She swallowed hard. “We don’t know that.”
“But it’s a possibility, and we’ll have to act on it. I’d strongly advise you to invest in a fence across the front of your property, one with motorized gates.”
She rubbed her hands over arms that were suddenly chilled. “A fence?”
He nodded, watching her reaction closely. “I’ll bring in some catalogs, and you can pick out a style you like. The doors and windows will take only a week or so to install. The fence will be a bigger project. I may have to order some of the materials, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
She wasn’t concentrating on his words. It took all her strength to keep from screaming her opposition. Memories flooded her, reminding her of the time she’d moved with her family to Burbank as a teenager. The house had come equipped with all the latest electronic features, to keep them safe, her father had assured her. As if it had happened yesterday she remembered the first day she’d stood inside the drive. The gates had closed behind her with a gentle, irrevocable snick. It hadn’t been a feeling of safety they’d generated in her that day. Instead she’d felt like a prisoner. If her father had had his way she’d still be living behind those protective barriers, protected from harm and from life in general.
“No,” she whispered, as much to the memory as to Mac.
He leaned forward, his arms on his hard thighs, his face implacable. “Yes. That’s exactly what you’re going to do, Raine, and you know why? Because you put me in charge here, and until this thing is over, I’m calling the shots.” He lifted a hand to stem her response. “You said you’d listen to my ideas once I’d assessed the situation. Well, here they are. Lady, you’re in real trouble. You can’t brush these threats off as the work of some crank. Cranks lose interest quickly—they don’t keep harassing their targets indefinitely. And you can’t rely on the police to help you, because they don’t have a thing to go on, especially without the envelopes. I doubt this case is a real high priority with them at this point, anyway. No one has actually been hurt.” His pause was full of meaning. “Yet.”
She sprang up from the couch. “You’re deliberately trying to scare me.” And he was succeeding admirably. All the panic she’d managed to suppress from the time the threats began was all too close to the surface now. Which of course meant that she hadn’t been suppressing it at all, hadn’t been dealing with it, as André had insisted. She’d been getting through the last few weeks by denying its existence.
Until the nightmares had made even that feat impossible.
“You should be scared,” he agreed bluntly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Because all the alarms and fences in the world can’t make it impossible for someone to get to you, if that’s what he really wants.”
His words affected her like a dash of ice water. She paced away from him, giving herself time to recover. “Careful there, Macauley, or you’ll talk yourself out of a job.”
“Not quite,” he returned tersely. “Because the rest of my job is to make sure no one does get to you.” She whirled around then to face him, and her look of utter dismay was enough to tell him that she’d interpreted his meaning accurately. “As I said, you could spend a fortune securing your home and property and still not be completely safe. You’re taking the kind of precautions that would make wise choices for anyone living out here. The rest of the job will be up to me.”
She interpreted his words correctly. “How long . . . do you plan to stay?”
“As long as it takes,” he said flatly. “Until this nut is stopped, you’re in danger.” After a pause, he added, “I’ve already informed your father.”
“Great,” she muttered. She dug the tips of her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans, feeling as tautly drawn as a wire. There was definitely nothing calming about this man. But in fairness to him, she had to admit that he didn’t soft-pedal bad news, either. She grudgingly respected that. She preferred to face reality head-on than to be coddled from it. The knowledge that she hadn’t been doing a particularly good job of that recently wasn’t too comforting. “I should probably warn you to expect calls from my brothers, William and John. No doubt Dad has already filled them in, and they take their roles of big brothers extremely seriously.”
Mac didn’t bother to inform her that he’d already spoken to William. And she was right, her brother had been outraged that Raine hadn’t taken action immediately. Mac even agreed with William’s description of his sister, up to a point. There was something almost otherworldly about Raine at times, as if she was detached from the details of life. But he’d noticed that was usually when she was preoccupied with her painting. He was beginning to believe that her family tended to underestimate her. There were other times when she could be unbelievably tenacious. Especially when she was arguing with him.
He shrugged mentally. Actually, this scene had gone better than he’d had a right to expect. She’d hadn’t been thrilled with his news, but she hadn’t refused to cooperate, either. “This won’t last forever, Raine. And it shouldn’t interfere with your painting. I’ll answer the phone and bring in the mail.” That drew an arch look from her, which he chose to ignore. “You’ll need to keep your outside engagements to an absolute minimum, but if you do have to go anywhere, I’ll go with you.”
She was silent, surveying the floor in melancholy resignation. His next words shattered that mood, however.
“Of course it will be necessary to restrict your visitors. The house will be declared off-limits to guests.”
