Читать книгу In His Safekeeping - Shawna Delacorte - Страница 11

A car pulled into the driveway, drawing Brad Harrison’s attention back to the house he had been watching. The woman climbing out of the car matched his photograph of Tara Ford and then some. The photo definitely did not do her justice. For one thing, it was only a head shot and didn’t reveal the fantastic body that went along with that gorgeous face. He scanned her personal information in his file—twenty-nine years old, five foot seven, auburn hair, hazel eyes and not married.

He watched as she bent over to retrieve the sack of groceries from the trunk of her car. Her tailored slacks hugged the curve of her hip without being obvious and the soft knit of her sweater rested gently against her breasts. He took a deep breath to break the tightness that pulled across his chest, but it didn’t help much.

She was certainly beautiful, but that didn’t tell him how she got involved with John Vincent. Was she really the innocent bystander she claimed to be or was she…

He snapped to attention, quickly dismissing his personal thoughts and becoming all business when he saw her nervously glance up and down the street. He unzipped his jacket for easy access to the 9mm semiautomatic handgun, but did not remove it from the clip-on belt holster. Her gaze fell on him for a second or two, causing him to crease his forehead in concentration. She appeared to be searching for something, her apprehension marring her delicately sculpted features. It was not the type of thing he would expect from someone who didn’t have any worries.

The tension knotted in his stomach as he continued to watch her house. The uncertainty of how to proceed weighed heavily on him. The last remnants of daylight faded. He had seen everything he could. He started his car and slowly pulled away from the curb with his headlights off.

TARA FORD CAUTIOUSLY peeked out from behind the miniblinds at the kitchen window. The man who had been sitting in the car parked across the street was gone. She wished she had gotten a better look at his face, but was afraid to stare for fear he would suspect she had noticed him. For the past few weeks she had been plagued by an uncomfortable sensation that someone was watching her, but this was the first time she had actually seen who it might be.

She wanted to believe it was her imagination, a residual effect from the turmoil of being one of the key witnesses at John Vincent’s trial. Her portion of the testimony dealt with information she had discovered while employed by Green Valley Construction—the looting of his company’s pension fund and the income he had hidden from the Internal Revenue Service. But the testimony of other witnesses showing his bookmaking operation, loan-sharking and ties to organized crime had come as a complete surprise to her. That had been six months ago. John Vincent had been convicted and sent to prison. For a while everything seemed to be okay. She thought she had put the nightmare behind her. A little tremor of anxiety rippled across her skin. She wasn’t so sure anymore.

The ringing phone startled her out of her thoughts. She placed her hand on the receiver, then froze as a shiver of trepidation darted up her back. She was sure it was another of those calls where someone was there but no one said anything. She had been plagued with a rash of them over the past few weeks. On the fifth ring she finally picked up the receiver. The apprehension churned in her stomach before she could even say anything.

“Hello.” She heard someone breathing. She spoke louder, trying to force a calm control to her voice. “Hello…is anyone there?”

“Tara…it’s Danny.”

The shock left her momentarily speechless. Danny Vincent. John Vincent’s thirty-four-year-old nephew—and her ex-fiancé.

An odd combination of irritation and relief passed through her. It wasn’t her anonymous caller, but it was the last person she wanted to hear from. Her displeasure forced its way into her voice. “How did you get my unlisted phone number?”

“Well, I have to admit that it took a little doing. First I had to find out where you had moved.”

Her anxiety level increased. “Have you been following me and making anonymous phone calls?”

“Following you? Anonymous phone calls? What are you talking about? I only discovered where you were living a few days ago and just got your phone number yesterday.”

Her exasperation traveled the phone line as she spoke. “What do you want, Danny?”

“I thought we might have dinner. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“No. I’m not free tomorrow night or any other night. It’s over between us. I thought that should have been obvious when I broke off our engagement.”

“Just a friendly little dinner. Surely that couldn’t hurt anything.”

A new wariness rose inside her. Why now? Why after all this time should he suddenly have the urge to track her down and want to have dinner? Especially when her testimony at his uncle’s trial helped get him convicted.

