In His Safekeeping

by Shawna Delacorte

  Tara took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm the nearly out-of-control panic rampaging through her body. Only the consistent strength radiating from Brad as he protectively kept his arm around her shoulder prevented her from falling prey to those fears.

  The policeman looked at Tara. “You’re the registered owner of the vehicle?”

  “Uh…” She swallowed to break the dryness in her throat. “Yes, it’s my car.”

  “I need the make, model and license number. I also need your address and phone number.”

  Tara provided the officer with the information, all the while drawing comfort from Brad’s reassuring presence.

  “And you, Mr. McMillan…I need your address and phone number.” Brad gave the officer Tara’s address and phone number, alluding to the fact that they were living together.

  “Okay…now, what happened here?”

  Brad immediately took control of the conversation. “I’m really not sure, Officer. We came out of the restaurant and started across the parking lot. I was walking Miss Ford to her car.”

  The young officer looked up from his notebook, addressing his question to Brad. “You arrived in different vehicles?”

  “Yes, it was more convenient for us to meet here since we were coming from different directions.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Miss Ford took her car remote from her purse and clicked it to unlock the door and start the engine. There was a loud noise and the car burst into flames.”

  The officer stopped writing again. “Burst into flames…are you saying there was an explosion?”

  “I can’t really say what happened, Officer. Miss Ford and I—” he placed a tender kiss on her forehead “—didn’t actually see it. I assume it was caused by some sort of malfunction connected to the remote starter. Thank goodness no one was injured.”

  “I see. Wait here, please.”

  Brad and Tara watched as the officer crossed the parking lot and conferred with his partner. “How are you holding up?” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Even though he spoke to her, his gaze never left the officers as they talked.

  “Okay, I guess.” There was no denying the tremor in her voice.

  “Hang in there. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

  Another half hour passed before they were able to leave. One overriding thought kept circulating through Tara’s mind. She had to keep her wits about her and pull up all the inner strength she could muster. It was not the time to let her fears get the better of her. After what she had been through with the trial and all the chaos it had introduced into her normally ordered life, getting through this should be just one more hurdle to jump. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, her brave thoughts didn’t do anything to calm her fears.

  They drove away from the restaurant in Brad’s car. He carefully measured his words as he spoke, not wanting to frighten her any more than she obviously already was, but not wanting her to misunderstand the seriousness of the situation, either. “You won’t be going home tonight. We’ll stop at a store and you can buy whatever you’ll need for a day or two, then I’m checking you into a motel.”

  She jerked around in the seat until she faced him. “A motel?” She couldn’t conceal her irritation. He had made the decisions for her back at the restaurant when he had restrained her and when dealing with the police, but this was different. “You’re telling me I’m not allowed to go home? You’re making this decision on your own without even doing the courtesy of consulting me?”

  He snapped out an answer to her defensive attitude. “There’s nothing to discuss. Anyone determined to do so could find out where you live in a matter of minutes. I’m sure whoever is behind the bombing already knows where you live in addition to where you work.”

  His words struck a chord with her. If it was that easy, then why had Danny Vincent claimed it had taken him so long to discover where she had moved? Or had it really taken him that long?

  She glanced at Brad as they drove onto the interstate. Someone had just tried to kill her and now her life was in the hands of a total stranger who was driving her to an unknown place. She wasn’t sure exactly what to think or feel anymore.

  She had briefly thought about moving to another state and starting over after the trial in order to distance herself from the chaos that had been forced on her, but running away wasn’t her life pattern. The trial was over, she had a new job and she was free to return to her normal routine of dull and predictable. She had thought the only change would be her move from Seattle across Lake Washington to Bellevue to be close to her new place of employment. How wrong she had been.

  She had always done what was expected of her, gone along without making waves, which included agreeing to testify at the trial. She had information about John Vincent’s activities. It was her duty to testify—it was expected of her.

  Even taking the job at Green Valley Construction as soon as she graduated from college had been to please her mother. She had spent most of her life trying to be the daughter her mother wanted. As a child she had been subjected to constant fights between her mother and father. Finally her father walked out the door for good, leaving a ten-year-old girl to deal with her mother’s demands. She felt as if she had been abandoned, leaving her to believe that she couldn’t trust anyone. She had done her best to cope, but from that moment on her mother had leaned heavily on her for emotional support, draining her of a happy childhood. Her mother insisted that she was too frail and couldn’t manage by herself. She needed Tara’s help.

  She could still hear her mother’s words. Being a dancer isn’t any kind of respectable career for a young woman. Get yourself a nice secure office job where you can grow with the company, and if you don’t find yourself a husband, at least you won’t be washed up by forty and you’ll have a nice pension when it comes time for you to retire.

  She had finally been able to break away from her mother’s constant control when she had saved enough money from her job to move out and get her own apartment, but it didn’t stop her mother’s relentless attempts to interfere in her life. Getting married had not been on Tara’s list of goals, and as it turned out an office job had ended up being anything but secure. The only true risk she had ever taken in her life was agreeing to testify at John Vincent’s trial. That decision had turned her life upside down…and now, when she thought it was all over, it had come back to turn her life into a nightmare.

