Читать книгу Guardian of Her Heart - Linda Johnston O. - Страница 11

“Why is it that you’re always hungry after school?” Dianna gave Julie’s shoulders a hug as the elevator door opened onto the vast, architecturally dynamic lobby of the Englander Dispute Resolution Center. The building was modern, yet, with its arched windows, high ceilings and sparkling chandeliers, its feel was old-world grand.

The heels of Dianna’s navy pumps clicked on the marble floors. The shoes matched her linen suit—short-skirted, professional but comfortable in the Los Angeles winter. Dianna, from the east, still couldn’t get used to how warm it was this time of year. She had even cut her blond hair into a soft, slick pageboy parted in the middle, rather than keeping it long as she had once worn it.

Or maybe she’d needed to change everything about her life….

“Being bored at school starves me,” the child replied to Dianna’s question, looking up with a huge, adult-charming grin that displayed slightly crooked front teeth.

She kept grinning even as, on their way to the door outside, Dianna and she passed by the security guards screening people who entered.

Dianna kept grinning, too—but hers was forced.

She had Jeremy, Julie’s father, to thank for the extra security in the building. Of course, since this was part of the Van Nuys, California, civic center, security screening was a way of life. The area housed all sorts of government office buildings: federal, state and municipal. And courthouses. And post offices. And other structures that could attract unsavory people with mayhem on their minds.

Like Glen Farley.

But these dark-uniformed, brusque security guys were new. Efficient, thorough and even unnerving, they had come highly recommended, Jeremy had said, by some law enforcement hotshots he trusted. He had hired them as a result of Dianna’s spotting Farley the first time. He hadn’t seen the horrible man. Neither had Julie. But thank heavens Jeremy had taken her word for it. She had nearly given up hoping for people to believe her.

She certainly hadn’t bothered notifying the feds hunting for Farley since Brad’s murder, either about the first time she saw Farley here or the second. During those initial horrendous months after her husband’s death, she had seen Farley several times, hanging around. Taunting her. She’d reported it then. But the agents on the case had evidence that Farley had fled the area —evidence they apparently found more credible than her fearful and emotional phone calls. Though they claimed to have checked, they’d found no sign of him.

The last times she called, she doubted they’d looked at all.

That was one of many reasons she had left Washington.

“Hey, look,” Julie said, drawing Dianna out of her disturbing thoughts. She pointed her index finger, its nail chewed to an irregular edge, toward a pushcart on the paved plaza outside the Center.

One day, Dianna would have to introduce the girl she thought of as her surrogate niece to the pleasures of nail polish—clear or light pink, for a preteen. Maybe then she wouldn’t gnaw on her nails.

Julie didn’t have a mother to teach her such things.

“What’s that guy doing?” Julie grabbed Dianna’s elbow and pulled her toward the elaborately decorated cart. A sign on its surface proclaimed that it sold “Fare to keep you awake and alive.” Below was a list of food, drinks and prices: mochas, lattes and all imaginable coffee creations, sweet rolls, and cold gourmet sandwiches.

Dianna hadn’t thought she was hungry, but her stomach grumbled.

What was that guy doing?

A man in a white T-shirt with a red Cart à la Carte logo in the middle stood right beside the pushcart. His hands were in motion—a good thing, too, for he was juggling knives. And not wimpy butter knives, but steak knives with wicked-looking serrations. He wasn’t tossing them high, but they flew end-over-end as he flawlessly caught and tossed them in his obviously skilled, large hands. The motion of his arms emphasized the breadth of substantial biceps and tautened his shirt against his equally broad and muscular chest.

“Wow,” said Julie in an awed voice beside Dianna. I’ll second that, Dianna thought, though for different reasons than Julie. The guy was definitely sexy.

Not that she was into guys these days, let alone sex. It was okay to admire a good-looking man from afar, but that was definitely all.

This guy’s hair was sandy brown, cut short, almost military style. He was barely even looking at the dangerous utensils that twisted and soared under his control. His cobalt-blue eyes appeared to be fixed on Dianna.

And when she caught his glance, one corner of his wide, straight mouth curved slightly upward in acknowledgment.

She had seen him before.

Where?

He stopped juggling, catching the knives and setting them down on the cart. “Can I help you?” he said. “How about an albacore tuna sandwich for the young lady, and an espresso for her lovely companion?”

The guy’s tongue was as flawless as his juggling. As he’d stressed the word young, Dianna had been certain he would refer to her as the “older lady,” but instead he had complimented her.

She recalled suddenly where she had seen him before: in the reception area of the A-S Development offices, where Dianna managed the dispute resolution center named for her husband.

