“I get these pretty often.” He picked up his drink and tried to douse the unwelcome desire. If Zack had a lover, he would go straight home and get laid.
Natalie looked up. “How much time am I going to have to spend with you?”
Too much, he thought. “That depends on how long it takes to get you settled.” For the first month, he normally dealt with a relocated family on a daily, Monday through Friday basis, but he never really knew what to expect. Some witnesses required more guidance than others. “We need to work out a schedule so I can familiarize you with the area, find you a car, help you scout locations for your boutique.” Pausing, he glanced around. “And finish furnishing this house.”
“I want to enroll in school, too.”
“Of course.” He knew she had plans to further her education. All she had was a high-school diploma to her name—her old name and her new one. WITSEC only supplied documents to which a witness was entitled.
“I was told North Idaho College has workforce-training classes.”
Curious, he sat back, gauging her. “What are you interested in taking?”
“Business-related courses.”
Could she be a little more specific? “To prepare you for the boutique?”
She squared her shoulders. “Yes, but I worked at a clothing store. I have experience to rely on, too.”
Her confident posture didn’t fool him. From what he understood, her job as a salesclerk had been short-lived, a few months at best. “That was a long time ago.”
“It’ll come back to me.”
“I’m sure school will help.” According to Natalie’s file, she’d met David Halloway at one of his strip clubs, auditioning to be a lap dancer. And that, he thought, was a far cry from a retail store. “I’ll drive you to the college tomorrow. You can pick up a catalog.”
“What about my furniture? Can we take care of that tomorrow, as well?”
“Sure.”
She blew out an audible breath. “I need to increase my wardrobe, too. My old clothes don’t fit anymore. WITSEC got me some new things, but the selection is rather limited.”
Zack studied the top of her pantsuit. “Looks like you finagled some nice duds to me.”
“Finagled?” Her eyes, those smoky cat eyes, turned sharp. “I’ve gone from a size twelve to a size eight within a matter of months. What was I supposed to wear on this trip? A gunnysack? Or did you expect WITSEC to send me to Idaho naked?”
He cleared his throat. Picturing her naked wasn’t on the agenda. “Fine. I’ll take you to the mall when I get a chance. But don’t ask me to arrange for the funds. That wasn’t part of your MOU.”
“Don’t preach to me about my Memorandum of Understanding. I’m well aware of what was in it.” Defiant, she lifted her chin. “I’m more than capable of buying my own clothes.”
And living on the stipend WITSEC provided, he thought. Until she got her business off the ground, the government would be paying her way.
Finally, they finished their lunch. She crumpled their trash and stuffed it back into the bag. Before things turned tense again, he asked, “Do you want to get groceries now?”
She shook her head. “Truthfully? I don’t feel like going back out.”
“Then give me a list and I’ll take care of it.” He wasn’t about to leave her with an empty fridge. She already looked as though she starved herself.
“That sounds fine to me.” She rose to get her purse, which she’d left on the kitchen counter.
He turned to watch her, to wonder what her audition as a lap dancer had been like. Had she gotten the job? Zack couldn’t be sure. There were no tax records linking her to Halloway’s clubs, but that didn’t mean she and Halloway hadn’t cheated Uncle Sam, keeping Natalie’s earnings off the books.
She returned with a pen and paper and a tiny spiral-bound notebook she must have had in her bag. While she concentrated on a grocery list, he tried to evaluate her. Some of Halloway’s strippers turned tricks, but Natalie had snared the boss.
She handed over the paper, and he scanned the items she’d requested. She’d kept it simple, but she seemed more interested in buying clothes than food. Or taking off her clothes, he reminded himself. Halloway’s clubs were fully nude, with a reputation for being raunchy.
He came to his feet. “Are you sure this is all you want?”
She nodded. “Will you bring my suitcase in before you go?”
He grabbed his keys and went outside. When he came back, she was standing in the living room. The empty background nearly swallowed her whole, and suddenly he didn’t want to leave. Would she be all right by herself? Once again, she looked soft and vulnerable. Nancy Perris. Natalie Pascal. The woman who confused the hell out of him.
The following morning Natalie stood in front of a full-length mirror, assessing her appearance. With clammy fingers, she feathered her shorn hair. She still wasn’t used to being a blonde, but her hair wasn’t the only significant change. Her body was different, too.
Scanning her lean, almost shapeless figure, she smoothed her blouse. Her breast implants had been removed, but eye-popping cleavage would look ridiculous on her now. Besides, David had insisted on increasing the size of her bust. He’d chosen the doctor, booked the consultation and paid for the surgery. Natalie had merely stumbled along like a witless brunette, doting on his generosity. Not that she didn’t think women had a right to endow their bodies, to look and feel more attractive. But pumping up your breasts and squeezing into tight dresses to please a man wasn’t the answer.
With an exhausted sigh, she gazed at her haunted reflection. Brave talk for a woman plagued by nightmares. How many times a week would she have to relive the night of the murder? To remember what David had said to her after the shooting? To recall what he’d done? Natalie had been so shocked, so afraid, so mortally wounded, she’d never told anyone, not even the FBI. Not that it mattered. What had transpired between her and David wouldn’t change the outcome of his trial.
Still standing in front of the mirror, she frowned at the shadows under her eyes. She’d tried to cover them with a concealer, but remnants of a sleepless night still lingered.
Anxious, she glanced at the clock. Zack would be here soon. They’d made arrangements to meet at ten o’clock. She hated being at his mercy, but what could she do? Complain to WITSEC? Tell them her inspector was domineering and critical? Oh, sure. And maybe while she was spouting off, she could admit that she found him sexually stirring, too. That ought to earn her some respect. No, she thought. She wouldn’t involve WITSEC. If she complained, it would be to the man himself.
When the doorbell rang, she nearly jumped. Why did he have to make her so damn nervous?
She answered the summons, and he gave her a polite nod. A silent hello, she supposed. He wore casual clothes: a tan shirt, jeans, a lightweight jacket. He’d also donned a pair of sunglasses. She would prefer to see his eyes. She had the
