were both habits Nate had, ones Boone hadn’t consciously noted until seeing them echoed in Christie.
He picked up the photo, studying her, filling in the blanks. Once Seth had sent out the SOS, Boone had used his slippery network of inside sources—some from the military, some from domestic agencies—and found the records of the stalker immediately. He’d spent the next five hours digesting everything he could about the geek. Then he’d come here. He didn’t live far—a rented house in Pasadena. It hadn’t taken any time to gather his equipment. He always had it packed.
The only problem was the work he’d left behind. He might be living under the radar, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t busy. Since he’d come back from the Balkans, he’d found a lot of people who needed his services. Others, like himself, who worked in the shadows, came to him when they had security problems. Someone listening. Someone they needed to listen to. Although he’d been a radioman in Delta, he’d acquired a lot of gadgets and the know-how to get the jobs done.
Seth had stepped up to the plate once more. If anyone knew more about covert surveillance than Boone, it was Seth, and he’d agreed to take over Boone’s jobs until the stalking bastard had been taken out. It was a relief to know that despite the mess they were all in, the unit had never lost touch. They were a team, now and always.
Boone moved on. The hallway. The guest bedroom. The back porch. The collection of bugs grew. Most of them were listening devices, but some were also cameras. The freak understood about security grids, so that there were pitifully few places for Christie to hide.
He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the prick.
The first hints of daylight were changing the sky when Boone felt as if he could stop. He wasn’t finished. He wanted to do more sophisticated tests, but that could wait until he’d caught a few hours of sleep.
Besides, it looked like Milo, who’d been following him from room to room, carrying his mangled bone, wasn’t going to rest until he did.
Instead of going to the guest room, which was too far away from the doors, Boone would crash in the living room. He’d left the computer running, his software checking every line of code. By the time he woke up, he should know exactly what the geek had planted.
There was only one more thing he had to do before he could rest. In four different spots in the house, Boone put in four different cameras. His own. Not to spy on Christie, but to catch the geek. Maybe he wouldn’t need them, but Boone wasn’t a man to take chances. He also put a bug in the phone. If the stalker called again, Boone wanted a record.
After running a quick check to make sure everything was running properly, he went to the living room and decided the couch was too narrow, so he stretched out on the floor. Milo joined him, not touching, but close. Boone closed his eyes, and he was gone.
CHRISTIE HEADED TOWARD THE GUEST ROOM, tightening the belt of her robe and wondering just how much of last night was real, when she saw him on the floor.
He was on his back. No pillow, no blanket. Just flat out, his mouth slightly open, his right arm flung across his chest. Milo, who was curled up next to Boone’s hip, looked up at her questioningly, as if defending his choice of sleepmates.
Okay, so the Boone part hadn’t been a dream. Which meant the bugs and cameras weren’t, either.
She headed to the kitchen and got busy making coffee. She felt odd, and not just because of the stranger in her home. After the fourth scoop of Sumatra Mandheling, it dawned on her that she felt rested. Not week-in-a-spa rested, but it was the first morning in ages she could actually see clearly. More than that, the panic that had become her heartbeat was gone. No, not gone. Dampened. Definitely dampened.
In theory, Boone could be the bastard. Somehow, though, she didn’t think so. He would have tried something last night. She’d crashed in bed, he’d disabled the phone and she had no weapons. He already knew that if she were too scared, she passed out like a little girl. Instead, he’d gone to sleep on the floor of her living room. She didn’t understand that part at all. There was a perfectly nice guest bedroom just down the hall—so, what, he had a bad back?
What she needed was coffee and an explanation. She desperately wanted him to be just what he said he was. It embarrassed her to realize how badly she needed to be rescued. Her, the woman who’d built her life around the fact that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That the knight in shining armor was nothing but a myth. And a destructive one at that.
She poured the water into the coffeemaker and pressed the On button. The gurgle was a welcome sound, as was the click of doggie nails on the bamboo floor. Turning to face a very guilty-looking Milo, she crossed her arms and gave him the glare. “Breakfast time and who loves Mom now, huh? Didn’t your new best friend bring kibble, too?”
“Nope. Forgot it.”
Christie looked up to find Boone, his hair sticking up and his shirt wrinkled, standing just outside the kitchen.
“Is that coffee?”
“It is.”
“You have cream?”
“Milk.”
“It’ll do. I’ll be back.” He turned and headed toward the bathroom.
She looked at Milo. “What do you see in him? Besides his big bone?”
Milo wagged his tail, but that was probably more to do with the fact that she’d picked up his bowl than any prurient interest in Boone.
As she gave Milo his two scoops, she had yet another revelation. She’d made a joke. An admittedly poor joke, but still. Nothing had been funny, not since that first phone call. She put the dog dish down and when she stood, she pushed her hair back. It was longer than she liked it, and she hadn’t had highlights in four months. Hair care, along with other nonessentials such as eating and sleeping, had slipped away as she’d been forced into her nightmare existence. Seems, however, that like her sense of humor, she’d discovered she still had some vanity left, and she wished she’d showered before coming into the kitchen.
When Boone joined her, he’d changed into a plain white T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. Her idea of him as a businessman fell away as he reached down to pet Milo. The muscles of his back strained the shirt, making her wonder how he kept in such good shape. Of course, her gaze shifted downward and his jeans were just tight enough for her to see the curve of his small, tight, high rear end. Not that she had any prurient interest, either.
He stood and she blushed.
“Coffee?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower. Help yourself. And don’t leave. We need to talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
She headed to her room, curious, concerned, confused. But she couldn’t interrogate someone while in her bathrobe. After gathering her clothes, she went into her shower, making the water as hot as she could stand it. She’d had three nozzles installed, not just one, and they hit her in all the right places. Head, upper back, lower back. Perfect to release tension. Maybe today it would do just that.
THE PHONE RANG
