Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Guardian of Her Heart

Guardian of Her Heart
Linda O. Johnston
SECRET GUARDIANHe'd been assigned to shadow Dianna Englander's every move and keep the young widow safe from the murderer who killed her politician husband. Piece of cake if veteran cop Travis Bronson could convince the stubborn businesswoman to follow his orders. The scarred officer knew the price of carelessness and would do whatever it took to keep his beautiful charge alive–even if it meant spending days and nights together. But they were in more danger than either of them suspected, not just from unknown enemies intent on keeping Dianna quiet for good, but from a passion that knew no bounds….



“Dianna! You’re bleeding!”
She didn’t recall falling to her knees, but that was where she was, gasping, when Travis found her. Only then did she notice the blood on her hand.
“I’m all right,” she managed, her throat aching. “I got free. I scratched Farley’s face.”
“Farley? He was here?”
Before she could respond, she was lifted to her feet, but the wobbliness of her legs didn’t matter, for Travis pulled her firmly against his chest. This time she didn’t mind being held tightly by a man.
This time it was Travis.
“You’re okay?” he murmured softly into her hair.
“He tried to choke me. Why now? He could have killed me before, if he’d wanted to.”
She gave a small cry of protest as Travis pulled back to inspect her. Very gently, his fingers touched her throat.
“Damn him,” he said. “I swear, you’re not leaving my sight. Ever again.” The steely look on Travis’s face made it clear he meant it. She had the sudden feeling Travis would risk his very soul to make sure Farley got what he deserved.
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
We’ve got an intoxicating lineup crackling with passion and peril that’s guaranteed to lure you to Harlequin Intrigue this month!
Danger and desire abound in As Darkness Fell—the first of two installments in Joanna Wayne’s HIDDEN PASSIONS: Full Moon Madness companion series. In this stark, seductive tale, a rugged detective will go to extreme lengths to safeguard a feisty reporter who is the object of a killer’s obsession. Then temptation and terror go hand in hand in Lone Rider Bodyguard when Harper Allen launches her brand-new miniseries, MEN OF THE DOUBLE B RANCH.
Will revenge give way to sweet salvation in Undercover Avenger by Rita Herron? Find out in the ongoing NIGHTHAWK ISLAND series. If you’re searching high and low for a thrilling romantic suspense tale that will also satisfy your craving for adventure—you’ll be positively riveted by Bounty Hunter Ransom from Kara Lennox’s CODE OF THE COBRA.
Just when you thought it was safe to sleep with the lights off…Guardian of her Heart by Linda O. Johnston—the latest offering in our BACHELORS AT LARGE promotion—will send shivers down your spine. And don’t let down your guard quite yet. Lisa Childs caps off a month of spine-tingling suspense with a gripping thriller about a madman bent on revenge in Bridal Reconnaissance. You won’t want to miss this unforgettable debut of our new DEAD BOLT promotion.
Here’s hoping these smoldering Harlequin Intrigue novels will inspire some romantic dreams of your own this Valentine’s Day!
Enjoy,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue

Guardian of Her Heart
Linda O. Johnston

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda O. Johnston’s first published fiction appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and won the Robert L. Fish Memorial Award for “Best First Mystery Short Story of the Year.” Now, several published short stories and novels later, Linda is recognized for her outstanding work in the romance genre.
A practicing attorney, Linda juggles her busy schedule between mornings of writing briefs, contracts and other legalese, and afternoons of creating memorable tales of the paranormal, time travel, mystery, contemporary and romantic suspense. Armed with an undergraduate degree in journalism with an advertising emphasis from Pennsylvania State University, Linda began her versatile writing career running a small newspaper, then working in advertising and public relations, later obtaining her J.D. degree from Duquesne University School of Law in Pittsburgh.
Linda belongs to Sisters in Crime and is actively involved with Romance Writers of America, participating in the Los Angeles, Orange County and Western Pennsylvania chapters. She lives near Universal Studios, Hollywood, with her husband, two sons and two cavalier King Charles spaniels.



CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dianna Englander—She misses her murdered husband, but will never again allow so domineering a man into her life.
Travis Bronson—The undercover cop got distracted on his last case by caring too much, and the civilian he was protecting got killed. He has vowed that won’t happen again.
Glen Farley—He learned the sweetness of revenge by murdering Dianna’s powerful politician husband—the first of many. But why is he tormenting Dianna again?
Julie Alberts—The adolescent’s mother died in an accident last year, and she has grown close to her “aunt” Dianna.
Jeremy Alberts—Julie’s father and one of Dianna’s bosses, he wants more from Dianna than her excellent work managing the dispute resolution center named for her deceased husband.
Wally Sellers—Jeremy’s partner is eager to obtain publicity for the Englander Dispute Resolution Center. Too eager?
Bill Hultman—The restauranteur would do nearly anything to increase business.
My thanks to the wonderful men and women
of the Los Angeles Police Department,
especially those who were so kind in answering my
questions and giving me a tour of the Van Nuys station
for this book. I admit to modifications and exaggerations
in the interests of my story.
My thanks also to my wonderful man, Fred.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen

