Golden Threads (15 page)

"She's leaving. No one follows her."

"Right," the gardener murmured.

Devon went to his car and got in, then started it and pulled away from the curb. He didn't look back. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life.

"You can't go," Lara told Ching firmly.

The cat, perched on the back of the couch, narrowed his eyes at her and said "Yah!" with an emphatic snort.

She looked at him musingly. He'd been amazingly tactful these last hours, not demanding attention of the preoccupied humans and remaining virtually silent.

"We'll be going to the theater in a few hours," she reminded him consolingly, getting her spare door key from the ledge above the door and sliding it into the pocket of her jeans. She picked up her purse, smiling a little as Ching muttered.

Then, squaring her shoulders, she went out and closed the door behind her. She paused outside the building on the steps, but hers was a more obvious hesitation than Devon's had been. Cautiously, she glanced around, presenting, she trusted, the appearance of a nervous woman wary of being watched —and more than half-certain she was being watched.

Only one gardener was at work, his back to her. He didn't appear to notice her.

She made a point of looking at her watch,
then
went on down the steps and along the sidewalk. She kept her pace brisk and her expression calm, but her eyes moved restlessly. It took no more than ten minutes to walk the distance to the newspaper office, and since her carefully worded ad was printed out in block letters on a sheet of paper in her purse, she was inside the office a bare five minutes.

Back outside again, she retraced her steps for one block, then stopped at a phone booth and placed a call. She did indeed call her contact at the FBI, explaining the situation rapidly in a low voice and telling him that Devon would be in touch with more details within the next hour or so.

Then Lara continued steadily down the sidewalk, distracting her mind from nervous thoughts of snipers or runaway cars by imagining what that faceless voice on the phone was like in person. A professional, certainly; he hadn't been the slightest bit rattled to hear that a protected witness had decided to take on her hunters and play a dangerous game of cat and mouse. He had been utterly calm, with a voice so unflappable and soothing that it should, she thought, have been used to record emergency messages in any situation where people were on the brink of panic.

Middle-aged, she decided; a voice that calm had to have been earned over decades.
Salt-and-pepper hair and a face that had been lived in.
Nice eyes. Comfortable padding layered over old muscle, but still a wicked backhand on the tennis court.

Lara stared at the doorway of her apartment building, blinked, and went slowly inside. It wasn't until she was in her apartment and leaning back against the closed door that she released a shaky sigh of relief.

"Prrupp?"
Ching inquired, still sitting patiently on the back of the couch.

"We can't go back now, cat," she murmured. "Like it or not, we're in for the duration."

"Wauur," Ching said, and rang his bell.

She frowned at him. "I told you not to do that."

Ching smiled. Just like the Grinch.

"Devon?"
Nick looked a bit startled. "There's a man here to see you.
In my office.
He said that Com-Tech suggested you might be here."

They had been about to run through a few lines, since Nick had made changes overnight, and Devon rose from his seat at the scarred table with a slight lift of his brows.

"Who is he?"

Nick cleared his throat. "He has a badge."

Devon looked even more surprised, and slightly amused. "I have an unpaid parking ticket; does the law in Pinewood usually track down citizens for that?"

"Um.
An FBI badge."

His amusement died, and Devon just looked baffled. He hesitated, then shrugged and headed backstage toward Nick's office.

Sonia Arnold was the first to speak.
"FBI?
What on earth could it be
about "

"I don't know," Nick offered. "He was very casual, even friendly.
Just asked if he could speak to Devon for a few minutes.
I didn't think it was my place to ask what it was all about, so I didn't."

"Maybe Devon will tell us," Melanie said hopefully.

"Only if he wants to," Nick returned in a warning tone. "Unless he's carted off in handcuffs, it isn't our business."

Melanie grinned. "It's definitely Lara's business; she won't want to kiss a known felon!"

Ching hissed at her. She had been sitting across from Devon, and the cat had very obviously put up with her presence in order to sit near his idol. However, now that Devon had left, Ching stood up and walked down the table to be near Lara.

She welcomed him with a frown for his bad manners,
then
looked at the others with a casualness that she hoped appeared a little tense. "I don't think they let known felons run around loose. Do they?"

"In a perfect world, no," Pat murmured.

"Let's not speculate," Nick begged. He looked behind Lara, who was sitting with her back to the stage, and said, "Luke, did your guys put the garden scene back onstage?"

"Yeah, it's ready," Luke returned cheerfully. "So's the inside tower room. The stage is crowded, and it looks peculiar, but both sets are there."

"Great. Sonia, Pat, you and Melanie come with me. I want to go over your marks for the first scene."

Lara remained where she was, her fingers idly toying with the pages of her script and her gaze fixed in the direction that Devon had taken to Nick's office. She was tensely aware of Luke's presence behind her, but didn't react to him until he came around the table and sat down with one chair between them.

"Lara?"

She blinked,
then
looked at him. This man could well be a cold-blooded killer, and the chill of that was inside her. But she kept her fear buried and with grim determination hung on to the role she was playing.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course.
I'm fine." She allowed her lips to curve in a strained smile and her eyes to flicker again toward the distant office.

Luke wore a grave expression, his clear blue eyes concerned.
"Fine?
I can feel the strain, like last night. You were so upset last night. I was going to stop by your apartment, but—well, Devon's car was parked out front."

