Agent-in-Charge

“Listen, friend or not, I’ve got a great car. Leather seats. Air conditioning. I haven’t had a speeding ticket in, oh, three or four weeks.” Since before Casey was hurt, the last time he’d felt able to unwind. “Take a chance, babe. Sit back and enjoy. I’ll have you home in fifteen minutes. Less, if we hit the lights right.”

Safe, he thought. If only, as he’d planned, he could have kept her safe….

Casey raised her face to his.

“Thank you very much, but I can find my own way home.”

Graham’s mouth tightened. Like hell you will. When she started to tap-tap her way toward the revolving doors, he stood there for a moment, staring, before he went after her. He couldn’t help feeling thwarted—and for some niggling reason he couldn’t define, still afraid for her.

He took one step before he felt the very air around him grow thick, heavy, with an ominous portent that seemed to smother him—and at the same time to shout a warning.

“Casey!”

Too late. Helpless, Graham watched it happen. One second she was making her way to the revolving doors, probably guided to their location by the constant swish of movement she heard as people came and went. In the next instant Casey had been shoved into a moving door. From the sidewalk, a man in dark clothes sent the door spinning, circling, round and round and round with Casey trapped inside.

Breaking into a run, Graham hurdled a woman’s stroller carrying a small child and twisted to avoid a pair of startled businessmen. His heart threatened to burst in his chest. Out of my way, damn it. All he could think was, Trust the feeling. I was right. He had known something bad would happen. He had to get to Casey….

CASEY’S CRIES echoed through the vaulted lobby. By now, she didn’t know up from down, in from out. Her world of darkness whirled. Played havoc with her sense of balance.

She tried to brace herself but felt like a rag doll being flung by a furious child from one side of the constantly circling space in which she was caught to the other. Over and over. Her head spun. Her own voice shrieked, and sound shattered. First she heard the swish of the revolving door, then a wedge of traffic noise. Blaring horns. Screeching brakes. A few footsteps passing by. Then that pressured silence again, like being shut inside a vacuum.

Casey couldn’t tell where she was. In the spinning section of the door her shoulder hit one glass partition then another, hard, her bones and muscles throbbing on impact.

The whole terrifying incident happened in less than a minute, but all the while she could sense the man who stood outside, preventing her escape. She could imagine the Grim Reaper smile on his lips. Her blood rushed through her veins, the memory of her “accident” roared through her mind again. Was it the man from the elevator? She tried to fight back, to push against the glass, but without effort he only shoved the door. Harder.

GRAHAM’S PULSE hammered. He raced across the lobby in seconds that seemed like a lifetime. Charging out onto the sidewalk, he stopped the man’s arm on the upswing before he could push the revolving door again. Then Graham lowered his shoulder and charged, trying to butt him. The guy sidestepped him and Graham missed. Bastard.

He was solid, well-muscled. So was Graham, but before he could recover his own balance, the guy was gone. Graham hadn’t even seen his face. Casey, who had been flung out of the revolving door when Graham’s arrival slowed its motion, was lying on the sidewalk. By that time a crowd had gathered.

“Somebody help her!” he shouted then took off to prevent the guy’s escape. Graham did his best imitation of a linebacker, snaking his way through the puzzled crowd, breathing in sharp hisses like a set of air brakes. Heads turned, necks craned at him and the man he was chasing down the busy Washington street, but Graham’s hours in the Hearthline gym were no match for his heart-pounding terror.

He was still ten yards away when the man, a blur of black pants and shirt, knocked a male pedestrian aside. He vaulted into a dark car at the curb, then tore off, literally. On his way out of the space he bashed the left rear fender of the SUV parked in front of him. Metal crunched. A taillight splintered. A passing taxi horn blew, the cab narrowly missing the car that peeled off into traffic. Then there was silence. Eerie silence.

Graham no longer heard the rush of passing vehicles, the growing buzz of conversation. He bent over, hands braced on his thighs, and gulped in the smoggy, humid air until he could breathe. Then he jogged back to Casey, now sitting on the pavement looking dazed.

Several people hovered over her, offering handkerchiefs and sanitary hand cleaner. Graham bent down to her. Casey’s palms and knees were scraped raw, oozing blood, and fresh anger spurted through him.

