tucked behind her as she balanced on the other. “You disapprove.”
He shrugged. “Clearly you don’t have the necessary precautions in place.”
He could almost see her hackles rise. “We’ve never had a hint of trouble. Still haven’t, for that matter…at least when it comes to my guests. But the article has opened a Pandora’s box. I need you to nail shut the lid.”
“I have to be honest with you, Winnie. You’re damned naive.”
Her eyes flashed and her hands fisted at her sides. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. I’m hiring you for security, not judgment.”
“Too bad,” he said, the dual syllables terse. “My protection comes with a whole complement of advice. It’s what I do.” He looked out across the neatly mowed lawn. “Take me down there.”
Winnie flinched. “Absolutely not. The women and children in the building are terrified of men…any men.”
“I won’t hurt them. Hell, I won’t even scare them.”
“You don’t know that. Everything about you screams macho alpha guy. You practically ooze testosterone.”
He grinned, the male in him reacting to her interest, even if it was reluctantly given. “Give me a little credit. I can do lowkey. Part of my job is surveillance, remember?”
“I’ve never let anyone step over that doorstep except me and a handful of other professional women.”
“Like who?”
“Doctors. Psychologists. A social worker.” Her unease was palpable.
“You trusted me enough to hire me. Now let me do my job.”
Their eyes locked, determination in his…enormous reluctance in hers. “Perhaps we could save that for tomorrow.”
“Now, Winnie. There’s no reason to wait.” He hadn’t yet had time to fully evaluate possible threats, but he needed to see the whole picture. Protecting the weak and helpless was a calling for him, perhaps not in his personal life, but definitely as a businessman. He would do everything in his power to make sure that Winnie and her charges were safe.
He kept his gaze steady, implacable. Sometimes people didn’t understand how precarious their safety really was. He had a hunch that Winnie was fairly self-aware, but the notion that evil could strike at any moment was a difficult concept for most normal people to accept.
Larkin had seen things that chilled his blood, some of them in his own backyard. He never allowed himself to be lulled into complacency. The world was full of monsters, even on a day that seemed as lovely and serene as a midsummer night’s eve.
At last, his dainty employer cracked. “Fine,” she said, her expression irritated but resigned. “Let me get my shoes.”
She was gone barely a minute. When she returned, something in his stomach tightened in appreciation. Her footwear was an odd cross between practical and quirky. Flat gold sandals made of an infinite number of narrow straps encased her feet and ran halfway up shapely, toned calves. The lick of arousal he experienced disconcerted him.
He swallowed, trying not to look down. “You ready?”
She lifted her chin, nose in the air. “Follow me.” By her voice and expression he saw that she was determined to be in charge. Her contrariness amused him. He’d let her take the lead, but when it came to the job, he’d do it his way, even if she balked. Winnie was paying him for his experience and expertise. Whether she liked it or not, he would take care of whatever or whoever was causing problems.
The stroll across the lawn was accomplished without words. Birds twittered, wind rustled in the trees and somewhere in the distance a lawn mower hummed. Winnie, however, maintained a stiff-lipped silence. Once, when she stumbled briefly, he touched her elbow automatically. She jerked away, no surprise, but not before the feel of her skin was burned into his fingertips. Soft, warm…delicate. Focusing his attention elsewhere was surprisingly difficult.
All the while they walked, he scanned the area, cataloging deficiencies in her security. Unless she had some kind of electrical perimeter, the low split-rail fencing in the distance was nothing more than decoration. With her hand on the front door handle of the neat brick structure, Winnie paused. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “The children haven’t been able to play outside,” she said, “since the article ran. And I’m responsible.”
He saw pain in her eyes. Regret. Frustrated helplessness. All emotions he had known intimately as a child unable to protect his siblings. “You’re not responsible,” he said, touching her shoulder briefly in what he told himself was a gesture of comfort. “The situation is regrettable, but easily fixed.”
“What do you mean?” Hope and suspicion warred in her striking eyes.
“We’ll string up a camouflage tarp tomorrow…the kind of thing they use on army posts in the Middle East. From the air no one will be able to see the kids.”
“It’s that easy?”
“Let’s just say that’s the least of our problems.”
She worried her lower lip. “Promise you won’t talk to them.”
He mimed locking his mouth and tossing away the key. “Am I allowed to take notes?”
“Is it absolutely necessary? You strike me as the kind of man who keeps a lot of stuff in your head.”
He grinned. “Whatever the boss wants.”
Stepping through the doorway into a house full of women and children was not what he expected. Winnie had told him there were eight bedrooms and currently twenty-one clients. Instead of noise and confusion, an eerie silence reigned.
“Did they know we were coming?” he asked, sotto voce.
“They knew,” she whispered. “Someone is always looking out the window.”
Not a soul appeared to greet them.
Winnie took him room to room on the main floor. “We have an alarm that is set at nine each evening. It’s programmed to ring in the house…my bedroom actually.”
He frowned. “Not the police?”
“Things are pretty spread out around here, in case you haven’t noticed. I guess you could say I’m the first responder.”
“And what exactly do you think you could do?” he asked, not bothering to hide his incredulity.
Winnie stared at him with the haughtiness of a duchess. “I can shoot to maim or to kill, whatever the occasion demands. Don’t worry, Mr. Wolff. I protect what’s mine.”
He felt his anger rise and had to swallow it back. “You’ve hired me,” he said mildly. “No need anymore for you to mete out vigilante justice.”
“You don’t believe me.” It was a statement, not a question.
He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m not disputing your ability to handle a firearm.
