Читать книгу Her Bodyguard - Mallory Kane - Страница 8

It was after ten when Lucas tossed half a sandwich into the trash. He made a mental note to take the bag out in the morning before it started to smell. He was going to get real tired of ham sandwiches before this bodyguard detail was over.

And right now he’d sell his vintage Mustang Cobra for a café au lait. At least he had the refrigerator, so his bottled water wasn’t the temperature of his unairconditioned room.

As he drained the last of the water, his eye caught a movement on Angela’s living room monitor. She’d finally gotten up from the table, where she’d been hunched over her books for the past three hours.

He yawned. That was dedication. And determination. Those qualities were more appealing in grown-up Angela than they had been in bratty kid Angela.

They weren’t the only qualities that had gotten better with time, either. She had on shorts and a T-shirt that read Laissez les bon temps roulez, with bon temps—good times—stretched across her breasts.

Lucas swallowed. Those would be good times.

Her long legs, which had made her as awkward as a newborn colt when she was a kid, now made his mouth water. That dark brown hair that was always getting in her eyes now fell in soft waves to curve inward at her neck. And her pugnacious chin and too-short nose were now part of a face that had turned out just about perfect.

She walked into the kitchen, giving Lucas a unique stereo view of her front and back through the two monitors.

That did it. She officially looked hot from every angle.

As she poured herself a half glass of wine, Lucas grabbed another cold plastic bottle from the refrigerator, quelling the urge to splash some of it on his face—not to mention other parts of his body.

Back in the living room, she stopped in front of her shelf of DVDs and perused them as she sipped her wine.

Lucas’s pulse sped up. She was looking for a movie to watch. Just don’t pick Charade. He’d chosen the 1963 Audrey Hepburn/Cary Grant movie because it wouldn’t stand out on her shelf of old movies, but he hadn’t stopped to see if she had another copy of it. Still, out of her hundred or so titles, the chances were slim that she’d pick that very one.

Watch the one you rented, Ange. It’s right there on the couch.

But she didn’t pick up on his telepathic plea. Her fingers slid across the cases’ spines, until she was dangerously close to his mini-spy cam, so close that the shadow of her hand obscured the lens.

Holding his breath, he reached for his cell phone. As a last resort, he’d call her. He could say he got her number from Brad—and it would be true. He wasn’t going to tell her when he’d gotten it. He started dialing.

A sharp knock sounded on her door.

She jumped—and so did he. Her head snapped around and her hand went to her throat. Then she set her wine glass down directly in front of the camera lens.

Lucas pocketed his phone and reached for his Sig Sauer. He seated it in the paddle holster at the small of his back. He scrutinized the monitors and cursed as only a Delancey could. He’d been so intensely concentrated on her that he hadn’t noticed someone coming into the building.

The hall spy cam picked up on a dark figure, barely visible in the wan light of the inadequate 40-watt bulbs that lined the corridors. The camera aimed at her door showed the back of a man’s bald head.

Lucas shoved his arms into his long-sleeved shirt and fastened a couple of buttons. He couldn’t see a damn thing through the living room monitor. The stem of the wine glass was blocking it. He had to rely on sound and what little he could see through her French doors.

ANGELA’S HEART BEAT a staccato rhythm as her fingers closed around the glass door knob.

“Who is it?” she said sharply.

“Electrician,” came the terse reply.

She jerked her hand away as if the knob were hot. A repairman this time of night? That didn’t feel right.

Billy must have told Bouvier what she’d said about her kitchen light. But why would Bouvier send the guy up here at night? He normally went around the world to avoid paying overtime.

“I’m sorry, but it’s late. Please come back tomorrow,” she called through the door.

“Look, lady, I get here when I get here. Now do you want your light fixed or not? “

“It—it’s working now. It was probably just a burned-out bulb.”

“Awright,” the electrician growled. “No skin off my nose. I’m billing Bouvier anyhow.”

She listened as his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Once she could no longer hear them, she slumped and hugged herself, her hands shaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” she muttered. She was becoming too paranoid. She pressed her palms against her hot cheeks. Overreacting to every little thing.

