Every Step She Takes (Who's Watching Now Book 2) (15 page)

Travis pressed fingers to his throbbing temples. “I didn’t see him coming until it was almost too late. There was such a crowd… Damn, I let myself be distracted for a few moments, and that was all it took.”

“Your deflective move saved him. How’s the arm?”

“A scratch, nothing more.” The chair tilted forward, and his feet hit the floor with a thump. “My assistant wouldn’t let me back in the office until I’d seen a doctor. Any luck tracking Nielsen?”

“The guy’s a shadow, probably traveling under an alias.”

“Or Archer Nielsen is the alias.” Standing, he stared out the window across the Seattle skyline to the distant horizon where gray sky met a stormy sea. “They were both there, Nielsen and Smith, walking down the concourse. Andy called out a greeting, and I took my eyes off the kid. Next thing I knew, Nielsen lunged forward. I barely got my arm up before the blade sank into Sutton’s side. All hell erupted, and I couldn’t go after him, not with Casey bleeding—”

“There was nothing more you could have done. Christ, Travis, I arrived thirty seconds after it happened, probably passed right by Nielsen, and we couldn’t find him. Anyway, convicting Estrada is my top priority. A two-bit assassin is only a secondary concern.”

“My damned inattention could have cost Casey his life.”

“Blame me if it’ll make you feel any better. I failed to identify the shooter for you, and Smith could easily have been your man.”

“It explains why Nielsen chose that particular moment, knowing my attention would be divided between the two of them. The kid’s smart—a complete professional.”

“He’s also invisible. One of my men has been digging into his history, and it turns out there was a student at UCLA named Archer Nielsen who died in a car accident. Somehow our shooter got a hold of his identity and has been using it, at least part time. Every photo we can find is of the real Nielsen.”

“Blond with gray eyes?”

“His eyes were blue.”

“Maybe the imposter didn’t bother with colored contacts for a domestic flight. No one at the airport really looks that close.”

“I’ll need you to work with a sketch artist to get an accurate image since he’s sure to be traveling under a different name by now. You’ll also have to testify once we bring him in. You’re our only witness to the stabbing.”

“Andy Smith was standing right there, not two yards away.”

“We questioned him. By the time he turned around, Sutton was on the ground, and Nielsen was walking away. He didn’t see him stick in the shiv. Watch yourself, Travis. He may intend to eliminate any witnesses.”

“I’m just glad Grace was gone by the time it happened. I don’t want her involved in this mess any more than she already is.” He turned away from the window. “I can meet your artist this evening around six if that works.”

“I’ll send him to your office. Talk to you later.”

Travis hung up and dropped into his chair. He had a meeting with a pissed off client scheduled in a half hour, then the appointment with the sketch artist. All he really wanted to do was go home—or get on a plane headed for San Francisco. When his intercom buzzed, he sighed and pressed the button.

“Yes, Donna.”

“I have a Grace Hanover on line two. She insists she can’t wait to talk to you.”

“Please put her through. Oh, and Donna…”

“Yes.”

“Unless I’m in a meeting, I’m always available for Grace.”

A short pause was followed by a rusty chuckle. “Whoever this woman is, I already like her.”

“Me, too.” Releasing the intercom button, Travis picked up the phone and pushed the flashing line. “I guess you made it home.”

“I haven’t actually been home yet. I’m at the paper. My boss is orgasmic over Sutton’s story, which is why I’m calling. I tried earlier, several times, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

His shoulders slumped. Grace was all business. No
hi, how are you
. No,
I miss you already
. Just the damn story. “Oh?”

“I heard the commotion at the airport, and it looked like Casey was on the ground. Then Archer walked by with a bloody sleeve—”

“You saw him?”

“I stood on a chair to get a look back at the scuffle and nearly had a heart attack when I couldn’t find you. Initially someone blocked my view of you talking to a young Al Pacino look-a-like, apparently unharmed.”

“That’s Fritz.”

“I was stepping down from the chair when Archer passed about three yards away and made a shooting motion with his finger.”

“Shit.”

Her breathing came fast in his ear.

