Guardian of Her Heart Page 3

  “Thanks,” Travis said, “but I meant Ms. Englander. I want her insight on the place, plus I need for her to point out exactly where she thought she saw Farley.”

  “I’ll be glad to show you where I did see Farley,” she asserted. Good. She’d taken the bait. This way, she’d insist on giving him the tour, to try to assuage any doubt he had. And he didn’t have much. If anyone would recognize Glen Farley, it was Dianna Englander.

  “Fine,” he said. “There’s more you can fill me in on, too.”

  “Like what?” Her clear blue gaze challenged him. Though she’d said she would cooperate, she seemed to expect him to come up with something she would refuse.

  He had a feeling that, in a clash of wills between Dianna Englander and himself, he’d need a tie-breaker.

  That wasn’t good. Not when he had to make sure nothing happened to her, with her husband’s worst enemy so close.

  “I’ve read in the local newspaper,” he said, not moving his gaze from hers, “that the Van Nuys civic center is about to have a street fair as a fund-raiser for more redevelopment.”

  “That’s right,” Dianna said. “I’ve been working with government agencies and local merchants to put it together.”

  “Security will be beefed up, too,” Flynn huffed importantly. “We’re already planning it, along with the private companies that support other nearby buildings.”

  “Any idea why that date was chosen?” Travis ignored the pompous security guy and kept his gaze firmly on Dianna’s. Of course, he knew the answer.

  “It coincides with the first anniversary of the opening of Englander Center,” she said.

  “I need to have you fill me in on the festivities,” he said. “What the public has been told. Whether there’s anything Glen Farley might know about the celebration, and anything he doesn’t—or shouldn’t—know.”

  “Oh.” One small hand flew to Dianna Englander’s mouth. “Oh, what?” Wally Sellers asked. He appeared confused.

  “I wondered,” Dianna said slowly, “when we first talked about the fair, if it was a good idea, but I got so caught up—”

  “That you failed to consider whether some anti-redevelopment nut like Farley might consider it a challenge,” Travis finished.

  “What do you mean?” Wally still didn’t get it. He rose to stand beside Dianna. He was about her height, his hair black and thick, and it was hard to tell where his chin ended and his neck began. “We need good press,” he continued. “A few months ago, a celebrity couple worked out their divorce settlement here, in the Center. We got such good publicity that our conference rooms are scheduled months ahead for arbitrations and mediations. We’ve even been booked for movie shoots in our simulated courtrooms. A big anniversary celebration will put us in the news again, bring more business. Maybe even more movie shoots.”

  “Farley might have come here because of the anniversary celebration, Wally,” Dianna said quietly. “He may intend to do something to…” She hesitated, as if the things she contemplated as within Farley’s plans were too terrible to voice.

  Travis had no such compunction. “Something that would definitely get your center publicity on its first birthday,” he said. “A bombing? Killing the widow of the Center’s namesake? What better time than a celebration to make his perverted point?”

  SINCE SEEING FARLEY the second time, Dianna had avoided parking in her designated space in the garage. She paid for valet parking, a service offered by Englander Center that allowed more visitors to stow their cars in the building’s lot and added an extra touch of prestige to the dispute resolution center.

  But now she was visiting her empty second-floor parking space. She ignored her apprehension. This time, she was not alone. And even if Glen Farley didn’t realize that the tall, muscular pushcart peddler standing beside her was a trained—and probably armed—policeman, Dianna knew it.

  She kept her voice low. “He was over there,” she said to Lt. Bronson. Travis. He’d told her, before they began their tour, to call him by his first name.

  In fact, he’d told her to do a lot of things. She was to cooperate. To show him around. To treat him like a pushcart peddler trying, as so many actors and others in L.A. did, to get discovered as a street entertainer, a guy who also tried to get his friends a break: showing off their skills at the anniversary celebration. His apparent attempts to convince her to hire his buddies and him would be the ostensible reason for their spending time together in the next week, as he and his fellow multitalented officers watched over her and the Center.

  And, he’d told her with determination, they would nab Farley.

  When Travis and she reached the lobby, he told her to let him get out of the elevator first. She had been married to a man who had told her exactly what to do. Sometimes she had listened. Sometimes she hadn’t, yet she’d had to give up her public relations career in favor of his political one. As a result, there had been friction between them—she’d hated his commands—but there had been love, too.

  Except—if Brad had known when to keep his mouth shut, when not to issue commands, might he still be alive today?

  And their baby—

  “Let’s go over exactly where you were standing, and what else you remember,” Travis said. “All right, Dianna?”

