GI Cowboy. Delores Fossen

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      She marched toward the side door. Bailey jammed the key into the lock, threw open the door and started slapping on lights. She also deposited the umbrella into the basket near the coatrack. Since she was sweating from her heated encounter with Parker, she adjusted the thermostat for the air-conditioning.

      Unfortunately, she didn’t think she could get the room cold enough to neutralize the effect this man had had on her.

      “There’s a need for a bodyguard all right.” Parker McKenna was right on her heels, and he followed her inside, those cowboy boots thudding on the hardwood floors. “The black car proves that.”

      Bailey had already started across the reception area toward the stairs and her office, but that stopped her. She eased back around to face Parker. “What black car?”

      He took a deep breath, as if this might be a long explanation, and he planted his hands on his hips. The exterior door behind him was still open, and the hot sticky breeze rushed through the room, bringing his scent right toward her.

      Not sweat.

      Not even the leather of his boots.

      A scent that went right through her in a lust-provoking kind of way.

      She cleared her throat and motioned for him to get on with whatever he had to say. For reasons she didn’t want to explore, it was best to get Parker McKenna out of her life ASAP.

      “The bank on the street near your house has a security camera,” he finally said, “and the angle is such that it recorded the cars entering and exiting your street. I’ve spent hours sifting through the footage, and thanks to the Department of Motor Vehicles’ database, I was able to rule out all vehicles. Except one.”

      “What do you mean?” Judging from his tone, this was bad news.

      “Nearly all the vehicles belong to people who should be on that street. The woman in the truck who delivers your morning newspaper. Your neighbors. Your lawn guy. But there’s this one car that doesn’t belong to anyone here in Freedom. In fact, the plates are bogus.”

      He extracted something from his front jeans pocket and walked closer. When he handed it to her, she saw it was a photo of a black car.

      “Recognize it?” he asked.

      Bailey studied it a moment but had to shake her head. “Maybe it’s a would-be burglar casing the neighborhood.” Strange, she hadn’t thought that would ever be a good thing, but that explanation was better than the alternative.

      He lifted his shoulder, dismissing that. “The car was in your neighborhood the night someone slashed your tires.”

      Oh, God. She doubted a teen playing pranks would go so far as bogus plates to conceal his identity. “Do you know the identity of the driver?”

      “Can’t tell from the tapes. He appears to be a white male, but he wears a baseball cap that he keeps low on his head so that it partially covers his face.”

      That required a deep breath. Because she had to do something, anything, Bailey straightened some wooden puzzles that were already neatly stacked on storage shelves next to the stairs.

      “Ms. Lockhart, I believe you’re in danger,” she heard Parker say.

      Maybe. But Bailey wasn’t ready to accept that just yet. “Someone driving through my neighborhood doesn’t constitute a danger. And the tires? It really could have been a teenager. The bottom line is I don’t want a bodyguard, and that means you can leave.”

      “I’m not going anywhere. I moved my son here, and he’s just starting to get settled.”

      “You have a son?” she blurted out, wishing that she hadn’t. It really wasn’t any of her business.

      “Zach. He’s thirteen.” He paused and watched her fix the next row of puzzles. “His mom died five years ago, and since then I’ve moved him seven times. I’m looking for something more permanent for him here in Freedom.”

      So, the hot cowboy/bodyguard was a widower and a dad with a desire to put down roots in her hometown. Bailey hadn’t pegged him for fatherhood or even marriage. Probably because he looked more fantasy material than anything else.

      Forbidden fantasy, that is.

      “Well, I hope Bart Bellows has another assignment for you,” she told Parker. “One that can keep you here for your son’s sake. Maybe in Amarillo, that’s not too far away. But that assignment won’t be me. Repeating myself here, but I don’t think I’m in danger.”

      Bailey stopped fidgeting with the puzzles and headed up the stairs. She had a busy day ahead of her and didn’t have time for this.

      “You are in danger,” he reiterated again. He followed her up the stairs. “Last year the sheriff installed a camera on the traffic light on Main Street. I went through that footage as well, and in the past week the same black car has driven in this direction nearly a half dozen times.”

      Bailey forced herself to keep walking. “Did anyone see the driver get out and do anything criminal?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

      “If they had, it would have been reported to the sheriff, and he in turn would have told you. But that doesn’t mean this guy doesn’t have criminal intentions.”

      When she made it to her office door, Bailey turned back around. She just needed to make this simple and clear. “I was sixteen when my mother first got into politics, and that means for fifteen years I’ve been subjected to people who don’t agree with her. Sometimes those people do stupid things, and that’s all there is to this. Now, please leave before the children and my staff arrive.”

      Figuring that was pretty good exit line that would get Parker moving, Bailey threw open her office door.

      And her heart dropped to her knees.

      “Oh, God,” she heard herself say, though she had no idea how she managed to speak.

      Parker caught her arm and shoved her away from the doorway. In the same motion, he reached down, to the holster strapped to his right boot.

      And he drew his gun.

       Chapter Two

      With his gun aimed and ready, Parker inched inside Bailey’s office. His gaze whipped to all the corners. Then to her desk that had been tipped onto its side. Papers and her laptop were now in a heap on the floor.

      Two chairs had also been overturned, and the room had generally been trashed. But what was missing was the person who’d done all of this.

      Parker walked farther into the room toward a storage closet.

      Also vandalized.

      The small adjoining bathroom hadn’t escaped, either. Someone had poured out the liquid soap. And then he spotted the open window on the far wall. When he got closer, he saw the ladder propped up against the side of the building. Probably the point of entry and escape.

      He glanced back at Bailey to let her know the place was clear, that her stalker was likely long gone, СКАЧАТЬ