Beguiled (3 page)

Her heart jumped. The figures crouched low to the ground; then one of them straightened and moved forward, coming straight for her.

She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Toro leapt forward.

“No, Toro! Down! Down!” Grinding her blades against the concrete, she jerked back on his lead with both hands. But it was no use. She couldn’t stop him.

The leash threatened to slip through her palms, but she held tight. The last thing she wanted was to be separated from the mastiff.

Toro dragged her into the park, making a beeline for the men. The silhouettes froze for an instant, then bolted.

The first one cut sideways in the direction of a gazebo. As he passed through a gap in the trees, lamplight from overhead faintly illuminated him. A tall black man with something clenched in his pumping hand.

Her breath caught.
A gun?

Toro ignored him, locking in on the other man, who fled toward the edge of the park. The man emerged from the trees onto a circular courtyard surrounding the Confederate Soldier Memorial. In the light, she saw he wore a baseball uniform.

Baseball uniform?

Before she could process that thought, Toro closed the gap, dragging her behind him like an anchor.

The man had nowhere to go. The only thing beyond the park was miles of bay. The moment he stopped for breath, they’d be on top of him.

But he didn’t stop. He headed straight for the monument, never glancing back. He traversed the broad steps leading up to the pedestal, then took a running leap. His body sailed through the air, arms extended.

Rylee held her breath. No way was he going to reach the top of the pedestal. It was far too high. But his fingers hooked the edge of the stone, and after dangling a moment, he hoisted himself up.

Any other time, she’d have been impressed with his jump. Instead, she focused on the low brick wall surrounding the monument. She barely cleared it, her rollerblades slamming down on the opposite side.

As the memorial’s steps rushed up to meet her, she yanked again on Toro’s leash. Hard. There was no way she could navigate the steps at this speed.

But the mastiff wasn’t stopping. At the last moment, she let go of the leash, swerving to a breathless stop.

Toro launched himself against the pedestal, then threw his body again and again into the air, snapping at the man but unable to reach him.

He stared down at the dog wide-eyed. His face flushed, his chest heaving.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She glanced back into the park. Apart from pools of light here and there, the grounds were dark. A shadow flicked from one tree to another. A chill ran up her spine.

Was the other guy circling back? Would Toro be able to protect her from both men?

She dug through her bag—a jumble of leashes, poop bags, keys, a flashlight, and a water bottle—until she seized on the plastic body of her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. Twice in one day.

“Yes. There are a couple of guys after me. Please hurry. I’m in White Point Gardens by the Confederate Memorial. I have one of the men cornered.”

“What are you doing?” the man shouted in disbelief.

She glanced at him again. His muscles were taut, his face twisted in outrage.

After answering the dispatcher’s questions, Rylee hung up, only to realize she’d cut off her lifeline. Hesitating, she slid the phone into her cardigan pocket, then peered into the surrounding darkness. Nothing moved.

Behind her, Toro placed his paws on the base of the statue and gave out a deep, booming bark.

The man shimmied farther up the statue’s leg. “Call that albino off!”

She continued to scan the area, resenting the man’s tone. “He’s not an albino. He’s an Argentino mastiff.”

“Whatever he is, just call him off!”

She whirled around. “You call off your friend!”

His laugh caught her off guard. “He’s long gone. Now will you please get control of your dog? I can’t stay up here all night.”

His exasperation seemed real enough, but she wasn’t about to put her back to the park. Gliding to the front of the statue, she positioned herself where she could see both the shadowed grounds and the guy in the baseball getup.

His blue T-shirt, which had
Mets
plastered across it in big red cursive letters, stretched tightly across his muscled chest. Rust-colored dirt had been ground into his silver pants. He lifted his blue cap, wiped his brow against his sleeve, and gave her a hopeful grin.

She bit her lip. Maybe she’d acted too fast calling the police. Looking at him now, he seemed harmless enough. But why had he been hiding in the dark? Why had he run? Maybe he and his cohort had been canvassing the houses opposite the park.

She unsnapped her blades just in case the other guy showed up. She didn’t want Toro dragging her right to him.

