by Cindy Dees
“Can I help you?” a middle-aged man asked. He had a crew cut and appeared to be in pretty good shape. Ex-military, maybe? In that tight black T-shirt and camo pants, he certainly cultivated the image.
“I hope so.” She pulled out her cell phone and called up the pictures of her father’s telephone. “Can you tell me if this has a bug in it?”
The guy took one look at the first picture and replied immediately. “Sure does. Big as day.”
Her face felt hot and she was a little light-headed all of a sudden. Her father’s—her—phone was tapped? “Can you tell me anything about it?”
“Mind if I transfer these pictures to my computer so I can enlarge and enhance them?”
“Have at it.”
The guy hooked her cell phone to a laptop on a workbench behind the counter, and fiddled at the keyboard for several minutes. All of a sudden, he swore, startling her away from a display of stun guns and personal tasers.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quickly.
“Where’d you get this picture?” he asked tersely.
“Why?”
“That’s a military-grade device. State of the art. I’m talking brand-new. I didn’t know these acoustic bugs were out of prototype testing. They’re not available on the open market, yet.”
Military? Why would the military bug her? “Which branch of the military does it come from?”
“Hell if I know, lady. Could be CIA, for that matter. But I can tell you one thing—unless you’re a high-ranking government official, you should not have a picture of it.”
Guilt flashed through her before it occurred to her that she actually was a high-ranking government official. Still, her rushed security clearance wouldn’t be processed for at least another week, according to the governor’s people.
“Do you sell anything for finding surveillance equipment and disabling it?” she asked.
“You’ve come to the right place for that....”
An hour later, armed with a bag of nifty electronic gadgets, she guided her car back toward Vengeance. Never in her life had she paid so much attention to the vehicles in her rearview mirror. If she was being tailed she couldn’t tell, but that didn’t mean much. She was a rank amateur at this cloak-and-dagger stuff.
She dialed her office in Washington, D.C., as she drove and got Amber again.
“Hey, it’s me. Willa Merris. I need you to do me a favor and cancel the Secret Service security detail they’re assigning to me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Senator. There are more crazies out there than you might imagine.”
She doubted that. She could imagine a whole lot of crazy people right now. Thing was, she had no idea how deep into the government that secret committee’s reach extended. Was the Secret Service compromised? Were there sleeper agents inside that agency who were loyal first to that damned committee? Nope, she dared not take a chance on one of the crazies ending up in her own protection detail.
She hung up on Amber’s efforts to talk her out of the decision with a repeated order to cancel the security team.
The closer Willa got to home, the more jumpy she became. She couldn’t stay at her parents’ house one more night. If she was going to die of fright or worse, she wanted to do it in her own bed. She had to assume her house was bugged as well, hence the bag of goodies on the seat beside her.
Thankfully, the press wasn’t camped out at her little bungalow. There must have been some new development in the murder case that drew them away temporarily. Whatever it was, she was grateful for the break from media scrutiny.
As she parked her car in the detached garage, it dawned on her that the old Dawson house was only a few blocks away. Not that Gabe ever stayed there anymore. The way she heard it, he’d bought the place, renovated it and stopped by once or twice a year to remind himself of his roots.
Idle speculation was that he planned to make some sort of museum out of it in his old age. “The Birthplace of the Great Gabe Dawson” or something like that. Maybe he planned to charge a few bucks admission to add to his billions.
She carried the bag of electronics into her house and spent the remainder of the afternoon setting up gear that the guy at the store had promised would create static interference and thwart any camera, bug or other surveillance equipment hidden in her home. She stashed the remote control that armed the system in the coffee table in her living room, along with the collection of TV, stereo and DVR remotes she kept in a drawer there.
She didn’t turn the system on, though. The guy at the spy store had cautioned her against finding and disabling any surveillance devices. He said it would tip off the bad guys, and furthermore, they would just come back to plant more powerful gear and hide it better next time.
Or worse, they would shift to direct human surveillance, which apparently involved bad guys peering through her windows and using parabolic microphones to listen in on her life. The spy-store guy had said something about them looking through her walls, too, and she’d tuned out at that point. The thought of being that vulnerable and visible was too much for her to contemplate.
She would leave the static generator off until she needed to talk to someone in private. If the bad guys wanted to listen to her cook supper and watch television shows, more power to them.
But as the hour grew late, the prospect of going to bed alone in the dark loomed. She could do this. As long as she wasn’t poking around nonexistent files, she wasn’t a threat to anyone, right? If they’d wanted to kill her, they’d had their chance to do it last night, right?
The whisper of that light, careful breathing and the faint sound of sirens approaching played through her head over and over as she reluctantly lay down to sleep. She resorted to pulling the covers up entirely over her head when the fear became too much to stand. Then, she’d start to feel foolish and poke her head out once more. She’d emerged from the cocoon of her covers a fourth time, and her alarm clock said it was nearly
2:00 a.m. when she heard a noise.
Not a big noise. A rather innocuous little creak. Except she knew that creak. It was the spot just inside her dining room from the kitchen. A person had to step on the loose floorboard to make it squeak like that. Oh, God. Someone was out there!
