by Fiona Brand
Jaw tight, he followed them inside the house. McCabe, Rawlings and West wouldn’t touch Jenna, but in that moment he logged a salient fact. The world was filled with men who would, in a heartbeat. If he left the way clear for them.
Over his dead body.
Chapter 11
Jenna saw a second vehicle arrive just as O’Halloran was about to close the front door. Her stomach dropped a little as she recognized Elaine Farrell with Detective Hansen.
She activated the gate to let them in the drive and stepped out onto the porch as O’Halloran shook Hansen’s hand.
She had told them the intruder had been wearing gloves, so there was no fingerprint evidence to be collected. O’Halloran gave them the licence tag and description of the van.
Twenty minutes later, after giving her statement and having Hansen and Farrell check out her upstairs bedroom, they walked the property in the light, persistent drizzle that had set in, then left.
Jenna had insisted on accompanying O’Halloran and the two police officers. She had needed to see where the intruder had gotten in, so she could make plans to make the fence secure.
A chill shot down her spine when she saw that the entry point was right across from her office window. Even if the stalker hadn’t climbed over the fence, he had probably been able to watch her from the other side.
Wet hair trailing down her back, Jenna stepped into the light and warmth of the entrance hall. O’Halloran, his hair wet and his shirt clinging to broad shoulders, because he had walked through soaking foliage, glided in behind her.
Jenna grabbed towels from the downstairs linen cupboard, kept one for herself and handed the other to O’Halloran. As she strolled back into the kitchen, McCabe, West and Carter stepped in her back door. She saw that they were also wet. They had also been outside. They had obviously been checking out her property although she hadn’t seen or heard them.
She collected more towels and handed them out.
Bemused, Jenna listened to the tales bandied back and forth about past operations. A lethal jewel thief who had tried to kill West’s wife, Tyler, and the misplaced bullet that had ended West’s reputation as untouchable in battle. The saga of the escaped ostriches in Carter’s hometown of Jackson’s Ridge.
The conversation switched to speculation about her stalker and possible avenues the investigation would take.
McCabe folded his towel when he’d finished with it and placed it neatly on the end of her counter. “If Farrell’s got the case, this guy may as well give up now. The lady’s got a reputation.”
Carter folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Farrell’s a gunslinger. No sense of humour, though. The only time I ever saw her smile was when West got shot in the ass—”
A bunched-up towel hit Carter in the midriff.
When he spoke, West’s voice was mild. “Do we have to talk about that?”
O’Halloran, who looked as if he was having trouble controlling his mirth, rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Pretty sure Farrell did a lot more than smile. I heard she used her phone camera.”
Carter used the towel to blot his hair again then dropped it over the back of a chair. “She used it. I erased the evidence. She made the mistake of putting the phone down while she was booking some guy.” He patted West on the shoulder. “You owe me, big-time.”
West shot Jenna an embarrassed look. “Ignore them. I was protecting my wife.”
McCabe, who had been talking into his cell out in the hall, stepped back into the kitchen. “And we all love it that you went to that extreme.”
O’Halloran grinned. “All in the line of duty, and anything beats herding ostriches. I’ve still got those scars.”
Jenna discreetly checked on the food in the oven. There wasn’t enough for five, so she grabbed fresh vegetables out of the fridge to stir-fry and grabbed packets of instant noodles from the pantry.
O’Halloran joined her by the stove. “I’m no chef, but if you want stir-fried vegetables, I can do that.”
She handed him a knife and board then put the noodles on to cook.
While O’Halloran chopped, Jenna got out the wok and some oil, and set it to heat. Carter and McCabe found plates and cutlery and set the table, while O’Halloran cooked the vegetables. Minutes later, Jenna extracted the take-out containers from the oven that were filled with now sadly wilted Chinese and placed them on the table. Along with the large bowl of noodles and the stir-fried vegetables, there was enough food, but barely.
Her heart pounded just a little faster as O’Halloran held her chair for her then took the seat next to hers. He wasn’t sitting any closer to her than Carter on her other side, but she couldn’t help being ultra-sensitive to his presence.
From the moment he had stepped back inside the house after chasing the intruder, O’Halloran had been sticking close.
At first, she had thought it was just his natural protective streak. She had gotten hurt while in his care, so of course he would be careful that nothing further happened to her.
But his behaviour wasn’t just about protection. From the time McCabe and his two friends had arrived, O’Halloran had made no bones about bluntly staking his claim on her in front of the other men. And since that kiss he had constantly invaded her personal space.
The physical closeness signalled a major step into uncharted territory with O’Halloran, and the message he was sending was loud and clear. She could delay the issue all she liked, but unless she came up with a definitive no, sex was going to enter the equation.
It was no longer a matter of if so much as when.
* * *
Marc ate slowly but steadily, despite his hunger, more aware of Jenna—the pure, elegant line of her profile, the faint flowery perfume that clung to her skin—than the taste of the food on his plate.