“I figured you must have seen him, too, so I ran to catch my plane, but I wanted to know about Casey.”

“Ruptured spleen. My arm deflected the blade, so Nielsen’s aim was off.”

“Travis!”

“It was just a slice. Nothing a few Band-Aids didn’t fix.”

Her voice was soft. “Are you sure you’re okay? I would have come back if I’d known you were hurt.”

“I’m fine. A doctor already dressed both wounds and gave me a shot of antibiotics. Are you absolutely certain Nielsen saw you?”

“Oh, yeah. When he pointed at me, he mouthed the word
pow
. I’ll admit it shook me a little.”

“Jesus, Grace.”

“He was just trying to scare me, and it worked. Anyway, I’m happy to hear Casey isn’t dead. Let’s just say I didn’t have the most relaxing flight home, thinking about everything that had happened and wondering how bad it was.”

“Your story’s written?”

“The legal team’s reviewing it now. I’ll insert the bit about Casey’s injury once they approve it. I called your cell before my flight left Seattle, but I guess you were too busy to answer. Then I tried this number a while ago, but your watchdog told me you weren’t available. I refused to hang up this time, said I’d wait all afternoon if I had to.”

He smiled. “I asked Donna to put you through from now on. By the way, she likes you.”

“I bet.”

“Really. She’s in favor of any woman I show even a modicum of attention. She thinks I’ve been alone too long.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I should go. Hank, my editor, is waving. The good news is he’s actually smiling. That must mean the legal team gave my story a green light.”

“Are you going home now?”

“After I add a concluding paragraph to my article about Casey’s injuries and then stop by the store for some dog food. One of my coworkers is eating takeout ribs, and Wylie’s drooling all over my feet.”

Travis’s smile slowly faded. “I’ll let you go then.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Grace broke it. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to scare you, but I’m concerned about Nielsen. If he believes you saw him stab Casey…”

“I didn’t.”

“Still—”

“If I catch even a glimpse of the guy, I’ll call the police. Anyway, I’m sure he has bigger concerns than me right now.”

“If I didn’t think that was true, I’d be on the next plane to San Francisco.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t want to hang up, but the intercom light was flashing. Donna wouldn’t interrupt him if it wasn’t important.

“Have a good evening, Grace.”

“Good-bye, Travis.”

Her voice was a caress, sending a shiver through him. It wasn’t until he’d set down the phone he realized she hadn’t told him good night. She’d told him good-bye.

* * * *

Grace juggled a bag of groceries and unlocked the door to her apartment. Nudging it open with her foot, she waited for Wylie to walk through. The dog took his sweet time, sniffing cautiously at the little table beneath a mirror in the entry before wandering into the living area.

“Home sweet home. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Leaving the groceries on the kitchen counter, she ran back down the stairs to the waiting cab where the driver had helpfully unloaded her suitcase and the dog carrier onto the sidewalk. After thanking the man and paying him, she dragged both the bag and the cage to her apartment, panting and swearing with each step. When she finally pushed her load through the door, she sagged against it and let out a breath.

What did I get myself into?

Wylie stared at her with sad eyes, and her heart softened. Nothing worth having came without a price.

“You probably want to be fed.”

He barked once, and Grace smiled.

After they’d both eaten and taken a stroll through Golden Gate Park, Grace shed her clothes, slipped on a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top and flopped in front of the TV. With a sitcom laugh track for background noise, she picked up her phone and hit speed dial for her sister.

“Grace, are you home?”

“Funny, you’re the second person to ask me that today.”

“Did you call Mom and Dad already?”

“No, it was someone I met in Alaska.”

Rachel let out a soft chuckle. “The someone in question being male, no doubt.”

Grace stroked Wylie’s head. The dog lay on the couch beside her, his nose resting on his paws while he dosed.

“I have a new friend.”

“The man who called you?”

“Well, yes, for all the good it’ll do, but that isn’t who I meant. I brought home a dog.”

The seconds ticked by in silence before her sister finally spoke. “Really? A puppy?”

“A stray who adopted me in Alaska. His name’s Wylie. He isn’t exactly pretty, but we understand each other. I feed him, and he doesn’t judge.”

