Stalked. Beverly LongЧитать онлайн книгу.
When her hand connected to his, she expected his skin to be warm from the sun. But it was cool. There were calluses on his palms and his index finger looked bruised, as if he’d recently hit it with something. Both imperfections were strangely at odds with his otherwise sophisticated presence.
“Ms. Minnow,” he replied. His voice was low, sexy.
“Let’s get on with it,” her father said.
Hope snuck one last look at her mother, who was looking at her expectantly. Expecting what, Hope wasn’t sure. She worked hard to hide the animosity she felt for her father from her mother. But she wasn’t always successful. Those times she always came out the loser because overt hostility didn’t bother her father at all, and it ripped Hope apart when she knew that she’d upset her mom. Stress wasn’t good for any recovery.
Hope sat next to her mom and looked at the lap pool. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father take a chair. Then Bing, and finally Mack McCann.
Her father leaned forward, his arms on the table. “Bing brought Mack here today because I asked for assistance. Mack provides PPS.”
Her father had the most irritating habit of assigning acronyms to things and then acting surprised when other people didn’t know them. She didn’t rise to the bait. She thought about the water temperature of the pool.
She heard her mother sigh. “Personal protective services, Hope. He’s a bodyguard.”
Oh, good grief. Her father was going to add a bodyguard to his entourage. That would mean there wouldn’t be a seat in the limo for either his hairdresser or his accountant.
She bet the hairdresser got tossed. Or maybe he’d just have the church buy a bigger limo.
“There have been some threats,” her father said.
“Threats,” she repeated, making sure her tone said boring.
Uncle Bing looked at her father. There was no reaction from Mack McCann.
“Threats on your life,” her father said.
Hope looked at her mother. She could not be falling for this. But the look on her mother’s face said that she’d been reeled in.
“We’ve hired Mack to protect you,” her mother said. “He’s your shadow for the next ten days while we’re traveling.”
Hope pushed her chair back. Took a deep breath, held it. Then she turned to the stranger. “Mr. McCann, I hope you didn’t come too far for this appointment because that’s time you’re never going to get back. I don’t need or want a bodyguard.” It was the understatement of the year. A bodyguard would ruin everything. Make it impossible to do the things that needed to be done.
She bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek. Then she straightened. “I’m going shopping.”
* * *
THE ONLY SOUND on the veranda after Hope made her departure was the tinkle of water from the frog’s mouth at one end of the pool.
“Archie?” Bing asked.
“She doesn’t have a choice,” Reverend Minnow said, folding his arms across his broad chest.
“She doesn’t seem too concerned,” Mack said. He’d been prepared for her to be upset, maybe cry a little, or be a little angry that someone would dare to threaten her. He hadn’t expected to be dismissed.
“She needs to understand the full impact of the situation,” Patricia Minnow said. “I’ll talk to her.” The woman reached for the papers that Reverend Minnow held folded in his hands.
Mack reached over the frail, yet lovely woman. “I’ll do it,” he said. When he’d first read the threats, he’d been incensed that Hope was being targeted because someone had a bone to pick with Archibald Minnow. It was damn cowardly to go after someone’s child, even if that child was an adult. He’d been grateful that he’d accepted the assignment.
But he wasn’t going to guard an uncooperative subject. She had to go along with the plan or all bets were off. He wanted to talk to Hope alone. There’d been some strange dynamic at the table. He hadn’t had time yet to figure it out and nobody was tipping their hand.
“May I?” he asked, inclining his head toward the house.
“Of course,” said Patricia. “But you better be fast. Hope moves quickly when she wants to.”
Mack pushed back his chair. So far, he wasn’t overly impressed with Hope’s speed or initiative. When he and Bing had arrived at the reverend’s house and learned that Hope was still in bed, that she was always in bed until early afternoon, he’d been disgusted. The party girl needed to get her very nice butt home and get to bed at a reasonable time so she could stop wasting her life away. He knew he was probably too much the other extreme, but he was generally up by four, had read a couple newspapers by five, worked out and eaten breakfast before the sun was up.
He entered the air-conditioned house just in time to see Hope, with keys in hand, exit through a door that he assumed led to the garage. He cut through the immense living room, then the study and out the front door just as the garage door went up.
She backed out fast, slowing just a little to close the garage door behind her. Mack didn’t miss his opportunity. He opened the passenger door and swung into the still-moving car.
“Hey!” she yelled.
“A minute of your time,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
She jammed on the brakes, almost causing him to pitch forward. He could tell that she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but good manners or something had her shoving the car into Park. “You’ve got sixty seconds.”
Now that they were sitting close and there were no competing fragrances from the chemical-rich pool, he could smell just her. The scent was something light, elegant, and it made him think of the rare orchids that his father grew.
Her bare arms were tanned and fit and he suspected that at some point they did more than just lift a martini glass. She probably had a personal trainer on call.
One polished fingernail tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. He glanced at her toes. Yep, they matched. He not only knew his bridal-gown designers now, but he was also pretty up to speed on polish colors, too. There’d been a lengthy discussion over lunch about those. Hope favored something a little hotter, a little sexier, than the pink champagne that his sister and her bridesmaids were wearing.
“You’re wasting time,” she said.
“I talk fast,” he said, and gave her his best friendly smile. It had unarmed bad guys all over the world, but didn’t seem to faze her. Her jaw remained stiff. He wished he could see her eyes but she’d put on her sunglasses.
“I guess I really just want to know why you’re so damned determined to be careless with your personal safety?”
She pressed her lips together.
He opened the folded papers. “I think you should see these.” He handed her the least insulting one. She started to reach for it and stopped.
“You can touch it. These are copies. The police have the originals and the envelopes that they came in. They were hand-addressed and delivered by mail to your father’s office. This one came about a week ago.” Reverend Minnow had shared that he’d asked Chief Anderson, the local cop in charge, to keep the letters confidential unless there was a specific reason for the information to be shared. Evidently the chief was a devout follower. Reverend Minnow had given Mack the chief’s private number and he’d entered it into his phone.
She took the paper. Read it. Her expression didn’t change.
That pissed him off. He leaned close and read aloud. “‘Dear Reverend Minnow. I lost my son