“I feel guilty for taking up so much of your day,” Chloe said as she walked beside him toward his car.
“I’m sure we can think of a way for you to repay me,” he drawled.
His voice was blatantly suggestive. Chloe glanced over and caught him watching her.
“Really? And what might that be?” Her voice was cool.
Jake laughed. “Nothing gets past you, does it? All I meant was that you can let me take you to dinner. Preferably soon.”
“Hmm.” She was very sure that wasn’t what he’d meant.
“Not that I won’t be happy to cooperate if you have something friendlier in mind,” he said.
“I’ll let you know when I do,” she murmured.
“You do that. Here we are.” Jake touched the button on his key chain, and the brake lights flashed on a black Porsche.
He opened the passenger door and Chloe slid into the seat, fastening her seat belt. He rounded the hood of the car and stowed her briefcase before he got in.
Chloe ran her hand over the soft leather upholstery and eyed the panel of gauges on the dashboard. “Nice car.”
“Thanks. I like it.” The engine turned over with a throaty growl when he twisted the ignition key. He shifted into gear and backed out of the parking space.
“Did I mention I drive a Volvo?” she asked mildly.
“No.” He looked at her and smiled. “But if you’re wondering how fast I drive, I never race on city streets or the freeway.”
“Good to know.”
He watched the black Porsche’s taillights blink red when the car slowed at the exit before pulling out into traffic.
He no longer wondered whether the connection between Morrissey and the lady professor was important. He wasn’t positive just how deep the lady’s feelings went, but he’d observed Jake Morrissey with other women. This one was different.
Excellent.
It was time to set in motion the next phase of his plan. Just as Morrissey had been responsible for the death of his son, so would he be responsible for the death of Chloe Abbott. Morrissey Demolition’s current job site was located southeast of downtown Seattle in a rural area. The small building holding Jake’s powder magazine was padlocked and enclosed inside chain-link fencing, along with the huge earth-moving equipment used by the highway contractor.
He knew exactly how to bypass the alarm, enter the building and get to the powder magazine that held the company’s supply of dynamite. All the equipment required was a small bolt cutter and wire cutters. He didn’t need to steal more than one stick of dynamite and a detonator cap for the justice and revenge he craved.
He smiled, imagining Chloe Abbott and Liberty Hall’s bell tower blowing sky-high.
It was almost too easy.
Four
“There’s Gray.” Jake pointed at a booth near the back of the restaurant. He dropped his hand to her waist to gently urge Chloe ahead of him and they made their way to the rear of the room.
The man who rose to meet them was as tall as Jake, but his build and coloring were the opposite. With tawny hair and brown eyes, Gray was lean where Jake was burly. Jake introduced Chloe and she slid into the booth, studying the two men while they talked.
“I ordered coffee for us.”
“No doughnuts?” Jake said.
“No, but since you’re buying, I’m thinking of ordering an eight-course meal for four.”
“It’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner,” Jake pointed out.
“I’ll ask for a doggie bag.”
“Yeah, right.”
The waitress interrupted them, pouring coffee into their cups.
“So, Chloe.” Gray shifted his focus when she’d left. “Jake tells me you’re having a problem with someone following you?”
“I haven’t exactly had a problem yet. It’s more like I’m afraid I might have a problem. So far, I’ve had the uneasy feeling that someone’s watching me, sometimes following me, but that’s all.” She tore open a packet and stirred sugar into her coffee, looking up in time to catch a swift exchange of glances between Gray and Jake.
“If you’re being followed, someone has a reason. Have you had any disagreements with students that got out of hand?”
“No.” She shook her head. “One of my freshman composition classes had a debate about the military after the Tribune story appeared, but that’s about it.”
“What kind of debate?”
“Some of the students argued that international peacekeeping wasn’t worth the loss of American solders’ legs or lives. Others believed the cost to our country and our soldiers was necessary to help maintain peace around the world.”
Gray’s eyes narrowed. “Did any of the students argue directly with you?”
“No. I tried to stay neutral. The discussion grew heated, but I don’t remember any student who was angry with me specifically.”
“Tell him about the man outside the shop window,” Jake prompted.
Chloe repeated what she’d told Jake earlier.
“Do you remember what he looked like?” Gray asked, taking a pen and notebook from his pocket and flipping it open.
“Average height, weight, black hair. There really wasn’t anything distinctive about him. He wore a baseball hat pulled down over his eyes and dark sunglasses, so I couldn’t see much of his face.”
“Do you remember how he was dressed—jacket, shirt?”
“Yes.” Chloe related the details she could recall.
“When you saw him, did you have the same uneasy feeling that you said you felt today on campus?”