“Gracie, I don’t judge—usually. I just want you to be happy, and lately you seem—I don’t know—off, somehow. For years you’ve looked at my girls with affection—and a touch of horror. The last six months have been different, almost like you want to take them home.” Her tone changed. “Not that I wouldn’t give you Lark. In fact, I’d pay you to take her.”

Grace smiled. “What’s your oldest done now?”

Her sister’s sigh stretched through the line. “There’s a boy she likes. A lot. I’m worried.”

“She’s sixteen. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a boy.”

“I’m afraid he’s pressuring her.”

A pain she’d lived with for years, buried so deep she could usually ignore it, surged to the surface. Her hand stilled on the dog’s fur.

“Have you talked to her?”

“I’ve tried. After she pointed out I was pregnant when I married her father, the conversation broke down.”

“I bet.” Grace took a breath. “You weren’t sixteen at the time.”

“No, I wasn’t, but she won’t listen to me.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

“Would you?”

“I’ll come out for the weekend.”

“Thank you.”

Her older sister’s words were heartfelt, and she could picture the relief on her face. Not that Grace was so certain she could get through to Lark. She’d damn well try, though. She wouldn’t let Lark experience even a fraction of the misery she’d gone through if she could help it.

“Who’s this man you met?”

Rachel’s question dragged her out of an abyss of old memories.

“Travis Barnett. He owns a private investigation company—in Seattle.”

“And?”

“That’s it. We live hundreds of miles apart. I can’t let myself get wrapped up in another dead-end relationship.”

“You sound upset.”

She ran a hand through her hair then leaned back against the couch cushion. “Not upset. Resigned. He wants to pursue a relationship. I figure a clean break is better for us both.”

“You’re afraid you’ll be hurt?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you like this man?”

She closed her eyes as images of their night together swirled around her. “Yes.”

“Then take a risk. Sometimes there’s a price to pay for a relationship worth having.”

Hadn’t she thought the same thing about dog ownership? What did it say about her if she was willing to take a risk for Wylie, but not for a man who made her feel things she hadn’t thought about, let alone felt, in years? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“Are you still there?”

“I’m here, but I have to go. I’m exhausted.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me about your Alaskan adventure?”

“I will this weekend.”

“I expect to hear all about Travis Barnett, too. Good night, Gracie.”

“Good night.”

She dropped the phone on the couch and pressed her hand against her eyes. What was there to say about Travis? She missed him already, but what was the point? Thinking about him would only lead to heartache.

They’d established a routine. An early morning run through the park then breakfast before hurrying to work. Grace, at least, rushed off. Wylie stayed behind, looking woeful and neglected. She refused to feel guilty about it, and his joyful greeting in the afternoon along with a second run in the park made her wonder why she’d always preferred working out in a gym. If she wasn’t careful, she’d turn into a nature freak like Casey Sutton. Or Travis.

Her head ached as she thought about the voicemails from him she’d ignored. Three yesterday. Only one today. His last message had made it clear he wouldn’t call again. Was her decision to make a clean break a smart one—or a colossal mistake? All she knew for certain was she missed him. No matter how far or fast she and Wylie ran, she couldn’t outdistance her longing to see Travis again.

Down a slight incline on the path ahead, a group of teens stood together, posturing and talking. Black clothes and spiky dark hair with nose and lip rings studding young faces and tattoos decorating skinny arms, they sported their Goth look like a uniform.

Grace was a few yards away when a piece of gravel popped up and worked into her running shoe. She bent to shake it out.

One of the boys yelled and grabbed his neck. “Son of a bitch.”

The shorter girl touched his arm. “Did you get stung?”

He held out his hand, streaked with blood. “It was a freaking bullet!”

The girl screamed, and all four kids ran off the path into the trees.

From her crouching position, Grace dove beneath a drooping eucalyptus, pulling Wylie with her. Had the boy really been shot? Was the sniper out there, waiting for a second chance? Nothing stirred near the hill behind her, no hint of movement. With a high powered rifle, the shooter could be a mile away. Or were the movies wrong about that?