Nightfire

“And you probably thought watching over me was going to be easy,” Allison said, laughing.

“Easy?” Kane held out a hand and helped her up. “Jumping out of a plane is easy, scaling a twelve-foot wall with a thirty-pound knapsack is easy, even digging trenches in a desert is easy.”

He tried not to look at her lips, tried not to remember how only a few hours ago they’d been so eager against his own. He saw her eyes deepen to a seductive shade of smoky green. He fought the tightening of his groin.

“But watching you is by far the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.”

BARBARA McCAULEY is the author of over thirty bestselling romance novels, including Blackhawk’s Sweet Revenge, the first volume of her popular SECRETS! miniseries for Silhouette. Her work has been nominated eight times by the Romance Writers of America for Best Short Contemporary® in the prestigious RITA Award contest. She has also received numerous “Top Picks” from Romantic Times BOOKclub, plus several Best Short Desire and “W.I.S.H.” awards for her hunky hereos and two Career Achievement Awards. All of her books have appeared on the Walden books romance bestseller lists. A native of Southern California, Ms. McCauley enjoys spending time with her husband and two children, and working in her garden when she can manage to break away from her computer.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Judy. Thanks for being such a great sister. And for Frank. Always.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

One

He stood at the window, waiting, his gaze dispassionate as he quietly observed the traffic moving over the rain-slicked roads below. When her blue minivan pulled up in front of the twelve-story glass-and-chrome office building he recognized it immediately, just as he knew he would recognize her, though he had never actually seen her before. As if announcing her arrival, lightning split the Seattle sky in a burst of white-hot brilliance and the pursuant crack of thunder rattled the office window.

Five hours ago he’d never heard of Allison Elizabeth Westcott, but now he could tell her what she ate for breakfast, where she shopped for clothes and even where she bought her gas. She was five foot six in her stocking feet, brown hair, green eyes. He knew she had a mole on her left breast 1.6 mm wide, a scar on her right knee from a horseback-riding accident two years ago that had ended her dancing career and a speeding ticket from the Seattle police department. A ticket she’d fought against and won, he noted with a flicker of admiration.

Some people might consider his knowledge an invasion of privacy, but it mattered little to him whether they liked it or not. When he had a job to do, feelings meant nothing to him, his or anyone else’s. He simply did what he had to do and made sure no one got hurt.

It was raining hard now and he watched as she darted from her car toward the shelter of the building. It would take her two minutes and forty-five seconds to walk into the room, three minutes, twenty-two seconds if the elevator stopped at every floor.

He stared at his watch and waited.

The storm was already in full force by the time Allison pulled in front of Westcott Pavilion. Raindrops the size of nickels drummed like angry tin soldiers on the hood of her car while a flash of lightning, followed by a distant crack of thunder, promised more to follow.

Allison stared out her windshield at the fierce gray sky, thinking she might wait it out, but the somber note in her father’s voice when he’d called St. Martin’s Center and requested that she come to his office right away allowed no hesitation.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened her car door and dashed furiously across the sidewalk and through the smoked-glass entry doors, catching enough of her reflection to see that her shoulder-length hair was already a mass of damp, disobedient curls. Some people complained it rained every time they washed their cars. With Allison, it rained every time she straightened her hair.

Twelve stories up the elevator doors opened and she stepped out, hesitating at the sight of two men in dark suits standing at the outer door of her father’s office. Though it was certainly not unusual for employees or clients to be milling about, there was something about the men she couldn’t quite place that disturbed her, something that caused a knot to form in her stomach and the hair on the back of her neck to rise. Though she didn’t know them, she had the distinct feeling that they not only knew exactly who she was, but that they’d been waiting for her. They continued to watch her as she approached, then nodded stiffly when she moved past them.

Mrs. Harwood, her father’s secretary, was on the phone. The attractive brunette looked up from her call, then waved anxiously toward the interior office, mouthing the words, “Your father’s waiting.”

What in the world was going on? Allison thought, noting the grim expression on Mrs. Harwood’s face. The woman always had a smile for everyone. The knot in Allison’s stomach tightened a notch.

Her father was sitting at his desk, tapping the polished mahogany top with a silver pen, deeply intent on the paperwork in front of him. She’d always thought he looked more like the football hero he’d once been rather than the president of a computer company—a company he’d started on a dream and five thousand dollars borrowed from a bank he now partly owned. She closed the door behind her. Startled, he looked up from his work.

“Dad, who are those men out in the—”

That’s when she saw the other man. He was standing by the corner window, his arms folded across his wide chest, his dark gaze locked on her. Allison faltered, but it wasn’t just the surprise of realizing she wasn’t alone with her father that had her heart beating faster. It was the intensity of the man’s eyes as he continued to stare at her. She held his gaze, at first because a three-foot crowbar couldn’t have pried her away, and then as she gained her composure, out of sheer defiance.