Prologue
Dianna Englander drew in her breath so sharply that it sounded like a muffled scream.
There. Behind the green minivan, several rows away in the parking garage, stood a familiar figure. Again.
He was too far off for her to see him clearly, but she felt him grinning at her.
She stood, trembling, beside her red sports car in its assigned parking space. She gripped the handle of the driver’s door. Moisture flooded her eyes and spilled over—tears of fury. Of frustration.
Of anguish.
She’d known she hadn’t been hallucinating the first time she’d seen him, a week earlier.
After all this time, he had come after her. Here.
Oh, she hadn’t been hard to find after all the hype about the opening of the Englander Dispute Resolution Center almost exactly a year ago.
The Center had been named after her husband Brad—dead, thanks to the man who stood just a few yards away. Murdered by that monster.
And so was the precious baby created by Brad and her, who had died before ever being born…
“Damn you, Glen Farley.” Dianna’s voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed in her mind. Damn you…damn you.
But she was the one who had been damned.
Knowing how foolish it was, she took a step toward the evil creature who had ruined her family. He raised his hand as if waving to her and walked beyond the minivan and into the next row of parked vehicles.
“Stop!” She hadn’t intended to cry out, but the shout filled the air.
She heard soft voices behind her and turned. A woman with a couple of kids approached a sedan a few cars away, looking nervous as she hastily shepherded the children inside.
Dianna pasted a small smile on her face that she intended to be reassuring. But judging by the way the woman slammed her car door shut and quickly started the engine, Dianna knew she looked as distraught as she felt.
As the car pulled away, she returned her attention to where she had seen Farley.
He wasn’t there.
She realized then how fast she was breathing. Inhaling the ugly odor of exhaust fumes, here in the indoor parking garage.
She yanked at her purse until its strap jerked off her shoulder. She fumbled with the zipper till it opened and dug for her cell phone. Call 9-1-1, the rational part of her mind instructed.
“Hey, Dianna,” said a soft female voice behind her. Dianna pivoted. Eleven-year-old Julie Alberts stood near her father Jeremy’s black luxury sedan in its space two over from Dianna’s. Julie’s brown eyes, luminous even in the dim parking garage light, widened. Tendrils of brown hair that had escaped from the barrette at the back of her neck framed her gamine face in coiled wisps. “Are you okay?” she asked.
No! Dianna wanted to scream. But she didn’t want to frighten Julie. “I’m fine, honey. I was just leaving. Get in my car and come with me, okay?” She slipped her phone back into her purse. What good would the police do now?
“But my dad’s supposed to meet me here to drive me home.”
But Farley was here. Farley killed people.
They had to leave, all of them.
“We’ll pick him up at the elevator,” Dianna said. “Let’s go. Now.”
Julie didn’t move. She looked scared. “Dianna, what’s wrong?”
Before she could answer, Jeremy Alberts appeared near the doorway from the elevator. “There he is.” Dianna motioned to him to come quickly, then hesitated. Was it better to flee through the garage or drive out? Before she made up her mind, Jeremy joined them. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, parroting his daughter’s words. He gave Dianna an odd look.
Her emotions were clearly showing.
“Did you see—?” He didn’t finish, but the question remained written in the furrow of his shaggy salt-and-pepper brows.
He didn’t have to say more.
Dianna had filled him in the first time. Fortunately, he had believed her. Had acted appropriately.
But all his security measures hadn’t stopped Farley from returning.
“We’ll fix it, Dianna,” he said in a gruffly reassuring voice. “Don’t worry.”
“We need to get out of here,” Dianna told him. “Now.”
“Yes,” he agreed, hurrying Julie to his car.
Dianna tried to watch everywhere at once. There were no other cars driving around, no further sign of Farley. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still here. Or that he hadn’t rigged up something harmful.
“What’s going on?” Dianna heard Julie insist before the car door closed behind her.
Dianna got into her own vehicle. Her hands trembled as she clutched the steering wheel, and she watched all around as she let Jeremy’s car lead the way down the ramp, get out first.
If Glen Farley hurt someone else, it shouldn’t be the Alberts.
Or her. Or anyone.
It had been more than a year since he’d stopped stalking her…before.
Why was he here? Oh, Lord, why was he here?

Chapter One
“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.”

Chapter Two
Travis almost wished he hadn’t left his knives outside, locked in the cart. Juggling would help right about now.
He shoved his hands hard into the pockets of his jeans—his damn restless hands, hands that wanted to touch the lovely woman who’d gone so pale before his eyes. To help her to her chair and steady her now as she stumbled over the few steps to get there.
To hold her tight and comfort away the fear that made her gnaw, with perfect white teeth, on her lush bottom lip.
“We need you to cooperate, Ms. Englander.” His voice barked more gruffly than he’d intended. She was simply another citizen. One under his protection. No one under his protection would be harmed ever again, nor would he allow himself to care about one more than others. He’d learned that lesson well. He would simply do his job. And this time, he would do it right.
“I’m sure she’ll cooperate.” The slimeworm Flynn was talking, a hell of a lot more placatingly than before. His turf was being invaded by the cops, and he clearly didn’t like it one damned bit. But he could hardly tell the LAPD to go chase itself—at least not in so many words.
With only the slightest squaring of her slim shoulders beneath her dark suit jacket, Dianna Englander seemed to regain control. She sat, then crossed one slender ankle over the other.
Her skirt was short. Or was it that her legs were long? In either case, their endless, shapely forms tantalized Travis.
He abruptly drew his gaze back to her face. Solemnity raised her small, slightly pointed chin.
“Look, officer.” Jeremy Alberts had taken Dianna’s former position near the window. “Of course we’ll cooperate. But we need to make sure the Center and its business aren’t compromised. It’s not unusual these days for buildings to have beefed up security, and we did that. But if people learn the police have us under special surveillance…well, that’s different.”
“Of course,” Travis echoed sardonically. “We wouldn’t want to compromise your business just to save a life or two.”
The other guy from the building, Wally Sellers, who was walking back toward his desk chair, made a sound as if he had swallowed his spit wrong.
“That’s uncalled for.” Dianna Englander rose to face Travis. Her bright blue eyes were ablaze with indignation. There was no sign of her earlier fear. That, at least, was good.
“Sorry,” Travis said, though he knew he didn’t sound in the least chastened. “We don’t intend to harm the Englander Center. There’ll be less possibility of that if you cooperate.”
“Of course,” she acknowledged with a curt nod. “What would you like me to do?”
Travis had done his research. He knew that Jeremy Alberts and Wally Sellers were partners in A-S Development. A-S had formed a public-private partnership with the City of Los Angeles to build the Englander Center at the edge of the Van Nuys civic center, to extend the redevelopment of the area. Only it wasn’t called Englander Center then. It was renamed for the U.S. Representative whose redevelopment efforts caused it to be built after he was murdered during its construction two years ago.
“First thing,” he said, “I’d like you to give me a tour of Englander Center.”
“I’d be glad to later,” Jeremy Alberts interceded, taking a step toward Travis. The fiftyish man, whose hair had gone silver, was obviously used to being in control. Travis wondered idly if his partner Wally ever got his way in an argument. As between the domineering Alberts and his chubby, uneasily smiling partner, Travis suspected Wally had his mind changed often if it dared to hold a differing opinion. “We have people coming in for a meeting now, but I’ll show you around soon as they’re gone. Or perhaps you would like Mr. Flynn to do it.”
“Thanks,” Travis said, “but I meant Ms. Englander. I want her insight on the place, plus I need for her to point out exactly where she thought she saw Farley.”
“I’ll be glad to show you where I did see Farley,” she asserted. Good. She’d taken the bait. This way, she’d insist on giving him the tour, to try to assuage any doubt he had. And he didn’t have much. If anyone would recognize Glen Farley, it was Dianna Englander.
“Fine,” he said. “There’s more you can fill me in on, too.”
“Like what?” Her clear blue gaze challenged him. Though she’d said she would cooperate, she seemed to expect him to come up with something she would refuse.
He had a feeling that, in a clash of wills between Dianna Englander and himself, he’d need a tie-breaker.
That wasn’t good. Not when he had to make sure nothing happened to her, with her husband’s worst enemy so close.
“I’ve read in the local newspaper,” he said, not moving his gaze from hers, “that the Van Nuys civic center is about to have a street fair as a fund-raiser for more redevelopment.”
“That’s right,” Dianna said. “I’ve been working with government agencies and local merchants to put it together.”
“Security will be beefed up, too,” Flynn huffed importantly. “We’re already planning it, along with the private companies that support other nearby buildings.”
“Any idea why that date was chosen?” Travis ignored the pompous security guy and kept his gaze firmly on Dianna’s. Of course, he knew the answer.
“It coincides with the first anniversary of the opening of Englander Center,” she said.
“I need to have you fill me in on the festivities,” he said. “What the public has been told. Whether there’s anything Glen Farley might know about the celebration, and anything he doesn’t—or shouldn’t—know.”
“Oh.” One small hand flew to Dianna Englander’s mouth. “Oh, what?” Wally Sellers asked. He appeared confused.
“I wondered,” Dianna said slowly, “when we first talked about the fair, if it was a good idea, but I got so caught up—”
“That you failed to consider whether some anti-redevelopment nut like Farley might consider it a challenge,” Travis finished.
“What do you mean?” Wally still didn’t get it. He rose to stand beside Dianna. He was about her height, his hair black and thick, and it was hard to tell where his chin ended and his neck began. “We need good press,” he continued. “A few months ago, a celebrity couple worked out their divorce settlement here, in the Center. We got such good publicity that our conference rooms are scheduled months ahead for arbitrations and mediations. We’ve even been booked for movie shoots in our simulated courtrooms. A big anniversary celebration will put us in the news again, bring more business. Maybe even more movie shoots.”
“Farley might have come here because of the anniversary celebration, Wally,” Dianna said quietly. “He may intend to do something to…” She hesitated, as if the things she contemplated as within Farley’s plans were too terrible to voice.
Travis had no such compunction. “Something that would definitely get your center publicity on its first birthday,” he said. “A bombing? Killing the widow of the Center’s namesake? What better time than a celebration to make his perverted point?”

