Amanda averted her eyes. “They are synonymous.”
For a moment they sat in silence, Ray absorbing that comment. He nudged the cheese plate towards her. This woman was all business, so he would be direct.
“Was the incident in the alley the first attack on you?”
Well-manicured hands clutched each other atop her thigh. The cheese went untouched.
“There is no proof that it was an attack on me. It was an attack on an expensive car in a dark alley.”
Ray grabbed at the back of his neck and massaged there for a minute, controlling his reply.
“I don’t need games, Miss Newton. That’s a fruitless debate you and the police can hash over for several weeks. I am a professional, and I’ve been through a lot worse than what you’re going through−”
Oh damn.
He regretted the words the second they came out.
Amanda slipped off the barstool onto her bare feet. The sound of her satiny raincoat against wood was like a whisper of wind on a clothesline.
“You’re right.” She held her head high, but she looked vulnerable, and a bit like a misfit. “You don’t have time for such mundane issues. This was a mistake and I’d like to you to leave now.”
“Hold on.” He vaulted to his feet, feeling like a complete ass. “I didn’t mean it that way. I am not trivializing anything. I’m here.” His arm swept the room. “I am here to help.”
Crystalline eyes glared up at him. He hadn’t realized how short she was without her heels. Maybe 5’6, 5’7. At least six inches shorter than him.
“Look,” he began with a deep breath. “You frustrate me because you aren’t looking out for yourself. Maybe I could use some more tact in conveying that point, but you are the one trivializing the situation. Yes, I’ve been through worse.” He nodded, trying to banish the sordid memories that sought to worm into focus. “I’ve been through nightmares that no one should have to go through. But I take that. I draw on that to help others. To help you, because you shouldn’t be in danger. You shouldn’t have nightmares.”
That dead stare chilled him. All life had left this woman’s eyes, and only cool gems remained in their stead.
“Do you want to keep a scorecard?” she asked dispassionately.
Delving a pale hand into her raincoat pocket, she extracted her cell phone and thumbed through screens with trembling fingers. "Do you want to see who has had the worst nightmares?”
With a vehement shove, she thrust the phone screen towards his face. The image of carnage there grappled with his throat. Squeezing.
“Did you ever have to see the murdered corpses of your parents? Did you ever have to see their blood run through the dirt until it stained your sandals? Did you ever find yourself alone on a dirt road in a foreign country with nothing more than a stuffed bear to keep you company as you waited for your parents to wake up?”
Riveted by the graphic image, Ray reached for the counter to stabilize himself. A young couple lay akimbo. The black and white film unable to conceal the volume of blood. This couple had been assassinated and left to bleed on the side of a road in a land he could not make out.
Had Amanda been standing there?
How did she escape?
Shoving off the counter, he grabbed the cool hand that held this macabre photo. Both of them seemed startled by the contact.
“Come with me,” he ordered in a husky voice.
“Where?” Amanda squeaked.
He used that connection to draw her from the kitchen. In doing so he pressed the phone down so that the image was out of sight.
“To the living room. We need to sit down somewhere comfortable.” Blood pumped in his ears. “Hell, we just need to sit down.”
“But−”
“No more buts, Amanda.” By accentuating her first name he hoped to break through to the woman, not the entity.
As he sank down onto the brown leather L-shaped sofa, he tugged until she was seated beside him.
“Talk to me. I know from what little research I could muster of your childhood that you lost your parents at the age of 6. But nothing revealed this. I didn’t see this image in any newspaper.”
“No,” she set the phone face down on the couch. “That’s probably because it was taken by their murderer.”
CHAPTER SIX
Only three people in her life were aware of the events of twenty-four years ago. Sharing this email with them would just bring tears, and alarm. If indeed her parent’s killer was out there, Amanda would face him alone. After all, she alone possessed what he wanted.
But sharing this image with a virtual stranger proved some form of a catharsis. There was a sense of anonymity in revealing her most troubled thoughts to someone who did not know her. He didn’t know her, but he had touched her. No one touched her. No one would dare to grab her hand and haul her to a couch.
And yet, when that warmth was gone, she was shocked to find how much she missed it. Human contact. His contact. His hand was so wide. She could still feel the coarse palm against her skin. It was a powerful hand. Capable. A hand that was used in battle−and the scars remained.
Absently she flipped hers over to study the slight lines in her palm. Her power did not exist here. She envied him that. Her hand was a weakness.
“Talk to me,” came his soft whisper.
She closed her eyes and waited to hear the deep growl again.
“Amanda?”
Drawing in a long breath, she felt a familiar sense of composure flow through her veins. If only she could keep it there. The subject matter was not going to help, but she realized now that she needed this man. No more facing it alone. Let someone familiar with the dark side of life assist her.
But, how much would she have to reveal?
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
Ray sat with his hands fisted together between his knees. Although the sofa was expansive, he had dragged her down next to him. Close enough that if he widened the gap between his knees one more inch their legs might touch.
