Читать книгу Black Canyon Conspiracy - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Marco stood in line behind Rand and Sophie at the sandwich shop, but his mind was still back at the apartment with Lauren. The first time he’d laid eyes on her in that abandoned mine tunnel where she’d been imprisoned, he’d felt a connection to her. Not just physical attraction—any man might have felt that for the blonde, blue-eyed beauty with the killer figure. The affinity he felt for Lauren went deeper than that, to something in his core. Which was crazy, really. They didn’t have anything in common. She was a beauty queen celebrity who lived in the public eye. He’d made a life out of skulking in the shadows.

Maybe it was her strength that resonated with him. It was different from the physical power and mental discipline he practiced, but her ability to endure moved him. She’d had to deal with more trouble in the past few months than most people would ever face in a lifetime, but she still managed to keep smiling and keep fighting. The smile had been a little shakier today; losing her job had to hurt. The stress of all that had happened to her was showing; she was drawn and pale. If Prentice was behind this latest attack on her, Marco wanted to find the guy and teach him a lesson he’d never forget.

His phone buzzed and he slipped it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Pls come. More trble. Don’t say anythng 2 others. Don’t want 2 upset Sophie. Lauren.

He pocketed the phone once more and tapped Rand on the shoulder. “I’m going to skip lunch,” he said. “Something’s come up.”

“Anything wrong?”

“Nah. I just remembered something I have to do. Anyway, you know what they say about three being a crowd.” He nodded to Sophie. “I’ll see you soon.”

He sauntered out of the shop—Mr. Smooth, not a care in the world. But every nerve vibrated with worry. Lauren wouldn’t have contacted him unless she was in real trouble. Though they’d spent some tense hours together when they were trapped in that old mine on Prentice’s estate, he was still a stranger to her. But who else did she have to turn to in the face of real danger? Her sister and her friends couldn’t handle a real threat, while he’d spent most of his adult life fighting off enemies of one kind or another.

He reached Lauren’s apartment a few minutes later and she opened the door while he was still crossing the parking lot. Clearly, she’d been watching for him. “Thank you for coming,” she said. She leaned against the door as if even staying upright was an effort.

He took her arm and guided her back into the apartment, then shut and locked the door behind them. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“A man delivered this a few minutes ago.” She led him to the kitchen table, where a brightly wrapped box looked like leftovers from a birthday party. “All that was in it was this dried-up flower and that card.”

He bent over the card, not touching it, and read the message printed there. “Look on the back,” she said.

He flipped the card over, and clenched his hands into fists. “Someone is trying to frighten you,” he said.

“It’s working.” She studied his face, searching for what—reassurance? Hope?

He could give her neither. “We can check for fingerprints,” he said. “But we probably won’t find any.”

“No, I don’t think you will. And I didn’t recognize the man who delivered it, though I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he works for Prentice.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“He was the type of guy Richard uses for his private security force—beefy and menacing. Guys who get off on being intimidating.” She shuddered, and he fought the urge to put his arms around her, to comfort her. She’d mentioned before that Prentice’s guards had tried to bully and take advantage of her, pawing at her when they thought they could get away with it. The idea made him see red. If he ever got one of those guys alone...

Not a productive thought. He needed to focus on the task at hand. They both stared at the small card—a harmless piece of paper that carried such a potent threat. “Is this his way of saying he’s going to kill me?” she asked.

“Maybe.” No sense sugarcoating the truth. If she was dead, she’d stop agitating for Prentice’s arrest. The billionaire had killed before to silence his enemies. Marco was sure of that, even if the task force had never been able to find conclusive evidence to link him to the killings. “You need to show this to the police.”

“And tell them what?” Anger flared, the sharp edge in her voice a good sign, he thought. She wasn’t going to sink into despair. “Do I say Richard Prentice is threatening me? He’ll deny it and issue another statement about how obsessed I am with him and how crazy I am. And they’ll believe him, because everyone knows you can’t trust an unstable person like me.”

