Double Take

“Have a good night, Grace. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“The only thing I worry about is Emerald Greer living to be a hundred.”

Her words lingered in the fragrant kitchen and Cameron stared after her. Like Cameron, she supposed Grace was too well paid to quit her job.

If Cameron did her own job here, did it well, she might even keep from going mad over her father’s death. She might be able to overlook Ransom and the traitorous desire he aroused in her.

Still, working for Emerald wasn’t easy. If I didn’t need the money…

The thought died before it had formed, to be replaced by another.

Tell me about the money.

Cameron pushed aside Ransom’s words, too. She couldn’t afford to indulge him or to antagonize Emerald Greer.

In a best-case scenario, if Cameron’s wedding reception for her was a success, Emerald might recommend her to her friends, assuming she had any.

WHILE EMERALD ATE DINNER alone that night, Cameron took an hour off. The click of silver on china from the dining room had set her nerves on edge. So did the empty echo of each movement in the silent apartment. So did Ransom’s visit last night. She needed a break. She would wash the pots and pans later.

Outside, after taking a breath of air, she refused to check the street for any sign of her unneeded “protector.” Keeping her gaze straight ahead, she stopped first at a nearby pharmacy to buy emery boards and nail polish. In her line of work, her hands suffered every day. Then at the corner banking center she deposited her last week’s receipts. The mundane tasks should have calmed her, eased the pulse of blood in her cut fingers. But they didn’t. Cameron felt the back of her neck tingle again.

When she turned from the automatic teller, Ransom stood there.

Frowning at her. Wouldn’t you know.

Cameron’s heart whapped against the lining of her coat. She shivered, feeling cold.

His deep blue eyes regarded her in the darkness, and then the ATM. “Did you know that’s one of the most dangerous things you can do?”

“What?”

“Stick a bank card in a machine on the street. With your back turned to anyone who might approach.”

Cameron eyed him without apparent interest. “I don’t need a keeper, Ransom. Quit following me. The only one after me is you. I’m perfectly safe.”

He hitched his chin at the line of stores across the street. “There’s a suspicious character over there by the tobacco shop.”

She barely glanced in that direction. “He’s just a homeless guy. The city is filled with them, sad to say.”

If she could afford to do so, Cameron would start her own soup kitchen. But she didn’t even have a day off lately—for which she was actually grateful, because that meant business was getting better—and at least for now, she couldn’t afford to donate her services. Yet she knew exactly how it felt to be without a home, or roots.

“Don’t be naive,” Ransom said. “He could be a druggie. Insane. Violent…”

Cameron studied his grim expression. Even that couldn’t disguise his beautiful eyes. “It must be even sadder to feel so jaded about mankind.”

“I’m surprised you don’t. Considering how you grew up.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Ransom.” She started off down the street. He followed her again. “I never did like the U.S. Marshals. I haven’t changed my mind.” She went fifty feet before she spun around again. The whole day was getting to her. His reminder of James’s death. The money, and Destina. No sleep. Three clients today, one of them too demanding to make even the money that appealing. Cutting her hand had topped off the day, not to mention Ransom, stalking her like a madman himself. “Will you stop? I don’t need protection.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Oh,” she said, “just doing your job?”

“More or less.” He lifted a broad shoulder, defined by his wool coat. “I’m on leave of absence,” he admitted. “Burnout,” though that didn’t seem to be the full explanation. “Too much, too long on the Destina case. Guess I should have mentioned that last night.” His breath frosted in the chill air, reminding Cameron that she felt colder by the minute. When he didn’t go on, she started marching down the sidewalk toward Emerald’s building, its cheerful Christmas lights and welcome heat.

Ransom trailed two paces behind.

“You work late,” he said, but Cameron wouldn’t look at him.

“That’s how I build my business. Emerald Greer is my most important client to date.”

“Talk about a tough case.”

“You know her? Not just from the TV news?” Surprised, she couldn’t keep from asking. Ransom was at her shoulder now, inches away, his stride matched to hers. Cameron felt her blood beat faster, warming her from the inside.

