Deadly Influence

by Lakes, Lynde

  Jay didn’t give a rat’s ass what his grandmother put in her will, but he wouldn’t let anyone cheat or mistreat her. However, before he charged in there, he needed more evidence than simply observing a bunch of construction work going on to confirm Tom’s claims that Bud was up to no good. Many times in the past, conniving Cousin Tom had twisted things to get what he wanted.

  Lisa Dixon, bodyguard and security specialist for Meta Corning, fought her urge to shake the matriarch’s forty-year-old grandson. “Why can’t you grasp that high security is needed? First, six weeks ago an unidentified man with a big, hot hand pushed your grandmother into the street at a crowded intersection. Next, a shadowy man tried to push her down an escalator. Damn it, someone wants her dead.”

  Bud glared at her. “A couple of near accidents doesn’t give you the right to turn my home into a damn fortress.”

  “Accidents?” Lisa clenched her fists. “Those were attempted murder! And the trouble hasn’t stopped. Good God, her precious Gulliver was nailed to the front door—then the same night, the near breakin, and then the threatening telephone calls started again.”

  “I handled the calls. I disconnected her bedroom phone.”

  “What about the cat killing? You can’t whitewash that. Your grandmother got a bad bruise on her forehead when she collapsed—and she could have broken a hip.”

  “Quit making such an f’n big thing out of it. Dr. Hendricks said there was no permanent damage.”

  “No permanent damage! That hideous image of Gulliver will torture your grandmother forever.” Lisa remembered crying buckets herself while she cleaned up the mess. “And… damn it… we don’t know what that cat-murdering sicko might do next.”

  “If the asshole comes around again,” Bud said, flexing his muscles, “I’ll take care of him. And we don’t need some security-freak nurse spending the Corning fortune like play money to do it.”

  Lisa clamped her mouth shut. He was baiting her, but damn it, she wouldn’t take the bait. It would be easier if Bud knew she was a bodyguard and not a nurse. She hated the games. Besides, if he wasn’t behind all the trouble, she could use an ally. It would be a relief to tell him what she was up to. Maybe then, he would be more cooperative.

  The hope of any future cooperation dissipated after he glared at her and growled. “Moreover, I intend to tell Grandma to fire you. Now!”

  “Don’t you dare bother her with all this, Bud!”

  “I don’t take orders from the help!” He headed up the stairway. “Pack your bags. You’re history.”

  Lisa shook her head. Meta would never fire her, but the ailing woman shouldn’t have to deal with hassles in her weakened condition. Lisa felt like tackling him. Maybe if she dragged the dense idiot back down the stairs and knocked some sense into him, he’d wise up.

  She paced the highly polished golden oak floor. Her footsteps echoed and bounced off the high inlaid ceiling like ricocheting bullets. Why did Bud battle her constantly about the security expenditures? It seemed this muscle-bound forty-something overgrown child was more concerned about money than the attempts on his grandmother’s life. Was it only a coincidence that he was always gone during the trouble? It would be better if he lived elsewhere, but his grandmother wanted him there. Unless she could come up with proof that he was up to no good, Meta would let him stay. Meta’s protection of Bud made the job harder. Lisa shook a fist at the empty stairway. Moreover, pretending to be a nurse was ridiculous. Meta needed a bodyguard who was intimidating and visible, not one disguised as a nurse. And damn it, she had the background, skills, and security training to be that someone. When Meta insisted that the whole protection setup remain under wraps, Lisa had flat-out refused the job. No investigator could do her best with such dangerous constraints placed upon her.

  Then Meta had a stroke. Although an imposing matriarch before, the stroke had left her feeling vulnerable. Lisa had never before had a client beg. It was heart-wrenching. Meta’s usually strong voice had trembled and sounded weak. “I need someone I have a rapport with,” she’d said. “And a woman. I’m tired of men trying to ride roughshod over me.”