SINCE SEEING FARLEY the second time, Dianna had avoided parking in her designated space in the garage. She paid for valet parking, a service offered by Englander Center that allowed more visitors to stow their cars in the building’s lot and added an extra touch of prestige to the dispute resolution center.
But now she was visiting her empty second-floor parking space. She ignored her apprehension. This time, she was not alone. And even if Glen Farley didn’t realize that the tall, muscular pushcart peddler standing beside her was a trained—and probably armed—policeman, Dianna knew it.
She kept her voice low. “He was over there,” she said to Lt. Bronson. Travis. He’d told her, before they began their tour, to call him by his first name.
In fact, he’d told her to do a lot of things. She was to cooperate. To show him around. To treat him like a pushcart peddler trying, as so many actors and others in L.A. did, to get discovered as a street entertainer, a guy who also tried to get his friends a break: showing off their skills at the anniversary celebration. His apparent attempts to convince her to hire his buddies and him would be the ostensible reason for their spending time together in the next week, as he and his fellow multitalented officers watched over her and the Center.
And, he’d told her with determination, they would nab Farley.
When Travis and she reached the lobby, he told her to let him get out of the elevator first. She had been married to a man who had told her exactly what to do. Sometimes she had listened. Sometimes she hadn’t, yet she’d had to give up her public relations career in favor of his political one. As a result, there had been friction between them—she’d hated his commands—but there had been love, too.
Except—if Brad had known when to keep his mouth shut, when not to issue commands, might he still be alive today?
And their baby—
“Let’s go over exactly where you were standing, and what else you remember,” Travis said. “All right, Dianna?”
She had automatically responded, when he’d said to call him by his first name, that he should use hers as well. Even though it was the norm these days not to use the more formal title of Mr., Mrs. or Ms. whatever—or, in his case, Lieutenant—she now regretted the informality. It seemed almost…well, intimate, for the two of them to be on a first name basis. And Dianna did not want to be in the least intimate with any man, particularly not an officious officer of the law—even to support his cover.
“All right, Travis.” The coolness in her voice earned her a sideways look from the man who had been surveying their surroundings. Deliberately, she explained where her car had been parked both times and where she’d been standing. “The first time I saw him, he got out of a white car parked a few vehicles away in a reserved space.” She shuddered at the recollection. Farley had known where she was. Why not? She’d made no secret of where she now worked—in the building her husband had once championed that now bore his name.
It was no surprise, either, that he found her in the parking garage, near her spot at the time she usually arrived for work in the morning. If he had been watching her, he would know that.
“Are you all right, Dianna?” Travis’s deep voice rang with concern, and it snapped her from her reverie.
She looked up, focused on the planes of the face of the man beside her, the light shadow of beard barely showing beneath his rugged skin.
He was staring intently, as if he figured she would break.
She wouldn’t. But neither would she look, right then, at the confining walls of the parking garage. The cars that could disgorge Farley at any moment.
She described the scene she’d been reliving.
“And you think Farley knew this was your space, and that you would be there then?”
She nodded. “He got out of his car long enough to smile at me.” She cleared her throat. “He got back in and drove away.”
“I don’t suppose you got his license number.”
“Part of it—a California plate that began with 4ACR.”
Travis jotted it down in a small notebook he extracted from a pocket. “Probably rented with a false ID or stolen, but we’ll see if we can figure it out.”
“I’m not sure what kind of car it was, either,” she continued. “It was a sedan that looked like a high-end Japanese import. But when I saw Farley again, I didn’t see the same car, and that time he just seemed to disappear without driving away.”
“Okay. You’re doing fine, Dianna. Now, let’s go over this again.” Question by question, he led her carefully through the events before, during and after both sightings of Farley, continuing to make notes.
The telling became cathartic, for when she was done, she was able to lead him to where she had seen Farley each time, without hesitation. Without fear.
Except when, in the middle of her attempt to recall what Farley had been wearing, she took a step backward and a car horn sounded right behind her. She jumped, reaching out to grasp the nearest thing she could for comfort.
It turned out to be Travis’s hand.
He squeezed hers in return, pulling her out of the way by putting his other hand soothingly on her back.
Only it wasn’t soothing at all. It was unnerving to have her hand held, to be caressed, by a man, a stranger, in plain view of anyone who might be watching.
It also felt much too good. It had been a long time since she had been touched and held by any man.
That’s all it was, of course, her strange reaction to this undercover cop. A perfectly human, perfectly understandable response to the touch of another human being.
The car that honked rolled by, the elderly female driver scowling as if she considered anyone near her driving lane to be in her way. Dianna shook her head in exasperation, retrieved her hand from the warm clasp of Travis’s and took a few steps back.
“Look,” she said, “it’s not enough for you to understand what I’ve seen here. There’s a lot more…. I don’t know how much you know about Farley or what he did.”
She assumed he didn’t know everything—like the reputation she’d been burdened with—or he wouldn’t be here now.
“Some. But why don’t you tell me?”
As if she could compress years of anguish into a few brief sentences. But she had to try. “Do you know he once owned a small company that sold security equipment?” At Travis’s nod, she continued, “He blamed my husband for putting him out of business when a redevelopment bill Brad championed was passed and the building Farley leased was torn down. He got his revenge by killing Brad. And Farley’s knowledge of security—well, he’s elusive. He knows what the authorities look for and how to avoid detection. But he’s made sure that I’ve seen him.”
She waited for Lt. Bronson to suggest that maybe she’d seen him too much…but he didn’t. Thank heavens.
“Why?” he asked.
She waved her hand in frustration. “To scare me, I guess. But why he wants to, especially after all this time…” She shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“We’ll find out when we nab him. Meantime, if you think of anything else important, let me know.”

