by Paula Graves
“Wonder why he didn’t re-up?” If Harlan hadn’t been pushed out by his own CO, he’d still be in the Marines himself. Maybe not as a sniper, but he could have found something else he could do. He had a bum hand; he wasn’t disabled.
“Sanchez is the youngest in his family and the only boy. His mom’s widowed now, getting a little older.”
“Likes to have a man around to do guy kinds of things?” Harlan asked, his treacherous mind heading straight back to Twin Harts Ranch and Stacy Giordano’s small, neat little guesthouse.
Stacy didn’t want a man around. That much had been evident in their conversation about her husband.
But her kiss-that had suggested something else, hadn’t it? “Something like that,” Law answered. He nodded his head toward the plastic bag Harlan was holding. “That the flower?”
Harlan laid it on the table in front of Law. Overnight in the bag, the bloom had lost some of its dewy freshness. “Any chance of getting a print off of that?”
“If it had been found at the scene of a mass murder, maybe. But dropping a flower bud on a porch isn’t a crime. Nobody’s going to pay money for the technology it would take to get a print off that, not even Bart. Not unless you’ve got proof it’s connected to the bombing.”
Harlan sat across from Law, giving the small plastic bag a frustrated nudge. “I can’t get it out of my head-Stacy Giordano is like a peach ready to pick. She’s about as deep inside the governor’s inner circle as you get. She lives alone, on the ranch, and has a son who’s a handful to deal with.”
“You think she could be bribed?” Law asked.
Harlan’s gut told him no. “I don’t think she’s corruptible where money is concerned. But if someone were to threaten her kid, I don’t think she’d let ethics get in her way. She’ll do anything for her son.”
“Well, we’ve got her under twenty-four-hour guard.”
“But what about Zachary?” Harlan asked. “He could be snatched at school, or grabbed at his riding lessons, or hell, he could wander off at the ranch and get into God knows what kind of trouble.” Harlan ran his hand over his head, wishing he had more information to work with. Something to tell him what direction the threat was coming from. Then, maybe, he’d be prepared when it happened.
“I hate to heap more bad news on you,” Law said, giving Harlan a sympathetic look, “but apparently there’s a group out of Austin planning to protest at the fundraiser. A group called Planet Justice filed for a permit.”
“But the party is on the governor’s personal property.”
“That didn’t stop the protestors down in Crawford a few years back, did it?” Law pointed out. “She’s a public figure. People are going to protest. And from what little I know of Lila Lockhart, I’d say she’ll probably want you to accommodate them. Free speech is a big damned deal with her.”
Harlan suspected Law was right. The governor was exactly the kind of person who’d bend over backward to support constitutional rights, even at her own cost or inconvenience.
He supposed he’d have to bring up the subject with her as soon as he could set up a meeting. If he was going to have to contend with a crowd of protesters along with all the other threats he needed to anticipate, it was better to know it now rather than later.
He’d been crazy to let Bart and the governor talk him into this assignment-especially since it had been his curiosity about Stacy Giordano that had sealed the deal.
On top of everything else he had to contend with, Stacy was quickly becoming the most vexing complication of all.
ON FRIDAYS, Zachary stayed an hour late at Cradles to Crayons, working in a one-on-one session with Charlotte to improve his socializing skills, so Stacy didn’t break for lunch until almost one. Before she headed into town, she walked down to the Twin Harts stables, dutifully signing in at every checkpoint, and stopped in, planning to thank the head groom, Cory Miller, for letting Zachary ride a couple of days earlier on such short notice.
Cory was out to lunch himself, but Trevor Lewis, the stable hand who’d taken Zachary out for the ride, was in one of the stalls, grooming a magnificent brown bay gelding. He smiled at her when she called his name.
“Hey there, Stacy. You in the mood for a ride?”
She smiled back. “No, just had a moment and wanted to thank you for letting Zachary ride on such short notice the other day. I really appreciate it.”
Trevor gave the gelding’s rump a gentle pat and came out of the stall, wiping his hands on his jeans. “He’s a fun kid, once you get used to his ways. And he’s real good with the horses. They all like him. Has a nice touch.”
His words of praise for Zachary warmed her. It was rare when people looked past his oddness to see the great kid underneath. She knew Zachary’s problems would only get more challenging as he grew older, so the more people around him who understood who he really was, the better.
Of course, Trevor wasn’t likely to be around in a few years, was he? Groom jobs at the stable were usually pretty short-term, until the holder moved on to a better paying situation. Trevor was in his late twenties, putting him a few years older than most of the other grooms who worked for Cory in the stables. Of course, with the economy as difficult as it was at the moment, the job might be more appealing now than it would be at other times.
“I feel as if I should pay you for the time you took with Zachary,” she said aloud.
Trevor shook his head. “The governor pays us well enough already. Besides, taking Zachary out is like taking a break from work.” He flashed her a smile full of unexpected charm, making her notice for the first time that underneath his overlong brown hair and layer of stable grime, Trevor Lewis was a nice-looking man. Though he was only a few inches taller than she was, his lean frame was hard-muscled and masculine.
