Guardian Groom

by Shelley Cooper

  “Bah,” Clara Mae said. “You’ve been watching too many detective shows, Janet. I told you before, the guy is probably in training, and he chose this neighborhood because of its hills. And the man in the car was most likely his personal trainer.”

  “And I told you that any self-respecting personal trainer monitors and directs his client’s exercise. He doesn’t sit in a car and wait. I think the man in the car worked for the jogger. Sort of like a chauffeur.”

  Clara Mae snorted her derision. “Janet, I love you dearly, but you couldn’t be more wrong. If this guy was wealthy enough to have a chauffeur, he’d be jogging in an affluent neighborhood, not mingling with the riffraff.”

  “We aren’t riffraff,” Mrs. Edmund said heatedly. “We’re solidly middle class. This is a wonderful place to live and raise a family. Most people in this town own oodles of things that any self-respecting burglar would be thrilled to get his hands on. Take, for instance, all the gizmos Kate has in her den. Computers, television, CD player. Perfect items for fencing, especially if someone wanted some quick drug money.”

  “So now he’s a drug addict?” Clara Mae’s eyes widened incredulously.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have recorded the license plate number, would you?” Steve asked.

  The two women stopped their bickering to give him their full attention.

  “You really think this is important?” Clara Mae asked.

  “Yes,” Steve replied. “I do. So, Mrs. Edmund, did you happen to write down the license number?”

  “All I know is, the car had a Pennsylvania plate.”

  “What kind of car was it?”

  “Buick. LeSabre. Black. Late model, I believe. Not more than two or three years old, anyway. Oh, and it had a decal from Portman Motors on it.”

  Steve’s smile grew broad. “Mrs. Edmund, I could kiss you.”

  The elderly woman tilted her head and peered up at Steve with eyes that were frankly assessing. “As tempting as I find your offer, it also makes me think you weren’t asking all those questions out of idle curiosity. There’s something more here, isn’t there? You weren’t just humoring an old woman and her silly fears, were you?”

  This was it, Kate thought. The runaway freight train had hit, and the debris was falling all around them. Steve was going to tell Mrs. Edmund everything, even though he’d promised not to. And when he did, Kate would be dialing 911.

  “Steve,” she said sweetly through gritted teeth. “You promised. Remember?”

  He looked at her then, and her heart plummeted. “I’m sorry, Kate,” he said, not sounding the least apologetic. “But where your safety is concerned, all bets are off.”

  He turned his gaze back to Mrs. Edmund. “I’m afraid we haven’t been quite straight with you. I’m not here tonight to play Scrabble. Nor am I Kate’s date, as we’ve led you to believe. I’m her bodyguard.”

  Kate groaned. She wished there was room under the table for her to draw back her foot and kick him in the shins. Hard.

  “Bodyguard?” Mrs. Edmund asked, a puzzled look on her face. “Why does Kate need a bodyguard?”

  Kate strained to hear a tremor in the woman’s voice, a faltering that would indicate her neighbor was in distress. But she saw and heard nothing. Yet. So far, Mrs. Edmund seemed to be taking things in stride. She wasn’t clutching at her chest and straining to breathe. Of course, when Steve explained about Kate’s biggest fan, which he was drawing breath to do this very second, things would probably change dramatically.

  “She’s received some threatening letters,” he said.

  As if to emphasize the gravity of his announcement, the grandfather clock chimed the hour. Kate flinched.

  “What kind of threats?” Clara Mae asked.

  “Death threats. The writer signs himself as her biggest fan.”

  Kate closed her eyes in despair. If there was a guardian angel who watched over pacemakers, it was her fervent wish that he was here, this very minute, in the room with them.

  “Has he done anything besides write letters?” Clara Mae asked. “After all, words—and paper—are cheap. He could send threats until the cows came home, but they wouldn’t mean a lick unless he acted on them.”

