Close to You Page 5

His lips looked soft.

  She'd had blackened redfish for lunch.

  His hands looked capable.

  She should have popped a breath mint before she came in.

  But how could she have known she'd be kissing a man today?

  She bit her lower lip, and he watched as if entranced.

  Then he straightened. "Right. The information Brad sent over said the car was an Infiniti."

  "What?" Released from his spell, she felt oddly disoriented. "Oh, so you think the stalker is moderately well off."

  "Or he rented an Infiniti. Or borrowed or stole one— although there are no reports of stolen Infinitis that week. Unfortunately, knowing the make of the car is not helpful."

  "I missed the license-plate number." She touched her chin. "I was too busy bleeding."

  "Too bad," he said, unimpressed. "But you'll let me know if you notice anything odd about anybody, or recall any incident where someone seemed a little off. Sometimes that's what it takes, for the victim to remember a name or an episode that created an enemy."

  Her temper flashed. "I'm not a victim."

  "Make sure you keep it that way." He went to his small refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. He loosened the cap on both. "Do you have any enemies?"

  She wanted to say no, but she couldn't help but recall the open animosity at KTTV. "A whole station full of them." She took the bottle he offered. "But I don't think the other broadcasters would actually try to bump me off."

  "Calling them enemies seems dramatic. Why don't they like you?"

  "The usual reason. I'm prettier than they are."

  He paused, the bottle almost to his mouth, and gave her a long, lingering perusal that started at her toes and went to the top of her head, and he made sure he paid plenty of attention to the good parts in between.

  If she had had any doubt that this man could sneak under the sheets with any woman he wanted, the flush of heat in her breasts and between her legs cured that.

  "You're prettier than all of them?" he asked. "I can hardly believe that. I've seen Linda Nguyen."

  Before Kate could stop herself, she laughed out loud.

  He watched her with satisfaction.

  Then she realized he was a manipulator. He'd wanted to make her laugh, and he did. He'd wanted to make her aware of him as a man, and he had.

  Lifting the bottle, he drank, and his strong throat moved as he swallowed. As he drained half the bottle, she observed each detail and told herself he was someone to guard against.

  Standing, she wandered to the fireplace and peered at the beautiful old marble. She didn't want to meet his gaze.

  "So let's recount the situation." As he got down to business, the change in him was startling. His voice grew crisp, so crisp she faced him, startled. His mocking smile had disappeared, the charm had vanished beneath a surface so hard bullets would bounce off it. "We could be dealing with possible terrorists, but that's not likely. Your fellow broadcasters are a possibility. This could be a friend, an acquaintance, or a stranger who's watched you on television." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Miss Montgomery, think very carefully about who it could be, because those are a lot of suspects."

  "I'll think," she agreed, and rubbed her finger across the brass Buddha on the mantel.

  "Now, here's the way we're going to play it. You're going to be doing a piece on me, so we'll be together all the time."

  It wasn't a come-on, but a necessity. She knew this. "If the stalker knows me, you're going to make him back off."

  "We'll spend each day at the capitol building. I'll work the surveillance, you can work the politics, and my men and cameras can observe you."

  "That'll work. That'll keep Brad happy." Briefly, she thought of the stories she would hear, how she would have to pass them off to Linda, and she winced.

  "Keeping you off the air until your wounds heal will help." Without an ounce of visible sympathy, Teague studied her stitches. "If the stalker is a viewer, the attacks are almost certainly related to your appearance on television. If the attacks stop, we're probably dealing with someone who only knows you from the local news and who feels he's won by keeping you off the air."

  "That's an advantage?" Austin had a population of 840,000.

  "That cuts out a lot of immediate suspects." Teague rolled the bottle between his hands and smiled as if he knew something she didn't. "Do you have somewhere I

  can sleep at your apartment, or should I bring an air mattress?"

  "Sleep?" Her mind leaped to the right conclusion, but she hadn't considered . . .

