She didn’t recall falling to her knees, but that was where she was, gasping, when Travis emerged from the stairwell.
“Dianna!” In a moment, he was by her side. “What happened? You’re bleeding!”
Only then did she notice the blood on the hand that still held the key. Disgusted, horrified, she let the small piece of metal drop. It pinged on the concrete floor.
“I’m all right,” she managed, her throat aching. “I got free. I scratched Farley’s face.”
“Farley? He was here?”
She nodded.
“How the hell did he get past the security guards downstairs?” Travis demanded. “Anyone worth his damn job should be able to recognize him from the composite sketches that have been circulated.”
Dianna could only shrug. “He’s always been elusive,” she rasped.
But Travis wasn’t done with his tirade. “And why aren’t there security cameras in this place?”
Dianna had no answer. Didn’t care about the answer, for the reality of what had happened was sinking in.
“He wanted to kill me.” Tears welled in her eyes. She felt as if she were going to throw up.
“But you got him instead?”
Before she could respond, she was lifted to her feet, but the wobbliness of her legs didn’t matter, for Travis pulled her firmly against his chest.
This time, she didn’t mind being held tightly by a man. This time, it was comforting.
This time, it was Travis.
“You’re okay?” he murmured softly into her hair. “That’s what’s really important here.”
“Yes, I’m okay.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Sort of.”
“He didn’t hurt you?”
“He choked me. Why now? He could have killed me before, if he’d wanted to. Why—”
She gave a small cry of protest as Travis pulled back to inspect her. Very gently, his fingers touched her throat. She winced, for even the slight contact made her aware of her bruising. “Damn him.” The steely look on Travis’s face made it clear he meant it literally. To him, Farley was damned.
Dianna had the feeling that Travis would risk himself, his very soul, to make sure Farley got what he deserved.
She wanted nothing more than to stop Farley. Keep him from harming others. But not at anyone else’s expense.
Certainly not at Travis’s.
“Please, Travis,” she pleaded softly, unsure what to say. “I’m all right. You don’t need to—”
“But you, Ms. Englander, need to learn to listen. You agreed you wouldn’t go anywhere without letting me know first.”
“But I did. I—”
“Yeah, you called when it was too late for me to get here. Damn it, you could have been killed.”
“I wasn’t, though. I—”
She didn’t finish. She couldn’t finish, for he had grasped her tightly by the arms. She had only an instant to pull away as his blue eyes, blazing and brilliant and glazed with passion, captivated hers.
She didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her chin and waited for his kiss.
She wasn’t disappointed.
ALL COMMON SENSE HAD disappeared from Travis. He knew it. Its flight had left him with no more control than a rutting animal.
He could no more have kept himself from kissing Dianna than he could have made himself actually disappear into a puff of smoke—though he’d performed that illusion many times.
He had no illusions now. No tricks up his sleeve.
He simply wanted Dianna. Living, breathing.
Safe.
He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
He heard a tiny noise that might signify he was hurting her, but when he tried to pull back he found himself encircled by her arms, his face held right there where he wanted it.
Kissing Dianna.
Her lips were every bit as soft as he’d imagined, but there was nothing wimpy about the way she tasted him, even as he let his tongue work its magic exploring her lips, the inside of her mouth, the dancing, darting teasing of her tongue in return.
He let his hands range over her back. Holding her near. Feeling her sway against him, where she couldn’t help but feel how rock-hard she was making him. He gripped her buttocks, pulling her closer still.
Heard her moan again even as he felt the vibration of the sound against his mouth.
Heard the sound of a car’s tires shrilling against concrete…
He pulled back. “We’re in a damned parking lot,” he growled, even as he looked down into the languid bewilderment in Dianna’s soft blue eyes.
Her expression adjusted immediately to awareness. A hint of embarrassment.
He hadn’t meant the kiss. Neither had she.
Well, not exactly true. He had meant it. If they hadn’t been in the damned garage, he might even have done something about it, no matter how stupid it was.