His hair was dark as coal, his eyes midnight blue, intensely intelligent and completely void of emotion. There were tiny lines at the corners, most certainly from frowning, Allison figured, based on the hard set of his jaw and lips. And tall. At least six foot three, and even with the sport coat and slacks he had on she could see that he had the distinct build of an athlete: broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular arms and legs. His stance appeared casual, but Allison felt the vibrations of the energy coiled inside him, and she sensed he could move with the same speed as the lightning that streaked across the sky behind him at this very moment.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Allison turned back to her father. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with anyone. I can come back—”

Oliver Westcott shook his head. “Come sit, Allison.”

There was something wrong, something terribly wrong, Allison realized with icy dread. She hadn’t heard that tone in her father’s voice since the night he’d called her into his study and told her that her mother had died.

Her legs shook as she moved closer to the desk, but she did not sit. “What is it?”

“Maybe nothing at all,” Oliver answered, and his frown softened. “But just to be on the safe side, I’ve ordered additional security here in the building and brought in Mr. Kane. Kane, this is my daughter, Allison. Allison, Thomas Kane.”

“Mr. Kane.”

He nodded. “Just Kane will do.”

She acknowledged him with a nod of her own, then turned her attention back to her father. She could see he was hedging, and she knew he only did that when he was worried. Really worried. “What ‘safe side’ are you talking about, Dad? What’s happened?”

Oliver sighed, then scooped up the papers on his desk and handed them to Allison. As she took them she realized they weren’t papers, but black-and-white photographs. She glanced at them quickly. They were all pictures of her and her father.

“Detective Carlos Fandino of the Seattle police department gave these to me early this morning,” he said soberly. “The police lab developed them from a roll of film found under the seat of a stolen car.”

She looked at the pictures more closely. The first few shots were of her father coming out of the pavilion. The next three were taken at a restaurant where they’d had lunch together two days earlier. Confused, she continued to move through the pile. There were more shots of her getting into her car after grocery shopping, a few more of her coming out of her apartment.

A cold chill seeped through her as she looked through the pictures. When had these been taken? And by whom? She hadn’t seen anyone with a camera or—

She froze as she came to the last picture. It was of her, obviously taken from a distance with a zoom lens. She knew exactly when and where this picture at been taken: last week, the night she’d slept at her father’s house after his birthday party. She was sitting at the dressing table in the upstairs bedroom.

And the only things she had on were a bra and panties.

Kane watched Allison as she slowly sank into the chair. Her face, flushed only moments ago from her mad dash out of the rain, turned ghostly white, giving her the appearance of a frightened porcelain doll. Her mouth opened in astonishment, and as he stared at her lips he realized they were wider and fuller than he’d noticed in his ID pictures.

She was much more beautiful in the flesh, he decided, but couldn’t quite decide why. Perhaps it was the fire that danced in her brown hair under the fluorescent lights, or maybe it was the shade of green in her eyes, a soft, almost bluish green that reminded him of delicately carved jade statues. Whatever it was, he found it disturbing.

He moved beside her, smelled the wild scent of the storm she’d brought in with her, then reached down and pulled the photographs from her white knuckles. She looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning.

“I—I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “How…Who took these?”

Kane laid the pictures on the desk, then sat on the edge, blocking her view of them. “We don’t know yet. The police are checking out what appears to be a thumbprint on the film case, but the film itself is standard and could be purchased at any one of a hundred stores in this area alone.”

She straightened and her gaze darted to her father. “Has someone threatened you?”

Oliver shook his head. “Only by taking those pictures. But we weren’t the only ones on that roll of film, Allison. There were two other people, local businessmen like myself, well known in the community. They both live on Fox Island within two or three blocks of our house, and they’re both wealthy.” His frown deepened. “And that was just one roll of film. There’s no way of knowing how many more photographs this person—or persons—has taken.”

The thought of someone following her, watching her, taking pictures…Allison tugged her skirt down over her knees. “What about the police?”

Oliver’s sigh had a strong note of exasperation. “There’s been no real threat, just some kook taking pictures. A kook we can’t even identify,” he added with annoyance.

Allison glanced at Kane, then back to her father. “Your security team is more than capable of handling perverted photographers, Dad. I don’t understand why you’ve brought in Mr. Kane.”

“It’s just a precaution, Allie.” Oliver smiled reassuringly. “I’ve got to go to Los Angeles for a few days and I’ll feel better if Kane keeps an eye on things.”