Was it the pressure of exams causing her to make mountains out of mole hills? Sure, a few odd things had happened in the past few days, but every single one of them had a reasonable explanation, didn’t they?

Her gaze lit on the smudge on her sofa. No. Not all of them. In the eight months she’d lived here, Bouvier had never sent a repairman during the evening, and he’d never gone into her apartment when she wasn’t there.

At least not to her knowledge.

She sucked in a deep, shaky breath. First thing tomorrow, she was going to march down there and demand he change her locks and install deadbolts.

But what about tonight? She twirled slowly, looking around the room.

“I know,” she whispered. She grabbed a dining chair and dragged it over to the door. She braced it under the knob. Then she fetched her broom and slid it through the dual handles of the French doors.

For a few seconds she stood in the middle of the room, feeling appalled by her makeshift locks.

She’d always prided herself on her fearlessness. And now look at her.

She sighed. At least if anyone tried to get in, she’d hear them. She grabbed her cell phone and headed into her bedroom.

Then she stopped. What had she done with her wine glass? A quick glance around and she spotted it on the shelf of DVDs. Retrieving it, she headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

By the time she got out of the shower and dried her hair, she was yawning. It wasn’t that late. Barely eleven. But she couldn’t study any more tonight. Not only was she really tired, but she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. That meant she’d have to study all weekend if she wanted to do well on Monday’s exam. So maybe getting to sleep early tonight was a good idea.

After she finished brushing her hair, she put on her red pajamas and climbed into bed. Just as she reached to turn her light out her phone rang.

It was Doug. She was tempted not to answer, but she was afraid if she didn’t he might show up at her door, just to check on her. He’d done it before.

She answered.

‘Angela, I’m sorry. I meant to call earlier. Now you’re in bed.”

“Oh, I just—” She stopped. Why had he said that? “I’m studying, Doug. What did you want?”

“Studying? Really? It was nice seeing you today. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other face-to-face, much less had a good talk.”

“I just saw you today. Have you been drinking?” He always tended to ramble, but tonight he wasn’t making any sense.

“Oh, I’ve had a little wine. Just sitting here thinking about you.”

She grimaced and rubbed her temples. “This isn’t a good idea, Doug. You need to move on. Go out with someone else.”

“I don’t want to go out with someone else, Angela. I want you.”

“Please, Doug. Don’t—”

“Don’t try to deny it, Angela. We were perfect together. I felt it, and I know you did, too.”

“No, we weren’t. Don’t make it more than it was. We went out three times. I’m sorry, but I have to insist that you don’t call me again. If I have to, I’ll change my number.”

“Oh, Angie. You don’t want to threaten me. You’re just tired from all your exams. I’ll let you go to sleep. We can make plans later.” He laughed softly. “By the way, I really love you in red pajamas.” He hung up.

Angela frowned at the phone as her brain processed what he’d just said.

Love you in red pajamas.

Oh, God. She looked down at the red silk pajamas she’d put on after her shower—put on right here in the bedroom.

Her blood froze in her veins as the ominous implication of his words sunk in.

Now you’re in bed.

Love you in red.

Her gaze flew to her bedroom window. The blinds and the curtains were closed. There was no way anyone could see in.

She frowned as she looked around the room. Window, closet, bathroom doors, door to living room. There was no way he could possibly see, unless—

The answer that hit her like a slap in the face was inconceivable. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Oh, no,” she moaned. It was the only answer.

“No, no, no.” Her breath caught and her scalp burned with panic.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to vault out of bed and run. But if what she was thinking were true, he was watching her, waiting for that very reaction.

With her skin crawling and her insides knotted with fear, she reached out as quickly and smoothly as she could and felt for the switch on the bedside lamp. It took several tries with her terror-numbed fingers before she turned it off.

With the lamp off, the room was dark, except for the pale light seeping in around the window curtains. She stood on shaky legs, the hairs literally standing up on the back of her neck, and her shoulder muscles cramping.

She felt like someone was right behind her, breathing down her neck, about to grab her.

Moving slowly, as if it would keep her from being seen, she slipped out from under the covers and fled into the living room. For a few seconds, she just stood there in the dark while gigantic shudders shook her body.