“I know of her. She had a nut, a guy named Edgar Mills, harassing her on the circuit a while back. A friend of mine—the guy I’m staying with—works the stalker unit here in New York. Said he had to sympathize with the stalker.”

“Did your friend arrest him?”

“Gabe never had enough to make it stick.”

She missed another step. “So Edgar Mills is still on the loose.”

She could sense his smile in the dark. “And I suppose you’re Emerald Greer’s new best friend. You always did want connections.”

“I always wanted to get out of some crummy, run-down house in some crummy, run-down neighborhood—”

“In some crummy, run-down town,” he finished for her. “I can’t blame you.”

“Well, I’m out now. I’m making a new life—for myself. Friends are going to be part of that.” As soon as she had time. She had reached the entrance to Emerald’s building, and Cameron stopped with one foot on the first step to the lobby. “So is walking to the corner bank without a shadow.”

She felt him shrug again. His shoulder brushed hers and a slow trickle of heat crept down Cameron’s spine like the prickle of awareness last night at her door. She didn’t have to think hard to realize she’d almost prefer having to look over her shoulder for an assailant than feel any attraction to Ransom.

“Disagree if you want,” he said. “That’s your right. It doesn’t change anything. I won’t have you end up like your father.”

When he reached for her hand, alarm jerked along her nerve ends. Ransom held it up between them and Cameron’s twin white bandages gleamed in the dark. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Nothing sinister. I got careless with a knife.”

Cameron’s heartbeat slammed. His nearness surrounded her, seemed to smother her like that attacker from behind. Or a lover? By the time Ransom released her, she no longer felt chilled. She was sweating.

“Be more careful,” he said, his eyes dark and hot.

Hoping to comfort herself, she turned and went up the steps. The lighted lobby, with its Christmas tree, beckoned her. She saw Emerald’s doorman step out from behind his podium. “I can take care of myself,” she said like a litany.

“With my help,” Ransom added. Then he faded again into the night.

She had no doubt he would be waiting for her when she left Emerald’s apartment later. Waiting, in the dark.

EMERALD GREER DIDN’T SEEM to have any friends.

No one came to see her that evening. At midnight she summoned Cameron into the den just as Cameron prepared to leave for the day, and a sense of utter loneliness seemed to hang in the air. More than that, so did some undefined tension.

Cameron stepped across the threshold into the discreetly lighted room all done in white: ceiling, walls, carpet, deep-cushioned chairs and sofas. It was so totally different from her own nearly barren apartment that immediately she felt out of place.

Emerald looked edgy. Perhaps Cameron was about to be fired.

In that case, never mind her employer’s lack of friends or her own hope for more clients like Emerald. How would Cameron pay her rent?

Emerald flicked a glance at the phone then went to the bar. “Drink?”

“No, thank you.” It didn’t seem wise to try being cozy with her boss.

“Your back must be aching by now. Your hands look raw.”

She did hurt—her cut fingers, too—but Cameron managed a smile. “The pots are clean. And breakfast for tomorrow is in the fridge.”

Lifting her glass of wine, Emerald made a gesture with her free hand.

“Sit down. You work too hard.”

“I don’t mind. I have to.”

Emerald studied her. “I suspect you always will push yourself. Even when there’s no need. You and I are alike in that.”

So true. And they shared other similarities. Their builds, for instance, if not their opposite coloring. Although Emerald’s slightly heavier frame supported more muscle, they were the same height and nearly the same weight, Cameron guessed. Yet this very apartment pointed up their differences. It was a far cry from the program, when Cameron had lived simply, and even at first her father’s modest monthly government stipend didn’t buy luxuries. At times even food and clothing had been hard to come by. Sadly, her mother had borne the brunt of responsibility to support the family. And finally it had killed her. Cameron wouldn’t forget that soon. She needed to take care of herself.

“I’ve worked in restaurants since I was sixteen,” she said. “After I finished culinary school in Arizona, I became sous chef in a local spot, later moved to several other places—” she had never mentioned specifics before, and only now because her father was gone “—then became head chef at a golf club before I moved to New York, where I hope to stay.”

“You lived in Scottsdale? Phoenix?”

The two resort communities were loaded with golf courses, but Cameron raised an eyebrow, not answering directly.

