Playing His Dangerous Game (13 page)

‘Where are you going?’ she asked as Royce headed towards the door.

‘Outside. Stay there,’ Royce ordered again in a hard voice. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said.

She watched his muscular back and tight denim-clad butt as he stormed out of the door. She could hear his heavy tread as he took the stairs two at a time before he raced through the lower level and continued outside.

Shara kneeled on the bed to take a closer look. Someone had thrown a brick through the window.

Shara shivered as she surveyed the scene. The brick had missed the bed by a matter of inches. A little bit closer and it would have hit Royce.

She paled, her insides trembling.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she used her toes to find her slippers. She rose shakily to her feet and then on wobbly legs walked to the brick and picked it up.

She weighed it in her hands, then turned it over—only to drop it again as if it had bitten her when she saw what was written on the other side.

You’re dead.

She staggered back towards the bed and dropped down on to it, the crudely carved message holding her full attention.

Shara stared at the message. Her initial shock was wearing off. In its place was a deep, burning anger that burrowed inside her until it was bone-deep.

Shara welcomed the feeling. A month ago this incident would have made her feel sick and anxious. And it would have made her feel like a victim.

Now anger and frustration dominated her. She had no doubt Steve had thrown the brick. Who else would do such a vicious thing? The big question was: who was the message for? For her? For Royce? Or for both of them? And what did it matter?

What mattered was that the situation couldn’t be allowed to continue.

R
OYCE
stopped in the doorway, his face grim as he looked at Shara. His hands were bunched into fists at his sides, the knuckles showing white. Anger swelled inside him, but he forced it back.

Now was not the time to let the emotions raging inside him free rein. Right now he had to make sure Shara was OK.

Striding across the room, he sat down beside her.

‘Did you see anybody outside?’ she asked.

Royce stiffened. ‘No. Whoever it was they’re long gone.’

‘It was Steve,’ she said flatly.

Royce nodded, doing his best to keep his voice even as anger ratcheted up his spine. ‘I suspect so.’

Shara nodded her head towards the brick. ‘There’s a message.’

Leaving her where she was sitting, Royce picked up the brick using a corner of the bedspread. He’d have it dusted for fingerprints but he suspected there wouldn’t be any.

He turned the brick over and read the crudely carved message. Biting out an expletive, he stared at the engraved letters with an icy calm that was far worse than any level of anger could be.

It seeped through his skin and into his bones, freezing his insides to sub-zero.

This was his fault.

Fairly and squarely.

There was no one else to blame.

How many times had he told himself that emotions fuzzed your objectivity and dulled your ability to handle a situation the way it should be handled?

Yesterday he’d been so wrapped up in Shara that he hadn’t even realised that Brady had followed them from the courthouse.

It had been luck, not training and experience, that had led him to that brief glimpse of the other man when they were on the way back to the car.

He’d consoled himself with the fact that nothing had happened.

But it had happened
now
.

There was no doubt in his mind that Brady had watched Shara and himself together. No doubt in his mind that it was doing so that had provoked this reaction.

Their lunch at the restaurant and their walk along the beach afterwards flashed across his mind.

No wonder he hadn’t seen Brady. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at Shara. The sadness he’d noticed in her eyes when he’d first met her was gone. She looked …

Well, she looked happy. And relaxed. And so beautiful that she took his breath away.

Hell, he’d been acting like a man, damn it!

A man—
not
a bodyguard.

A man moreover who had lost his emotional detachment.

A man who—

No!

He put a brake on his thoughts.

Dragged in a breath.

Reproaching himself would achieve nothing.

What he had to do now was focus. Or should he say
re
focus?

OK. So he’d got in deeper than he should have for a little while. Lost his perspective. That was no big deal.

All he had to do was take a step back. Or ten. Or however many it took to re-establish his normal objectivity.

If that meant returning to a strictly professional relationship then so be it.

Shara was the principal.

He was the bodyguard.

Full-stop.

End of story.

He glanced at Shara. ‘I suggest you sleep next door in the guestroom.’

She waved a hand. ‘I have to clean up this mess.’

‘No. That’s the last thing I want you to do. The police will want to have a look at it.’

‘The police …?’

‘Yes, I’m calling it in.’