He had, she thought coldly, made a number of observations in a very few days. He knew where she lived, knew the car Devon drove. Since she was reluctant to say too much for fear of giving her true feelings away, Lara chose to remain silent, and merely looked at him.

His gaze fell first. "I know
,
it's none of my business. But he was watching your apartment, like I told you. And now there's an FBI agent talking to him."

A vague part of Lara's mind recognized that if Luke was indeed the cartel's man, he was one hell of an actor. He seemed so genuinely concerned, so worried about her. She felt the prickle of a doubt, but didn't let it alter her behavior; until there was proof to the contrary, she had to suspect Luke. She had to suspect virtually everyone.

She kept her voice steady, but allowed the tension to be heard. "As you suggested, there was a reasonable explanation for Devon's watching my apartment."

"Oh?" Luke was clearly doubtful.

"Yes. He was concerned about me. Let's leave it at that, shall we?" They had decided that Lara shouldn't be too forthcoming with information; she was unlikely to admit to anyone that her apartment had been searched, but both she and Devon hoped that Luke would assume that was what she meant.

Frowning, Luke said slowly, "I get the feeling it wouldn't have mattered much whether it was a reasonable explanation or not. But, Lara, the FBI. Doesn't it bother you?"

She let her gaze wander in the direction of the office again and smiled just a little. "You shouldn't worry about me, Luke. I'm careful. I'm very careful."

"Yah!"
Ching said
,
his eyes fixed on Luke.

Luke met that inimical glare for an instant,
then
ignored the cat as he looked back at Lara. "Careful? You haven't known him a week."

"I haven't known you a week either."

He grimaced slightly.
"Touché."

Lara rose from the table and smiled at him a bit absently when he rose as well. "Like I said—don't worry about me. I'm a big girl, all grown up and everything."

"No kidding." His tone was polite.

She started toward the stage. "No kidding."

"It's just because your cat likes him," Luke muttered, following her.

She felt a surge of warmth it was impossible to fight as memories flashed through her mind. "No," she murmured. "Not because my cat likes him."

Luke must have heard something in her voice, because he didn't say anything else. Instead, with a rueful expression on his face, he went on past her as Nick hailed him.

She stood watching, realizing that Nick wasn't happy with the garden scenery and was ordering a great number of changes. Sonia and Pat were sitting patiently on a low "stone" garden wall as they waited for the director's attention to return to them, and Melanie wandered up to Lara a few minutes later.

"If you're through with that one," she said dryly with a nod toward Luke, "can I have him?"

Lara swallowed instinctive words of warning that she couldn't afford to offer and conjured a smile. "He isn't mine to give."

Melanie's dark eyes held a glimmer of laughter. "No? Just wanted to be, huh?"

"He's a charming man," Lara said diplomatically.

"But you obviously prefer Devon, who is also a charming man."

"What can I say?" Lara shrugged, still smiling. "Except that I didn't know it showed so clearly."

"Around the edges," Melanie replied with a soft laugh. "Well, good luck."

"Thanks. I may well need it."

Melanie looked at her somewhat curiously, but before she could say anything else their attention was caught by their bellowing director.

"Where the hell's Devon? If the FBI's going to cart him away, for Pete's sake, somebody tell me!"

"Why would they do that?" Devon asked, emerging from the wings looking harassed.

Nick glared at him. "How should I know? Will they?"

"No." Devon glanced around at the curious faces, then sighed and said patiently, "One of my designers at the California branch of Com-Tech had applied for a government job and gave my name as a reference. They're doing a background security check on him, that's all."

"I didn't know the FBI did that," Nick said in his normal voice, interested in spite of
himself
.

"They do if it's a high-security job," Devon said.

"Oh." Nick visibly shook off the interest. "Well, are you free to rehearse now?"

"Certainly."

"Great. Lara, I want you two to start running your lines together in the tower room."

She hesitated, then said, "Okay, but can I have a couple of minutes first? I'll be right back."

The director rolled his eyes heavenward, and said in a long-suffering voice, "Yeah, sure. Hurry it up, will you?" He clearly thought it was a call of nature.

Lara hurried offstage. She and Devon had decided, after careful thought, that she would have to be fairly obvious in leaving the others soon after the FBI agent had departed, and she had chosen the moment well. Everyone was wandering about as they prepared to get to work for the night, and the absence of anyone who might follow Lara would hardly be noticed.

She went to the heavy stage door and pushed it open about a foot, remaining inside. Immediately, the neatly dressed agent appeared in the opening and flashed his badge.

"Well?" Lara snapped softly.

In a low but perfectly audible voice, the stranger said, "No problem. Miss Callahan. Devon Shane's background checks out completely. He worked at Com-Tech in California for almost ten years and was transferred out here two weeks ago. He's living in a company-leased apartment here in Pinewood and is driving a company car. Aside from one lone unpaid parking ticket, he's clean."

"Should I bet my life on that?" Her voice was even, but held a thread of hostility.

The agent shifted his weight restlessly and said, "Look, I wasn't one of the agents on your case months ago, so don't take it out on me, all right?"

"Sorry." She didn't sound it.

He sighed.
"Right.
Devon Shane is clean. That was all you wanted to know.
Any other problems?"

"No," she said flatly, without hesitating.

"Fine, then. If you get suspicious of anyone or anything again, give us a call. Well check it out." He waited for an instant, but when she didn't offer any thanks, finished sardonically, "Can I go now?"