the phones for listening devices. If someone wanted to overhear Brianna or her clients, the easiest place would be the telephone. All the stalker would need was a high-tech listening device, easily obtainable through the Internet.
He’d wait to check the office furniture and fixtures when Liam brought in the monitoring equipment and did a full sweep. He wished he’d been able to speak to Liam before he’d left for deep-sea fishing with his uncle. From what Liam’s sister had said, Liam was expected back at the Cape by evening. Mike should hear from him as soon as he returned.
Damn, he couldn’t ignore the sophistication of the timing-delay loop device that had been spliced into her apartment building’s security system. He knew, firsthand, how mentally devastated Brianna would be if he found proof that the stalker had been listening to her every word. But she wasn’t the kind of woman to fall to pieces when the going got rough.
He couldn’t help thinking about his very first mission. For over two weeks, he’d played cat and mouse in the Colombian jungle, one-on-one with a sniper sent out by a drug lord. Living 24-7 with the knowledge that at any minute he might catch a bullet in the brain had taught Mike how to handle fear and turn it into an asset. When he’d finally caught the sniper at his own game, he became a different person than when he’d first parachuted into the jungle. It had taken him two more years to see the drug kingpin put behind bars, but Mike had become stronger for the ordeal.
Brianna would, too. But first, she’d have to live through that gut-wrenching terror. And when she did, he’d be there for her.
He sensed her, and when he looked up, she was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, studying him. She straightened when their eyes met. “My secretary’s office adjoins my office and Larry’s.”
He nodded. “Under which doors were the photographs found?”
“The waiting-room door that opens into the hallway.”
“Then the stalker wouldn’t have needed a key.” The idea gave him a feeling of relief.
In her office, she removed her suit jacket and draped it casually behind her desk chair, then glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “My next client will be here any minute. I have one more after this appointment. Won’t you reconsider and meet me back here at four o’clock?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep busy.”
“Would you like some coffee while you wait?”
“No, thanks.” He glanced at the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “This will give me a chance to get caught up on Playboy.”
She feigned an indignant look. “I don’t subscribe to Playboy magazine.”
He frowned, trying not to grin. “Not even the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Okay. Reader’s Digest it is.” He winked as she smiled, then turned and went into her office, closing the door.
He was glad to see the tight lines of worry briefly fade from her eyes. He wished he’d tried harder to convince her to go straight home and rest. But Brianna could be stubborn. He didn’t think she’d allow anyone, especially her ex-husband, to tell her what to do.
He scanned the address labels on the magazine covers sprawled across the coffee table. Brianna had the publications sent directly to the office instead of her personal address, he noticed with relief.
Just then, the hallway door opened and a young woman with large frightened eyes stepped inside. Her gaze widened when she saw him. She had black-rimmed eyes, spiked green hair and tattoos, and was probably in her late teens.
Mike grabbed a magazine and folded himself into a rocker. He crossed his leg and watched the girl out of the corner of his eye.
She stood, hesitating before finally taking a seat at the far end of the deacon’s bench. After a few minutes, she ignored him, intent on chipping away at her black nail polish, her hands and feet twitching to a tempo heard only in her mind.
A minute later, Brianna’s office door opened. “Come in, Kristi,” she said with a welcoming smile. The young woman hung her head, jerked to her feet and silently followed Brianna inside the office.
Alone in the waiting room, Mike listened to see if he could catch any of their conversation, but the interior walls were adequately soundproofed.
He opened his briefcase and whipped out a camera. He snapped various angles of the waiting room, the frosted-glass doorway, the hall corridor and the office at the end of the waiting area with the name Lawrence N. Cunningham, Ph.D., Clinical Psychologist stenciled on the frosted window.
Did Cunningham and Brianna exchange keys to each other’s offices? If Brianna occasionally gave her secretary her apartment key, how hard would it be for Cunningham to get it?
Less than an hour later the door to Brianna’s office opened. “I’ll see you again at the same time next week, Kristi,” Brianna said as she followed the teenager into the waiting room. Shoulders bent, eyes downcast, Kristi left without a word.
Brianna glanced at Mike, who was sitting in the corner, jacket slung over the back of the rocker. Her gaze fixed to the open black briefcase in his lap. He closed the case and got to his feet when she came beside him.
“My next client left a message saying she needed to cancel. There’s a tearoom downstairs. I’m dying for a cup. Care to join me?”
“Sure. But first, I need to go into your office for a few minutes before we go.”
He held up a countersurveillance device disguised as a cigarette packet. If an eavesdropping bug or tap was connected anywhere in her phone lines, he’d find it immediately.
She glanced at the pack of cigarettes and frowned. “I’d have thought you’d quit by now.”
He smiled. “Come on, you might find this interesting.”
She arched an eyebrow and followed him into her office.
Mike began the electronic sweep at the desk-model telephone at her desk. He waved the cigarette pack alongside the phone and a tiny red bulb blinked.
Curious, Brianna took a chair and watched him extract a small wire from a leather packet and slip it around the mouthpiece cap. With a quick spin, the unit opened. He stared in concentration. Several seconds later, he withdrew a gray object, a little smaller than a dime.
Unsure what it meant, Brianna stared at the tiny object between his fingers, then at him. “Is that a bug?” she mouthed silently.
He nodded.
She leaned back into her chair, her knees weak as she stared at the evidence in front of her.
He held up a cautionary finger to his lips, his face grim. Reaching for a pad of paper from her desk, he picked up a pen and scribbled something, then pushed the paper toward her.
LET’S GET OUT OF HERE.
He crumpled the paper and put it into his briefcase. She watched numbly as he placed the listening device back inside the handset, replaced the cover, then hung up the receiver. As
