by Tee O'Fallon
Kat picked up the agenda and smoothly flipped to the next page. “What’s next?”
For the next two hours, Dayne read emails and texted, keeping one ear on the conversation. Remy’s ears occasionally flicked, but eventually she fell into a light sleep.
His first text was to Bart Danchuk, requesting he cross-check Becca’s case files for the Sylvus Corporate Center address in Englewood. Minutes later, he received a response from Bart. Negative.
Paulson had forwarded copies of the subpoenas served on Becca’s cell phone carrier and her email server. Dayne was particularly interested in the subpoena for subscriber information on the unlisted number the techies found in the trap ’n’ trace app. The only other thing of note in the emails was that Jonathan Bale was still in the wind.
By the time the meeting concluded, Dayne was certain of one thing. Kat was a killer in a boardroom.
When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, they were met by several men in dark suits. Dayne pegged them for what they were. Building security. Vandenburg Enterprises’ version of Men in Black. Minus that nifty little memory-erasing gadget.
“Good morning, Tim.” Kat smiled at the one wearing a nametag that said Taggert. “Are they here?”
“Right on schedule.” Taggert nodded to the revolving doors leading to the street, behind which stood a crowd of men and women holding microphones and cameras. “We have two men outside, and we’ll escort you to your car.”
She started for the door but Dayne blocked her path, pressing his lips together to keep from exploding. “Do you mean to tell me you expected this?”
Hairs on the back of Remy’s neck rose as she picked up on the tension traveling down his arm, through the leash, directly to his K-9.
“Please give us a moment, Tim.” Taggert dipped his head briefly, and she waited for him and the other guards to walk out of earshot. “The press knows we hold our charity board meetings on the fourth Monday of every month.”
He tried not to grind his teeth. Un-fucking-believable. “Don’t you think you should have warned me about this? I could have made other arrangements. You wait inside while I drive around to the back entrance.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort.” She jutted out her chin. “I’ll be going straight out the front door.”
“It’s not safe,” he shot back. “Anyone could be in that crowd. I’ll never see it coming, and neither will your Men in Black. I can’t protect you this way.”
“The media is a necessary evil.”
“How is allowing these vultures to harass you necessary?”
“Every charity needs publicity, but most don’t have the financial means to pay for it. This is free publicity, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that. Plus,” she added, looking guilty as hell about something, “the vultures and I have a deal.”
He tightened his fingers around Remy’s leash. “What deal?”
“When I’m in the city, which isn’t often, I’ll talk to them, answer their questions. But the Haven and the castle are my sanctuaries. That’s why they don’t show up there.” He had, in fact, wondered about that, but had considered it a gift from the gods.
“So you knew this was going to happen and you intentionally kept me in the dark.” Knowing he’d go ballistic, like he was trying not to do right now.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I knew you’d go all Neanderthal on me and never allow it.”
Neanderthal? Well, didn’t that just put him in his place?
He stepped closer. “You’ve got five minutes. Not a second longer.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes softened. “I know you’re only doing your job.”
When she looked at him that way, all soft and sweet, most of his frustration diffused. “And you’re making it very difficult.” In more ways than one.
Despite their self-imposed resolutions and distancing efforts, his professionalism still teetered on the verge of self-destruction. If only he didn’t know what it was like to hold her in his arms and kiss her while she— The memory was far too vivid.
“I’ll go first. Stay close to me.” He led the way to the doors and stepped outside. The minute the reporters caught sight of her they converged like a pack of wild animals. Cameras clicked. Microphones were shoved in her face.
Remy lowered her head and uttered a growl. Dayne wrapped her leash twice more around his hand. His dog didn’t like this anymore than he did. As highly trained as Remy was, his K-9 would take the press’s aggressive behavior as an attack. “Easy, girl.”
“Katrina! Katrina!” Ten reporters vied for her attention.
“What was it like to find a dead body?”
“Are the rumors true that you were attacked by the same person who murdered that private investigator?”
“Why is the FBI involved?”
Maintaining unbelievable composure, she held up her hands, silencing the reporters. “Ladies and gentlemen. I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss anything related to an ongoing investigation.” Good. Deflect. “But I would like to mention that Vandenburg Enterprises is currently considering several new charities for our grants this month, including—”
“C’mon, Katrina. Tell us what’s really going on.” A burly reporter pushed past a cameraman, invading Kat’s personal space and bumping into her as he shoved a digital recorder in her face.
Kat jerked back and stumbled. Her high heel caught on the edge of the step. She wobbled, about to go down hard on the concrete.
“Remy! Gib laut!”
He dropped Remy’s leash, lunging for Kat and catching her before she fell backward on the pavement. Remy barked, snapping her jaws and forcing the reporter to back off.
“Geh voraus!” Remy swung her head left and right, still barking and growling as she cleared a path through the throng of reporters who jumped out of the way to keep from having a set of sharp canine incisors sink deep into their flesh.
“Put me down,” Kat hissed in his ear. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m only doing my job. Remember?” He barreled his way to the curb with a struggling Kat in his arms.
