Читать книгу Tough As Nails - Jackie Manning - Страница 11

Her office was on the fourteenth floor of a professional building that looked like most any other high-rise in upper Manhattan. From the street, a set of revolving doors opened onto a glass foyer with more greenery inside than Central Park.

The crowded lobby made Mike feel uneasy. Too open and public. Serious-faced businessmen and -women, dressed in designer suits, clattered across the gray marble floor to their offices and appointments. A stalker could easily blend into the crowd, pull out a 9 mm with a silencer, fire two quick shots at Brianna and get away before anyone would be the wiser.

Mike hurried her toward the bank of elevators. Thirty bronze nameplates, framed in glass, lined the wall. He gripped the attaché case and followed her into the first available car.

“Why don’t I call you when my last patient leaves,” she whispered when he moved beside her. “I’ll be perfectly safe in my office.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

She shrugged.

When they stopped at the fourteenth floor, the doors opened and a tall, bearded man in his mid-thirties, wearing a tweed blazer, corduroy slacks and loafers, waited. Mike instantly recognized him from the photo as Larry Cunningham. He dressed more like a college professor than a psychologist. He wore no wedding band.

Cunningham’s face lit up when he saw Brianna. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Missed you at lunch, Brianna.” His smile faded when he saw that Mike had stepped from the elevator with her.

“I took the morning off,” she explained. “I had…an appointment.” She gave Cunningham a weak smile as she strode beside Mike down the hall, rummaging in her bag.

Cunningham ambled on the other side of her, his attention back to Brianna. “I was hoping to have a moment with you.”

She looked up, a key chain in her hand. “Can it wait, Larry? I’m running late.” She paused in front of a frosted-glass door with her name stenciled across the window in gold letters. With an uneasy glance at Mike, she turned to Larry and introduced them.

Mike noticed that she didn’t bother to mention that he was her ex-husband or that he was a surveillance specialist. No doubt Cunningham thought Mike was one of Brianna’s clients, and he wondered if she’d meant to do so.

Cunningham gave Mike a sharp, assessing glance before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, Brianna.”

So Cunningham and Brianna had a dinner date for Saturday night? Mike caught her look, and when Cunningham was out of earshot, she said, “It’s a business dinner. A charity event. Hundreds of people will be there.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he teased, but he didn’t like the relief that knowing his ex-wife wasn’t seriously involved with another man gave him. She could be dating a dozen guys and it was none of his business, he reminded himself.

Brianna pushed open the door and led Mike into a long, narrow waiting room. Warm, homey and welcoming. Two maple rockers flanked an oval coffee table. Two antique deacon’s benches, covered in floral-print pillows, stood along each wall. Tiffany-glass shades adorned the lamps, and variegated ivy spilled from baskets on the side tables.

Installed into the ceiling were two inconspicuous air ducts, a perfect place for an unsuspecting video camera or recording device. So would the wall clock, the Tiffany lamps and the ivy arrangements.

“Do I detect a possessive streak in your friend Larry?” Mike asked after she motioned for him to have a chair.

“Heavens, no. I told you, we’re only friends.”

Mike wondered how happy Larry was about that arrangement, but he didn’t say anything. Who could blame any guy for wanting to deepen a relationship with Brianna?

She frowned at the attaché case in his hand. “What will you be doing while I’m seeing clients?”

He hesitated. He didn’t like being vague with her, but if the stalker had bugged her office, Mike didn’t want to give out any information. “I’ll be taking notes,” he said finally. When she gave him a puzzled look, he put his finger to his lips, then pointed to the ceiling, in a gesture that meant whatever they said might be overheard. “Don’t worry,” he added. “I won’t do anything we haven’t already discussed.”

She arched a brow and gave him a look that suggested he better be damn sure that he didn’t. “Excuse me while I check my messages.”

He strode back into the waiting room and leaned his briefcase against the bench. First, he’d sketch a preliminary layout of the office. After her clients left, he’d check the phones for listening devices. If someone wanted to overhear Brianna or her clients, the easiest place would be the telephone. All the stalker would need was a high-tech listening device, easily obtainable through the Internet.

