Game On

by Nancy Warren

  “How did you get from there to here?” He sounded amazed. “I deal with people who live that life. It’s brutally hard to break the cycle.”

  “I’ve thought about that a lot. Strangely, I think TV saved me.”

  “TV?”

  “Sure. No matter how poor we were, we always had TV. The only bonding my mother and I ever did was over television shows. She loved the big splashy soaps about all those rich folks. She’d say to me, ‘When I get some money together, we’re going to get a house. And buy clothes like Linda Evans and get a maid.’” Serena shrugged. “Of course I knew that was never going to happen, but what those shows taught me was that there was another life out there being lived by people who had enough to eat and didn’t live in utter squalor.”

  “You’ve got some guts. That’s a long journey from there to here.”

  “Well, the great thing about being a kid is you don’t know how badly the deck is stacked against you.” She sipped her rapidly cooling tea. “I don’t think I would have got out if I hadn’t had a couple of mentors in my life. Apart from the TV ones. There was a teacher at school. You have to realize that at my school there weren’t a lot of college-track types. But I was smart and hardworking. I liked school. There were rules, order. I got fed lunch. And I had a teacher, Mrs. Brand, who told me about the scholarships that were available to people like me.”

  She stretched back. His arm was still around her and she liked the warm feel. Found she even liked telling Adam her pathetic childhood story.

  “The worst part was I had to keep it all a secret. If my mom found out there was money coming my way, well, let’s say it wouldn’t have gone in my college fund. Everything went through Mrs. Brand. But I did it. I got into college with a full scholarship. I worked a couple of part-time jobs and studied my butt off. One good thing about my background was that I was used to living on nothing. I ate a lot of beans and rice. Bought my few clothes at the thrift store. And I watched how the other kids did things. Dumb little things you take for granted when you have a normal family. How they ate, how they dressed, even their table manners. I studied them and copied them.”

  “Did you make friends with them?”

  His tone suggested he already knew the answer to that. She turned to look at him. “You’re a perceptive guy.”

  “Detective. Remember?”

  “No. I was an outsider. Plus, I was so busy working and studying I didn’t have time for friends. I had a great boss, though. Another mentor. Ed owned the bakery I worked in mornings before school and on the weekends. We were allowed to take home day-old bread and things that didn’t turn out for whatever reason. I lived on misshapen buns and cookies that were overcooked. I didn’t care. After where I’d been? It was heaven.”

  “How did Ed mentor you?”

  “He was from Poland. He’d come from a poor family and he knew all about hardship. He was a self-made man. And, as he liked to remind me, when he’d started, he didn’t even know English. He had several businesses. I guess he was a little bit like Max. Anyhow, he was an amateur investor, a pretty good one. He taught me about the markets and he instilled in me the idea of being an entrepreneur.”

  She smiled in memory. “He was a wonderful man. He had a sweet wife and three kids he swore were turning into American brats. But he loved those kids like crazy. After I finished my business degree, I went to work for him on the corporate side for a couple of years. I built a pretty decent nest egg between saving a ton of what I earned and investing. But I was ambitious. As I’m sure you know, some of the greatest success stories in business are people who came from poverty. You get so determined never, ever to end up where you started that it’s easy to become a workaholic.

  “I guess those TV shows had really planted themselves in my brain. I learned everything I could from Ed and then I left to do my MBA.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  Was Mr. Detective wondering if her old boss liked smiley faces? “No,” she said firmly. “In fact, if I phoned him tomorrow and asked for a job, he’d give me one. We still have lunch once in a while. He gives me investment advice and now I’m able to offer useful suggestions about human-resources issues in exchange. It works.”

  “That’s an amazing story. I had no idea. Figured you for somebody who came from money.”

  She smiled. “I learned everything, from manners to how to dress, act and talk, from TV and watching people. Especially people I admired. You know, we learn more than we realize from our parents. I had to consciously model myself on other people.”

  “You ever see your mom?” he asked gently.

  “No. She died some years back.” She didn’t feel like talking about the mess of emotions she suspected she’d never really sort out where her mother was concerned and he seemed to understand.

  “You have a real toughness about you. Now I see where it comes from.”

  “You have a real toughness, too.”

  “Comes with the job.”

  “So? How about you? Deep dark secrets? Family drama?”

  “Compared to you? I grew up on the set of Leave It to Beaver. Weirdly, I sometimes think that’s true. I mean, my mother bakes. Like constantly. She cooks a real dinner every single night. Roast on Sundays. Who does that?”

  “And your father?”

  “Also a cop. And obviously the reason I went into law enforcement.”

  “You see? It’s what I said earlier. We either follow our parents’ patterns and the attitudes we’ve unconsciously accepted or we go the other way. You and I chose exactly the opposite paths from each other. Quite dramatic, really.”

  “I guess.” He turned to her. “Do you want more tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You feeling sleepy yet?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “Want to watch some TV?”