“Damn. Come on, babe, let’s get out of here.”

With thanks for the small group of passersby who had come to her aid, he gently helped Casey to her feet. Graham should have trusted his instincts. Divorced or not, whether or not she trusted him, he needed to see her safe at home. Then he needed to start asking hard questions. He hadn’t wanted to think the hit-and-run was deliberate, but now he would learn the truth—all of it.

Maybe then he could tell her the truth about himself.

“YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY?” he asked Casey.

They had reached her apartment near Dupont Circle, but Casey was still shaking. Hadn’t she known someone would try again to hurt her?

“I’m okay,” she tried to assure Graham when he could see that she was not. He could see.

Digging in her bag for her key, she held it out to him. She wouldn’t be able to fumble it into position herself. Let him do it. Just this once.

Casey even allowed herself a brief, familiar fantasy. Less than a year ago they might have come home like this from a rare evening out, probably at some government function. Still in his tux, his dark hair glossy, his eyes hot, his sensual mouth curved in an always surprising smile, Graham would curl up beside her on the sofa for a nightcap. One thing would lead to another… They’d make lazy love then fall asleep in each other’s arms, warm, sated, only to wake the next morning with their clothes strewn all around the room. And they’d make love all over again.

Casey shook herself. That was all in the past. Graham was the last man she could be intimate with now, even if he was the only one who made her feel safe.

These familiar surroundings didn’t quell her anxiety. The smells of cooking that drifted from other apartments, the blast of someone’s television, the feel of the floor beneath her feet in the hallway could lead to fresh terror in a heartbeat.

As panic engulfed her, she had to suppress the impulse to throw herself into Graham’s arms again. That would create a danger of a different kind. She couldn’t get near Graham without noticing his scent, his body heat, the deep timbre of his voice that heated her blood.

Maybe she shouldn’t have taken Graham up on his offer of a ride home. But her nerves were shot. She kept remembering those frightening seconds in the revolving door, being spun out of control. Every sound, even the scrape of the key in the lock, set her heart racing again. Who might be lurking around the nearest corner? Ready to attack her again? To kill.

Graham couldn’t slip the key into the lock fast enough for Casey. Then he said, “Wait. Don’t go in.”

And in the entryway, she could feel it, too, that sixth sense that they weren’t quite alone. Then suddenly, they weren’t.

The door across the hall flew open and footsteps pounded toward her. Casey felt a heavy hand settle on her shoulder. “What’s wrong here?”

The dark voice belonged to her neighbor, but not to her elderly and sometimes forgetful neighbor. It was Anton’s son, big Rafe Valera. Wide-shouldered, thick-muscled, a bull of a man with dark hair and hard gray eyes. To Casey he’d always been as gentle as a kitten without claws.

Graham disagreed. Without warning he slammed Rafe up against the doorframe. “Drop it.”

“Damn it,” Rafe bellowed, “you almost broke my arm!”

Casey heard a brief scuffle, some kind of karate throw, then a few grunts before something heavy, like metal, thudded to the floor.

Graham’s voice was a low-pitched snarl. “This jerk was carrying a gun.”

A gun? Rafe owned a gun?

“I heard noise,” he said. “I was worried about Casey.”

The two men knew each other slightly but Casey felt their usual instant dislike in the air. Once, that would have meant jealousy on Graham’s part. She thought of Rafe’s dangerous good looks, his usual black clothes.

“You remember Rafe,” she said, which didn’t lighten Graham’s mood.

“Does he always flash a .357 Magnum when he sees you?” Clearly disapproving, Graham disappeared inside to check the apartment. Then he was back, prowling the living room while she and Rafe hovered in the open door, silent with tension.

When Casey heard her answering machine click on not ten feet away, she jumped. “Listen to this,” Graham muttered.

She frowned, puzzled. It was only her doctor’s receptionist with a reminder message from yesterday about her appointment today. “What is it?”

“Someone was here.”

She’d been right and Casey sounded braver than she felt. “The man who pushed me into the revolving door?” She could feel Rafe’s sharp eyes on her but didn’t stop to explain her latest mishap. “You mean, he heard the message. Then he knew where to find me.”

“And followed you there,” Graham agreed. “There are no visible signs of forced entry. There isn’t a chair out of place, nothing disturbed.” This only seemed to make him more suspicious. “Valera, did you see or hear anything?”