  Lisa understood the feeling, and with Meta Corning being a longtime friend, her frailty and vulnerability hit Lisa harder than if the prospective client had been a stranger. She still didn’t like the constraints, but finally accepted the assignment after Meta agreed to give her temporary power of attorney and access to enough funds to beef up security. The first thing she did was examine all the many security liabilities within the Corning Estate Mansion and grounds, looking at the property as an intruder would.

  Good security didn’t come cheap, and Bud ranted constantly about all the changes made to the property by a stranger he claimed wasn’t acting in the best interests of the family. His concerns about the dwindling inheritance rolled off Lisa’s back. Bud wasn’t running the show—her only concern was to keep Meta alive.

  Lisa drew in a long breath. On her orders, the landscaping crew had already cut back the trees that shadowed possible entry points and made access to the mansion too easy for an intruder. The crew had also finished clearing the orange grove back fifty feet to provide sufficient dead land between the grove and the walled area, now under construction.

  Soon, the mansion would have the highest red brick wall that the Redlands Building and Safety Department would allow, and the residence would be equipped with a top-notch security system, including cameras along the front walkway. When the security and wall guys completed the work, hopefully in three more weeks, the property would be fully walled with ten-foot-high wrought iron gates. A security code would be required to open them and drive onto the grounds.

  Meta had put her foot down when Lisa wanted to install bulletproof glass in the larger front windows. The dear lady wouldn’t allow anyone to touch her irreplaceable Belgium windows. Lisa let her have her way after Meta pointed out that the heavily beveled Tiffany-type stained glass was three times thicker than today’s windows anyway.

  Lisa turned at the sound of rapidly descending footsteps on the wide, spiraled stairway, knowing it was Bud returning. At the bottom, he paused as though for effect. He closed his fingers into curved claws on the serpentine dragon tail spindles, his eyes scathing.

  What an ass. He didn’t scare her. Lisa wanted to pound him senseless for upsetting the fragile woman again.

  “Damn you, Lisa,” Bud said as he charged toward her, looking mean as a junkyard dog. “I don’t know what this control is you have over Grandma,” he shouted, “but don’t think I’ll just sit back and let you take over.”

  She stepped aside, dodging out of his reach, and lifted her chin. “I already have. Get used to it.”

  He balled his fists. Hatred glinted in his eyes. Lisa tensed, ready to take him down if necessary. She had handled guys bigger than him when she was a cop. Their gazes locked. She could do the mean-eyed stare as long as he could. Suddenly he whirled and headed out the front door.

  Jay jolted alert as Bud slammed the front door. His brother lowered his head like a charging bull, ready to gore anything in his path. Bud’s blond mane was still rock-star long, and he’d retained his football lineman build. Judging by the speed and agility of his running strides, he was in good shape. Bud wore his forty years well, in spite of Tom’s bad-mouthing assertion that Bud was a heavy drinker. If his fool brother hadn’t changed in deed any more than he’d changed in appearance, he was probably the same immature, trouble-seeking, sometimes violent bastard he’d always been.

  Bud yanked open the door of his hopped-up, primer-painted Thunderbird and climbed in. Jay tipped his Stetson lower on his forehead, stopping just past the top rim of his mirrored sunglasses. It was a needless gesture. Bud didn’t even glance toward the van.

  Bud gunned his T-Bird to life and sped backward out of the long drive. Now might be a good time to talk to Grandma. If she wasn’t well enough to talk, perhaps he could speak to Bud’s woman. What might be the disadvantage of just appearing at the door unannoun
ced? Whoa, it looked like he wouldn’t have to. She stepped out onto the porch and glared at Bud’s disappearing T-Bird. So, all was not well between the lovebirds. If that was the case, getting rid of the woman might be easier than he thought—divide and conquer.

  Jay wanted to use his binoculars to zero in on her features, but if someone saw him, it would be a red flag that he was spying. No sense chancing it. He could see well enough. The woman wasn’t very big, but her erect posture and “take no prisoners” stance suggested that she was a compact lil’ powerhouse. Her whole body seemed charged with anger and energy. Whatever was wrong between the lovers, Bud had probably been wise to clear out until she cooled off. As furious as she obviously was, she still spied his van. She raked her gaze over it, and him. Now what? He could take advantage of Bud’s absence and her anger toward him and end this waiting game. He could march right up to her and tell her who he was. However, if Bud had left instructions to keep him out, that direct approach might work against him. He’d better stay put for awhile. Sometimes no action was the best option. Maybe she’d think he was part of the construction operation.

