Linda Johnston - Guardian of Her Heart

As the car pulled away, she returned her attention to where she had seen Farley.

He wasn’t there.

She realized then how fast she was breathing. Inhaling the ugly odor of exhaust fumes, here in the indoor parking garage.

She yanked at her purse until its strap jerked off her shoulder. She fumbled with the zipper till it opened and dug for her cell phone. Call 9-1-1, the rational part of her mind instructed.

“Hey, Dianna,” said a soft female voice behind her. Dianna pivoted. Eleven-year-old Julie Alberts stood near her father Jeremy’s black luxury sedan in its space two over from Dianna’s. Julie’s brown eyes, luminous even in the dim parking garage light, widened. Tendrils of brown hair that had escaped from the barrette at the back of her neck framed her gamine face in coiled wisps. “Are you okay?” she asked.

No! Dianna wanted to scream. But she didn’t want to frighten Julie. “I’m fine, honey. I was just leaving. Get in my car and come with me, okay?” She slipped her phone back into her purse. What good would the police do now?

“But my dad’s supposed to meet me here to drive me home.”

But Farley was here. Farley killed people.

They had to leave, all of them.

“We’ll pick him up at the elevator,” Dianna said. “Let’s go. Now.”

Julie didn’t move. She looked scared. “Dianna, what’s wrong?”

Before she could answer, Jeremy Alberts appeared near the doorway from the elevator. “There he is.” Dianna motioned to him to come quickly, then hesitated. Was it better to flee through the garage or drive out? Before she made up her mind, Jeremy joined them. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, parroting his daughter’s words. He gave Dianna an odd look.

Her emotions were clearly showing.

“Did you see—?” He didn’t finish, but the question remained written in the furrow of his shaggy salt-and-pepper brows.

He didn’t have to say more.

Dianna had filled him in the first time. Fortunately, he had believed her. Had acted appropriately.

But all his security measures hadn’t stopped Farley from returning.

“We’ll fix it, Dianna,” he said in a gruffly reassuring voice. “Don’t worry.”

“We need to get out of here,” Dianna told him. “Now.”

“Yes,” he agreed, hurrying Julie to his car.

Dianna tried to watch everywhere at once. There were no other cars driving around, no further sign of Farley. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still here. Or that he hadn’t rigged up something harmful.

“What’s going on?” Dianna heard Julie insist before the car door closed behind her.

Dianna got into her own vehicle. Her hands trembled as she clutched the steering wheel, and she watched all around as she let Jeremy’s car lead the way down the ramp, get out first.

If Glen Farley hurt someone else, it shouldn’t be the Alberts.

Or her. Or anyone.

It had been more than a year since he’d stopped stalking her…before.

Why was he here? Oh, Lord, why was he here?

“Why is it that you’re always hungry after school?” Dianna gave Julie’s shoulders a hug as the elevator door opened onto the vast, architecturally dynamic lobby of the Englander Dispute Resolution Center. The building was modern, yet, with its arched windows, high ceilings and sparkling chandeliers, its feel was old-world grand.

The heels of Dianna’s navy pumps clicked on the marble floors. The shoes matched her linen suit—short-skirted, professional but comfortable in the Los Angeles winter. Dianna, from the east, still couldn’t get used to how warm it was this time of year. She had even cut her blond hair into a soft, slick pageboy parted in the middle, rather than keeping it long as she had once worn it.

Or maybe she’d needed to change everything about her life….

“Being bored at school starves me,” the child replied to Dianna’s question, looking up with a huge, adult-charming grin that displayed slightly crooked front teeth.

She kept grinning even as, on their way to the door outside, Dianna and she passed by the security guards screening people who entered.

Dianna kept grinning, too—but hers was forced.

She had Jeremy, Julie’s father, to thank for the extra security in the building. Of course, since this was part of the Van Nuys, California, civic center, security screening was a way of life. The area housed all sorts of government office buildings: federal, state and municipal. And courthouses. And post offices. And other structures that could attract unsavory people with mayhem on their minds.

Like Glen Farley.

But these dark-uniformed, brusque security guys were new. Efficient, thorough and even unnerving, they had come highly recommended, Jeremy had said, by some law enforcement hotshots he trusted. He had hired them as a result of Dianna’s spotting Farley the first time. He hadn’t seen the horrible man. Neither had Julie. But thank heavens Jeremy had taken her word for it. She had nearly given up hoping for people to believe her.

She certainly hadn’t bothered notifying the feds hunting for Farley since Brad’s murder, either about the first time she saw Farley here or the second. During those initial horrendous months after her husband’s death, she had seen Farley several times, hanging around. Taunting her. She’d reported it then. But the agents on the case had evidence that Farley had fled the area —evidence they apparently found more credible than her fearful and emotional phone calls. Though they claimed to have checked, they’d found no sign of him.

The last times she called, she doubted they’d looked at all.

That was one of many reasons she had left Washington.

“Hey, look,” Julie said, drawing Dianna out of her disturbing thoughts. She pointed her index finger, its nail chewed to an irregular edge, toward a pushcart on the paved plaza outside the Center.

One day, Dianna would have to introduce the girl she thought of as her surrogate niece to the pleasures of nail polish—clear or light pink, for a preteen. Maybe then she wouldn’t gnaw on her nails.

Julie didn’t have a mother to teach her such things.

“What’s that guy doing?” Julie grabbed Dianna’s elbow and pulled her toward the elaborately decorated cart. A sign on its surface proclaimed that it sold “Fare to keep you awake and alive.” Below was a list of food, drinks and prices: mochas, lattes and all imaginable coffee creations, sweet rolls, and cold gourmet sandwiches.

Dianna hadn’t thought she was hungry, but her stomach grumbled.

What was that guy doing?

A man in a white T-shirt with a red Cart à la Carte logo in the middle stood right beside the pushcart. His hands were in motion—a good thing, too, for he was juggling knives. And not wimpy butter knives, but steak knives with wicked-looking serrations. He wasn’t tossing them high, but they flew end-over-end as he flawlessly caught and tossed them in his obviously skilled, large hands. The motion of his arms emphasized the breadth of substantial biceps and tautened his shirt against his equally broad and muscular chest.

“Wow,” said Julie in an awed voice beside Dianna. I’ll second that, Dianna thought, though for different reasons than Julie. The guy was definitely sexy.

Not that she was into guys these days, let alone sex. It was okay to admire a good-looking man from afar, but that was definitely all.

This guy’s hair was sandy brown, cut short, almost military style. He was barely even looking at the dangerous utensils that twisted and soared under his control. His cobalt-blue eyes appeared to be fixed on Dianna.

And when she caught his glance, one corner of his wide, straight mouth curved slightly upward in acknowledgment.