“You’ve never heard Mike’s side of it.”
“Not because I didn’t try.” Brianna closed her eyes, fighting the flood of memories she thought were buried years ago. “I’m sorry, Nora. I know you’re only trying to help.” She took a shaky breath. “But I won’t contact Mike.”
“Then I’m staying with you until the stalker is caught. You shouldn’t be alone.”
Brianna stared at her aunt. “Be reasonable—”
“You’re the one who’s not being reasonable.” Her aunt folded her arms across her chest in that familiar stubborn gesture. “Either you make an appointment to see Mike, or I’m not leaving the city,” Nora repeated.
Exasperated, Brianna shook her head. “Mike considers me the biggest mistake of his life. I’m certain he’ll suggest another agency.”
Her aunt’s eyes twinkled. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against Brianna’s cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, dear.” She was smiling as she hurried down the hall toward the guest room.
Brianna cradled her head in her hands and groaned. Dear God, didn’t Nora realize that remaining here with Brianna could be dangerous? Who knew what motive the stalker had for frightening her with these photographs?
She glanced at the chilling reminder—the envelope beneath the door. Who knew what the stalker really wanted? He knew where she worked, where she lived. What was next?
She closed her eyes from the threat of involving Nora in this. If making an appointment with Mike would get her aunt safely on the plane to Denver, then dammit, she could do it.
MIKE LANDIS SAT at the computer terminal, the telephone receiver wedged between his neck and shoulder. He let out a low whistle as he scrolled down through the wedding pictures that he’d received on e-mail. “For a homely cuss, you’ve got a sister who’s one gorgeous bride,” he said to his partner and best buddy, Liam O’Shea. “Did you tell Stacey that I was sorry to miss her wedding?”
On the other end of the line, Mike heard Liam’s sigh. “Yeah, but she forgives you. She knew you were watching the shop so her big brother could walk her down the aisle.”
Mike smiled, remembering Liam’s loud, Irish family in south Boston. Whenever he’d spent time with Liam’s mom and six sisters, he felt envy for all that he’d missed from his own childhood. Liam was one lucky guy.
“As if an act of war could keep you from giving Stacey away,” Mike said finally.
“I can’t believe my baby sister is old enough to be married.”
“Seems like only last week when you were running surveillance on her boyfriends.”
“Yeah, well…we’re getting old, pal. Time we were settling down.”
“Uh-oh. Sounds like your matchmaking sisters are working to snare you into the marriage trap.” Mike chuckled. “Better hop a plane and escape while you still can.”
“Actually, my sister Caitlin had hoped you’d be at the wedding. She’d invited the perfect woman for you. A kindergarten teacher.”
Mike groaned. “Thank Caitlin for me, but my tastes run to less-than-perfect women.”
“Well, you know Cait. She loves a challenge.”
“Hmm.” After a short pause, Mike scrolled down to a picture of Liam, his arm around a stunning brunette. “Looks like Cait found someone for you, though. Who is she?”
“She’s the kindergarten teacher. I couldn’t disappoint my sister, now, could I, ol’ buddy?”
“Right, ol’ buddy.” Mike laughed.
“Say, why don’t you and Jake fly down for the weekend. We’ll go fishing off the Cape. Mom would love to have you, and Uncle Davy is here with a jug of his homemade wine.”
“That’s a winning offer, but Jake’s in a Miami hospital. He was stung by a jellyfish while wading along a moonlit beach. A beauty queen on each arm, to hear him tell it. He had a nasty reaction to whatever it was the doctors gave him. He won’t be back for another week.”
Liam swore. “Sure you don’t want me back at the office? With Clete and Russell in Saudi, you’re all alone.”
“Nothing’s on the docket till next week. You’ll owe me two tickets on the Yankees’ first-base line when you finally drag your ugly carcass back to the office.”
“You got ’em. In the meantime, I’ll just have to play nice with my sisters’ girlfriends, all of whom are hot and sexy, I might add.”
