Guarding Raine (Security Ops) (10 page)

“You’re so funny.”

“And right,” Trey said surely. “So who did you bowl over with your usual smooth manner this time?”

“That was Klassen. He was telling me to call off the work because it might distract Raine from her painting. Which might take some money out of his pocket,” he added caustically. “The man’s all heart. First he talked Raine out of reporting the harassment to the police, and now he’s trying to cut short her security measures.”

Trey raised his eyebrows. “Makes you sort of wonder if he has any other reason for wanting to keep this whole thing hush-hush.”

Mac looked at his friend with sardonic amusement. “Don’t ever kid yourself, Garrison. Your mind is just as suspicious as mine.”

“I know that. I’m just better than you are at covering it up. Besides, I’ve been asking around and I’m hearing rumors that Klassen is having money problems.”

“What kind of money problems?”

“I’ve heard from several sources that he’s overextended himself, and his cash flow isn’t, shall we say, flowing. That would explain why he’s so anxious for Raine to have a successful show. As her agent, he stands to make a nice profit from anything she sells, and she has been selling well lately.”

Mac silently examined what Trey had said. It made sense, in light of Klassen’s almost fanatical demand to leave Raine alone. But the man would have to be one selfish bastard to convince Raine and Winters not to go to the police, if his sole interest was that Raine finish her paintings on time. Of course, Mac continued to muse, nothing he’d noted about Klassen today would be at odds with that supposition.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “Keep asking around. Have you heard anything about Winters?”

“Haven’t talked to many people who have heard of him,” Trey answered. “He was an accountant in a big corporation, but he left three years ago to start his own business. I don’t know what kind of reputation he has. But I’ll keep asking around. Someone in the business has to know him.”

Mac made a mental note to ask Raine how she’d first met up with her accountant. Okay, thanks. I owe you one.”

Trey grinned. “That’s how I like it, pal.” They spoke of business a few more minutes before he took his leave. As Trey drove away, Mac’s eyes went up to the windows of Raine’s studio. Was she working? Had she been able to wipe out everything that had passed between them the day before and concentrate on her painting? Or was Klassen right in assuming that she needed absolute peace to paint? Somehow Mac didn’t believe that. He’d witnessed her strength of will on several occasions since he’d met her. Her father, too, had spoken of it. Mac didn’t know how Klassen had formed his opinion of Raine’s delicate nature, but he was betting the man’s perception was incorrect.

More and more, he was getting the feeling that Raine Michaels was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for.

# # # #

Sitting on the floor of her studio, Raine stretched one leg out in front of her and touched her nose to her knee several times. Then she switched legs. After a full day of painting, her back was full of knots, the muscles tight. The exercises helped loosen them at the end of the day, but didn’t always complete the job. Today, no matter which way she bent and stretched, those knots weren’t going away. Spreading both legs out, she bent forward, touching her forehead to the floor.

After a brief knock, the door to the studio opened, and she raised her head to meet Mac’s impassive gaze.

“Drop something?” he inquired.

Rising to her feet gracefully, she shrugged her shoulders first one way, then another. “Working the day’s kinks out,” she explained.

He didn’t respond. Seeing her bent in those impossible contortions had made his throat go dry. Out of nowhere came images of her in other, more intimate positions. Those narrow jeans of hers should have been constricting her movements, but she moved as easily as though she was wearing a leotard. On the heels of that thought came a sudden desire to see exactly what Raine would look like in such an outfit. He’d seen her in nothing more revealing than jeans and T-shirts.

He gave himself an impatient mental shake. It had been a while since he’d had a woman, but not that long. His taste in women ran to those with far more obvious physical assets than Raine possessed. And when he was on a job, there was no room for idle imaginings.

“My muscles get stiff standing here for hours,” she explained. “I’m tempted to put in a hot tub to do the job for me. That would be easier than the exercises.”

Without conscious thought Mac walked toward her. She looked surprised and not a little wary at his approach.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She stared at him, not obeying.

He turned her gently, then grasped the top of her shoulders. Using his fingers to massage her neck, his thumbs rubbed deeply and rhythmically around her shoulder blades.

Every muscle, every nerve in her body froze. Her heart stopped for an instant, then doubled its beat, the blood pushing rapidly through her veins to pound in her pulse. Her brain screamed at her feet, ordering them to run. They remained rooted in place. Raine stood fatalistically, incapable of movement. She waited for the silent scream to grow inside her until it beat at her temples, demanding to be released. Already her breath was coming in short, quick bursts, as if she’d broken from her frozen state and run as far and as swiftly as her mind commanded. She couldn’t swallow around the knot in her throat. She waited for the nightmare to spring to life, in Technicolor reality.

Because this was so like her dreams. There was a man, a big man, standing behind her, out of her sight. He was touching her, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t pick up leaden feet and flee. She had run before, on that dark, haunting night, as though her heels were on fire, but she hadn’t gotten far, no, not far enough. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her wide-eyed gaze went to the window.

She blinked confusedly at the still bright sunlight streaming in. It wasn’t dark outside. It should have been dark. The sky had been black that night, and so it was repeated in faithful detail in her nightmares. She shook her head dazedly. But this wasn’t a nightmare. The hands on her body weren’t hurting, they were soothing. She concentrated fiercely on the rhythmic movement at the top of her spine. Her breath was released in an odd little sigh. Her heart continued to beat wildly, but the silent scream welling inside slowly dissipated. She was still tense, but movement had returned to her limbs. She shifted her feet slightly. The past was vacuumed away, back to the niche where her mind kept it. Instead Raine concentrated on the most amazing thing that had happened to her in years. Someone was in back of her—no, not just someone, a man. He was touching her, and she hadn’t screamed, she hadn’t involuntarily reacted in a way sure to embarrass her the next moment. The confusion she felt now was from a very different source.