  "I'm trying to keep you where the stalker can find you," Teague answered sensibly. "It's the only way we're going to get him to reveal himself."

  "So I'm bait?" Kate liked this less and less.

  "And I'm your bodyguard. I'll keep you safe." His charm returned, fully intact. "Trust me."

  Not in a million years. "I've got a guest room. You can stay there. There's a lock on my bedroom door."

  "I'll remember that." He smiled faintly.

  Then she wished she hadn't said it. She had been trying to make it clear that she wasn't part of his fee. Somehow she thought he'd taken it as a challenge. But she hadn't meant it like that. She really hadn't, not even in her deepest, darkest, most hidden thoughts.

  "Let's go to the capitol." He stood, walked across the room, and opened the door for her. "You drive your car; I'll follow. I want to see if I can spot anyone lurking and watching. We'll meet inside, I'll introduce you to my people, and we're set."

  "All right."

  In the foyer, Teague stopped at Brenda's desk. "Call me when you need me. Otherwise I'm going to be out on this job."

  "Yes, sir. If you could sign these checks before you leave . . ." Kate headed for the outer door.

  "Kate, we need to clear up one last thing!" Teague said sharply. "You let me go out first." He caught her arm.

  Pain shot through her. She flinched and gasped.

  He let her go, steadied her with a hand at the base of her spine, and watched the expression on her face so very carefully. "Bruise?"

  "Yes."

  "Car'?"

  "Yes."

  "Hurts?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't worry." Teague's eyes chilled to dark, unfathomable pools. "And don't doubt this—I'll get the son of a bitch."

  FIVE

  "I understand." Kate rubbed the sore spot on her arm. "Lead the way."

  "And you trust me?" Teague held her in place with the heat of his touch and the strength of his gaze. "You know I'll get your stalker?"

  "I trust you." She couldn't say more. Her throat hurt from tension. Her gaze clung to his. She wanted to cry, but that was silly.

  "All right. If you're ever uneasy, let me know. I live upstairs here." He extracted his business card from his pocket. "That has my personal cell phone number. If I'm not with you, call me or come to find me, and I'll fix whatever's bothering you. You'll do that?"

  "I promise."

  With a brisk nod, he let her go.

  While he signed his papers for Brenda, she said to Kate, "You can trust your life to this man. I did, and I've never been sorry."

  Kate's tension eased. "You had a stalker?"

  "I had an ex-husband. Nothing could convince him I wasn't his to smack around anymore. Not until Teague explained matters to him. He hasn't dared show his face since." Brenda's testimonial was fierce and loyal.

  "Yeah, and now I get to check out every one of Brenda's damned stupid boyfriends before she goes out." Teague shook his head and kept signing.

  "He thinks I run to type," Brenda informed Kate.

  "A bad type." Teague walked past Kate and out the door.

  "My life's no longer my own," Brenda complained, but Kate could see she wasn't serious. In a lower voice, she added, "Really, he is the best."

  Kate joined him on the porch and found him looking up and down the street. He glanced at her Beemer. "That's your car? Very nice."

  "Thank you. I
like it. It has the smoothest five-speed I've ever handled, and it tracks around corners beautifully." Oh, God, she sounded like a car salesman.

  "Give me your keys and I'll start it for you." He extended his hand.

  "That's not necessary."

  "Believe me, it is."

  This grim guardian took the threats to her seriously. So seriously. He wouldn't let her stand near as he looked the car over, then started it. Stepping out, he waved her over and held the door while she stepped in. "Keep it locked while you drive. Don't worry, I'll be behind you."

  Don't worry? She had a stalker, and the man who protected her from that stalker threatened her in a completely different way.

  As she drove, she repeatedly glanced in her rearview mirror. Teague stayed a few cars back, and she watched the way he drove, without flash or daring yet with a cool efficiency that told her he could catch her if he deemed it necessary. Behind the tinting of his windshield he was nothing more than a dark shadow, yet she knew without a doubt he observed everyone around her.

