Guarding Raine (Security Ops)

by Brant, Kylie

  “That’s a different painting for you. Does André know? He’ll throw a tantrum if he doesn’t.” She fell suddenly silent as she recognized the person in the painting. She sent a surprised glance to her friend. “So, that’s what Mac O’Neill is doing around here. He’s your live model, hmm?”

  “Not exactly.” Raine led her friend out of the studio and down the stairs, hoping she’d drop the subject. But no such luck.

  “Well, there’s certainly something more going on here than installing a few alarms. Oh, don’t worry.” She waved her hand. “I won’t pry. But he’s exactly the opposite of the men you’ve dated in the past. I hope you’re not getting in over your head.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions,” Raine said flatly. Despite her need to give Sarah a reasonable explanation for Mac’s continued presence, she didn’t want to give her friend the idea that there was something romantic going on between her and Mac, either. Although she’d welcome the possibility, he’d made his feelings clear. And having Sarah blurt out something embarrassing in front of him would be even more humiliating.

  “Now it all makes sense,” Sarah said wisely. “No wonder he was so darn protective of you when we were talking downstairs. He was afraid I was going to whisk you away from him today. When I mentioned kidnapping you and running up to the coast, he positively glowered at me.”

  “Sarah,” Raine said in exasperation. “The real reason Mac is here is—”

  “Sarah’s already guessed the reason, honey. No need to pretend.” Mac was lounging in the doorway of the office. It was clear he’d heard at least part of the conversation. “You’re going to make me think you’re ashamed of me.”

  “I don’t— I’m not—” stammered Raine.

  “Good.” His voice was satisfied male animal, and so was the smile on his lips. He sauntered toward them and bent to press an intimate kiss against Raine’s astonished mouth. Raising his head, he dropped an arm around her shoulders and addressed the other woman. “You’re right, Sarah. If Raine is done working for the day, I’m going to claim the rest of her time for myself. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Sarah was eyeing the two of them speculatively. “Not at all. If you can distract Raine from the craziness in her life lately, more power to you.”

  Raine smiled weakly and slipped out from beneath his arm. “I’m going to walk Sarah out to her car. I’ll be right back.”

  Outside, Sarah sent her an amused glance. “No need to ask what you’ve been up to lately! He seems pretty possessive already.”

  “We’ve . . . we’re really just getting to know each other,” Raine answered lamely, mentally cursing Mac for the earlier scene.

  “You don’t have to explain things to me.” Sarah laughed as she got into the car. “I’m just glad things are looking up for you, for a change.” Her face grew sober. “They are looking up, aren’t they, Raine? You haven’t gotten any more of those letters, have you?”

  “As a matter of fact—” Raine took a deep breath “—I got another yesterday.”

  “Oh, no!” Sarah exclaimed in concern. “Are you okay? It didn’t upset you, I hope.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Well, if you want me to come out and stay with you, just give me a call. Anytime. I don’t like the thought of you here all by yourself, new security system or not.” Sarah frowned. “Or maybe you should come to my place for a while. You know I’ve got plenty of room.”

  “I’m going to stay put. But thanks for the offer.”

  “Raine . . .” Sarah hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. Then she sighed and said, “Are you sure you’re going to be able to get ready for your show on time? What I mean is, maybe you should think about postponing it. Heavens, no one would blame you with all that’s happened to you lately.”

  “No.” Raine’s voice was determined. “I’ll be ready in time for the show, and I’m not going to let these letters disrupt my life.”

  Sarah still looked unconvinced. “At least promise me you’ll call if you need anything, all right?”

  Agreeing with a smile, Raine gave her friend another hug before Sarah slipped into the car and roared away.

  Raine’s shoulders slumped. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of subterfuge, and the pretense had taken more out of her than she’d realized. Of course, Mac’s little act hadn’t helped. When he’d dropped that kiss on her mouth, her knees had very nearly given out. Straightening, she turned to the house. There was a curious pain in knowing how easily he could slip into the role of lover. Especially in light of how stringently he’d been resisting just such a role since the night they’d made love.

  At least, she’d made love. She knew it had been something much less for him, but she had to face, at least, what she was feeling. She’d wondered why this man had had such an effect on her, why he could circumvent her customary reactions on all fronts. Now she had to face the reason.

  She was in love with Macauley O’Neill.

  The acknowledgment brought more pain than joy. Because she already knew that the gift of her love couldn’t be offered to him. It wouldn’t be something that would elicit a like emotion. Instead, it would cause him guilt and regret. She didn’t want to lay that burden on him, didn’t want to add to the load of conscience he was already struggling under.

  She climbed the porch steps. Mac was standing in the doorway, but he stood aside to let her by. She hurt with a curious kind of pain thinking of his touch a few minutes ago. Knowing he was pretending hadn’t diminished the pleasure, and that made her feel naive and foolish. She said nothing, and headed up the hallway stairs.

  “Wait,” he commanded.

  She stopped and turned inquiringly.

  “I didn’t hear the whole conversation, but she seemed to be grilling you pretty good. What did you tell her?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice stinging. “She’d already jumped to the wrong conclusion and your little act was very convincing, Your talents are wasted in security. You ought to be on stage.”