The man glanced at the dog nervously. “Why’d you call the cops? You think I’m some kind of pervert or something?”

“Or something.”

“Dressed like this?” He plucked at his T-shirt, prompting Toro to let out a low growl. “Listen, we were just taking a few photos.”

“In the dark? From behind the bushes?”

“We’re on an assignment.”

“An assignment?”

“That’s right.” He sighed. “My name is Logan Woods. I’m a reporter for the
Post & Courier
. I’ve been covering the Robin Hood burglaries. Maybe you’ve read one of my stories?” Reaching into his back pocket, he gingerly removed a thick brown billfold.

Toro leapt to attention and started to salivate.

“Here’s my business card.” The card flicked toward her, spiraling to the ground.

Holding the card to the light, she recognized the newspaper’s logo. There was his name in black ink. Anyone could print up fake business cards these days, but this one looked legit.

She glanced at him again.
This is the guy who wrote the articles on the robberies?
A sinking feeling came over her.

Her idea of a reporter was a pale, paunchy, middle-aged man, and Logan Woods was anything but. He looked as if he spent more time at the gym pumping weight—lots of weight—than sitting behind some desk.

His muscles had mouth-watering definition. Thighs that bulged, a stomach as flat as a wall, a chest that swelled, and serious biceps.

Flashing lights lit up East Battery. Seconds later, a squad car pulled up to the curb. A young officer climbed out of the driver’s seat, slipped a nightstick into the loop on his belt, and headed in their direction.

“Rylee Monroe?” The officer took in her stocking feet, Toro, and the man hugging the statue. “I’m Officer Kirk. You all right?”

“Yes, but there’s another man out there somewhere.”

As Kirk scanned the trees with his flashlight, an old Mustang rattled up behind the squad car. The engine cut off and another baseball player in a Mets jersey jumped out.

Kirk saw the man and straightened. “Detective. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Just passing through after the game to make sure everything was quiet. Saw your lights and figured I’d lend a hand. What’s up?”

“Not sure yet, sir. I was dispatched here on a prowler call.”

The detective inspected the man on the statue. His jutting face caught the gold light, dominated by a prow-like pointer of a nose. He ran a hand over his bristling crew cut, then burst into a grin.

Rylee frowned. “Who are you?”

He flipped his badge open. “Detective Campbell, ma’am. Looks like you caught a live one there.”

“Very funny,” Logan said.

She glanced from one man to the other. “You
know
him?”

The detective hitched up his baseball pants. “ ’Fraid so.”

“So he’s not a burglar?”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened.”

“This man and another one were prowling—”

Logan laughed. “We weren’t prowling.”

“—were creeping in the shadows along South Battery when my dog here spotted them and they took off running.”

“I didn’t run until that thing charged me.”

Campbell shook his head. “What’s the matter, Logan? This little critter scare you?”

“You’d be up here too if that snarling albino was coming at you with his teeth bared.”

“Is he friendly?” Campbell asked, pointing to Toro.

“Yes, sir.” She patted the dog between the ears. “Very loving and gentle. His name’s Toro.”

Officer Kirk’s walkie-talkie let out a blast of static. He turned down the volume, then looked at Rylee. “You live around here, ma’am?”

“Actually, I’m pet sitting for someone who lives in the neighborhood.” She rummaged through her bag for her address book, producing a creased business card from inside the cover. Kirk looked at the card, then passed it to Campbell.

All she wanted was to get out of there. If the man on the statue really was a reporter—and by now, it was obvious he’d been telling the truth—she owed him an apology.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she had a hard time meeting his gaze. She waited for the officers to declare it all a misunderstanding, so she could apologize and get going.

Perched on the statue, every muscle in his body burning, Logan finally ran out of patience. The whole thing was absurd, and he couldn’t believe it was still dragging on. The woman should have realized right away she’d made a mistake. She should have gotten her animal under control and let him come down. Instead, she’d dragged the police out, and Nate Campbell showed no sign of resolving the situation speedily.

