Taming the Lone Wolff. Janice Maynard
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accept.
Larkin had seen things that chilled his blood, some of them in his own backyard. He never allowed himself to be lulled into complacency. The world was full of monsters, even on a day that seemed as lovely and serene as a midsummer night’s eve.
At last, his dainty employer cracked. “Fine,” she said, her expression irritated but resigned. “Let me get my shoes.”
She was gone barely a minute. When she returned, something in his stomach tightened in appreciation. Her footwear was an odd cross between practical and quirky. Flat gold sandals made of an infinite number of narrow straps encased her feet and ran halfway up shapely, toned calves. The lick of arousal he experienced disconcerted him.
He swallowed, trying not to look down. “You ready?”
She lifted her chin, nose in the air. “Follow me.” By her voice and expression he saw that she was determined to be in charge. Her contrariness amused him. He’d let her take the lead, but when it came to the job, he’d do it his way, even if she balked. Winnie was paying him for his experience and expertise. Whether she liked it or not, he would take care of whatever or whoever was causing problems.
The stroll across the lawn was accomplished without words. Birds twittered, wind rustled in the trees and somewhere in the distance a lawn mower hummed. Winnie, however, maintained a stiff-lipped silence. Once, when she stumbled briefly, he touched her elbow automatically. She jerked away, no surprise, but not before the feel of her skin was burned into his fingertips. Soft, warm…delicate. Focusing his attention elsewhere was surprisingly difficult.
All the while they walked, he scanned the area, cataloging deficiencies in her security. Unless she had some kind of electrical perimeter, the low split-rail fencing in the distance was nothing more than decoration. With her hand on the front door handle of the neat brick structure, Winnie paused. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “The children haven’t been able to play outside,” she said, “since the article ran. And I’m responsible.”
He saw pain in her eyes. Regret. Frustrated helplessness. All emotions he had known intimately as a child unable to protect his siblings. “You’re not responsible,” he said, touching her shoulder briefly in what he told himself was a gesture of comfort. “The situation is regrettable, but easily fixed.”
“What do you mean?” Hope and suspicion warred in her striking eyes.
“We’ll string up a camouflage tarp tomorrow…the kind of thing they use on army posts in the Middle East. From the air no one will be able to see the kids.”
“It’s that easy?”
“Let’s just say that’s the least of our problems.”
She worried her lower lip. “Promise you won’t talk to them.”
He mimed locking his mouth and tossing away the key. “Am I allowed to take notes?”
“Is it absolutely necessary? You strike me as the kind of man who keeps a lot of stuff in your head.”
He grinned. “Whatever the boss wants.”
Stepping through the doorway into a house full of women and children was not what he expected. Winnie had told him there were eight bedrooms and currently twenty-one clients. Instead of noise and confusion, an eerie silence reigned.
“Did they know we were coming?” he asked, sotto voce.
“They knew,” she whispered. “Someone is always looking out the window.”
Not a soul appeared to greet them.
Winnie took him room to room on the main floor. “We have an alarm that is set at nine each evening. It’s programmed to ring in the house…my bedroom actually.”
He frowned. “Not the police?”
“Things are pretty spread out around here, in case you haven’t noticed. I guess you could say I’m the first responder.”
“And what exactly do you think you could do?” he asked, not bothering to hide his incredulity.
Winnie stared at him with the haughtiness of a duchess. “I can shoot to maim or to kill, whatever the occasion demands. Don’t worry, Mr. Wolff. I protect what’s mine.”
He felt his anger rise and had to swallow it back. “You’ve hired me,” he said mildly. “No need anymore for you to mete out vigilante justice.”
“You don’t believe me.” It was a statement, not a question.
He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m not disputing your ability to handle a firearm. I’m merely suggesting you let me handle intruders from now on out.”
“And how will you do that from the comfort of your swanky downtown office?”
“You know nothing about my office.”
“Wrong,” she said, her expression triumphant. “A trusted friend of mine made a fake appointment two weeks ago, met you and scoped out your operation.”
“The hell you say…” His indignation mushroomed.
“It’s not unethical.”
“No, but it’s…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the exact mix of emotions he felt. Had a man done the same thing Winnie had done, Larkin would have applauded his thoroughness. Then why was he so taken aback? “Am I allowed to know what your spy uncovered?”
She chuckled, correctly reading his pique. “He told me you ran a tight ship and that your offices indicated a healthy bottom line. Satisfied?”
Larkin shrugged. “I expected nothing less. That’s all true.” He turned away, determined to regain control of the situation. “I’ll ramp up the security measures already in place, and I’ll install cameras. With your permission, we can set up a monitoring station somewhere in your house.”
“What happens when you spirit me away?”
“My best people will be on the job. I swear to you, Winnie, you’ll be in good hands.”
Winnie hoped she wasn’t blushing. Her fair skin was a curse. Being in such close contact with Larkin Wolff was making her act like a flustered sixteen-year-old girl.
She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them out of mischief. Larkin’s broad shoulders and lean torso were made to cushion a woman’s weary head. Winnie liked the idea, but depending on a man was dicey. It was one thing to hire a professional. That made sense in the most pragmatic way. But fantasizing about close contact on a daily basis shouldn’t—couldn’t—be allowed. Even if handsome blue eyes filled with keen intelligence were her own particular Achilles’ heel. She’d predicated her life on being a good girl…on not rocking the boat. It was disconcerting to realize that she was suddenly contemplating the tantalizing benefits of being bad.
“I’d prefer that you not go upstairs,” she said abruptly, trying to corral her hormones. “I don’t want to upset my guests unnecessarily.”
“I suppose it can wait.” He appeared calm, but she picked up a vibe that said he was completely alert, ready to react in a split second to any sign of danger. A hundred and fifty years ago, he would have been the gunslinger seated in the corner of a saloon with his back to the wall.
All that intensity gave her the shivers. “What next?”
“I need to make a few phone calls, arrange for a security detail overnight while I’m getting other odds and ends set up. And if it’s not too much bother, I could use something to eat. I skipped breakfast.”
She raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “The most important meal of the day? Maybe I should reassess my view of your abilities.”
“Trust me, Winnie. I can run on coffee and sheer cussedness for days. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Trust me. He tossed those words out as if