  She wasn’t remotely sleepy and neither, it seemed, was he. “Sure.”

  He flipped the remote and his big-screen sprang to life. “There’s not much on this time of night, but we can watch a pay-per-view.”

  “Fine.” She didn’t really care.

  They settled on a recent comedy neither of them had seen. It wasn’t particularly funny, but at least it whiled away the time. He dragged a hand-knit throw off the back of the couch, told her his mother had knit it and placed it across both their knees. At some point he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him so she was snuggled against his warm, solid bulk.

  It felt nice. Warm and safe. She tried not to think about how sexy it was to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her cheek, to smell his unique scent, to hear the steady thud of his heart.

  Amazingly, she felt herself begin to relax.

  10

  ADAM FELT THE change in Serena’s breathing and knew the second she fell asleep. Her hair brushed his skin like silk tassels; her soft breath wafted over his chest. He’d never wanted a woman more.

  He’d never fought his own urges harder.

  She was in his house for protection. She trusted him.

  He wished he’d never kissed her. All he could think about when he looked at her was how good she’d tasted. When she was close, like now, he could feel her warmth, the press of her body against his. But this wasn’t the time or the place. Damn, he wished he was a pajama-wearing guy simply so he could have lent her something that would cover that spectacular body a little more fully. Instead he’d been tormented by the smooth expanse of her long legs, the shape of her breasts in their natural, braless shape. Even her feet turned him on. They were dainty feet, the nails painted pink.

  When she was like this, vulnerable and soft, she no longer reminded him of Madame D, but he recognized that her appeal was much more dangerous. As he glimpsed the real woman behind the efficient, tough-by-day coach, he saw a woman he could seriously fall f
or. Brainy, sweet, sexy, vulnerable. He almost wished she hadn’t shared the awful details of her childhood. Knowing where she’d come from and how brave she’d been only made him feel more committed to keeping her safe. She hadn’t known enough of that in her life.

  He didn’t have time for this. Not for lust or soft feelings. Not when she needed him to be fully alert to any danger.

  He’d experienced a bad moment when he’d heard movement in the cottage, thought her supposed safe house had been breached. He wasn’t a violent man—had fired his piece maybe three times in his career. But he’d known as he’d taken his firearm in hand that he’d seriously hurt anyone who tried to injure Serena.

  She sighed in her sleep and her arm reached around him, resting on his belly as though they were used to being wrapped together. It had been a long time since he’d felt this. Wanted this.

  He punched down the volume on the movie. Settled back and held her while she slept.

  One useful aspect of his frequent bouts of insomnia was how much time he could spend in the quiet hours of the night working on cases. Serena’s case was more difficult in that she was being secretive with facts he needed to know. Like the names of her clients, for a start.

  If only she would trust him.

  He glanced down at the top of her head, all shining hair, the tip of one ear just visible. He had no idea what was going on in that maddening control-freak head of hers but obviously it was not easy for her to trust.

  From the beginning he’d sensed a wariness about her that made him suspect her toughness was a defense she’d learned at an early age. Probably under difficult circumstances.

  Now he knew her story, and all the wariness, the glimpses of steel, made sense. This soft woman beside him had not only survived a bad childhood, she’d managed to put it behind her and thrive. He admired the hell out of her.

  * * *

  MAX PHONED AT seven-thirty in the morning.

  “Good news. The office is clean. No surveillance equipment anywhere.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I’ve installed a pinhole camera that catches the office entrance and part of the assistant’s desk. One more that covers the entrance to Serena’s office. Figured she’d freak if I put a camera right inside her inner sanctum.”

  “You’re probably right. Get back to me when you’ve checked out her rez.”

  “Will do.”

  He relayed the information to Serena, who sat at his kitchen table eating granola and yogurt. She was back in her skirt and blouse from the day before, the suit jacket neatly hung on the back of the chair.

  “That’s good news, right?”

  “Mixed. Means nobody’s been spying on you in your office but also means we’ve got nothing to go on. So in that way, not good news.”

  In spite of the couple of hours of sleep she’d caught curled up against him, there was a strained look around her eyes that was part stress and part sleep deprivation. “I think I’d rather it was my office than my home. I really hope I haven’t been starring in my own reality show for some pervert who hid cameras in my apartment.”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t even think about her starring in some perv’s private movie without wanting to hit something.

  “What time do you have to go to work?”

  “Later.”

  She stood up. Cleaned up her stuff and put it in the dishwasher. “I really need to get to the gym. And then the office.” She said the words assertively, as though she knew he was going to argue with her. Which he did.

  “Let’s wait until we hear from Max.”

  “But my office is fine.”

  “I know. Let’s just figure out what we’re dealing with. I’ve seen you. You can work anywhere.”

  “I hate this,” she muttered. “I want to work out.” But she didn’t argue with him, simply went to her briefcase and hauled out her laptop. Within minutes, she was settled at his desk, tapping away at her computer, her phone near to hand.