The Englander Center was an experiment that held great promise, and A-S Development, which had constructed it, also was responsible to ensure its use.

In this area abounding with courts and litigants, the idea was to encourage people to save time and money by paying mediators to help them resolve disputes amicably. Or, if they couldn’t, they could hire “rent-a-judges”—real, retired judges who held realistic trials in the Center’s own model courtrooms.

So far, the experiment was a success. The law offices within the Center were completely rented, and Dianna had no problem filling the conference and courtrooms nearly constantly.

So many people were undoubtedly a good market for food vendors. And that was where Dianna had seen the gorgeous hunk of a juggler before: that morning, in her office, peddling food.

“Would you like a sandwich here, Julie?” she asked the girl. “Or would you like to go to one of the other carts along the promenade?”

“Oh, but you have to stay here,” the man told them. “It’s in the cards.” Dianna couldn’t figure out where he could have fit a deck of cards in the side pocket of his snug jeans, but he whipped one out with a flourish. “Pick a card, lovely companion,” he said, stepping toward Dianna.

She felt her cheeks redden. “No, thanks,” she said. “Julie, let’s—”

“Please, Dianna,” the girl begged, excitement glimmering in her eyes.

“Well…” Dianna turned back toward the man and shrugged. “All right.”

She put out her hand, mentally comparing it with Julie’s much smaller one. Her nails were rounded, and she used a rose-tinted polish.

The man fanned out the cards. “Go ahead,” he said as she hesitated. “Pick one.”

Dianna closed her thumb and forefinger on one from the middle of the deck. She pulled it out.

“Now look at it,” the man said.

She did, then blinked, unable to believe her eyes. It was a three of clubs. But it wasn’t the suit or the number that startled her.

Printed along the card’s side was, “Beware.”

LT. TRAVIS BRONSON, of the special Undercover Response Unit, “L Platoon,” of the Metro Division, Los Angeles Police Department, did not let himself smile at the reaction of the beautiful, slender, but unapproachable woman he knew was Dianna Englander, widow of U.S. Representative Bradley Englander.

He had intended to startle her. It was the best way to get her attention.

“Now, please place the card back into the deck,” he told her. Her slim, elegant hand trembled as she obeyed. But she lifted her pale blue eyes to his and glared.

Brave lady, he thought.

“Watch,” he said. Using simple sleight-of-hand, he formed the cards back into a solid deck, shuffled them, then easily extracted the one Ms. Englander had selected: the three of clubs.

He knew why she had reacted so strangely. It had a warning on the edge. But so did all the cards in the deck he had proffered.

“Is that the one you chose?” he asked.

She nodded. “Of course, but you—”

“Now, how about that tuna sandwich, my friend?” He knelt to the level of the child he knew to be Julie, daughter of Jeremy Alberts, a developer of the building near where they stood.

“Sure,” said the girl, wonder written all over her enormous-eyed gaze. He was careful to make sure she hadn’t seen what was on the card.

“I’ll teach you how to do that someday, if you’d like,” he said.

“Really?” Her tone told him that she considered what he had offered a gift of the highest magnitude.

To him, card tricks, juggling and other feats with his hands were routine.

Ms. Englander appeared less impressed.

“Manny, would you get our young customer her sandwich?” he asked the thin Hispanic man who actually owned the pushcart. Manny Fernandez nodded and motioned to the child.

That gave Travis his opportunity. He reached into his pocket, but she gave him no time to show his badge. Instead, she muttered, “I don’t know what he paid you, but leave me alone. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay away from him, too.” She turned her back and followed the child. “Let’s go, Julie,” she said after she paid Manny, then turned back toward the building.

He wasn’t going to argue with her…here. But this wasn’t the end of it, especially because Travis could guess what “he” she referred to. “See you soon,” he said as she and the child passed.

She spared him barely a look. “Don’t count on it,” she said through gritted teeth.

Oh, but you can count on it, Ms. Englander, he thought.

He watched the woman and child disappear through the doors.

A SHORT WHILE LATER, Dianna forced herself to sit still in Wally Sellers’ office in the A-S Development suite, on the sixth floor of the Englander Center.

Wally, chubby and unkempt but happy in his own cascades of loose skin, had decorated his domain in a manner in keeping with his unassuming nature: mismatched but comfortable stuff. He sat behind his cluttered desk.

“I’m glad we’re meeting,” Dianna said. “I have something to tell you both, but I’ll wait till Jeremy gets here. Do you know what he wants to see us about?”