Finally, she turned on the overhead light. She’d rather be seen through the balcony doors by half the population of New Orleans than consider what her brain was telling her.

“It can’t be—” she breathed. “Oh, God, what do I do?”

Her brain felt as frozen as her blood. She couldn’t think of anything except the awful implication of Doug’s words. How had he—? Surely he couldn’t have—

Yes. He could.

She had evidence that someone had been inside her apartment. Not to mention her feeling that someone was watching her.

And what he’d said.

“Police!” she said aloud. “I’ve got to call the police.”

Where was her phone? Staring down at her hands, she tried to make her brain work. She didn’t have it. That meant it was still in the bedroom. She’d dropped it, either on her bed or on the floor.

She had to go back in there.

“Oh, God, no. I can’t. He’s watching me!”

ANGLEA WAS IN TROUBLE.

Lucas jerked awake and almost tipped over his chair. He’d dozed off leaning back in it.

“He’s watching me!” Her voice was pitched high with panic. “Got to call the police!”

He blinked and focused on the monitor screen. She was standing in the living room in slinky red pajamas with her hands over her mouth, as if to stop herself from screaming.

Oh crap! She’d found the cameras.

How in hell—? He vaulted up, sending his chair flying across the room, and headed for the door.

He bolted down the stairs four at a time and hit the street door running. He had to get to her before she called the cops.

If the police came and found the cameras, a three-month suspension would be the least of his worries. His career would be over—hell his whole life. Not even Brad’s testimony would keep him from being thrown in prison.

And if Angela hated him before, she’d despise him after this.

He sprinted across the street and up the stairs, digging in his pocket for her key as he ran. With everything else that was about to explode, he sure didn’t want to wake up the whole building by crashing in her door.

He unlocked the door and pushed on it. It barely gave, and he heard the creak of wood scraping across wood.

Damn it! She must have blocked the door with a chair. He pushed as hard as he could against the wooden chair without shattering it.

“Ange!” he called. “Angela, it’s me, Lucas.”

“What—?”

“Let me in, Ange.”

“What’s—what are you doing here—?” Even though she was breathless and choked with fear, she got the chair moved and unlocked the door.

He came bursting in and grabbed her by the arms. “Listen Ange, let me explain—”

“Lucas, what are you—?”

“Calm down. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Oh, Lucas! Help me!” She pointed toward the bedroom. “He’s watching me. He knew everything. It’s a camera—it’s got to be!”

Lucas cringed, but then what she said sunk in. He’s watching me.

She was pointing toward the bedroom. He didn’t have a camera in her bedroom.

“What? No, not in the bedroom,” he said.

She stared at him. “It is. You have to believe me. He knew I was in bed. Knew what I was wearing. He was—he was—”

She wasn’t making any sense. “Okay, okay.” He pulled her close, to try to soothe her panic. “Shh. Let’s get you calmed down and then we can figure out what to do.”

“No, you have to call the police. My phone’s in there. I couldn’t go back in there—I couldn’t.”

“I know, sugar, I know.” He slid his palm up her back and cradled her head. Her warm breath stuttered against his neck as her arms slipped around his waist. For a second, he was lost in the sensation of her soft, firm body pressed against him.

Then she pulled away. “Police,” she muttered. “We’ve got to call the police.”

Lucas forced his brain back to his problem. He needed a couple of minutes to think. To figure out why she thought there was a camera in her bedroom. And he needed to get her terror under control—fast.

“Come on,” he said gently, leading her to the kitchen. “Let’s get you a glass of water. Sit down.” He quickly fixed a glass of ice water and handed it to her.

He watched while she drank it. Her pale cheeks had regained a little bit of color by the time she’d downed about half of it.

“That’s good.” He sat on his haunches in front of her. “Now tell me why you think there’s a camera in your bedroom, and who you think put it there.”

She choked a little on the water and coughed.

“Shh. It’s okay. Take your time. Is the bedroom camera the only one you’ve found?” Some protector he was. She was terrified and his first thought was to cover his ass. He held his breath, waiting for her to answer.

“The only one? Oh, my God. Do you think there are more?”

“No.” He took the glass and set it on the table, then held her hands in his. “No. Shh. I was just checking. You said he called you. Who?”