‘Do you think they can prove it was Steve?’

Royce shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I doubt he’s left fingerprints. It’s the early hours of the morning—the best time to make an attack because most people are asleep. If we’re lucky someone saw him, or he ran a red light somewhere. But, frankly, it’s a long shot.’

‘Oh.’

She sounded disappointed. Royce was aware that the responsibility for that sat squarely on his shoulders too.

‘Get some sleep,’ he said, and walked out of the room.

Shara didn’t sleep. Instead she lay staring up at the ceiling in the spare bedroom.

She heard movement in her bedroom. And voices. She wasn’t sure whether it was the police or operatives from the Royce Agency.

It didn’t really matter.

She’d bet money on the fact that they’d be unable to prove that Steve had anything to do with throwing the brick.

Steve wasn’t stupid; he’d have covered his tracks.

Finally the house fell silent. She waited for Royce to come to bed but he didn’t.

She almost went in search of him, but she didn’t want to disturb him if he was busy.

Around four a.m. she fell into a fitful slumber that was filled with bad dreams. The nightmare played out like a series of snapshots.

Royce with a brick hitting his temple.

Royce with bright red blood streaming down the side of his face.

Royce lying prostrate on the floor.

Not moving.

Lifeless.

Shara could feel anxiety filling her from the toes up. As if someone had taken a jug of fear and angst and was pouring it down her throat.

Until she was completely filled to overbrimming.

Until she was choking on it.

A scream tore from her throat.

She came awake with a start, jack-knifing into a sitting position. One hand was at her chest, where her heart was jumping around like crazy, the other went protectively to the base of her throat, where she could feel her pulse racing to a similar beat.

Royce burst into the room with a force that almost took the door off its hinges. He turned on the main light and the sudden brightness made Shara blink like a startled rabbit.

He scanned the room with hard eyes. He was wearing the low-slung jeans and nothing else. His body was tensed so that each muscle stood out prominently. ‘What is it? Is it Brady?’

Shara shook her head.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Then what is it?’

She took a deep breath. It juddered in the back of her throat. ‘I had a bad dream.’

He visibly relaxed. ‘Is that all?’

She nodded, waiting for him to stride across the room and gather in his arms.

But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where he was.

Shara stared at him, puzzled and more than a little bit hurt.

‘Well, I’m not surprised. You received quite a shock tonight.’

‘So did you,’ Shara said, not able to shake the images that were seared onto her retina.

‘I’m used to it. You’re not.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Well, if that’s all, I’ll leave you to it.’

Shara frowned. ‘Aren’t you going to join me?’

He shook his head. ‘I have things to do.’

‘I see,’ she said.

But the truth was that she didn’t see. She didn’t see at all.

She’d heard the words. Of course she had. She’d even processed them. But they didn’t make sense.

It sounded …

Well, it sounded as if Royce was making an excuse not to be with her. That ‘I have things to do’ had sounded like the equivalent of
I have to wash my hair
or
I have a headache
.

Maybe she was just being oversensitive—and maybe she wasn’t.

Either way, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Royce wanted nothing more than to stride across the room and gather Shara in his arms.

When he’d heard her scream he’d frozen.

That had never happened to him before.

Normally his reaction to emergency situations was automatic. Without question.

He didn’t think. He just acted. Whatever he had to do, he did it.

But this time he’d hesitated—if only for a moment.

With fear.

Not for himself, but for Shara.

Which just went to prove that he was too close. Way,
way
too close. On
every
level.

So instead of rushing across the room to hold her he forced himself to stay exactly where he was.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asked.

She nodded. Her eyes dominated her pale face. She looked anything but OK, but he couldn’t afford to comfort her.

‘OK. I’ll see you in the morning.’

She nodded again.

There was hurt and confusion in her eyes.

Royce hardened his heart against it.

Still, closing the door was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

As soon as Royce left the room Shara rolled over and buried her head in the pillow.

Tears were pricking at the backs of her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

She didn’t want to think about Royce and why he was acting so strangely. Frankly, it hurt too much—as if someone was stabbing her in the chest with a sharp knife.

Instead her mind went over the night’s events, then drifted back over the past few months.