“I was about to wake my father from his afternoon rest before Casey got home. I didn’t hear or see a thing until you came.”

Graham returned his attention to Casey. “When you weren’t here at the apartment earlier—thank God, you weren’t—your visitor must have split. Apparently he got exactly the information he needed.”

The other apartment door opened again. Casey heard Anton’s carpet slippers shuffle across the hall. The older man sounded frantic. His European accent had deepened.

“What is happening? I wake up from my nap and Rafe is gone.” She envisioned Anton’s graying hair, standing on end, his blue eyes fierce. “You are not hurt again, Casey?”

“No.” Not too much. “I’m fine.” She reached out a reassuring hand, and heard Rafe bend down to retrieve his gun. Graham didn’t stop him, but his tone stayed grim.

“I’ll talk to you later, Valera. You too, Anton.” He waited until they went back across the hall. Then he ushered Casey inside and locked the door.

“If I had any doubts before about your hit-and-run being deliberate, Casey, I don’t now. Ever since the revolving-door incident, I’ve been wondering if the guy saw me with you in that lobby. If he did, then why risk going after you?” Graham paused. “Now I wonder if he did see me—and wanted us to know that you aren’t safe, even with someone else around. That you’re a target even in a crowd.”

Casey shivered. “Because I’m…blind.”

“I think he wants us to know you’re always alone in that way, always vulnerable. And he can get to you. No matter where you are.”

Us? “Then earlier he didn’t mean to kill me.”

“It was a warning,” Graham suggested. “But why?”

Without thinking, Casey took a step forward. Graham moved, too. Then she was in his strong, hard arms, held tight to his broad chest. Graham pressed his cheek to her hair.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered.

Casey didn’t know. Yet even here, in her own home, she wasn’t safe. Until she learned why, she wouldn’t forget those terrifying moments caught in the whirling doors.

Just as she couldn’t forget the man in the elevator.

Or being run down like some hunted prey.

Chapter Two

The next morning when Casey’s doorbell buzzed, her heart beat so fast it threatened to shatter. She felt her pulse in the still-stinging scrapes on her hands and knees. After yesterday’s twin mishaps, she stood frozen with one hand on the doorknob. Outside she could hear someone breathing heavily.

He wants us to know you’re alone…vulnerable.

What if her attacker was just inches away, with only the closed door between them and her possible murder?

“Casey, open up. It’s okay.”

Graham. Still, Casey hesitated. Last night she had stayed in Graham’s embrace until she finally stopped trembling, automatically seeking solace in his familiar scent, and the safety she found in his arms. She refused to let him stay the night, then hadn’t slept a wink after he left.

Casey fumbled the locks open. “What are you doing here again?” She heard something whap, hard and rhythmically, against the nearby wall. Then something warm and moist nudged her side.

“I brought you a present.” Graham stepped into the apartment. His arm brushed hers for a fraction of a second, and a disturbing tingle of awareness ran over her skin. “The wet nose comes with the dog.” Casey heard the sharp click of toenails on her entry floor. “Meet Sweet William,” Graham said.

“A guard dog?”

For an instant she preferred that to Graham’s scent, his touch, his masculine aura. The too-vivid memory of his dark hair and eyes, that hot gaze that would send desire racing through her body. Even without her sight, she had perfect recall of his high-chiseled cheekbones, his broad shoulders, his muscled chest, his washboard belly, strong tanned hands and powerful thighs. She didn’t have to see, Casey realized, to get the same effect. The flesh on her bare arm still buzzed from their brief contact.

“A guide dog,” Graham corrected.

But she didn’t want his help. Somehow she had to pick up the pieces of her own life and go on. Only yesterday she’d learned that her blindness might be permanent. In the doctor’s office she’d considered the possibility of getting a dog, maybe even the eventuality, but her comment then had been facetious, a quip to keep her from falling apart. For weeks she’d held the hope of a complete recovery. She wasn’t ready to consider the full impact of her situation.

Leaving Graham and the dog to follow, Casey inched, one hand braced on the wall, into the living room. Twelve paces to the sofa, she remembered, not letting her skin graze Graham’s again. But she couldn’t avoid inhaling the clean-soap smell of him. Which only hardened Casey’s resolve.