Allison knew her father well enough to know when he wasn’t being completely honest. She shifted her gaze to Kane. Something told her that if she wanted a direct answer, with no sugarcoating, this was the man to ask.

“Mr. Kane, my father has spent my entire life sheltering and protecting me. I know him well enough to recognize when he’s hiding something from me. I would appreciate it if you would tell me what it is he’s worried about.”

Kane glanced at Oliver, who sighed, then nodded. Kane looked back at Allison. “Kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Celebrities or politicians I could maybe understand, but as far as money, there are lots of people here in Seattle with a great deal more than us.”

“What might be pocket change to you could look like a life’s fortune to one of these guys.” Kane picked up a Waterford paperweight on the desk and examined it. “They’ll look for an easy mark. The simple fact that you don’t think it could happen to you makes you that easy mark. In case you weren’t aware of it, kidnapping has become quite fashionable.”

Allison bristled at Kane’s patronizing tone, but she couldn’t argue with the truth of his words. Last year one of her father’s business associates had barely escaped an attempt and then six months ago the newspapers had been filled with the story of the cable-television CEO abducted at gunpoint from his car. His wife had paid the ransom and he was found the next day. Dead.

“What makes you so sure it’s a kidnapping threat?” she asked. “What about extortion, or someone’s twisted attempt at blackmail or even just some crazy that likes to take pictures?”

Impatience shifted Kane’s shoulders. “Not too many photographers steal cars to take pictures. There’s nothing incriminating about the photographs to suggest blackmail, and there’s been no contact for extortion money. If you’re betting with your lives, always take the safe bet. If there’s no kidnapping attempt, the only thing you’ve lost is money.”

She narrowed a cool gaze at him. “And that’s easily replaceable, right?”

“A hell of a lot more replaceable than that pretty little head of yours.”

A sharp response was on the tip of Allison’s tongue, but her father cut her off.

“Allison.” Oliver folded his hands in what Allison knew to be his authoritative pose. “I’m going to be away for the next few days. Kane has ordered extra security at the house and I want you to move in there until we catch this guy.”

She started to protest, but realized her father’s request was not unreasonable. Besides, she slept there quite often, anyway, and she still had her bedroom upstairs. She let out a long sigh, then nodded. “All right, Dad. If it makes you feel better.”

She saw the relief in her father’s eyes that she’d agreed, then the hesitation. “And one more thing—” he paused briefly and cleared his throat “—I’m going to have to ask you to take off a few days from the center.”

Take off a few days? Stunned, Allison stared at her father. He knew how much the center meant to her. The kids there were her life. She couldn’t give that up, not even for a few days. Not for some creep with a camera. Not for anyone.

Shaking her head, she stood and moved behind her chair. “I can’t do that, Dad. They’re shorthanded right now and one of the boys, Billy, just came back from the hospital today following ear surgery. I promised him I’d be there in the morning to check up on him.”

“Allison, please,” Oliver said with such quiet desperation that she felt her determination slip. Her father always demanded or he asked, but he never pleaded.

“I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life,” he continued, “and if it were just myself I wouldn’t give this more than a second thought. But you’re in those pictures, too. You’re the one thing in my life I would never take chances with. Every time you go out in public you’ll be exposing yourself to danger. Kane and I have already agreed that the best thing is for you to stay in the house—”

“Kane and you agreed?” Anger warmed the chill in the pit of her stomach, anger not only at the intrusion in her life, but that this man Kane, a man she’d never met, was already making decisions for her. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, she turned to him.

“That’s another thing I don’t understand,” she said stiffly, holding Kane’s aloof gaze. “My father employs a reputable security company here at the pavilion, but I’ve never seen you before. Just exactly who are you?”

He stood slowly and moved toward her, stopping only inches away from her. He leaned close, close enough she could smell the masculine scent of his skin and see the subtle variations of deep blue in his eyes. A circle of tension surrounded her, then closed in, tighter and tighter, until she felt as if she could barely breathe. He gazed down intently.

“I’m the best, that’s who.”

He spoke with such conviction that only a fool would argue the point. His words were quiet, but he was a man who did not need to raise his voice to get attention, he simply needed to walk into a room.

And he definitely had her attention.

A knock at the office door sounded and Mrs. Harwood stuck her head in. “May I see you for a moment, Mr. Westcott?”

Nodding, Oliver stood. His concerned gaze held Allison. “I know this is a lot coming at you at once, Allison, but there’s no other way to handle this.”

“Dad—”

“Please, baby,” Oliver said, brushing the hair back from her face, “just cooperate with Kane. I know he has some questions for you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

With a sigh, Allison folded her arms tightly and walked to the window. Cooperate with Kane. Cooperate wasn’t the exact meaning here. More like obey. Frustrated, she drew in a slow, fortifying breath and watched a jagged bolt of lightning burst from the clouds.