TRAVIS HAD NO INTENTION of admiring Dianna Englander’s guts.
Admiration was too close to the commencement of caring. And caring came too close to failure. And loss.
But he realized nevertheless, while he followed her slender, sexily swaying body as she hurried back toward the elevators, that he did admire her guts.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was terrified by the man who’d killed her husband. But despite the traumatic recollections of seeing Farley that Travis forced her to relive, she came off cool and collected, if a little nervous.
All right, a lot nervous, he conceded as he watched her all but collapse against the elevator wall when they were both in the otherwise empty car.
But he’d jumped a little, too, when that impatient driver had honked a horn behind them. It had been reflex to reach out for Dianna’s extended hand. Pull her back out of harm’s way.
Better that than reach for the snub-nosed gun he wore in a holster at his ankle.
“Do you mind if we make a stop before we go back into the Center?” Dianna asked as the car descended.
“Where?”
“A room in the basement. I’ve needed to go there for the last couple of days but haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Fine,” Travis said. She’d no doubt been too scared to visit the basement room after seeing Farley. That was smart. She shouldn’t go anywhere alone right now, and the basement probably wasn’t the most populated place in the Center.
She leaned past him and pushed the B button. She was near enough for a second, in that confined space, for him to inhale her scent—soft, yet definitely spicy.
Travis stepped back, to prevent himself from becoming more aware of her as a woman, and not just a person he had to protect.
He was surprised, when the door opened, to see that the basement wasn’t the dreary dungeon he had anticipated. Sure, no daylight poured in since windows were nonexistent, but recessed lighting lined the hall where they emerged from the elevator.
“This way.” Dianna led him past a few closed doors, then pushed open one near the end of the hall.
This was what he had figured the basement would look like.
When Dianna flicked the switch, the long room where they stood was illuminated only by bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling. Debris littered the floor—wads of old carpeting and rolls of carpet padding; coils of wire; sheets of damaged drywall; cans of obviously-opened paint, their hues evident by the cascades of color along their sides.
But when he glanced quizzically at Dianna, the light immediately seemed brightened from the glow of her smile.
“What’s so special about this room?” he grumbled. Damn it, he had to stop noticing things like Dianna Englander’s smile. Her scent. Her courage.
He needed distance, and not just physically. But because he could not promise himself even physical distance, he had to adopt utter detachment. Fast.
“There’s nothing special about it yet.” Dianna stepped farther inside and moved debris from along the wall. She paced the length, then the width, counting her steps aloud. “I just need approximate dimensions before making phone calls,” she said when she was finished. “The contractors who bid will have to take more accurate measurements.” She turned toward Travis. “Do cops have any imagination?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, pretend. Picture this as a large playroom for kids whose parents are upstairs arguing over their custody, or over money, or over anything. This will be a haven, staffed by very special child-care personnel who are also trained therapists.”
Travis frowned. “I don’t think I can pretend that hard.”
“You’re a magician,” she countered. “Consider it a feat of magic. Soft, fluffy carpets, with lots of colorful toys like blocks that kids can build with and even climb into. Bright plastic tables and chairs, with puzzles and books. Lots of light, a kitchen with fruit, juice and cookies, murals on the walls…” She was near a wall and touched it with her hand. The concrete surface was cracked. “Like I said, pretend.”
The garbage on the floor was virtually colorless in the shadows. And Travis saw no kitchen.
But what he did see was a woman with vision. A very beautiful woman who enhanced his vision.
“Yeah,” he said. “I see it.”

A SHORT WHILE LATER, he insisted on accompanying her back upstairs to her office.
She hadn’t wanted him to. She’d made that clear as they rode the parking lot elevator back up to the lobby, repeated it when they were alone once more in the next ascending car, in a separate elevator bank, from the lobby into the office structure.
“I’m not going to stop living just because Farley’s hanging around trying to scare me,” she fumed, her arms folded.
“Trying?” Travis countered. “You looked pretty damned scared to me when we first got into the parking lot.”
And right about now, she just looked pretty damned pretty. The frown that turned her light, arched brows asymmetrical was somehow appealing.
Yeah, and maybe Travis just liked contrary women, fool that he was.
“I was a little scared,” she admitted, once again proving to him that the woman had guts. “But as I said, I’m not about to stop living because of Farley.”
He noticed how she’d stressed that she wouldn’t stop living because of the suspect who’d shown up here. Her husband had. And, if the stories he’d read were right, so had the baby she’d been carrying.
Dianna definitely had guts.
And if Farley was the one who’d bombed that redevelopment downtown near the convention center and sports arena, and he was now around here, Travis was going to use those guts of hers, if he had to, to trap the elusive suspect. No one knew how Farley had succeeded in slipping away so many times after all the high-profile felonies he’d committed. Yet not even the feds, with all their resources, had been able to bring him in.
But Travis intended to get him. And Dianna would not be harmed. He would make sure of it.
When they got to the A-S Development suite, a couple of beefy guys who looked as uncomfortable as hell in the suits they wore were on their way out. Construction types, Travis figured, there for meetings with Alberts and Sellers.
A younger man was talking to the receptionist—what was her name? Beth? That guy seemed right at home in his suit. He also seemed right at home coming on to one woman while staring appreciatively at another. Travis didn’t like the way Dianna met his gaze, but she smiled coolly and headed down the hall, Travis following in her wake.
Her office was different from the first he’d visited in this suite. The desk was a blond wood, Scandinavian in its sleekness. Across from it were two matching chairs with wooden arms, upholstered with a jagged-patterned pink-and-blue fabric that matched the taller, armless chairs around the table in her sitting area. Though there were piles of paper on the desk, they were neatly squared and, Travis had no doubt, organized.
The view from her window was, like Wally’s, over the plaza below. Travis would be able to look up from his pushcart post, count windows, and know exactly where Dianna was supposed to be.
But he doubted this woman would pay attention to what he told her, even if it was for her own good.
When Dianna sat behind her desk, Travis said, “I’m going back to my pushcart, help Manny put it away for the night. That’s our agreement. But I’ll accompany you to your car when you’re ready to go home. Call me on my cell phone.” He pulled a card from his small notebook and handed it to her.
“No need,” she said with a shrug. “I won’t stay late, and as I told you before, I used the parking valet.”
“Call me,” Travis repeated, keeping his tone level. This time. But if she kept on contradicting, he would raise it till she got the message.
“I—”
She didn’t get to finish her objection this time, as her office door burst open. It was Julie Alberts.
“I thought you were going to help me with my homework, Dianna,” she complained. “Instead, I had to sit in my dad’s office after my ride dropped me off from school and meet some of his business friends, like always.” She made a face.
“Didn’t your dad tell you I had to…” Dianna faltered, obviously unwilling to tell the girl that she’d had to show a cop, the man Julie believed was a juggler, where Dianna had seen a bad guy.
“He said you had some ‘business to attend to.’” The singsong tone of her voice made it clear she repeated her father’s words exactly.
“That’s right. But I can look at your homework now, and then I’ll take you home.” She stared defiantly over Julie’s head toward Travis, as if challenging him to contradict her.
He would have, if Jeremy Alberts hadn’t come in just then. “We can all leave together,” he said, looking at Dianna. But Travis knew the comment was intended for his ears as well.
The cop was dismissed. He wasn’t needed by the civilians.
That was all right for tonight. After all, one of his men was under orders to follow Dianna home and surveil her home till she returned to work the next day.
But these citizens, and especially Dianna Englander, were going to learn that this particular cop wasn’t about to be dismissed by them.
Not when one of them was probably in mortal danger.

