you came into my room, uninvited, and took my phone without my permission?”

“As your bodyguard, I have to invade your personal boundaries. Coming in and out of your bedroom, even watching you sleep...” He shrugged. “It’s part of my job.”

“Watching me sleep?”

A warmth that had nothing to do with the hot coffee spread through her body. Though she didn’t recall her dreams last night, some of her REM and delta-wave activity had to be about sex. As she lifted her cup to her mouth, she sloshed coffee into the saucer.

“I took your phone,” he said, “because you wanted to sleep until nine, and I was afraid you’d get calls earlier than that.”

Reaching for a napkin, she tilted her saucer, almost spilling coffee over the lip. He passed her a napkin which she used to dab at her mouth, then to swab the near spill. “I’m glad you caught those calls. I needed the sleep, and I’m surprised that I got it. After all that happened last night, I didn’t think I’d be able to relax.”

“Oh, yeah, you relaxed. There was some big-time snoring going on. One time, I peeked in to make sure you weren’t being trampled by rhinos.”

A lovely image! “Who called?”

He recited from memory. “Eloise, your assistant, needs to know something about scheduling the ER. Mrs. Cameron is worried about her husband’s surgery and wants to know if he can eat chocolate-chip cookies later today. Three doctors—Lewis, Napoli and Griggs. And one more.”

When he hesitated, she cast a curious glance in his direction. “Are you going to tell me who?”

His eight-minute alarm went off, blasting a noise that sounded like screaming cats in heat. He silenced it. “What’s it going to be, Jayne? Are we going to the hospital or not?”

“Why won’t you tell me about this person who called?”

“It was your father.”

His words hit her with a jolt. She spilled her coffee, with most of the liquid being sopped up by the napkin before she shoved the whole mess onto the tray. “What does he want?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

Belatedly, she realized that if Dylan was answering her phone, he must be giving some kind of explanation for why she was unavailable. She didn’t want wild stories about her intruder to spread all over the hospital. “What have you been telling people?”

“Not a thing. I’m saying that you’re not available and you’ll call back. Your assistant demanded to know if we were dating, and I told her that she’d have to ask you.”

“And my dad? What did you tell him?”

“He was a different story.”

She knew he would be. Peter Shackleford, her esteemed-by-everybody-else father, was a man who expected people to take his phone calls, especially his only grown daughter. She figured there would have been loud shouting, threats, demands and a hearty dose of cursing. “What happened?”

“He was at your house.”

“Here? My house here in Denver?”

“That’s right.”

Panic exploded through her. She threw off the covers and charged toward the adjoining bathroom. In the doorway, she pivoted and faced him. “Did you tell my dad where we were staying?”

“Nobody knows we’re here. It doesn’t do much good to take you to a safe place if I tell everybody where it is.”

“And my dad accepted that?”

“He wasn’t happy about it,” Dylan said. “He called about half an hour ago, and I expect he thinks he can triangulate your phone signal to get your location. But I have my own signal jammer that I attached to your cell phone.”

“Another of your proprietary inventions?”

“That’s right.” He finished his coffee and stood. “We need a plan for the day.”

“I’m going to perform the surgery. Give me fifteen minutes to get dressed, and we’ll go to the hospital.”

“And your father?”

“Later.”

She didn’t want to deal with him right now, but she had to contact him. He was at the center. If an international assassin/kidnapper had broken into her house because of something her dad had done, he should be the one to fix it.

This wasn’t her fault. She’d gotten sucked into this high-stakes game, and she didn’t want to play.

* * *

LAST NIGHT WHILE Jayne was sleeping, Dylan had done computer searches on her, her father, Martin Viktor Koslov and local hackers who might have helped out Koslov. After a sickening dive into the dark web where you could buy any sleazy thing for the right price, he’d found a set of digital footprints running away from Denver. Well-known cyber-ace, Tank Sherman, was erasing himself, changing to another identity, trying to escape. If Tank had worked with Koslov, the local expert might want to make himself invisible before Koslov erased him.

Martin Viktor Koslov was a ruthless killer whose land of origin was Venezuela. Reputedly, he had garroted, beheaded, shot and stabbed his targets. Never caught, never even arrested, he was known for planning down to the last precise detail. The neatly picked lock on Jayne’s back door was typical of Koslov; leaving behind a fingerprint was not.

What had thrown the assassin off his game? Was it the instruction to kidnap rather than kill? Koslov avoided explosives because he’d lost several family members, including his mother, to a bomb explosion. Koslov had a brand of violence that was not inspired by any type of loyalty or ideology; rather, he committed acts of atrocity for the highest bidder. And that might make him an enemy of her father.

Dylan had also found a number of connections between Peter the Great and Koslov. They knew many of the same people, visited the same cities and were both cruel in their own way.

Jayne’s dad—the man she defended so fiercely to the DPD detective—wasn’t a murderer, but he hired and fired without concern for his employees and didn’t hesitate to destroy his competitors. He’d made plenty of enemies. Most were businessmen and women based in the US, but there were a few Middle Eastern sheikhs and South American oil magnates who might consider kidnapping to be nothing more than leverage on the next deal.

When Dylan got the phone call from Mason, telling him that he would arrive at the side entrance in five minutes, he rapped on Jayne’s bedroom door. “Time to go.”

“Are we coming back here tonight?”

He wouldn’t make that decision until later today. Right now there was no time for a discussion. The plan was for them to jump into the vehicle as soon as it pulled up to the curb.

