obviously thought passed as a waltz.
Andy snorted and headed into the inner sanctum alone. Rosie would have followed but her path was blocked by the dancing duo.
“Thought any more about going out on a date with me, Sandy? I was thinking we’d go dancing, maybe enter us in Dancing with the Stars. We’d be good together, you and me.”
“First of all, I’m not a star and neither are you, so we couldn’t get on that show.” Sandy laughed. “Second, one of these days you’re going to do that to the wrong woman, and you’re going to find yourself in front of a judge. Either being sued or married.”
He grabbed his heart and staggered back. “No! Not the M word!”
“Kris, we’re waiting for you,” Chad’s voice echoed from Sam’s office.
Sandy blushed. “Sorry, Kris. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s not your fault, Sandy,” Rosie said. “Kris’s day isn’t complete unless he causes at least one melodrama.” She gestured to Kris who grinned in return. “Come on, mat-kisser, let’s find out who we’re protecting this time.”
Chad greeted them at the door and told them to take a seat. Andy had made himself comfortable on a loveseat at the far end of Sam’s office, leaving the two visitor’s chairs empty. While Rosie perched on the edge of the farthest leather chair, Kris hesitated. He glanced again at Sam before relaxing enough to sit in the second, though even sitting, he seemed to stay at attention. Chad closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his arms folded.
Sam stood behind his desk, his back to the room, arms folded across his chest as he stared out the window. He’d abandoned his jacket on his chair. The crisp linen of his shirt stretched taut over his biceps and broad shoulders. And even though it was October, he appeared tanned. He must have had some down time in Miami, Rosie thought. His thick dark brows were longer than the dark hair he kept closely cropped – a change since the summer when he’d shaved his head completely bald. The slight slant of his eyes and high cheekbones made her wonder if there was some mixed heritage a few generations back. Perhaps some Native American? Hawaiian, maybe?
The amusement that had been in his eyes at the fundraiser had been doused and now irritation radiated from him like a lighthouse beacon.
Rosie shared a look with Kris and Andy. Who’d fucked up and how?
There was silence for a minute as Chad waited for Sam to speak. When it became obvious Sam intended on ignoring them, Chad nodded to himself and took a deep breath. “Sam’s been receiving threats so I’m assigning you to be his personal guards.”
He opened a folder from Sam’s desk and handed them each a picture of Hauberk’s owner in a brushed cotton shirt, and blue jeans mingling with several other similarly clad people in an outdoor setting. “It started with this photo the day after Labor Day. More arrived, each a few weeks apart.”
Rosie recognized Rock Creek’s Carter Barron amphitheatre. Which meant any one of several thousand attending the annual Blues Festival could have taken the picture. The next picture was one of Sam jogging on a residential street. A circle had been drawn in red ink over his chest.
Chad handed them more pictures. The first was a high quality photograph that could have been taken by a professional. The next two were grainy. But all had red targets drawn on his chest.
Kris fingered the third one, of Sam exiting the Hauberk building. “From the blue hue of this one and the pixellation, it looks like it was taken from an older cell phone.”
“Or it could be blue because one of the colors of ink in the printer was running low, Skippy,” Andy said.
Rosie glanced at Kris’s before studying the next better quality photo-this one of Sam parking his Harley Road King in front of a large red brick Colonial building-an elite club from the looks of it. Whenever she’d seen him at the office he was in tailored suits, but in the photo he was wearing a leather biker jacket and a pair of leather pants that clung to him like a second skin. If she hadn’t already admired his ass, this picture would have clinched the deal.
Andy exchanged pictures with Rosie, this one of Sam holding open the door as a leggy blonde got out of his Jaguar.
She held it up closer, wishing she had a magnifying glass handy. “I’d say this one was shot through a window. There’s a reflection.”
Sam whirled toward them, his jaw snapping closed, his lips tightening as he glared first at her, then at Chad. “I thought you said-”
He bit off the remainder of his comment and some sort of nonverbal exchange occurred-but about what Rosie couldn’t tell. Somehow she had a feeling it was about her. Though why, she couldn’t guess. Her record at Hauberk was spotless.
“We’ll discuss it later, Sam.” Chad handed them copies of another photo. “This one arrived last night-they broke into his place, disarmed the security and left it on his bed.”
If she hadn’t recognized the setting and his suit, she’d never known it was Sam, considering his face had been digitally removed and replaced with blood, brains and gore.
“Didn’t they set off the silent alarm?” Andy asked.
“Nope, whoever it was knew the code to turn it off. Security tapes show a male entering through the lobby, bold as brass. Had a hood up, and he faced away from the cameras as if he knew they were there.”
“So no description,” Andy finished in disgust.
“We know it’s probably a male between 5’10 and 6’2, no age, no hair color, possibly white but we’re not even sure of that.”
“Just dandy. That narrows it down a whole bunch.” Andy straightened from his place on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned in. “Didn’t the guard on duty check his ID before he let him in?”
“He was…otherwise occupied.”
Andy snorted. “Tell me the idjit wasn’t in the bathroom givin’ himself a hand job or smokin’ up.”
“He said he’d left his desk to investigate the smell of pot coming from the stairwell. Says he wasn’t out of sight from the front door for more than sixty seconds. I figure it was probably more like a couple minutes. In any case, we’re re-examining the building’s security.” Chad tossed the file folder on Sam’s desk, then hitched one hip on the desk. “Sam’s also received threatening calls to his home phone.”
“Three.” They looked up as one, startled that Sam had rejoined the conversation. “You’re making it sound like I’ve received dozens. I’ve only received three calls.”
From the corner of her eye, Rosie saw Chad shaking his head in frustration.
“Did you recognize the voice?” she asked.
“No. It was a male, no accent that I could hear, street noises in the background but nothing recognizable.” He bit the words out. “First time he talked about how he’d seen me that day and how easy it would be to take me out. How he wished he’d had his gun, then he hung up. He’s gotten a bit more creative since but nothing specific about what I did to make him want to kill me.” He resumed his study of the parking lot.
“What’s Caller ID show?” Kris asked.
“He’s using pay phones at various locations around the city,” Chad answered when Sam didn’t respond. “We’ve checked the addresses, but so far there’ve been no security cameras near the phones. When we dusted the phones for prints, they’d been wiped clean.”
While Kris, Chad and Andy continued to discuss who might have that information, and how easy it might or might not be to find, Rosie let the conversation flow past her and observed Sam ignoring them all. He had eschewed protection for three months, and even now stood in front of a window, a clear target. Was he trying to prove his invincibility? That he wasn’t afraid?
His eyes scanned the rear parking lot, the field beyond. Alert. Aware. But not an ounce of fear.
Maybe he was being driven by guilt. Did he have a death wish? Because if he did, that would make her job that much harder.
She glanced back down at the photo of the leggy blonde. What she wouldn’t give for another eight inches in height and blonde hair. She’d tried peroxide once, but it wasn’t worth the trouble, not with her complexion. But maybe she should consider it again if that’s what it took to get Sam Watson’s attention.
In the reflection of the glass, his eyes met hers. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t, the darkness of his gaze drawing her in, compelling her to keep the contact. There was heat in his gaze, need.