At the sound of the soft rap at the door, Mike looked up to see his secretary, Bailey, stick her head inside the door. She scowled and waved a file folder at him in a hurry-up gesture.
“Gotta go, Liam. I’ll call you later.” He hung up and turned toward Bailey.
“You reminded me of your dad just now. Must have been the scowl.”
She wrinkled her pug nose and grinned. “What a lovely compliment, Mike. Dad was six foot five, almost three hundred pounds of muscle, and wore size eighteen combat boots.” She feigned a glare. “I’m a size four, in case you haven’t noticed.”
He grinned. “You know what I mean. The same red hair. Same freckles. Same sass.”
She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled as she moved to the side of his desk and gazed at the framed picture of the Fifth Special Forces TALON-team that hung on the wall beside the bookcase. Six rugged men, dressed in combat tiger stripes, their faces darkened with camouflage grease, stood at the edge of the Colombian jungle, staring somberly into the camera. The picture was taken just six weeks before Bailey’s father, Master Sergeant Stewart Thomas was killed in action. From that time on, the five remaining members of TALON-team vowed to take care of Stu’s wife and daughter as their own family.
“Since I’ve come to work with all of you here at TALON-6,” Bailey said, her voice tight, “I’ve come to realize how lucky Dad was to have you guys in his life.”
“Your dad would be real proud of you, Bailey.”
She nodded, her eyes bright. “Oh, before I forget,” she said, her manner suddenly all-business. She put the file folder in front of Mike on the desk. “You have a client waiting. She refused to fill out the standard office questionnaire. Said it may not be necessary because you might not want to take her case.”
Mike glanced up, curious. “Funny thing to say. Did she say why?”
Bailey shook her head. “No. But I’d see her if I were you. She’s drop-dead gorgeous with legs a mile long. And she’s not wearing a wedding band.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Not you, too. I don’t need any help with my love life, thank you.”
Bailey grinned. “Only trying to help. With Clete and Russell out of the country, Liam at Stacey’s wedding and Jake holed up in a Florida hospital, you’ve got smooth sailing.”
He growled. “Out of here. Oh, by the way, does Miss America have a name?”
“Yeah. Her name is on the folder in front of your nose. Brianna Kent,” she said as she stepped out the door.
Brianna Kent? Mike swiveled in his chair and opened the folder. He reached into his T-shirt pocket for a cigarette, then remembered he’d given up the filthy habit over two years ago.
Bailey must have heard the name wrong. He almost clicked on the office intercom for her to recheck the name, but he knew deep down in his gut that this was his Brianna. He’d always had a sixth sense where she was concerned.
His phone buzzed and he pressed the lever. He heard Bailey’s voice ask, “Mike, shall I send her in?”
Refuse. Say you’re not taking new clients. Mike took a deep breath and braced himself.
Well, if she could face him, then he’d face her, too. “Send her in.”
Mike rose, shrugged into his jacket and raked his hair back by the time the door swung open and Brianna Kent stepped into his office.
Chapter Two
Tall, willowy, and dressed in a summery, watery-blue silk dress, Brianna looked as he remembered her: warm, sexy and completely off-limits.
“Hello, Michael.”
Her smoky contralto was nearly his undoing. For one brief, overwhelming moment, h
e didn’t move. All he wanted was to look at her and absorb every changed detail about her. He knew how her skin felt beneath him. Knew the intimate places she’d loved him to touch, and her sounds of pleasure when he did.
“Brianna.” His voice was huskier than he would have liked. Not trusting his voice now, he pointed to one of the leather chairs that faced his desk. She nodded, then eased gracefully into the seat, the motion sending her shoulder-length, silvery-blond hair shimmering in the afternoon light from the window.
His fingers twitched as he remembered brushing that hair until it shone like moonlit waves of satin down her back. When he’d first known her, she wore her waist-length hair parted in the middle and loose. She had looked like what he imagined a storybook princess to be. His golden princess, he’d called her, and she’d laugh in that rich, throaty way that always went straight to his heart.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” Her voice held no hint of emotion, but he noticed her fingers grip the strap on her leather bag.