He’d wait to check the office furniture and fixtures when Liam brought in the monitoring equipment and did a full sweep. He wished he’d been able to speak to Liam before he’d left for deep-sea fishing with his uncle. From what Liam’s sister had said, Liam was expected back at the Cape by evening. Mike should hear from him as soon as he returned.

Damn, he couldn’t ignore the sophistication of the timing-delay loop device that had been spliced into her apartment building’s security system. He knew, firsthand, how mentally devastated Brianna would be if he found proof that the stalker had been listening to her every word. But she wasn’t the kind of woman to fall to pieces when the going got rough.

He couldn’t help thinking about his very first mission. For over two weeks, he’d played cat and mouse in the Colombian jungle, one-on-one with a sniper sent out by a drug lord. Living 24-7 with the knowledge that at any minute he might catch a bullet in the brain had taught Mike how to handle fear and turn it into an asset. When he’d finally caught the sniper at his own game, he became a different person than when he’d first parachuted into the jungle. It had taken him two more years to see the drug kingpin put behind bars, but Mike had become stronger for the ordeal.

Brianna would, too. But first, she’d have to live through that gut-wrenching terror. And when she did, he’d be there for her.

He sensed her, and when he looked up, she was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, studying him. She straightened when their eyes met. “My secretary’s office adjoins my office and Larry’s.”

He nodded. “Under which doors were the photographs found?”

“The waiting-room door that opens into the hallway.”

“Then the stalker wouldn’t have needed a key.” The idea gave him a feeling of relief.

In her office, she removed her suit jacket and draped it casually behind her desk chair, then glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “My next client will be here any minute. I have one more after this appointment. Won’t you reconsider and meet me back here at four o’clock?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep busy.”

“Would you like some coffee while you wait?”

“No, thanks.” He glanced at the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “This will give me a chance to get caught up on Playboy.”

She feigned an indignant look. “I don’t subscribe to Playboy magazine.”

He frowned, trying not to grin. “Not even the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated?”

“’Fraid not.”

“Okay. Reader’s Digest it is.” He winked as she smiled, then turned and went into her office, closing the door.

He was glad to see the tight lines of worry briefly fade from her eyes. He wished he’d tried harder to convince her to go straight home and rest. But Brianna could be stubborn. He didn’t think she’d allow anyone, especially her ex-husband, to tell her what to do.

He scanned the address labels on the magazine covers sprawled across the coffee table. Brianna had the publications sent directly to the office instead of her personal address, he noticed with relief.

Just then, the hallway door opened and a young woman with large frightened eyes stepped inside. Her gaze widened when she saw him. She had black-rimmed eyes, spiked green hair and tattoos, and was probably in her late teens.

Mike grabbed a magazine and folded himself into a rocker. He crossed his leg and watched the girl out of the corner of his eye.

She stood, hesitating before finally taking a seat at the far end of the deacon’s bench. After a few minutes, she ignored him, intent on chipping away at her black nail polish, her hands and feet twitching to a tempo heard only in her mind.

A minute later, Brianna’s office door opened. “Come in, Kristi,” she said with a welcoming smile. The young woman hung her head, jerked to her feet and silently followed Brianna inside the office.

Alone in the waiting room, Mike listened to see if he could catch any of their conversation, but the interior walls were adequately soundproofed.

He opened his briefcase and whipped out a camera. He snapped various angles of the waiting room, the frosted-glass doorway, the hall corridor and the office at the end of the waiting area with the name Lawrence N. Cunningham, Ph.D., Clinical Psychologist stenciled on the frosted window.

Did Cunningham and Brianna exchange keys to each other’s offices? If Brianna occasionally gave her secretary her apartment key, how hard would it be for Cunningham to get it?

Less than an hour later the door to Brianna’s office opened. “I’ll see you again at the same time next week, Kristi,” Brianna said as she followed the teenager into the waiting room. Shoulders bent, eyes downcast, Kristi left without a word.

Brianna glanced at Mike, who was sitting in the corner, jacket slung over the back of the rocker. Her gaze fixed to the open black briefcase in his lap. He closed the case and got to his feet when she came beside him.

