Tough As Nails

“Nothing wrong with being afraid,” he said gently. “It’s what you do with your fear that’s important.” He tucked the compact computer into his jacket pocket and grabbed an attaché case from the bottom desk drawer. “Let’s get a taxi and start at your office.”

BRIANNA FELT her insides shake when Mike slipped beside her in the back of the taxi. After giving the driver the address of her office building, she leaned back and willed the butterflies in her stomach to go away, to no avail.

Maybe she was entitled to react foolishly where Mike was concerned. She’d known it would be hard to confront all those memories. How silly to have remembered him as that rebellious young daredevil. She glanced at him as he clicked his seat belt into place.

One thing hadn’t changed. He’d always been able to see right through her, long before she was aware of her own true feelings. Her thoughts went back to that time so long ago, in that backwater town in Maine. She’d been a college sophomore, spending the summer with her father in Maine. She’d first seen Mike when he’d caddied at the local country club.

Mike had worked for her father, or sort of. Harrison Kent III had been owner of Kent Paper Industries, and Mike had worked there on a hydro-pulper. He lived with his father on Mill Street, the row of company houses the paper-mill employees rented.

She’d been nervous that warm, late-June afternoon when she found out where Mike lived and went to see him. She had planned to ask him if he’d volunteer as lifeguard for the country club’s annual children’s charity.

She located him in the backyard of one of the typical two-story clapboard houses that were built more than fifty years ago. Mike’s jaw dropped when he saw her, then he quickly recovered when he crawled out from under the body of an old-model, yellow Trans Am.

He was naked except for a pair of faded denim shorts. She took a deep breath, trying not to appear unnerved at the sight of him. Serves you right for not calling him before dropping in, she chided herself.

“I was running errands for my aunt and thought I’d stop by.” Although it was true, the statement sounded lame. The disbelieving look he gave her only increased her nervousness.

He eyed her sideways as he wiped his large, tanned hands on a clean rag. “Don’t tell me. You just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Why, yes, I was.” Her tone sounded defensive. “I just dropped off some proofs for my aunt at the printer’s, which is only two blocks from here.” She was talking too fast, and she forced herself to be cool.

Her gaze glued to his brilliant blue eyes, although she was aware of his stunning, sun-bronzed torso. She wanted to stare at the fascinating way the black whorls of hair covered his hard muscles and funneled into a dark V past the button of his jeans.

His expression turned cold and flat. “What are you doing here?”

He was obviously upset that she’d come unannounced. If she had a lick of sense, she’d never have come.

“My aunt wanted me to ask you if you’d volunteer at the country club. They need a lifeguard for one weekend a month.” Nora hadn’t exactly asked her to ask Mike, but Brianna had seen his name at the top of the proposed list of candidates. “The summer program for underprivileged children is in high gear, and—”

“I told your aunt that I’d do it when she asked me last Saturday.”

“Oh.” Brianna felt like a fool. “I saw your name on the list and…” She took a deep breath to recover. “Nora didn’t tell me.”

His bottom lip quirked in disbelief. “Your aunt is quite a lady. She and the Judge have done a lot for me, and I owe them, big time.” His blue eyes darkened and he lowered his stare to her breasts. She felt caged by his look, and a delicious weakness coursed through her.

“Why did you really cross the tracks to come all the way down to Mill Street, Brianna?”

She stepped back, not wanting to admit the truth, even to herself. “I—I told you.” His dark look made her feel like a groupie at a rock concert. “Obviously my aunt either forgot or wanted to confirm that you hadn’t changed your mind,” she lied. She turned and almost ran toward her car. When she reached the backyard gate, with his long strides he had caught up with her.

Mike folded his arms across his broad chest, biceps bulging. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“I—I was curious.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Didn’t your country-club friends fill you in on all the details? Did they tell you my old man is a drunken bum? That my mom ran off when I was two? That I’m no good? Didn’t they warn you to leave me alone?”

She met his gaze evenly. “I make up my own mind.”

“And have you?”

“Yes.”

He waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he added, “If you’re trying to make your old man angry, I’m not your guy.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m not about to risk my job at your old man’s paper mill just so you can prove to Daddy that you’re a big girl. Now that you’re eighteen and inherited your mom’s money.”

He must have noticed her look of surprise. “Oh, yeah. The country-club gossip doesn’t limit itself to just Mill Street, Brianna. The Kent family is gossiped about, just like everyone else.”

“If you’re trying to make me uncomfortable—”

“Nothing like that. I don’t care what you’ve got to prove, just leave me out of it.”

“You self-centered jerk. How dare you think I’m interested in you. If you believe for one minute that I’m here to…to…” She watched a muscle clench in his jaw. She was frightened and excited by the sudden change in him.

His gaze dropped to the low neckline of her jade-green sundress. She’d carefully chosen the outfit before coming to see him. She knew the color complemented her golden tan and brought out the green in her changeable eyes. She knew the cut of the bodice accentuated her high breasts and narrow waist.

She went very still as he pulled her into his strong arms. Her breath caught as his mouth, hard at first, covered hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss. She wanted to wrench free, to prove that she was outraged, but instead, her body leaped to life and she felt her outcry melt beneath the heat of his kiss. She opened for him, her body full of sharp, exciting sensations.

Her arms circled his neck as her tongue twinned with his. She’d been kissed before, many times, but nothing like this.

Beneath the thin cotton of her dress, she felt his heart hammer with hers, and she was aware of the hard bulge in his jeans pressing against her.

He wanted her. The thought thrilled and frightened her as she drew him closer.

Just as suddenly, he released her. “That’s why you came here.” His voice was husky. “And we both know it.”

He turned without looking at her and stormed toward the house.

Breathlessly, she stared after him, rigid with anger. Then she dashed to her car, never more humiliated in her life. He’d known why she’d tracked him down long before she’d known, herself. That was a trait of Mike’s that had continued to amaze and infuriate her.

But he’d been wrong about one thing—she’d been attracted to him because of who he was, not because her father would disapprove of her dating him. Yet she knew that a part of Mike believed she’d married him to prove to her dad that she had a mind of her own. If she could have convinced Mike, would it have made a difference?

Hell no. She’d never been able to tell Mike anything. Well, as his client, she wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand.

“…your reports?” Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“W-what reports?”

From the seat beside her in the taxi, he’d been studying her. His blue eyes were bright with unreadable emotion. “The mountain of reports you said you have to finish. I asked if you can work at home on your reports.”

She was aware of his subtle aftershave, spruce or maybe desert sage, and she felt a jolt of feminine response. God, he was so handsome. She fought to remember what he had asked her.

“The reports. Yes. Yes, I’ll bring them with me.” Her mind felt scattered. Maybe it was a good thing she wouldn’t be working late at the office tonight.

She turned her head to glance out the taxi window and was surprised to see the cab pulling to a stop in front of her office building.

Chapter Three

Her office was on the fourteenth floor of a professional building that looked like most any other high-rise in upper Manhattan. From the street, a set of revolving doors opened onto a glass foyer with more greenery inside than Central Park.

The crowded lobby made Mike feel uneasy. Too open and public. Serious-faced businessmen and -women, dressed in designer suits, clattered across the gray marble floor to their offices and appointments. A stalker could easily blend into the crowd, pull out a 9 mm with a silencer, fire two quick shots at Brianna and get away before anyone would be the wiser.

Mike hurried her toward the bank of elevators. Thirty bronze nameplates, framed in glass, lined the wall. He gripped the attaché case and followed her into the first available car.

“Why don’t I call you when my last patient leaves,” she whispered when he moved beside her. “I’ll be perfectly safe in my office.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

She shrugged.

When they stopped at the fourteenth floor, the doors opened and a tall, bearded man in his mid-thirties, wearing a tweed blazer, corduroy slacks and loafers, waited. Mike instantly recognized him from the photo as Larry Cunningham. He dressed more like a college professor than a psychologist. He wore no wedding band.

