Nightfire. Barbara McCauleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
This was not going to be easy.
Kane stood at the southwest edge of the cliffs behind the Westcott estate and scanned an experienced eye over the luxuriant grounds. Inside a five-foot brick wall surrounding the property, flowering trees and perfectly manicured shrubs nearly engulfed the two-story Spanish-style house. The greenery was aesthetically pleasing, but a virtual haven for uninvited guests, he thought with more than a twinge of annoyance.
And the house had more windows than Seattle had rain.
One specific window on the second story—the bedroom Allison slept in—drew his attention, and he mentally calculated his position. Based on the angle of the shot, Kane was sure this was the spot where their “shutterbug” had been standing when he’d taken his picture. The rocks here were big enough to easily hide behind and access from the beach below was an easy climb. The spot was so remote that it was doubtful any neighbor would have spotted him, and even if Allison had seen him, she was so naive she probably would have just waved at the guy. Hell, she probably would have invited him in for lunch.
He could still see the look on her face when she’d stared at the photograph of herself in her underwear. Her skin had paled against her dark hair and her fingers had felt like slivers of ice when he’d taken the picture out of her hands. He knew she was scared to death, he’d seen the fear in her wide eyes. Yet still she refused to spend the next few days here, inside, where she would be safer, out of danger.
Why, dammit? He shook his head irritably. What difference could it possibly make if she skipped a few days at the center and postponed the kids’ show? So maybe the kids would be disappointed. Disappointment never killed a kid. If it did, he’d have been dead by the ripe old age of seven.
He turned sharply at the shriek of a sea gull overhead and watched the bird as it swooped low over the water. For some strange reason, the smooth motion of the creature made him think of Allison. She moved with that same powerful and elegant grace. And even though he knew that she’d studied ballet, hers was a grace that no amount of dance lessons could ever teach. It was completely natural, utterly feminine and disturbingly sensual.
He could still feel the soft pressure of her breasts on his back when they’d stood in the elevator this morning. The heat of her body had burned straight through his clothes and scorched his skin. Thirty seconds more with her pressed against him like that and he would have broken out in a sweat. He was going to have to be careful to keep his distance from her, he resolved. A woman like Allison could easily mess up a man’s thinking, make him lose control. And control was something Kane had no intention of relinquishing.
He thought of the file he’d read on the plane this morning. Allison’s file. She’d graduated from the dance academy six years ago, and the rest of her life had been as easy to read as a children’s book, complete with pictures. Her career as a dancer had been notable, but her offstage life seemed to be virtually nonexistent. Though there’d been an occasional boyfriend mentioned in an entertainment magazine here and there, as far as he could see she’d had no serious affairs or rejected lovers.
He couldn’t help the smile as he recalled the look of indignation on her face when he’d asked her about her personal life. He’d had to ask, that was his job, but any interest he might have in Allison’s love life was purely professional. Unless one of those men was tied to the case, they had no relevance at all. They were simply nameless and faceless lovers who had no bearing on the current situation.
So why, then, was he trying to put a face to one of those men, wondering if he’d been another dancer she’d worked with, or maybe one of the dozens of admirers she must have had? What difference could it possibly make?
It didn’t, he told himself. He was just getting restless. He’d worked nonstop for the last twelve months. There’d been little time for women, or any form of recreation, for that matter. As soon as this case was finished, he intended to find himself a long-legged blonde, a bottle of Jack Daniels and a quiet shack on an isolated beach in Bermuda.
He could see the ocean waves now, feel the warm breeze, a woman’s long, slender legs wrapped around his bare body, her dark hair shining as it billowed out across the hot sand.
Dark hair? What happened to his blonde?
Damn. He rubbed a hand over his face. He needed this vacation sooner than he’d thought. In the meantime, he resolved, he’d better keep his mind on what Oliver Westcott was paying him to do, which was to keep his daughter safe. Kane was comfortable with the competence of the men that had accompanied Oliver to Los Angeles and also with the three men who had been assigned to stay at the house on twenty-four-hour watch. Two of the men were to watch the outside perimeter and a third man was to tail Allison while she was en route from work and home. That was the trickiest part, keeping tabs on her once she left the estate.
He turned back to the house and stared at Allison’s bedroom window again. His frown deepened. Why couldn’t the woman understand she’d be better off here, in the safety of her own house? Any other woman would have run home and bolted the doors. Lord knew it certainly would have made his life a hell of a lot easier.
But then—Kane let out a long breath of exasperation—Allison Westcott was obviously not just any other woman. And she certainly was not going to make his life easier.
She came out of the house then and moved up the stone walkway toward him, with the ease of a woman who was comfortable with her surroundings. He watched as she approached, noting that she’d changed into a long oversize sweatshirt that matched the color of the pink azaleas along the path. Her pants—or whatever the modern fashion hounds called them—looked more like black tights than anything else, and while she certainly hadn’t dressed to impress him, she looked so damn sexy that a jolt of desire shot through him before he had time to think.
He hoped like hell this job would be over soon.
“Thought you might like a cup of coffee.” She stopped two feet away and handed him a steaming mug. “I hope black is all right.”
Nodding gratefully, he accepted the cup, annoyed with himself that he’d intentionally avoided touching her hand. He watched as she combed her fingers through her hair, then folded her arms tightly in front of her. A nervous gesture. She moved to the edge of the cliff and stared silently at the approaching sunset.
“I noticed you were working with the alarm system this afternoon,” she said finally, but did not turn to look at him.
“Just checking it out.”
As she turned back to him, the ocean breeze tugged at the wild mass of curls around her face. He watched in fascination as her hand swept the hair away from her cheek.
“And?”
He’d never been one to soften the truth before, and he didn’t intend to start now. “Before I ordered a few adjustments, I doubt it would have kept out the Avon lady.”
She winced, then recovered quickly. “And now?”
He shrugged. “Now we probably only have to worry about insurance salesmen.”
So the man does have a sense of humor, Allison thought with mild surprise. She felt the tightness in her shoulders ease, as she realized that if anyone did try to break in, they not only had to get through the two men stationed outside and Kane’s updated alarm system, but they had to get through Kane himself. Something told her that was not an easy thing to do. “So what happens now?”
He wished she would stop chewing on her bottom lip. Though he knew she didn’t intend the gesture to be provocative, that didn’t make it any less so. He took a sip of his coffee, glad that it was as hot as it was strong. “Ideally, we find the guy before he makes a move.”
“And if we don’t find him?”
The waves lapped on the beach below and the distant sound of a speedboat hummed in the moist salt air. Kane was well aware of the fact that an approach to the Westcott estate from the water was a strong possibility. He watched the boat until it looped away. “Either way, we’re ready for him.”