She flinched as he reached toward her.
It wasn’t just a quarter he made a show of extracting from the side jacket of her suit coat, but a hundred dollar bill.
Julie squealed in delight, and even Dianna had to laugh.
Travis grinned irrepressibly. “And now, Julie, come with us. It’s almost time for your juggling lesson.”
“YOU ARE TOO COOL, Travis,” Julie said as they headed for the school cafeteria. She’d asked for some more fruit juice before they went home, and Dianna had agreed.
Travis had a feeling that the kid just wanted to show the bratty pipsqueaks around here that she had friends, too.
She pranced between Dianna and him, holding their hands. Travis liked the feeling. He liked being called “too cool.”
Not that he’d ever wanted to be around kids much. He’d been around enough to last a lifetime when he was a kid in the system. There’d been no one to take his side when he was in one foster home after another. He hated to see a kid hurting, the way he had.
“I hope your daddy’s not too mad at me if I’ve gotten you kicked out of school,” he told Julie. It wouldn’t be much of a loss. Not that he was a good judge, but he hated to see what a snobby education would do a sweet kid like Julie.
“I guess not,” Julie said quietly. “I don’t want to be here for the Mother Festival anyway. Unless—” She looked over at Dianna. “Could you come and be like my mother, Dianna?”
“Well…” They’d reached the cafeteria door.
“I know my daddy likes you,” Julie continued, tugging the door open. “Maybe someday you really could be my mother.” She walked in, leaving Dianna staring after her, looking like she’d been sucker-punched.
Travis, too, felt like punching someone. Jeremy Alberts, maybe, though the guy wasn’t here to defend himself. But Travis had seen the way he looked at Dianna.
A short while later, they each had peach nectar in front of them as they sat at long, gouged wooden tables that didn’t look like they belonged within a hundred miles of that witchy principal’s elegant domicile. Only a few tables were occupied, all adults, probably staff on break, though Travis figured the place would fill with screaming midgets at noon, an hour away.
“Honey,” Dianna began, “what you said before about—”
“About you being my mother? You’d have to marry my dad. I’ll bet that would be okay with him.” Her tone was casual, but the twerp looked as if she was holding her breath.
So was Travis. Jeremy Alberts was an okay guy, if stodgy, but he certainly wasn’t good enough for Dianna. No one was, in Travis’s book. He most certainly wasn’t….
“Julie, when people get married, it’s because they feel something very special for one another. Your daddy’s a nice man, but—”
“But you don’t have the hots for him. I figured that.” She brushed a hank of hair from her face and took a sip of juice.
Travis had to bite on his lip to keep from laughing out loud. How was Dianna going to handle that one?
“At your age, what do you know about that?” she blurted.
“I watch TV and the movies,” Julie said maturely.
“More than you should,” Dianna agreed. “But you—”
“What’s that on your neck?” Julie interrupted, reaching toward Dianna and pulled down her collar. “Did you hurt yourself?” Her voice rose. “Are you okay, Dianna? Did you fall down the stairs?” The kid sounded hysterical.
Dianna scooted closer to Julie and took her into her arms. “I did get hurt a little this morning, honey, but I’m fine. It was…an accident, but I didn’t fall down the stairs like your mom did.”
Travis couldn’t help feeling bad for the kid. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. Both, in fact. A brother, too.
“Tell you what,” Dianna said. “I’ll tell Mrs. Kinch that she needs to change the name of the Mother Festival. It’ll be the ‘Mother and Aunt Festival,’ and I’m going to come as your aunt Dianna. How will that be?”
Travis wasn’t into mush, but his insides gooed up like nothing he’d ever felt before as Julie dove into Dianna’s arms and hugged her. He couldn’t help it. He drew closer and put his arms around them both.
Damn, but that felt good.
For now, for this moment, he allowed himself to wonder what belonging, having a family, might be like.