Almost as soon as Julie and she had walked back into the offices, her other boss, Jeremy Alberts, had told her they had to get together on an important matter. Though their meeting would be short, as Wally and he had some potential subcontractors coming in, they would convene now in Wally’s office.

Dianna had tried to take Jeremy aside to tell him about her fright in the plaza but hadn’t wanted to alarm Julie. She had already alerted the security crew downstairs, told them to contact the police. If local authorities interrogated that cheeky pushcart peddler, they might get information about his relationship with Glen Farley that could lead to Farley’s arrest at long last. This time she would not allow her claims to be ignored. She was no longer the terrified, hysterical widow whom federal agents had blown off before.

Jeremy bustled into the office, hurrying across the Berber carpet between the cluttered desk and the sitting area. “Good,” he said, glancing between Wally and Dianna. “You’re both here.” He took a seat on an orange-and-blue upholstered chair that clashed with Dianna’s blue-and-gray one, and tugged on his pants legs to arrange them. “I’ve settled Julie in my office doing homework. He’ll be here in a minute.”

“Who?” Dianna asked, but before he could respond, she continued, “Look, before whoever it is gets here, I have something I need to tell you.” She related what had happened on the plaza.

“Oh, no!” Jeremy rose by his seat. “Are you okay?”

Dianna assured them both—falsely—that she was. The experience had shaken her more than she dared to admit.

Farley was getting more blatant. Now he was even hiring people to frighten her. She wouldn’t know whom she could trust.

See you soon. The man’s words echoed in her head. She didn’t want to think about it…but how could she avoid him, if he stood right outside their building? Beware…

“Damn!” Jeremy said. “Well, you’ll have an opportunity to tell the right person soon. The head of our new security company is coming. He demanded this meeting, said he has something important to talk about. He didn’t sound happy. Maybe he already knows what’s going on.”

“I certainly hope so,” Wally stated. He was seated again, and his scowl added creases to his wrinkly, round face.

“If he doesn’t know now, we’ll make sure he jumps right on it,” Jeremy asserted, as usual assuming leadership.

The partnership between her bosses reminded Dianna of pairs of comedians from the past, since Jeremy was so much thinner than his counterpart. His perfectionism in business dealings carried through to his appearance, for even when he removed a tailored suit jacket, as he had for this meeting, his shirts were clearly of fine quality cottons or silks.

But the similarity to comedic teams stopped with their appearances. Though both men were kind, they tended to be serious. Neither was prone to crack jokes.

They both seemed equally rattled now.

“Look,” she said placatingly. “It wasn’t—”

A sound from outside Wally’s office interrupted her. Beth Baines, the attractive African-American receptionist, poked her head in. “Mr. Flynn is here with another man,” she said.

“Send them in,” Jeremy said. “Although Cal didn’t mention anyone else.”

Two men entered—and Dianna rose, clenching one fist so tightly that her nails dug into her skin.

Thank heavens. The new security team had come through.

Only—was she supposed to take part in the interrogation? “No,” she whispered aloud. She wanted no part of it.

One of the men, bulky and wearing a blue uniform, Dianna recognized from the group manning the metal detectors and conducting random searches of visitors at the building’s entry. He was obviously a representative of the security company.

But the other—it was the good-looking juggler from the courtyard. The man who’d unnerved Dianna. He strode confidently inside, followed by Julie.

“Are you going to show us more card tricks?” the child asked, her eyes aglow once more. Dianna wanted to whisk her from the room. Julie didn’t belong near this unpleasantness.

“Not now,” the man said with a smile. “I’ve some tricks to discuss with the adults.”

Tricks? Shakily, Dianna said to Julie, “Go back to your dad’s office, honey, and finish your homework. I’ll come help when we’re done here.” She gave the child a hug.

“Okay.” Julie’s look was baleful, but she obeyed.

The other man closed the office door behind her.

“What’s going on, Flynn?” Jeremy demanded. “Who is this?”

“He’s the man I told you about,” Dianna said coolly. “The one who tried to scare me outside on the plaza. He must have been hired by Farley.”

She glared at him, but he laughed aloud. Dianna felt her temper flare. Who was he?

She was able to ignore him for a moment as the uniformed man approached, holding out a hand. It felt like refrigerated meat as she shook it briefly, then let go.

“Ms. Englander.” He ducked his head as if in deference. His hair was light brown, and he had a bald spot at the crown. “I should have introduced myself before. I’m Cal Flynn, president of Flynn Security. I’ve stationed myself right alongside my staff because of the sensitive nature of the situation. Mr. Alberts called us in after you saw Glen Farley the first time.”

