Guardian of Her Heart. Linda O. Johnston
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too good. It had been a long time since she had been touched and held by any man.
That’s all it was, of course, her strange reaction to this undercover cop. A perfectly human, perfectly understandable response to the touch of another human being.
The car that honked rolled by, the elderly female driver scowling as if she considered anyone near her driving lane to be in her way. Dianna shook her head in exasperation, retrieved her hand from the warm clasp of Travis’s and took a few steps back.
“Look,” she said, “it’s not enough for you to understand what I’ve seen here. There’s a lot more…. I don’t know how much you know about Farley or what he did.”
She assumed he didn’t know everything—like the reputation she’d been burdened with—or he wouldn’t be here now.
“Some. But why don’t you tell me?”
As if she could compress years of anguish into a few brief sentences. But she had to try. “Do you know he once owned a small company that sold security equipment?” At Travis’s nod, she continued, “He blamed my husband for putting him out of business when a redevelopment bill Brad championed was passed and the building Farley leased was torn down. He got his revenge by killing Brad. And Farley’s knowledge of security—well, he’s elusive. He knows what the authorities look for and how to avoid detection. But he’s made sure that I’ve seen him.”
She waited for Lt. Bronson to suggest that maybe she’d seen him too much…but he didn’t. Thank heavens.
“Why?” he asked.
She waved her hand in frustration. “To scare me, I guess. But why he wants to, especially after all this time…” She shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“We’ll find out when we nab him. Meantime, if you think of anything else important, let me know.”
TRAVIS HAD NO INTENTION of admiring Dianna Englander’s guts.
Admiration was too close to the commencement of caring. And caring came too close to failure. And loss.
But he realized nevertheless, while he followed her slender, sexily swaying body as she hurried back toward the elevators, that he did admire her guts.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was terrified by the man who’d killed her husband. But despite the traumatic recollections of seeing Farley that Travis forced her to relive, she came off cool and collected, if a little nervous.
All right, a lot nervous, he conceded as he watched her all but collapse against the elevator wall when they were both in the otherwise empty car.
But he’d jumped a little, too, when that impatient driver had honked a horn behind them. It had been reflex to reach out for Dianna’s extended hand. Pull her back out of harm’s way.
Better that than reach for the snub-nosed gun he wore in a holster at his ankle.
“Do you mind if we make a stop before we go back into the Center?” Dianna asked as the car descended.
“Where?”
“A room in the basement. I’ve needed to go there for the last couple of days but haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Fine,” Travis said. She’d no doubt been too scared to visit the basement room after seeing Farley. That was smart. She shouldn’t go anywhere alone right now, and the basement probably wasn’t the most populated place in the Center.
She leaned past him and pushed the B button. She was near enough for a second, in that confined space, for him to inhale her scent—soft, yet definitely spicy.
Travis stepped back, to prevent himself from becoming more aware of her as a woman, and not just a person he had to protect.
He was surprised, when the door opened, to see that the basement wasn’t the dreary dungeon he had anticipated. Sure, no daylight poured in since windows were nonexistent, but recessed lighting lined the hall where they emerged from the elevator.
“This way.” Dianna led him past a few closed doors, then pushed open one near the end of the hall.
This was what he had figured the basement would look like.
When Dianna flicked the switch, the long room where they stood was illuminated only by bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling. Debris littered the floor—wads of old carpeting and rolls of carpet padding; coils of wire; sheets of damaged drywall; cans of obviously-opened paint, their hues evident by the cascades of color along their sides.
But when he glanced quizzically at Dianna, the light immediately seemed brightened from the glow of her smile.
“What’s so special about this room?” he grumbled. Damn it, he had to stop noticing things like Dianna Englander’s smile. Her scent. Her courage.
He needed distance, and not just physically. But because he could not promise himself even physical distance, he had to adopt utter detachment. Fast.
“There’s nothing special about it yet.” Dianna stepped farther inside and moved debris from along the wall. She paced the length, then the width, counting her steps aloud. “I just need approximate dimensions before making phone calls,” she said when she was finished. “The contractors who bid will have to take more accurate measurements.” She turned toward Travis. “Do cops have any imagination?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, pretend. Picture this as a large playroom for kids whose parents are upstairs arguing over their custody, or over money, or over anything. This will be a haven, staffed by very special child-care personnel who are also trained therapists.”
Travis frowned. “I don’t think I can pretend that hard.”
“You’re a magician,” she countered. “Consider it a feat of magic. Soft, fluffy carpets, with lots of colorful toys like blocks that kids can build with and even climb into. Bright plastic tables and chairs, with puzzles and books. Lots of light, a kitchen with fruit, juice and cookies, murals on the walls…” She was near a wall and touched it with her hand. The concrete surface was cracked. “Like I said, pretend.”
The garbage on the floor was virtually colorless in the shadows. And Travis saw no kitchen.
But what he did see was a woman with vision. A very beautiful woman who enhanced his vision.
“Yeah,” he said. “I see it.”
A SHORT WHILE LATER, he insisted on accompanying her back upstairs to her office.
She hadn’t wanted him to. She’d made that clear as they rode the parking lot elevator back up to the lobby, repeated it when they were alone once more in the next ascending car, in a separate elevator bank, from the lobby into the office structure.
“I’m not going to stop living just because Farley’s hanging around trying to scare me,” she fumed, her arms folded.
“Trying?” Travis countered. “You looked pretty damned scared to me when we first got into the parking lot.”
And right about now, she just looked pretty damned pretty. The frown that turned her light, arched brows asymmetrical was somehow appealing.
Yeah, and maybe Travis just liked contrary women, fool that he was.
“I was a little scared,” she admitted, once again proving to him that the woman had guts. “But as I said, I’m not about to stop living because of Farley.”
He noticed how she’d stressed that she wouldn’t stop living because of the suspect who’d shown up here. Her husband had. And, if the stories he’d read were right, so had the baby she’d been carrying.
Dianna definitely had guts.
And if Farley was the one who’d bombed that redevelopment downtown near the convention center and sports arena, and he was now around here, Travis was going to use those guts