She flew out of her bed in sudden terror, grabbed her cell phone from her nightstand, and tore into her bathroom. She closed the door as quietly as she could and locked it carefully. Finally daring to breathe, she eased away from the door and climbed into the bathtub.
She put a towel over her mouth and phone to muffle the sound of her call, dialed the police and whispered in panic, “This is Willa Merris. I’m at my house on Elm Street, and there’s an intruder in my home.”
“Ma’am, you thought there was an intruder last night, too. Are you sure there’s someone in your house? Is it possible your imagination is playing tricks on you?”
They didn’t believe her. Someone was right outside, and there was no telling what the intruder had planned for her. She had no time for arguments with skeptical sheriff’s deputies.
She disconnected the line, and in panic, dialed Gabe Dawson’s cell-phone number.
After three agonizingly slow rings, a gruff, sleepy voice muttered, “’Lo.”
“Gabe, it’s Willa,” she whispered frantically. “There’s someone in my house and the police don’t believe me. They refuse to come. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I’ll be right there.” He abruptly sounded completely alert. “Where are you right now?”
“The bathtub.”
“Stay there. I’m going to be armed and will shoot anything that moves when I get there. I’ll be there in three minutes.”
The phone went dead and she pressed herself against the cold porcelain, uncomfortably cramped in her small tub. Please, please hurry, Gabe.
* * *
Gabe had never moved so fast as he snatched the shotgun off the mantel and tore outside. He leaped into his SUV and roared down the street and around the co
rner. He probably made it to the curb in front of Willa’s place in two minutes, but it felt like two hours. Making no attempt to be quiet or stealthy, he slammed his door and raced up the sidewalk toward her darkened house.
He swore as the front doorknob turned easily under his hand. No way had she left it unlocked like that. Willa was too scared of crap like this not to have double-checked it before she went to bed.
He threw the door open and surged into the front room, shotgun at the ready. He swung the barrel around the room. Clear. He burst into the dining room, which Willa had turned into an office. The place was a shambles, but no one moved in the space. He cleared the kitchen next and moved down the hall toward the back of the house. It looked like two bedrooms and a bathroom back here. He threw open the first door. Bedroom. Clear. He checked the closet fast and then backed out of the room.
Second door was locked. Probably the bathroom where Willa was hiding. She must be scared out of her mind. He moved on to the last door. It was already open and he spun inside aggressively. Nobody there. He heard a sound from the rear of the house and ran for the end of the hall and the door there. He burst onto the back porch in time to see a shadow atop the tall back fence of Willa’s yard. He yanked the gun up fast, but by the time he got it into firing position, the shadow had dropped out of sight on the other side of the fence.
Temptation to chase the intruder and blow a hole in him warred with his need to protect and comfort the terrified woman behind him.
Frustrated, Gabe turned for the house. He went through the place room by room throwing open closets and checking under beds and tables, anywhere a person could hide. Nothing seemed to be missing from the house. Television, stereo, silver and china were all in place. But the computer in the dining room was trashed. It looked like someone had smashed it open with a sledgehammer and pulled out its parts. The intruder had stolen the hard drive, if Gabe had to guess.
He turned on lights as he went, chasing away the shadows. Finally, when he was convinced the house was empty of bad guys, he headed for the locked bathroom door.
“Willa, it’s Gabe. The house is clear. You can come out now.”
The lock clicked and the door swung open fast. Willa flew out and straight into his arms. He staggered a little as he caught her weight up against him.
“Easy, baby. I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”
“Oh, God, Gabe. I heard them, and the police wouldn’t believe me. And then there was all that noise like they were ransacking my house, and I was so afraid they were going to kill me, and—” She burst into tears against his chest.
Which he realized abruptly was bare. Her tears were hot and wet against his skin. And he was wearing only a pair of thin, cotton pajama bottoms. Usually, he slept naked. And after that panicked phone call from her, he’d have raced over here in his birthday suit if he hadn’t happened to decide to watch a little TV after his shower, and happened to pull on the pajamas.
For her part, she was wearing a skimpy tank top thing that outlined every contour of her perky breasts and taut nipples against his chest. Her waist was narrow, and her hips and tush curved sweetly under his hand as he ran his palm up and down her back to assure himself she was whole and unharmed.
Her arms went around his neck and she all but choked him in her panic and relief. But he didn’t care one bit. No woman had clung to him like this in real need for as long as he could remember...no, not ever. And it made him feel ten feet tall.
He released her momentarily with one arm to set aside the shotgun, but then he was holding her again, offering her his strength and safety as she sobbed against his chest. Finally, her tears subsided into wobbly sniffs.
“Better?” he murmured into her fresh-smelling hair.
“What would I have done without you?” Her breath moved softly against his skin as she spoke. “You saved my life.”
“I don’t think it was as bad as all that. Only thing that jerk killed was your computer.”
Willa did a strange thing then. She lurched away from him, pressing her fingers against his lips urgently. He stared down at her, surprised. She pulled out of his arms and headed down the hall toward the living room. He followed, confused.