“You okay?” Kane asked as he moved beside her.

She wasn’t okay. But she sure wasn’t going to let him know that. “My father said you have some questions.”

He leaned against the windowsill, facing her. “Have you noticed anything unusual these last few days? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Someone’s following you and your father, Allison,” Kane said sharply. “If you want me to find them before they find either one of you, then I need your help. I need you to think and think carefully. Have you seen anyone with a camera? The same car more than once? Has anyone stared at you, then quickly looked away?”

Kane watched Allison’s brow furrow as she considered his question. He realized his last question was a stupid one. What man wouldn’t stare at this woman? Or want to take her picture, for that matter? She was a photographer’s dream: a long, sensuous neck, high cheekbones, thick, dark lashes surrounding expressive wide-set eyes. Eyes a man could drown in, if he wasn’t careful. But Kane, of course, was always careful.

He stared at Allison’s reflection in the window, watching her closely as she looked down at the streets below. There was something extraordinary about her, something fragile yet strong at the same time. He knew that she’d studied and taught ballet until she was twenty-four, and had danced professionally until she’d hurt her knee two years ago. She had the lean, slender body of a dancer, small, delicately rounded breasts and legs that would stop traffic.

Under different circumstances he would have pursued this woman with the same diligence he pursued everything in life. But the circumstances wouldn’t allow it. He never became involved with clients, not even for a weekend, which was what he would have had in mind with Allison. He allowed himself one brief image of her stretched out naked beneath him, then quickly banished the thought before his body could react.

Damn. He nearly sighed out loud. It would have been a hell of a weekend.

She continued to stare out the window and her voice was distant when she spoke. “I’ve been spending a lot of extra time at work lately, and other than lunch with my father I haven’t been anywhere.”

“You were out to dinner three nights ago with a man named Michael Peterson.”

Eyes wide, Allison turned and looked sharply at Kane. “So I was, Mr. Kane. And how would you happen to know that?”

He had her full attention now. Good. “What I know and how I know it isn’t important. What is important is that you try to remember where you’ve been this last week, especially on the days those pictures were taken. Everywhere you went, everyone you talked to and everyone who talked to you. Think carefully.”

Allison was having trouble thinking at all. First she’d had the shock of the pictures, and now this man was nonchalantly reporting who she’d been to dinner with. She was beginning to wonder who she should be more worried about—the man taking the pictures or Mr. Thomas Kane.

“I’d remember anyone strange at the center,” she said with exasperation. “But beyond that I couldn’t possibly remember every person I’ve talked to.”

“You have to remember,” he insisted. “A clerk, a waiter, someone who may have asked you for the time or held the door for you. Anything and everything. It might matter a lot to you, and to your father, as well.”

Her father. She remembered the murdered CEO and closed her eyes, concentrating, forcing her mind to recall every movement of the last few days, to search for anything even remotely out of the ordinary.

There was the dry cleaners’…the service on her car…dinner with Michael…

Nothing exciting and certainly nothing out of the ordinary.

Sighing, she looked at Kane and shook her head. “I couldn’t even tell you what I had for dinner the other night.”

“Chicken amandine.”

Stunned, she simply stared at him. And then something incredible happened.

He smiled.

Well, almost a smile, Allison corrected. It was more like the slightest uplifting of one corner of his mouth and an imperceptible tightening at the edges of his eyes. Though only for a second, the hard, sharp angles of his face softened. The change was subtle, but the effect was overwhelming. She felt the steady, deep thud of her heart and cursed herself for finding him attractive. “You mentioned my father hired you because you’re the best, Mr. Kane. What exactly is it that you’re best at?”

Too late, Allison realized the sexual nature of her question. In the briefest moment, as they stared at each other, it seemed as if the storm had moved into the room with them and charged the air with electricity. She felt it skipping up her back and tightening her skin. She held her breath, anticipating his answer.

“Kidnapping.”

She blinked slowly. “You kidnap people?”

Kane’s smile widened a fraction. “I’m more interested in prevention.”

“That’s what you do?” She lowered her brow. “You prevent kidnappings?”

“It’s a living.” A good one, Kane might have added, but didn’t. His business had increased fifteen percent last year and he expected that figure to double this year. Men—and women—of wealth and power paid well to protect themselves and those they love. “My company is based in Miami. I have references, if you’d like to see them.”

“That won’t be necessary.” This man needed no references, Allison thought. And it wasn’t just his height or the muscular build of his body that was so formidable. There was a presence about him, a manner that radiated from him that was as primitive as it was powerful. A power that men respected and women responded to at the most basic level. And she, Allison noted with annoyance, was obviously no exception.