She would try to retain some of the independence she’d lost with her sight. Take care of herself.

As if to disagree, Sweet William padded right behind her. With that name alone, how could she feel afraid?

Graham steered her to a chair, and Casey struggled not to feel that same jangling awareness when his soap-scented skin met hers. She felt the heat of his hand against her back and the slow burn flared deeper in her abdomen.

“Last night,” Graham began, “I made some telephone calls. Finally one of my contacts led me to the Guide Dog Institute. This morning the director told me they have a waiting list a mile long, that there was no hope of getting a dog any time soon. But then he remembered Willy. He’s a golden retriever and highly trained,” Graham went on. “But he’s getting along in years. Because of his age, the institute decided to retire him. He’s out of the program now and he’s been up for adoption, more as a pet or companion, but so far no one has taken him.”

“I can’t, either,” Casey murmured.

She heard the irritation in his tone. “No? From what I told him, the director seems to think you and Willy might make a good match. He let me pick him up today for a trial. Listen,” Graham said, “just keep him for a few days and see how it goes. I’ll buy some dog food, a bed, whatever else he needs. You can get to know each other. And, oh,” he added, as if he’d just thought of it, “the institute will throw in some training lessons. Normally their program is pretty rigorous and intense, but he thinks you can learn the basics in a week or two. I took the liberty of signing you up for a first session.”

“You did?” Casey sighed in frustration. “Does the word divorce hold any meaning for you?”

“Oh, yeah.” He didn’t sound happy. “Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean I have to quit worrying about you.”

“I don’t need your concern.”

“After yesterday? Great.” She heard him drop onto another chair, clearly intending to stay. At the same time Willy apparently decided to lie down next to Casey. He circled a few times, raising the air around her with the musky scent of dog, grunted once, then settled down. She heard him breathing.

Graham tried again. “Casey, take the gift. I know damn well you’re scared—not just about this vision loss, but about what caused it. The question remains, why did these ‘accidents’ happen?”

Casey had no idea, but with Graham’s mention of the attacks, she felt another emotion. The anger felt welcome, fresh and cleansing. “I may be afraid, but I’ll never see the people I love again. I’ll never run through a field. I can’t even play Frisbee with this dog. And one day ago my home was invaded, Graham. Do you know how that felt?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Like a violation. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m going to find out who’s responsible.”

“Not by yourself, you’re not.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she admitted. “Did the police find any prints here last night?”

Graham had called some law enforcement contact of his, which in itself came as a surprise to Casey. He was full of them. The woman who showed up had been efficient, collecting samples, vacuuming the carpet for trace evidence, and slipping her other rare finds into little bags while Casey wondered how Graham knew such people.

“They’re still working on the fingerprints. She lifted a partial but it could be another of your prints, mine, Anton’s…” He hesitated. “And what about Rafe Valera?”

Casey frowned. “I doubt it. He’s only been in my apartment once or twice.”

“That’s enough.” She could sense the same scowl on Graham’s face. “He raises the hairs on the back of my neck. With very little provocation he showed up here yesterday waving a gun. A big gun. He looked like he knew how to use it.”

“He only wanted to protect me.”

“Did he?” Obviously, Graham wasn’t that sure. “I know you and the old guy have become close. Anton makes a great father surrogate, but his son is another matter. Casey, be careful. I think he’s dangerous. Until I ask around about Rafe Valera, it may be wiser to avoid him.”

“You can’t think Rafe had anything to do with the break-in here, or my experience in the revolving door?” She wouldn’t even think about the hit-and-run.

“How well do you really know either of the Valeras?”

“Not that well but—”

“Then just be careful,” he repeated. “Some extra caution wouldn’t hurt, Casey. I want you protected. I don’t want you living alone. Until we figure this out, Willy can help minimize the danger.” Probably to distract her, he returned to their earlier discussion. “He can help you adjust to your condition in lots of ways.” Graham paused. “And—quid pro quo—you’ll be helping him.”

As if to confirm that, Willy wiggled closer, and Casey’s hand bumped against warm, silky fur. In spite of her earlier concerns, she stroked him—and felt a strange feeling wash through her. She wasn’t alone. Casey almost welcomed the subject of the dog’s welfare.

