Susan Mallery - Living On The Edge

Speaking of which…He returned his attention to the computer file he’d begun to build. Access to personal financial records could take a day or so. In the meantime, he filled in what he could about the man’s past.

An hour later someone rang the bell. Tanner glanced at the security-camera monitor and recognized the man standing on the front porch. Angel was right on time.

“What’s the word?” he asked, after letting the other man into the house.

Angel, a tall, dark man with steely gray eyes and a scar that ran down his neck, shrugged. “Kelly’s holding his own. He survived the surgery. Doc says that’s good. Now we wait and see if he recovers. He lost a lot of blood.”

“Brain damage?”

“They don’t know yet.”

“Odds?”

Angel shrugged again. “I didn’t want to hear anything bad so I didn’t ask.”

Tanner wouldn’t have, either. He took the wrapped package Angel offered, then asked, “You okay with the Calhoun job?”

“Sure thing. We’ve got three teams on the kid. Full-time. His crazy uncle isn’t getting anywhere close.” Angel’s eyes brightened with interest. “If he does, I’ll take him down.”

Jefferson Alexander Calhoun III, was all of seven and an orphan. His parents had been killed in circumstances that could only be labeled suspicious, although the local police hadn’t put together a case yet. The boy’s maternal grandmother was concerned her youngest son had done it to make sure he inherited the bulk of the family fortune. She’d hired Tanner’s company to protect the life of her only grandchild.

“If you have to take him out, make sure you’re on the correct side of the law,” Tanner reminded his right-hand man.

Angel smiled slowly. “I wouldn’t do it any other way.”

They discussed other jobs for a few more minutes, then Angel left. Tanner appreciated that the other man hadn’t asked about Tanner’s unexpected guest or the contents of the package. Tanner wasn’t sure he could explain either. He was working based on very few facts but a strong feeling in his gut.

Hell of a way to do business, he thought as he dumped the package on a kitchen counter, then returned to his office to continue with his research.

Two hours later, he took a break to shower and change his clothes. When he walked back into the control room, he saw Madison was up and moving around. He detoured by the kitchen, grabbed the package and walked to her bedroom.

He found her standing on the desk chair, inspecting the moldings attached to the ceiling. She stood on tiptoe, her expression intense, her fingers probing every inch of the painted wood.

“It’s not fancy, I’ll admit,” he said, “but I thought it looked decent enough. Are you disagreeing with me?”

Madison jumped when she heard his voice and turned on the chair. “What? You startled me.”

He jerked his head toward the wall. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m looking for the cameras,” she said. “Is there anywhere in this room where I can go and not be watched?”

It took him a couple of seconds to make sense of her words. When he did, anger quickly followed.

“You think I’m spying on you?” he asked, annoyance tightening his voice.

She’d slept hard—her hair was mussed and there was a crease in her right cheek. She was wrinkled, in need of a shower and still pretty sleep deprived. But she stared back with a defiance that earned his grudging respect.

“What else should I think?” she asked, shaking her bracelet-clad wrist at him. “This place is more secure than my local bank vault. You’ve got a computer telling me where I can and can’t go. Special screens on the windows so I can’t escape. I’m your prisoner. Why wouldn’t you spy on me?”

“Because I don’t need to get my rocks off by watching you prance around in your underwear.”

He dropped the package on the bed, crossed to the chair and grabbed her around the waist. Before she could react, he’d lowered her to the ground. He had a brief impression of heat and a too-thin body lacking curves before he released her and stepped away.

She glared at him. “I could have gotten down on my own.”

“I’m sure you could have.”

He took her hand in his and dragged her out of the room. She sputtered in protest but didn’t pull away. As they approached the control room, he pulled a remote from his pocket and hit a button to deactivate the system. Then he brought her to the control panel, released her hand and pointed.

She rubbed her fingers and ignored the monitor. “Is there a reason you don’t try asking me to go with you first? I assure you my intent is to cooperate. There’s no need to be dragging and lifting all the time.”

“Are you complaining about your treatment?”

“Yes.”

“So noted.”

Her gaze narrowed, and he could tell she wondered if the notation meant anything. He decided to keep her guessing about that, if nothing else.

“You’re not looking,” he said, still pointing to the monitor.

“At what?” She turned slowly and stared at the screen.

The picture showed a floor plan of the house, with all the rooms labeled. Exactly in the center of the room named Control Center stood a red dot.

“I’m the dot?” she asked.

“Walk around and find out.”

She did as he suggested, moving to the window, then back toward the door. The dot on the screen moved with her.

Her attention shifted from the computer to him. “No pictures?” she asked.

“Not even a camera.”

“I’m transmitting to that screen through the bracelet?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” She glanced down at her wrist, then back at him. “It was a logical conclusion.”

Her eyes were blue. He’d registered the fact before but hadn’t paid any attention to them. Now he saw they were a deep, true color. She was pale—maybe from lack of sleep or food. Whatever the reason, her scar seemed more pronounced. Again he wondered why she hadn’t gotten it fixed.

She had the kind of hair teenage boys daydreamed about—straight, long and blond. Even with the scar she was beautiful. Not that he was interested.

“Logical,” he agreed. “But I’m not the kind of guy who likes to watch.”

Her delicate eyebrows rose. “I thought all men were into that.”

He allowed himself a smile. “Maybe under different circumstances. Not like this.”

“Good to know.” She glanced around the room. “Do I get to find out what this equipment is for?”

“It’s computers mostly. Some tracking equipment. I have a monitoring system for the house.”

“No one gets in, no one gets out?”

“Not on my shift.”

She walked to the window and looked out. He knew the view was little more than some lawn and a high fence topped with razor wire.

“Do you live here?” she asked, still looking out.

“No. I told you, it’s a safe house.”

“Who else do you bring here?”

“Sorry. That information is classified.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “But it does make me wonder. What exactly do you do with your life that you own a house like this?”

“I prepare in advance for whatever my clients might need.”

She walked back toward him. “Who’s your client now? Me? Christopher?”

“I’m winging it.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does that often.”

He shrugged. “I try to be flexible.”

Their eyes met. He read questions in hers. No fear, though, which he respected. She wasn’t what he’d thought. Maybe not as useless as most women like her. She had backbone and more than a little—

He felt it then. Subtle at first, but growing. It filled the room, pressing in on him, stealing air, heating breath.