“No…no dinner, friendly or otherwise. Please don’t call me again.” She hung up without waiting for a response. Even though she had broken off the engagement three years ago, she and Danny had still come in contact periodically due to the fact that they both worked for his uncle, although Danny wasn’t in the office very often. But she hadn’t seen or talked to him since the day she quit her job at Green Valley Construction and agreed to testify against John Vincent.

A sick feeling welled inside her, one laced with trepidation. Could Danny possibly be the person responsible for harassing her? An attempt to get back at her for testifying against his uncle? Perhaps combined with some residual anger over her having broken their engagement? A show of anger certainly wasn’t anything unusual for Danny Vincent. Nor was there anything new about his desire to control everything—including her. It had been bad enough to have to put up with her mother’s manipulations for so many years, but when Danny started doing the same type of thing to her she knew she needed to get out of the relationship.

She had refused to put up with his outbursts when she objected to him making decisions for her. The final straw had been when he canceled hotel and flight reservations she had made for her vacation without even consulting her. She had been angry with him and he had responded by actually threatening her. Five minutes later their relationship was finished and she had told him she wanted nothing to do with him again.

Then her mother had started in with her incessant nagging and criticism, this time about how Tara should have forgiven Danny. After all, one day he would probably own Green Valley Construction and Tara would have a comfortable life. That had been a pivotal downturning point in her rapidly declining relationship with her mother and the impetus for her vow never to allow anyone to have any control over her life again.

So, what had prompted Danny to call her? And why now after so much time had passed? The headache throbbed at her temples. Her hand trembled as she turned on the water and reached for a glass. She took two aspirin, then leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes.

Every day of late had become a new experience in the bizarre and stressful. Her personal life had been a tangled mess ever since the day she had agreed to testify at John Vincent’s trial. She had become leery of strangers and fearful about going out alone at night. She had started to feel as if she was a prisoner in her own home.

All six of the primary witnesses against John Vincent had been threatened and were put under the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service for the duration of the trial. A couple of weeks ago she had thought about contacting the marshals to ask for protection again, but decided against it. What could she say to them? She didn’t have any proof, only an unsubstantiated feeling that something was very wrong. Were her concerns real or only her imagination? It was a frightening place to be, caught in the middle between her unconfirmed fears on one side and what might be real danger on the other.

She took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then slowly exhaled in an attempt to bring a calm to her inner turmoil. She had survived the threats before the trial and taken charge of her life. She certainly wasn’t going to let this get the better of her. Then the phone rang again. Apprehension surged through her body followed by a sinking feeling. Her throat started to close off. She took another swallow of water and quickly switched on the answering machine. Anonymous caller or Danny Vincent—either way she didn’t want to answer it.

She nervously paced back and forth between the living room and kitchen. She needed a security system for the house…she needed a large watchdog…she needed a gun. She stopped pacing. A gun? Had she totally lost her mind? A gun meant violence and said that someone could be hurt…or worse yet, killed. That was definitely not what she needed and certainly the last thing she wanted in her house or in her life.

She gathered her determination. What she really needed was to get her anxieties under control and stop making more out of the circumstances than they deserved. She had let her imagination run away with her common sense. She took a calming breath in an attempt to settle the jittery sensation churning inside her, then opened the refrigerator and took out some lettuce and a tomato to make a salad.

After eating dinner, she watched television for a bit then took a book to bed and read for a while until she became drowsy. But sleep eluded her. Troubled thoughts kept taking her to the car that had been parked across the street and the man who seemed to be watching her house. An uneasiness burrowed its way into her consciousness. The more she tried to ignore it, the stronger it pushed at her. Had he returned? Was he watching her house again?

The uncertainty forced her out of bed. She made her way through the darkened house and peeked out the living-room window. Everything looked normal, yet her concern refused to leave. She finally managed a few hours of troubled sleep.

BRAD SPENT a restless night. He had tossed and turned, his mind refusing to relinquish the onslaught of thoughts, foremost of which was what to do about Tara Ford. It continued to plague him as he drove to work. He had a busy morning, lots of details to take care of that had nothing to do with the immediacy of his Tara Ford problem. But even though he stayed physically busy, his thoughts were never very far from her and the mental image that had burned into his mind.