At his words she could feel the walls from her childhood spring up and begin to close in around her. “That is out of the question!”
Mac watched her from beneath hooded lids. Her eyes were spitting golden sparks at him. “You think so?”
“I draw the line right there.” She approached him and said fiercely, “Dammit, Macauley, I’m not going to let you turn me into a hermit!”
He frowned impatiently. “Call me Mac. And it’s necessary, Raine.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “My friends are always welcome in my home. If André and Greg can’t come here, that means I’ll have to spend more of my time going to their offices for meetings. That will take me away from my painting and make your job more difficult.” She could tell by the way he considered her words that she’d made a valid point. She pressed on. “And I can’t just tell the students they can no longer come here to paint. The peacefulness here is inspiring. I’m not going to rescind my invitation.”
“If you won’t, I will.” His voice was impatient. He should have known she wouldn’t give in easily, “It’s not going to be all that peaceful around here, with all the work my men will be doing, so they won’t be missing much.”
“I refuse to alter my life any more than I’ve already agreed to. Don’t you understand?” She tried to reason with him. “If I let this whack job completely change the way I live, I’ve also let him win. I won’t do that, Macauley —I can’t. It’s taken me too long to take control of my life. I won’t give it up now.”
He didn’t know which annoyed him more, her continued use of his given name or her obstinance. “You’re overreacting. We’re not talking forever here, just a few weeks at the most. You’re not giving up your life to someone, but a little healthy dose of fear has done wonders to keep some people alive.”
“And too much stifles them to the point that they might as well be dead,” she retorted. “If a person isn’t experiencing life, she isn’t living it, either.”
His temper snapped at her stubbornness. He rose swiftly to his feet and crossed to her in two long strides. “What you’re experiencing here, lady, is something most people go out of their way to avoid.” His voice was close to a shout, but she didn’t back down, and her gaze was just as furious as his. He bent down so that his face was inches from hers. “You talked about being scared earlier, Raine, and you sure as hell should be. There’s a sicko out there who’s trying to get your attention. Trying to frighten you, and baby, whoever it is might already have been close enough to be on your property. Remember that the next time you think about bucking me. Maybe it’s someone you know, maybe not. Maybe he walks right into your house, and he’s welcomed here, or maybe he hides in the shadows. He could be out there at night, watching this place, watching you—”
“Stop it!” she cried. His taunting words painted a scene straight out of her nightmares. The stress she’d been under for the past few weeks seemed to gel, and for a second it was all directed at this man. Her fingers clenched into fists and she pushed hard against his chest, punctuating her words. “Just—stop it!”
Chapter 3
Raine became aware of her actions at the same moment Mac gathered both her fists into one large hand. She stared at him in shock, her body frozen by her loss of control. Their gazes melded.
Her eyes were pure amber now, and he was struck with the realization that the look he’d thought he’d recognized in them upon their first meeting hadn’t been a fluke. For an instant they were full of anguish. Why the hell did she try to pretend to be unaffected by all of this? Because she was far from unaffected, that was clear. She was close enough that he could feel her heart racing, her body quivering.
She tugged at her hands, but when he didn’t release them, she looked away to escape that speculative regard. She was afraid of what he’d see. He was so observant she felt like a butterfly impaled on a pin beneath that searching stare. Certainly she had all too good an idea what he might find if he looked hard enough, if he was perceptive enough.
He released her wrists, and she immediately turned away from him. It really wasn’t a question of whether or not the man was perceptive. She had a sinking feeling that very little got by Macauley O’Neill. She moved toward the fireplace and pretended an intense interest in its decorative oak mantel.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. He said nothing, and she still wasn’t controlled enough to face him again. She forced a shaky laugh. “I can assure you that I only attack someone once a week, so you’re safe for the next several days.”
He remained silent, and she angled her head around to peek at him. He was expressionless, watching her silently, and her throat went dry. She’d never met anyone so difficult to read, and she suddenly wondered why it seemed so important to know what he was thinking.
When he did speak, he didn’t mention her loss of control or her apology. “If you’d think about this rationally, you’d admit that it makes sense to limit the number of people who have access to you.” He was silent for a moment, thinking swiftly. Then he said grudgingly, “Maybe we won’t have to bar guests completely. If André and Greg are still allowed in here, will you agree to tell the art students to stay away?”
It shocked her a little to hear him suggest something that sounded very close to a compromise. She had the feeling the concept was foreign to him. Considering his offer for a moment, she said, “I’d want to be able to see Sarah, also.”
His tone was unmistakably sarcastic. “You have meetings with her, too?”