“I left home to play tennis at nine,” Emerald said. “Thank fortune—and my lethal serve—I’ve never been back. That little upstate town was a nowhere place.”

Surprised by the confidence, which only confirmed her suspicion that Emerald was essentially a solitary person despite her celebrity, Cameron relaxed into her chair. Where was this late-night girlie session leading? She watched Emerald pour more wine, rattling the glass with a none-too-steady hand as she detailed her own unhappy childhood before tennis. Finally, she sighed.

“But enough of that. I’m pleased with your work, by the way.”

Hope flared inside her. Maybe this wasn’t bad news then. If it was, why would Emerald open up to her? Cameron felt obligated to offer something, too. She wouldn’t hide the truth. She straightened—then told Emerald about her life in Witness Protection. It was the first time in three years that she’d told anyone.

To her surprise, Emerald didn’t judge her. “That was your father, not you. Whatever his problem, you and I are self-made women. I like that.”

Neither of them had led normal lives, Cameron realized. Could she form a personal bond with Emerald? Having admitted to her own past, Cameron seized the opportunity she’d been given. “Ms. Greer, I’d welcome the chance to continue working for you. If you have colleagues who need someone like me…”

She smiled. “I’m also a selfish woman. I like the notion of exclusivity.”

Cameron frowned. “I couldn’t afford just one client, if that’s what you mean.”

“We’ll see.” She fidgeted with her glass and Cameron again thought she seemed nervous, not about letting Cameron go, but as if she was filling the silent air with conversation while she waited for something, someone.

She had a nut harassing her…

A clock ticked on the mantel. Twelve-fifteen. Emerald’s second sharp glance at the phone beside Cameron made Ransom’s words seem more immediate. Or perhaps Emerald simply expected her fiancé to call. But no, Grace had said tomorrow.

Cameron’s frown deepened. She really should go. It was late, and after last night she needed sleep. Obviously, she wasn’t about to be fired…but what was going on here?

If Cameron hadn’t wanted to avoid Ransom as long as possible, she would have left much sooner. And found him waiting downstairs, no doubt, to walk her home in the dark. When the telephone shrilled next to her, Cameron jumped as if he’d suddenly appeared from nowhere.

At the next ring, her gaze darted to the phone. Emerald startled, too, then froze. Her carefully made-up face paled.

“Please. Answer.”

On the third ring Cameron caught up the receiver, feeling even more uneasy when the caller spoke. His vicious tone made her pulse lurch, her stomach tighten.

“Listen, bitch. I’ve had enough. You tell me what I want to hear, or else… I’m coming after you. Understand?”

He hung up before Cameron could hand the phone to Emerald.

Stunned by the violence in the man’s gravelly voice, which sounded mechanically altered, she slowly replaced the receiver then turned to Emerald. For an instant, Cameron had feared the call might be for her. But who would call her here? Unless Ransom wanted to frighten her into accepting his unnecessary protection.

Emerald asked, “What did he say this time?”

By the shocked look on her face and her words, she had heard from this man before. Edgar Mills?

Cameron repeated the message then watched Emerald’s face turn even whiter.

“He’s phoned every night for the past week. I can’t imagine why, except that my engagement to Ted was made public right before the calls began.”

“Did you tell the police?”

Emerald moved stiffly toward the bar again. She filled her glass and drank half the wine down in a single swallow then topped off the glass. And confirmed what Ransom had said earlier.

“I’ve told them. It never helped.”

“But surely if you—”

“I am not phoning the police. They’ll say the same thing they did before—that unless the man physically confronts me, which they consider ‘unlikely,’ there’s little they can do. And they’re probably right. I already have a restraining order.”

Cameron’s pulse was still racing, hard. Now she understood why Emerald would stay home alone at night, why she didn’t appear to have friends. Maybe she never knew who to trust, a familiar feeling for Cameron, too. Emerald tried again to defuse the call’s importance.

“The man is a rabid fan…one of the type that always feel they own you. It’s possible my coming marriage has upset him.”

“And he wants you to say the engagement is off.”