Cunningham’s face lit up when he saw Brianna. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Missed you at lunch, Brianna.” His smile faded when he saw that Mike had stepped from the elevator with her.

“I took the morning off,” she explained. “I had…an appointment.” She gave Cunningham a weak smile as she strode beside Mike down the hall, rummaging in her bag.

Cunningham ambled on the other side of her, his attention back to Brianna. “I was hoping to have a moment with you.”

She looked up, a key chain in her hand. “Can it wait, Larry? I’m running late.” She paused in front of a frosted-glass door with her name stenciled across the window in gold letters. With an uneasy glance at Mike, she turned to Larry and introduced them.

Mike noticed that she didn’t bother to mention that he was her ex-husband or that he was a surveillance specialist. No doubt Cunningham thought Mike was one of Brianna’s clients, and he wondered if she’d meant to do so.

Cunningham gave Mike a sharp, assessing glance before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, Brianna.”

So Cunningham and Brianna had a dinner date for Saturday night? Mike caught her look, and when Cunningham was out of earshot, she said, “It’s a business dinner. A charity event. Hundreds of people will be there.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he teased, but he didn’t like the relief that knowing his ex-wife wasn’t seriously involved with another man gave him. She could be dating a dozen guys and it was none of his business, he reminded himself.

Brianna pushed open the door and led Mike into a long, narrow waiting room. Warm, homey and welcoming. Two maple rockers flanked an oval coffee table. Two antique deacon’s benches, covered in floral-print pillows, stood along each wall. Tiffany-glass shades adorned the lamps, and variegated ivy spilled from baskets on the side tables.

Installed into the ceiling were two inconspicuous air ducts, a perfect place for an unsuspecting video camera or recording device. So would the wall clock, the Tiffany lamps and the ivy arrangements.

“Do I detect a possessive streak in your friend Larry?” Mike asked after she motioned for him to have a chair.

“Heavens, no. I told you, we’re only friends.”

Mike wondered how happy Larry was about that arrangement, but he didn’t say anything. Who could blame any guy for wanting to deepen a relationship with Brianna?

She frowned at the attaché case in his hand. “What will you be doing while I’m seeing clients?”

He hesitated. He didn’t like being vague with her, but if the stalker had bugged her office, Mike didn’t want to give out any information. “I’ll be taking notes,” he said finally. When she gave him a puzzled look, he put his finger to his lips, then pointed to the ceiling, in a gesture that meant whatever they said might be overheard. “Don’t worry,” he added. “I won’t do anything we haven’t already discussed.”

She arched a brow and gave him a look that suggested he better be damn sure that he didn’t. “Excuse me while I check my messages.”

He strode back into the waiting room and leaned his briefcase against the bench. First, he’d sketch a preliminary layout of the office. After her clients left, he’d check the phones for listening devices. If someone wanted to overhear Brianna or her clients, the easiest place would be the telephone. All the stalker would need was a high-tech listening device, easily obtainable through the Internet.

He’d wait to check the office furniture and fixtures when Liam brought in the monitoring equipment and did a full sweep. He wished he’d been able to speak to Liam before he’d left for deep-sea fishing with his uncle. From what Liam’s sister had said, Liam was expected back at the Cape by evening. Mike should hear from him as soon as he returned.

Damn, he couldn’t ignore the sophistication of the timing-delay loop device that had been spliced into her apartment building’s security system. He knew, firsthand, how mentally devastated Brianna would be if he found proof that the stalker had been listening to her every word. But she wasn’t the kind of woman to fall to pieces when the going got rough.

He couldn’t help thinking about his very first mission. For over two weeks, he’d played cat and mouse in the Colombian jungle, one-on-one with a sniper sent out by a drug lord. Living 24-7 with the knowledge that at any minute he might catch a bullet in the brain had taught Mike how to handle fear and turn it into an asset. When he’d finally caught the sniper at his own game, he became a different person than when he’d first parachuted into the jungle. It had taken him two more years to see the drug kingpin put behind bars, but Mike had become stronger for the ordeal.

