felt oddly protective. He still held the hedge trimmers, which hung down beside his jean-clad leg. Heat radiated from his body, and the warmth seeped into her, easing her fear-induced paralysis. “She noticed I’d forgotten my lunch at home and didn’t want me to go hungry.”
“What about the camera?” Latschenko demanded.
Brooke stole a glance at the street. How good was Latschenko with that gun? It was harder than most people thought to hit a moving target. She flexed her leg, relieved to feel the muscles respond. Maybe she should run for it—
Joe’s fingers tightened on her arm, a subtle warning not to do anything rash. “I told her about the terrific gardens here,” he said. “I guess she wanted to take a few pictures.”
She coughed to hide her surprise. Joe was the best liar she’d ever met. Better than her, which was seriously impressive, given her success at her job often depended on her ability to dissemble. She was only screwing up today because of that damn gun.
Latschenko’s scowl intensified. “She came onto the property without permission and she brought a camera.”
“That’s my fault,” Joe said. “I forgot to tell her about the rules here. She was only being thoughtful of her man. That’s not such a terrible thing, is it?”
Latschenko’s gun eased downward until it was no longer aimed at her torso. “No, more women should be like that,” he agreed.
What a load of chauvinistic crap, Brooke thought. Did Joe really believe what he was saying or was it part of his boyfriend ruse? She supposed she shouldn’t complain, as he was doing a good job of bonding with Latschenko, and that could work in her favor. Although being passive ran contrary to her nature, she decided to stay quiet and see if Joe could talk her way out of this mess.
The guard stuck his chin out belligerently. “In spite of her good intentions, your girlfriend’s coming here is a breach of security. I’m paid to make sure only people approved by Sidorov come onto the property.”
“I get that, man. Totally.” Joe’s voice was mild and nonconfrontational. “It was a simple misunderstanding and won’t happen again. Mr. Sidorov doesn’t need to know she was ever here.”
“If he finds out, it could cost me my job.”
Joe’s lips turned down, suitably chagrined. “You shouldn’t get into trouble over something meaningless like this.”
“No, I shouldn’t.”
“She was leaving when you stopped her. Let her go. Please.”
Latschenko stared at Brooke for a long moment while she tried to appear apologetic and naively innocent. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made strategic use of the misconception many people had about blond hair and a low IQ. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”
The guard’s expression became less fierce, his stance less intimidating. Mostly, he looked hot and irritated. The danger had seeped out of the situation, Brooke realized. He was going to let her go. Nice work, Joe.
Finally Latschenko spoke. “I need to check her camera.”
Oh crap. This was bad. Very bad. Those shots of Sidorov couldn’t be explained away, no matter what Joe or she said.
Once again, Brooke’s fake boyfriend interceded on her behalf. “That’s just going to waste time,” Joe objected. “The longer she stays here, the bigger the risk your boss sees her and blames you.”
The guy in leather mulled over Joe’s comment, and his head began to nod in agreement. Then he suddenly seemed to reconsider, his face hardening in resolve. “If the camera shots are of flowers, she can leave. If they show anything else, Sidorov will have to decide what to do with her.” His outstretched palm came toward her while the gun in his other hand prevented her from bolting.
Her first impulse was to hurl her camera onto the flagstones underfoot, which would smash the viewing screen. Unfortunately, that would only delay, not solve, the problem. The memory card would still be intact, and the images on it could be downloaded onto a computer.
Latschenko lifted his gun until the barrel was level with her chest. “Give me the—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. The metal blades of Joe’s hedge trimmers cut through the air and slashed down on Latschenko’s outstretched hand. The guard doubled over, clutching his injured hand against his groin while his weapon dropped near his feet. His cry of outrage warned he wasn’t ready to give up, and with his head down like a bull, he charged his attacker. Brooke darted around both men and kicked the gun. It skidded across the grass until it lay out of reach.
Sidestepping him, Joe swung the trimmers again. This time they connected with the side of Latschenko’s head. Thunk. The burly man pitched onto the ground, flattening a wide patch of grass.
Brooke stared at the unmoving figure, feeling a mixture of relief and horror. A little blood matted the hair at his temple. Was he dead?
Joe pressed his fingertips to the man’s neck and answered her unspoken question. “He’s okay, but he’ll have a helluva headache when he wakes up.”
That awakening probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Latschenko looked to be out cold. Good. He deserved to feel some pain for threatening her, as well as stirring up the terrifying memories she wanted to keep buried deep down in her psyche.
Joe grabbed her arm. Hustling her over to the Green Thumb pickup, he shoved her into the cab from the driver’s side and followed her in. As the truck reversed quickly down the driveway, the lawn equipment slammed around in the open bed of the vehicle.
Her mind couldn’t let go of the image of Latschenko’s gun pointed at her, primed to maim or kill her. Her new line of work wasn’t supposed to expose her to life-threatening situations; that was one of the reasons she’d quit being a police officer. Her near-death experience and months-long recovery wasn’t something she was willing to put herself—and her family—through again. But if Joe hadn’t been holding the hedge trimmers and been willing to use them, she might be the one bleeding on the grass instead of Latschenko. Or alternatively, they might have been forced into a confrontation with Sidorov. If the home owner had discovered the shot she’d taken of him holding a gun on Trevor, she had no idea how he might react. Would he have been content to confiscate her camera’s memory card, then release her and Joe? Or would he have decided they were witnesses who needed to be disposed of? And what about Trevor? Would their presence have endangered him even more?
When she’d agreed to Savannah’s request to check up on her husband, it had seemed straightforward and simple, even silly. Instead, it had morphed into a dangerous incident that could have ended in multiple homicides.
Brooke managed to fasten her seat belt only seconds before a trio of familiar sensations hit her: a steel band squeezing her ribs, the runaway pounding of her heart and an overwhelming urge to throw up.
She closed her eyes, swallowed repeatedly and ordered herself to calm down. Naturally, that only exacerbated the problem, and her anxiety spiked higher. The truck lurched to one side, and she grabbed on to the dashboard to steady herself. Meanwhile, she kept up an inner reassuring dialogue. This is nothing new, she reminded herself. You know what to do. Sucking air deep into her lungs, she concentrated on a slow, even count. One...two...hold. Three...four...release. Again.
After