At lunchtime he drove to Tara’s place of employment, parked his car, then continued on foot. There were several places to have lunch within a two-block area of her office and he intended to check them all, hoping she hadn’t elected to have lunch at her desk. The third place he tried proved successful. He peered in the window of the deli and spotted her seated at a table with an attractive blond woman in her early thirties. He took in Tara’s sleek form and beautiful face.

His throat tightened and his mouth went dry, causing him to bristle with irritation. It had been a long time since he had come up against this type of involuntary physical reaction to any woman. He didn’t seem to have any control over it, something inexcusable for a man whose very life depended on maintaining control not only of himself, but everything that went on around him.

He collected his composure and entered the deli. He ordered a sandwich, then made his way across the room, smiling politely when she looked up at him. He selected a booth far enough away that he wasn’t right next to her but close enough to hear her conversation.

While eating his lunch he eavesdropped on the two women, their conversation telling him that they worked together. They discussed a work situation that had occurred at the office that morning, talked about a movie they had seen and discussed the latest best-selling book. The choice of topics was ordinary. The women appeared to be nothing more than two friends having lunch together. The only thing contradicting the outward appearance was the way Tara nervously eyed everyone who entered the deli. She seemed every bit as edgy as when she’d carried in her sack of groceries from her car. He had nothing to compare her actions with, no knowledge of how she behaved before the John Vincent case, but she did seem anxiety ridden.

He also found her much more beautiful up close than at a distance, so much so that she nearly knocked him for a loop. The physical attraction was immediate. He tried to shrug it off as being the understandable allure of a beautiful woman. Probably nothing more than the fact that it had been several months since he’d had a date. At least he wanted to believe that was all there was to it.

The two women left the deli. He noted that the blond woman was about the same height as Tara, maybe an inch shorter. His gaze became riveted to Tara’s retreating form. He studied the way she moved as she walked toward the door, a smooth graceful walk almost reminiscent of a dancer. He lingered on the way her clothes fit her body and the glossy highlights of her auburn hair. The heat of desire settled low in his body in defiance of his controlled outer calm. After taking a steadying breath, Brad followed her out the door and watched as the two women walked back toward their office.

Over the next two days he made sure he was on hand when she arrived at work, went to lunch and got off work. Then he kept her house under surveillance for a couple of hours in the evening. And each time Brad saw her he became more fascinated by her, with who she was, how she became involved with all of this, what she wanted out of life. And underlying that was the very distinct effect her voice had on his senses. It possessed a low throaty quality without being forced or artificial. A little ripple of excitement made its way through his body just as when he’d first heard her speak at the deli.

Uncertainty and doubts swirled in his head. His original plan had been to keep her under surveillance until he could gather more information and collect enough facts to prove his theory of a conspiracy in which it seemed that Tara Ford figured prominently. He needed to confirm his suspicions before he could act. But the more Brad thought about it, he was not at all sure he was following the best procedure by continuing to watch her from a distance. He needed to initiate a face-to-face meeting with her, something that would appear accidental and not alert her to anything being wrong…and the sooner the better.

THE NEXT DAY Brad spotted Tara having lunch at the deli with the same woman as before. He entered and ordered a sandwich. He carried his food toward a table against the back wall. As he passed Tara’s chair he purposely bumped it, jarring her arm and causing her to spill a glass of water.

A startled Tara jumped up from her seat. “Oh, no…”

He immediately grabbed her arm as if steadying her so she wouldn’t fall. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Her felt her muscles tighten under his touch and the tension course through her body, something far more than a response to a simple accident.

“I’m fine.”

He tried to hold on to her arm, but she eased it out of his grasp as quickly as possible without jerking it away. “Are you sure you’re okay? That was very clumsy of me. I’m sorry…”

His gaze locked on her for a moment, just long enough to drink in the luminescent quality of her hazel eyes. But he found something else there, too…something that disturbed him. She radiated a certain level of wariness, an underlying layer of fear marring her beautiful features. Again, something far more than what should have been caused by a simple bumping of a chair. At that precise moment he wanted to do everything in his power to protect her, rather than suspect her of being part of a conspiracy…to keep her from becoming victim number five in what he believed was a conspiracy of very clever murders of the witnesses in the John Vincent trial.