She wanted to stand up—out of reach. Space gave her stability. At the same time she longed for heat. God she wanted heat. Every limb of hers felt sculpted in ice.
In contradiction, everything about Ray smoldered.
“Another tablespoon of wine?” he quirked an eyebrow.
Riding a wave of anguish and desolation today, she nonetheless felt a tug at the corner of her mouth−a near smile that faded before truly forming.
“When I was six years-old my parents took me on a trip to South Africa,” she began in a tight voice. “I’m still not clear on why we went there. Some sort of marketing jaunt for their jewelry business is all I’ve been able to gather. I can’t remember much of anything except for—”
“Easy,” he soothed. “I can’t even imagine how difficult this is for you, but know that anything you share with me stays with me, and will only be used to protect you.”
It started to rain, the sound a muted drill against the living room windows. The lights of London blurred and ran like teardrops into the streets below.
“The police told my aunt that the road was not frequently traveled. A local resident drove through the next morning and discovered me sitting near my parent’s car.”
Ray’s hand fisted. “My God, how long−”
“There’s no telling for sure, but they estimated my parents were shot sometime around sunset, and I was discovered mid-morning the next day.”
“Amanda—”
Still in her rain coat and bare feet, she sat stiffly with shoulders poised.
“Don’t pity me. I walked away from it. That’s more than my parents can say.”
Her bravado-laced armor had gaping holes in it, and she knew it. Watching the shadows of conflict skitter across Ray’s wide cheekbones distracted her. She wasn’t sure if it was concern there, but it sure could pass for it. No, this man wanted the facts. She dealt in facts. Facts would keep her sane.
“The picture you just showed me,
” he started. “How do you know it was taken by their murderer? Could it have been the press? A coroner?”
Amanda’s slim fingers crawled across the leather towards her phone. They wrapped around it, but kept it there. “The light. The long shadows of dusk,” she replied hollowly. “No one found me until the morning. That picture was taken at the onset of evening.” When their blood was still flowing into the road.
Silent for a moment, Ray finally raised hooded, soulful eyes. A man confident enough to hold her gaze.
“Will you let me read the email?” he asked gravely.
Clutching the cell phone she let the question roll around in her head like an aimless wrecking ball.
Surrender. Raise the white flag.
As if it were a block of cement she struggled to lift the device and draw up the text on her screen. Warily, she extended her hand. Ray’s eyes never left hers as he took the phone. For a second she felt the connection with his fingers and then everything was gone. Her hand was empty.
Clasping the raincoat tight about her, she searched her living room as he was busy reading. Her eyes connected with the sunset painting. Strong blends of orange, purple, and gold. Sometimes she wanted to climb into that painting−to have her limbs melt into the oil canvas until she was nothing more than a brushstroke.
“Is this the only one?”
Amanda snapped her eyes at the intrusion.
“There were others.” But if she showed him, he would ask the inevitable.
His thick eyebrow inched up in an unvoiced question.
“Here,” she commanded with her fingers.
Ray gave her back the phone so that she could draw up the previous emails.
Handing it back, she watched his face as he read. Nothing on that rugged plain indicated shock or censure, or even greed. Full lips were set in a straight line, and maybe his eyebrows quirked once, but his expression remained unfazed.
Finally, he looked up at her.
“Do you have them? The diamonds he talks about?” he asked.
Lie!
“No.”
Under that intense gaze she felt exposed in a manner so foreign. She could feel him stripping away the lies and reading her core, digging out the truth like a cerebral archeologist.
“Do you know about these diamonds? Or is this just a groundless threat?”
Amanda cleared the lump in her throat. “If this is my parent’s murderer, I’m guessing he has tracked me down as the daughter of this couple, and has learned that I’m−”
“Rich as all hell?” Ray offered.
It comforted her that he didn’t seem too impressed with that fact.
“Yes, that’s what I’m thinking.” She hastened, not allowing him to dwell on the original question. “This is no more than an extortion plot.”
Why is he staring? It’s unnerving.
“Perhaps,” he regarded her, “but I imagine it’s the personal element that makes it so unsettling.”
Yes!
She laced her fingers together on her lap and one of the plates in her emotional armor fell loose. “The attack in the alley. The attempt to enter my premises. The threatening email−” She glanced at her phone. “None of it troubled me as much as that photo. Except for what remains in my mind, I have not seen that scene in twenty-four years. Not in any newspaper. Not from any South African authorities. That photo has−” she swallowed, “gutted me.”
Chink.
Another piece of armor detached.
Ray leaned forward. His thigh flexed, straining against the jeans. She stared at it, fascinated by the raw strength and power. Absurdly she wanted to reach out and run her fingers along that muscle. She wanted to wind her hands around his waist and burrow into that wide chest.
My God, what is happening to me?
She was not the hugging type. She never liked to be held−not even as a six year-old. She didn’t want the hugs of a strange aunt. Only her parents could touch her. She never wanted anyone else to touch her. Despite that inherent coldness, her aunt and uncle loved her fiercely, and she, in turn, would die for them.