  But who the hell was she? She moved among the workers with a confident stride like she owned the place. She wore a sleeveless T-shirt that revealed enough feminine muscle to be interesting. Her formfitting jeans had already attracted appraising looks from some of the construction crew working on the wall, but her no-nonsense stride would probably discourage whistles. He could see why Bud was attracted to her. She was “lean and mean,” and understatedly gorgeous. The way she moved reminded Jay of the women in his unit—strong, powerful, and in control. For sure, Bud was no match for this woman. And Tom was right, she was no nurse.

  She spoke to a workman. The muscular black man had been shouting orders to the other men like he might be the construction boss. The big guy looked in Jay’s direction, squinted, shrugged, and looked away. But the woman didn’t look away. Jay shifted under her unrelenting gaze. He felt wired, like he’d been plugged into an electrical circuit. The woman wasn’t at all what he’d expected. An uneasy feeling tugged at him. He gripped the steering wheel, trying to regain his usually unflappable control.

  He was relieved when the big guy distracted her. The guy pointed to a length of steel rebar, perhaps telling her the quantity he’d used in the wall. They talked a few minutes. She sent another glance in his direction, then turned and went back into the house. What was the deal with her? What was her interest in Grandma’s property? And why the hell did it appear that she was in charge?

  Jay poured a cup of coffee from his thermos and grabbed a green apple from his duffel bag. He wasn’t thirsty or hungry, but the activity gave him something to do while he tried to figure out his next move. He crunched into the crisp apple, then took a gulp of coffee to wash away the tart taste. Or was it to neutralize the bad taste he had in his mouth for what he had to do? Undecided about his next move, Jay slouched deeper into the seat and rubbed his tight neck muscles.

  The front door opened again, and Bud’s woman walked out into the yard. Her unflinching gaze zeroed in on his van again. And he couldn’t stop looking at her. She had captured her honey-blonde hair in a ponytail. A few lighter tendrils had escaped and straggled carelessly about her temples. She didn’t look like the vulnerable or easy airheads that Bud had gravitated to in his younger years. Something didn’t add up. This woman couldn’t be the wild temptress Tom wanted him to get rid of. If Jay had sized her up correctly, she could be far more dangerous than that.

  Lisa stared at the black late-model Chevy passenger van with darkly tinted windows. It had been there at least since dawn. She’d seen it from Meta’s window when she’d checked in on her. She knew most of the vehicles in the neighborhood of orange groves and large estates. This was the first day she had seen this one. Did the driver have something to do with the hang-up phone calls, the threatening notes, and the near-fatal shoving incident?

  So far she hadn’t seen anyone near the van. The tinted windows and the glaring sun reflected on them prevented her from seeing inside. If Bud hadn’t run off like that, she could have asked him to check out the van. She didn’t like to get too far from Meta’s side.

  Lisa glanced up at Meta’s bedroom window again. Her mid-morning medication would make her sleep until noon. Lisa had securely locked the doors and windows to the matriarch’s bedroom. She zeroed in on the van again. Getting too close to an unidentified vehicle unarmed could expose her to a possible setup. And if something happened to her, Meta would be alone and vulnerable.