Dylan shoved open her bedroom door. “Now, Jayne.”

She was dressed in a pair of dark teal slacks, a matching suit jacket and a shiny black blouse. With her dark hair pulled up in a high bun, her appearance was professional and classic. “Give me a sec, I need to find my sneakers.”

He grabbed her sneakers off the floor and lobbed them into the gym bag on the bed where she had packed other clothing items. He zipped the bag and tossed it toward her. “Remember when I said there was only one rule for you when I’m being a bodyguard?”

“Don’t go anywhere without you,” she recited.

“I lied. There’s another rule.”

“Which is?”

“When I say go, we have to go.”

She stuck her toes into a pair of polished black loafers. “Why are we in such a big rush?”

“No questions. I’m serious.” Though he wasn’t trying to scare her, Dylan didn’t want her to think this was a game. “Your life might depend on your ability to respond to my instructions.”

The grin fell from her face as she picked up her gym bag and purse. He grasped her elbow and rushed her through the suite, out the door and into the concrete stairwell. He went first so she’d have to keep up with his pace.

As they descended, he explained, “Lots of abductions occur when the victim is in transit, moving from one location to another. That’s why Mason is driving over here to pick us up. It’s also why we’re taking the stairs. It’s too easy to trap you in the elevator.”

“I’m glad it’s only five floors.” Their steps were loud on the concrete stairs, and their voices echoed. “I’m guessing that you aren’t carrying my bag so your gun hand will be free.”

“Good guess.” And he didn’t feel guilty about making her drag a heavy burden. All she had was a shoulder purse and her gym bag. He pointed to the bag. “Are your scrubs in there?”

“Lots of stuff—lotion, scrubs, comfortable shoes, a cap that’s big enough to cover my hair, extra barrettes and more. These operations take several hours, and it’s important to have clothes laundered exactly the way I like them. By the way, you did a good job choosing my undies. The sports bra is just what I need.”

“That was Smith’s idea. If it had been up to me, I would have picked the red satin bra and the leopard panties.”

“Most men do.”

Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t let himself be distracted right now. Dylan had to keep his focus on getting her to the car without incident.

They rounded the last turn in the stairwell. Both he and Mason were familiar with the layout of this particular hotel. If they had their timing right, Dylan and Jayne would emerge from the stairwell, walk down a short hall and exit onto the street just as Mason pulled up to the curb.

Entering the lobby, he scanned quickly. No heads turned. No one noticed Jayne. He pushed open the exit door.

Bright sunlight hit them smack in the face. Holding her arm, he moved across the wide sidewalk adjacent to downtown’s central mall. Mason was waiting in Dylan’s dark green SUV.

He opened the rear door, got her seated and followed her inside. The minute he closed the door, Mason drove away. Safe!

“Seat belt,” he said to her. “Mason, do you know the door we’ll enter at the medical center?”

“Northeast corner.”

“That’s near my office.” She opened her purse and started digging. “I have a key card to use on that entrance.”

“It’s handled,” he said. “We downloaded the hospital floor plan and figured out your routes to and from the OR and your office. Detective Cisneros arranged for key cards and necessary identifications since I’m carrying a concealed weapon and can’t go through scanners.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Jayne seemed to be impressed. Usually, he didn’t care if the clients noticed that TST Security did a solid, professional job, but her opinion was important to him. He liked Jayne and wouldn’t mind getting closer to her. After this job was over, he’d like to get close enough to pick out her wild undies.

“What are we going to tell people about you?” she asked. “If I introduce you as my bodyguard, I’ll have to explain a thousand times why I need guarding.”

The thought had already occurred to him. He didn’t consider himself a master of disguise, but he was capable of fading into the woodwork as a computer nerd and—thanks to Mason and his bodybuilding workouts—Dylan could expand his narrow frame enough to look big and tough. Today, he was wearing a tweed sports coat, jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail at his nape.

He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. “I think I can pass as a professor.”

“Interesting thought,” she said as she studied his look. “You do have an academic look, but you’d need a whole background story. Somebody would catch on.”

“I could be a boyfriend.”

Her full lips drew into a circle. “No, no, no, no, no. I don’t want to start that rumor. Besides, we don’t let friends and family into the OR.”

“Much as I’d like pretending to be a neurosurgeon...” He actually would enjoy playing that role. The brain fascinated him. “I don’t think your patient would appreciate that disguise.”

“Or my insurance carrier.”

“I’ve got it,” he said. “I’ll be a journalist doing an article on America’s hottest neurosurgeons.”

“Oh, swell, and doesn’t it bother you to reduce the schooling and talent it takes to become a neurosurgeon to an article about physical attractiveness?”

“I’ll be a regular old journalist. My catchphrase will be—don’t pay any attention to me. I’m here to observe.”

“Perfect.” Glancing toward the driver’s seat, where Mason sat stoically behind the wheel, she lowered her voice. “Do you really think I’m hot?”

“You sizzle, Doc.”

At the medical center, a sprawling complex at the edge of Denver’s suburbs, he rushed her through the side door and up one flight of stairs. From studying the floor plan, he knew exactly where her second-floor office was located. It spoke well of her status that she had her own small office space with a door that closed. Not much larger than a walk-in closet, the room had one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, a desk with a chair and two other chairs for guests.

From his web research, Dylan recognized the man who had taken the swivel chair behind her desk.

Jayne stopped short and glared. “Hello, Dad.”