In some ways, he reminded her a lot of her ex-husband, Anthony. Not in looks-Trevor’s eyes were hazel, not blue, and his skin was a good deal fairer than her ex-husband’s-but they shared a similar vibrant charm that had a way of catching a person by surprise with its intensity.
“You had lunch yet?” Trevor asked. “I’m about to head into town for something to eat. Would you like to join me?”
If she were a different woman in a different situation, it wouldn’t be hard to imagine taking him up on the offer. He was, at most, no more than four or five years younger than she was, and his willingness to work a hard, dirty job was no mark against him in Stacy’s book.
But now that she’d connected him in her mind to Anthony, there was no way she’d consider it. Deep down, she’d known that her marriage to Anthony would never last, long before he walked away from her and their son. She just hadn’t wanted to admit that she’d been foolish enough to marry a man based solely on his dazzling charm and her own growing sense of time ticking inexorably away.
She stepped backward without even realizing she was going to do so, as if subconsciously she felt the need to put distance between herself and Trevor. “I already have plans,” she answered, reassuring her conscience that lunch with her son qualified as a plan. “But you enjoy yourself.”
“I will,” he answered with the same smooth charm that had caught her attention a moment ago. If he was disappointed in her answer, he didn’t show it. “Enjoy yourself, too.”
She smiled in answer and walked away more quickly than she’d intended. By the time she was halfway back to the ranch house, she began to wonder if she’d been imagining the similarities she’d seen between Trevor and Anthony. On the surface, at least, they were certainly nothing alike. Anthony wouldn’t be caught dead mucking out a stall or wearing grubby jeans and hair down to his shoulders.
Maybe she was just gun-shy where men were concerned in general. Her experience with Anthony had been one hell of a wake-up call for her in a lot of ways, not least of which was her bad judgment in men.
She’d thought him perfect, when he was anything but. She’d thought fatherhood would smooth the edges of his dog-eat-dog nature, but instead, his drive to b
e the best had apparently driven him to toss away the defective son-and the defective wife who bore him-so that he could find a better model.
As she neared the guesthouse, she was greeted by Lila’s campaign manager, Greg Merritt, chatting with Rob Sanchez at the new checkpoint. A splint encased Greg’s left wrist.
“What happened to you?” She nodded toward the splint.
“Your boss took me riding yesterday. The black mare was feisty.” His smile remained in place, but something Stacy saw in his eyes made her think Merritt wasn’t entirely comfortable dealing with a woman like Lila Lockhart.
“I hope it’s not broken.” She fell into step with him as they walked to the guesthouse.
“Just a sprain.” He glanced at her. “Guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“Well, yes. Do you need my help with something?”
“Actually, I need your car.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “My car?”
“The governor and Bart Bellows are meeting with a group of high-dollar donors this evening in Amarillo. We’re trying to keep it very low-key-some of these donors aren’t ready to tip their hands yet about their support for any of the party’s candidates.”
“And if you take my car, it won’t draw attention from the press?” Stacy guessed. “Of course you can use my car.”
“When was the last time you took it in for service?”
“I had the oil changed about a month ago, but the tires could probably use balancing, and I guess I should have the brakes and tires checked.”
“Can you take it in today to have it checked out? The governor will need it around 4:00 p.m.”
“Of course.” She was planning on a quiet night with Zachary and his Black Beauty DVD anyway.
“Perfect. Just get the receipts for the service to the governor and she’ll be sure you’re reimbursed for the expense.” Greg walked away without saying goodbye, pulling out his BlackBerry and punching in a number.
Rob Sanchez stopped him at the checkpoint, Stacy noted with amusement. Harlan McClain, or whoever at CSI had hired the young bodyguard, had good judgment in personnel.
She glanced at her watch-twelve-thirty. If she left now, she’d have time to leave her car at Hal’s Garage for the checkup and service, walk to the day care to pick up Zachary and then take him to the diner for lunch. She pulled out her phone to let Hal’s Garage know she was coming.
HARLAN HAD THOUGHT WORKING at the CSI offices that morning would make it easier to keep his mind on the work at hand and off of his growing attachment to Stacy Giordano and her son. But he’d spent most of the morning wondering what they were doing.
He knew Zachary would be at the day care, probably learning how to control his random chatter and the finer points of relating to his peers without freaking them out with his intensity and complete disregard for personal space. The kid was bright and interesting, and it would be a damned shame if his schoolmates treated him like a pariah. He had so much to offer, but kids could be cruel.
If Harlan was experiencing just this small amount of angst for the boy, what must his mother go through every day as she dropped him off at school?
No wonder she put up walls between herself and other people. Being Zachary’s mother was a round-the-clock job she already had to share with her work for the governor.
Stop it. Just stop it. She’s just an employee you’re supervising. She’s not bed-buddy material.
But when he entered Talk of the Town and spotted Stacy sitting at a booth near the counter, his whole body seemed to leap at the sight.
Zachary was with her, Harlan saw as he drew closer. Zachary spotted him first, mostly because he was peeking his head around the booth to watch the other diners. His blue eyes widened when he saw Harlan, but he quickly went back to the task of scoping out the other customers.
Harlan figured for Zachary, that brief moment of recognition was as good as an excited greeting. He’d take it.