After all, he’d already admitted to himself that the situation had sent his common sense out the door, leaving only his animal instincts.
The car he’d heard pulled into a space a few down from where they stood.
“Okay, Dianna, enough of maintaining my cover. Let’s get a crime team here.” He spoke in a soft, composed voice as she continued to regard him warily, then angrily. But better that she think it an act than real. Really kissing her was a real bad idea.
But after that kiss, her full lips looked nearly as bruised as her neck. That didn’t make him feel guilty. Only more needy.
“No crime team.” Her protest sounded irate, not hurt. Good. “I need to get to Julie’s school.”
“Soon,” he promised. He made a cell phone call. As he waited to get through, he asked Dianna, “Sure you’re okay? Should I have them send EMTs?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.” Her voice was still hoarse, belying what she said, but she was one hell of a brave lady. And a kisser par excellence.
Great for his cover. Remember that, Bronson.
She held up well, too, when a detective arrived, along with some SID crime-scene guys. The techs took hair samples, her prints, her photo. They got her key off the floor and took blood samples from her fingers, too. The detective asked a lot of questions. She didn’t collapse. Nor did she hold her temper.
“It was Glen Farley!” she erupted in response to the interrogation. “Check his blood and fingerprints and whatever else you find against all the evidence on record in the other cases where he was implicated.”
“It’s just a formality,” Travis soothed. But he understood.
He knew her history. Read the few files the feds had deigned to allow the lowly LAPD in on under current policies of sharing—sometimes.
Her credibility had been assumed at first, after she’d ID’d Farley in the murder of her husband. They’d had Farley’s picture, since he’d sent threatening letters to her husband, and she’d picked him out from a group. They’d bought the ID, since there was corroborating physical evidence. But they’d found no backup to her later claims that the SOB Farley was harassing her. She’d been labeled hysterical each time she’d declared she’d spotted Farley. Ten times or so, she’d reported his accosting her. Ten times, the files indicated, she’d been handled with kid gloves like the VIP widow she was…but her claims were ignored.
Hysteria? Travis didn’t think so, not since he’d met her.
Besides, someone had blown up the redevelopment site near the Convention Center in downtown L.A.
Someone had left the ticking present on her desk.
Worst of all, someone had attacked her here. Today.
He could have prevented it, if he’d been with her.
Next time, he would be with her. As a smitten pushcart driver and eager, oversexed juggler who wanted her patronage.
The techs were done. They kept her key, but she fortunately retrieved a spare from inside her purse.
Travis approached her, where she leaned against her cool little red car, and held out his hand. She looked down at it, then quizzic
ally back at his face.
“Your key,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “You’re going to Julie’s school, and I’m driving. It’s part of the service.”
She looked at first as if she were going to protest. But her hesitation lasted only a moment. He figured it was all in the glare. No protests this time, lady. Wherever you go, I go.
She handed him the key. Nice car. He’d enjoy driving it.
Almost as much as, what now felt like eons before, he’d enjoyed kissing its owner.
DIANNA KEPT her mind occupied, as Travis drove her car, by giving him directions. At least more or less occupied.
He’d kissed her.
No, she’d kissed him. Out of relief that she was still alive. And because…well, because she’d wanted to. That once. Now that her curiosity had been assuaged, she wouldn’t have to do that again. His cover notwithstanding.
Right. Give her an opportunity, and—
“So you told me before that you were dashing off to Julie’s school,” Travis said, interrupting her thoughts, “and that she was in some kind of trouble, but what you didn’t explain was why you. Where’s her dad?”
“Beth couldn’t find her.” It was becoming easier to talk after her ordeal, though still painful, and her voice sounded deep and scratchy.
“I heard her mother’s no longer in the picture,” Travis said. “Something about an accident?”
