Guarding Raine (Security Ops) (22 page)

“Do you keep that suit as a disguise?” she joked in a shaky voice.

“It’s my bank suit,” he explained disgruntledly. “Trey insists we dress like this when we have an appointment with the banker. Never could figure out why. The banker should be looking at our assets, not our clothes.”

“Believe it or not, Mr. O’Neill,” she said, strolling toward him and hooking her arm through his, “those clothes show your assets off to great advantage.”

His eyebrows climbed. “So do yours, honey. Especially,” he added, his tone wicked as he led her out the door, “when you turn around.”

He frowned as he helped her into the truck. He went to the other side and climbed in. She looked incongruous in the cab, like a delicate splash of color. “I should have taken the time to go by the company to get my car.”

She turned startled eyes to his. “What for?”

“Well, it’s nothing special, but it would have been a little more comfortable riding. And it would have been a much classier way to arrive at the restaurant.”

She shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

He looked at her. She really seemed to mean it. Appearance didn’t count much with Raine Michaels. He changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell me what to expect tonight?”

The sigh she gave told him how little she was looking forward to the evening ahead. “Well, the food is always good at Clancy’s. I’m afraid that will be the highlight. This will really be nothing more than an advertisement for the exhibit I have coming up. André will have invited several people he’d like to have attend the show.” She grimaced. “Don’t be surprised if he’s arranged for a photographer to be there. He’s great at dropping hints at newspapers to get some free publicity. That’s usually my least favorite part of these affairs.”

He wondered all of a sudden how his own presence at the restaurant was going to play out. How would Raine explain him to André? He could imagine the look on Klassen’s face when he saw Mac tonight, and something inside him curled in satisfaction. It wouldn’t break his heart to put Klassen’s too perfect nose out of joint.

They arrived at the restaurant, and a valet took the truck to park it. Mac spotted Klassen standing in the courtyard near the door, apparently entertaining the dozen or so people surrounding him. All seemed to be hanging on his every word.

André looked up, a practiced, polished smile of welcome when he saw Raine. “Well, at last! Here’s our guest of honor!” The smile abruptly froze when his gaze passed her and clashed with Mac’s amused one. For one instant the careful mask slipped and the loathing he felt was apparent.

Then Mac’s attention was diverted by the flashbulbs going off. Four reporters left André’s side and scurried toward Raine, tossing questions like grenades. And when Mac heard their words, anger turned the blood in his veins to molten lava.

“Miss Michaels, what has your reaction been to these threats that have been made against you?”

“How has the danger surrounding you affected your current work?

“Do you trust the police to keep you safe?”

Chapter 11

Raine stopped short, blinded by the glare of flashbulbs. Mac put his arm around her and guided her through the journalists who were waiting with notebooks in their hands and pencils poised.

“Miss Michaels has no comment,” he said tersely, attempting to get her to the door.

“Mr. Klassen reports that he’s been quite worried about your safety recently. Is it true you’ve been receiving threats in the mail for several weeks?”

“Don’t say a word,” Mac muttered in her ear. They reached André’s side and could go no further, as the man was half-blocking the entrance of the restaurant. “Step aside, now,” Mac ordered the man through clenched teeth. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to smash his fist into Klassen’s gleaming capped teeth. He had little doubt that the man had engineered the whole thing, part of a media blitz that would bring more interest to his client and, in turn, line his own pockets.

“Raine, what in God’s name possessed you to bring him?” Klassen whispered urgently.

Raine turned her head to address him sharply, but Mac cut in. “What’s the matter, Klassen? Upset because I stopped you from turning this into a media circus?”

“That’s enough, both of you!” she said under her breath. Turning to face the press, she gave a warm smile. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m all right. Yes, there have been some anonymous letters, and the police have been called in to deal with them. I trust that they will have something to report shortly. And none of this is affecting my work. I can be quite single-minded when I’m painting. I hope to see you all at the exhibit.” Giving a friendly wave, she sidled by André and entered the restaurant.

Mac started to follow her, and André had to move aside or be run over. He stayed behind, and his urbane voice could be heard answering more questions. Mac caught up with Raine and muttered, “I thought I told you not to say anything.”

“I was not interested in helping you make a scene out there,” she informed him, her eyes flashing.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he answered grimly. “It was Klassen who was making the scene. And arranged it, too, if I don’t miss my guess. Why he would pull such an asinine stunt is another matter.”

She sighed and raised her hand to her right temple. It was already beginning to throb with a headache. “It’s typical for André to have a reporter or two around, I told you that.”

His mouth tightened. What was even more typical for Klassen, he imagined, was to milk every event in his path for the resulting publicity. He didn’t seem to care overmuch about the possible effects it could have on Raine. For someone who’d convinced her earlier that the threats weren’t to be taken seriously, he was sure taking advantage of them in a big way today.

