Maybe it was because of the unusual circumstances caused by the possibility of danger from an unknown stalker. Perhaps she was instinctively drawn to Jake’s protectiveness.
Or not. She could be totally off base. She had a degree in English literature, not psychology.
I hope Gray catches this man tonight, whoever he is. I never thought I’d say this, but a normal, ordinary, sometimes boring life is beginning to sound better and better.
She finished dressing and went downstairs, shawl and small evening purse in hand. Reaching the foot of the stairs and the slate-floored entryway, she glanced into the living room at the mantel clock just as the doorbell rang. She peered through the side window, verified that the man on her porch was Jake and opened the door.
“Hello.” My, oh, my. From the top of his well-combed hair to the tips of his polished black shoes—and the black Ralph Lauren suit that clothed the toned, muscled body between—Jake was gorgeous. If Alexie could only see you, she’d never tease me about my male friends again.
His gaze swept swiftly downward before returning slowly, lingering, making heat bloom under her skin. She shivered as if he’d trailed his fingertips over her.
“Hi,” he said softly. “Ready to go?” He held out his hand, took the shawl from her unresisting fingers, and Chloe suddenly realized that she was standing perfectly still, simply staring at him. Jake’s expression was blatantly hungry; she wondered if hers held the same open need.
“Yes.”
He stepped closer and slipped the shawl around her shoulders, then tugged gently. She obeyed the slight pressure, joining him on the porch. He bent his head until his lips touched her ear. “In case someone’s watching…” he murmured.
Chloe’s gaze met his for a brief moment before she tilted her head in silent invitation. The bright blue of his eyes darkened to indigo, and he brushed his lips against hers once, twice, before his mouth settled over hers.
The world narrowed to his mouth on hers. Chloe’s knees weakened. Her fingers clutched his sleeve and she leaned into him, his chest and the hard muscles of his thighs supporting her.
When he lifted his head, he left her craving more. She opened her eyes and tightened her grip on his jacket sleeve to keep him from leaving her—until she realized they were standing on her front porch, in full view of her neighbors and anyone passing by.
And that’s the point, she remembered belatedly. We’re hoping someone is watching.
“Let’s get out of here.” His voice was rougher than usual. He took her hand and led her down the steps, tucking her into the passenger seat of the Porsche.
Chloe checked the side mirror several times as they neared downtown Seattle. “I don’t see Gray, do you?”
“He picked us up two blocks from your house.”
She searched the mirror again but didn’t see a car following them. Traffic was moderately heavy, and all around them cars, trucks and SUVs switched lanes, turned off the street or sped up to pass Jake’s Porsche. None of the vehicles appeared to remain steadily behind them. “I can’t find him.”
“Good.” Jake flashed a grin. “Then he’s doing his job.” He flicked a glance in the mirror. “He’s about six cars behind us, opposite lane. He’s off duty so he’s driving his own car, a gray SUV.”
Chloe looked over her shoulder, counted back six cars and found Gray. “Clever. He’s very good at this, isn’t he?”
“That’s why he’s a detective.”
“I hope he knows how much I appreciate that he’s giving up his off-duty time to help me.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Jake slowed, merging with the line of cars waiting to turn into the Second Avenue entrance to the underground parking lot. It was fifteen minutes before they found a space and left the Porsche.
Chloe draped the shawl around her shoulders and took Jake’s arm. “Is Gray parked here, too?”
“One aisle over. The only time we’ll be out of his sight is when we take the elevator upstairs to the Boeing Company Gallery. But we’ll have lots of other people around us.” Jake nodded at the well-dressed couples streaming toward the bank of elevators. “Even if our man is here, the crowd will provide a buffer.”
“Right.” Chloe’s fingers tightened unconsciously on his sleeve.
“Nervous?”
“A little.” She looked up to find him watching her. Confidence and strength sat easily on his shoulders and the butterflies in her stomach instantly quieted. She drew a long breath. “I’m fine. Lead on, Macduff.”
Jake laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
They rode the elevator up to the gallery and joined the chatting, laughing crowd as it moved on to the Grand Lobby. The curved bank of windows that separated the lobby from the city skyline allowed late-evening sunshine to fall across the plush carpet. Sconces were already lit inside the vast, elegant room, their light glittering on ladies’ jewels and highlighting the bright colors of their dresses.
Jake pushed back his cuff and looked at his watch. “We have another fifteen minutes. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I think I’d just as soon find our seats, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Jake covered her hand with his where it rested on his arm, pressing it closer in reassurance, before he released her to get their tickets from his coat pocket.
The usher led them down a hallway and then through a door and held open a curtain for them.
“Box seats?” Chloe smiled with delight. “You didn’t tell me Gray’s aunt had season box seats.”