His phone vibrated. Excusing himself, he walked out into the hall and took the call. It was Farrell. They had checked out the registration plate and it belonged to a security company. They had rung the firm and one of the guys had just gone down to the compound and checked. The van wasn’t in the compound. It had been left out on the road, with the keys under the mat.
Grimly, Marc hung up and walked back into the kitchen and related the news.
When McCabe heard the name of the firm he looked interested. “They do installations. I’ll give Williams, the guy who runs it, a call. He’ll let me look at his employee roster.”
Carter picked up plates and carried them to the counter. “If the van was left outside of the compound, there’s got to be some security footage.”
Marc slipped his phone into his pocket. “Farrell’s already covered that angle. Whoever used the van was smart enough to park away from the surveilled area.”
West raised a brow. “So the guy returned the vehicle and knew where the cameras were. It’s got to be one of the employees.”
Jenna set her fork down and began stacking empty serving dishes. “Or someone in the security business, who’s got access. If it helps, I’ve got a partial photo of him on my camera.”
Marc suddenly thought of something that hadn’t happened earlier in the evening, which should have. He caught Jenna’s gaze. “When you left the house today, did you set your alarm?”
“It was on. I never leave the house, even to go for a walk, without setting it.”
“When we got to the house the power was on, so the alarm was working.”
She caught his drift immediately. “The alarm was set, but it didn’t go off, even though he was inside the house when we got here.”
Security alarms. He felt as if a piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place, crazily linking what was happening to Jenna even more strongly with his own investigation into Natalie’s and Jared’s deaths.
In that instant, he remembered why the guy
wearing the ball cap at the cemetery the previous day had looked familiar. A couple of months earlier when he had been researching the firm that had installed the security alarm in his house, which had burned down, an employee in a ball cap had been spooked by his presence and had left in a hurry.
Marc had hit a brick wall when it had turned out that the guy he had seen wasn’t an employee of the firm. He had assumed that whoever it was had probably been a customer who had recognized him as an ex-cop and made a quick exit. It happened occasionally, so he had written off that particular episode.
But not anymore.
The guy who was stalking Jenna wore a ball cap. It was a small point, but it was too much of a coincidence for him to ignore.
“That seals it. The odds are our boy works in security, probably selling or installing systems.”
There was no other explanation. The man had bypassed Jenna’s alarm, which was a good one, so that probably meant he knew his way around the interior wiring, or he had access to the manufacturer’s master codes. First thing in the morning he would arrange to have the alarm removed and taken in for fingerprinting then have a new system installed.
* * *
Jenna walked through to her office, found her handbag and looked for her phone so she could provide the guys with copies of the photo. When she couldn’t find the phone, she rummaged through the bag to double-check.
She became aware that O’Halloran was leaning against the doorjamb. “The phone’s gone.”
“Maybe you left it in your car.”
“No. I always carry my phone in a side pocket in my handbag, specifically so I don’t forget it.”
A flash of memory came back to haunt her; the moment she had been spooked earlier, the creaking floorboards. “He was in here. I thought he must have been after my laptop, but it makes more sense that he was after the phone.”
“And the photograph. Too bad we already downloaded a copy at Auckland Central. What kind of phone was it?”
Jenna set the bag down on her desk, suppressing the queasy desire to empty the contents of her bag on her desk and wipe everything down. Whoever he was, he had been wearing gloves, so his skin hadn’t actually touched anything she owned; somehow that fact was important.
Jenna supplied the make of the phone. A quick rummage and she found the box and the book that went with it.
O’Halloran checked out the specs. “It’s got Bluetooth and a GPS. Is your wireless connection active?”
“I never turn it off. When I’m away from my desk, the phone’s my portable office.”
“Good. I’ll give this to West. He’s got shares in a phone network and some scary software he developed for the military. If he can get an access code, we should be able to remotely activate the GPS function on the phone.”
A flurry of rain hit her office windows. The cold air that went with the building storm seemed to seep through the glass. Jenna rubbed at her arms, to stave off the chill.
Her jaw clenched when she noticed that her hands were doing the shaking thing again.
O’Halloran said something soft beneath his breath, laced his fingers through hers and pulled her into a loose clinch.
Surprise gave way to warmth and tingling heat, pushing back the reaction that had gripped her when she had realized he had taken the phone.
She let out a breath and tried to relax, dropping her forehead on O’Halloran’s shoulder and breathing in his scent. O’Halloran’s palm curved around her nape, the fiery heat comforting.
The phone was just a possession. It could be replaced easily enough. It was the underlining of the fact that the stalker had been in her home and had systematically gone through her things—the sense of violation—that had upset her.
After a few seconds, when O’Halloran seemed content to simply hold her, she finally began to relax.
O’Halloran responded by easing her close enough that one thigh slid between his and her breasts flattened against his chest. She could feel the masculine shape of him against one hip, but the semi-arousal aside, the hug still felt more about comfort than sex.