“No,” she informed him evenly, “but she’s a very dear friend of mine. And she’s been having a rough time lately dealing with her younger brother. It’s affected her work, and she needs me for support.”
“Fine,” he snarled, at the end of his patience. “André, Greg and Sarah will be allowed in. No one else, except my men and your family.”
It was clear he was already regretting the concession he’d made. She wondered at a sudden compulsion she had to soothe him. “William and John don’t get away from the city more than once a month, and I just saw them last week. And I usually visit with my parents at their home. My mother suffers from a chronic heart ailment, and she hasn’t been well lately. As for the students . . .” She hesitated, uncertain what she would tell them to keep them away. She was loath to let them in on the threats. Perhaps it would be enough to let them know how hectic things would be, with Mac’s work crew around. “I’ll take care of contacting them,” she said finally.
Mac crossed to the desk in the corner of the room and rummaged through the drawers until he found a notepad and pen. Then he came back and sat down. “All right, that’s settled. Now I need for you to give me a complete list of the people who have been in and out of here lately.” It wouldn’t have to be a regular guest wreaking havoc on Raine’s life. Anyone who could come and go at will had the opportunity to place those notes in her mail. It could be, as he’d pointed out, someone who was welcomed to the house. It could also be someone completely unknown to her, but first he was going to have to work through process of elimination.
She would have liked to ask why he needed the names, but after a look at his face decided not to push her luck. She knew intuitively that his temper was still simmering. She began with Sarah, Greg and André. They were by far her most frequent visitors. She named several other friends who stopped in occasionally, and included the art students. She named the courses and the instructors for whose classes she’d been invited to speak. Finally, after racking her brain for a while longer, she shrugged. “That’s it, I guess.”
“You’re sure?” he pressed. “Are all the people I saw here in the last couple days on this list?”
She looked blank for a moment. “I suppose so. I have to confess, I don’t always know myself who’s here. If my work’s going well I sometimes don’t come out of my studio until dusk.” She wasn’t about to relay that he’d provided an unusual distraction several times already.
He folded up the list he’d written. “Things will start changing around here immediately.”
That sounded ominous. Raine looked at him distrustfully. “Exactly what does that mean?”
“It means that I’m going to hold you to this agreement we’ve hammered out,” he said bluntly. “And it means that you’re going to have to trust me to do my job, and stop starting a war every time I suggest something that’s for your own good.”
For her own good. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d heard that phrase in her childhood. “What is clear,” she announced, gritting her teeth, “is that you’ve got ego where your brain should be. If you think I’m never going to question a suggestion you make, you’d better think again. I’m not a trained seal.”
“Not well-trained, no.”
She glared at him. He stared implacably back. That remark was the first hint of humor she’d noted in the man, and at any other time she would have been pleasantly surprised by it. She’d always thought that a sense of humor was the only thing that made life bearable at times. She hadn’t expected to find one in Macauley O’Neill. He seemed too tough, too jaded. But since his humor was veiled and sarcastic and directed at her, she found him less than amusing.
“You’re hilarious. But I still expect to be consulted before you make any major changes around here.”
He ignored her verbal rebellion. Already he regretted backing off on the issue of her visitors. Her argument about allowing Greg and André here made sense. But he knew she regarded the concession as a compromise, and would expect future ones. She’d be disappointed—that wasn’t the way he worked. He was here to do a job, and he wasn’t about to run each of his ideas by her over afternoon tea and get her approval. Compromises didn’t necessarily keep people alive.
Not for the first time, he wished that his partner, Trey Garrison, was handling this job. He had infinitely more patience, and could even trot out some charm when it was called for. No doubt he could have long civilized talks with Raine Michaels and convince her that every idea he had was her own. Mac lacked the ability and the inclination to do so.
He frowned at the woman before him, looking back so defiantly, and wondered why on earth she annoyed him so much. It shouldn’t matter to him that she questioned his every move, even though he knew damn well that her accountant and probably her agent had freer rein. And he was protecting
her
, for crissakes, not just her money or career. Most likely it was just that Raine Michaels was turning out to be a big pain in the ass, at a time in his life when he had even less patience than normal for dealing with big pains.
“Well?” she prompted, interrupting his musings.
“Consider yourself consulted,” he said shortly, and turned to leave the room. Over his shoulder, he added sardonically, “But I’ll sure let you know the next time something comes up that’s open for discussion.”
Raine stared at his departing back, openmouthed. That man, she fumed, was totally insufferable. She shouldn’t be surprised, since her father had recommended him so highly. No doubt it was considered an admirable trait by Simon Michaels. But it was a bit wearing on her. She walked over to a nearby chair, kicked its leg childishly. She winced as the resulting pain reminded her that she was, as usual, barefoot. She sank into the chair, rubbing her toes, a wry smile pulling at her lips. Every action had a consequence. If she had learned anything in her life, it was that. The thought quickly had the smile fading from her face.