Chloe’s eyes widened as she considered the question. “Yes, it was exactly the same.”
“Then maybe you have seen the man who’s stalking you.” Gray looked at his notes, then back at Chloe. “Have you received any threatening phone calls or letters?”
“No, of course not.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. Trust me, I’d remember if I’d received anything like that.”
“I believe you.” Gray closed his notebook and sat back, eyeing the two of them across the table. “Unfortunately, until whoever’s stalking you actually does something, there’s nothing I can do except take your information and file a report.”
“I was afraid of that,” Chloe said, glancing at Jake. His face was grim and a muscle flexed along his jawline.
“There must be some way we can flush this guy out,” Jake muttered.
“The department’s budget doesn’t provide for enough manpower to have Chloe followed,” Gray said. He nodded thoughtfully. “But unofficially, maybe…”
“What?” Jake demanded.
Gray reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a narrow envelope, tapping it against the table. “My aunt gave me her two tickets for the Seattle symphony tomorrow night at Benaroya Hall. If Chloe’s willing to go with you, I’ll follow you. If we’re lucky, our stalker will be so busy watching you he won’t notice me.”
“I don’t like it.” Jake scowled. “It puts Chloe in a potentially dangerous situation.”
“It’s not as if this person has actually threatened me, Jake,” she said. “In fact, he hasn’t really done anything except watch me. It’s creepy, granted, but it’s possible he’s someone from campus with a crush on me, maybe a student from one of my classes. And if we confront him, it’s likely he’ll stop. Don’t you think that makes sense, Gray?”
The two men exchanged an unreadable look.
“Benaroya Hall is a public place, Jake. It’s not likely he’ll try anything in a crowd that big,” Gray said. “The head of security at the hall is an ex-Seattle PD captain. He can move people around and get me a seat above you so I can search the crowd for anyone who might be watching you instead of the stage. And you’ll be with Chloe the entire time, which means he won’t have a chance to get near her while she’s alone.”
“Can we guarantee her safety?”
“I don’t think anything in life is a hundred-percent certain, but the odds are in our favor. And,” Gray added, “it’s our best chance to catch him, or at least get a visual and possible ID. As it stands, we don’t have anything solid to work with here.”
“All right,” Jake said reluctantly. “I’m not crazy about the idea but it sounds like all we’ve got.”
“For now.” Gray lifted his coffee cup and silently toasted them. “Here’s to catching the SOB, whoever he is.”
“Have you heard from that nice Mr. Morrissey?”
“Yes, Gran, I did. In fact, I had lunch with Jake yesterday and he’s taking me to the symphony tonight.”
Winifred restrained a crow of approval. Good work, Jake. She spoke calmly despite her excitement. “How nice, dear. The symphony is always a pleasant evening’s entertainment. Benaroya Hall is one of my favorite places. The acoustics are wonderful. What composer is scheduled?”
“Believe it or not, Gran, the program tonight is pop music, mostly Broadway show tunes.”
“Really?” Winifred’s respect for Jake went up a notch. “I must say I’m impressed with your young man’s fortitude.”
Chloe laughed. “So am I, Gran. Remember how Grandad grumbled when you and Mom made him take you to a pop music concert?”
“Yes, I do. Your grandfather really disliked pop music. He was a staunch Beethoven and Tchaikovsky man, all the way.”
“I remember.” Chloe’s voice was filled with warmth. “I’d better scoot, Gran, I have to get ready for my date.”
“Have fun,” Winifred said before she hung up the phone. She looked at the photo of her late husband, framed in crystal and sitting on the kitchen windowsill, next to the phone. “Richard,” she said softly, smiling with delight. “The situation between Chloe and Jake is proceeding even better than I’d hoped.”
Chloe switched off the portable phone and dropped it on the bed. It landed next to the lacy, pale-green underwear laid out on the spread. A backless emerald sheath with matching silk shawl hung on a padded hanger hooked over the open closet door.
She walked into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and tossed them in the hamper before stepping into the shower. With quick efficiency, she shampooed, soaped and rinsed, then left the glass stall to towel off and smooth body lotion over still-damp skin. Drying her hair took only moments. It occurred to her as she began to apply makeup that she wouldn’t be anticipating the evening quite this happily if Jake wasn’t her date.
Okay, so it’s not just love of music that has me excited, she thought.
She paused, eye shadow brush in hand, and examined her reflection in the mirror. Excited. Yes, she was definitely excited. Jake intrigued her. He made her aware of him as no other man ever had. And he made her want him.
Despite the brief time she’d known Jake, there was something about him that made her heart shriek “mine” whenever she saw him. Her rational mind had no control over the gut-level reaction.