“I was about to wake my father from his afternoon rest before Casey got home. I didn’t hear or see a thing until you came.”
Graham returned his attention to Casey. “When you weren’t here at the apartment earlier—thank God, you weren’t—your visitor must have split. Apparently he got exactly the information he needed.”
The other apartment door opened again. Casey heard Anton’s carpet slippers shuffle across the hall. The older man sounded frantic. His European accent had deepened.
“What is happening? I wake up from my nap and Rafe is gone.” She envisioned Anton’s graying hair, standing on end, his blue eyes fierce. “You are not hurt again, Casey?”
“No.” Not too much. “I’m fine.” She reached out a reassuring hand, and heard Rafe bend down to retrieve his gun. Graham didn’t stop him, but his tone stayed grim.
“I’ll talk to you later, Valera. You too, Anton.” He waited until they went back across the hall. Then he ushered Casey inside and locked the door.
“If I had any doubts before about your hit-and-run being deliberate, Casey, I don’t now. Ever since the revolving-door incident, I’ve been wondering if the guy saw me with you in that lobby. If he did, then why risk going after you?” Graham paused. “Now I wonder if he did see me—and wanted us to know that you aren’t safe, even with someone else around. That you’re a target even in a crowd.”
Casey shivered. “Because I’m…blind.”
“I think he wants us to know you’re always alone in that way, always vulnerable. And he can get to you. No matter where you are.”
Us? “Then earlier he didn’t mean to kill me.”
“It was a warning,” Graham suggested. “But why?”
Without thinking, Casey took a step forward. Graham moved, too. Then she was in his strong, hard arms, held tight to his broad chest. Graham pressed his cheek to her hair.
“What the hell is going on?” he muttered.
Casey didn’t know. Yet even here, in her own home, she wasn’t safe. Until she learned why, she wouldn’t forget those terrifying moments caught in the whirling doors.
Just as she couldn’t forget the man in the elevator.
Or being run down like some hunted prey.
Chapter Two
The next morning when Casey’s doorbell buzzed, her heart beat so fast it threatened to shatter. She felt her pulse in the still-stinging scrapes on her hands and knees. After yesterday’s twin mishaps, she stood frozen with one hand on the doorknob. Outside she could hear someone breathing heavily.
He wants us to know you’re alone…vulnerable.
What if her attacker was just inches away, with only the closed door between them and her possible murder?
“Casey, open up. It’s okay.”
Graham. Still, Casey hesitated. Last night she had stayed in Graham’s embrace until she finally stopped trembling, automatically seeking solace in his familiar scent, and the safety she found in his arms. She refused to let him stay the night, then hadn’t slept a wink after he left.
Casey fumbled the locks open. “What are you doing here again?” She heard something whap, hard and rhythmically, against the nearby wall. Then something warm and moist nudged her side.
“I brought you a present.” Graham stepped into the apartment. His arm brushed hers for a fraction of a second, and a disturbing tingle of awareness ran over her skin. “The wet nose comes with the dog.” Casey heard the sharp click of toenails on her entry floor. “Meet Sweet William,” Graham said.
“A guard dog?”
For an instant she preferred that to Graham’s scent, his touch, his masculine aura. The too-vivid memory of his dark hair and eyes, that hot gaze that would send desire racing through her body. Even without her sight, she had perfect recall of his high-chiseled cheekbones, his broad shoulders, his muscled chest, his washboard belly, strong tanned hands and powerful thighs. She didn’t have to see, Casey realized, to get the same effect. The flesh on her bare arm still buzzed from their brief contact.
“A guide dog,” Graham corrected.
But she didn’t want his help. Somehow she had to pick up the pieces of her own life and go on. Only yesterday she’d learned that her blindness might be permanent. In the doctor’s office she’d considered the possibility of getting a dog, maybe even the eventuality, but her comment then had been facetious, a quip to keep her from falling apart. For weeks she’d held the hope of a complete recovery. She wasn’t ready to consider the full impact of her situation.
Leaving Graham and the dog to follow, Casey inched, one hand braced on the wall, into the living room. Twelve paces to the sofa, she remembered, not letting her skin graze Graham’s again. But she couldn’t avoid inhaling the clean-soap smell of him. Which only hardened Casey’s resolve.
She would try to retain some of the independence she’d lost with her sight. Take care of herself.
As if to disagree, Sweet William padded right behind her. With that name alone, how could she feel afraid?
Graham steered her to a chair, and Casey struggled not to feel that same jangling awareness when his soap-scented skin met hers. She felt the heat of his hand against her back and the slow burn flared deeper in her abdomen.
“Last night,” Graham began, “I made some telephone calls. Finally one of my contacts led me to the Guide Dog Institute. This morning the director told me they have a waiting list a mile long, that there was no hope of getting a dog any time soon. But then he remembered Willy. He’s a golden retriever and highly trained,” Graham went on. “But he’s getting along in years. Because of his age, the institute decided to retire him. He’s out of the program now and he’s been up for adoption, more as a pet or companion, but so far no one has taken him.”
“I can’t, either,” Casey murmured.
She heard the irritation in his tone. “No? From what I told him, the director seems to think you and Willy might make a good match. He let me pick him up today for a trial. Listen,” Graham said, “just keep him for a few days and see how it goes. I’ll buy some dog food, a bed, whatever else he needs. You can get to know each other. And, oh,” he added, as if he’d just thought of it, “the institute will throw in some training lessons. Normally their program is pretty rigorous and intense, but he thinks you can learn the basics in a week or two. I took the liberty of signing you up for a first session.”
“You did?” Casey sighed in frustration. “Does the word divorce hold any meaning for you?”
“Oh, yeah.” He didn’t sound happy. “Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean I have to quit worrying about you.”
“I don’t need your concern.”
“After yesterday? Great.” She heard him drop onto another chair, clearly intending to stay. At the same time Willy apparently decided to lie down next to Casey. He circled a