She shot a quick look of displeasure in his direction as she picked up a napkin from the table and dabbed at the water spot on her cream-colored blouse. He grabbed another napkin and mopped up the water from the edge of the table where it dripped to the floor. He noticed the blond woman hadn’t made any move to help. Her blue eyes seemed to be taking in everything, almost as if she were studying the situation. He needed to find out who she was.

Brad tried not to stare but couldn’t keep his gaze from gravitating to the wet spot on Tara’s blouse and the way it revealed the delicate lacy bra underneath. He sucked in a steadying breath and tried to pull together his rapidly disintegrating composure. It was the first time he had been this close to her—close enough to reach out and touch the creamy texture of her skin, to clearly see her eyes…and the uneasiness they held. He shook off the unwelcome pull on his senses and his inappropriate response. Purposely bumping her chair to create a face-to-face connection had produced far more than he had bargained for. He had to pull his composure together. He couldn’t afford the personal distraction. Lives were at stake.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, except for this…” The heat of embarrassment spread across her cheeks when she looked down and saw the way the water spot had made her blouse nearly transparent. She pulled the fabric away from her body, then glanced up at this tall stranger.

She had noticed him on several occasions over the past couple of days, but this was the first time she had gotten a close look at him. Her breath caught in her lungs—a combination of panic and surprise. The gash on his chin, the split lip and the faint remains of abrasions across his cheek gave him the appearance of a violent man, someone to be wary of, while in no way detracting from his handsome features. In direct contrast his crystal-blue eyes revealed warmth, yet held a hidden mystery. His dark hair was styled in a casual manner.

“This was all my fault. I insist on paying to have your blouse cleaned.” The tantalizing fragrance of her perfume captured his attention, causing his nostrils to flare as the scent wafted past him. It was light, spicy and sexy without being overwhelming or obvious.

“Thank you…but that won’t be necessary. It’s just a little water. It’ll be fine.”

He reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’d feel better if you’d let me pay to have it dry-cleaned.” He suddenly felt like a total incompetent, falling all over himself and offering her money. Beyond purposely bumping her, all his carefully prepared maneuvers failed to materialize. The moment he looked into her eyes a shortness of breath hit him, nearly driving away his purpose in being there.

He quickly pulled himself together, smiled and extended the money toward her. “Here, take this…please. It will make me feel better about being so clumsy.”

“No, really, I couldn’t.” Something was wrong. He seemed to be trying too hard. Or was it just her imagination again? She wrinkled her forehead in concentration. There was something about him that left her uneasy. And at the same time there was an unidentifiable quality that she found incredibly exciting.

The angle of his head, the definition of his features—a sudden jolt of panic grabbed at her. This was the same man she had seen parked in front of her house that night. She was positive…well, she was sort of sure. The fear pushed at her until she couldn’t control it any longer. She had to get away from this very disconcerting man and quickly. She gestured toward her friend. “We were just about to leave. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

“The least I can do is introduce myself. I’m Brad Harrison.” He stuck out his hand, clearly expecting her to accept it. He cocked his head, raised an eyebrow and stared at her as if waiting for her to do or say something.

She nervously cleared her throat. “My name is Tara.” She hesitated a moment, then accepted his handshake. The moment their hands clasped…skin against skin…a surge of sensual heat raced up her arm and through her body. She saw the look of surprise on his face that said she wasn’t alone in the experience. She quickly withdrew from his touch and took a step back. A shortness of breath told her something significant had happened, but she wasn’t sure exactly what.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tara.” He glanced at the blond woman, nodding his head to include her while reinforcing his need to find out who she was. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.” He forced an upbeat laugh. “But hopefully without such disastrous results.”

Brad watched as Tara and her friend left the deli. The warmth of her touch lingered, giving impetus to his loosely constructed plan to protect her. It was odd the way she hurried off, as if she had suddenly been frightened by something. Had he blown it? A little ripple of disgust told him it had been a perfect example of amateur time in the way he had handled the entire incident. No one had ever thrown him off track the way she just had. There was something very special about her, but he wasn’t sure exactly what. She gave off vulnerability, yet she did not come across as helpless.

He had orchestrated the physical contact but hadn’t been prepared for the surge of lust that jolted his reality. If this wasn’t a business matter—and a very serious one—he would definitely have asked her out with one objective in mind. But it was business. Serious business. Life-and-death business—literally.

