CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts) (7 page)

             
She gasped like a Victorian maiden. "You!"

             
This was the man who had watched her film her first piece for the station, the man in the sleeveless black T-shirt, the man she imagined had slit her tire.

             
"Me?" he mocked. It was obvious he knew very well what she meant. He sauntered around the desk toward her. "Have we met, Miss Montgomery? Do we know each other? Have you seen me somewhere and imagined that the grubby Mexican could be your stalker?"

             
Her spine stiffened as he deliberately stood too close to her, invading her space, making her want to back up.

             
"I imagined the grubby Mexican was a drug dealer or a gang member." She looked him right in those beautiful brown eyes and asked crisply, "Isn't that what you wanted me to think, Mr. Ramos?"

             
He laughed, a brief bark of amusement. "You reassure me I look the part—but not that I'm doing my job."

             
"What do you mean?" He was taller than she had thought. Six-three to her five-seven, and standing this close, he gave off an electric atmosphere that shot from the fine hairs on the base of her neck down to her toes.

             
"When I hang around the capitol complex, I want people to glance at me, then look away for fear of catching my eye. No one wants someone who looks like me to accost them because they were accidentally friendly. So I'm anonymous in plain sight." He focused on her, his tone interrogating. "But you recognized me."

             
"I'm a reporter. I look at people's faces." She breathed carefully, making sure that her shirt—her breasts—didn't brush his coat.

             
"Most reporters don't give a damn about anyone's face but their own—on a television screen in front of thousands of people."

             
She didn't mind telling the truth. "I like that, too."

             
He smiled again, a slow stretch of amusement. "Honest and observant. That makes my work easier." He walked away.

             
She took a long breath and willed the goose bumps to subside.

             
"Please be seated, Miss Montgomery" He held a chair for her, the one in front of his desk.

             
"Thank you, Mr. Ramos." She sat.

             
He perched one hip on his desk, deliberately putting her on a subordinate level. "You don't seem like the kind of woman who would consent to a bodyguard."

             
But she was the kind of woman who recognized intimidation tactics—
his
intimidation tactics—when she saw them, and she knew how to counter them. She sat absolutely still—no fidgeting—looked him in the face, and told him the truth about that, too. "I'm a coward."

             
"Good. That's exactly the answer I want. People who are afraid are cautious." Still he smiled, inviting further confidences.

             
She chose her words carefully. "I'm sensible enough to know that when I've been threatened, I should seek help."

             
"And . . . ?"

             
How had he known there was an and? "My mother wouldn't hear of anything else."

             
"Because . . . ?"

             
"Mr. Ramos, you really have an obnoxious way of interviewing people." See how much he liked
that
honesty.

             
"Miss Montgomery, I'm not interviewing you. I'm interrogating you."

             
Honesty right back in her face.

             
"And if you'd tell me everything right now, you'd save me the trouble."

             
His voice was still lazy, his mouth still smiled, but he was intense and serious, and she recognized the truth in his statement. She inclined her head. "My mom's afraid . . . my dad was targeted and killed overseas by a powerful anti-American group."

             
"Where? How long ago?"

             
"In the Middle East, about five years ago." Almost exactly five years ago. Kate never forgot.

             
"Your father in particular?" Teague asked. "Why him?"

             
"He had a tendency to stick his nose into dangerous situations if he thought it was the right thing to do." Kate smiled, a wavering smile as she remembered the man she had loved so dearly. "He saw some orphans and widows who needed help. He helped them. Some people don't want Americans doing good because it messes up the image of the Great Satan."

             
"Your dad sounds like a great guy." Teague's voice was absolutely neutral and he arranged the crease in his pants as if he found it of great interest.

             
"He was." Kate felt defensive, and she didn't like it. She didn't understand it, either. Why didn't Teague believe her father was a great guy? Why would he think she was lying? "My mother's afraid there's a chance that the same group of terrorists has decided to eliminate his entire family."

             
Teague whistled, long and low. "Now, that's interesting. What do you think?"

             
"I think it's improbable."

             
"But not impossible."

             
"Nothing's impossible. I think it's more likely I've picked up a viewer who's proprietary or who doesn't like my perceived politics or the color of my skin."

"Any idea who?"
Teague leaned forward, put his hands on the arms of her chair, and got so close to her face that his breath brushed her skin. "I'm open to any suggestion at all, no matter how ludicrous you might think it is."

             
She leaned forward that one extra inch so that their noses were almost touching. "Now that you're out as a suspect—no."

             
He didn't back off. He didn't move forward. He looked into her eyes, and again the hair on the back of her neck rose. She supposed this was his usual routine. She supposed this was how he dragged information out of any woman who came into his office for help. But this Teague Ramos guy had a presence such as she had never felt. Her breath grew short, and her eyes grew heavy. She thought he was going to kiss her . . . and she wanted him to kiss her.