Her cell rang then, and she startled. She did an automatic search of her pockets before recalling she’d set it down…maybe in the kitchen. She never took it to the studio with her. After the one ring itt was silenced abruptly, indicating that it had been picked up. She caught a look at her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, one hand held to her heart, eyes as wide as a deer’s caught in the headlights.
Get a hold of yourself, Raine
, she scolded herself mentally. First she’d fallen apart in front of Macauley O’Neill, and now a ringing cell phone was spooking her. She took some deep breaths and sat down in the chair, folding her legs under her. Her eyes went to the window. The expanse of green lawn gently rolling to the road, and the walnut grove in the distance, painted a scene that never failed to calm her. Today, however, its usual peace was jarred by the sight of yet another truck rumbling up the driveway toward her house.
She turned her gaze away, troubled. The unceasing activity surrounding her home was impossible to ignore, as were the reasons for it. She’d tried to relegate the need for Macauley O’Neill, or someone like him, to the furthest corner of her mind, telling herself she had energy only to focus on her work right now. But brutal self-honesty was a trait she tried to cultivate, and it forced her to admit that she’d been playing ostrich for the last few weeks. In not allowing her fear from the past to take over, she’d failed to respond appropriately to the threats at all.
Raine swallowed, self-doubt welling inside her. She’d worked very hard to overcome most of the demons that had haunted her for years. But somehow, today, her modest triumphs over the shadows in her past seemed trivial, like so much window dressing to disguise a vacant storefront. Shivering, she wrapped her arms closer.
Staring sightlessly at the wall, Raine wondered bleakly whether she had the courage to face being the target of someone’s malice yet again.
“Raine.” Mac’s voice held a note of impatience. He’d looked all over the whole house, fully expecting to find her in her studio, doing that work she was always claiming she was behind on. He hadn’t expected she’d still be in the room in which he’d left her, staring into space.
She turned her head slowly to look at him, but didn’t get up.
“The crew has arrived. I’d like you to meet the men who’ll be doing some work here for the next few days.”
She took a deep breath, then rose. “All right.”
He glanced at her sharply as she passed by him on her way to the front door. Her tone was subdued, as was her manner. He’d grown weary of her constant debating with him, but he thought that he’d prefer it to the way she seemed now, as if a light inside had been snuffed out as easily as a candle flame by careless fingers.
He wondered if he’d been too rough on her earlier. He didn’t have a lot of polish, and he made little effort to hide the fact. When her bravado had been stripped away, she’d revealed real fear. Mac shook his head and followed her to the door. He couldn’t expend any remorse for that. Getting her to admit a threat existed had been necessary to enlist her cooperation. It was damn near impossible to protect a person who refused to recognize the seriousness of the situation.
He followed her out on the porch. “Everyone over here.”
Raine slanted a look at him as the men moved immediately. No wonder he ordered her around as if he was a drill sergeant. If he was used to commanding this kind of reaction from the people around him, she was probably lucky he hadn’t assigned her to hard labor for being insubordinate. Despite her dismal mood, her mouth quirked at the thought.
Mac ran through the introductions quickly. What would have seemed a courtesy by any other man was clearly not, in this case. He turned to her and said curtly, “Take a good look at their faces.”
She obeyed, smiling at each of the men in turn. “Hi,” she said to the crew assembled. “I understand you’re the guys who are going to make my life unbearable for the next few days.”
Most of the men smiled, some responded.
“Only for a little while, ma’am.”
“We’ll try not to be in your way long.”
“Yeah, then it will be up to Mac to make your life unbearable.”
Raine turned to look at the man at her side consideringly. “A role I’m sure he’ll fill nicely,” she responded in a wry voice, and they laughed.
Yet another man walked up then, in time to hear the exchange. “You won’t be the first to have that opinion of or Mac, here,” the stranger said. “He doesn’t waste a lot of energy on charm.”
“That’s your area, not mine,” Mac agreed. He made a motion with his hand, and the other men dispersed, going back to their task of unloading equipment. The man to whom he’d spoken leaned forward with his hand extended toward Raine.
“Trey Garrison, Mac’s partner. As you can probably figure, I’m the brains of the outfit.”
Raine laughed and shook his hand. “If that’s so,” she said, casting a look at Mac, “then I’m scared to death. Macauley’s mind clips along at a rate faster than the speed of light, and I’m not always thrilled with the things it comes up with.”