The fierce tension that had gripped her left her by degrees, making her aware of just how tightly strung she had been. Letting out a breath, she relaxed a little more, enjoying the feeling of being cocooned by O’Halloran’s heat and strength.
His hand squeezed gently at her nape, adding to the delicious feeling of comfort. “I know it’s a shock,” he murmured. “The bastard’s invaded your home and he seems to want to mess with your head, but he’s not that smart. He’s made mistakes, and he’ll make more, guaranteed.”
She tipped back her head and met his gaze. “How long does the GPS have to be on to pinpoint the location?”
“If we’re scanning for the phone, all it needs is enough time to make the connection with the server, and we’ll have the location.”
Despite the comfort O’Halloran had been dispensing, his expression was grim and cold enough to send a shiver down her spine, although this time in a good way.
The guy who had broken into her home had thought he was targeting a lone, vulnerable woman. But with O’Halloran now in the picture she was abruptly certain that her stalker had bitten off way more than he could chew.
Chapter 12
After McCabe, Carter and West had left, Jenna locked the door. O’Halloran was still in the house. He was making calls and had his laptop booted up on her kitchen table, so she wasn’t alone. The act of locking up should have made her feel safe, but she was suddenly all too aware that she wasn’t safe in her own home and that she couldn’t stay there tonight.
The thought of trying to sleep in her bedroom filled her with quiet dread. She hadn’t cleaned up all of the pottery shards and broken glass. In any case, it would take a while to wipe the attack from her mind.
Once O’Halloran had checked through her email and her folder of negative fan mail, she would pack what she needed and check in to a hotel somewhere.
The act of making a decision, of taking back control, was steadying. Feeling calmer, she walked up to her room and stepped inside, tensing at the mess and the blank, cold view out onto her balcony.
Flicking on a light, she marched across to the French doors, checked the locks and drew the curtains. As she turned, she caught her reflection in her dresser mirror and caught her breath.
She was used to seeing herself casually neat, her hair brushed or coiled and, for want of a better word, calm.
In the space of a couple of hours, that had all changed.
Her hair was tousled, her face pale, but it was her mouth that drew her attention. Her lips were pale but a little swollen. She looked like she had just been kissed. Or as if she had just rolled out of bed.
Grabbing a loose jacket, she shrugged into it then dragged a brush through her hair and pinned it up into a coil. Unfortunately, with her new cut, the shorter tendrils wouldn’t stick and cascaded around her jaw and nape, the effect somehow even sexier than just leaving her hair loose.
Sex. The thought—the hot, sweaty skin-on-skin reality of it—sent a quiver of sensation through her.
Putting the brush down, she stared at her reflection. The problem was, she thought grimly, that for O’Halloran casual sex might be no big deal, but for her it would be.
She was used to being solitary and alone. She worked alone, ate alone, slept alone.
A graphic image of what it would be like to go to bed with O’Halloran, to be naked with him on top, flashed through her on a wave of heat.
She realized how enclosed and “female” her world had become. She worked, exercised and socialised with women. Even her accountant and doctor were both female. The only contact she had with men was, literally, by chance, through her fan mail or the occasional date she got talked into. And none of those men were even remotely in O’Halloran’s league.
Retrieving her laptop from beneath her mattress, she walked back downstairs. She collected the file from the bottom drawer of her desk and carried it all through to the lounge.
A Victorian carriage clock sitting on her mantel informed her that it wasn’t late, barely ten o’clock, which was disorienting. After everything that had happened, it felt closer to midnight.
In the kitchen, she could hear the deep, cool sound of O’Halloran’s voice as he talked on the phone. He would be leaving soon, but before he left, she wanted to show him the emails.
As she was booting up the computer, she remembered the conversation with Selene, and her conviction that her favourite fan could provide a clue to the identity of the stalker.
Offhand, she didn’t think Lydell88 was stalker material. The conviction was knee-jerk, because every online or email conversation she’d had with Lydell had been positive and uplifting: she liked him. If he was a stalker, she was certain those traits would have revealed themselves over the years of correspondence, and they hadn’t.
The other reason she didn’t think it could be him was that he never pushed contact. Usually he only instigated a conversation when she had a book out. She in turn tried to limit her contacts to the times she needed police procedural information.
Placing the laptop on the coffee table, she booted it up and considered lighting the fire. It wasn’t that cold, but with rain drumming on the windows and the wind building in intensity, the flickering flames would add a comforting glow.
Satisfied that the laptop battery was good for a couple of hours, she found her fan mail file, selected the one labelled Lydell and opened it up.
A few minutes later, O’Halloran joined her.
He flicked through a couple of the emails but didn’t seem overly interested in Lydell, other than the fact that she had kept every email Lydell88 had ever sent.
* * *
Marc closed down Jenna’s Lydell email file and opened her folder of negative fan mail and stared at the print copy of the email that contained her threat. He experienced the same cold sense of a missing piece of a puzzle dropping into place that he’d felt the first time he read the email.