Nightfire. Barbara McCauley
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me sleep much better tonight.”
She started to walk away then, but he caught her by the wrist.
“Allison.”
She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, the gentle touch of his hand or the uncharacteristic softness in his voice. She stared at his fingers wrapped around her wrist, then lifted her eyes to his. For a brief second, a flash of something—tenderness?—was there in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.
“I’m not here so you can sleep better at night,” he said quietly. “You can’t let your guard down, not even for a minute. My job is to keep whoever this guy is out there from getting close to you. Your job is to be ready and prepared for anything. You’ll get no kind words from me, no assurances, because there are none. That’s how I operate and that’s why your father hired me.”
She was beginning to understand more clearly why her father had hired Kane. The two men were very much alike. As subtle as a steamroller and as tenacious as an angry bull. Results were what mattered, not merit badges in charm. She may not like it, but she did respect it.
As he let go of her arm she realized that he’d come about as close to an apology or explanation as she’d ever get from him. Though unspoken, a truce settled between them. “Dinner’s in the oven, but it won’t be ready for about forty-five minutes.”
Kane remembered that he’d already spoken to the gardener and the pool man, but he hadn’t seen a glimpse of the housekeeper and cook that Oliver employed full-time. “I’ll need a few minutes of your housekeeper’s time after dinner. I need to ask her a few questions.”
“That might be a little difficult,” Allison said, feeling a twinge of satisfaction that there were a few things Mr. Thomas Kane didn’t know. “Her granddaughter just had a baby yesterday. She left this morning to stay with her for a month.”
Confused, Kane glanced toward the house. “Who’s cooking?”
Good Lord, did the man think she was entirely helpless? She tapped down the annoyance rising in her. “I’ve learned to throw one or two simple meals together.”
“I don’t expect you to cook for me.” Actually, he hadn’t expected her to cook at all. The fact that she did surprised him.
Something told her that Kane never expected anything from anybody. If a person didn’t expect anything, then he didn’t have to give anything. “There’s plenty,” she said flatly. “I’ve already asked the other men to join us.”
Kane resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Next thing he knew, they’d be having a picnic. “I’ll take a plate out to them,” he said dryly. “These men are here to work, not attend dinner parties.”
“Oh, darn.” She gestured dramatically and sarcasm dripped off her words. “Now whoever will I wear my gown and jewels for tonight?”
He could see diamonds on her. Diamonds and emeralds and black velvet. “You’ll be wearing them for our picture-taking friend, if you don’t let us do our job.”
Kane’s words cooled Allison’s ire and sharply reminded her of the situation. The idea of someone actually coming into her home while she was sleeping or taking a shower made her skin crawl. Having worked with the children at the center, she’d always thought she had a strong understanding of the darker side of life. But the truth was, she’d never been a victim herself. No one had ever threatened to hurt her; no one had ever followed her or watched her.
Or taken her picture while she was getting dressed.
Maybe Kane was right. Maybe she had been living in never-never land. Maybe ‘princess’ wasn’t so far off, after all.
“I’ve got to go check on my frozen dinners,” she said with just enough bite to lift her spirits a notch. “Those aluminum containers are awful to clean when you burn the macaroni and cheese.”
Kane watched her walk away and wondered why he felt as if he’d just kicked a puppy. So what if she was mad at him? That was his intention. Anger kept people on their toes. And Allison needed to be alert. He had to remind her there were bad guys out there, no matter how angry it made her; no matter how much it upset her. It was for her own good, dammit.
He almost smiled as she disappeared into the house, realizing that however angry she might happen to be at him now, it was nothing compared to what she’d be feeling after she found out what he had planned for the morning.
Three
Barefoot, dressed in a leotard and tights, Allison tiptoed out of her bedroom and down the stairs, then quietly moved toward the back of the house. The chilly air brought goose bumps to her bare arms, but she welcomed the cold. Anything that would help her wake up at the ungodly hour of five-thirty in the morning was appreciated.
A small price to pay for privacy, she reminded herself, holding her breath as she paused outside the guest bedroom Kane was sleeping in. She leaned her head toward the door and listened. Absolute silence.
Smiling, she crept down the hallway, pleased that she’d found a few quiet moments for herself. Everywhere she’d turned last night, it had seemed as if Kane was there. Not that he’d stood over her shoulder or followed her around. If anything, it had been the opposite. He’d kept to himself most of the evening in the kitchen, studying maps and files, going outside periodically to talk with the other men. He’d barely acknowledged her the entire night.
And yet, though she’d hardly seen him, she still felt his presence. It didn’t matter that he was in the other room or outside. There was an energy that pulsated through the house, a force that had never been there before. She realized, of course, that the situation itself called for a heightened sense of awareness on her part. After all, someone was out there, and whoever it was, he was watching her and her father.
But at a deeper level Allison knew that her anxiety, her apprehension, hadn’t nearly as much to do with the circumstances as it did with Kane himself. Danger and excitement were inherent in the man, a part of who he was. His passion. She knew it, felt it instinctively, and as surely as it frightened her on one level, it seduced her on another.
And that, Allison told herself, was what made Thomas Kane such a dangerous man. A man to avoid at all costs. Even if it meant rising with the sun.
When she opened the door of the rec room, what she saw took her breath away.
He was there at the weight machine, his hands tightly clasped around the T-bar over his head, his arms rhythmically moving up and down, the movement as fluid as the sweat that glistened on his face and bare arms. He wore sweatpants and a ragged gray sweatshirt cut off at the shoulders. The underarms and chest were also stained from the exertion of his workout.
She should have left, simply backed out before he caught her staring at him, but her legs suddenly felt as heavy as the weights he lifted, her feet rooted to the cold wooden floor. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to.
He was magnificent. His eyes were closed with intense concentration; his jaw set hard as concrete. The muscles on his arms bunched and rippled under the force as he moved. He strained at the weights, teeth gritted, obviously pushing himself to and then beyond his limits. She watched in fascination, admiring not only the physical body, but the dedication, as well. She recognized the look on his face, the driving need to be the best. She’d seen it in more than one dancer’s eyes and had even paid the price herself. Performances with pulled tendons. Practices with wrapped, bleeding toes. Dancing was all she’d ever known, all she’d ever wanted, and when she’d had her accident she’d thought it a curse. But now, when she looked into the faces of her children at the center, she knew in her heart it had been a blessing.
The weights clattered down, startling her. Her gaze met his and they stared at each other, neither one of them moving. The silence of the room closed around them, held them. She heard the sound of her own heartbeat, felt her body tighten like the string of a violin, waiting for the pull of the bow….