             
Her thoughts tangled in her brain.

             
His lips looked soft.

             
She'd had blackened redfish for lunch.

             
His hands looked capable.

             
She should have popped a breath mint before she came in.

             
But how could she have known she'd be kissing a man today?

             
She bit her lower lip, and he watched as if entranced.

             
Then he straightened. "Right. The information Brad sent over said the car was an Infiniti."

             
"What?" Released from his spell, she felt oddly disoriented. "Oh, so you think the stalker is moderately well off."

             
"Or he rented an Infiniti. Or borrowed or stole one— although there are no reports of stolen Infinitis that week. Unfortunately, knowing the make of the car is not helpful."

             
"I missed the license-plate number." She touched her chin. "I was too busy bleeding."

             
"Too bad," he said, unimpressed. "But you'll let me know if you notice anything odd about anybody, or recall any incident where someone seemed a little off. Sometimes that's what it takes, for the victim to remember a name or an episode that created an enemy."

             
Her temper flashed. "I'm not a victim."

             
"Make sure you keep it that way." He went to his small refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. He loosened the cap on both. "Do you have any enemies?"

             
She wanted to say no, but she couldn't help but recall the open animosity at KTTV. "A whole station full of them." She took the bottle he offered. "But I don't think the other broadcasters would actually try to bump me off."

             
"Calling them enemies seems dramatic. Why don't they like you?"

             
"The usual reason. I'm prettier than they are."

             
He paused, the bottle almost to his mouth, and gave her a long, lingering perusal that started at her toes and went to the top of her head, and he made sure he paid plenty of attention to the good parts in between.

             
If she had had any doubt that this man could sneak under the sheets with any woman he wanted, the flush of heat in her breasts and between her legs cured that.

             
"You're prettier than all of them?" he asked. "I can hardly believe that. I've seen Linda Nguyen."

             
Before Kate could stop herself, she laughed out loud.

             
He watched her with satisfaction.

             
Then she realized he was a manipulator. He'd wanted to make her laugh, and he did. He'd wanted to make her aware of him as a man, and he had.

             
Lifting the bottle, he drank, and his strong throat moved as he swallowed. As he drained half the bottle, she observed each detail and told herself he was someone to guard against.

             
Standing, she wandered to the fireplace and peered at the beautiful old marble. She didn't want to meet his gaze.

             
"So let's recount the situation." As he got down to business, the change in him was startling. His voice grew crisp, so crisp she faced him, startled. His mocking smile had disappeared, the charm had vanished beneath a surface so hard bullets would bounce off it. "We could be dealing with possible terrorists, but that's not likely. Your fellow broadcasters are a possibility. This could be a friend, an acquaintance, or a stranger who's watched you on television." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Miss Montgomery, think very carefully about who it could be, because those are a lot of suspects."

             
"I'll think," she agreed, and rubbed her finger across the brass Buddha on the mantel.

             
"Now, here's the way we're going to play it. You're going to be doing a piece on me, so we'll be together all the time."

             
It wasn't a come-on, but a necessity. She knew this. "If the stalker knows me, you're going to make him back off."

             
"We'll spend each day at the capitol building. I'll work the surveillance, you can work the politics, and my men and cameras can observe you."

             
"That'll work. That'll keep Brad happy." Briefly, she thought of the stories she would hear, how she would have to pass them off to Linda, and she winced.

             
"Keeping you off the air until your wounds heal will help." Without an ounce of visible sympathy, Teague studied her stitches. "If the stalker is a viewer, the attacks are almost certainly related to your appearance on television. If the attacks stop, we're probably dealing with someone who only knows you from the local news and who feels he's won by keeping you off the air."

             
"That's an advantage?" Austin had a population of 840,000.

             
"That cuts out a lot of immediate suspects." Teague rolled the bottle between his hands and smiled as if he knew something she didn't. "Do you have somewhere I

can
sleep at your apartment, or should I bring an air mattress?"

             
"Sleep?" Her mind leaped to the right conclusion, but she hadn't considered . . .

             
"I'm trying to keep you where the stalker can find you," Teague answered sensibly. "It's the only way we're going to get him to reveal himself."

             
"So I'm bait?" Kate liked this less and less.

             
"And I'm your bodyguard. I'll keep you safe." His charm returned, fully intact. "Trust me."

             
Not in a million years.
"I've got a guest room. You can stay there. There's a lock on my bedroom door."

             
"I'll remember that." He smiled faintly.

             
Then she wished she hadn't said it. She had been trying to make it clear that she wasn't part of his fee. Somehow she thought he'd taken it as a challenge. But she hadn't meant it like that. She really hadn't, not even in her deepest, darkest, most hidden thoughts.