“Doug Ramis. He called me and he knew I was in bed. And then he said he liked me in red pajamas.” Her cheeks lost color again. “He could see me, Lucas! He could see me. How else would he know? Please! Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he couldn’t see me. I can’t believe anybody would do that. It’s so perverted.” She shuddered again.

Lucas couldn’t quite sort out what she was talking about, but he did hear her say, “It’s so perverted.”

She was going to despise him. “Who’s Doug Ramis?”

“I dated him a few times. Three. Three times. He thinks we’re—” she gestured aimlessly “—soul mates or something.”

Could he be the bland guy who’d been hanging around her building? Lucas made a mental note to show her a photo of him.

“Maybe he’s seen your pajamas before? Maybe he was just guessing?”

“No! No. Of course he hasn’t seen my pajamas.” For an instant, indignation overcame her panic. “He couldn’t have just guessed. He. Saw. Me.“

“Okay, shh. Here. Finish your water.” He handed the glass back to her, then looked toward the bedroom. “You turned the light off?”

She nodded. “So he couldn’t see me.” A brittle laugh escaped her lips. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“No. I’m going to get your phone. You said it’s in there?”

She nodded. “I dropped it on the bed.”

“Do you have any idea where the camera might be?”

“No.” She shuddered. “I never thought about where it was.”

“That’s okay. Wait right here.” He rose and started toward the bedroom.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“How—how did you show up just in time?”

That took longer than he thought it would. She was too smart. He put on a grin. “Hey, sugar. That’s what knights in shining armor do, right?”

His lame joke didn’t earn him a smile. Her chocolate eyes went wide and something he couldn’t identify shone from their depths.

He went into the bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the light from the living room. He wished he had an infrared light, so he could see without being seen through the camera. But he didn’t, so he stood still until his eyes adapted to the darkness. He wasn’t about to turn on the light and risk the guy seeing him.

He felt around in her bed for her phone. To his body’s delight and his brain’s dismay, the sheets were still warm from her heat. He took a deep breath, hoping to tamp down his body’s automatic response. But he only succeeded in filling his nose with the scent of chocolate. He shook his head. That had to be his imagination.

His fingers closed around the phone and he pocketed it. Staying low, he swept the room with his gaze. If there was a camera, it would be positioned on the wall opposite the bathroom. At least that’s where he’d mount it.

It was damned hard to see with only the dim light from the curtained windows, but he scrutinized the chest of drawers and dresser that sat against the wall.

A decorative clock hung on the wall above the chest. He looked from it to her bed to the bathroom door. That would be his choice for the best vantage point. He carefully took it down and opened the back.

And there it was. Lucas stared at the familiar shape. It was state of the art, almost as sophisticated as the ones Dawson had loaned him. He didn’t see a microphone. So it was visual only.

Anger hit him like a hot blast of wind. The slimy skunk who was spying on her deserved to spend the rest of his life in prison for stalking. Quelling his urge to smash the clock and the camera inside it against the wall, he pried the camera loose and lifted it out using his handkerchief. He made sure the clock still worked and then repositioned it on the wall.

“Try to spy on her now, you bastard!” he muttered as he pocketed the camera and headed back into the living room.

“Did you find it?” She met his gaze. “You did!” Her hands covered her mouth again. “There really was a camera.”

Lucas wiped a hand down his face. “This Doug guy—that’s who you were talking about, isn’t it?”

“Talking about?”

“When you said another stalker, it’s him?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

Son of a bitch.

Angela was under a double threat. Not only was she in danger from a Chicago crime boss who wanted to use her as leverage against her ADA brother, but she was also being stalked by an obsessed ex-boyfriend.

He had his work cut out for him now. He’d given her a throw-away answer to her question of how he’d shown up just in time, but as Brad had said earlier, Angela was smart—and quick.

She’d ask him again, as soon as she was over the worst of her fear.

And what was he going to say?

Sugar, your brother sent me here to protect you from a hired hit man. The deranged ex-boyfriend is just a bonus. You know, lagniappe. Oh, and by the way, I’ve been watching you through hidden cameras, too.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’ll work.”