André came in then, followed by two couples who’d been outside. “Raine, dear, shall we go in? Several people have arrived already and are waiting to meet you.”

Raine smiled at him, but turned to Mac. “Macauley?”

He moved to her side, noting the way Klassen’s mouth twisted with displeasure at the sight. Then they entered the private room where they were to dine.

It was already filled with twenty or so people, and all heads turned when André announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Miss Raine Michaels?” In an aside to Mac he said smoothly, “You’ll excuse us, I hope?” He took Raine by the elbow and guided her toward the guests, making introductions.

Mac was content to hang back and observe the crowd. It was a moneyed bunch, that was apparent. The glitter from the jewelry on these people rivaled the glare from the flashbulbs outside. Decked out in outfits ranging from sequined short dresses to nonchalantly tattered jeans, all the women wore the confidence that beauty and wealth can bring. As for the men . . . His gaze narrowed as he observed one man on the wrong side of sixty slide his hand up Raine’s bare arm as he was talking to her. The man seemed more interested in the artist than in the work she did.

Reaching out with two fingers, he snared a glass from a white-jacketed waiter’s tray. He made a face as he tasted its contents. Champagne was a taste he’d never acquired.

As he set the glass down on a table behind him, a voice at his side said, “You don’t strike me as the champagne type.”

Turning his head, Mac looked down into the faded blue eyes of a man who appeared to be in his seventies. He was a full head shorter than Mac, and there was nothing left of his hair except for a fringe of white that ran from ear to ear. He would have looked as if he could make a living impersonating one of Santa’s elves at Christmas time, if it hadn’t been for his bearing. If the others in this room shone with wealth, this man radiated power.

“You’re right,” Mac answered finally. “Champagne’s not my drink.”

“Whiskey, Scotch?”

“Scotch, neat.”

The stranger nodded in approval. “A man after my own heart,” he said. He raised a finger, which brought a waiter immediately to his side. “Two Scotches,” he ordered. The waiter hurried away. “I’m Harold Bonzer, by the way.”

Raine’s benefactor. He hadn’t known the man was going to be here tonight. Mac took the hand held out to him. “Mac O’Neill.”

Shaking his hand, Harold eyed him intently. “I saw you come in with Raine. I’ve never seen her with an escort before. Have you known her long?”

“Not long, no,” Mac answered shortly, reaching out to take one of the glasses the waiter had silently come back with.

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to say more, Harold chuckled. “A man who keeps his own counsel, eh? That’s a rarity in a crowd like this.”

Mac looked at him speculatively. “Raine has mentioned you. She gives you a great deal of credit for her success.”

Real pleasure lit the man’s face at the compliment, although he shook his head. “Raine Michaels was going somewhere. I just happened to be the one who recognized it and promoted her talent a little.”

“I understand you’ve also helped launch Sarah Jennings’s career.”

“Ah, Sarah, yes. That’s how I met Raine, you know. It was at a showing I arranged for Sarah.”

Mac took a drink from the glass he was holding, his eyes skimming the crowd. “She and Raine seem very close.”

“An unlikelier pair I’ve never met,” Harold murmured.

The remark captured Mac’s attention. “I’m surprised you’d say that. After all, they both have similar interests, as well as talents.”

Harold shrugged. “But they have very different personalities. Raine’s content to let her talent speak for itself, while Sarah is much more ambitious. It’s to be expected, I suppose. She’s had a rather tough time, losing her parents at a young age and taking on her brother to raise. An experience like that leaves a mark on a person.”

“Every experience leaves a mark on a person,” Mac said bluntly.

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Quite so.” He surveyed Mac shrewdly for a moment. “What line of work did you say you were in?”

Mac took another drink from his glass. “I didn’t.”

Harold Bonzer’s face was wreathed in a beatific smile. “You’re a careful man, Mac O’Neill. You don’t happen to need a job, do you?”

Mac shook his head, bemused. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the art world.”

The man looked surprised. “The art world? I have an interest in it, of course. I enjoy surrounding myself with beautiful things. But I’m in finance. And I’m always on the lookout for a man who listens more than he talks.”

“I’m afraid I know less about finance than I do about art,” admitted Mac. “I’m in the security business.”

“That explains it,” murmured Bonzer, eyeing him keenly.

“Harold, it’s so good to see you again.” Raine came up and greeted him with a hug. “And you’ve obviously met Mac.”

“Yes, I have, and I approve,” he told her. “It’s about time you started spending time with someone, away from your paintbrushes.”

Raine cast an uncertain eye toward Mac. Harold was jumping to the same conclusion Sarah had, but Mac seemed unconcerned. He merely cocked an eyebrow at her look. Then Harold claimed her attention, for the better part of twenty minutes, until seating began for dinner.