  “Raine.”

  “What? Don’t think I didn’t appreciate your efforts on my behalf, because it was an effort, wasn’t it? I hope you won’t be called on again for a repeat performance. I don’t know what the big deal is, anyway. Why can’t I tell my friends that you were also hired as a bodyguard? What do you hope to gain by keeping that secret?”

  “The element of surprise.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That sounds like something important in tactical warfare, but of little real value in this instance. I’ve told you, my friends are not involved in these threats. You don’t really expect me to believe that one of them tried to kill me, do you?”

  Her voice held a dare, and a note of vulnerability. He chose his words carefully. “The fewer people who know I’m here, the better. If the harasser thinks you’re alone, and vulnerable, he might make a mistake. And if he does, I’ll be here to nail him.” Her only response was a long, cool look. He strode forward and snared her wrist when she would have turned and continued up the stairs. Something about the set of those narrow shoulders provoked a reaction from him.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, dammit. You want to know about effort? You want to see pretense?” His words were edged in steel. “It’s an effort every damn minute, being in this house and not touching you again. Knowing just how big a jerk I was to ever lay a hand on you that night doesn’t keep me from wanting more. Taking more. So don’t talk to me about pretending. Lady, I’m acting for all I’m worth, and the act is wearing damn thin.”

  His jaw was tight with emotion, and more than anything she wanted to cradle it in her hand. “You don’t have to,” she said achingly. “I’m right here. You don’t have to be noble. Just reach out and take what you want.”

  He dropped her hand. “I can’t do that.” His voice was bleak. “I don’t have the right.”

  His words made her angry. “Forget rights, Macauley! You don’t have to earn happiness, it just is! But you do have to reach out and take it when you hav
e the chance, because it doesn’t happen by every other minute. Don’t throw it away.” Don’t throw me away, she cried silently.

  “I’ve done a lot of things in my life,” he replied. “My father could see what was happening to me long before I realized it myself. He tried to tell me often enough. ‘Son,’ he’d say, ‘that job is eating you alive, from the inside out.’ And he was right. I lost the capacity to tell which decisions were right because they were my job, and which were right because they were. But I know that walking away from you when this is over is right. You’ve had too much unhappiness in your life already, and I’ll be damned if I’ll add a broken-down soldier with an iced-over soul to your list. You can’t fix what’s broken inside me. You’re good, honey, but even you aren’t that good.”

  “No, I can’t fix what’s wrong,” she agreed. “You have to do that. But what’s the matter with my being by your side while you heal? No one knows better than I do how good it would feel to reach out during that time for someone standing with you.”

  “I can’t ask that of you,” he said, his voice flat. “And I won’t. I have a little self-respect left.” Damn little, he could have added as he turned and strode away from her, away from temptation. Just enough to remind himself that the second-best thing he could do for Raine Michaels was to stay as far away from her as possible.

  The first was to keep her alive.

  “I need some more background checks done,” Mac informed Trey. The two were sitting in front of Mac’s desk, sipping beers. “Do we have anyone free?”

  “Only me.”

  “You’ll do.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Trey said mockingly. “Your confidence is inspiring.”

  A quick grin flitted across Mac’s face. “What can I say? I taught you all you know.”

  “My eternal gratitude for that two-minute lesson,” Trey gibed. “Luckily my own experience and natural ability meant I didn’t require much help from you.”

  Mac turned serious. “I’d like you to do look more deeply into Winters’s, Klassen’s and Jennings’s backgrounds. And see what you can find out about a Brian Burnett, currently of L.A., formerly of Sacramento. He’s been out of prison—” he swiftly calculated “—about seven years. I want to know who he celled with in prison, and if he keeps in touch with anyone he met there.”

  “Where’s Burnett come into this?” asked Trey, pulling out his cell to take notes.

  “He was convicted of rape eleven years ago,” answered Mac grimly. “The victim was Raine Michaels.”

  Trey lifted his head to stare at Mac. “Eleven years? She had to be . . .”

  “A kid. Yeah. And this bastard got out after four lousy years.” He knew Trey would guess there was nothing objective about Mac’s interest. His friend had been right when he guessed this case had become personal.

  Briefly Mac told him of what he’d learned from Simon Michaels. “I’ve talked to the guy following Burnett. He’s done a pretty thorough job investigating him. He knows what jobs he’s had and where he’s lived, and gave me a list of names of the people Burnett sees after hours. I’d like to do a little checking into those names, to see just what kind of scum he hangs out with.”

  “What was Burnett doing the day Raine was run off the road?”

  Mac frowned. “He was followed to work. It couldn’t have been him.”

  “That’s why you want to investigate his cronies,” Trey guessed. “You think he might have enlisted some help that day.”

  “He could have been establishing an alibi for himself while Raine was almost killed. Yeah, I think it’s possible. From the report I got from Michaels’s investigator, Burnett didn’t exactly get rehabilitated in prison. He’s been in and out of scrapes since he got out—nothing bad enough to get him sent back, but he’s walking a fine line.”