Dianna nodded and swallowed to moisten her throat. “It happened before I was hired by A-S, but I heard about it. So tragic… Millie—she was Wally’s sister as well as Jeremy’s wife—apparently had a little too much to drink at a party and fell down the stairs when she got home. Her neck was broken.” She shuddered. “Fortunately, Jeremy found her, not Julie. If she’d seen her mom that way—”
“Yeah.” Something in Travis’s voice made Dianna glance at him, but his expression was blank as he watched the road.
To fill the uncomfortable silence, Dianna continued, “I heard she worked nearly next door to Englander Center, in the Department of Building and Safety, did something with building permits. Of course the center wasn’t completed then, but it would have been so convenient for both Jeremy and Millie—commuting together. Grabbing lunch now and then…”
The car made a sharp turn, and despite her seat belt, Dianna had to brace herself, which made her sore body ache. Travis had pulled onto the school’s twisting drive. Dianna’s thoughts moved to the meeting—no, confrontation—to come.
Beverly Pacifica Middle School was a private institution hugging the south side of the Santa Monica Mountains near Mulholland Drive. The campus had a view of Bel Air and Beverly Hills. Dianna had no doubt that Julie’s tuition set Jeremy Alberts back as much as if she attended a private university.
Travis pulled into the parents’ parking lot and looked at the vast pink hacienda-style building that housed the school’s administration as well as some classrooms. His low whistle caressed her spine. She’d already been attracted to the rich depth of his voice. Was his whistle, too, going to tease her with what else he might do well with those sexy lips?
“Nice place,” said that sensuous voice. “Don’t suppose it’s one of the L.A. Unified School District’s well-kept secrets?”
“No, it’s the well-endowed competition.” Dianna tossed him a grin before opening the door.
He got out of the car. Rather, he unfurled. Travis was an inch or two over six feet, and he’d had to scrunch a bit to fit behind her steering wheel, even with the seat pushed all the way back. He hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, she’d almost caught him purring as he’d driven her high-powered little auto. At least the grin on his face on most of the route had suggested he was an instant away from humming his rapture aloud.
Men and wheels! But she couldn’t blame him. She loved her car, too.
And this time, she had to unfurl as well, for a different reason. She ached all over, and not just around her throat, where Farley had squeezed…. She shuddered and turned up her blouse’s collar. No need to advertise her bruises here.
Travis was beside her in an instant, one strong arm around her shoulders. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” she asserted. Maybe it was a lie, but she wasn’t about to tell him she still felt like melting like a ball of putty and sinking into her bed at home. He’d issue her orders to do just that. “You don’t need to come in with me. I’m only going to see the principal.”
“What? And make me miss this opportunity to see where the rich kids go to school? Not on your life.”
He spoke lightly, but she sensed something more behind it. She hadn’t gotten Travis to tell her much about himself, where he came from, but doubted he’d been one of those “rich kids” whose environment he now wanted to see.
They had to pass through a security check, and then they were shown into an elegant, antique-filled waiting room. No mundane magazines like People or Good Housekeeping here. Instead, back issues of Architectural Digest and Paris Match were carefully arranged on the Victorian teak coffee table.
Julie was waiting for them. She sat on a stiff but equally ornate chair, head down, one toe of her designer tennis shoes making divots in the plush cream-colored carpet. She wore pink jeans and a matching frilly top, and looked even younger than her eleven years. Some of her long brown hair had, as usual, escaped its barrette, so it wisped around her face.
She looked up sullenly as Dianna and Travis entered the room, then brightened as she recognized them, leaping out of her seat. “Dianna. You came! And you brought the magician.” She looked a little puzzled at that, which didn’t surprise Dianna.
“This is Travis,” she told the girl. “He was nice enough to come along because—”
As she fumbled for a good reason, Travis stepped in. “Because I’m working on the entertainment for the Englander Center’s birthday celebration.”
“Oh, good!” Julie clapped her hands in excitement—just as the inner door to the office opened. Immediately, her body stiffened and her gaze flew to the floor once more.