Chapter Three
There were no messages on Dianna’s answering machine when she got home that evening. Of course she hadn’t expected any.
The machine, which sat on the vast, carved antique walnut desk in her office, was turned off.
It wasn’t that she had received any threatening messages. It was all the damned hang-ups.
Which was why, after she dropped her purse onto a kitchen chair, she checked the ringer on the white wall phone near the refrigerator. It was turned off, too. The caller didn’t seem to discriminate about calling when she was home or when she was gone. Or maybe he was checking her schedule.
All the more reason not to answer. Or even allow her machine to do it.
And hardly anyone had her cell phone number. She kept it off most of the time anyway, except when she was at work.
She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave oven mounted beside her stove. Dinnertime. The rumbling of her stomach had already told her that.
Her kitchen was certainly well-enough equipped for her to prepare herself a feast. It had been the one room she had remodeled when she had bought this place.
While married to Brad, she had loved to entertain and had cooked most of their party food herself, though they could well have afforded caterers. Brad had been so proud of her that sometimes it hadn’t even mattered that her life had become his.
“Don’t go there,” she demanded, almost startling herself by the sound of her voice in a room silent except for the refrigerator motor and muffled traffic noises from a distant freeway.
She had bought this home almost a year ago. It was located in a nice section of the San Fernando Valley— Sherman Oaks, a community next to Van Nuys, where she worked. She hadn’t realized, when she bought it, that houses like this one, south of Ventura Boulevard, were considered more prestigious, and were therefore more pricey. But she had been surprised to find a Tudor-style house in this area where mock-Spanish adobes reigned. And to find one with a Valley view… She had fallen in love with it, and, fortunately, the seller had been motivated to lower his price to one she could agree to.
She opened the freezer and extracted a frozen dinner extolled in TV ads as delicious yet healthy. The picture on its carton didn’t excite her. The idea of eating yet another dinner alone, even in the home she loved, didn’t excite her, either.
Maybe she should have bought a hot dog from the pushcart from that damned good-looking undercover cop….
“Shoot,” she muttered aloud. She didn’t want to think of Lt. Travis Bronson now. Her thoughts were turning to him much too often.
She wondered what he was doing for dinner that night…
“Shoot,” she repeated, even louder.
She was always as comfortable with her own company as she was with a crowd of people. Why did she feel so lonely tonight?
Well, she didn’t need to eat alone.
She called her next-door neighbor Astrid, a lawyer and single mom raising two young children alone. But Dianna knew the answer when she heard wailing in the background. “Sorry,” Astrid said, “but both kids are coming down with something. I don’t know which to blame for bringing it home, but I can’t consider even fast food tonight.” She turned down Dianna’s offer of help. “I’ll probably catch whatever it is, too. No need for us both to, but thanks.”
Disappointed, Dianna hung up. She considered who else to call, realized why this was a bad night for each of them, then gave up. She could always stick an old movie into her DVD player and watch while she ate.
Except— “Julie,” she said aloud. She’d promised the child she could call for further input on the essay she was writing for her English class.
Dianna hadn’t considered before that, if she encouraged the child to call, she had to turn her phone ringer back on. She decided to call the Alberts preemptively. If they hadn’t grabbed dinner on their way home, she’d suggest that she join them.
But their phone kept ringing. And their answering machine was not disconnected.
Dianna left a message, then resignedly turned the ringer back on her kitchen phone. She’d be able to hear it from elsewhere in her house, too.
She unwrapped the frozen dinner, stuck it into the microwave, then headed toward the stairway to the second floor. The meal should be ready by the time she changed her clothes.
She had barely reached the stairs when she heard the phone ring. The closest extension was in the antique-laden living room. She hurried in there.
“Hello?” she said, expecting to hear Julie’s breathy, childish voice on the other end, babbling about what they’d done for dinner, asking questions about her essay.
Instead, she heard only silence.
Until a click signified that the person on the other end had hung up.
A chill inched up Dianna’s spine. She forced herself to walk slowly back into the kitchen, where she again turned off the phone ringer. She would call the Alberts later.