It was a moment before she realized the hands on her shoulders had dropped away. Turning slowly, Raine gazed at Macauley with a sense of wonder. How was it that this man could accomplish what no other could? What was there about him that could tame her reactions when she couldn’t control them herself?

“You
are
tense,” he commented. “I wasn’t much help.” He didn’t know what had had him reaching for the woman, anyway. It was totally out of character for him. But somehow, coming in here and seeing her like he had had forced him to react before he’d made the conscious decision to do so.

Her voice was soft when she answered him. “Yes. You were.” She stared at him for another long moment, wondering how he had managed to short-circuit her customary reactions. Shaking her head slightly, she said, “And I intend to pay you back. With dinner.”

He was already shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to feed me.”

Raine cocked her head at him. “How do you eat at your other jobs? As a matter of fact, how have you been eating since you got here? I haven’t fed you since the first night.”

He shrugged. “The men always bring me something. And I just stopped in here to ask you to come down with me so I can explain the alarm system.” He hadn’t answered the first part of her question, and from the looks of him he didn’t intend to. But it didn’t matter.

“Well, your men won’t be around forever, although—” she rolled her eyes “—it feels as though they already have been. You might as well start eating when I do. I’m a passable cook, as long as you don’t expect anything fancy.”

He didn’t. But he also didn’t want to . . . what? Be in her company any more than he had to be? That was ridiculous. He’d been busy supervising the work, making sure it got done as quickly as possible, and he really had been eating on the go. But she was right. There was quickly coming a time when the men would be done and he’d need to eat. It wasn’t unusual for him to eat with a client, though it had been a while since he’d done protection work like he was doing for Raine.

He’d never liked that aspect of the job, to tell the truth. Trey handled most instances like this, when one of them was required to stay close to a client. Mac lacked the will or the interest needed to soothe fears, to get on an informal footing with people he would likely never see again. He looked at Raine. Her eyebrows were raised, and she was no doubt drawing her own conclusions. He gave in gracelessly. “All right, just tell me what time you want to eat at night. Don’t expect me for breakfast or lunch, though. I don’t have time to sit down to a meal more than once a day.”

“Good,” she said, amusement lacing her voice. “Because I don’t have time to fix one more often.”

“Can I show you the system now?”

She followed him downstairs to the front door. He indicated a panel that had been ensconced on the wall. “Every door and window is wired into this system. The lock has been changed on this door, and a dead bolt added. The side and back doors also have dead bolts. The same keys open all three doors. Once you open the door with your key, you have two minutes to get to this panel and type in a code you’ll select. If the code is typed in correctly, the alarm will stay off. If not, it will sound, and loudly.”

Raine studied the panel, fascinated in spite of herself. Across the inside cover of the panel door was a tape emblazoned with the name of a well-known alarm and security-system company.

“Once the alarm sounds, it will simultaneously ring this company.” Mac tapped the name she’d been reading. “You’ll have a contract with them that guarantees they’ll have someone at your door in less than twenty minutes.”

“Why both kinds of alarms?” she questioned.

“Protection,” he said bluntly. “Noise has been known to scare off would-be intruders. And if it doesn’t, the contract ensures that you’ll have someone out here to check on things. The same thing with the windows. If one is broken, the wires running through it will also trigger the alarms. I can program the panel right now, if you’re ready.”

“Ready?” she asked, at a loss. “What do I have to do?”

“Give me six numbers that mean something to you, so you’ll be sure and remember them. Lots of people pick a date, but if you do, try to stay away from the obvious ones like your birthday. We don’t want someone to look up basic information on you and be able to use it to get into your house.”

After a moment, she recited six numbers to him. Mac programmed them into the panel, and the red light went on, indicating that the alarm was activated.

“What happens if I don’t get to the panel within two minutes?” she asked interestedly.

“The alarm will go off, and the company will dispatch someone over here. Try not to let that happen too frequently,” he advised dryly. “They’ll add a charge to your bill for unnecessary trips.”

“It would make more sense for them to call first. Or for the owner to be able to call and tell them there’s been a mistake.”

“This company doesn’t operate that way anymore,” he said shortly. That was why he used them. That phone call could be made under duress, and there was no way for the security guard to know for sure if services were really needed. “It makes them more expensive, but I think they’re worth it.” He opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. On the porch was a stack of bright yellow signs, with the name of the security company written across them in bold black letters.

“No,” she said flatly, understanding his intent before he spoke a word. “I will not have those strewn across my lawn like forgotten campaign posters.”

He gave her a hard look. “They can be effective. Most burglars have been at their trade for quite a while. They’re familiar with the names of the systems. This one’s reputation is the best. It could convince a would-be intruder to try his luck elsewhere.”

Her lips firmed and she didn’t say anything. She didn’t care what Macauley’s reasonings were. As soon as he was gone from here, those garish signs would be in the trash. She had to live with the intrusion of security panels and alarms, new doors and windows. She wasn’t going to let the rolling splendor of her lawn be spoiled.

Mac led the way around the corner of the house. She gasped, for the first time noticing that the wild honeysuckle bushes had been cut back from the house, the vines had been pruned to practically nothing, and all the bushes had been shorn. “We had to clear the brush away from the house,” he explained tersely, seeing her reaction. “You can’t afford to have anything around the house or windows that would be large enough to conceal a person. You don’t want any unpleasant surprises.”