  The one shining moment had been her new job. Finding it had been a real stroke of luck. She had been at her favorite bookstore and had reached for a book at the same time as Judy Lameroux. They struck up a conversation that quickly turned into a friendship. Judy told her about a job opening at the company where she was the office manager. It was almost as if fate had stepped in to help her in her time of need. She liked her new job, her co-workers and her new home. And two months ago she had bought a new car…her first car that was brand new rather than used. It had seemed as if everything was going to be okay in spite of her brief sojourn in a chaotic situation.

  She glanced at Brad again. Trust hadn’t been easy for her since the upheaval of her childhood. It had been even more fleeting since her disastrous engagement to Danny Vincent, then reinforced by the subsequent arrest of the man who had employed her, followed by his trial and her being thrust into the very awkward and uncomfortable situation of being a witness.

  She took in Brad’s handsome profile and strong determination. When he put his arm around her shoulder in the restaurant parking lot he had provided her with a silent strength while at the same time calming her fears. It had also sent a little tremor of excitement through her body, something totally inappropriate for the situation yet a very real sensation. He was as fascinating and dynamic as the danger surrounding her was traumatic and frightening.

  And now she was all alone with this very appealing stranger in whom she was forced to place her trust. Her very life depended on whether that trust was valid. Another shiver of anx
iety confirmed what she already knew. The danger was very real. A chapter of her life that she thought was over had come back to haunt her and throw her life into turmoil again. Could she trust this man to help her? She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure she even knew how to trust anymore.

  Chapter Three

  Brad headed south from Seattle, exiting the interstate at Tacoma. He stopped at a discount store so Tara could buy the items she would need to stay overnight. They drove to a nearby motel. He checked into the room using the same fictitious name he had given the police officer, and paid cash in advance for two nights.

  He unlocked the door. “It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and will be safe for the time being. I’ll check with you in the morning.”

  She stood in the middle of the room, her gaze nervously darting from the bed to the television perched on the dresser, then to the small table and two chairs and finally the large stuffed chair in the corner without lingering on any one spot for more than a couple of seconds. Her words were soft and filled with the anxiety coursing through her body.

  “It never occurred to me that testifying against John Vincent would continue to control my life after the trial was over.”

  She finally looked up at Brad, capturing his gaze and holding it. She attempted to put on a brave front. “I’m not the type of person who is accustomed to taking chances. I knew it was my duty to testify at John’s trial—” a lump formed in her throat “—but I never dreamed my life would be turned upside down like this.”

  The words were difficult for her. Digging into her inner fears and expressing them did not come easily. “I thought when the trial was over everything would go back to normal with the only change being superficial…a new job and a different place to live. I had assumed my daily routine would return to what it had been before all this started.” She forced the words while trying to keep her anxieties from creeping into her voice. “But that’s not the way it turned out.”

  Tara glanced around the small room again. “I guess I’d better get settled in—” she focused her attention on the floor “—although all I have to unpack is the sack from the discount store.” She looked up at him, her voice falling off to a frightened whisper. “Will I be here for very long?”

  It had been quite a while since anything latched on to Brad and turned him inside out the way he was at that moment. Tara was obviously frightened and trying her best not to show it. He marshaled his composure. If nothing else, he needed to maintain a calm and in-control outer presence in order to instill a confidence in her that said he knew what he was doing. “Just tonight, maybe two nights at the most while I work out a plan to keep you safe until I gather enough new information to be able to convince my boss of the danger and get you some official protection.”

  “But doesn’t someone’s planting a bomb in my car qualify as proof?”

  “It’s proof that you, Tara Ford, are personally in danger, but it doesn’t tie anything in with the John Vincent case or the deaths of the other witnesses. The culprit could be a disgruntled lover, a co-worker or even a relative. There’s nothing there that takes this out of the realm of a local police investigation, or that makes it the concern of the U.S. Marshals Service. There’s no evidence to connect the bombing with the protection of witnesses in the John Vincent case.”

  “Oh.” She glanced down at the floor, the disappointment ringing loud and clear in her voice. “I see. I didn’t realize what the difference was.”

  He placed his fingertips beneath her chin and lifted until he could see her eyes. The physical contact sent a tingle of excitement through him that he tried to ignore.

  It was much easier when someone was officially under the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service. She would have been allowed to pack a suitcase, then been taken to a known safe house or nice hotel room with deputy marshals on duty to protect her around the clock. All he had offered her was a sack of bare essentials from a discount store, an out-of-the-way motel and his promise that he would protect her even though he would be leaving her there alone. Again, his failure to protect his wife came back to haunt him. It was the day he had closed off his heart.

  He quickly shook away the disturbing memories and returned his attention to the problem at hand. He wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish the task he had set for himself, but right now he had to do something to help her over the first of what he suspected would be many rough spots.