Behind them, cameras clicked faster. Questions came fast and fierce.
“Is this man your bodyguard?”
“Is he FBI?”
“Are you in any danger?”
“For god’s sake, put me down!” She pushed at his shoulders but he held fast, not setting her down until they’d reached the vehicle.
Once she was safely inside, he loaded Remy into the kennel. He began rounding the hood but stopped. A familiar face hovered on the edge of the crowd. Was that—? Jesus, it was. Manny—the flower delivery guy. Holding a bouquet of pink roses. If that guy wasn’t stalker material, Dayne would eat his left nut.
That’s all he needed. A homicidal maniac and a stalker to contend with. A strongly worded phone call to the flower shop was at the top of his to-do list.
With Remy no longer a threat, the media horde converged once again. As soon as Dayne closed his door, he cranked the engine, hit the strobes, and gunned the SUV into traffic.
A few blocks away, he flipped off the strobes. The second he did, Kat twisted in her seat, jabbing a finger at him.
“How dare you?” Her eyes flashed with enough heated anger to singe the hair off his head. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”
He met her fury head-on. “At least you’re not lying on the steps of your own building with your skull cracked open, because that’s exactly what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten you out of there.”
“You…you…” Color crept up her neck.
“Yeah, I know. Neanderthal.” The light turned green. “Buckle up.”
“I hate you,” she spat. “Right now, I really hate you.” She huffed then clicked on her seat belt and crossed her arms.
The hostility in the SUV was hotter than a fore
st fire and all he could think was that if anyone tried to hurt her, he’d kill them with his bare hands. Not because she was a witness he was assigned to protect. Because he cared about her. More than he should.
“By the way,” he added. “In case you didn’t notice, you’ve definitely got a stalker.”
Chapter Nineteen
Kat dug her bare toes into the plush rug. The moment they’d returned home, she’d kicked off her heels and sought out the peace and solitude of her home office. For the past two hours, she’d been reviewing business documents, with only Angus for company.
Taking a break, she threw down her pen and sighed. She still thought Manny was harmless but had to agree with Dayne. Him showing up outside her building—with roses, no less—was indeed stalker behavior she could no longer ignore. Dayne had notified the guards not to let Manny onto the property, then he’d called the flower shop to arrange for a different delivery person.
Angus pawed his chew toy, dragging it closer to her desk then flopping onto his side. The puppy would have been glued to Remy, but Dayne had taken his K-9 on patrol outside with the guards. He was probably avoiding her. Not that she could blame the man.
Since telling Dayne she hated him, they hadn’t spoken. “Oh my god,” she groaned. She couldn’t believe she had actually said that. Right on the heels of calling him a Neanderthal. Her behavior had been inexcusable. “He just makes me so angry.”
“Who does?” Emily paused in the doorway then came in and sat on a chair.
“Dayne,” she admitted, pressing two fingers to her forehead.
“What did he do?” Emily set Kat’s scheduler on the desk.
“Nothing. Not really.” She stood and walked to the window, staring at the whitecaps dotting the river. “It wasn’t his fault. He was only doing his job.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
When she turned back to Emily, the corners of her friend’s mouth lifted. “The problem is, he makes me so angry that I say things to him I’ve never said to anyone. I just open my mouth and blurt out whatever I feel. Unabridged and inappropriate.” And she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Or stop wanting him.
“Sounds like he’s getting to you.”
“Exactly.” She dropped heavily onto her chair. “When I’m around him, everything I’ve been taught to keep inside comes bubbling to the surface like a witch’s cauldron, and that’s the way I behaved today. Like a total witch.” Bitch, more like it.
“Why do you think that is?” Angus brought Emily his toy and she tossed it to the far side of the office for him to chase.
“I don’t know.” She stared at her scheduler, not really seeing it.
“I don’t mean to go all psycho-babble on you, but sometimes anger is just anger because someone has done you wrong. Other times, people make you angry because you care more about them and what they think of you.”
Did she? Care what Dayne thought of her?
Yes. But he couldn’t possibly return the sentiment. Not that she’d given him any reason to, lately.
“I know that face.” Emily stood. “It’s the face of a woman who just figured out the answer to her questions.”
“I suppose so. Thank you, Doctor Emily.”
“My pleasure. And I won’t even charge you a co-payment.” They both laughed, easing some of the tension. “Make sure to review your scheduler.”
“I will, Em. Bye.”
Kat focused on the scheduler and smiled. Today was one of her favorite days of the year. Opening Day at Yankee Stadium. First pitch was at 1:10 p.m.
All those season openers with her parents in their luxury corporate suite overlooking the stadium… Before her mother and father died, it was a family ritual. Six months after burying them, she sold the suite but still watched every season opener on TV.
She flipped the page in her scheduler and frowned. Three weeks from this Saturday’s event was her birthday. Colin had planned a big bash in her honor. Celebrating was the last thing she wanted. Amy was dead. Another woman murdered. With everything going on, a party seemed like the height of bad taste, and her heart wasn’t in it.