TRAVIS CHECKED IN first thing the next morning at the Van Nuys LAPD station. He had already called the undercover guy outside Dianna’s house the night before. All had been quiet.
After greeting some cops he was beginning to know there, Travis went through the break room into the station’s report-writing room. Empty for the moment, it was lined with narrow tables along the walls, where computers were available for any cop who needed to use them. It was a little less cluttered than many areas of the busy station.
He logged onto a computer to make some notes. When he was done printing them, he used one of the many desktop phones and called his supervisor.
Captain Hayden Lee answered on the first ring. “What have you learned so far?” he asked when Travis identified himself.
Captain Lee, of Asian descent, was head of the special “L” Platoon of the LAPD Metro Division, the undercover unit where Travis worked. He had been tapped by the Chief of Police for that assignment. Now that “L” Platoon was running as smooth as a well-maintained engine, the chief wanted to promote him to start up another new unit. But until the captain found a worthy successor, he refused to leave.
He had approached Travis to succeed him. More than once.
But, hell, Travis didn’t want a damned desk job. He’d had to sit too much as a kid—that or get laughed at for his awkwardness after the accident that destroyed his family. Too many times, he’d been called “Cripple.” Eventually, he’d taught himself what he’d needed to know—on his feet. Boxing. Wrestling. Football. No one laughed then.
Now, fieldwork was what he knew. Investigating crimes, catching bad guys and saving lives were what he did.
Except when he failed…
“I haven’t learned much,” he admitted now to Hayden. He gave a run-down of meeting Dianna Englander and the managers of the Englander Center the day before. Plus, he described the reaction of the turf-conscious private security chief Flynn.
“I’ll run a check on his outfit,” Lee said. “He sounds like a pain in the butt, but maybe you can find a way to use him.”
“Right,” Travis said. “You might also check on my request for DMV info on the beginning of a license plate.” He explained that he had called one of the detectives at Parker Center, the main police headquarters in downtown Los Angeles, requesting a follow-up with the California Department of Motor Vehicles. Maybe they’d come up with a white sedan or two with license numbers beginning like the one Dianna had jotted down. Better yet, they might even find one with the owner’s address in the L.A. area. Unlikely, but stranger things had happened.
“Right,” Hayden said.
They’d known each other for a long time, and Hayden had helped him put together his cover for this assignment. He knew a lot of Travis’s talents. And many of his flaws as well.
“Now get out there and keep the Van Nuys civic center safe for mankind, Bronson,” Hayden finished. “And watch all those knives in the air.”

DIANNA WENT TO WORK early that morning.
Why not? She hadn’t slept much the night before. She was wide awake, despite the heaviness of her eyelids. And she certainly had plenty of work to do.
She drove upstairs into the garage and parked her prized little red vehicle in its assigned space, right beside Wally Sellers’ black imported sports car that was surprisingly small, considering his girth.
Jeremy’s space, on the far side of Wally’s, was empty. He hadn’t arrived yet, but that wasn’t surprising. He always arrived later than they did, since he had to drop Julie off at school. This morning they might even be later than usual, since it had been past Julie’s bedtime yesterday when she had finished her school report, with Dianna’s help over the phone.
She had called the Alberts house a couple more times before reaching them. But she hadn’t turned her phone ringer back on.
Still, today, for the first time in two weeks, Dianna had defiantly shunned the valet.
But she breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator door closed behind her, and she hadn’t spotted Glen Farley.
There was always that evening…
“Cut it out,” she whispered vehemently in the confines of the otherwise empty car. She felt her face redden as she looked around. Had the new security measures implemented by Flynn and his crew included hidden cameras in the elevator cars?
She hoped not.
Involuntarily, she glanced down at her clothes. As usual, she wore a professional-looking outfit. Today’s was a deep-olive pantsuit. She wore a purse over her shoulder and carried her briefcase.
The elevator took her down to the lobby, where she needed to change elevator banks for a car that would take her up into the Center’s office building.
She made the mistake of glancing out the vast expanse of glass toward the plaza outside. Sure enough, there was the same pushcart that had been there yesterday.
Travis Bronson stood beside it. A crowd had gathered around him. All Dianna could see of him was his head, for he stood taller than all the people surrounding him.
What was he doing to attract attention now? Juggling those vicious-looking knives again? She thought undercover police were supposed to be inconspicuous.
He was certainly not what Dianna would have expected, had someone told her to watch out for an undercover cop. But, then, to her knowledge she had never met an undercover cop before.
Security details, certainly. Uniformed police, bodyguards, FBI, even Secret Service—they had been part of her old life in Washington, D.C., as the wife of a U.S. Representative.
The life she had left behind, when Brad had died.
Without stopping to analyze the origin of her impulse, she pushed open one of the glass front doors and exited onto the plaza.
He seemed immediately to be aware of her, for their eyes met. For being so preoccupied with the crowd, and whatever tricks he performed for them, he was undeniably alert. And observant.
That, undoubtedly, was part of his job.
As he looked at her, a corner of his mouth curved slowly upward, as he acknowledged her with a lazy half smile.
Damn. Her pulse rate had no business speeding up like that, for no reason. Just because a too-handsome man full of his own importance smiled at her…
Forcing herself to chill out, she approached the “Cart à la Carte.” The man who’d handed Julie a sandwich yesterday was busy pouring coffee, passing out sweet rolls and containers of juice— “Fare to keep you awake and alive,” as written on the cart’s side—and taking customers’ money. What was his name? Manny?
Like many in the surrounding crowd, Manny appeared to be of Hispanic background. His smile was broad. No half grins from him. But why should he be anything but happy? He probably owned the cart, and Travis was undoubtedly drawing a huge crowd. Garnering plenty of tips, too.