  She knew how to handle an aggressive man, or at least she knew as well as any woman. The trouble was—when she stood close to Teague, she didn't think of how brainless it would be to get involved with him. She didn't think at all; her reaction was visceral and instinctive, and that had to stop. She was known for her common sense. From somewhere, she needed to dredge some up.

  Pulling into her usual lot, she parked, and briefcase in hand, she waited until Teague got out of his car before she unlocked the doors and joined him. "Did you see anything?"

  "No." He looked her over with lascivious interest. "Damn it."

  "Look, Mr. Ramos, professionals don't spend their time leering at each other," she said crisply.

  "That's for sure." Gently taking her arm, he walked with her toward the capitol. "You haven't leered at me once since we left my office."

  Her shoulders snapped back, and she glared.

  "There's the sparkle back in your eyes. Are you still afraid you'll be attacked?" He asked as if he truly cared, and his interest was more disarming than his flirtation.

  So she thought about it. Seriously considered the question. Doing something to thwart this stalker had given her a sense of control.

  And while Teague was pushy and obnoxious, he also gave off an air of competence that reassured her. As much as she hated to admit it, if he lived with her, she would sleep well . . . or at least she would sleep without the fear of unexpected violence in the night.

  "No, I feel better. You've reassured me. I'm not as afraid as I've been."

  They entered the capitol building through the South Lobby.

  "Let me show you the security office and introduce you to my people," he said.

  "I really should go and see what's happening in the Senate Gallery. Today they're debating the Robin Hood bill. There'll be speakers from the rich school districts who stand to lose and speakers from the poor school districts who stand to gain and, of course, plenty of rhetoric from the Senate floor." She tried to slip around him.

  Teague stopped her with an arm across her path. "It wasn't a request. If you're going to be here and not be with me every moment, my people need to meet you so they'll know who to keep an eye on."

  She blinked at him in surprise, and in the soft, pouting lips and the baby-soft skin, Teague could see the indulged girl in her. She was used to getting her own way. In fact, this little prima donna was spoiled as hell.

  "Come on, Kate, this won't take long," he said, cajoling her the same way he cajoled all the overpaid, self-absorbed women he dated. "The Senate will survive without you for a few more minutes."

  She gave in with a grace that surprised him. "Of course. After all, Linda is covering that story." With a laugh and a shrug, she walked with him toward his security center. "I'll be interviewing you. Do you mind?"

  "If I minded, I wouldn't have agreed to it." In fact he'd agreed to it because she was the reporter in jeopardy. That first time he'd seen her, he'd liked her poise, her style, the crisp tone of her voice. He'd loitered in the crowd looking like everyone's idea of a gang leader and waited to meet her gaze. The blaze that ignited between them had surprised even him.

  Now some bastard had stripped away some of her confidence.

  Not a lot. It would take more than a stalker to wipe out the conditioning produced by money and security. In fact, if it were anyone else, he would have said this scare was just what she needed.

  But he had liked her the way she was. He had wanted her the way she was.

  Now, damn it, he wanted her more—and she was a client. Teague needed to remember that. She was a client.

  She pulled out her notebook and flipped it open. Pen in hand, she asked, "Where's your security center located?"

  He put his hand over hers. "Some things we're not going to mention on television. Let's at least make the terrorists work for their information."

  "Right." She put the notebook away and joined him in the elevator to the second floor. "Don't worry, keeping information back makes the piece even more intriguing to the public. When I'm done with you, you'll be a huge hit."

  He looked down at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he didn't care one damned bit, but then she'd ask why he was doing this, and he wasn't about to admit he'd allowed his gonads to issue directives to his brain. Women, for some reason, didn't understand. "I direct security for the capitol. You're the capitol reporter. This'll be good for the company, so I put myself in your hands."

  She smiled. She seemed to liked that. He supposed it gave her some sense of power over a life that had suddenly careened out of control.