André motioned for Raine to sit beside him,

“Harold, why don’t you sit at Raine’s other side? That way you can continue your conversation,” André invited. But Bonzer waved the suggestion away. “Raine’s already spent enough of her time entertaining old men. Put Mac next to Raine. I’ll sit on his other side.”

The suggestion obviously didn’t sit well with André, but he did as Harold suggested. After the guests were seated, steaming platters of seafood and steak were placed before each of them.

“Meal choice number three,” Raine murmured into Mac’s ear. He turned his head at the teasing remark, and she didn’t pull away. Her lips were scant inches from his own.

“Not quite the same ambience I’m used to,” he answered, his eyes on her mouth.

Raine caught her breath at the sizzling look in his ice blue gaze. The heat that infused her veins owed nothing to the steam rising from her food. When he raised his eyes to meet hers the conversations around her faded away. Her focus narrowed to his mouth, the well-formed thin upper lip, the fuller bottom one. Memories of that mouth on her own surged through her.

“Raine.” André’s impatient voice startled her, and she turned toward him.

He indicated her plate. “Try some of the scallops. They’re really quite good here.”

Raine looked at him blankly for a moment, then at her plate. She couldn’t help feeling that André’s innocuous remark was intended to draw her attention from Macauley, and she wondered at the petty ploy. He had seemed very put out ever since he’d seen Mac with her tonight. However, he was used to arranging things to suit himself and to having her fall in with his plans. Perhaps that would explain his pique at Mac’s appearance tonight. He simply didn’t like surprises of any kind.

“Tell me,” André invited as he reached for his glass of champagne, “how did you happen to come here tonight with O’Neill?”

The question seemed to validate the conclusion she’d just arrived at about his annoyance. But it also smacked a bit of possessiveness, and Raine was not going to allow that. “Mac was kind enough to offer me a ride,” she answered carefully, keeping in mind Mac’s warning not to reveal his real role. “My car is out of commission,” she said, smiling grimly at the understatement, “so I really had no other way here.”

“What’s wrong with your car?”

“I haven’t talked to an insurance adjuster yet, but I believe the term I’ll hear is totaled. I had an accident a few days ago and my car will probably not recover.”

“An accident?” André’s expression was horrified. “Was anyone injured?”

She shook her head, although the memory of the incident was enough to make her tense. “It was a hit-and-run. But luckily, I wasn’t really hurt.”

“You should have told me,” André scolded her like a mother hen. “I would have come and picked you up tonight. There’s no reason for you to feel desperate.”

Mac had been listening to the exchange. He leaned forward to address Klassen. “I was glad to help out.”

André’s face tightened, and Raine inwardly sighed. She always seemed to be caught in the middle of these kinds of skirmishes. First it was André and Greg, now Macauley and André. She wished she knew what caused these hard feelings. No doubt it had to do with testosterone overload, but she found it quite tedious. And totally unnecessary.

The rest of the evening passed with excruciating slowness. After the dinner André stood up and reminded all present of the date of Raine’s show. The party was breaking up. Raine heaved a sigh of relief and smiled brightly as she rose and spoke to some of the departing guests.

Mac rose, too, but stayed in place, watching the rest of the room’s occupants.

“Mr. O’Neill.”

He turned to face Harold Bonzer.

“It was a pleasure to meet you tonight. I hope I’m going to see more of you. Will you be at Raine’s show?”

Mac smiled. “That depends.”

The older man chuckled. “Never give too much away, O’Neill. I like that. I just might give you a call myself. I always have the need for a good security expert.”

“You do that, Mr. Bonzer.” The two men shook hands. Harold walked over to Raine and said something, and she gave him a hug. Seeing Klassen alone for the moment, Mac sauntered over.

“This was quite an event you orchestrated.”

The man didn’t bother to conceal his dislike. “Yes, despite the fact that one uninvited guest showed up.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “Surely you’re not referring to me? Raine was so certain that she was free to bring an escort to this shindig.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, O’Neill. You were a means to an end tonight. The next time Raine needs a ride somewhere she can call me, or another one of her
friends
.”

“You know,” Mac said, with deceptive mildness, “something’s been bothering me tonight. All those reporters you had here. I can’t figure out if you’re really such a publicity hungry son-of-a-bitch that you couldn’t pass up the chance to get some free coverage, or if you’re even more devious than I thought.”

André clenched his jaw. “What are you getting at?”

Mac stepped closer. “Maybe this was a ploy of yours from the beginning. Did you send those threats yourself in order to cash in on the resulting publicity? Never mind that Raine would be terrorized in the meantime. If it sold an extra painting it’d all be worth it to you, right?”