Guarding Raine (Security Ops) (21 page)

The first was to keep her alive.

“I need some more background checks done,” Mac informed Trey. The two were sitting in front of Mac’s desk, sipping beers. “Do we have anyone free?”

“Only me.”

“You’ll do.”

“Gee, thanks,” Trey said mockingly. “Your confidence is inspiring.”

A quick grin flitted across Mac’s face. “What can I say? I taught you all you know.”

“My eternal gratitude for that two-minute lesson,” Trey gibed. “Luckily my own experience and natural ability meant I didn’t require much help from you.”

Mac turned serious. “I’d like you to do look more deeply into Winters’s, Klassen’s and Jennings’s backgrounds. And see what you can find out about a Brian Burnett, currently of L.A., formerly of Sacramento. He’s been out of prison—” he swiftly calculated “—about seven years. I want to know who he celled with in prison, and if he keeps in touch with anyone he met there.”

“Where’s Burnett come into this?” asked Trey, pulling out his cell to take notes.

“He was convicted of rape eleven years ago,” answered Mac grimly. “The victim was Raine Michaels.”

Trey lifted his head to stare at Mac. “Eleven years? She had to be . . .”

“A kid. Yeah. And this bastard got out after four lousy years.” He knew Trey would guess there was nothing objective about Mac’s interest. His friend had been right when he guessed this case had become personal.

Briefly Mac told him of what he’d learned from Simon Michaels. “I’ve talked to the guy following Burnett. He’s done a pretty thorough job investigating him. He knows what jobs he’s had and where he’s lived, and gave me a list of names of the people Burnett sees after hours. I’d like to do a little checking into those names, to see just what kind of scum he hangs out with.”

“What was Burnett doing the day Raine was run off the road?”

Mac frowned. “He was followed to work. It couldn’t have been him.”

“That’s why you want to investigate his cronies,” Trey guessed. “You think he might have enlisted some help that day.”

“He could have been establishing an alibi for himself while Raine was almost killed. Yeah, I think it’s possible. From the report I got from Michaels’s investigator, Burnett didn’t exactly get rehabilitated in prison. He’s been in and out of scrapes since he got out—nothing bad enough to get him sent back, but he’s walking a fine line.”

“Why would he all of the sudden decide to reenter her life this way?” Trey asked, frowning. “After all these years, what does he have to gain by terrorizing her?”

“Maybe he’s been plotting revenge all along, to get even for the time he spent in jail. Hell, I don’t know. He could have seen an article in the paper, or something about her on TV, and that set him off. Who could figure how a sicko’s mind works?”

“He definitely needs to be watched,” Trey agreed. “Good thing Michaels has someone on him full-time.”

“Does the detective know about Burnett?”

Mac nodded. “I’m sure Detective Ramirez will be paying him a visit soon. But outside of the remote possibility that Burnett will break down and confess, I can’t see what good it’s going to do.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Then Trey leaned back in his chair. “I paid another visit to Greg Winters.”

Mac’s gaze sharpened. “When was this?”

“Last night. Remember I told you I’d approached him at his office and pretended an interest in his services?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought it would be interesting to follow that up with a visit to his home. There were some legitimate questions I had about some ideas he gave me. He was surprised to see me, but he invited me in. And guess what I saw there?”

Mac raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“Pictures, man. Lots and lots of pictures, and all of them are of Raine Michaels.”

Something clenched in Mac’s gut. “What kind of pictures?”

“Nothing personal—they’d all been cut out from newspapers and one magazine spread. He’s even got them framed. A whole gallery of them is displayed on the wall over his desk in the living room.”

Mac mulled this over. “Did he mention them?”

Trey shook his head. “Not until I did. But remembering what he told the one client, that he and Raine were real close, I wanted to see what he would say. So I pointed to them and said something like, is that your girlfriend? And, I’m not exaggerating, he actually blushed. Stammered around a little bit and then muttered something about being really good friends with her.”

“I don’t like it,” Mac said narrowly. “It sounds as if he’s developed a fixation on her.”

“But where’s his motivation to harm her? It’s not as though she rejected him, right? Or did she?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” Mac promised grimly. “Even if she did, though, why would Winters be the one who hung on to the letters that got turned over to the detective?”

Trey shrugged. “I never said I had the answers. But I sure have lots of questions.”

“You and me both,” Mac muttered.

“Okay. You told me earlier that you wanted criminal checks on Klassen, Winters and Jennings. I did manage to get those done. There’s nothing at all on Winters or Jennings, but there is a record for a Joseph Jennings. Sarah is apparently his guardian.”

“That’s her brother,” Mac said. “Raine said Sarah’s been raising him for the last several years.”

“Well, he’s been in some trouble over the course of those years,” Trey noted. “With the sheet he’s got, the next time he strays over the line of the law, he’s going to need a damn persuasive lawyer to keep him out of jail.”

Mac grunted. “What about Klassen?”

“No record of criminal activity, but I’ve been asking around to people I know in the art world. I keep coming up with that same rumor about him being short of money.”

Mac leaned back and stared into space morosely. He couldn’t help feeling as if they were spinning their wheels. What if it was, as Raine had said all along, a random crazy out there who had picked her out to persecute? He sighed and shook his head. Eliminate the obvious, that was their only choice. When they had proof that those with access to Raine weren’t guilty, then they would shift their focus elsewhere.

In the meantime, he’d be with her every step of the way, keeping her safe. He’d make sure she was never alone. Until this was over. When he walked away, she would be very much alone, in a way she hadn’t been before this mess had started. And there was no way he could make up to her for that.

Mac walked Trey to the door. He’d no sooner closed it behind his friend than Raine came down the stairs.

“Who was that?” She nodded toward the door.