GLEN FARLEY FLASHED a driver’s license at the asses manning the security system at Englander Center. It read Randolph Jones, showed an address in Santa Clarita, California—north of the San Fernando Valley—and had a picture that resembled him. For the moment. He’d shaved his head to look bald and wore a prosthetic gadget in his mouth to give him buck teeth. Not to mention the tiny, dark glasses perched on his nose.
Plus, he’d hidden the deep, fresh scratch along his face with a generous helping of well-applied makeup.
He smiled at the head guy, Cal Flynn, who gave a not-so-friendly nod. Not even Flynn recognized him.
Farley slipped into the elevator with all the other saps who’d been allowed into the building and rode to the top floor. He got out and, making sure he looked as if he knew exactly where he was going, headed for one of the pretend courtrooms at the end of the hall.
Not that he needed to right now. But he loved the challenge of slipping in and out whenever he felt like it. As he had in the parking garage this morning. He’d had Dianna Englander right in his hands. He felt a hard-on at the recollection of how she had felt. How she had gasped for air…
But he nearly growled aloud thinking about what she had done to him. He touched his cheek, then quickly lowered his hand.
Going back downstairs, he headed for the bank in the lobby. The nearest branch had been dislocated when Englander Center was built. Damn rich institution had no problem closing down for a while, then coming right on back, money-grubbing as ever.
Not so all the little businesses displaced by someone’s big, fat redevelopment idea. Like his was once.
He reached the head of the line. “Hi,” he said to the teller, a young kid, probably still in college. “I’d like to cash this check.” And to case this joint. Isn’t that how the old crooks used to say it?
“Of course, sir.”
Good thing he’d been in the security business. He’d learned all the tricks while fighting them from the legitimate side of the system. He passed his false ATM card through the scanner, pressed in a PIN number, and was handed a hundred bucks in crisp twenties—money from someone else’s account that would help, with what else he was getting, to finance the end of this branch.
The end of Englander Center.
How he loved what he did now! Maybe he should have thanked Brad Englander for ruining his life. Otherwise, how would he have known how much he enjoyed fooling people, blowing things up?
Killing people.
Most of all, right now, he loved terrorizing Dianna. He’d get rid of her soon. Probably should have done it before, since she was the only person who knew what he really looked like.
And she hated him. Really hated him. She’d love to kill him.
Not that he’d give her the opportunity. But he wanted her to suffer a little more.
After all, that was part of his game. It was fun.
And it was particularly enjoyable, since, this time, his game was going to make him very, very rich.
“Thanks, and have a nice day,” he said to the smiling teller, and left the bank.
Chapter Eight
“That’s it, ladies,” Travis said. “You’re doing fine.”
Yeah, definitely, he thought. Especially Dianna.
They were in an empty office in the A-S Development suite—Dianna, Julie and him. After they brought Julie here from school, Dianna had shown them into it, then insisted on helping him move the unoccupied desk and chairs closer to a wall so they’d have space without worrying about hitting anything.
He’d brought basic equipment from where he kept it now, on a shelf at the base of Manny’s cart. Among othe
r stuff, the cardboard box contained a few balls and several clubs. Once they were settled in, he’d shown them the simplest of juggling moves—one ball, throwing it up in the air and catching it with the other hand, over and over. Only when that was mastered could a potential juggler graduate to adding another ball. Then another.
To Travis’s surprise, not only Julie had decided to give it a try. Dianna, too, had wanted a juggling lesson.
And she was doing damn well at it. She’d mastered one ball nearly immediately, graduating to two. She winced now and then, but if she hurt from the attack on her earlier, she didn’t let it stop her. She tossed the balls now, one at a time, from her right hand to her left, from her left hand into the air, keeping them moving. Keeping her body moving, her fluid motions lifting her short blue skirt higher. Showing even more of her slender, sexy thighs…
He’d thought this office was large enough for all of them to practice. Now, it felt no bigger than a closet. Dianna was too close to him.
Not close enough.
Good thing she was concentrating on her actions. Otherwise, she might notice that he, too, was concentrating on her.