It was as if she was seeing things clearly for the first time. As if a veil had been lifted from in front of her eyes.

She’d thought she was taking her life back.

Thought she was standing up for herself.

But really she’d only been paying lip service to that goal.

There had always been someone else standing in front of her, fighting her battles for her.

She’d escaped a domineering father by turning to a man she hadn’t even realised was far worse.

She’d put up with abuse that no woman should have to put up with.

And when the breaking point had come what had she done?

She’d gone running back to Daddy.

Her insides shrank in on themselves.

Since then she’d followed a path of passive resistance—until Royce had made her realise what she was doing.

Even then she hadn’t really stepped up to the plate. She’d been hiding behind the law, behind Royce, behind anything she could lay her hands on.

But she was over that. Now, finally, she felt cold and determined and ready to fight.
Really
fight. She’d had enough. It was time to end this.

And one thing was clear.

If she wanted to deal with this problem once and for all then
she
needed to deal with it.

Alone.

Without assistance.

The answer wasn’t going to be found in a courtroom.

Or hiding behind Royce’s back.

It was going to be found inside
her
.

She had to find the guts to do what she hadn’t done in the first place and stand up to Steve.

The realisation made her feel oddly calm—and oddly in control.

Her courage had been growing along with her confidence. She was ready to do this.

There had to be some way out of this mess.

But what?

Think, girl, think.

And then it came to her.

It didn’t come at her like a bolt out of the blue. It was more as if another veil had been removed from her eyes.

In reality she’d known the answer for a long time. Royce had told her all she needed to know. She just hadn’t been ready to listen at the time.

What she needed now was a plan that could turn the theory into reality.

Reaching out, she picked up the phone and dialled a number she remembered by heart.

Dawn was only just breaking, but he answered on the eighth ring. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Steve,’ Shara replied calmly.

There was a stinging silence.

‘Shara? Is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said, speaking quickly, determined to show no hesitation—and no fear.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

Her hand tightened around the phone. ‘I just called to tell you I received your message.’

‘What message?’ he asked innocently.

She barked out a laugh. ‘Oh, come on, Steve. Let’s not pretend, shall we?’

Another silence followed. This time she sensed his surprise.

And she could understand why.

She hadn’t talked to him the way she just had for a long time—if ever. She’d been too frightened of the consequences.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Steve denied.

‘Of course you do. Only little boys throw bricks through windows and then run away. Be man enough to admit what you did.’

‘Don’t play with me, Shara,’ Steve warned. ‘No doubt you and the he-man have the phone tapped and plan on trying to trap me into admitting something I didn’t do. Well, it won’t work. I’m too smart for you.’

For a second—just one—she wondered whether he was right.

But no.

She couldn’t afford to think that way. Attitude was nine-tenths of battle. She had to walk the walk and talk the talk.

She was no longer a victim, and it was time she started acting like it.

Her hand tightened around the handpiece. ‘Who’s playing?’

‘You are. If you think you can outsmart me you’re wrong.’ He paused for a moment. Even through the telephone line she could practically hear the cogs of his mind turning over. ‘I’ll say this much, though. This is between you and me. You had no right bringing anyone else into it. Lose lover boy.’

The implication was clear. As clear as if he’d added the words
or I’ll do it for you
.

The suggestion was so ludicrous that Shara couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Don’t even think about it. Royce would take you apart piece by piece.’

‘That’s what you think.’

‘No. That’s what I
know
. He’d make mincemeat out of you in two seconds flat. But that’s beside the point.’

‘Then what
is
the point? Why are you calling me?’

She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m fed up with this situation. Why don’t we get together and talk about it? I’m sure we can sort it out like two rational human beings.’

There was a long silence. ‘What about the Restraining Order?’

‘What about it? You didn’t let that bother you when you delivered your message last night.’ She paused for a moment, and then said. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

It was a deliberate ploy. She knew Steve wouldn’t be able to resist such a provocative taunt.

‘Of course not,’ he denied quickly. ‘But if you’re thinking about getting someone to photograph me with you so that you can say I broke the Restraining Order then it won’t work. I’ll make it clear that you invited me. And just in case you’re
thinking about lying then remember that the telephone records will prove that
you
called
me
—not the other way around.’