  “I need to go back to my office for a little while. I have a few things to do that can’t be done during normal hours.” He saw the trepidation come into her eyes and it pulled at his senses. “I’ll check back with you in a couple of hours. But first, there are a few things I need to go over with you before I leave. Come on…let’s sit down.”

  He placed his hand at the small of her back and escorted her across the room to the large chair. He grabbed a straight-back chair and sat down facing her. He took the cell phone from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  “Here…this is one of my personal cell phones. Keep this with you at all times. No one knows you’re here. I registered at the front desk using the same name I gave the officer at the restaurant—Don McMillan. I’ve paid for two nights in advance. There’s no reason for anyone to be calling you here, so I don’t want you answering the motel phone. If I need to get in touch with you I’ll call you on my cell phone. Don’t answer it right away. I’ll let it ring twice, hang up then call right back. Don’t answer unless it’s that signal.”

  He took one of his business cards from his pocket and jotted a couple of phone numbers on the back, then handed it to her. “Here’s my phone number at the office and my Marshals Service cell phone number. I’ve written my home phone on the back and also the number of my other personal cell phone. If you need to get in touch with me, try my personal cell phone first, my home second, my Marshals cell phone third and the office as the last choice. Don’t leave your name, just say you’re my cousin from Los Angeles and I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay.” She took the card, looked at it for a moment, then put it in her purse.

  “I’ll see you in a little while.” He offered her a confident smile, reached out and squeezed her hand. “In the meantime, try to get some rest.”

  The last thing he wanted to do was leave her and it was as much personal as it was business. The feel of her hand in his sent a ripple of excitement through his body. He reluctantly let loose of her hand. He had to keep focused on business. He could not allow his newly awakened emotions to get the upper hand.

  BRAD LEFT the motel and headed back toward Seattle. If nothing else, the bombing of Tara’s car told him he was on the right track with his theory. What wasn’t immediately obvious was what to do about it.

  He arrived at his office, unlocked the door and let himself in. It was after hours and he looked forward to having the place to himself. As he made his way down the hallway, a sound from the file room brought him to an abrupt halt. Someone else was there. He quickly detoured toward the coffee room, plunked some coins into the slot and took the cup of coffee from the machine.

  He rounded the door toward his cubicle and literally ran into the office’s computer expert, Shirley Bennett. The hot coffee splashed over the top of the cup. He jerked his hand back, dropping the full cup to the floor in the process. Shirley tried to maintain a grasp on her purse and the two department-store sacks she held in her arms without any success. Everything fell to the floor.

  “Damn…” Brad shook his hand, then pulled his wet shirt away from his body where the coffee had soaked through to his skin. “That’s hot!”

  “Are you all right?” Shirley’s formal, all-business voice gave no hint of any irritation at the collision.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced down at the contents that had spilled from her purse and the items of clothing that had tumbled from the shopping bags, what appeared to be gym workout clothes.

  “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize you were there. Let me help you with this.” He kn
eeled down and began picking up the items—her wallet, a day planner, a comb, a small makeup pouch, a bottle of eyedrops and the case for her glasses. He stared at the eyeglass case for a moment, noting the name of the optometrist before handing everything to her.

  “It seems we go to the same eye doctor. How do you like Dr. Keeson?” A slight grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The bold pattern and bright colors of the case didn’t go with the style of her glasses or fit in with her plain appearance.

  “He’s very nice.” Shirley took the items from him and shoved them in her purse. “You’re here late. I thought you were on light duty until your shoulder wound healed completely. And to that we can add your most recent abrasions.” She gestured toward his face.

  He chose to ignore her comments about his split lip, the gash on his chin and the scrapes across his cheek. “I’m feeling fine. The doctor thinks I should give this shoulder another week or so to heal from the bullet wound before he releases me to field duty.”

  “Is there a problem of some sort that brings you back to the office after hours?”

  “I’m catching up on a little paperwork. I thought I could get a lot of it done tonight when no one was around. I want all of it cleaned up so I can get back to field duty.”

  “Well, if there’s nothing you need me for, I think I’ll call it a day.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Shirley.”

  Brad watched as she walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner. She had only been in the Seattle office of the U.S. Marshals Service for a couple of months. He didn’t know her very well as she seemed to keep mostly to herself. She had been transferred from another district to fill the vacancy created when their computer expert retired.

  She seemed very efficient at her job of being their software expert and maintaining the computer system. No matter what the problem, she had it fixed immediately. Any difficulty accessing files or finding information on the Internet and she was a whiz at handling it. In fact, she exactly fit his concept of a computer-nerd stereotype…straight brown hair worn short with bangs, medium-brown eyes, horn-rimmed glasses, about twenty pounds overweight, most of which seemed to be on her hips and around her waist probably due to lack of exercise, very little makeup, quiet and kept to herself. She was short compared to his six-one height. He guessed she topped out at five foot three.