“Trey.” She had that look about her again, the one that said she wasn’t quite ready to deal with the details of the world. Something had interrupted her in the middle of her painting. He was getting to where he could tell when she was distracted, her mind still on her work. She seemed a little far away, even when looking right at him. All her emotions were reflected in those large, expressive eyes. When she’d been arguing with him earlier they’d been full of sincerity and, he feared, pain. And when he’d dried her off from her shower yesterday morning, they’d been dazed with a desire so strong it took only the memory of it to draw an answering response from him.

“I just remembered,” she said, stopping in her descent down the stairs. “I have to go out tonight for dinner with André and some art patrons. It’s a long-standing engagement. I can’t get out of it.”

“What’s it for?”

One delicate shoulder rose. “It’s just a way for André to stir the pot before the show. He’ll have invited several couples, all big spenders in the art circle. They’ll also be issued special invitations to the exhibit. I’m to appear and be pleasant and try not to drive business away.” André was the quintessential agent, always looking for a way to expand his artists’ marketability. He was also a master of free publicity, and she wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find a representative from a newspaper or a magazine there. She suppressed a sigh. This was definitely not the kind of evening she looked forward to. She wouldn’t blame Macauley for wanting to sit this one out.

“I take it this is important?”

She shrugged again. “It’s a command performance, really. André goes to a lot of effort to sell my paintings. The least I can do is cooperate on the rare occasions he dresses me up and trots me out to prospective buyers.”

His mouth quirked in sympathy. Then he shocked her by saying, “What time do we have to leave?”

“We? You don’t have to go, Macauley. I wouldn’t put you through it, believe me. It’s going to be dreadfully dull. Since I don’t have a car anymore—” that thought made her frown “—I can call André and he’ll pick me up.”

“I told you that you’ll go nowhere without me.”

“I just thought,” she said, her voice dwindling, “since André would be with me . . .”

Rather than tell her that André Klassen was one of the last people he’d leave Raine alone with right now, Mac merely said, “I can’t protect you if I’m not by your side. So what time do we have to be there?”

“We’re due at Clancy’s Restaurant at seven,” she murmured.

He inclined his head. “I’ll have to stop by my place to get some suitable clothes, so we’ll need to leave early.” He consulted his wristwatch. “Can you be ready in an hour? Or, better yet, just gather up what you’ll need and bring it along. That way we can change at the same time.”

The thought of being in his apartment, both of them getting ready to go out, together, was filled with an alluring intimacy. Her throat dry, she managed to nod.

When she turned to go upstairs he headed to the office. Reaching the desk, he picked up the radio he used to communicate with the men in charge of patrolling the grounds. He told them his plans for the evening and arranged to call ahead to warn them of his and Raine’s return. He didn’t want any mix-ups.

He’d barely finished when Raine entered the room. She was carrying a small suitcase and a garment bag. It occurred to Mac that tonight would be the first time he’d seen her in a dress. He was enough of a chauvinist to look forward to the sight with anticipation.

Raine finished dressing in record time, and left the spare bedroom. She freely admitted to being curious about where Mac lived. Wandering through the scantily furnished rooms, she looked around for hints of the man who lived there. There were few to be found.

Nothing hung on the walls; there were no plants to soften the austerity of the bare essential furniture. Three photographs stood atop a television set, and she crossed the room to study them. One showed Mac with an older couple she guessed to be his parents. She thought she recognized the same hints of stubbornness lurking around both men’s jaws. Another picture showed the couple together, and yet another was of the woman alone. And that was all there was. She peeked into the kitchen, but it was as bare as the rest of the rooms. It was like being in a stranger’s home, one who put nothing of himself on display.

She didn’t know why the Spartan-like apartment should surprise her. Mac gave little of himself away at any time. But she had expected there would be something of him in his home. The fact that it was as unreadable as he usually appeared made her want to cry. Did he spend so little time here that he didn’t think it worthwhile to make it more comfortable, more of a home? Or was the emptiness of the apartment supposed to be a mirror of the man?

She didn’t want to believe that, although she guessed that he did. There were enough times when she’d caught the bleakness in Mac’s eyes to know he was capable of feeling far more emotion than he gave himself credit for. Maybe that was the whole problem. For some reason Macauley O’Neill had decided he didn’t deserve any positive emotions. Whatever it was that rode him so hard at times wouldn’t let him forget for long enough to experience anything besides guilt. She wondered if it ever would.

Mac stepped into the room and stopped as if he’d hit an invisible wall. He’d been tortured the whole time he dressed by teasing fantasies of what it would have been like to dress with Raine in the same room. There would have been something inherently sexy in watching her ready herself. He’d driven himself crazy with images of her struggling into her dress, asking him to clasp a necklace at the nape of her neck. He’d even fantasized watching her spray herself with a delicate scent of perfume.

His eyes traveled over her small form slowly, taking in the turquoise dress that hugged her delicate curves. It was very nearly backless, with the kind of defiance for gravity that drove a man crazy wondering just what kept it on. She turned then to face him, and he saw that dainty silver sandals were on her feet, and she carried a matching purse. He dragged the direction of his gaze to her face and said the first thing he could think of. “You did something to your hair.”

He almost grimaced at the inane comment that had slipped out in an effort to cover what he’d
really
been thinking. But it was true. Her hair was a mass of curls, and added to the picture of utter femininity.

“So did you,” she said teasingly. Very little, but he’d at least made an attempt to brush the waves back. They still glistened wetly from his attempt. He’d shaved, and she was peculiarly touched by this variation in his usual routine. His smooth jaw tantalized her, tempted her to drag the tip of her tongue across it. His suit was dark, his shirt cream and his tie a muted gold. He looked even more dangerous than he had the first time she’d seen him, and no less uncivilized.