So why this sudden desire to be held by this man? This stranger?
“Amanda,” his soft voice stirred something inside her. “It’s going to be alright.” He paused, waiting until she made eye contact. Amber rays lurked in his eyes, the same spokes that fought against sunset.
“I will find this man,” he vowed. “You’ve survived a horrible trauma that no one should ever have to go through. If this is someone looking to make a buck off of that−” his powerful hand curled into a fist “−I’ll−” He shook his head, angered at the mere thought. “And if by some chance this is the man responsible for what happened to your parents−”
What? What will you do?
But he didn’t complete the sentence. The fire in his eyes spoke volumes, though.
“Is this the level of protection you offer all of your clients, Mr. Gordon?”
“I’ll admit,” some of that fire abated, “I hate to see innocent people traumatized. I know when I start up my own business I will be protecting CEO’s that are probably as corrupt as those who are threatening them. But in the minimal time that I’ve worked with you in the past, I don’t see you as one of them. And honestly, I’ve witnessed enough trauma against innocent people. I have zero tolerance for that. You survived a horrible scene that no one should ever be exposed to, and you didn’t crumble. You turned into a strong, capable woman.”
His approval caused a wrench in her chest. How odd. How odd that his admiration should mean so much.
Feeling out of sorts, Amanda sought to regain some balance.
“So what is the next step?”
He rose, those long legs unwinding until he towered over her.
“You’re not going to like it,” he declared.
Readying herself for the worst−the inevitable joint trip to the police−the proposed media approach−the revelation to her staff−
“I’m going to stay here.”
−the long, curious looks−the reprimand that she had not confessed all−
“What?”
“I said I am going to stay here tonight. I’m sure you have a spare guest room somewhere in this place. You’re hiring me to protect you from this psycho. I can’t quite do it from my suite at the Marquis. And this guy has already tried to access your apartment−he’ll do it again.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel much better,” she retorted.
Ray looked down at her with a stern expression. “I’m not here to make you feel better. I’m here to keep you safe. I don’t coddle. I don’t give false assurances. I give you what I see, and what I see is an influential business owner being harassed by someone from her past. No, not harassed. Threatened. So I would like to stay here tonight, possibly several more nights until I can get a grip on this man.”
Startled by the relief she felt, Amanda tempered her reaction.
“Your professionalism was what motivated me to hire you on that Eclipse case.”
She rose and padded on stockinged feet towards the kitchen, pausing to glance back over her shoulder at him. “I’ll see to it that there is more than cheese and crackers in the kitchen tomorrow.”
***
Laying on her side, Amanda stared at the window. At this level she couldn’t see the lights of the city−only their tapering glow as they faded into night. The clock on the nightstand read 4:20am. Just outside her door, Ray was silent in the adjacent room. It was strange to realize that someone was in this apartment with her. With this personal security, why wasn’t she able to sleep?
They took my diamonds.
I took their lives.
Was it true? Had her parents really stolen those diamonds? It was unfathomable to believe, but she was too young, she didn’t really know them. She didn’t know their purpose for being in South Africa.
Clutching the sheet to her chest, she felt her heart pounding hard. This was not some ill-defined extortion plot. This man knew. He kn
ew she had the diamonds.
The shrill ring of the phone on her nightstand vaulted her upright. Heart pounding, she stared at the blaring device in disbelief. 4:21am. This was the landline. It was used solely by the staff in her apartment complex to announce visitors.
She snatched the phone off its console while distantly acknowledging Ray’s urgent voice on the other side of her door.
“Yes?”
“Miss Newton?”
It was a hoarse voice that she barely recognized.
“Someone−someone just attacked me−”
She did recognize it. Young David Moore, the nighttime doorman.
“Mr. Moore, are you alright?” She slipped her legs off the bed and clasped the phone tight to her ear.
Ray knocked on the door, calling to her.
“I−I didn’t see him, madam. He snuck up on me. I−I’m so sorry!”
Amanda held her hand over the mouthpiece and yelled out, “Come in.”
Ray burst in wearing jeans and nothing else. She barely acknowledged that fact as she spoke into the phone again.
“It’s alright, Mr. Moore. Are you okay? Have you called the police?”
“I have, madam, but−but−I see that the elevator is going up−to your floor.”
Sucking in air, she pitched desperate eyes at Ray.
“Okay. Just get yourself some care, Mr. Moore. It will be alright.”
She slammed the phone down and bound from her bed, nearly colliding with Ray in her haste to get through the door.
“What is it?” he asked earnestly.
“The doorman has been attacked and he said that the elevator is on its way up to my floor. He did not see who got on it.”
Just now she realized that Ray was holding a gun. His face was lost in shadows, but his stance resembled a poised animal.
“Stay right here. Lock your bedroom door and only open it when you hear my voice. The police are on their way?”
She nodded numbly.
He moved out her door and motioned her to close it.
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