Wanted: Bodyguard

It was almost nine. He’d been sitting at the cameras since he’d left the dinner table. Throughout the evening he hadn’t seen anybody going in or out of the house next door, nor had the camera caught Greg performing any incriminating act.

Lana had agreed to set up something four nights from now, on Friday, to introduce Riley to her neighbors. He could tell she didn’t like the idea, would have preferred not lying to her friends and neighbors, would prefer that Riley simply go away.

But Riley was eager to meet Greg Cary up close and personal. He had a nose for killers, and he wanted to look into Greg’s eyes, get a reading on the man he believed was responsible for four women’s deaths.

The house was quiet as he left the guest room. About an hour earlier he’d heard Lana putting Haley to bed. As Lana had read the little girl a bedtime story, Riley had closed his eyes and listened to her voice.

She had a nice voice, low and with just a touch of something sexy. She amused him. His easy charm held no power over her. She appeared determined to dislike him, and that definitely intrigued him.

He walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, where the light was still on, and found her seated at the table working on her jewelry. She didn’t appear to notice his presence as she worked with a soldering iron.

He remained in the doorway, taking the opportunity to study her. She was pretty in an unassuming way. If she wore makeup it was subtle, not screaming like many of the women that he usually dated wore. She had a slamming figure, full breasts and a tiny waist and shapely hips that could definitely turn a man’s head.

“Is there something you need, Agent Kincaid?” she asked, not taking her gaze off her work.

“The first thing I need is for you to call me Riley,” he replied and walked over to the table. “Calling me Agent Kincaid could ruin this entire operation.”

He sat in the chair across from her and looked at the items she had strewn across the top of the table. Pieces of metal and semiprecious stones battled for space with tiny tools, spools of wire and velvet boxes displaying finished products.

“You do nice work,” he said as he looked at the necklaces and bracelets she’d completed.

She set the soldering iron down and finally looked at him. “Thanks. I enjoy it.”

“What are you working on now?”

“A necklace that will be part of my winter collection.”

He wanted to keep the conversation flowing, not only enjoying the sound of her voice but also the momentary respite from the tension. “What’s the difference between a winter collection and a summer collection?”

She leaned back in her chair and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Mostly color. My summer collection is filled with bold, chunky, brightly colored jewelry, and the winter one has the more traditional colors. There’s a big show here in town in two weeks and I want to make sure I have plenty of pieces to sell.”

“You make a living at this?”

“I do okay, although I’m certainly not getting rich,” she replied. “Most women can’t resist a beautiful piece of jewelry at an affordable price. I’m steadily building up a clientele that’s respectable. My goal over the next couple of years is to get my jewelry into some of the upscale stores not only here in town but around the country.”

“You sell it on the Internet?”

She nodded. “Right now most of my sales come in through my Web page, Designs by Lana. Speaking of jobs, as my husband, what exactly is it that you do?” She unplugged the soldering iron and leaned back in her chair once again.

He liked that she had a directness to her gaze, that there was nothing flirtatious or simpering about her. “I’m an investment broker. I do most of my work at home.”

“Where’s all your furniture and personal belongings?”

It was apparent that she was thinking, working all the elements of their subterfuge around in her head. He couldn’t help but admire the intelligence that shone from her eyes.

“Right now it’s all in storage,” he replied. “I couldn’t wait to get out here to be with my bride, so I stored everything and decided that once I got out here I’d figure out what to do with my stuff.”

“Where exactly did we get married? We need details if we’re going to make it sound real.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “We got married by Elvis at one of those little white chapels.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No way. I’m not the type and all of my friends would find that odd. A little white chapel is fine, but Elvis, as much as I loved his music, is definitely out.”

For the next few minutes they discussed their wedding, deciding the name of the preacher and making up those little details that would make their story ring true.

Twice he made her laugh with his silly suggestions, and he was stunned by how much he liked the sound of her laughter. It did amazing things to her face, lighting her eyes and making the freckles dance across the bridge of her nose.

“It must be tough being a single parent,” he said when they’d sobered and felt as if they’d solidified their story.

She shrugged and began to pack her jewelry items into the drawers of a large tote on wheels. “Sometimes it’s rough,” she replied. “Being alone is the worst part, but I imagine you don’t have to worry about that much.” She cast him a sly, knowing gaze.

“When I want company, I can usually find it.” It wasn’t a boast; it was merely a statement of fact.

“Finding company is different than finding somebody to share things with,” she countered.

“I gather from that statement that you don’t intend to be alone forever, that you will probably eventually remarry?”

“I would be open to the possibility. There were a lot of things about being married that I loved.” She glanced down at the table but not before he saw a whispered pain darken her blue eyes.

An uncharacteristic softness swept through him. He knew what it was like to grieve, to miss somebody so badly you almost lost the will to live. “You got a bad deal,” he said gruffly.

She looked at him once again and this time there was a steely strength shining from her eyes. “I’m not the only woman in the world to lose a husband. Bad stuff happens and you just have to deal with it. What about you, Riley? Ever been married?”

“Nope, and I have no interest in getting married. Footloose and fancy-free, that’s the way I like my life.”

“Sounds lonely to me.”

He grinned. “Trust me, I’m never lonely.”

“It’s a good thing this marriage is just pretend, otherwise I have a feeling we wouldn’t last together a month.”

“A two-week marriage, that I can probably handle,” he replied.

“I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself with anything more lasting.” She got up from the table. “And now it’s time for me to say good night. Fresh towels are in the bathroom closet along with anything else you might need.”

He stood as well. “No good-night kiss from my bride?”

“In your dreams,” she replied with a wry grin. “Good night, Riley.”

He watched as she left the room and then he walked over to the kitchen window and peered outside to the house next door.

It was dark and silent, as if Greg had already turned in for the night. All the FBI agents had assured Lana that there was no danger to her, but Riley knew that no operation was without danger.

Certainly he couldn’t foresee what Greg’s reaction might be if he discovered Lana was working with them to put the man on death row, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be a positive thing.

He sighed and turned away from the window, his thoughts returning to the woman whose life he’d interrupted.

He’d been relieved to realize she had a sense of humor. That would certainly make things easier for both of them. And he was surprised to realize that he liked her.