Keeping her attention on the line in front of her, she waited impatiently until she reached Manny. “A medium black coffee, please,” she said.
“Give her a sweet roll, too,” commanded a voice from behind her. “She looks like she needs a boost of energy this morning.”
She whirled, only to find herself facing the chest of the tall man who, only a short while before, had stood beyond the cart surrounded by an audience. She hadn’t been able to discern then what he was wearing. Now she could see that he was clad much as he had been yesterday: too-tight jeans and a snug T-shirt. This one was maroon instead of white, but it outlined the muscles of his chest as distinctly as the other. Quickly, she looked up into his face.
He wasn’t smiling now. In fact, he seemed to regard her critically. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said sweetly. “And I’ll be glad to buy a poor juggler a donut or something, if you’d like, but I don’t need the sugar hype.”
“Then why do you look like hell this morning?”
Shocked, she glared at him, then turned away. “Now that’s the way to get someone to buy more food, isn’t it, Manny?”
“I think you are very pretty myself,” the man said as he handed her a cup filled with aromatic coffee.
“Thanks. At least someone around here has manners.” Dianna pulled money from her wallet and handed it to the real pushcart peddler. She gave him a generous tip, too. Then, without looking again at Travis, she headed for the building.
She wasn’t surprised to find him at her side. She didn’t even glance at him as he opened the door for her.
“See,” he said. “I do have manners.”
“Only when reminded.”
Inside, she showed her ID card to a security man and was permitted to go through a separate line, for those who worked in the building. She scrambled to get her purse off her shoulder and put it on the metal detector’s conveyor belt. Some uniformed people she didn’t recognize were conducting the search of those entering the building this morning. Flynn wasn’t there.
After showing a card similar to hers—not his official police ID—Travis followed her through the machinery’s arch. It appeared that the apparatus was temporarily shut off—to make sure a weapon he carried did not set off the alarm?
Dianna soon found herself alone with him in the elevator car. Did this one have a camera? Would someone observe her incivility as she snubbed the undercover cop?
He didn’t let her. “So, Ms. Englander, let me rephrase what I said before. As my astute boss Manny Fernandez pointed out, you are a very pretty lady.”
It was her turn to give him a half smile. “Gee, thanks.” But there wasn’t a look of sarcasm on his face now, as she’d expected. She swallowed, as his deep blue eyes gazed unflinchingly at her. He looked earnest, damn him.
She didn’t want compliments from him. She wanted him to leave her alone.
“The problem,” he continued, “is that this morning you do not look as chipper as usual. As lovely.” This time he grinned at her. Good. His roguishness she could deal with much better than his sincerity.
“How would you know? You only met me yesterday.”
“Ah, but I’ve seen your picture. A lot.”
She inhaled deeply. “You did your research, then.”
“I always do my research.” He did not seem uncomfortable alluding to his undercover job here in the elevator.
“Fine. Then you’ll know I don’t scare easily.”
“Could have fooled me yesterday, in the parking lot.” The car reached her floor and the door opened. He blocked it from closing but did not let her leave. “And this morning. What are you afraid of, Dianna?”
“What makes you think I’m afraid?” She forced her words to emerge slowly and coolly, and she painted disdain on her face as she regarded him.
“You obviously didn’t sleep last night. Heavy date?”
She felt her arm tense, as if she were preparing to slap him. And she didn’t do such things. “That’s none of your concern.” She pushed her way past him out of the elevator.
The problem was that she literally had to push him. She hadn’t wanted to touch him, but he stood right in her way. As a result, she felt the substance of his arm as she shoved it aside. And then she had to edge out between his body and the protrusion of the elevator door. She tried not to touch him, but couldn’t avoid it. The tips of her breasts just skimmed his chest. They responded to the contact. She felt them harden. Thank heavens she was wearing a substantial bra and opaque cotton blouse. They concealed her reaction. She hoped.
Even so, the contact wasn’t lost on Travis. His half smile returned, and this time, it twinkled in his eyes.
He didn’t continue to stand there but followed her down the hall. “I’d say it’s very much my concern,” he contradicted as she reached the door to A-S Development. “So, will you tell me what the problem is, or do I have to follow you all morning?”
She sucked in her breath. “No, thank you, Lt. Bronson,” she hissed. “It wasn’t anything. Just a phone call with no one at the other end.”
“I see. Was that the only time?”
She sagged against the hallway wall. “No,” she admitted. With a sigh, she found herself telling him of the spate of hang-ups, the myriad of non-messages on her answering machine. “I figure it’s Glen Farley trying to unnerve me.”
“Sounds like he’s succeeding,” Travis said. “Let me come in, make some calls, and we’ll use his little trick against him, okay?”
Dianna didn’t want to feel heartened by this man or what he said or did, but the way he took her at her word with no proof made her feel light-headed with relief. “How do we do that?”
“If we can trace those calls, we’ll find him. And arrest him. And, bingo, he won’t bother you any more.”
She hadn’t imagined she’d feel like grinning right then, but she did. “As simple as that?”
“Almost.” He smiled back and they both entered the office suite.
The reception area was empty, though the door was unlocked. “Wally?” Dianna called. He didn’t respond, so she looked into his office. He wasn’t there. “He gets here early,” Dianna said, “and opens the door. He sometimes goes back out for coffee.”
“Not a good idea to keep the door open like that,” Travis said with a frown.
“The Englander Dispute Resolution Center is filled with lawyers at this hour of the morning,” Dianna replied with a shrug. “And even they have to go through the security check downstairs.”
But a minute later, when Travis had followed her into her office, she wished she had not been so cavalier.
For there was a wrapped package right in the middle of her otherwise clear desk.
And it was ticking.