“My next client left a message saying she needed to cancel. There’s a tearoom downstairs. I’m dying for a cup. Care to join me?”

“Sure. But first, I need to go into your office for a few minutes before we go.”

He held up a countersurveillance device disguised as a cigarette packet. If an eavesdropping bug or tap was connected anywhere in her phone lines, he’d find it immediately.

She glanced at the pack of cigarettes and frowned. “I’d have thought you’d quit by now.”

He smiled. “Come on, you might find this interesting.”

She arched an eyebrow and followed him into her office.

Mike began the electronic sweep at the desk-model telephone at her desk. He waved the cigarette pack alongside the phone and a tiny red bulb blinked.

Curious, Brianna took a chair and watched him extract a small wire from a leather packet and slip it around the mouthpiece cap. With a quick spin, the unit opened. He stared in concentration. Several seconds later, he withdrew a gray object, a little smaller than a dime.

Unsure what it meant, Brianna stared at the tiny object between his fingers, then at him. “Is that a bug?” she mouthed silently.

He nodded.

She leaned back into her chair, her knees weak as she stared at the evidence in front of her.

He held up a cautionary finger to his lips, his face grim. Reaching for a pad of paper from her desk, he picked up a pen and scribbled something, then pushed the paper toward her.

LET’S GET OUT OF HERE.

He crumpled the paper and put it into his briefcase. She watched numbly as he placed the listening device back inside the handset, replaced the cover, then hung up the receiver. As he returned his equipment into the briefcase, he motioned her to leave.

She grabbed her bag and glanced back at the desk telephone. Anger filled her with a fury she didn’t know she possessed. Her privileged telephone conversations with her clients had been overheard. Whoever did this had to be stopped. She gazed at Mike, glad she’d found the courage to seek his help.

Mike grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and came beside her. Gently, he draped it across her shoulders, and pulled her toward the door. Her hand shook as she opened her bag. When she found the key, she managed to steady it long enough to lock the office.

She felt his arm around her as she hurried beside him down the hall. Damn, she’d do everything in her power to find the bastard and make him pay for this.

Thank God Mike was here.

WHEN THEY WERE INSIDE the elevator, he warned her not to speak. She used the short wait to catch her breath. Besides, she needed to think through the pieces of the puzzle. One thing remained clear. The stalker had known her every move.

He might have followed her on foot from her office to the parking garage, or during lunch when she bought fruit at the farmer’s market. He might have followed her by car to her apartment building. But he knew which apartment was hers. And in which bar she had met Larry for a drink after work. The stalker must have overheard her give out that information.

She’d made calls from her office only last week to have the locks changed on her apartment. She’d given her apartment number over the phone. Four days later she received the photograph that was slipped under her apartment door.

Dear God, what else had she said over the phone?

She’d called Mike’s office. The stalker knew that Mike was on the case. By calling TALON-6, she’d put Mike in jeopardy, too, she realized as a frisson of fear shot through her.

She gazed up into his eyes. He gave her a crooked smile, fortifying and confident. “Still want to have that cup of tea? Maybe you need something stronger.”

She closed her eyes for an instant. “I just want to get out of here.”

“I know a place that’s quiet and we can talk.” He gave her an easy smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

His comforting words tugged at something deep within her. Yes, she wanted to believe him, but her practical side knew better. Nothing would be okay again.

When the elevator reached the lobby, Mike took her arm and she gave in to the desire to be protected as he led her through the crowd and into the street. The blare of street noises mixed with the afternoon heat made her head pound. Mike hailed a cab, and she was still trembling when he opened the door for her. He gave the driver an address on Second Avenue, then settled back and put his arm along the back of the seat. Unable to help herself, she turned into him.

“Oh, Mike. I—I used the office phone when I called TALON-6 this morning.” She dragged in a shaky breath. “I’ve put you at risk, too.”

“Shh. Don’t worry. This is what I do for a living.”

“And my clients. Who knows how long their privacy has been compromised? I—I feel as though I should have done something to protect them.”

He took her hand in his warm, firm grip. “You couldn’t have known, Bria.”