“That’s right,” Jeremy agreed. He sat again in the chair across from Dianna. “Flynn’s outfit is already making a lot of changes in the Center’s security.”

Cal Flynn’s smile broadened, revealing teeth so perfect Dianna wondered if he’d had them knocked out in the course of security assignments and replaced artificially.

Flynn continued, “Jeremy said you recently spotted the suspect a second time, and that you informed the police.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Dianna had mentioned it to her contact at the local police station, a community relations officer. It had been an offhand reference, but she’d told Jeremy nevertheless.

“That was fine, of course, but it would have been better if you let us handle the notification, since—”

“Since his feelings have been hurt,” said the juggler. He also approached Dianna, all but shouldering Flynn aside. His hand was out, too, but not to shake hers. He held a small leather case.

Dianna took the case, then glanced up at his face in surprise as she handed it back.

It was his ID. He was Lt. Travis Bronson of the Los Angeles Police Department.

“Who is he?” Wally’s voice nearly exploded from behind his desk.

Dianna told him as the police officer and security man took seats at opposite ends of the couch.

Flynn faced Lt. Bronson. “We certainly appreciate your interest and help, sir, but we have things under control.”

Dianna doubted that. Farley was a murderer. And they certainly hadn’t captured him.

In any event, she had a lot of questions. She asked the first. “Why were you outside juggling, of all things, Lieutenant?”

“Keeping an eye on everything,” he said. “We’ve other guys posted around here undercover, too.”

“Aren’t you a bit obvious, with all your—” she wanted to say “gyrations,” but that word brought back too clearly her own reaction to his sexy moves “—juggling?” she finished lamely. “And tricks.”

“Ah, but what better way to draw people near so I can observe them?” The archness of his grin suggested he knew just what she had been thinking.

“But why?” Jeremy asked almost peevishly. “We’ve hired the best security there is. What’s going on here?” He took a position beside Wally’s desk. His arms were folded, and a scowl puckered his long face.

Lt. Bronson rose. He looked directly at Dianna. “Because you’re in danger.”

“What?” Wally drew his bulk from behind the desk and crossed to stand protectively beside Dianna. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Even if she saw Farley, that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“Oh, it means a lot,” the cop said.

Dianna felt both annoyed and gratified. Wally had said if she saw Farley. One of her own bosses, her friend, apparently doubted her. It brought back some unpleasant memories.

But for the local police to have sent someone undercover to keep watch, they, at least, must be taking her seriously. What a relief, after being ignored so blatantly before. It felt strange, though, to think she had an ally of sorts in this irritating cop.

Dianna stood and walked toward the window behind Wally’s desk. Looking down toward the courtyard, she could not see the pushcart where she had first viewed the man.

She turned back toward the sofa where he sat once more, one muscular leg crossed nonchalantly over the other in his snug jeans. The security chief sat ramrod-stiff beside him, the tight expression on his bearlike face all but shouting his annoyance.

“Why do you think I’m in danger, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“My commander got a call from Officer Treya, a community relations officer here, at the Van Nuys Station. He told me about the Englander Dispute Resolution Center, and that the late Representative Englander’s widow works here. He also said you’d informed him of seeing your husband’s alleged murderer here a couple of times.”

“He’s more than an alleged murderer,” Jeremy contradicted. “Dianna saw him shoot Brad Englander.”

Only half-conscious of the gesture, Dianna placed her hand on her abdomen. Brad was not the only victim of that horrifying scene…. “But everyone’s innocent untilproven guilty in a court of law,” she recited in a monotone, watching a hint of amusement play in Lt. Bronson’s deep blue eyes. “Right, Lieutenant?”

He nodded and stood. “But I’m inclined to believe that an eyewitness is probably right. Which brings me back to why I’m here. Officer Treya asked a detective to look into the situation, but, as you know, Mrs. Englander, no one, not even the feds, has been able to nab the suspect. But Glen Farley’s been implicated in some other situations. One was recent—the bombing of a redevelopment area in downtown L.A.”

Dianna’s heart rate speeded up as if she had pressed on an accelerator. “I hadn’t heard that Farley was involved.” She kept her breathing even. “But I’m not surprised.” And that explained why, this time, she was being taken seriously.

“It’s just speculation so far,” the police officer said calmly. “In any event, we’re placing a few strategic undercover officers to keep an eye on the Englander Center, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” demanded Cal Flynn.

“Just in case he decides that one bombing in the L.A. area isn’t enough. Or—” he continued, looking directly at Dianna “—if he thinks that murdering one Englander isn’t enough, either.”