Wow. Those sassy little shorts showed the entire length of her long, sleek legs and the beginning swell of her tush to massive effect upon his lust. The girl should be a lingerie model with that kind of a body. Who’d have guessed she was put together like that under the boring church-lady suits she wore in her father’s campaign ads?
She paused in the doorway of her makeshift office to take in the damage. With her standing in profile to him in that way, he couldn’t help noticing the way that thin cotton tank top clung to her high, firm breasts. Oh, yeah. Lingerie model all the way.
She moved on to the living room. He watched, frowning, as she opened a drawer in a coffee table, reached inside, sighed audibly in relief and pulled out a small black box. It looked like an old-fashioned transistor radio. She poked at the buttons on the front of it, and then looked up at him with a tiny smile of triumph.
“There. Now we can talk,” she announced.
“What is that?”
“White-noise emitter. It blocks any bugs and causes only static to show up on hidden cameras.”
“And you have a white-noise emitter why?” he demanded, alarmed.
“My father’s phone is bugged. I figured whoever was watching me at the mansion would watch me here, too. I got this in case I needed to talk in private.”
He moved over to her side quickly. Dang, his protective instincts were on overdrive tonight. “You’re being bugged and surveilled? By whom?”
“I have no idea.” She stared up at him fearfully, her blue eyes dark and scared yet again. God, he hated seeing them like that.
“And you’re sure it’s you being watched and not just leftover crap from your father?”
“They broke in here and trashed my computer, didn’t they?”
He sank down beside her on the edge of the couch. “What the hell’s going on, Will?”
She took a deep breath and studied him for a minute. Seeming to make some sort of decision, she nodded to herself and began to speak. He listened in disbelief as she described finding a secret folder on her father’s computer dealing with a covert Congressional committee doing violent and illegal stuff. His jaw dropped as she described the intruder at the Merris mansion last night and the secret folder’s mysterious disappearance in the interim.
“So you think whoever broke into your father’s home and deleted or stole that file broke in here tonight, and took the hard drive out of your computer?” he asked as she finished her recitation.
“It seems logical, doesn’t it?”
“What the hell was your father involved in? What has the bastard dragged you into?”
“He didn’t drag me into anything. Governor Graham did that when he named me to my father’s job.”
Gabe shook his head. He’d known John Merris was dirty, but he had no idea how dirty. “What was in those files?”
“They were classified. I think I’m not supposed to tell you.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you shoot me if I tell anybody else. But we’ve got to figure out who and what you’re up against here, baby.”
The endearment slipped out before he even realized he was thinking it. He never called women “baby.” Not even in the heat of passion. He made a point of knowing his lovers’ names and using them when appropriate. If he’d have ever called Melinda “baby,” she’d have bitten his head off. She’d been nothing if not a raging feminist. So unlike the vulnerable and sexy woman shivering on the couch beside him.
“Come here, Willa.” He held out his arms to her and was immensely gratified when she crawled into his embrace of her own volition. He leaned back and she cuddled against his chest like a contented kitten. He felt more macho then he had in years. Which wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he usually thought about. But she was all woman and seemed to find him all man
. It was a heady sensation.
“You’re so warm,” she murmured against his chest. Her lips moved against his skin as she spoke and his body reacted sharply. He swore mentally. His flimsy pajama bottoms weren’t going to leave a thing to the imagination pretty soon.
Desperate to think about something other than steamy, hot sex with this bombshell, he asked, “Do you think the intruders are operatives from this secret senate committee?”
She nodded, her hair sliding silkily against his skin. Lord, that was distracting! “Honey, if you don’t stop wiggling, I’m going to embarrass us both. And I know you’re a bit...sensitive...about such things right now.”
“Oh.” A pause as his meaning obviously sunk in. “Oh!” Damned if she didn’t settle more firmly against his chest and throw her arm around his waist. “I’m not scared with you here,” she whispered.
He about jumped out of his skin as she actually pressed her lips against his sternum, just below his collarbones. Crap. No, not crap. Good that she wasn’t terrified of touching a man. But he mustn’t think about sex. She felt safe with him? That was progress, right? His brain leaped from thought to thought, disjointed and...oh, God. So horny. Must control himself. Not gonna happen, buddy.
“Willa. This isn’t going to work. I mean, I do want to comfort you. I’m glad to hold you. But neither one of us is wearing a lot of clothes, and umm...well, hell. You’re incredibly sexy and attractive.”
Her hand around his waist moved up his chest and curled around his neck, her fingers playing seductively in the short hairs at the back of his neck.
“Gabe. Look at me.”
He stared down at her in distress. He wanted to make love to her right now just about worse than he wanted to breathe.
“I’m not scared of you.”
Was she inviting him to... Oh, holy God. No way. He was not going to fall on her like some sex-starved beast. Like James Ward.
“Yeah, well,” he retorted gruffly, “I’m scared of me.” He squirmed out from under her and surged to his feet. He turned his back fast to hide his arousal from her. No matter what she said, he wasn’t going to chance scaring her off men for good.