He gripped her shoulders, not hurting her, but demanding her attention. “Don’t let what people say come true,” he said. “You’re not crazy or unstable. You’re strong. You were strong enough to get away from Prentice the first time. We can outsmart him now.”

“We?”

“I’m sticking with you until I’m sure you’re safe.”

“So you think this is a real threat?” The last word was barely a whisper.

“Yes. And you’re right—the police aren’t the answer. Going to them is probably exactly what Prentice expects you to do, what he wants, even.” He led her to the sofa and sat with her. “As long as he can keep this in the press, he can keep hammering home the idea that you’ve lost it. By ignoring him, we frustrate him and force his hand.”

“But what will he do next?”

“I don’t know. But it’s why I can’t leave you alone.”

She laughed, but with no mirth. That was the sound of someone fighting to maintain control. “This is ridiculous. You’re not my personal bodyguard. And you have a job. You have to work.”

“You’re the chief witness in the case we’re building against Prentice,” he said. “The captain will agree we need to keep you safe.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? You don’t have a case. Prentice is doing his best to paint me as the crazy woman who can’t be trusted. Anything I say against him is obviously a figment of my troubled mind.”

“That’s what he wants people to think, but we know it’s not true. And other people know it, too. You have to stay strong and not let this get to you.”

“Did they train you to give these pep talks when you were in Special Forces? Because it’s not working.”

“There goes my career as a motivational speaker.”

His attempt at humor didn’t move her. “Why is he doing this now?” she asked. “It’s been almost a month since I escaped his ranch.”

“He was hiding out on some Caribbean island, working to get the charges against him dropped and probably hoping you’d go away. You haven’t, so he’s decided to turn up the heat. You know enough about him that you’re still a real threat to him.”

“Or maybe I’m a loose end he wants tied up,” she said.

“Or maybe he wants revenge because you turned down his advances,” he said. “Love can make people do crazy things.”

“Oh, please! Richard Prentice doesn’t love anyone but himself.”

“Maybe love isn’t the right word... He was obsessed with you, and I don’t think people like him turn those feelings off like a light switch. The obsession just...transforms. Turns darker.”

“Thanks. Now you’re really creeping me out.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if warding off a chill. “So what are we going to do? You can’t babysit me twenty-four hours a day.”

He stood and began to pace, studying the apartment. It was a ground-floor unit in a complex that faced a side street off the main highway. The front door opened onto a large parking lot, and there were large windows on all sides. No security. No guards. Easy in-and-out access. “Anyone could break in here with no trouble at all,” he said. “We need to move you to a safer location.”

“I can’t afford to move. I’m unemployed, remember?”

“You can’t afford to stay here, either.”

“Do you really think it’s that bad?” she asked. “I mean, would he really kill me? Isn’t convincing everyone I’m crazy enough?”

“We don’t have the proof we need, but we believe he’s had people killed before,” Marco said. “There was his pilot—and don’t forget that fish seller, Alan Milbanks.”

She nodded. “Milbanks’s death meant the chief source for my story about Richard Prentice was out of the picture. Very convenient.”

“Not having you around would be convenient for him, too. Do you want to take that chance?”

“No.” She straightened and lifted her chin, determined. “Do the Rangers have a safe house or something?”

“No. You can come to my place.”

“Your place?” She choked back a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You live in a duplex. With Rand in the other half.”

“Exactly. You’ll have twice the protection. And your sister’s over at his place all the time anyway.”

“No, Marco, I can’t. What will people think?” She flushed. “I mean, if your place is like Rand’s, there’s only one bedroom.”

He liked it when she blushed that way—it did something to his insides that he didn’t want to think about too much. He’d rather enjoy the feeling. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Go.” He put a hand to her back and urged her toward her bedroom. “Pack a bag. I know what I’m doing.” His duplex wasn’t ideal, but it was off the beaten path, had only one street leading in and out, bars on the windows and a reinforced door. And it wouldn’t be the first place anyone would look for her. Keeping her there would buy him more time to identify any real threat.