  Kate opened her eyes to see Mrs. Edmund and Clara Mae leaning as far forward as their chairs—and the table—would allow. The intent expressions on their faces reminded her of moviegoers who were so into the action on the screen that they literally sat on the edge of their seats.

  “On Monday, someone pushed Kate in front of a bus.” Steve paused to acknowledge both women’s mdrawn breaths of shock. “Shortly after that, someone broke into her house. Nothing was stolen. The intruder just wanted to let her know he was here.”

  “Her biggest fan,” Clara Mae breathed.

  Steve nodded. “He was telling her that he could get at her whenever he wished.”

  “So that’s why Carlo was asking me all those questions,” Mrs. Edmund said.

  “Yes,” Steve replied.

  “What I saw really was important, wasn’t it?”

  “It could be the key to breaking this thing wide open.”

  “How exciting!” There was an eager look on Mrs. Edmund’s face.

  Kate felt her mouth drop open. “Exciting?”

  “I’m sorry, dear.” Mrs. Edmund looked apologetic. “I don’t mean to make light of your plight. But I do have to admit that things were rather dull around here before you moved in. Your brothers have provided me with a vast amount of entertainment I’ve grown rather used to their lively comings and goings. This new development just adds more spice to the pot.”

  “You’re all right, then?” Kate asked. “Your pacemaker’s not skipping a beat?”

  The older woman’s brow furrowed. “It’s ticking just fine, dear. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Remember that afternoon a year ago? The Peeping Tom in the neighborhood? When my brothers scared you? It went haywire. I was afraid it would do the same thing when you heard about my... situation.”

  “Oh, that.” The elderly woman waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Your brothers didn’t scare me. That was just a little malfunction. The doctor fixed it right up. It’s been working perfectly since then.”

  “You mean the sight of all those loaded guns didn’t set it off?”

  “Of course not, dear. I was in the Army Nurse Corps during World War II. Served in North Africa. That’s where I met my Herman, you know. But I digress. When you operate through sniper fire, precious little frazzles you after that. It would take more than a crazed fan, and the sight of a couple of drawn guns, to startle this old heart of mine. I’m just sorry I didn’t pay closer attention to the license plate of that car. If I had, you might be able to find out who its owner is, and whether or not he has something to do with the letters you’ve been receiving.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Mrs. Edmund,” Steve replied. “You’ve been more help than you realize.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he insisted. “You have a wonderful eye for detail. Based on your description, even without the license plate number, if we search the records of individuals who have bought black Buick LeSabres at Portman Motors for the past three years, we have a good chance of locating that car and its owner. Did anyone ever tell you you’d make a great detective?”

  Mrs. Edmund looked pleased. “Thank you, young man. I try to make it a point to be observant.”

  “And you don’t know how grateful I am that you do. What I need you to do now is describe, in as much detail as you can, both the jogger and the driver.”

  Clara Mae extended the pad and the pen she was using to keep score. “Would you like to use these?”

  Kate knew it wasn’t necessary for Steve to write down anything, that his photographic memory would unerringly record whatever Mrs. Edmund related to him. Instead of explaining, however, he took the pad and pen and offered Clara Mae his thanks. Several minutes later, after he’d diligently recorded every word, he pushed back his chair
and stood.

  “If you ladies will excuse me for a minute, I need to make a couple of phone calls.” He smiled at them and headed for the den.

  “It really is a shame,” Mrs. Edmund commented as she watched his retreating figure.

  “Don’t worry,” Kate said distractedly, her gaze also following Steve from the room. He had always been impressive to watch, both coming and going. Tonight, wearing those navy-blue shorts that showed off his trim waist and powerful thighs to advantage, was no exception. “Everything will work out. Steve will see to it. He’ll keep me safe.”

  “I’m sure he will, dear. I’m sure he will. He looks capable of doing just about anything he sets his mind to. But when I said it was a shame, I wasn’t referring to your letter writer. Although that, too, is a shame. A sorry shame. I was referring to the fact that you and that young man aren’t dating.”

