A Time to Die. BEVERLY BARTON
A flash of sadness.”
Every muscle in his body tensed.
“I apologize,” she said. “I can see you’d rather not talk about it.”
“There is no it.” He stood and turned his back on her. “I’ll check the doors and windows now, then again after I take my shower.” After he finished his inspection, he walked toward the guest bedroom. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Certainly.”
With his hand on the door handle, he paused and said, “I’ll check on you, too, before I go to bed. Do not answer the door, no matter who it is. Not unless I’m with you. And if you need me, don’t hesitate to call out to me. Scream, if necessary.”
“Yes, I will.”
He escaped into the bedroom, closing the door, shutting out the sight and sound of Lexie Murrough. He didn’t like the way she seemed to be able to read him so clearly, to see beyond the obvious.
This wasn’t going to work. He’d been a fool to think it would.
Tomorrow he would call Geoff and let him know he’d been right—they needed to exchange clients.
THE LITTLE BOMB had been simple to construct and very easy to hide away in the storage closet at Helping Hands. Even if someone had caught him there, no one would have questioned him or suspected him of doing anything wrong, because everyone knew him. Luckily, he’d been able to enter and exit the closet without detection. If he was very careful, his next menacing act could be carried out as easily.
Although he was in the United States on a far greater mission, one that would soon come to fruition just in time for the Jewish and Christian holidays that were approaching, he had been given permission to claim the personal revenge that was his due. As long as his personal issues did not interfere with the job the Majeed had sent him here to do, he could threaten and torment Lexie Murrough, and even kill her when the time came.
Did she honestly think that a few good deeds would absolve her of guilt? She was just like all the other Americans who thought handing out food and medicine to the people of a suffering nation was enough penance for their nation’s gluttony and greed. The United States and its closest ally, Great Britain, possessed a condescending attitude toward the African and Middle Eastern countries whose beliefs and lifestyles differed greatly from their vast majority. They felt they were right and all others were wrong. They plotted and executed horrendous crimes in secret, then presented themselves on the world stage as benevolent and fair.
He did not know the names of the men who had killed Babu Tum, nor would he recognize their faces. But he remembered one face, a face that, to him, had come to symbolize the United States. She had been there that day, covering the inauguration for her television network. She had been welcomed into Gadi, had taken advantage of the new government’s desire to be publicized in a positive light, all the while knowing that a team of highly trained soldiers from her country and the U.K. would kill the newly elected president.
It was partial justice that she had been shot and almost died. But until she paid the ultimate price…
He could have killed her today. He could have placed the bomb in her office. But that would have been too easy. Lexie Murrough deserved to suffer. He intended to see that she and the woman whose money allowed her to play the benevolent benefactor to Gadi both knew the true meaning of torment. And on the day when he and other members of the Majeed issued the United States a dire warning, Lexie Murrough would become just one more casualty in the great war of good versus evil.
CARA PROPPED the large, overstuffed down pillows behind her back and nestled into a comfortable position so that she could read. Since taking over as the CEO of her father’s worldwide conglomerate, she had little time for reading, so she usually read at night for an hour or so before falling asleep. But tonight her mind wouldn’t settle down enough for her to concentrate, and as she gazed at the open page of the latest Kay Hooper novel, the words seemed to run together.
This had been one hell of a day. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t become accustomed to handling crises on a weekly, if not daily, basis, but the bomb at Helping Hands had been totally unexpected. Why would anyone bomb the headquarters of a charity organization? And why would that same someone issue a threat to a woman such as Lexie Murrough?
Don’t forget that he extended that threat to you, too, she reminded herself.
Being the primary heir to a sizeable fortune made her vulnerable to fortune hunters and crazies, and she seldom went out in public without a member of the corporate security force. Both the downtown Chattanooga headquarters and the family home here on Lookout Mountain had the best security money could buy. She believed in covering all her bases, in being overly cautious when it came to her life. That was why she had called in Dundee’s. They would not only provide private bodyguards 24/7 for her and Lexie, but they would do their own independent investigation.
Lieutenant Desmond would cooperate with Dundee’s, up to a point. Two years ago, when her half sister had come up missing, her father had hired Dundee Security, and Daddy dearest—may his soul rest in peace instead of rotting in hell, where he probably deserved to be—hired only the best. In that, she was her father’s daughter.
Who was she kidding? She was Edward Bedell’s daughter in more ways than she wanted to be. She not only resembled him—with her freckles, bright-red hair and tall, rawboned build—but she possessed an innate business sense that astounded her father’s associates, especially those who had been leery of a twenty-four-year-old taking control.
When her cell phone rang, Cara hesitated before she checked the caller ID. Her former brother-in-law had been pursuing her, begging her to marry him, for two years now. Although she had discouraged him as much as possible without being unkind, he was the type who refused to take no for an answer. He made a point of phoning her several times a week, usually around this time of night, reminding her of how much he adored her.
Hogwash. Grayson Perkins loved Grayson Perkins. But to give the devil his due, Gray had actually loved her sister, Audrey; it was just that he’d loved her money even more. And that was what he loved about Cara—the Bedell billions. She might have been foolish enough to believe his lies when she was a teenager, but after having a crush on Gray all her life, she’d finally wised up.
When she noted the caller’s number, Cara tensed. But not because it was Gray. She lifted the phone from the nightstand, flipped it open and said, “Hello, Lieutenant Desmond.”
“Good evening, Ms. Bedell.”
“Do you have something to report about today’s bombing at Helping Hands?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, not yet. This is a courtesy call. I wanted to make sure you’re following your bodyguard’s orders and not giving him any trouble.”
“Have you already called Lexie to make sure she’s toeing the line?”
“I don’t need to do that with Lexie. She’s not as headstrong and impulsive as you are.”
“I’d think you might drop by in person to make sure that big, hunky bodyguard of hers doesn’t sweep her off her feet. After all, you don’t want some other guy trespassing on your territory, do you?”
Bain Desmond chuckled. “You know that Lexie and I are just friends.”
“And what are we, Bain? Certainly not friends.”
“I guess we’re just acquaintances, Ms. Bedell. I mean, what else could we be? You’re who you are—the CEO of Bedell, Inc., who’s worth billions—and I’m a CPD detective with less than fifty grand in the bank.”
“East and West and never the twain shall meet, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m going to get married one of these days,” she told him.
“Yeah, you probably will. Just don’t marry Grayson Perkins.”
“No chance