“If anyone but you tried to order me around like this, I’d tell them exactly what they could do with their bossy attitude,” she said as she headed down the short hallway off the living room. “But you make me believe you really do know what you’re doing.”

While he waited, he scanned the parking lot in front of the apartment. He focused on a big guy across the street. The man wore a blue-and-white tracksuit and had a pair of binoculars trained on Lauren’s front windows. Marco moved closer to the window and raised the blinds. The big guy didn’t move. Marco glared. No reaction from the guy in the tracksuit. He might have been a mannequin, except they didn’t make mannequins that burly, and after a few seconds, the watcher reached up to scratch his ear.

Marco moved quickly down the hall to Lauren’s bedroom and stopped in the doorway, stunned at the sight of her up to her elbows in lace and satin. She’d apparently dumped the contents of her dresser drawers on the bed and was sorting through the pile of panties, bras, stockings, negligees and who knew what other items of feminine apparel.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “It was easier to just dump everything and sort through them this way.” She grabbed up a handful of items and danced over to an open suitcase in the dresser and dropped them inside, then spent some time arranging them, smoothing them out and humming to herself.

“There’s a man standing out front, watching your apartment,” Marco said. “He’s not even trying to hide it. He has this huge pair of binoculars, like a bird-watcher would use.”

“Maybe he is a bird-watcher.” She giggled, a high-pitched, unnatural sound.

“Come look and tell me if you know him.”

“All right.”

She glided down the hall ahead of him, still humming, and went to the window. “Oh, yes, I know him.” She waved like someone greeting a friend at the airport.

“How do you know him?” Marco asked.

“He delivered that package.” She waved idly toward the box on the table.

“All right. Go ahead and finish packing. We should leave soon.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. I have a gorgeous new dress. I was in the mall yesterday and saw it and just had to have it. I’ll take it in case we go someplace nice.”

Marco frowned. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

Her smile didn’t waver, though to him it seemed forced. “Why wouldn’t I be feeling all right?”

“You’ve been under a lot of stress.” He spoke carefully, watching her eyes. Her gaze shifted around the room, as if frantically searching for something. “Most people would be anxious in a situation like this.”

“Yes. I am anxious.” She twisted her hands together. “I just... I’d love to go for a run now. Burn off some of this extra energy.” She turned to a dresser and began pulling out exercise tops and shorts, adding them to the pile of clothing on the bed.

Now was not the time for a run. He had to get her away from here, away from the guy in the parking lot, to some place safer. “Would you like me to call Sophie?”

“No! No, don’t call Sophie! She’s always so worried, worried I’m going to go off the deep end or do something stupid. Something...crazy.” She whispered the last word, standing still with a tank top dangling from one hand.

“You’re not crazy.” He kept his voice calm in the face of the agitation rolling off her in waves. After he’d met her, after he carried her in his arms out of the collapsed mine on Richard Prentice’s estate, he’d gone online and done some reading on bipolar disorder. He’d learned that stress and even variations in routine could trigger a manic episode. Lauren’s life had been nothing but stress these past months, and she had no more routine—no job or real home or any certainty about the future.

“Maybe...maybe I should call my doctor.” She looked at the clothes piled on the bed and the open suitcase. “I took my medication,” she said softly. “I always do, even though, sometimes, I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“Maybe the medication just needs...adjusting.”

She nodded. “Right. I...I’ll call him.”

He waited in the bedroom while she went into the living room. He wondered if he should remove the clothes from the bed—pack for her. But no. That was too personal. Too patronizing, even.

He backed out of the room and rejoined her as she was hanging up the phone. “I talked to the nurse,” she said. “She suggested I take more of one of my pills, and she’s calling in another prescription I can take if I need to.”

He nodded. “Do you need anything from me? Help with packing? Something to eat?”

“No, I’m good. I’ll just, uh, finish up back here.”

“I’ll keep an eye on our friend.”

“Friend?”

He nodded toward the parking lot. “The bird-watcher.”