  Kate came back to earth with a jolt Dismayed, she forgot all about Steve’s lean body and muscled thighs.

  “You’d make a perfect couple,” Mrs. Edmund went on. “Maybe when this is all over, you should give it some thought. Don’t you agree, Clara Mae?”

  “Absolutely.” Clara Mae gave a wistful sigh. “Just looking at him brings back such memories. You don’t see a man like him very often.”

  “No,” Mrs. Edmund said softly, reflectively. “You don’t.”

  Kate turned her eyes toward the ceiling and prayed for forbearance. Forbearance to survive the rest of the evening with her sanity still intact. Forbearance to survive what lay ahead until her biggest fan could be caught. Forbearance to ignore the traitorous tug at her heart that wished she and Steve could be a couple once more. But most of all, she prayed for the forbearance to withstand the emptiness that would again consume her when he was gone.

  Chapter 11

  The gathering broke up shortly after midnight. Steve escorted Mrs. Edmund home and settled Clara Mae into her taxi. Then he went into the den and dismissed George from his duty at the television monitors, a duty necessitated because the ruse he and Kate had agreed to play had required that he not wear his headset. For the past four hours—except for the phone calls he’d made after Mrs. Edmund’s revelation—he’ d been out of contact with his men outside, and George had been responsible for Kate’s safety. Steve had hated every minute.

  Still he couldn’t help being elated that they’d gotten an unexpected lead. Mrs. Edmund, bless her observant eyes, might have actually found Kate’s biggest fan for them. Hopefully, if all went well, in as little as two or three days they could know the identity of this man who wanted to do Kate harm.

  Of course, the police would arrest him immediately. The question was, could they hold him for very long? Without an eyewitness account to place him as the man who had shoved Kate in front of that bus, it was doubtful that attempted murder charges would be filed. The most they could hope for was that his fingerprints matched those the police had taken from Kate’s house. Still, breaking and entering—especially when nothing was stolen—was no guarantee of a long prison sentence. If the man had no criminal record, he could be put on probation and set free.

  If that happened, Kate would still be in danger. Grave danger. She would have to apply for a protection from abuse order. What worried Steve was that his years as a cop had taught him the reality of just how ineffective those orders were. In most cases they weren’t worth the paper they were written on.

  The sad truth was that an astounding number of women were murdered by the men against whom protection from abuse orders had been issued. A protection from abuse order, had his mother ever obtained one, most certainly wouldn’t have stopped his father’s murderous rage. A person might as well try to halt a charging bull with a feather as try to stop a deranged man intent on inflicting bodily harm. If Kate’s biggest fan was determined to get to her, he wouldn’t let a piece of paper stand in his way.

  That small detail was one Steve had yet to share with Kate. He just hadn’t been able to find the words to explain that, even after her biggest fan was unmasked, this whole sorry episode might not be over. And if he had been able to find the words, he knew he’d put off telling her until the last minute, in the hope that something would happen to change what seemed to be an inevitable outcome.

  While the last thing Steve wanted was for Kate to have to suffer another attempt on her life, he couldn’t help wishing that he could somehow manipulate the cagey SOB into doing something foolish. Something that would serve to put him behind bars for life.

  Now that Steve thought about it, maybe he could make it happen. There were ways. He knew several policewomen who were more than adequately trained to serve as decoys. One, in particular, owed him a favor. It would be an easy thing to hire her to impersonate Kate and to have her try to lure this guy out of hiding. All he had to do was come up with the proper plan. And get Kate out of the way while he executed it.

  Kate wouldn’t go for it In fact, he knew she’d vocally prohibit it Especially if someone else, no matter how skilled and well trained, would be exposed to danger on her account But then, who said he had to tell her about it? After all, he’d managed to keep her in the dark the last time her life was in danger. If he’d managed to elude her discovery for several weeks, he could easily manage one little sting operation without her finding out about it. Surely, once it was all over and she was finally and truly safe, she’d thank him for it.