But then, why such threatening words—even though he hadn’t mentioned murder? Emerald finished her wine. She had more color in her face now, but the topic was obviously closed. “Thank you for staying, for talking.”

“I can stay longer if you like. Or call Grace for you. And Ron.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s foolish to allow someone like that to upset me.”

Forcing a smile, she walked to the door of the den, and taking her cue that it was time to leave, Cameron followed her. She hesitated then reached out to touch Emerald’s forearm in comfort. She felt hard muscle under quivering flesh.

“You’re sure…?”

Emerald didn’t answer. She pulled away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ah, she was being dismissed—and put back in her place.

But Cameron couldn’t as easily ignore the threat she’d heard.

I’m coming after you…

A fan—perhaps Edgar Mills again—who had become unhinged but posed no real danger to Emerald?

Cameron didn’t know.

But all the way down in the elevator to the street, the words reminded her of Venuto Destina’s vow of revenge. Of her father. And of Ransom’s caution.

With her heart still in her throat, she walked out into the night.

You’re in danger. You’re next.

She couldn’t shake the feeling. If Ransom had been right, which she doubted, it seemed she wasn’t alone.

Emerald Greer didn’t have friends. But she did have enemies.

THE DARKNESS SWALLOWED Cameron up. The feeling of menace followed her home.

Even the blast of taxi horns, of people laughing in the doorways of restaurants and bars, made her skin twitch and her senses buzz. If Ransom was behind her, somewhere in the darkness, he was a darn good tail. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t even smell that subtle scent of his aftershave.

If he was there, as she assumed, maybe it wasn’t such a terrible thing tonight.

Should she stop, turn around, tell Ransom about Emerald’s caller?

No, that was a matter for the NYPD. And his friend Gabe.

She didn’t want Ransom trailing her, she reminded herself. She didn’t want him in her life, except to find James’s killer.

As for the missing money and Emerald’s telephone threat…

None of that related to Cameron.

Why feel so spooked, then?

It was Ransom’s fault, she decided, key clutched tightly out of habit in her hand when she left the blackness of night and prepared to step out of the shadows near her building. Just a few paces more and she’d be in the light. Inside, with her doors locked and the dead bolt thrown. Maybe she’d toss the covers over her head tonight.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she sensed movement.

“Ransom!” she cried out.

That quickly, a hand had touched her shoulder. She froze, heart lurching into high gear, as if it would reach a thousand beats per minute, her pulse throbbing in her injured fingers.

Cameron tried to wrench away. But in the next second, she learned it wasn’t Ransom.

The man behind her tightened his grip on her shoulder and she screamed.

Chapter Three

“Hey,” the man growled, “take it easy.”

That first voice in the darkness had barely spoken, his mouth close to her ear, before a second, deeper voice shattered the still night. “Let her go, dammit!”

Ransom barged out of the shadows, hauled the other man’s grip from her shoulder and then spun him around.

Cocking one fist, he slammed it into her assailant’s jaw. Cameron heard the sickening sound of flesh hitting bone. The small package the other man had been carrying dropped to the pavement. And her gaze jerked upward.

In the darkness she made out a set of features that set her pulse skittering: a square jaw, a generous mouth, shadowed eyes glittering with anger. She saw a mop of dark hair above a wide forehead. He reeled back, staggering, a hand to his head.

He had a wide forehead, like her father’s.

Cameron froze in shock. It couldn’t be…

When his fist balled for a retaliatory blow at Ransom, she quickly stepped between the two men.

“Wait!” She shoved at Ransom’s chest. It felt like granite under her hands. “Stand back and listen. Both of you.” She glared into his heated dark gaze, shielding the man behind her, as if she could. He’d always been bigger than she was, and he towered over her now. But Cameron had no doubts. “This is my brother,” she said, slowly and carefully so Ransom would understand through the red haze of his own fury. Then she turned. Blood trickled from the corner of the other man’s mouth.

“Kyle, you’re bleeding.”

Even bloodied, he looked good to her. She’d never thought to see him again. For a second, his betrayal of her family years ago—their family—flashed through her mind. The attempts she’d made to find him when James died had proved futile. Cameron gave him a curious look.