He made himself look again at Julie. “Keep going. You’re doing great.” With just one ball, but that was fine. She was only a kid.
As she practiced, Julie’s small brow was crinkly in concentration, her mouth slightly open. Cute. But definitely not on the same level of noteworthiness as Dianna.
At least, it looked as if Julie had put the words of that crumb of a principal behind her, at least for now. Travis wished he could forget the stuff he’d hated that day as easily. That SOB Farley had attacked Dianna. She was okay, which was the good part. But Travis hadn’t been with her. She’d gone through that terror alone. Because she hadn’t listened to him.
“How am I doing?” Dianna broke into his thoughts.
“Great.” His irritation with her, with what had happened, turned the word into a sarcastic growl, but quickly he repeated, “Just great,” meaning it. She was one hell of a natural, working with two balls as gracefully and effortlessly as if she’d juggled most of her life—as he’d done. “Want to try three balls?”
“What about knives?” She glanced toward him with a wobbly smile—and that small breach of concentration was enough. Both balls tumbled from the air. She caught one.
“Don’t think you want to do that with knives,” he said.
Julie giggled.
“You’re right.” Dianna’s lush mouth curled in obvious dismay. “But…” She didn’t finish the thought, but he figured he knew what she’d been thinking. The lesson had probably been meant as a distraction, to keep her thoughts off what had happened earlier—both Julie’s ordeal and her own. It hadn’t completely worked. Maybe she’d assumed, if she learned to juggle knives, she’d feel more in control of her own protection.
But it took time to work up to something as jazzy, as risky, as twirling blades.
“Tell you what. We’ll try the next best thing.” He reached into his box. “Start with clubs. When you get good enough with them, you can substitute catching their necks with knife hilts.”
“Oh, yeah!” Dianna grinned in such pleased anticipation that he wanted to grab her, twirl her in his arms.
Maybe even give her a big kiss…
“Will you teach us card tricks, too?” Julie asked. She’d stopped tossing her ball and looked at him hopefully.
“Sure.” Glad for the diversion, he pulled a deck from his box. He fanned them out and told Julie to pick one. Using one of his easiest techniques, he told her to put it back, then identified it for her. The child exclaimed in delight.
“Did you use a marked deck?” Dianna asked. Her accusatory expression told him she was thinking of the deck he had used with her previously—the one with “Beware” on every card.
He grinned. “Not this time.” He showed Julie how he’d shuffled the cards carefully, making certain their order didn’t get changed at all. That way, he could figure out right away which card had been hers. It was one of the simplest of tricks, but it delighted the child.
“Let me practice,” Julie said.
“Sure.” Travis handed her the deck.
“My turn again,” Dianna said with a wry grin so sexy it made Travis’s pulse pound. “Teach me how to juggle clubs.”
“Right.” Travis showed her how to hold a club, not too far down the handle. This close, her soft scent, as spicy as exotic flowers, was nearly intoxicating. He touched her hands while showing her the grip. They were warm. Smooth. And as she clutched the club’s handle, her fingers gave him all sorts of ideas of how they’d feel on his…
“Now what?” she asked. Her eyes met his, and he could see the pinkness tingeing her face, as if she read his thoughts.
Slowly, very slowly, he removed his hands from hers. “Like this.” He showed her how to toss the club into the air, catching it with the other hand.
She practiced for a minute, but her timing was off. Maybe that was because she kept sneaking glances at him that made him feel as hot as if the clubs were lighted torches.
“Show us how you juggle three clubs,” Julie commanded him, still holding the deck of cards.
“Sure.” And while he did, he watched what he was doing instead of Dianna.
“How soon can I do that?” Dianna demanded, disrupting his concentration.
“Soon enough. I’ll teach you, but you’ll have to practice.”
“Of course.”
He believed her. And he wanted to teach her…juggling. That was all.