The woman who emerged was petite but her presence filled the room. “Good afternoon. I am Mrs. Kinch.” Evidently no first names were to be used here. “Are you Ms. Englander?” Her hair formed a neat cap on her head. Its silvery iron color suggested she was middle-aged or older, but there were no lines on her formidably expressionless face.
“Yes, I am.”
Mrs. Kinch turned toward Travis, obviously expecting an introduction. The stark formality of her black suit contrasted almost humorously with his informal jeans and work shirt. Dianna opened her mouth to introduce Travis, but he strode forward, hand outstretched. “Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Kinch. Julie has spoken so fondly of you.”
Her eyes widened as if in amazement, but she quickly caught herself. “Thank you…er, Mr.—”
“Bronson. I’m a good friend of Julie’s family’s. Like Dianna…er, Ms. Englander.”
“Well, then, please come in.”
Dianna, having been married to a U.S. Representative, was a veteran of some highly uncomfortable political situations, but that hadn’t prepared her for the next, painful ten minutes.
They sipped coffee from tiny cups that had to be Limoges. The heat soothed Dianna’s throat but did no good at all in soothing her growing temper. Travis and she were subjected to the most vituperative of diatribes against Julie, right in the child’s presence and spoken in a cool monotone. Mrs. Kinch had set the rules ahead of time. She was to speak, they were to listen, and then they would have their say.
Julie was definitely on her most disfavored student list. “We have a special parent-student day coming up next month,” Mrs. Kinch intoned, “the Mother Festival, and she has already been most disruptive about it. I realize her situation is…different, but that is no excuse. She starts fights with the other students, and—” She shot a glare at Julie, who had shifted in her seat, obviously ready to defend herself. The child’s breathing quickened, but she returned her gaze to the glass of juice
in her hand.
The woman expounded on the arguments and physical altercations Julie had allegedly caused. When she was through, she looked at Dianna expectantly with an imperious gaze, as if anticipating her abject apology and promise that she would ensure that nothing like this would happen again.
Instead, Dianna went and knelt beside the child. When Julie glanced sidelong at her, Dianna saw moisture in her eyes.
She was about to ask Julie for her side when Travis, who crouched on Julie’s other side, said, “Sounds like this little girl needs some discipline, doesn’t it?”
Shocked and furious, Dianna rose, only to see a glint in his eyes as he regarded the principal that made her both worry and stifle a grin at the same time.
“Now, the way I look at it,” he continued, “this is a school for kids who have opinions—yours.”
Indignation paled Mrs. Kinch’s face. “I—”
“No, ma’am, you’ve had your turn. Now it’s time for Julie’s side. Honey, you tell us what’s been happening around here.”
“The kids are mean!” Julie shouted, then looked guiltily at the principal, whose glare was cold enough to turn the coffees into cappuccino slush.
“How are they mean?” Dianna asked softly.
Tears of anger flowed down her cheeks as Julie described the special parent-children day that was planned. “Mostly kids are bringing their mothers in the morning, their stepmothers in the afternoon. Lots of them are divorced, you know?”
Dianna nodded solemnly. She did know how many children came from broken homes. That was one reason Englander Center existed—to help in the legal end of divorce. The emotional end…well, that was a lot harder.
“But I don’t have a mother or stepmother,” Julie wailed, “and some kids make fun of me and the others who don’t have either. I tell them what creeps they are, and sometimes they hit me, so I hit back.”
“I see.” Travis’s tone was much too calm. “So the way I see it, Mrs. Kinch, you’ve got a problem here: mean kid syndrome. I suggest you fix it quick, or I’m going to recommend that Julie’s dad withdraw her and all that nice tuition money he’s paying. And not quietly, either. Maybe some other parents will want to hear how you don’t deal with mean kid syndrome.” He cocked his head as he stared at the obviously fuming principal. “Not to worry, ma’am. You just need to hire a counselor or two. And here’s a good way to start paying for it.”
Guardian of Her Heart Page 9