She laughed again, and the sound continued all the way down the hall. The sound worried him a little, but it also made him angry. Why did such a beautiful, vibrant woman have to be plagued with emotions that veered so easily out of control? Why was she at the mercy of a disease she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want? He’d spent his life fighting off physical enemies, first in a street gang, then the military, now as a law enforcement officer. But what could he do to help her?

* * *

THE MEDICATION BEGAN to work quickly, a numbing fog slipping over the anxiety and agitation that were the first signs of a climb toward mania. Lauren hated this lethargy and not feeling as much as she dreaded the extreme highs or lows of her disease. Why couldn’t she just be normal?

She finished packing her suitcase, stuffing in clothes without care, putting off having to go back into the living room and face Marco. This hadn’t been a bad episode. She hadn’t burst into song or taken off her clothes or made a pass at him—all things she’d done before her diagnosis had provided an explanation for her bizarre behavior. But she’d waved her underwear around in front of him, and laughed at the idea of a man stalking her.

He was so solemn and unemotional. What must he think of a woman who, even on her best days, tended to feel things too deeply?

In the end, she didn’t have to go to him; he came to her. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “We can stop and get some lunch on the way.”

“Sure.” She zipped the suitcase closed and looked at the disarray of the room.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You can clean this up later.” He picked up the suitcase. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the two pill bottles from the top of the dresser and cradled them to her chest. “I’m ready.”

She put the pill bottles in her purse and followed him to the door. Sophie had rented the apartment when she’d decided to relocate to Montrose to be with Rand, and Lauren only stayed there because she had no place else to go. She couldn’t claim to be attached to the place, but still, it felt bad to be leaving so soon, to face more uncertainty.

Deep breath. Center. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, the way the therapist at the psychiatric hospital had shown her. She could deal with this.

When she opened her eyes, Marco was watching her. She saw no judgment in his calm brown eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Is the bird-watcher still out there?”

“He left a few minutes ago. I guess he’d done his job.”

“What was his job, do you think? Besides delivering the package.”

“He was sending the message that you were being watched. His job was to intimidate you.”

“The note did that.”

“I guess Prentice likes to cover all the bases.”

“What about the package?” She looked around for the creepy gift. “I don’t want Sophie finding it when she comes back.”

“I’ve got it.” He indicated the shopping bag he must have found in the pantry. “I’ll have someone check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and learn something useful. Come on.” He opened the front door and started across the lot, toward the black-and-white FJ Cruiser he’d parked closest to her apartment.

“I’ll follow you in my car,” she said.

His frown told her he didn’t think much of that idea. “You should ride with me.”

“I can’t just leave my car. I can’t be stuck way out at your duplex with no transportation.” The idea ramped up her anxiety again, like something clawing at the back of her throat.

“Then, we’ll take your car and I’ll send someone back later for mine.”

“All right.” Relief made her weak. When they reached the car she hesitated, then handed him the keys. “You’d better drive. Sometimes the pills make me sleepy.”

He nodded and unlocked the trunk and stowed her suitcase and the shopping bag, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “What pharmacy do you use?”

Her prescription was ready. Once they’d collected it, he swung by a sandwich shop for lunch. She wasn’t hungry—another side effect of the medication—but she ordered to avoid explaining this to him. Finally they were on the highway headed to his place. She put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Maybe when they got to his place she’d take a nap. But she’d need to unpack, and she still had to call her lawyer, Shawn...

“Have you had any trouble with your car lately?”

She opened her eyes and sat up straight. “No. What kind of trouble?”

“The brakes.” He pumped the brake pedal, but the car only sped up, down a long incline that curved sharply at the bottom.

“What’s wrong with the brakes?” She leaned over to study the speedometer, the needle creeping up past seventy miles an hour. “Why are we going so fast?”

“I think someone may have tampered with your car.” His voice remained calm, but the fine lines around his eyes deepened, and his knuckles on the steering wheel were white with strain.

She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the highway hurtling toward them with ever-increasing speed. At the bottom of the hill was a curve, and beyond the curve, a deep canyon. If their car went over the edge, they would never survive.