  She had automatically responded, when he’d said to call him by his first name, that he should use hers as well. Even though it was the norm these days not to use the more formal title of Mr., Mrs. or Ms. whatever—or, in his case, Lieutenant—she now regretted the informality. It seemed almost…well, intimate, for the two of them to be on a first name basis. And Dianna did not want to be in the least intimate with any man, particularly not an officious officer of the law—even to support his cover.

  “All right, Travis.” The coolness in her voice earned her a sideways look from the man who had been surveying their surroundings. Deliberately, she explained where her car had been parked both times and where she’d been standing. “The first time I saw him, he got out of a white car parked a few vehicles away in a reserved space.” She shuddered at the recollection. Farley had known where she was. Why not? She’d made no secret of where she now worked—in the building her husband had once championed that now bore his name.

  It was no surprise, either, that he found her in the parking garage, near her spot at the time she usually arrived for work in the morning. If he had been watching her, he would know that.

  “Are you all right, Dianna?” Travis’s deep voice rang with concern, and it snapped her from her reverie.

  She looked up, focused on the planes of the face of the man beside her, the light shadow of beard barely showing beneath his rugged skin.

  He was staring intently, as if he figured she would break.

  She wouldn’t. But neither would she look, right then, at the confining walls of the parking garage. The cars that could disgorge Farley at any moment.

  She described the scene she’d been reliving.

  “And you think Farley knew this was your space, and that you would be there then?”

  She nodded. “He got out of his car long enough to smile at me.” She cleared her throat. “He got back in and drove away.”

  “I don’t suppose you got his license number.”

  “Part of it—a California plate that began with 4ACR.”

  Travis jotted it down in a small notebook he extracted from a pocket. “Probably rented with a false ID or stolen, but we’ll see if we can figure it out.”

  “I’m not sure what kind of car it was, either,” she continued. “It was a sedan that looked like a high-end Japanese import. But when I saw Farley again, I didn’t see the same car, and that time he just seemed to disappear without driving away.”

  “Okay. You’re doing fine, Dianna. Now, let’s go over this again.” Question by question, he led her carefully through the events before, during and after both sightings of Farley, continuing to make notes.

  The telling became cathartic, for when she was done, she was
able to lead him to where she had seen Farley each time, without hesitation. Without fear.

  Except when, in the middle of her attempt to recall what Farley had been wearing, she took a step backward and a car horn sounded right behind her. She jumped, reaching out to grasp the nearest thing she could for comfort.

  It turned out to be Travis’s hand.

  He squeezed hers in return, pulling her out of the way by putting his other hand soothingly on her back.

  Only it wasn’t soothing at all. It was unnerving to have her hand held, to be caressed, by a man, a stranger, in plain view of anyone who might be watching.

  It also felt much 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 redevel
opment downtown near the convention center and sports arena, and he was now around here, Travis was going to use those guts of hers, if he had to, to trap the elusive suspect. No one knew how Farley had succeeded in slipping away so many times after all the high-profile felonies he’d committed. Yet not even the feds, with all their resources, had been able to bring him in.

  But Travis intended to get him. And Dianna would not be harmed. He would make sure of it.

  When they got to the A-S Development suite, a couple of beefy guys who looked as uncomfortable as hell in the suits they wore were on their way out. Construction types, Travis figured, there for meetings with Alberts and Sellers.

  A younger man was talking to the receptionist—what was her name? Beth? That guy seemed right at home in his suit. He also seemed right at home coming on to one woman while staring appreciatively at another. Travis didn’t like the way Dianna met his gaze, but she smiled coolly and headed down the hall, Travis following in her wake.

  Her office was different from the first he’d visited in this suite. The desk was a blond wood, Scandinavian in its sleekness. Across from it were two matching chairs with wooden arms, upholstered with a jagged-patterned pink-and-blue fabric that matched the taller, armless chairs around the table in her sitting area. Though there were piles of paper on the desk, they were neatly squared and, Travis had no doubt, organized.

  The view from her window was, like Wally’s, over the plaza below. Travis would be able to look up from his pushcart post, count windows, and know exactly where Dianna was supposed to be.

  But he doubted this woman would pay attention to what he told her, even if it was for her own good.

  When Dianna sat behind her desk, Travis said, “I’m going back to my pushcart, help Manny put it away for the night. That’s our agreement. But I’ll accompany you to your car when you’re ready to go home. Call me on my cell phone.” He pulled a card from his small notebook and handed it to her.