“No?” Jake shrugged. “That’s why Gray thought this would work. He’s two boxes over and one level up. He can see almost the entire auditorium from there and he’ll watch the audience with binoculars. Anyone whose eyes are on us instead of the stage will stand out like a sore thumb.”
“If the man’s actually in the audience,” Chloe said.
“Right,” Jake agreed. “And if he isn’t, maybe he’ll follow us home and Gray will spot him then. And if not,” he continued, picking up her hand and threading her fingers through his, “we’ve spent a nice evening at the symphony. No hardship, right?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Definitely not a hardship.”
Four hours later, Jake pulled the Porsche into Chloe’s driveway and turned off the engine. Chloe reached for the door handle.
“Wait.”
She froze. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Maybe nothing.”
In the street behind them, a plain blue sedan drew near. The car didn’t slow down, didn’t speed up. It did nothing to arouse suspicion as it drove past them, the sole occupant never even glancing their way. A moment later, Gray’s SUV passed by.
“That was Gray. Do you think he’s following the other car?”
“Yeah. I do.” Jake pushed open the driver’s door and got out, coming around to open Chloe’s. He bent toward her and murmured, “Don’t look down the street after Gray. Pretend we’re just a couple returning from an evening out.” She nodded and he took her hand, drawing her from the car, and they walked up the sidewalk to the porch, climbing the steps to her front entry.
Chloe unlocked the door and went inside. Jake followed her, closing the door behind him.
“Don’t turn on the lights.” He moved swiftly to the narrow side window and shifted the curtain a scant inch to look outside.
Chloe stood in the center of the tiled entryway, her shawl clutched to her chest, barely breathing as the minutes ticked by. The sound of her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
Jake’s cell phone rang.
“Yeah?” He was silent, glancing at Chloe. “Thanks, Gray.” He switched off the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Gray thinks the man in the blue car was following us, but he lost him. Whoever was driving the car abandoned it three blocks from here and disappeared. He probably had another car parked near the site and was gone before Gray got there. Gray wasn’t close enough to get a visual of the driver.”
Chloe’s heart sank. “So we still don’t have any information about him.”
“Don’t give up hope. Gray ran the plate numbers on the car and they belong to a pickup truck in Bellevue. I’m guessing both the plates and the car were stolen earlier tonight in separate thefts. Our stalker’s careful and he’s smart. I’m going to help Gray go over the car.” Jake wrapped his arms around Chloe. “Are you okay staying here by yourself?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Good.” Jake dropped a hard kiss on her lips and released her, pulling open the door. “Lock this after me.”
“I will.” Chloe waited until he’d stepped onto the porch and shut the door, then she slid the dead bolt home and twisted the lock. Peering through a gap in the curtains, she watched him back the Porsche out of her drive, taillights winking red as he disappeared down the block.
Unable to settle down, she poured a giant mug of milk, added three tablespoons of chocolate syrup and popped it into the microwave. While she waited for it to heat, Chloe leaned on the counter, gazing out the window over her sink into the backyard. A full moon rode high in the sky, turning the familiar shapes of lilac tree, rhododendrons, wisteria, apple tree and tall blue spruce into shadowy, mysterious forms.
This was her world, and for the first time, she felt a niggle of fear as she contemplated what might be in her moon-dappled garden besides flowers and trees.
Five
Stealing the stick of dynamite and blasting cap from Morrissey Demolition hadn’t been difficult at all.
Morrissey’s work site in Black Diamond, southeast of Seattle, had an equipment shack in a large area enclosed within chain-link fencing. The locked-off area held parked bulldozers, backhoes, massive concrete-and-metal culverts and other equipment owned by Warren Construction, the Washington State contractor responsible for building a twenty-mile section of road. The contractor had a security service that patrolled the area once every hour to protect the expensive equipment and supplies stored inside the fence.
He had no interest in any of that. He only cared about Morrissey’s dynamite.
The small bolt cutters snipped through the chain links of the fence and made short work of the padlock securing the Morrissey storage shed. Once he was inside, it was a matter of minutes to locate the powder magazine, cut the bolts holding the double-hooded locks that secured it, slice through the locks and open the steel box. The magazine’s interior was lined with wood to ensure no accidental spark from exposed metal could threaten the stability of the explosives. He found just a handful of dynamite sticks but he didn’t care. He needed only one.
He removed the eight-inch-long brown stick and placed it in a narrow wooden box, then stowed the box in his jacket pocket. Carefully closing the powder magazine, he rearranged the locks so a casual observer would see nothing amiss.
The detonator caps were stored in a second locked box. He cut through the locks, removed a cap with its attached wires and tucked it into the small tote he’d carried in with him. When he’d closed the box, he rearranged the locks, then picked up the black tote bag and his bolt cutters, and checked his watch.