  To Teague, she looked an adolescent boy's version of Snow White, with pale skin, baby-soft cheeks, a plush, sensual, mouth, and black hair that curled around her face. She didn't flaunt her body, covering it in somber colors that played down her trim figure. Compared to the women he usually dated, expensive women who loved the challenge of dating a dangerous man, she was quiet, professional, and unassuming.

  But Kate was nicely built, with breasts big enough to fit in the cup of his hands, a narrow waist, and hips that swayed when she walked. Her shapely legs made him

  long to see more. There was no art to her stride; she didn't make each movement an enticement, but just because she seemed unaware of the clean, smooth motion didn't mean it wasn't sexy.

  "Here we are." He stopped in front of the reinforced metal door. With a hand on the electronic palm scanner, he identified himself, typed in a code, and the lock popped open. As they walked in, he announced, "I've brought a little excitement into your dull lives."

  Four people faced them, three males and a female, as well as a bank of monitors and blinking lights.

  Kate walked in without hesitation. "How do you do? I'm Kate Montgomery from KTTV. I'm here to do a news report on your boss."

  "Hey, hey, hey. The boss is going to be a star!" Chun was Teague's team leader from California, a single, handsome, twenty-eight-year-old Asian American who talked fast and liked to remind people he'd graduated summa cum laude from Stanford.

  Teague liked to remind him his major had been art.

  "I can hear the headline now. 'Super Security Keeps Senators Safe!' " Rolf was Teague's technology geek, a big blond German from North Dakota.

  Big Bob was fifty-four, Texan to the bone, happily married with three kids and two grandkids, and he guffawed and offered up a high five.

  "Nice alliteration, Rolf. You ought to look for work making up headlines."

  Gemma was a petite beauty with beautiful black skin.

  "There's a computer program for alliteration. I wrote it." Rolf grinned.

  Gemma rolled her doe-like brown eyes.

  The hilarity and teasing took Kate aback, but not Teague. In this business, grandstanding was ruthlessly mocked, and his people didn't stand in awe of him. He didn't usually want them to . . . although this outburst proved a little deference might be a good thing.

  When the hubbub died down, Teague tol
d Kate, "These so-called security experts rotate on and off duty. I'll introduce you to the people walking the corridors, too. If I'm not around and you suspect trouble while you're here, let any one of them know and they'll take care of you. Everybody is connected." He showed her the half-dozen earbuds and microphones hanging on hooks by the door. "Before anybody goes out, they hook up."

  "Is it a walkie-talkie or a cell phone?"

  "Walkie-talkie. We can cover a range of about two miles around the capitol. More than that, we turn to a cell phone." To his people, he said, "While Kate's busy filming me—and any of my people who manage to sound interesting—we're going to catch her stalker."

  "Ooh, a television interview," Chun said.

  "Ugh, a stalker," Big Bob said.

  Trust Big Bob to get to the heart of the matter.

  Teague stood off to the side and watched his people cluster around Kate. Three men, one woman, all trying to get interviewed . . . or just trying to get her attention. "See, what we have here is the heart of the security system." Chun gestured at the computers and cameras. Chun did very well with women, and now he focused on Kate.

  She seemed not to notice his interest. "So, Mr. Chun, you're saying that from this room, you can survey the whole capitol complex?"

  "Pretty much," Chun said.

  "Nope." Big Bob's slow West Texas drawl overrode Chun's assertive West Coast voice. "This gives the overview, but each wing has its own special cameras and its own special viewing room."

  Kate's attention shifted to Big Bob, who was sitting in front of the monitors, his gaze moving from one to the other. "Is someone always working each room?"

  "No . . ." Big Bob glanced at her, saw how intently she watched him, and his cheeks, already naturally rosy, flushed a dull red.

  Teague wanted to laugh, except that Kate smiled reassuringly at Big Bob. "Does someone check the rooms periodically?"

  "Every fifteen minutes." The color in Big Bob's cheeks brightened.

  She kindly pressed his shoulder.

  Teague watched as she put his man at ease. She showed amazing poise as she drew out Big Bob about the positions of the cameras. She extracted details about the surveillance rooms.