Living On The Edge. Susan Mallery
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shifted from the computer to him. “No pictures?” she asked.
“Not even a camera.”
“I’m transmitting to that screen through the bracelet?”
He nodded.
“Oh.” She glanced down at her wrist, then back at him. “It was a logical conclusion.”
Her eyes were blue. He’d registered the fact before but hadn’t paid any attention to them. Now he saw they were a deep, true color. She was pale—maybe from lack of sleep or food. Whatever the reason, her scar seemed more pronounced. Again he wondered why she hadn’t gotten it fixed.
She had the kind of hair teenage boys daydreamed about—straight, long and blond. Even with the scar she was beautiful. Not that he was interested.
“Logical,” he agreed. “But I’m not the kind of guy who likes to watch.”
Her delicate eyebrows rose. “I thought all men were into that.”
He allowed himself a smile. “Maybe under different circumstances. Not like this.”
“Good to know.” She glanced around the room. “Do I get to find out what this equipment is for?”
“It’s computers mostly. Some tracking equipment. I have a monitoring system for the house.”
“No one gets in, no one gets out?”
“Not on my shift.”
She walked to the window and looked out. He knew the view was little more than some lawn and a high fence topped with razor wire.
“Do you live here?” she asked, still looking out.
“No. I told you, it’s a safe house.”
“Who else do you bring here?”
“Sorry. That information is classified.”
“Of course.” She nodded. “But it does make me wonder. What exactly do you do with your life that you own a house like this?”
“I prepare in advance for whatever my clients might need.”
She walked back toward him. “Who’s your client now? Me? Christopher?”
“I’m winging it.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does that often.”
He shrugged. “I try to be flexible.”
Their eyes met. He read questions in hers. No fear, though, which he respected. She wasn’t what he’d thought. Maybe not as useless as most women like her. She had backbone and more than a little—
He felt it then. Subtle at first, but growing. It filled the room, pressing in on him, stealing air, heating breath.
Awareness.
Of her. The scent of her skin, the way she moved. In the blink of an eye she went from someone he had to protect to a woman.
Dammit all to hell, he thought grimly. This was not allowed. He didn’t get involved with clients. Not ever.
“I got you some clothes,” he said and retraced his steps to the kitchen.
He heard her follow. When she’d cleared the control room, he hit the remote to reset the security system, then stopped by the package.
“One of my men came by with it,” he told her.
She looked confused. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s so complicated? I sent one of my guys to your place to get you some things.”
“A man was in my condo?”
She sounded more surprised than outraged. Tanner pushed the package toward her.
“I doubt he spent a lot of time in your underwear drawer. You’ve been wearing what you have on for days. I thought you’d like something clean.”
“I do. Thank you. I’m just not sure…How did he get in? What if Christopher is watching the building?”
“I’m guessing your ex had someone there. Don’t worry. No one saw Angel.”
“And how did he get in?”
Tanner shrugged. “He has his ways. Go on—” he pointed to her room “—take a shower, change your clothes. Then we’ll eat. I have a lot of questions I need to ask you about your ex-husband.”
“Sure. Okay.” She picked up the package, then smiled. “Thanks.”
With that, she walked down the hall. Tanner waited until she disappeared before heading into the control room. He watched the small red dot move on the screen. When it eased from the bedroom to the bathroom, he had to force himself to keep his attention on work and not on the thought of a naked woman stepping into the shower.
A three-hour nap and a shower had gone a long way to perking up Madison. The guy Tanner had sent to her house had brought back the basics—jeans, T-shirts, a couple of nightgowns and a few toiletries. She tried not to freak out at the thought of a strange man going through her underwear drawer and reminded herself that after all she’d been through, having a stranger grabbing bras and panties was the least of her problems.
After washing out the panties and bra she’d been wearing for the past ten days, she dried her hair. As she put away her blow-dryer, she realized she could smell something cooking. The delicious scent of tomato sauce and garlic had her mouth watering and her stomach growling. She felt like a cartoon animal floating along on the smell as she followed the scent down the hall and into the kitchen.
Tanner stood at the stove. He turned as she entered and smiled. She wasn’t sure what shocked her more—that he was cooking or the smile itself. Both were unexpected, although the curve of his mouth made her uneasy in ways she couldn’t define.
“Nothing fancy,” he told her. “Spaghetti, meat sauce and a salad.”
Her stomach growled again. She suddenly felt faint with hunger. “At this point I’d eat anything.”
He jerked his head toward the table. “Then have a seat.”
The round table had already been set with place mats, napkins and flatware. She settled in a chair just as he brought over a large bowl of pasta and another of salad.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked. “We have all the basics.”
“Just water,” she answered, as her stomach tightened in anticipation of food.
“Dig in,” he told her.
She decided to take him at his word. She scooped up a large serving of the meat-covered pasta and dumped it on her plate. Salad could wait—right now she wanted something substantial.
The first bite was heavenly. The perfect blend of spices, the tender yet firm pasta. She couldn’t chew fast enough.
Tanner returned with a bottle of water and set it next to her plate. She nodded her thanks but didn’t stop eating. It was only after she’d finished the serving of pasta and reached for the salad that she glanced at him.
“Sorry to be such a pig.”
“Don’t sweat it.” He took the seat opposite hers and served himself some pasta. “Why didn’t you eat while you were kidnapped? Did you think a hunger strike would get their attention?”
She shrugged, choosing not to read any criticism into his words. “I never planned on avoiding food. For the first couple of days I was too scared to eat. Every time I tried, it wouldn’t stay down. Eventually I was able to handle very small portions. A half a slice of toast in the morning. A cup of soup in the afternoon. Some people eat more when they’re stressed—I eat less. Those people didn’t believe me when I told them. They threatened to feed me themselves, using force, but it never came