Her gaze swept his office, more out of politeness than curiosity, he would guess. “Nora told me you were doing very well.” She smiled. “I’m glad for you, Michael.” Her eyes held his. “And you’re looking well.”
The proper boarding schools had taught her to be gracious under pressure. He wondered if she really gave a damn how he was doing, business or otherwise. But he let the comment drop. “And so are you.” He swallowed. “How is Nora?”
The smile she gave him warmed her eyes. “Nora’s fine, thank you. She left this morning for Denver to visit her sister for several weeks.” Brianna hesitated, and he couldn’t quite believe that his wife—his ex-wife—was really sitting in front of him.
Hell, they were chatting away as though nothing had happened seven years ago. But his palms were damp and his throat felt as if he’d swallowed a basketball.
“I’ve been back in the city for two years, Brianna. I hardly think you just happened to find yourself in my neighborhood.”
“Of course.” She fixed those moss-green eyes on him, and he could see reluctance and something else.
“You’re right. I’ll get to the point.” She slipped her handbag strap from her arm and withdrew a large envelope from inside the bag. “I’m a psychologist now, with an office here in the city.”
Over the years, he’d kept track of almost everything about her through her aunt. Nora mentioned that Brianna had finished her doctorate, opened her office and became engaged to a London plastic surgeon. Nora also told him when Brianna’s engagement had been broken, and he cursed himself for the relief that news had given him.
“Most of my clients are women and teenagers from the city family-violence shelter.”
He noticed her hands tremble as she slid the envelope across the desktop toward him. He leaned forward, curious what would bring her to see him.
“Over the past two weeks, I’ve received four anonymous envelopes, each containing one picture.” As she spoke, Mike lifted the flap and pulled out three black-and-white photographs, all eight-by-ten glossies, and laid them across the front of his desk. “There’re only three here.”
“I left the last one with Lieutenant Jeffries at the local precinct on my way here. It was slipped under my door early this morning.” She averted her gaze from the photographs, as though not wanting to face the evidence.
“Did Jeffries say he was running it for prints?”
“Yes, although I doubt if the lab will find any. The other photos were clean, too.”
Mike nodded, then studied the pictures. Each one focused on Brianna in full close-up. The first picture showed her in a parking garage as she slid behind the wheel of a Jeep Wrangler hardtop. “Your car?” he asked.
She nodded. “I rent a parking space at a garage across from my office building.”
Anyone could have easy access to her car, especially using a zoom lens, and not be seen, Mike thought. The second photo was taken in a crowded restaurant. Brianna was in the center of a circle of women, laughing. On the table, a basket of brightly wrapped gifts hung from the beak of a tall, smiling stork.
“A colleague’s baby shower,” she said. “That was taken two days before the photo arrived.”
Mike’s gaze lingered on the next photo: Brianna, drinking wine with a good-looking, dark-haired, bearded guy at a cocktail bar. “Your boyfriend?” He hoped the question sounded motivated by professional rather than personal curiosity.
She shook her head. “No. He’s Larry Cunningham, a colleague.”
“A psychologist?”
She nodded. “Yes, we share an office suite.”
Are you sleeping with him? She looked as if she was ready to bolt from the room, so he didn’t ask, but he’d have to know sooner or later.
He put the photograph alongside the others. “The picture Jeffries still has—where was it taken?”
“I’m at the outdoor market near my apartment.” She shrugged. “I’m sniffing a cantaloupe.” She almost laughed. “Honestly, Michael, I can’t see any connection between these pictures, unless he’s trying to show me that he knows my schedule.”
“Ever consider that the stalker might be a woman?”
Her eyes widened, then her lips pressed in thought. “Possible, but I think unlikely.”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs to the side of his desk. “Why? Do you think you know who’s behind this?”