“I’m all right,” he said. “And yes, it’s Kyle—the name I was using when I left WP. Nothing like a souvenir, huh? Call me sentimental.” He moved his jaw, experimenting, she supposed, to see if it was broken. “I went back to McKenzie for my last name. Might as well,” he added. “Preserve the family heritage, you know.”

Cameron continued to study him. Did he know, somehow, that their father was dead? Whatever he had done, Kyle had a right to know. He deserved her loyalty—at least until they were alone.

She spun around on Ransom. “You are out of your mind.”

His jaw set. “Some guy pounces on you in the middle of the night, and I’m not supposed to react?” He shook his head, obviously disgusted. “You are an accident waiting to happen.”

“If so, it’s my accident. I didn’t ask you to be my bloodhound.”

“I’m a trained bloodhound. The habit’s hard to break.”

Cameron turned back to her brother, who was blotting his mouth with a handkerchief. The simple motion touched her. James had always carried one and Kyle had learned the habit from him at an early age. Taking over the job, she tsked at the amount of blood she saw oozing from his cut lip. “He didn’t break anything, did he?”

“Teeth all here. My jaw still works,” he muttered behind the linen, which smelled of James’s favored aftershave, too. She stooped down to retrieve his package and handed it back to him.

“Come inside. I need to see you in the light.”

She didn’t mean only to clean his wound. Before she opened the door to the lobby that was decorated for Christmas, Ransom reached out to do it for her then ushered them inside. Cameron balked.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Upstairs. With you.” Nodding to the doorman, who stepped back at the look in his eyes, he punched the elevator button. “I’m hoping he’ll listen to sense, since it’s clear you won’t.”

“What’s this all about, Cam?”

At Kyle’s shortened version of her name—older brother to kid sister—she felt her resistance to him weaken. Kyle was five years older than Cameron. No matter what he’d done long ago, he was still family, and for the first time since their father’s murder, she wanted to collapse in grief, surrender to it at last. Feel safe in Kyle’s arms. Or could she? Cameron glanced into her brother’s brown eyes.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she agreed with Ransom.

If Kyle didn’t know about their father, she wanted him to hear it now from her. But she also wanted his presence to protect her—from Ransom.

IN HER LIVING ROOM, perched on the chair arm while Kyle told her about his life since she’d last seen him, Cameron helped him pat disinfectant over his bruised jaw. The skin was already beginning to turn a dark, mottled purple and she could almost see the imprint of Ransom’s knuckles. He packed a mean punch. All that training, she supposed. From the look of him, he spent time in a gym, too, and she’d felt all that hard muscle and powerful strength up close, against her, at her door only last night. Now Cameron refused to glance his way. Despite her snarled feelings about her estranged brother, Kyle was more welcome in her home than any government agent.

She still couldn’t believe Kyle had just stepped out of the dark—out of her past—like this. After her unsuccessful search to find him, she’d given up. By then, James was gone and his ashes were in the copper urn on her mantel. What was the point? The crisis, she decided, had passed. If Kyle didn’t locate her one day, he would have to remain a shadowy part of her childhood.

Cameron glanced at the mantel. If they did reconnect and she forgave him, she and Kyle would scatter their father’s remains—together—near their family’s original home. Near their mother’s final resting place, too.

Now he had found her, but seeing him again continued to unsettle her. He hadn’t reacted much to the news of their father’s death. But then he and Kyle had been poles apart for so long, she admitted. One minute she wanted to lash out, to punish him for leaving years ago, for not being there when James died. In the next…should she climb onto his lap, as she had at the age of five, or hug him as she had at twelve, the night he left their family? Any comfort seemed better than none at all.

Kyle winced then set the peroxide bottle on the crate Cameron used for an end table. “I’m sorry as hell, Cam. About Dad, too. But I only discovered where you were—where you are—a few days ago. When I got to New York, I looked in the phone book, then called Information.” He held her gaze, as if fearing she would send him away. “I do that everywhere I go. I check every name of yours that I remember from the program, plus your real name. I’m glad you returned to that when you left the program. Glad you didn’t invent an entirely new one.”

“I’ve changed names too many times in my life. I don’t need another.” Her forceful tone was meant for Ransom.