  “Why would he all of the sudden decide to reenter her life this way?” Trey asked, frowning. “After all these years, what does he have to gain by terrorizing her?”

  “Maybe he’s been plotting revenge all along, to get even for the time he spent in jail. Hell, I don’t know. He could have seen an article in the paper, or something about her on TV, and that set him off. Who could figure how a sicko’s mind works?”

  “He definitely needs to be watched,” Trey agreed. “Good thing Michaels has someone on him full-time.”

  “Does the detective know about Burnett?”

  Mac nodded. “I’m sure Detective Ramirez will be paying him a visit soon. But outside of the remote possibility that Burnett will break down and confess, I can’t see what good it’s going to do.”

  They lapsed into silence for a moment. Then Trey leaned back in his chair. “I paid another visit to Greg Winters.”

  Mac’s gaze sharpened. “When was this?”

  “Last night. Remember I told you I’d approached him at his office and pretended an interest in his services?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I thought it would be interesting to follow that up with a visit to his home. There were some legitimate questions I had about some ideas he gave me. He was surprised to see me, but he invited me in. And guess what I saw there?”

  Mac raised his eyebrows quizzically.

  “Pictures, man. Lots and lots of pictures, and all of them are of Raine Michaels.”

  Something clenched in Mac’s gut. “What kind of pictures?”

  “Nothing personal—they’d all been cut out from newspapers and one magazine spread. He’s even got them framed. A whole gallery of them is displayed on the wall over his desk in the living room.”

  Mac mulled this over. “Did he mention them?”

  Trey shook his head. “Not until I did. But remembering what he told the one client, that he and Raine were real close, I wanted to see what he would say. So I pointed to them and said something like, is that your girlfriend? And, I’m not exaggerating, he actually blushed. Stammered around a little bit and then muttered something about being really good friends with her.”

  “I don’t like it,” Mac said narrowly. “It sounds as if he’s developed a fixation on her.”

  “But where’s his motivation to harm her? It’s not as though she rejected him, right? Or did she?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” Mac promised grimly. “Even if she did, though, why would Winters be the one who hung on to the letters that got turned over to the detective?”

  Trey shrugged. “I never said I had the answers. But I sure have lots of questions.”

  “You and me both,” Mac muttered.

  “Okay. You told me earlier that you wanted criminal checks on Klassen, Winters and Jennings. I did manage to get those done. There’s nothing at all on Winters or Jennings, but there is a record for a Joseph Jennings. Sarah is apparently his guardian.”

  “That’s her brother,” Mac said. “Raine said Sarah’s been raising him for the last several years.”

  “Well, he’s been in some trouble over the course of those years,” Trey noted. “With the sheet he’s got, the next time he strays over the line of the law, he’s going to need a damn persuasive lawyer to keep him out of jail.”

  Mac grunted. “What about Klassen?”

  “No record of criminal activity, but I’ve been asking around to people I know in the art world. I keep coming up with that same rumor about him being short of money.”

  Mac leaned back and stared into space morosely. He couldn’t help feeling as if they were spinning their wheels. What if it was, as Raine had said all along, a random crazy out there who had picked her out to persecute? He sighed and shook his head. Eliminate the obvious, that was their only choice. When they had proof that those with access to Raine weren’t guilty, then they would shift their focus elsewhere.

  In the meantime, he’d be with her every step of the way, keeping her safe. He’d make sure she was never alone. Until this was over. When he walked away, she would be very much alone, in a way she hadn’t been before this mess had started. And there was no way he could make up to he
r for that.

  Mac walked Trey to the door. He’d no sooner closed it behind his friend than Raine came down the stairs.

  “Who was that?” She nodded toward the door.

  “Trey.” She had that look about her again, the one that said she wasn’t quite ready to deal with the details of the world. Something had interrupted her in the middle of her painting. He was getting to where he could tell when she was distracted, her mind still on her work. She seemed a little far away, even when looking right at him. All her emotions were reflected in those large, expressive eyes. When she’d been arguing with him earlier they’d been full of sincerity and, he feared, pain. And when he’d dried her off from her shower yesterday morning, they’d been dazed with a desire so strong it took only the memory of it to draw an answering response from him.

  “I just remembered,” she said, stopping in her descent down the stairs. “I have to go out tonight for dinner with André and some art patrons. It’s a long-standing engagement. I can’t get out of it.”

  “What’s it for?”

  One delicate shoulder rose. “It’s just a way for André to stir the pot before the show. He’ll have invited several couples, all big spenders in the art circle. They’ll also be issued special invitations to the exhibit. I’m to appear and be pleasant and try not to drive business away.” André was the quintessential agent, always looking for a way to expand his artists’ marketability. He was also a master of free publicity, and she wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find a representative from a newspaper or a magazine there. She suppressed a sigh. This was definitely not the kind of evening she looked forward to. She wouldn’t blame Macauley for wanting to sit this one out.

  “I take it this is important?”

  She shrugged again. “It’s a command performance, really. André goes to a lot of effort to sell my paintings. The least I can do is cooperate on the rare occasions he dresses me up and trots me out to prospective buyers.”