Damn. His timing was off. He nearly missed a catch. He grabbed all the clubs from the air. Enough was enough. He needed to leave before he ruined his timing totally. He might never get it back, if every toss, every catch, reminded him of Dianna.
“Gotta go,” he told them. “But I’ll see you later. Hang onto the clubs if you’d like. The cards, too. Keep practicing.”
“Thanks, Travis,” Julie said.
“Yes, thanks.” Dianna’s words followed him into the suite’s short hallway. But he couldn’t really leave, damn it. Not altogether.
Dianna was there. She’d been attacked that day. He hadn’t been there to help, and he had to atone for it. For nearly failing her. Too reminiscent of old times. Of Cassi, and how he had cared for her, and how his distraction from duty had killed her.
Quickly he made a call on his cell phone.
“THIS IS Officer Philip Kelbart Ashburn the Third,” Travis said.
Dianna stood still behind her desk to minimize her soreness from the attack, for it had been exacerbated by the juggling lesson. A nice-looking, slightly-built young guy had just joined them in her office.
“Call me Snail, Ms. Englander,” he said, solemnity and deference written all over his sincere face. His complexion was tanned golden-brown.
“You can call me Dianna,” she responded with a smile he tentatively mirrored, “if you tell me why you’re called Snail.”
“Because he’s the fastest runner in my group of officers,” Travis responded. “And the guys in ‘L’ Platoon are picked not just for their good looks, but for their skills. Some can play street performers, like me, do tricks while working a crowd. Others can hide in a crowd, then run quicker than the bad guys expect. Snail’s even caught a suspect by running up to his driver’s door and extracting him from his moving vehicle.”
“Impressive.” Dianna caught Travis’s pointed gaze and knew what he was thinking. Too bad Snail hadn’t been with her that morning in the parking garage.
Maybe Farley wouldn’t have gotten away.
But there were a lot of maybes she could think of, and the most significant of all was: Maybe she shouldn’t have been there alone in the first place.
“Snail’s my backup,” Travis said. “I’ve got to go work on my cover down on the plaza. Snail, here, is a good temporary secretary, believe it or not. I’ve already cleared with Jeremy that you need one. So—”
Dianna closed her eyes and began count
ing. “So you’ve decided how to make sure someone is here to be my nursemaid.”
“Oh, but isn’t he a cute nursemaid?”
Dianna watched a slow flush rise up Snail’s face. It was angular, hinted of a beard beneath his tanned cheeks, but its thinness and lack of crinkles suggested he was a neophyte at the cop game.
“Yes, he’s a very nice-looking man. In fact, maybe it’ll be a pleasure having him here.” She saw Travis’s eyes narrow. Why? That kiss hadn’t given him any possessory rights over her.
“Right.” Travis’s voice was gruff. “You keep close tabs on her, Snail. The rest room is off limits, but you stand outside if she heads there. Otherwise—”
“I’m not going to put up with that kind of babysitting!” Dianna didn’t mean to shout her frustration that way, but it came out anyway.
“Yeah, you are,” Travis said levelly, his blue eyes flashing their command along with his lips.
Those sexy lips that had kissed her before…
She was brought starkly back to reality, though, as he finished his thought. “Your friend Farley isn’t about to listen if I tell him not to stalk you anymore. So, Ms. Englander, if you want to stay alive and healthy, you need to learn to follow my orders.”
Before she could think of a suitable retort, Travis strode from her office. Only then did she realize how quivery her knees had become. She sank into her chair.
She met Snail’s uncomfortable yet sympathetic gaze. The poor young cop actually reported to officious, overbearing Travis Bronson. Maybe he, too, had been the subject of Travis’s infernal domineering.
“So, Snail,” Dianna said as conversationally as she was able, “how long have you worked for that big bully?”
Snail grinned and shrugged one shoulder. “Not long enough, ma’am. I think bossiness comes with my next set of lessons.”
THIS LATE in the afternoon, on the plaza outside Englander Center, people were just beginning to dribble from the civic center buildings.
Guardian of Her Heart Page 10