His special nickname for her and his comforting touch brought forth a flood of yearning. She had never liked nicknames when she was a child. She’d always refused to be called anything but Brianna. Yet when Mike had first called her Bria, they were making love for the first time, and the gentle way he spoke the name had sounded like poetry. No one had ever called her Bria since Mike had been a part of her life.

She should turn away from his strong, comforting embrace, but for this one brief moment she couldn’t resist. Not just yet.

Yes, Mike made her feel safe, and dammit, that’s what she needed right now.

No, cried a voice deep down in her soul. She was through leaning on any man. Hadn’t she learned the hard way that the only person she could count on was herself? Whatever was going on, she would face the problem and triumph.

Bracing herself, she pulled her hand away and grabbed a tissue from her handbag. After blotting her mascara, she gave him a shaky smile. “I’m okay now.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid it’s worse than you think.”

She glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The device I found does more than just listen to your phone calls.” His jaw clenched.

She could see his quiet anger toward whoever was behind this. Was he always this emotionally involved with his cases, or was she an exception?

“What do you mean by more than a listening device?”

“I won’t know what the range of the transmitter is until I check it out in the lab.” Mike whispered. “I know it picks up conversations while the phone is on the hook.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You mean the stalker has heard everything my clients have said while in session?”

He nodded. “Overheard and possibly recorded.”

“But how?”

“It’s a little more complicated than in the movies where someone sits in a van listening to tapes through a headset. Some P.I.s might still do that, but today’s technology that allows visual enhancement of the rings of Jupiter can easily enhance a whisper on the street to symphony-hall clarity.”

She was suddenly speechless.

“TALON-6 uses the cutting edge in surveillance equipment.” His mouth firmed. “We’ll find out who’s doing this and put him away.”

“But…he’s already learned information that could be devastating.” Her thoughts went immediately to Billie Ray Bennett. Could he possibly have the expertise to do something like this? From what she could remember, he was a high-school dropout. But if he wasn’t behind the photographs, then who?

“Mike, are you absolutely sure that what’s said in my office can be heard even though the phone is on the hook?”

“Yes, it’s done every day. Any room sound can be heard and recorded up to as much as fifteen hundred feet, and more on some units. That means through two or more closed doors.”

She shook her head. “I can hardly believe it.”

“It’s easy. The device is activated by sounds. All the stalker has to do to hear or record what’s being said is to start an external stimulus that triggers the bug. It can be done simply by dialing your number. You think it’s a wrong number, but it’s enough to trigger the device.”

“But why me? Who’s doing this and what do they want?”

Mike clenched his jaw, determination darkening his blue eyes. “I promise you, Bria. I’m going to find out.”

Nervously, she glanced out the taxi window at the pedestrians crowding the sidewalk. Hundreds, thousands, millions of people in New York City. The stalker could be any one of them.

“I’m not sure I feel better knowing all these things,” she said finally.

“I’m not trying to scare you, but it’s for your own protection. You’ve got to know what and who we’re dealing with.”

“Of course. You’re right,” she said, realizing that she needed to protect her clients. “I need to know.”

HE TAPPED HIS FINGERS along the computer pad, trying to control his fury.

Did they really think he wouldn’t have known that they had found the bug? Stupid, arrogant bitch. She hires a wiretap man from TALON-6 and thinks he’ll keep her safe. Well, she’d learn her lesson, and so would he.

He clicked off the monitor, then walked to the darkroom. The next photo will frighten the hell out of her. He could hardly wait.

A pity that he couldn’t have seen the bitch’s face when they found the bugging device inside the phone. It didn’t matter. Soon he’d get what he wanted.

Very soon it will be over. And he knew exactly what it would take to bring her out into the open.

He laughed. Damn, she’d go willingly. She always did. Run right after one of her flock. He grinned, thinking of the way her eyes would bulge in shock, her mouth twist in terror while she begged him for her life.

Landis was an extra bonus, an added thrill. Once the incriminating evidence was planted, Landis would be the first person the police would think murdered her.

Thank you, bitch. He laughed. Yeah, now that he had a chance to think about it, he was ecstatic at the lucky turn of events.

He grabbed the telephone and punched in the numbers that were deeply burned into his memory.