Brianna would, too. But first, she’d have to live through that gut-wrenching terror. And when she did, he’d be there for her.

He sensed her, and when he looked up, she was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, studying him. She straightened when their eyes met. “My secretary’s office adjoins my office and Larry’s.”

He nodded. “Under which doors were the photographs found?”

“The waiting-room door that opens into the hallway.”

“Then the stalker wouldn’t have needed a key.” The idea gave him a feeling of relief.

In her office, she removed her suit jacket and draped it casually behind her desk chair, then glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “My next client will be here any minute. I have one more after this appointment. Won’t you reconsider and meet me back here at four o’clock?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep busy.”

“Would you like some coffee while you wait?”

“No, thanks.” He glanced at the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “This will give me a chance to get caught up on Playboy.”

She feigned an indignant look. “I don’t subscribe to Playboy magazine.”

He frowned, trying not to grin. “Not even the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated?”

“’Fraid not.”

“Okay. Reader’s Digest it is.” He winked as she smiled, then turned and went into her office, closing the door.

He was glad to see the tight lines of worry briefly fade from her eyes. He wished he’d tried harder to convince her to go straight home and rest. But Brianna could be stubborn. He didn’t think she’d allow anyone, especially her ex-husband, to tell her what to do.

He scanned the address labels on the magazine covers sprawled across the coffee table. Brianna had the publications sent directly to the office instead of her personal address, he noticed with relief.

Just then, the hallway door opened and a young woman with large frightened eyes stepped inside. Her gaze widened when she saw him. She had black-rimmed eyes, spiked green hair and tattoos, and was probably in her late teens.

Mike grabbed a magazine and folded himself into a rocker. He crossed his leg and watched the girl out of the corner of his eye.

She stood, hesitating before finally taking a seat at the far end of the deacon’s bench. After a few minutes, she ignored him, intent on chipping away at her black nail polish, her hands and feet twitching to a tempo heard only in her mind.

A minute later, Brianna’s office door opened. “Come in, Kristi,” she said with a welcoming smile. The young woman hung her head, jerked to her feet and silently followed Brianna inside the office.

Alone in the waiting room, Mike listened to see if he could catch any of their conversation, but the interior walls were adequately soundproofed.

He opened his briefcase and whipped out a camera. He snapped various angles of the waiting room, the frosted-glass doorway, the hall corridor and the office at the end of the waiting area with the name Lawrence N. Cunningham, Ph.D., Clinical Psychologist stenciled on the frosted window.

Did Cunningham and Brianna exchange keys to each other’s offices? If Brianna occasionally gave her secretary her apartment key, how hard would it be for Cunningham to get it?

Less than an hour later the door to Brianna’s office opened. “I’ll see you again at the same time next week, Kristi,” Brianna said as she followed the teenager into the waiting room. Shoulders bent, eyes downcast, Kristi left without a word.

Brianna glanced at Mike, who was sitting in the corner, jacket slung over the back of the rocker. Her gaze fixed to the open black briefcase in his lap. He closed the case and got to his feet when she came beside him.

“My next client left a message saying she needed to cancel. There’s a tearoom downstairs. I’m dying for a cup. Care to join me?”

“Sure. But first, I need to go into your office for a few minutes before we go.”

He held up a countersurveillance device disguised as a cigarette packet. If an eavesdropping bug or tap was connected anywhere in her phone lines, he’d find it immediately.

She glanced at the pack of cigarettes and frowned. “I’d have thought you’d quit by now.”

He smiled. “Come on, you might find this interesting.”

She arched an eyebrow and followed him into her office.

Mike began the electronic sweep at the desk-model telephone at her desk. He waved the cigarette pack alongside the phone and a tiny red bulb blinked.

Curious, Brianna took a chair and watched him extract a small wire from a leather packet and slip it around the mouthpiece cap. With a quick spin, the unit opened. He stared in concentration. Several seconds later, he withdrew a gray object, a little smaller than a dime.