Chapter Four
Hell. Too bad Travis couldn’t pull a trick from up his sleeve to deal with that.
“Oh, no. Farley.” Dianna’s whisper was little more than an agonized breath. Her knees appeared to buckle, and she grabbed at the closest chair.
As Travis snagged Dianna’s arm to support her, he memorized the package in a glance, in case he needed to describe it later: brown paper, like a grocery bag, cellophane tape globbed all over so this present would not be easily unwrapped.
Not till it unwrapped itself. In one big ka-boom!
’Course it might not be a bomb. Yeah, it could just be a tiny teddy bear with a bad heart.
And if he believed that, he’d give the next telemarketer who called him his credit card and social security numbers.
As he studied the ticking SOB, he propelled Dianna in front of him. Not that his body would be much protection if the thing went off. “Let’s get you out of here.” He spoke calmly but was already shoving Dianna from the room. Fast.
She was shaking, but damned if she didn’t drag her feet.
“What if it goes off? What about all the other people in the building?”
“You take care of that out in the hall. Set off the fire alarm. We need to evacuate the place.”
“Okay. Sure. But what are you going to do?”
“Deal with the damned bomb.” And he was. Indirectly. Without a hint of finesse, he pushed Dianna through her office door, out of the thankfully still-empty reception area and into the hall. He glanced quickly down the well-lighted corridor. Its off-white walls were decorated generously with wooden molding at upper and lower edges. Carved door frames matched. All attractive stuff but hardly useful… His eyes lit on the fire alarm beneath a sign heralding the emergency exit. “There.” He let go of Dianna’s arm and pointed toward the control box. “Set the damned thing off.”
“Okay.”
As she made her way in that direction, he ducked back into the reception area and picked up the phone. He had to use a land line. If the bomb was set to go off by a remote signal, he couldn’t take the chance that his cell phone frequency would do the trick. He’d even shut off the computer if he’d had time, but if it hadn’t set the damn thing off already, it wasn’t likely to.
He thanked his lucky stars and good memory that he connected first thing with the LAPD Explosives Section. He quickly gave the particulars to the bomb tech who answered the phone.
And then he hustled into the hall after Dianna.
Fortunately, he’d completed the call to the bomb squad while he could still hear himself think. The corridor seemed plenty roomy before, but now it filled with the eardrum-shattering blare of the fire alarm. He resisted the urge to cover his ears. There were more important things for his hands to do.
People began to spill from other doors. Despite the continuing din from the alarm battering his skull, he heard irritable mutters and curses from men and women whose somber suits announced they were part of the legal profession. What, no ordinary folks, like their clients? It was probably too early in the morning, which was good. The building was less crowded.
At least now Dianna seemed steady enough to leave, only she headed for the elevator bank. “No elevator,” he insisted, waving to direct the surge of people toward the emergency exit. He made sure Dianna was at the head of the line as they reached the door. The narrow but well-lighted stairwell had already begun to fill with people streaming from the two floors above.
At least the blare of the alarm was muted here, but he still felt it grate against his teeth. He ignored it, putting his hand on the back of Dianna’s dark green jacket. The material felt expensive. Soft to his touch.
If just her suit gave him tactile fits, he wondered what her light hair that just skimmed the jacket’s collar would feel like.
Okay, Dumbo, straighten up and do your duty. He pushed gently to propel her into the fray. This was no time to be polite and let others ahead. Not when his job was to take care of the witness who would net him Farley.
He fought his real inclination. It took every ounce of self-control to follow her downstairs. He wanted to stay, get everyone off the floor. Out of the building. Not play bodyguard to one lady, no matter how pretty she was, how soft or costly her clothes, how necessary her knowledge or powerful her connections. Or how much she appealed to each of his damned senses.
But she was the core of his mission. He’d make sure she was out and safe, and then do what he had to.
He’d make damn sure. Never again would someone for whom he was responsible be hurt. Or killed. Like Cassi…
If she’d only listened to him.
And so he followed Dianna, one hand on her slim, squared shoulder to make sure she kept moving. He stayed one step above her as they descended.
Shrill, scared voices reverberated from the stairwell walls. “Is this a drill? Why weren’t we notified? Where’s the fire?”
Above them all, above the blare of the fire alarm muffled by the stairwell, one strong female voice right in front of him shouted, “It’s probably nothing, everyone. A suspicious package was found. We’re just being cautious and getting everyone out.”
The voices in the stairwell became louder, more frantic, as people relayed the message to others who hadn’t heard: “Bomb!”
But Travis had to admire Dianna. Scared as she might be, she was taking charge, calming others.
Keeping her safe just might wind up being one hell of a worthwhile endeavor. And not just because she could ID Farley.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” Jeremy Alberts demanded, maneuvering toward them, suit jacket flapping and dark leather briefcase in hand. “Dianna, are you all right? Why is everyone out here?”
Dianna and he stood across the street, catty-corner from the second newest structure in the area, with a lot of other people evacuated from Englander Center. They were more than three hundred feet away, which Travis said was the minimum evacuation area when a bomb was found. Hopefully, the Marvin Braude Center for Constituent Services wouldn’t become the newest building around here again.
Dianna had also hoped, in this crowd and in the shade of the civic center buildings blocking the early-morning sun, that Jeremy wouldn’t find her immediately. She hated the idea of having to tell him that the center he’d conceived of and built, that now—besides his daughter Julie—was the focus of his world, was in danger of being destroyed.
She’d been in danger of being destroyed. That wouldn’t sit well with Jeremy, either.
Dianna felt laughter bubble from somewhere inside her. Realizing it would sound hysterical, she quashed it by taking a deep, calming breath. But Jeremy had made it obvious over and over that he considered her more than an employee, more than a surrogate aunt to Julie. Though Dianna had been careful never to encourage him, he might consider her expendability on a par with his beloved building.
At least Julie was another matter. His wife, Millie, was dead now, and he loved no one more than his daughter.
In any event, Dianna didn’t have to answer Jeremy’s questions, for he turned at the sound of sirens coming closer along Van Nuys Boulevard.
The tall, scowling man beside her had no compunction about responding to Jeremy, though. Travis didn’t even keep his voice lowered, despite the throng of evacuees surrounding them. “There was a little present on Ms. Englander’s desk this morning. Since it ticked, we decided someone else should open it.”
Hearing the murmur of voices around them segue into shocked exclamations, she glared up at him. “We decided?” What a stupid thing to say. She realized it the moment it left her mouth. But he hadn’t allowed her a shred of choice. Despite her fear, she’d wanted to make sure others got out safely. He hadn’t given her a chance. He’d simply shooed her out of there, as if she was a gnat with no mind of her own.
Yes, she reminded herself, but she’d been a terribly scared gnat, and now she was a living, unharmed one, maybe thanks to Travis.
“Pardon me.” His tone was as stony as his glare. “I should have allowed you to unwrap it first, and then if you survived the blast, I’d have issued you an engraved invitation to get into an ambulance to have your bloody hands treated.”
“Lovely image,” she grumbled, but then added, almost apologetically, “but you’re right. Thanks for getting me out of there safely.”
She almost grinned at the surprise that arched his sandy brows. “You’re welcome. Any time.”
“No, thank you. Once was more than enough.”
She met his gaze and actually did smile, in response to the sudden twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “I’ll make a note of it.” He was one good-looking guy when he wasn’t scowling.
No, he was a good-looking guy even when he was scowling. But his masculine charm seemed multiplied when he relaxed, even a little.
“Dianna, tell me about that package. Was it Farley’s work? You weren’t hurt, were you?” Jeremy’s concern jolted Dianna back to reality.
But again she didn’t have to answer, for the distant sirens had grown louder, and a fleet of police cars screeched up before the building. A few of the vehicles were huge blue SUVs.
“Hey, what’s happening?” asked Wally Sellers, who joined them. He was panting as if he had run to get there. “Why are the cops here? Is something wrong?”
“Bomb scare,” growled his partner in a low voice.
“You’re kidding.” But Wally’s sudden pallor showed that he believed Jeremy. Dianna worried about the chunky, out-of-breath older man. He seemed a prime candidate for a heart attack. “Where’s the bomb? Does anyone know?”
“Mr. Sellers, Mr. Alberts, you okay?” Cal Flynn, head of the building’s security force, joined them. His blue uniform shirt was untucked, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his round, ursine face. “I’ve got my guys checking the floors for fire, but so far they haven’t found anything. Maybe it’s a false alarm.”
“Or maybe not,” Travis said. “Get them out. Fast. There’s something that looks like a bomb inside. The bomb disposal unit’ll handle it.”
Cal uttered an expletive, then yanked the radio from his belt. “I need to tell my guys to make sure everyone’s out.”
Travis grabbed his hand. “Great idea, but no radio. It might not make a difference out here, but if any of your guys are close to the damn thing, the radio frequency could set it off.” He was pacing, as if it required every bit of self-control to keep himself from—what? Going back inside the building himself?
Dianna heard the sound of a helicopter overhead and looked up. It was close enough for her to make out the call letters of a local news radio station.
Damn! The media already knew what was happening.
“Tell you what, Flynn,” Travis said, standing beside the security man. “I’ve got to go brief those guys on the package.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/linda-johnston-o/guardian-of-her-heart/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.