The heaviness in her chest worsened. Given the tone of her last conversation with Colin, maybe he’d cancel the event altogether. It would probably be for the best.
The front door opened then closed again. Angus perked his head up. Remy trotted in and the puppy bounded to the shepherd, licking her face and nipping her legs. Both dogs trotted out, leaving her alone again.
She picked up a gold-plated pen and began tapping it louder and louder on the scheduler. Concentrating was easier said than done. Knowing Dayne was in the house made her tense.
Somehow, she managed to review documents Emily had left for her, and before she knew it thirty minutes had gone by. It was now 1:05 p.m. Five minutes before first pitch.
She closed the scheduler and went into the living room. The TV was already on and tuned to the game. Dayne stood in front of the kitchen island. “I see you found the big screen.”
A smile lit his face. “I did, and it’s kick-ass.”
She knew that smile wasn’t directed at her but rather at the giant 80-inch flat-screen TV normally hidden away in a specially made mahogany credenza. When fully extended, the massive screen took up half the wall. Still, that smile made her belly flutter.
A wonderful scent filled the air. Cookies? She followed the heavenly smell into the kitchen, unable to contain the shock in her voice. “You bake?”
Dayne gave her a wry look. “I told you I have hidden talents.” He pulled a tray from the oven and set it on the cooktop. “My mother—Renee—taught Lily and I how to bake. It was one of the first things she did with us after we got adopted. Helped us all to bond. Nothing fancy, mostly cookies, brownies, cakes, and pies.”
“Nothing fancy? That’s quite an accomplishment.” She leaned over the cookie rack and inhaled. “They smell amazing. Chocolate chip?”
He nodded. “Yep. Mom said every chef needs a good chipper recipe.”
“Francine tried teaching me to bake.” She scrunched up her face at the memory of her very blackened, very failed attempt at making brownies. “It didn’t take.”
“My baking is adequate.” Using a spatula, he transferred the cookies to a cooling rack. “Lily’s skills are out of bounds.”
“Her cake last night was decadent. I’ll be having chocolate mousse dreams for weeks.” He slathered one side of a cookie with frosting then sandwiched it with another. “You made frosting, too?” Her mouth watered. She dug her finger into the bowl then licked off the fluffy white icing, closing her eyes and moaning. “That’s good. Really good.”
She opened her eyes. Dayne stared at her finger then licked his lips and swallowed. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks,” he muttered, and went back to slapping more cookie sandwiches together.
It was brief, but there was no missing the unspoken heat and emotion in his eyes. She’d felt it, too. That attraction, magnetic pull, or whatever it was that hung between them and refused to go away no matter how much they denied it.
He took his plate and a tall glass of milk into the living room then sat on the sofa and turned up the volume. “I hope you don’t mind if I watch in here. Your 80-incher is too good to waste.”
“Not at all.” Considering her rude behavior earlier, it was the least she could do. “As long as you don’t mind if I join you.” She followed him and sat on the other side of the sofa.
His brows rose. “You’re a baseball fan?”
“Not just a baseball fan. A Yankees fan.” She paused at the look of skepticism on his face. “What, girls aren’t allowed to like baseball?”
“I didn’t say that.” He bit off half a cookie sandwich and chewed. “I’m just surprised,” he said around a mouthful of cookie.
“Well, don’t be.” She proceeded to tell him of her family’s opening-day tradition.<
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“Luxury suite, huh?” He arched a brow.
“Yes, but I sold it.”
His face contorted. “Why?”
“It was something we shared as a family. After my parents died, it wasn’t the same without them.”
He watched her for a moment, saying nothing. “That sounds like a nice tradition. I’ve only been in one of those suites once. I felt like I’d died and gone to baseball heaven.”
She reached for a cookie, but he snatched the plate away.
“Get your own. These are mine.”
She counted quickly. “All ten cookie sandwiches are yours?”
“I need my snacks. I’m a big boy.” He shoved another cookie into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of milk.
Yes, you are. He’d rolled his dress shirtsleeves to just below his elbows, exposing thick, flexing forearms. Instead of ogling him, she should be thankful they were talking again. Otherwise, living under the same roof until this was over would be a living, breathing hell.
“You’re not serious about hoarding all those cookies,” she chided. “Are you?”
He took a deep breath. “I’ll let you have some on one condition.”
She crossed her arms. “What’s that?”
Humor twinkled in his eyes. “You fix the next batch.”
“Deal. Now hand them over.” She held out her hand and he presented her with the plate. After carefully selecting the two biggest cookie sandwiches, she placed her bare feet on the coffee table.
“Is that a tradition, too?” He indicated her feet.
She nodded enthusiastically as more of the tension between them eased. “You’re welcome to join me.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He shucked his shoes and stretched out his long legs, carefully setting his feet on the table.
Kat nearly choked on the cookie she’d been chewing. The New York Yankees team emblem was printed on the sides of his socks. “Seriously?”