He was probably having fun. It wasn’t every night Nate had a pretty, long-legged girl in his power, and he wasn’t going to rush things any.

Pretty was an understatement. Once she’d come into the light and he’d had a chance to take a closer look, Logan had seen right away that the dogwalker was stunning. Tall and slim, moving with graceful poise in spite of her apparent fear, her cheekbones framed by the jagged tips of her stylish pixie haircut.

And Nate was just eating it up.

“Aren’t you guys forgetting something here?” he called down. “I’m the one who was attacked. What if I want to press charges for assault with a deadly weapon?”

“Toro did not assault you.” She put a hand on her hip. “And he’s
not
a deadly weapon. He wouldn’t have done anything at all if you hadn’t run.”

“I’d be in the hospital if I hadn’t run.” He gave Nate a pointed look. “Are you gonna help me out?”

Now that he’d had his fun, Nate put on his serious-cop face. “Actually, miss, this man does have the right to walk in the park without fear of molestation by your dog.”

“Walk in the park?” Her jaw dropped. “He wasn’t walking, he was lurking.” She jabbed her finger toward the trees. “And he had somebody else with him—”

“Your dog charged this man and drove him up onto that statue.” He paused and looked at Logan. “How did you get up there, anyway?”

Logan peered down at the cobbled circle bounding the memorial, shaking his head at the height. “If I knew I’d tell you. I’m sure it was impressive.”

Nate snorted.

The dogwalker’s eyes flared with outrage. “This isn’t funny.

Maybe I was wrong, but I really thought this man was a threat to me.”

Logan had looked forward to this woman’s comeuppance, but if she’d really been afraid, if she’d thought someone was after her . . .

“Hey, Nate. It’s all right. I can see why she was startled.”

But going easy wasn’t in Nate Campbell’s nature. He had a bit of the bully in him. She might have brought it on herself, but it was, after all, just a misunderstanding.

He tried again. “Look, I just want to get down from here, all right?”

The dog seemed to understand, gazing up at him with wolf-like eyes. A long, low rumble rolled in his throat.

Even with all the distance between them, even with the police there and the leash firmly coiled around the dogwalker’s fist, Logan’s mouth dried up. He knew better, but he couldn’t shake the image of that animal leaping up at him, fangs sinking into him, its head snapping back and forth to pull a chunk of flesh loose. His throat seized up and he began to cough.

“What’s the matter with you?” Nate said. “You can come down anytime. Nobody’s stopping you.”

The dogwalker looped another circle of leash around her hand.

“He won’t bite, Mr. Woods. I promise.”

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths through his nose. The growling stopped, cut off by a jerk of the leash, but it was too late.

“Give me a second,” he said.

On the ground, they kept talking, but Logan checked out of the conversation. His hand gripped the statue, but he felt powerless now that the trembling had taken hold. The others wouldn’t be able to see it. If he just toughed it out, maybe they’d never pick up on his fear.

He took deep breaths and tried to imagine climbing down to join them. He wasn’t ready, though. Not yet. He didn’t trust his arms to hold out.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. But Nate was in the dogwalker’s face, hissing in a quiet, menacing way. And the woman, in spite of the bravado she’d shown a few moments before, looked ready to cry. Meanwhile, Officer Kirk watched with a poker face, giving no hint what he thought of the situation. Logan made a point of not looking at Toro at all.

He closed his eyes again and tried to think happy thoughts. His mom standing on the porch, calling him in to dinner. Dad closing the newspaper after finishing one of his articles, a smile across his lips. The crack of his bat against a baseball, the white speck disappearing into the stratosphere. Slowly his heart rate returned to normal.

Nate’s voice thundered below. “Don’t take that tone with me.”

There was no response. Logan opened his eyes again.

He’d expected to find the dogwalker cowed and submissive, but instead she looked ready to throw a punch.

Before things could get out of hand again, Logan lowered himself down, kicking awkwardly in the air until his foot found a purchase. Getting up had been easy in comparison, and by the time he let go and dropped the final yard, the conversation had stopped so all three of them could watch. Four, counting the dog, but Logan was trying to pretend it didn’t exist.