A Time to Die. BEVERLY BARTON
not really handsome, but he was thoroughly masculine. Mr. Rough and Rugged. During their long conversation last evening, she’d learned he was half English and half Scot, and although he maintained a distinct UK accent, he had picked up some Southern words and phrases that seemed strange coming out of his mouth.
When she’d kept referring to him as Mr. Monday, he’d told her to just call him Geoff, to which she had replied, “Then you should call me Cara. After all, we’re going to be together for Lord knows how many days, or even weeks.”
Cara preened for Geoff, feeling totally relaxed around the big, brawny blond, understanding that his teasing was good-natured fun and not serious flirting.
“Dressing to impress the Chattanooga PD, huh?” Geoff made the comment in a joking manner.
Cara’s smile wavered. “I have to dress to impress everyone. After all, I am Cara Bedell, and certain things are expected of me. Whatever would Lieutenant Desmond think if I greeted him in my old sweats?”
THE BEDELL BUTLER, a middle-aged man named Aldridge, escorted Bain into the living room. Bain had hated this damn mausoleum the first time he’d walked through the doors nearly two and a half years ago. Recently, Cara had done some redecorating, and at least the place seemed less austere and formidable, but for his tastes, the house was too big to be a home. A small hotel or a bed and breakfast, yeah, but a home where he would ever feel comfortable? No way in hell.
What difference did it make whether he liked this place or not, that he’d never feel comfortable here? It wasn’t as if he would ever be living in the Bedell mansion.
“Please have a seat,” Aldridge instructed. “Ms. Bedell and Mr. Monday will join you shortly.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Bain didn’t sit; instead he wandered about the huge room. The furnishings probably cost more than he would earn in a lifetime. Why would anybody need such expensive stuff?
But it wasn’t as if Cara had gone out and bought everything new. The furniture had been in her family for generations. Priceless antiques. Bain grunted. The only thing he owned that could be even halfway considered an antique was his great-granddad’s old pocket watch, which he kept in a safe deposit box. He had come from people who had nothing material to show for backbreaking physical labor. His great-grandparents on all four sides had been dirt-poor farmers, his maternal grandfather had been a truck driver, and his paternal grandfather a Chattanooga policeman. His dad had followed in his own father’s footsteps, and when Bain joined the force, the third-generation Desmond to become a blue knight, he’d made it a family tradition.
Bain studied a sculpture on the mantel, a nude male figure in bronze.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Cara said from behind him.
He took a deep breath and turned to face her, then glanced past her at the Dundee agent guarding her back. He couldn’t say he liked the fact that another man was spending twenty-four hours a day with Cara, but he was glad she had hired the best to protect her and Lexie. Since she’d taken over Bedell, Inc., after her father’s suicide, he’d mentioned to her on more than one occasion that a person in her position should have a bodyguard. She had pointed out that the security at her home and downtown headquarters was first-rate, and that whenever she traveled, she took one of the company’s security staff with her.
“Lexie and Mr. Bronson are meeting us here,” Bain said. “I didn’t see any point in going over the same information twice.”
When his gaze connected with Cara’s, he saw a flicker of yearning in her eyes. Could she see the same need in his? Probably. Although they’d never shared more than a couple of spontaneous kisses and hadn’t come anywhere close to admitting they wanted each other, the hunger between them was undeniable. But it was a hunger they could never appease. If they ever did, it could only end badly for both of them.
Following Edward Bedell’s suicide, shortly after he had admitted accidentally killing his elder daughter, Bain had been tempted to confess his personal interest in Cara. But only because he’d been concerned that her worthless, pretty-boy brother-in-law would take advantage of the crush she’d had on him since she was a teenager. Grayson Perkins was a sycophantic leech who had thought he could sweet-talk his way into marriage with a second Bedell sister. Thankfully, Cara had come to her senses before succumbing to the man’s immense charm. But the jerk was still in Cara’s life, still a VP at Bedell, Inc., and still clinging to the illusion that one day he would persuade Cara to marry him.
At least Cara didn’t have to endure her stepmother’s presence. She’d paid Patrice a small fortune to get rid of her, and now the fourth Mrs. Bedell was living happily in Europe.
“Would you care for coffee?” Cara asked as she approached Bain.
He shook his head. “No, thanks.”
She held out her hand. “I appreciate your coming here yourself to give us the report instead of simply telephoning.”
He eyed her long, elegant fingers—void of rings, the short, tapered nails painted with clear polish—and momentarily hesitated, but finally he took her slender hand and gave it a sturdy shake. “Just doing my job.” He reluctantly released her.
With a wave of her arm, she indicated that he should sit. When he settled on the brocade sofa, she sat beside him, leaving a good three feet between them. In his peripheral vision, Bain noticed Geoff Monday taking a stance behind and to the right of the sofa.
“Was traffic bad this morning?” Cara asked.
Bain shrugged. “About usual for this time of day.”
“Hmm… It looks like it’ll be a beautiful, sunny day. The high is supposed to be around sixty-eight.”
“Yeah, that’s what Channel Twelve was forecasting.”
As they sat there making idle chitchat, Bain almost forgot that they weren’t alone, because the Dundee agent, like any good bodyguard, although nearby, was unobtrusive.
The pocket doors opened, and Aldridge stepped over the threshold. “Excuse me, Ms. Bedell, but there’s a phone call for you.” He held the portable phone in his hand, his palm cupping the mouthpiece.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“The gentleman didn’t say, but he insisted it was urgent,” Aldridge said. “‘A matter of life and death’ were his exact words.”
Bain’s gaze, which Cara had been deliberately avoiding during their meaningless conversation, collided with hers.
“You don’t think it’s—”
“Take the call,” Bain told her. “I’ll listen in on the extension. Is there still one in here?”
She nodded and pointed to the decorative crystal phone on the antique mahogany table in the corner.
“Later this morning, I’ll get some guys up here to install the proper equipment to monitor all your calls. And we’ll do the same for your lines at Bedell, Inc.” He would also make sure all the phones Lexie used were monitored, too.
Cara rose from the sofa and reached out to take the phone from Aldridge, but she waited until Bain reached the extension before she put the handset to her ear and said, “This is Cara Bedell. What seems to be the emergency?”
Bain lifted the extension without making a sound.
The man spoke in a muffled, disguised voice. “If you withdraw your support of Helping Hands and publicly denounce Lexie Murrough as a selfish, self-serving hypocrite, I will spare your life.”
“Who are you, and why are you doing this?” Cara asked.
She kept her gaze locked with Bain’s. Geoff Monday did not interfere.
“Who I am is unimportant. I will give you forty-eight hours to comply with my wishes. If you do not, you will remain my enemy and thus must pay the price for your loyalty to one so unworthy.”
The dial