  In the distance, she heard a door slam. It was Meta’s next-door neighbor, Howard, an elderly widower. Lisa waved to him. He had a remarkably erect posture for an old guy, and unusually thick silver hair. He took his mail from the box and returned to his house. Minutes later, she watched a well-dressed red-haired man go into Howard’s house. Was that the redhead’s van parked across the street? She didn’t think so—he’d come from the opposite direction. Maybe he owned the sleek white truck parked further down the street. The truck’s door had something written on it. But it was too far away to read. She wished she had brought her binoculars outside with her. She guessed by the redheaded man’s bulging briefcase that he was the land developer, Cornel Drake, who had been contacting people in the area. No doubt he was calling on Howard to make his pitch to buy his property. He had an appointment to talk with Meta tomorrow. Bud told Meta this morning that Drake wanted to buy her estate and all the land, including the orange grove. Bud had persuaded Meta to talk to the developer. That was a switch for Bud. He usually didn’t allow visitors, and he screened Meta’s calls, using the threats she’d received as his excuse. He refused to tell his grandmother when anyone in the family called, claiming she was too ill to be bothered. Lisa had argued with him about that, too. Friendly voices were what Meta needed now to keep her spirits up. Besides, she wasn’t all that ill anymore, and getting stronger every day.

  Lisa sensed that someone was watching her. The feeling grew stronger. She wrinkled her brow. Someone was in the van, she knew it. The sun had moved in the sky and rearranged the glare on the van’s windshield and, as she stepped closer she thought she saw a shadow shift behind the tinted glass. She glanced down at the license plate, stared at it a moment, setting the number to memory. Then, circling wide so as not to get too close, she angled for a side view. The window on the driver’s side was rolled down. A man hunched down behind the steering wheel as though deliberately hiding behind his mirrored sunglasses and low-riding black Stetson hat. Lisa’s shoulder muscles tightened. Was this “cowboy,” lurking around in an unmarked, darkened van with no apparent business in the area, behind the evil going on?

  A blinding glint of sun reflected off his glasses. Lisa didn’t slow her steps, her gaze trained on him. He’d better have a good reason for being here. Before she reached him, he gunned the engine to life, and then the van began to move. “Wait!” she called.

  He paused, engine idling, and tipped his Stetson lower on his face. Between the hat, the shadow it cast, and the sunglasses, his only visible features were a firm jawline, interesting lips—the upper moderately slender, the bottom attractively fuller, and the hint of a cleft chin.

  “Want something, miss?”

  His tone was polite, his deep, Texan drawl clearly fake. If he wasn’t guilty of something, why was he so careful to hide his features and to fake a drawl? The width and breadth of his shoulders told her he was a powerfully built man.

  “You have business in this neighborhood?” she asked. Often the shock of direct confrontation brought out the truth.

  “You a cop or something?” A mocking thread had crept into his voice. He’d come too close to the truth too quickly. Did he know about her… her secrets?

  “Why are you parked across the street from my house?”

  “Oh, that’s your house, is it?” His sarcastic tone made her suspect that he knew exactly whose house it was. “Well, if you don’t want me here, I’ll just move on.”

&
nbsp; “Not until you tell me who you are and what you want here.”

  “Want? Is that an invitation? Are you flirting with me, Miss?” His lips curved into an insolent smile. Even shaded by the shadow of his hat, she noticed that darn lower lip was sensuous and sardonic.

  He was trying to unsettle her. But she wouldn’t play his game. “Look, either identify yourself to me, or I’ll call the police and you can show your ID to them.”

  “It’s a public street, Miss. And I don’t see a No Parking sign here.”

  “Think you have all the answers, Cowboy? Well, we’ll just get it on file that you’ve been hanging around the neighborhood, a neighborhood, by the way, that’s been plagued by breakins.” The police would get his name, and she could take it from there. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

  “Wait. Our solution here, Miss, is for me to just leave.” His voice deepened and grew teasingly intimate. “So unless what you really want is my body, I’ll be on my way.” With that slight curl to his lower lip, his smile was pure evil. “Well, do you?”

  She flipped her cell closed. “Not if you were the last man on earth.”

  His presence here could be a setup to distract her. If the police came, she’d have to deal with them, and she didn’t want to leave Meta alone during all the hassle. If she had to identify this guy later, she was certain she’d never forget the combination of those powerful-looking shoulders, that hint of a cleft chin, and his insolent, deep voice—even minus the faked drawl. No doubt about it, she’d never forget this man!

  “Last chance,” he said in his ridiculous drawl. His egotistical manner reminded her of Bud. She glared at the fake cowboy. The van began to move, and he gave her a salute as he drove off.