“Me? Help him? How?” she asked. “He’s the one who can see where he’s going. You just said—”

“He had the same owner for six years until the guy passed away a month ago. William is now eight years old. If he doesn’t find a new home soon, he’s going to be in serious trouble.”

That struck a chord with Casey, as Graham knew it would. After her parents died when Casey was five, she’d been juggled from one relative to another, never quite belonging anywhere. For a while, in Graham’s arms, she had hoped…but that hope had died. Casey petted Willy’s fur but felt she was stroking Graham’s skin instead. She pulled her hand back.

Her heart lurched. You poor thing. They were two of a kind. Again, she reached out a comforting hand. A wet nose met her palm and Willy licked her, twice. “Not fair, Graham. You know I’m a sucker for animals.”

“He’s grinning,” Graham said in a coaxing tone that went straight through her like a caress. “He likes you.”

“This is fighting dirty. You know that, don’t you?”

“He has great eyes,” Graham murmured. “Dark, liquid—” Like Graham’s, she thought. “Full of trust,” he added, which shattered the illusion. Trust didn’t come easily to Casey, especially where Graham was concerned. “He’s got a hundred-yard stare. Just the thing you need for protection.”

Willy seemed to know that, too. With another grunt he lumbered to his feet, then laid his head in her lap.

Graham knew he had her. He’d be wearing his own, surprising grin now, the one that shot her defenses every time. Casey ran both hands over Willy’s silken ears, feeling the tufts of hair, then smoothing his bony forehead. She could feel him gazing at her, hoping. Perhaps even, if dogs were so inclined, praying.

Graham closed in for the…kill. “He always wears this goofy grin unless he’s really concentrating on the job. Then, kind of like me, I swear he frowns. He has terrific hearing, and even better instincts. By tomorrow, you’re gonna thank me, Case.”

But, as he well knew, she was hooked. With his head in her lap, Sweet William had won her heart. Just like Graham, the first minute she saw him. Tall, dark and dangerous, she’d thought then, losing herself in his smoldering eyes anyway.

But Graham, she had learned, posed little threat. He was normally as steady as a concrete pillar. He never took unnecessary risks, except with his driving. Hearthline relied on him to handle government paperwork with more dedication than he’d shown for their marriage. Casey supposed the only true danger he posed was to her own still-hurting heart.

Be careful.

Maybe until she found the reason for the attacks on her, Willy could help allay her fears.

“You won’t have to wait.” Feeling her way, she stroked Willy’s broad back then planted a kiss on the top of his head. She could all but hear his tongue lolling in delight. “Like your new home, pal?” Casey lifted her sightless gaze in Graham’s direction. “I’m already in love. You rat…thank you.”

“HOW DID SHE TAKE IT?”

Slow to answer, Graham watched Jackie Miles lean back in her seat across from him and grin. He didn’t smile back. Even after chewing Jackie out about the training exercise yesterday, he still felt edgy. He could see Casey last night, looking pale, could feel her in his arms at the doctor’s building beforehand. He could see her melting over Willy earlier that day, yet trying to hide her fears.

“How do you think?” he said.

Her grin widened. “She kept him, though. Right?”

“Right.”

Jackie ran her fingers through her short red hair. “So why the frown, tough guy? Casey has a dog to help her. And Willy has a place to live—literally.”

Graham lifted his eyebrows. In frustration, he tapped a pen against the edge of the table. They were alone in the booth of a small diner not far from Casey’s apartment, and were the only customers in the place, yet he could feel danger in the air.

“Watch it,” Graham murmured. “Be careful what you say.”

When her brown eyes cooled, he decided that he missed his original partner, Tom Dallas, who had gone back into the field about the time Graham and Casey split up.

Then there was Casey herself.

Graham kept his tone low.

“Before I hooked her up with the dog, she was depending on the old man across the hall—a nice enough guy but he’s seventy-five if he’s a day. Not much protection there.” Graham sighed, then, in an even softer voice, told Jackie the little he knew about the man’s son, Rafe Valera. “I was a hair away from pulling this out—” he patted his coat over his Glock “—when the old guy showed up. If we’re right about her first ‘accident’ and the revolving-door episode, then she’s still at risk. I’m not always around to make sure nothing happens to her.”