  After rinsing the lemonade glasses in the kitchen sink and placing them in the dishwasher, Steve wandered into the living room. Kate stood in the middle of the floor, struggling with one of the card table’s legs and muttering beneath her breath.

  “Mind if I take a shot at it?” he asked.

  For a minute she looked as though she were going to refuse——that stubborn independence of hers again, he thought with a trace of bitterness. To his surprise, though, she stood back. While he dealt with the recalcitrant table leg, she busied herself straightening knickknacks that didn’t need straightening and plumping pillows that didn’t need plumping.

  “Thanks,” he said after he’d stowed the card table in the closet

  “For what?”

  “Letting me help.”

  “It was just a card table leg.”

  “Maybe to you,” he allowed. “But there was a time when you wouldn’t have let me do even that one small thing for you. As a matter of fact, you would have acted like my offer was the worst of insults.”

  She looked rueful. “I was that bad?”

  If he were at all chivalrous, he would lie through his teeth, tell her no, she hadn’t been bad at all. But then, he’d never been accused of being the least bit chivalrous. When it came down to it, he preferred his truth served sunny-side up, not down, and that was the way he served it to others.

  “Yes, Kate, you were.”

  She surpnsed him by agreeing with him. “I suppose I was. I guess I spent so many years fighting my brothers for the right to make just one tiny decision on my own, it was only natural the tendency would spill over into other areas of my life. It was always difficult for me to accept help from someone else.”

  “Was? Are you saying you don’t find it difficult anymore?” He allowed the skepticism he was feeling to color his voice.

  “Oh, it’s still difficult,” she acknowledged with a wry grin. “Just not as much as it used to be.” A teasing light entered her eyes. “And you thought I couldn’t be taught any new tricks.”

  For countless seconds, desire blinded him to all else but the light in her eyes and the curve of her lips. Lord, but he wanted her. Even though he knew better. Even though she’d made it more than plain that she didn’t want him. At least, not in a till-death-do-us-part way.

  “What brought about this miraculous change?” he asked to keep himself from reaching out for her.

  She extended one arm, indicating the room in which they stood. “This old house, for one. It didn’t take me more than thirty seconds to discover I was no Bob Vila, and that if I needed something fixed right, I wa
s going to have to hire someone with the ability to fix it.”

  “What else?”

  “My column. After it was syndicated nationwide, and the mail started pouring in, I realized I couldn’t handle it, the writing and the research all by myself.”

  “So you hired Martha.”

  “Yes.” She paused before adding, “And then a crazy man started stalking me, and I didn’t know how to protect myself. So I went to you.”

  “Do you regret it?” The words burst from his throat before he could bite them back.

  “No, Steve,” she said softly. “I don’t.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Somehow, she managed to looked proud, defiant and vulnerable all at the same time. And utterly beautiful. Just looking at her made his blood beat wildly in his veins and his heart hammer in his chest. Heaven only knew what would happen if he touched her.

  That was a lie. Past experience, along with eighteen months of self-imposed celibacy, told him exactly what would happen if he so much as laid a finger on her. He’d go up in flames like kindling that had been dried in the Sahara.

  The room was entirely too warm, he thought, as perspiration broke out on his forehead. He swallowed hard and reached up to loosen a tie that was nonexistent since he no longer wore his suit. He must have telegraphed some of what he was feeling to Kate, because an expression of uncertainty crossed her face. She licked her lips nervously before looking away.

  “I think I’ll go to bed,” she said.

  Bed. The word hit him like a sucker punch. The last thing he wanted to think about was her lying in bed. Unless, that is, she was waiting for him to join her.

  “I think I’ll do the same.” He heard the strain in his voice. After giving the alarm system a final check, he turned out the living room lights and followed her up the stairs.

  “No flute playing tonight?” she asked, stopping before her bedroom door.

  He shook his head. “I’m too tired.” When what he interpreted to be a flicker of relief crossed her face, he added, “Does my playing bother you?”