Kate Walker - Flirting With Danger

This Samantha must be an amazingly tolerant woman, Catherine reflected. There had been no apology, no hint of contrition in Evan’s voice, only that laconic ‘Something’s come up.’ Or was it Samuel, and so a very different matter entirely?

‘Cathy, I think we have to tell him.’ Her father’s tone was urgent, pushing her to agree. ‘You need someone—’

‘Someone, yes—but not Evan Lindsay.’

‘But why not? It’s his line—his territory, so to speak.’

‘But we don’t know anything about him.’

Catherine couldn’t put into words the way she felt, the fear that the thought of venturing into Evan Lindsay’s ‘territory’ aroused in her. It smacked of stepping blindfolded into the lion’s den, if not precisely putting her head in its mouth.

‘We don’t know who he is—what he is.’

‘Fine.’ In the hallway, Evan was bringing his conversation to an end. ‘I’ll see you then.’

‘I know he’s very good at his job—came highly recommended—and he’s certainly been more than thorough. And you know that I can’t be here after this week—’

‘But I can.’

Catherine’s head jerked up, her gaze going to the doorway in nervous response to Evan’s low-toned interjection. Still standing just outside the room, he studied her for a long, taut moment, blue-green eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful.

‘You weren’t joking about the bodyguard,’ he pronounced at last, making Catherine draw in her breath sharply, wondering how she had ever hoped to hide anything from this perceptive, keenly observant man. ‘Don’t you think you’d better let me in on the secret? At least that way I’ll be on your side.’

‘Cathy,’ Lloyd prompted, ‘please…’

‘I—don’t know.’ Her blue eyes were shadowed and dull, looking faintly bruised above the colourless skin of her cheeks. ‘I don’t even know if you could help.’

Evan moved suddenly, coming to sit opposite her once more, his eyes holding hers all the time. Leaning forward, he took her hands in both of his, his grip warm and firm, the intensity of his gaze seeming to have the power to draw her soul right out of her body.

‘Try me,’ he said softly.

In that moment something happened—something strange and wonderful and totally inexplicable. In the second that he spoke the quiet words it was suddenly as if a huge weight had fallen from Catherine’s heart, as if all her doubts and fears had been taken from her, washed away on a new tide of hope and fresh confidence.

Here was a pair of strong shoulders onto which she could shift the burden that had blighted her days; here was a calm, intelligent mind that could find a way through the waking nightmare that her life seemed to have become. She no longer had doubts, no longer needed to hesitate, to be wary.

‘Help me,’ she said simply, and saw his eyes darken, saw the stunning gentleness of his smile.

It would be easy to fall in love with a man with eyes like that, whose mouth could curve in that way, lighting up his whole face, she thought dreamily, allowing the fantasy to take root for a brief, delirious second, before the realisation of the foolheardy direction of her thoughts had her blinking in sudden shock.

‘If I can, I will.’ Evan’s response was low and firm, the conviction in his voice enough to inspire confidence in even the most craven of hearts. ‘But first you have to help me. I need to know just what’s troubling you,’ he added when he saw her puzzled frown. ‘Do you trust me enough to tell me?’

Did she? Could she trust him? Who else could she turn to if she didn’t tell him? There was no one else; it was Evan or no one.

‘I don’t know where to begin…’ She had kept it to herself for so long that now it was difficult actually to let it out.

‘Is it a man?’ Evan prompted when she hesitated, shaking her head in despair.

‘Yes—at least, I think so. Oh, but not in the way you mean. I’m sorry—I’m not doing this very well.’

Evan’s silent shrug dismissed her apology as unnecessary.

‘Take your time. We have all night.’

Now we have, Catherine thought, recalling the way he had dismissed the waiting Sam. But there was something very reassuring about that ‘we’.

‘Perhaps a drink would help—something stronger than coffee,’ Lloyd put in, getting to his feet and heading towards the drinks cabinet.

‘I think not.’ Evan’s incisive command stopped him halfway. ‘We’d do better with clear heads—don’t you think?’

Those last three words were added purely for courtesy’s sake, Catherine realised. Evan’s words had had the force of an order, one he intended to be obeyed without argument, and her father had recognised that, sinking back into his chair without a protest. For better or worse, Evan Lindsay was now in charge. They had put themselves into his hands and there was no going back.

Into his hands—the words reverberated inside her head as she let her gaze drop to the fingers that still held her own, recognising their strength with a shiver of reaction that was a disturbing blend of relief and fear. She was painfully aware of the potential power in Evan’s hands— the force that, if it tightened just a tiny bit more, could bruise or break. Right now, she could only be grateful for the fact that that strength would be on her side.

‘I don’t know what my father told you about me…’

It was as if that thought had given her a mental push, and suddenly the words came tumbling out, like water pouring through newly opened floodgates.

‘But I work in television—children’s programmes, actually—and a couple of years ago I got a really big break when I was chosen to host a regular weekly show. It’s called Get Up and Go. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but—’

But Evan was nodding. ‘Tuesdays—five till six.’

‘You know about it?’

‘My friend’s kids love it. They wouldn’t miss it for the world. You have two very loyal fans there.’

‘That’s great. How old are they—your friend’s children, that is?’

She spoke quickly, needing to distract herself from the sudden disturbing lurch her heart had given. When he smiled like that it lit up his whole face, softening the hard lines and making the blue-green eyes glow like a rock pool when the sun fell on it.

‘Five and seven—a boy and a girl. Amy’s the seven-year-old—she’s the real fan.’

‘Well, five is perhaps a little young to take it all in.’

She wouldn’t allow herself to wonder whether the friend he had referred to was the same one he had spoken of earlier. Were these the children of the Sam he had been going to have dinner with? It was worrying to find that in spite of her attempts to drive it from her mind the answer to that question suddenly seemed very important.

‘I always like to hear firsthand that people enjoy what we do. Of course, we do get a lot of letters—’

‘But not all of them from kids.’

The faint shake in her voice had betrayed her; either that or some tiny reaction in her face that had not escaped those watchful aquamarine eyes.

‘No.’ Her voice was very low.

‘And not all just expressing innocent admiration.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘No.’ She shook her head, grateful for the way the movement made her fair hair fly around her face, concealing the vulnerability of her expression.

‘Cathy’s been the victim of a campaign of harassment,’ her father put in. ‘A stalker, I believe the current word is—an obsessive fan.’

‘An adult fan?’ Evan’s attention was concentrated on Catherine. ‘When did all this start?’

‘About seven months ago; just before Christmas. The first letter came in a bundle of ordinary mail, and really it was just very complimentary about my appearance.’ Catherine’s laugh was shaken. ‘He said I was just what he wanted in his Christmas stocking. But there was a tone to it—some rather sexual comments that made it plain it didn’t come from a typical fan. Your friend’s daughter and son are the sort who usually write.’