Living on the Edge (4 page)

His dark gaze settled on her face. “That's right.”

“Good to know.”

That bit of bravado took her last ounce of strength. When he left, she collapsed on the bed and let the tears flow. She wanted to scream that this wasn't fair—that she hadn't asked for any of it. But what was the point? She was here, stuck, afraid for her life. There was no going back. Just forward. She would get through this because the alternative was to get dead, and she refused to let Christopher win.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She'd been right when she'd said that no one would ever know where she'd been. She'd already been gone for twelve days and apparently no one had alerted the police. No doubt Christopher had come up with a story to cover her absence.

Her father had known the truth, of course, but he would have left all the details to his son-in-law. Even now, with her supposedly free but not there, Christopher would probably say she was resting. Recovering her
strength—a euphemism for something she didn't want to think about.

Her father would believe him because Blaine liked his world simple. Nothing beyond his lab mattered.

She fingered the bracelet on her left wrist. Somehow it transmitted her position in the house. Maybe it did other things. Tanner was certainly thorough.

Who was this man who obviously didn't like her in the least and yet offered to help her? Why did he care if she lived or died?

Maybe he didn't, she thought, rolling onto her side and closing her eyes. Maybe she simply wasn't allowed to get dead on his watch. Unless he decided to kill her himself.

He was a professional, she reminded herself. If he did want to take her out, it would be quick. A small comfort, but in her current situation, nearly the only one she had.

And until that moment, if it ever came, Tanner would keep her safe. She believed that down to her bones. While she was under his protection, nothing bad could happen to her. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. Funny how a man who obviously despised her without bothering to get to know her could give her such a feeling of comfort.

T
anner double-checked that the alarm system was activated, then settled into his office to get some work done. Every half hour or so, he glanced at the display screen, but Madison didn't move.

Sleep would do her good, he thought. She'd been through hell. He had a feeling things would get worse before they got better, but they would deal with that when it happened. For now it was enough that she rested. Later they would talk and he would get more information on Hilliard.

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.

Awareness.

Of her. The scent of her skin, the way she moved. In the blink of an eye she went from someone he had to protect to a woman.

Dammit all to hell, he thought grimly. This was not allowed. He didn't get involved with clients. Not ever.

“I got you some clothes,” he said and retraced his steps to the kitchen.

He heard her follow. When she'd cleared the control room, he hit the remote to reset the security system, then stopped by the package.

“One of my men came by with it,” he told her.

She looked confused. “I don't understand.”

“What's so complicated? I sent one of my guys to your place to get you some things.”

“A man was in my condo?”

She sounded more surprised than outraged. Tanner pushed the package toward her.

“I doubt he spent a lot of time in your underwear drawer. You've been wearing what you have on for days. I thought you'd like something clean.”

“I do. Thank you. I'm just not sure…How did he get in? What if Christopher is watching the building?”

“I'm guessing your ex had someone there. Don't worry. No one saw Angel.”

“And how did he get in?”

Tanner shrugged. “He has his ways. Go on—” he pointed to her room “—take a shower, change your clothes. Then we'll eat. I have a lot of questions I need to ask you about your ex-husband.”

“Sure. Okay.” She picked up the package, then smiled. “Thanks.”

With that, she walked down the hall. Tanner waited until she disappeared before heading into the control room. He watched the small red dot move on the screen. When it eased from the bedroom to the bathroom, he had to force himself to keep his attention on work and not on the thought of a naked woman stepping into the shower.

 

A three-hour nap and a shower had gone a long way to perking up Madison. The guy Tanner had sent to her house had brought back the basics—jeans, T-shirts, a couple of nightgowns and a few toiletries. She tried not to freak out at the thought of a strange man going through her underwear drawer and reminded herself that after all she'd been through, having a stranger grabbing bras and panties was the least of her problems.

After washing out the panties and bra she'd been wearing for the past ten days, she dried her hair. As she put away her blow-dryer, she realized she could smell something cooking. The delicious scent of tomato sauce and garlic had her mouth watering and her stomach growling. She felt like a cartoon animal floating along
on the smell as she followed the scent down the hall and into the kitchen.

Tanner stood at the stove. He turned as she entered and smiled. She wasn't sure what shocked her more—that he was cooking or the smile itself. Both were unexpected, although the curve of his mouth made her uneasy in ways she couldn't define.

“Nothing fancy,” he told her. “Spaghetti, meat sauce and a salad.”

Her stomach growled again. She suddenly felt faint with hunger. “At this point I'd eat anything.”

He jerked his head toward the table. “Then have a seat.”

The round table had already been set with place mats, napkins and flatware. She settled in a chair just as he brought over a large bowl of pasta and another of salad.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked. “We have all the basics.”

“Just water,” she answered, as her stomach tightened in anticipation of food.

“Dig in,” he told her.

She decided to take him at his word. She scooped up a large serving of the meat-covered pasta and dumped it on her plate. Salad could wait—right now she wanted something substantial.

The first bite was heavenly. The perfect blend of spices, the tender yet firm pasta. She couldn't chew fast enough.

Tanner returned with a bottle of water and set it next to her plate. She nodded her thanks but didn't stop eating. It was only after she'd finished the serving of pasta and reached for the salad that she glanced at him.

“Sorry to be such a pig.”

“Don't sweat it.” He took the seat opposite hers and served himself some pasta. “Why didn't you eat while you were kidnapped? Did you think a hunger strike would get their attention?”

She shrugged, choosing not to read any criticism into his words. “I never planned on avoiding food. For the first couple of days I was too scared to eat. Every time I tried, it wouldn't stay down. Eventually I was able to handle very small portions. A half a slice of toast in the morning. A cup of soup in the afternoon. Some people eat more when they're stressed—I eat less. Those people didn't believe me when I told them. They threatened to feed me themselves, using force, but it never came to that.”