Her mouth tightened. “My first thought is Billie Ray Bennett. He’s an ex-con with a history of violence against women. He’s angry at me because I helped his girlfriend, my client, finally leave him. She’s living in another state, safely away from him, Thank God.”
“And Bennett believes you’re the reason his girlfriend left him?”
“Exactly.” She waved her hand. “Classic denial. It’s easier for batterers to believe the problem is with those who help their victims escape than to accept responsibility for their own abusive behavior.”
Mike pulled a compact computer from his pocket and tapped at the keyboard. “Okay, Bennett is a start. Anyone else?”
She took a deep breath and raked her fingers through her hair. “I—I really don’t know.”
The crack in her confident shell tore a hole deep inside him. He wanted to gather her up, hold her close the way he did all those years ago when she’d awoken in his arms during a lightning storm, terrified and shaking.
But he wasn’t her husband anymore. He wasn’t the man she chose to keep her safe at night. She needed his professionalism, like any other client. A professional arrangement.
“Do you feel up to filling out some forms?” He was glad his voice sounded neutral.
“Forms?”
“The usual questionnaire. Address, phone number. That sort of thing.” He shrugged. “It can wait till later if you’d—”
“Then you’ll take my case?” The surprise in her voice was genuine.
He took a deep breath. “I can suggest one of the other TALON-6 partners if you’d rather not work with me.”
“I-I’m surprised, that’s all.”
“Then why did you come?” Damn, he hated the sarcasm in his voice.
“If you want the truth…” Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her. “Nora refused to leave New York if I didn’t make an appointment with you.” Her mouth quirked. “I was afraid she might be in danger. You know how stubborn Nora can be.”
A family trait, as he remembered. Mike’s gaze dropped to the photographs. So Brianna was here only because of her aunt’s insistence. He swallowed, unsure how he felt about that.
“I don’t think I’ll have any problem working with you, Michael.” She leaned forward, her voice throaty. “What’s past is past. We have our own lives. I don’t foresee any difficulty, do you?”
Foresee any difficulty? Hell, that’s all he could see. But dammit, if she could work with him, then he’d sure as hell do his part. “No. No difficulty.” He even managed to smile. “Let me make a few calls while you fi
ll out the questionnaire Bailey gave you.”
He got to his feet as she nodded her understanding. He watched her rise, and when she stood, the sunlight from the window fell across her face and hair. For an instant, she looked as she had the first time he’d seen her, years ago.
He’d been nineteen and caddying at the Cape Hope Country Club. All eyes had turned to her as she led her three male golfing companions from the clubhouse and stepped toward the sunlit tee.
The largest of the men, the senior caddy Mike had seen around the club, had said something clever, and her smoky laughter was his reward.
Mike could only stare, his heart hammering through his veins as she strolled to the first tee, the men in giddy pursuit. Dressed in a sleeveless white T-shirt and shorts that enhanced her sun-bronzed arms and legs, she appeared not to have noticed that she’d captured every male eye on the course.
“She’s Brianna Kent, Harrison Kent’s daughter,” Dr. Parker had warned before taking a swing with his driver.
“Harrison Kent? Of Kent Paper Industries?”
“Hmm. The same. You so much as talk to her, and you’ll lose more than your job, son.”
How right you were, Doc, Mike thought as he pushed back the thought. He’d lost the job, the woman and his very soul.
After Brianna left his office, a trace of her perfume lingered. Mike shut his eyes against further memories that stirred in his brain.
Damn him, he was a fool to take her on as a client. But she was being stalked. Who knew what kind of crazy might be after her? She needed his help, and no one did his job as well as he did. And regardless of all that happened between them, Brianna knew it, too.
And maybe she was right; the past was past. They both were happy in their own lives. Why the hell not take her on as a client?
Piece of cake.
THE THREE-PAGE TALON-6 client questionnaire had taken Brianna only a few minutes to complete, but she lingered over the last sheet, purposely stalling. She needed time to pull herself together. She needed to calm the feelings that had been stirred up when she’d seen Mike again.
Tough As Nails Page 2