Unsure what it meant, Brianna stared at the tiny object between his fingers, then at him. “Is that a bug?” she mouthed silently.

He nodded.

She leaned back into her chair, her knees weak as she stared at the evidence in front of her.

He held up a cautionary finger to his lips, his face grim. Reaching for a pad of paper from her desk, he picked up a pen and scribbled something, then pushed the paper toward her.

LET’S GET OUT OF HERE.

He crumpled the paper and put it into his briefcase. She watched numbly as he placed the listening device back inside the handset, replaced the cover, then hung up the receiver. As he returned his equipment into the briefcase, he motioned her to leave.

She grabbed her bag and glanced back at the desk telephone. Anger filled her with a fury she didn’t know she possessed. Her privileged telephone conversations with her clients had been overheard. Whoever did this had to be stopped. She gazed at Mike, glad she’d found the courage to seek his help.

Mike grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and came beside her. Gently, he draped it across her shoulders, and pulled her toward the door. Her hand shook as she opened her bag. When she found the key, she managed to steady it long enough to lock the office.

She felt his arm around her as she hurried beside him down the hall. Damn, she’d do everything in her power to find the bastard and make him pay for this.

Thank God Mike was here.

WHEN THEY WERE INSIDE the elevator, he warned her not to speak. She used the short wait to catch her breath. Besides, she needed to think through the pieces of the puzzle. One thing remained clear. The stalker had known her every move.

He might have followed her on foot from her office to the parking garage, or during lunch when she bought fruit at the farmer’s market. He might have followed her by car to her apartment building. But he knew which apartment was hers. And in which bar she had met Larry for a drink after work. The stalker must have overheard her give out that information.

She’d made calls from her office only last week to have the locks changed on her apartment. She’d given her apartment number over the phone. Four days later she received the photograph that was slipped under her apartment door.

Dear God, what else had she said over the phone?

She’d called Mike’s office. The stalker knew that Mike was on the case. By calling TALON-6, she’d put Mike in jeopardy, too, she realized as a frisson of fear shot through her.

She gazed up into his eyes. He gave her a crooked smile, fortifying and confident. “Still want to have that cup of tea? Maybe you need something stronger.”

She closed her eyes for an instant. “I just want to get out of here.”

“I know a place that’s quiet and we can talk.” He gave her an easy smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

His comforting words tugged at something deep within her. Yes, she wanted to believe him, but her practical side knew better. Nothing would be okay again.

When the elevator reached the lobby, Mike took her arm and she gave in to the desire to be protected as he led her through the crowd and into the street. The blare of street noises mixed with the afternoon heat made her head pound. Mike hailed a cab, and she was still trembling when he opened the door for her. He gave the driver an address on Second Avenue, then settled back and put his arm along the back of the seat. Unable to help herself, she turned into him.

“Oh, Mike. I—I used the office phone when I called TALON-6 this morning.” She dragged in a shaky breath. “I’ve put you at risk, too.”

“Shh. Don’t worry. This is what I do for a living.”

“And my clients. Who knows how long their privacy has been compromised? I—I feel as though I should have done something to protect them.”

He took her hand in his warm, firm grip. “You couldn’t have known, Bria.”

His special nickname for her and his comforting touch brought forth a flood of yearning. She had never liked nicknames when she was a child. She’d always refused to be called anything but Brianna. Yet when Mike had first called her Bria, they were making love for the first time, and the gentle way he spoke the name had sounded like poetry. No one had ever called her Bria since Mike had been a part of her life.

She should turn away from his strong, comforting embrace, but for this one brief moment she couldn’t resist. Not just yet.

Yes, Mike made her feel safe, and dammit, that’s what she needed right now.

No, cried a voice deep down in her soul. She was through leaning on any man. Hadn’t she learned the hard way that the only person she could count on was herself? Whatever was going on, she would face the problem and triumph.

Bracing herself, she pulled her hand away and grabbed a tissue from her handbag. After blotting her mascara, she gave him a shaky smile. “I’m okay now.”