In His Safekeeping. Shawna Delacorte

yet her concern refused to leave. She finally managed a few hours of troubled sleep.

      BRAD SPENT a restless night. He had tossed and turned, his mind refusing to relinquish the onslaught of thoughts, foremost of which was what to do about Tara Ford. It continued to plague him as he drove to work. He had a busy morning, lots of details to take care of that had nothing to do with the immediacy of his Tara Ford problem. But even though he stayed physically busy, his thoughts were never very far from her and the mental image that had burned into his mind.

      At lunchtime he drove to Tara’s place of employment, parked his car, then continued on foot. There were several places to have lunch within a two-block area of her office and he intended to check them all, hoping she hadn’t elected to have lunch at her desk. The third place he tried proved successful. He peered in the window of the deli and spotted her seated at a table with an attractive blond woman in her early thirties. He took in Tara’s sleek form and beautiful face.

      His throat tightened and his mouth went dry, causing him to bristle with irritation. It had been a long time since he had come up against this type of involuntary physical reaction to any woman. He didn’t seem to have any control over it, something inexcusable for a man whose very life depended on maintaining control not only of himself, but everything that went on around him.

      He collected his composure and entered the deli. He ordered a sandwich, then made his way across the room, smiling politely when she looked up at him. He selected a booth far enough away that he wasn’t right next to her but close enough to hear her conversation.

      While eating his lunch he eavesdropped on the two women, their conversation telling him that they worked together. They discussed a work situation that had occurred at the office that morning, talked about a movie they had seen and discussed the latest best-selling book. The choice of topics was ordinary. The women appeared to be nothing more than two friends having lunch together. The only thing contradicting the outward appearance was the way Tara nervously eyed everyone who entered the deli. She seemed every bit as edgy as when she’d carried in her sack of groceries from her car. He had nothing to compare her actions with, no knowledge of how she behaved before the John Vincent case, but she did seem anxiety ridden.

      He also found her much more beautiful up close than at a distance, so much so that she nearly knocked him for a loop. The physical attraction was immediate. He tried to shrug it off as being the understandable allure of a beautiful woman. Probably nothing more than the fact that it had been several months since he’d had a date. At least he wanted to believe that was all there was to it.

      The two women left the deli. He noted that the blond woman was about the same height as Tara, maybe an inch shorter. His gaze became riveted to Tara’s retreating form. He studied the way she moved as she walked toward the door, a smooth graceful walk almost reminiscent of a dancer. He lingered on the way her clothes fit her body and the glossy highlights of her auburn hair. The heat of desire settled low in his body in defiance of his controlled outer calm. After taking a steadying breath, Brad followed her out the door and watched as the two women walked back toward their office.

      Over the next two days he made sure he was on hand when she arrived at work, went to lunch and got off work. Then he kept her house under surveillance for a couple of hours in the evening. And each time Brad saw her he became more fascinated by her, with who she was, how she became involved with all of this, what she wanted out of life. And underlying that was the very distinct effect her voice had on his senses. It possessed a low throaty quality without being forced or artificial. A little ripple of excitement made its way through his body just as when he’d first heard her speak at the deli.

      Uncertainty and doubts swirled in his head. His original plan had been to keep her under surveillance until he could gather more information and collect enough facts to prove his theory of a conspiracy in which it seemed that Tara Ford figured prominently. He needed to confirm his suspicions before he could act. But the more Brad thought about it, he was not at all sure he was following the best procedure by continuing to watch her from a distance. He needed to initiate a face-to-face meeting with her, something that would appear accidental and not alert her to anything being wrong…and the sooner the better.

      THE NEXT DAY Brad spotted Tara having lunch at the deli with the same woman as before. He entered and ordered a sandwich. He carried his food toward a table against the back wall. As he passed Tara’s chair he purposely bumped it, jarring her arm and causing her to spill a glass of water.

      A startled Tara jumped up from her seat. “Oh, no…”

      He immediately grabbed her arm as if steadying her so she wouldn’t fall. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Her felt her muscles tighten under his touch and the tension course through her body, something far more than a response to a simple accident.

      “I’m fine.”

      He tried to hold on to her arm, but she eased it out of his grasp as quickly as possible without jerking it away. “Are you sure you’re okay? That was very clumsy of me. I’m sorry…”

      His gaze locked on her for a moment, just long enough to drink in the luminescent quality of her hazel eyes. But he found something else there, too…something that disturbed him. She radiated a certain level of wariness, an underlying layer of fear marring her beautiful features. Again, something far more than what should have been caused by a simple bumping of a chair. At that precise moment he wanted to do everything in his power to protect her, rather than suspect her of being part of a conspiracy…to keep her from becoming victim number five in what he believed was a conspiracy of very clever murders of the witnesses in the John Vincent trial.

      She shot a quick look of displeasure in his direction as she picked up a napkin from the table and dabbed at the water spot on her cream-colored blouse. He grabbed another napkin and mopped up the water from the edge of the table where it dripped to the floor. He noticed the blond woman hadn’t made any move to help. Her blue eyes seemed to be taking in everything, almost as if she were studying the situation. He needed to find out who she was.

      Brad tried not to stare but couldn’t keep his gaze from gravitating to the wet spot on Tara’s blouse and the way it revealed the delicate lacy bra underneath. He sucked in a steadying breath and tried to pull together his rapidly disintegrating composure. It was the first time he had been this close to her—close enough to reach out and touch the creamy texture of her skin, to clearly see her eyes…and the uneasiness they held. He shook off the unwelcome pull on his senses and his inappropriate response. Purposely bumping her chair to create a face-to-face connection had produced far more than he had bargained for. He had to pull his composure together. He couldn’t afford the personal distraction. Lives were at stake.

      “Are you sure you’re okay?”

      “I’m fine, except for this…” The heat of embarrassment spread across her cheeks when she looked down and saw the way the water spot had made her blouse nearly transparent. She pulled the fabric away from her body, then glanced up at this tall stranger.

      She had noticed him on several occasions over the past couple of days, but this was the first time she had gotten a close look at him. Her breath caught in her lungs—a combination of panic and surprise. The gash on his chin, the split lip and the faint remains of abrasions across his cheek gave him the appearance of a violent man, someone to be wary of, while in no way detracting from his handsome features. In direct contrast his crystal-blue eyes revealed warmth, yet held a hidden mystery. His dark hair was styled in a casual manner.

      “This was all my fault. I insist on paying to have your blouse cleaned.” The tantalizing fragrance of her perfume captured his attention, causing his nostrils to flare as the scent wafted past him. It was light, spicy and sexy without being overwhelming or obvious.

      “Thank you…but that won’t be necessary. It’s just a little water. It’ll be fine.”

      He reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’d feel better if you’d let me pay to have it dry-cleaned.” He suddenly felt like a total incompetent, falling all over himself and offering her money. Beyond purposely bumping her, all his carefully prepared maneuvers failed