When Stacy caught sight of him, her expression was a bit more subdued. She gave a nod of recognition but didn’t exactly make him feel welcome.
He supposed he deserved that for the way he’d left this morning without a goodbye. And if he were a smart man, he’d nod back and keep going.
But nobody had ever accused him of being smart.
“Everything going okay at the ranch?” he asked, stopping at their table.
“Fine,” she answered flatly.
Zachary didn’t say hello, but he scooted to the end of the booth and started playing with the sugar dispenser, making room on the bench for Harlan to sit down.
“Just you two for lunch?” Harlan asked.
Her lips flattened to a thin line, but she made the offer. “Would you like to join us?”
He felt a little guilty for forcing the invitation, but not guilty enough to refuse the offer. He sat next to Zachary. “Have you ordered yet?”
“Just our drinks. Molly should be back in a minute for our lunch orders.” The cool tone of Stacy’s voice made Harlan’s stomach ache.
Figured. He finally found himself thinking of something more than sex with a woman and she was determined to cut him off at the knees. Of course, his hasty retreat that morning probably hadn’t done much to endear him to her.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I just hotfooted it out of there this morning. That was rude.”
“You were there to keep us safe. You didn’t owe us anything else. We appreciate it.”
So formal, he thought. “That’s not all it was, and you know it. Don’t you?”
The pained look in her eyes showed her reluctance to have this conversation. But ignoring the attraction between them hadn’t seemed to work very well so far. Maybe getting it out in the open and putting it to rest was the only solution.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
He glanced at Zachary. “I want to discuss this in private, but since that’s not an option, I guess I want to be honest about something. I’m not a good bet for happily ever after. Been there, done that, got burned.”
Her lips curved slightly. “Same here.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not still a grown man.”
“With grown man needs?”
He nodded.
“Is this some sort of proposition?”
“No,” he said quickly, realizing he was botching this conversation royally. “I’m not proposing anything. I just thought we should get clear about what happened last night. I guess I’m asking what you want to happen.”
“I don’t want anything to happen.”
He frowned at her quick refusal. Couldn’t she have at least considered the possibilities before she nixed starting any kind of relationship? “Okay, then.”
She gave him an oddly sympathetic look. “It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. I do. I’m just old enough and wise enough to understand the difference between wanting something and needing it. Whatever I might want where you’re concerned, I know I don’t need it. I don’t need the complication or the headache. Can you understand that?”
Probably better than she knew. And he could accept it, he supposed. He just didn’t have to like it. “I understand,” he said. “And now that we’re clear, maybe we can work in the same room without things getting so strange between us.”
“Absolutely.”
“A hug should only last for the count of three,” Zachary commented from his end of the booth. He wrapped his arms around Harlan’s waist and counted aloud. “One. Two. Three.” He grinned up at Harlan and let go.
Stacy chuckled. “Charlotte’s been teaching him some interrelational skills. How not to scare the other children.”
“I could use a little training in that area, buddy,” Harlan told Zachary. “What else did you learn today?”
Before Zachary could answer, the sound of sirens rose outside the diner. As the lunch crowd started moving toward the windows to see what was going on, Stacy’s cell phone began to ring. She answered it, then listened
for a couple of seconds to the speaker on the other end of the call. To Harlan’s alarm, every bit of color leached from her face. “What?”
The doors of the diner burst open, and a pair of Freedom sheriff’s deputies rushed inside. One of them, a tall, lanky man in his mid-thirties, barked out an order. “Everybody, we need to evacuate the area. If you’re on foot, we’ve got a couple of vans outside. Otherwise, we want you to head east and gather at the Baptist Church on Mesquite. We’ll let you know what’s going on once we’ve cleared the square.”
Harlan looked back at Stacy. Her eyes were wide and dark in her bloodless face. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.
She spoke in a faint, strangled voice. “That was Hal from the garage on the phone. They found a bomb attached to the undercarriage of my car.”
Chapter Eleven
Even after two hours of talking to the sheriff’s deputies, Stacy couldn’t stop shivering, delayed reaction setting in with ruthless strength. “My son was in that car. Anything could have gone wrong-we could have hit a bump-”
Harlan wrapped his jacket around her, although she knew her chills weren’t a result of being cold.
He’d been here with her at the sheriff’s department ever since Jeff Appleton, the deputy who’d cleared the diner, had pulled her aside for questioning when they reconvened at the church. Harlan had insisted on coming along as a material witness, since he’d spent many of those hours with her.
Charlotte, bless her sweet soul, had volunteered to keep Zachary occupied elsewhere at the station while the sheriff’s department investigators asked Stacy a thousand questions about the past twenty-four hours of her life.
“Maybe I should tell the deputies to call a doctor,” Harlan suggested. “You may be in shock.”
She struggled with the shakes, trying to get herself back under control. “No, I’m okay. I’ll settle down in a minute. I just-I can’t believe I was driving around with a b-bomb under my c-car.”
His warm hands cradled her face, forcing her to look up at him. “You weren’t in danger. Not yet anyway. It was rigged with a timer. It wasn’t going to explode from an impact.”