He tried to force his libido aside and concentrate on what had to be done, but thoughts of a much more personal nature continued to circulate in the back of his mind. A very desirable woman and a very serious business…a dangerous combination for sure.

BRAD HARRISON…Tara kept turning the name over in her mind as she sat at her desk. She knew he was the man she had caught glimpses of the past few days, but she wasn’t sure whether he was the man she had seen parked in front of her house that night. And there was something very strange about their meeting in the deli at lunchtime. The entire incident left her decidedly unsettled and on edge. She had noticed him as soon as he entered, just as she had the previous time when he was at the deli while she was having lunch. It was almost as if he had gone out of his way to pass by her chair. There were plenty of other routes to the tables against the back wall without passing by the table where she and Judy Lameroux were having lunch.

Equally distressing was the wave of desire that had swept through her the moment they shook hands. Her immediate attraction to this mysterious stranger was confusing yet undeniable. But with the strange feelings and odd incidents that had been happening to her lately she knew she needed to be very cautious around strangers. Should she trust her fears or her desires? She shook her head. There was nothing that dictated that she had to make a decision between the two. It was a onetime accidental meeting—nothing more.

She couldn’t afford the luxury of dwelling on the thought any longer. She had to get her life straightened out, not complicate it. Whether Brad Harrison was nothing more than a man who simply worked in the same neighborhood she did or a mysterious stranger with an ulterior motive who had been following her, she had to keep her wits about her and maintain a distance from him.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” A startled Tara jumped at the sound of Judy’s voice. “Oh…yes, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You looked like you were a million miles away.”

“It’s nothing, just a few things that I was trying to sort out in my mind. Nothing important.”

A teasing grin came to Judy’s lips. “I don’t suppose it had anything to do with that Brad Harrison person who bumped into your chair at lunch. The sexual magnetism practically oozed from his pores and he was obviously interested in you.”

“I…uh…hadn’t noticed.” A twinge of apprehension poked at Tara’s consciousness. Brad Harrison had been dominating her thoughts all afternoon, and regardless of her level of anxiety she had to admit Judy was right…the man oozed a lot of magnetic sex appeal.

“It’s way past quitting time. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

Tara forced a laugh, an upbeat attitude she didn’t really feel. “My only plans are to go home and do some laundry, otherwise I won’t have any clean clothes to wear tomorrow.”

Judy emitted a soft chuckle. “That sure sounds like an exciting evening. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

“Good night, Judy.” Tara cleaned off her desk, then left the building. She walked the half block to the company parking lot.

“Miss Ford…Tara…wait a moment.” Brad stepped out from behind his car and approached her.

Total panic gripped her the second she saw Brad and heard him call to her. She stopped in her tracks, a nearly uncontrollable urge to run tempered with a curiosity about what he wanted. She took a step back, trying to put some distance between them without showing the fear that pumped through her body. Was this the culmination of her feelings that someone had been watching her? Was this man really a deranged stalker who meant to do her harm? She tried to swallow the lump in her throat without much success.

“How did you know my name?” Tara barely got the words out as her throat tightened and her mouth went dry.

Brad extended a friendly smile. “We met at the deli, remember? I introduced myself and you told me your name.”

“I never told you my last name.” She took another step back while desperately scanning the area for anyone who could help her. She fumbled with her keys, but was all thumbs as she tried to set off her car alarm and use the automatic car starter, ending up by dropping the remote on the ground. To her dismay, they seemed to be the only two people in the parking lot. She had never felt so alone, as if the entire world had deserted her. She mustered as much courage as she could find and stuck her hand inside her purse.

“Don’t come any closer. I…I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.” Her fingers touched everything she could find, but the only item that even remotely resembled a weapon was a nail file. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. Her stomach churned to the point where she feared she would become physically ill.

Brad held up his hands, showing her they were empty. “I’m not here to hurt you, Miss Ford.” He took another step toward her.

Total blind panic gripped her insides and twisted them into knots. She wrapped the shoulder strap of her purse around her hand and swung it at him. Her improvised weapon made solid contact with the side of his head. He staggered backward a couple of steps. She turned to run, but not in time. His strong grip caught her arm, then his hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream.