Every Step She Takes (Who's Watching Now Book 2)

by Jannine Gallant

  “I wondered if you ever planned to return my calls.”

  “Travis.”

  His tone changed instantly. “What’s wrong?”

  She swallowed. “I think someone shot at me.”

  “Where are you? Are you safe?”

  “I’m at home. I was in the park with Wylie.” She forced herself to breathe, steadying her voice. “I got a rock in my shoe and bent to remove it. In front of me, a boy grabbed his neck. He’d been shot.”

  His only response was a short, hard expletive.

  “It just grazed his neck. There was only a little blood.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I dove into the trees then ran home.”

  He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was controlled. “There was only one shot?”

  “I didn’t hear anything. Does that mean he had a silencer? If he fired more than once, he didn’t hit anyone or anything near me.” Her free hand clenched into a fist. “This is San Francisco. The gunman sure as hell wasn’t some hillbilly shooting at squirrels.”

  “I’ll be there on the next flight. Don’t go anywhere until I arrive. Not to the store. Not to take out the damn dog. Got it?”

  “You can’t fly here just like that! What if it was a really big wasp, not a bullet? Or maybe that kid pissed off his girlfriend’s ex, and he tried to take him out?”

  “Yeah, right. What’s your address?”

  She gave it to him. “Should I call the police?”

  “I’ll contact Fritz. Let him handle it.”

  She let out a shaky sigh. “You think Archer Nielsen shot at me again? Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he feels you’re some kind of threat. Possibly, he’s just trying to clean up the loose ends after his failed attempt on Sutton. I don’t care much about his reasons, but I’m ninety-nine percent certain it was Nielsen who fired that shot.”

  Her hands shook as she braced her elbows on her knees. “I’m no hero, and I’m not stupid. I’ll stay put until you get here.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.” His voice softened. “Stay safe.”

  “You, too. Travis?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks for caring.”

  She clicked off the phone. Wylie whined, and Grace leaned forward to unclip his leash from his collar. A chill shook her, and she rubbed her arms.

  Did some innocent kid get hurt because of me?

  She pressed a hand to her lips and blinked back tears. It wasn’t her fault. If she hadn’t bent down at just the right moment, she would have been the victim.

  I asked for trouble. The boy in the park didn’t.

  The nagging thought echoed in her head. She’d thrown herself into a dangerous situation, determined to get Sutton’s story no matter the cost. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Now some college boy who she could have sworn had a crush on her wanted her dead. Except he wasn’t what he seemed. Despite his youth, Archer Nielsen was a trained killer.

  She shuddered and stood. Cowering on the couch wasn’t going to help matters. After shutting the blinds that covered the big window overlooking the park, she double-checked the lock on the door then headed into the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry but should eat something anyway. Wylie had no such qualms, wolfing down his dinner in less than two minutes after she poured it into his bowl. When he walked over to the door, she bit her lip.

  “Sorry, bud, but you’re just going to have to hold it.” She glanced at her watch. “Anyway, you went less than an hour ago.”

  Had it only been an hour? Time was dragging slower than an Alaskan summer sunset. After dumping half a can of tomato soup into a pan to heat, she powered up her computer and checked flights from Seattle. The first one didn’t land until nine-fifteen. Well, damn. She’d be a nervous wreck by then.

  After crumbling crackers into her soup, she sat at the counter and ate the makeshift meal. When her cell phone chimed, she dropped the spoon in the bowl, splattering drops of soup all over the tile.

  Her heartbeat accelerated when she glanced at the display before pushing the talk button. “Travis?”

  “I’m at the airport, waiting for the airline to call my flight. Everything okay?”

  “Wylie wants to go out.”

  “Too bad for Wylie. I talked to Fritz. They haven’t been able to track down Nielsen, or whatever the hell name he’s using now.”

  “That boy isn’t really Archer Nielsen?”

  “No, Nielsen died three years ago in a car accident. Fritz thinks maybe our shooter was also a student at UCLA at the time. Possibly he knew the kid, and that’s how he got a hold of his identity. They’re trying to match an artist’s drawing to student ID photos, but it’ll take time. It’s a big university. Anyway, he’s probably using another alias. I doubt he travels under his own name when he’s working.”

  “Is that what you call shooting at people—working?”

  “He’s very well paid for what he does, though maybe not anymore. He blew it with Sutton. That miss will destroy his professional reputation.”

  “Does he think it’s my fault his aim was off? Is that why he’s trying to kill me?”

  “I don’t have a clue what the son of a bitch’s motive is. I will keep you safe, though. That’s a promise.”

  “It’s what you do for a living, right? Keep people safe?”

  “This is personal.”

  She let out a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back before. I thought it would be better for both of us. A quick amputation versus a long, painful deterioration.”

  “You don’t have much faith in men, do you?”

  “Maybe I don’t trust myself to stick it out.” She held the phone a little tighter. “It isn’t that I don’t care about you—about us.”

  He sighed. “They’re calling my flight.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  She clicked the phone off and laid it on the soup-splattered counter. Damn. Just hearing Travis’s voice made her insides quiver. More time spent together would only deepen the attraction. Her mind shied away from calling it anything else. When the relationship ended, she’d be hurt. Sliding off the stool, she picked up the sponge to wipe away the spilled soup.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  A knock woke her some time later, two sharp raps. Heart pounding, she pushed up from the couch where she’d fallen asleep and hurried to the front door to peer through the peephole. Travis, looking tired and a little grim, stood on the other side. After sliding the deadbolt back, she threw open the door.

  He stepped inside, turned to lock the door, dropped his suitcase on the entry floor then pulled her into his arms. His chin rested on her head as she leaned against his chest.

  “I was worried.”

  She glanced up at him. “That makes two of us.”

  “No disturbances of any sort?”

  She shook her head. “How did you get inside the building? You didn’t ring the bell.”

  “One of your neighbors was on his way in. He didn’t hesitate to hold the door for me.”

  “Probably Mr. Peterman. He’s a sweet old gentleman but doesn’t seem to have a clue that criminals exist. The other residents have talked to him about his habit of letting in strangers. There are only six apartments in the building, and we look out for each other, but he’s forgetful.”

  “Maybe if I tell him there’ve been several break-ins in the neighborhood it’ll make an impression.” Taking her hand, he walked with her into the living room. “I won’t pretend I’m not concerned about your safety. Nielsen—I’ll call him that until we have another name—is dangerous. And determined.”

  “Shouldn’t he be stalking poor Casey instead of me?” She sat on the couch next to him. Their thighs pressed together.

  “Casey was transferred to San Francisco General Hospital yesterday per his request. Actually, I should say demand. He refused to stay in Seattle or go anywhere else. His home is here, and his family.”

  “Not to mention t
he ditzy girlfriend who blabbed his whereabouts to the whole world.”

  Reaching out, Travis stroked Wylie’s head when he wandered over and sat beside his feet. “Could be why Nielsen showed up here. Casey is under heavy security, but our shooter may still be hoping for a chance to salvage his reputation. You just might be icing on the cake.”

  “Goody.” She leaned back against the cushions. “What’re we going to do? You can’t hang out here indefinitely. You have a business to run.”

  “I’ll stay as long as I need to.” He hesitated before speaking. “You could always come back to Seattle with me.”

  She pulled away. “I just got home a couple of days ago. I have work commitments, and I promised my sister I’d drive up to Vine Haven for the weekend.”

  “Anywhere is better than here at the moment. Vine Haven, isn’t that near Napa?”

  “Yep. My parents own a vineyard, which my oldest brother runs for them. My sister has a bookstore café in town, and my brother-in-law is the sheriff.”

  “Much safer than here. Sounds like I get to meet your whole family.”

  She turned and stared. “Huh?”

  “I’m not leaving your side, Grace.”

  Her pulse thrummed when he dropped a hand over her knee and squeezed. She drew in a breath and managed what she hoped was a playful smile. “Never, ever?”

  “We’ll see.” Pulling his hand back, he rose to his feet. “I’m beat. Anything else you need to do tonight before I get some sleep?”

  She pointed at Wylie.

  “I’ll take him out.”

  “Poop bags are in a box by the door.”

  He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything as he snapped the leash onto the dog’s collar.

  “Back in a few minutes. What’s the combination to get in downstairs?”

  She told him. The door shut, and his footsteps faded into silence.

  Her earlier exhaustion gone, she sprang up off the couch. If she hurried, she’d have time for a quick shower before Travis returned.

  Did I make my bed this morning? Housework wasn’t exactly her strong suit, but she didn’t want him to think she was a complete slob.

  After turning off the kitchen lights, she hurried into the bedroom and straightened the comforter on the bed before tossing a pile of dirty clothes into the hamper. Stepping into the shower, she lathered and rinsed then hopped out to dry on an oversized pink towel. A smile slipped across her lips, imagining the girly towel tucked around Travis’s waist. She dried her hair, slapped on her favorite lavender-scented lotion and hesitated with her hand hovering over the stack of tank tops and flannel shorts she favored for sleepwear. Digging in the back of the drawer, she pulled out an emerald green, short, silk nightgown. Travis had flown from Seattle to protect her. He deserved better than flannel and cotton.

  A light tap at the door sent her running out of the bedroom. After checking to make sure it wasn’t Archer—or her neighbor on the floor above looking for quarters to do his laundry—she threw open the door.

  Wylie shot through, his leash trailing behind him. Travis didn’t move. His throat worked as he swallowed, and his eyes glazed.

  “Jesus.”

  “You coming inside or camping in the hallway?”

  He stepped into the entry and turned to lock the door. Slowly he spun around, his gaze trailing from her face downward. “I wasn’t expecting anything. Just because we…” His chest rose as he drew in a breath.

  “I know that, but there’s no point in pretending we aren’t dying to tear each other’s clothes off.” Taking his hand, she flipped off the light then pulled him toward the bedroom.

  He resisted, stopping in the darkened hallway. “Last time, you were upset the next morning. We didn’t talk about it, but I could tell something was wrong.”

  Her heart fluttered, and she pressed her free hand to her breasts. “Last time, I felt like an idiot for letting myself get involved. I could have kept my distance and not risked being hurt.”

  “In the morning, are you going to regret spending the night with me?”

  She stepped up close and touched his cheek. The scratch of whiskers abraded her fingertips. Slowly she followed the line of his jaw then touched his bottom lip.

  A shudder rippled through him.

  “It’s too late for regrets. I’m already neck-deep in this relationship. I may as well dive in head first.”

  He held her face between his palms then kissed her. “I’ve never met a woman like you. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Chapter 15

  Travis slid from under the covers and pulled on his jeans without bothering with the boxers lying half under the bed. After slipping his Glock into its holster, he stuffed his arms through his shirt-sleeves and left the tail hanging. He pushed his feet into his shoes and followed the damn dog to the door, grabbing Grace’s keys and his phone from the table in the entry before buttoning his shirt. He picked up the leash off the floor and clipped it to Wylie’s collar.

  “You’re a pain in the ass, did you know that?”

  The dog cocked an ear but didn’t turn his head as they left the apartment and ran down the stairs. Apparently he didn’t care that all Travis wanted to do was roll over, pull Grace into his arms and make love to her again. If he had his way, they’d never leave her bed.

  At the edge of the park, Wylie stopped by a bank of rhododendrons to lift his leg. Hell! He’d forgotten the damn poop bags. Tugging on the dog’s leash, he turned sharply. He’d passed a metal container holding bags a short way back the night before.

  Something buzzed by his left ear. An insect? He jerked his head. Another puff of air and a tinny whine. Dropping to the ground, he rolled beneath the rhododendron, heart pounding.

  Two shots spent, and he had no reason to believe there wouldn’t be a third. He was an idiot, thinking about Grace, not paying attention to his surroundings. Dirt spurted up a foot away. Travis crawled through the bush and out the other side, dragging Wylie with him. Rising to his feet, he sprinted into a thick grove of oaks.

  From the angle of the shot, he judged the shooter’s location to be somewhere to the northwest. Out of the line of fire, he ran easily with the dog beside him, circled around and exited the park above Grace’s block. Cutting through side streets, he approached her building from the rear. Once he’d punched in the combination and was safely in the small lobby, he paused by the stairs to pull his phone from his pocket.

  Fritz answered on the third ring. “It’s barely six o’clock there. What’s wrong?”

  “Nielsen took a couple of shots at me this morning. Are you making any progress identifying him?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “If I was, would I be asking about your progress on the case?”

  “Grumpy.” Fritz cleared his throat. “Our facial recognition database came up with a couple of possibilities. We’re checking them against UCLA enrollment from three years ago. I should have a name later this morning.”

  “Which will give you family members and known residences to investigate. With any luck, you might find a contact in San Francisco.”

  “Since nothing about this case has been easy, I doubt it.”

  Fritz’s dour tone didn’t do anything to improve Travis’s similar mood.

  “Grace and I are leaving for Vine Haven in a few hours. Right now, I don’t want her anywhere near her apartment.”

  “I don’t suppose you can give me a location for the shooter?”

  “Only a general direction. I can’t narrow it down enough to be useful. Nielsen hasn’t made another attempt on Casey?”

  Fritz snorted. “Not yet. The guards are all on high alert. I almost hope he does make a move because we’ll take down the bastard the second he shows his face.”

  “I’ll be in contact if anything else happens on this end.”

  “When I have a name for you, I’ll call.”

  After tucking his phone in his
pocket, Travis mounted the stairs with Wylie leading the way. He wouldn’t tell Grace about this morning’s incident. No reason to upset her. If she thought he was in danger because he’d come to keep an eye on her, she’d probably insist he go home. Frankly, he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  He let himself into the apartment with the key then flipped the deadbolt. After removing Wylie’s leash, he headed down the hall to the bedroom.

  Grace was still asleep. Sprawled across the bed on her stomach, the covers rode low across her waist exposing the smooth skin of her back. Silky hair spilled over her pillow.

  His response was instantaneous, an aching throb that grew stronger the longer he looked at her. It wasn’t just that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever been with. Her wit and humor kept him entertained. Stimulated might be a better word. Even at the best of times with Val, he hadn’t felt so connected, so completely in tune the way he did with Grace. A hint of doubt surfaced. His ex-wife had lied, then betrayed him before she walked away. It took him a long time to get over what she did. A very long time.

  He shook off a touch of uneasiness. Grace might have her reservations about pursuing a relationship, but she wasn’t secretive about them. Her upfront attitude was hard to take at times, but at least he knew where he stood. Right now standing wasn’t what he wanted. He dropped his shirt on the floor and kicked off his shoes. His jeans followed after he set his weapon on the nightstand. When he crawled into the bed, she rolled over and blinked in the dim light.

  “Travis?”

  “I took the dog out. He was whining.”

  “Thank you. What time is it?”

  “Early. Sixish.” He touched the curve of her neck then trailed his fingers over the slope of her breast.

  Her nipple pearled. Gritting his teeth, he counted to ten in French—then in Italian and German—trying to get a grip on his out of control need.

  She wiggled closer, her fingers gliding through the hair on his chest then descending across his abdomen. His muscles quivered. When her hand closed over him, he let out a low groan.

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  “No, I’m not.” She nibbled along his collarbone.