  He made another pot of coffee. Put a mug in front of her and she nodded absently.

  Max didn’t call.

  He came by the house before ten. Accepted a cup of coffee. He walked right over to Serena, who had risen from the desk, and pulled her into his arms for a hug. Adam tried to ignore the stab of jealousy in his chest. Serena had said there’d never been anything romantic between her and Max and he believed her. He suspected his visceral reaction to seeing her in the arms of another man stemmed from being unable to pull her into his own arms. Not only for a comforting hug but for so much more.

  He might not be the noblest guy on the block but he had standards. He couldn’t take advantage of the woman when she was staying under his roof. So he turned away to pour himself another coffee until he was certain the embrace was over.

  Max sat on the couch looking immaculate in a professionally pressed white shirt and gray flannels. Serena sat across from him on the chair. Adam remained standing. He felt a tension in Max that he didn’t like. Suspected Serena was picking up on it, too.

  Max didn’t waste any time beating around the bush. “Your apartment was also clean. No bugs or cameras.”

  She blew out a breath.

  “In order to respect your privacy we’ve installed a camera that will provide surveillance at the entrance to your apartment. There’s no coverage inside.”

  “But why would you bother?” she asked. “He’s obviously some lonely guy with a computer and a fixation who happened to see me yesterday and recognize me. Honestly, I think we’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

  “I did find something,” he said. Which meant he’d gone along himself, as Adam had hoped he would. He opened his sleek silver space-age briefcase and removed a transparent plastic evidence bag. Inside the bag was a sheet of paper. He placed the item on the table. “This was taped to your apartment door.”

  It was a plain sheet of letter-size printer paper. On it in black felt pen was a hand-drawn smiley face.

  Serena gasped and put her hand out, only to snatch it back.

  “He’s letting you know he can get to you,” Adam said, keeping his voice calm with an effort. He wanted to rail and curse and find this asshole and beat him to a pulp. Instead he had to sound calm for Serena’s sake. Stay calm and focused so he could actually be some use to her. By, say, finding the guy.

  “How would he know where I live? And even if he did, my building’s secure. There are so many fobs and warning signs posted I’m surprised any of us can get in.” Her voice was shaky and she was as white as the paper on which the perp had scrawled.

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” he promised her. He turned to Max.

  “Anybody touch that paper?”

  “None of my team. We all wear gloves. I bagged it personally. Before we got there?” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “What time did you go?”

  “We arrived at 8:37 a.m. Departed the scene twenty-two minutes later.”

  Max returned her keys and fob, placing them on the table beside the bag. “I got into the building and I don’t live there. Probably somebody did what you did and lent their keys out.”

  “Or a person going in held the door for somebody,” Adam added. “Even though we tell people all the time not to do that for security reasons, a lot of people are too polite to shut the door in a person’s face.”

  Serena was staring at the drawn face with its obscene smile as though she couldn’t look away. He reached for it, pulled it out of her sight line. “I’ll take that in, check for fingerprints.” He wasn’t hopeful. He suspected the smiley-face guy, like Max’s security team, wore gloves when he worked.

  Max sipped coffee absently, then said, “Your stalker has now proven he can get close to you. Physically. He’s escalating the threat. First it was email, pretty vague. Anyone
with a computer connection or a library card could send you an email. Then he got personal. Sent you a text on your phone. Made it clear he’d somehow seen you yesterday. Knew what you were wearing.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, looking down at her blue skirt.

  “Now he’s showing up at your residence.” Max glanced between Serena and Adam, a furrow drawing his brows together. “I don’t like it.”

  “That would be two of us,” Serena agreed.

  “Make it three,” he said. Her face was still pale but she had a hold of herself. “Now we’ve got a camera on your door so if it happens again, we’ve got him.”

  She nodded.

  “Your building will have security cameras. You know where they are?”

  “I think only at the main entrance. Maybe the parking garage.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’ve never paid attention.”

  “Well, Mr. Smiley got in somehow. I’ll get hold of the footage. Maybe if you review it, you’ll see someone you recognize. You left your apartment at six-thirty yesterday morning, right?”

  She nodded. “And you found it at 8:37 a.m. this morning?”

  “Right,” said Max. “Twenty-six hours. Pretty big window.”

  * * *

  MAX CLOSED HIS fancy case and stood up, looking like an international superspy. “The invitation stands. If you want to stay with me for a while, I’ve got plenty of room.”

  “No. I refuse to be frightened out of my own home,” she said. “I’m going back to my apartment.”

  Max and Adam exchanged glances.

  “Then I’m coming with you,” Adam said, surprising himself.

  “What?”

  “Until we catch this weasel, I’m moving into your apartment.”

  “But—”

  “Or you can stay here.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “You’re not a stupid woman. For some reason, this guy’s going crazy and fast. I don’t know how he’s seeing you. How he got access to your apartment. Maybe he lives in the building. Could be one of your neighbors, a caretaker, delivery guy.”