Golden Threads Page 11

  “There are people all over town today; he wouldn’t notice anyone following you.” He met her stubborn gaze for a long moment, then swore with more resignation than heat. “Dammit, will you let me at least try to protect you?”

  Lara smiled a little. “You will. I’m counting on that. Look, the walk to and from the newspaper office will take no more than half an hour; it’s only a few blocks away, and as you said, the sidewalks are crowded today.”

  Devon frowned at her, but he couldn’t really disagree with her reasoning. If the cartel had intended a quick bullet to end the problem Lara represented, it would have acted days ago. Clearly the members of that cartel wanted to avoid drawing just the sort of attention an assassin’s shot would provoke. And the same reasoning applied to the possibility of kidnapping; a grab in broad daylight on a crowded street tended to be noticed.

  Especially in a small town.

  Sighing, Devon allowed himself to be led to the door. He had to leave first in order to be blamelessly out of the way while Lara set the wheels in motion. And he had to set a few in motion himself.

  “How long will you be?” she asked, showing the first sign of nervousness.

  He pulled her into his arms. “A couple of hours, I think,” he answered, hating the idea of being away from her even that long. He bent his head and kissed her thoroughly, and when she instantly responded he was aware that if he didn’t leave soon, he wouldn’t be able to.

  “I’ll be here,” she promised in an unsteady voice.

  That hope was too deeply rooted in him to be easily voiced. He simply nodded and left her. Outside the building, he paused almost imperceptibly on the steps and, without seeming to, directed a brief comment in a very low voice to one of the gardeners, who was busily spreading damp mulch around the roots of a prickly holly bush.

  “She’s leaving. No one follows her.”

  “Right,” the gardener murmured.

  Devon went to his car and got in, then started it and pulled away from the curb. He didn’t look back. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life.

  —

  “You can’t go,” Lara told Ching firmly.

  The cat, perched on the back of the couch, narrowed his eyes at her and said “Yah!” with an emphatic snort.

  She looked at him musingly. He’d been amazingly tactful these last hours, not demanding attention from the preoccupied humans and remaining virtually silent.

  “We’ll be going to the theater in a few hours,” she reminded him consolingly, getting her spare door key from the ledge above the door and sliding it into the pocket of her jeans. She picked up her purse, smiling a little as Ching muttered.

  Then, squaring her shoulders, she went out and closed the door behind her. She paused outside the building on the steps, but hers was a more obvious hesitation than Devon’s had been. Cautiously, she glanced around, presenting, she trusted, the appearance of a nervous woman wary of being watched—and more than half-certain she was being watched.

  Only one gardener was at work, his back to her. He didn’t appear to notice her.

  She made a point of looking at her watch, then went on down the steps and along the sidewalk. She kept her pace brisk and her expression calm, but her eyes moved restlessly. It took no more than ten minutes to walk the distance to the newspaper office, and since her carefully worded ad was printed out in block letters on a sheet of paper in her purse, she was inside the office a bare five minutes.

  Back outside again, she retraced her steps for one block, then stopped at a phone booth and placed a call. She did indeed call her contact at the FBI, explaining the situation rapidly in a low voice and telling him that Devon would be in touch with more details within the next hour or so.

  Then Lara continued steadily down the sidewalk, distracting her mind from nervous thoughts of snipers or runaway cars by imagining what that faceless voice on the phone was like in person. A professional, certainly; he hadn’t been the slightest bit rattled to hear that a protected witness had decided to take on her hunters and play a dangerous game of cat and mouse. He had been utterly calm, with a voice so unflappable and soothing that it should, she thought, have been used to record emergency messages in any situation where people were on the brink of panic.

  Middle-aged, she decided; a voice that calm had to have been earned over decades. Salt-and-pepper hair and a face that had been lived in. Nice eyes. Comfortable padding layered over old muscle, but still a wicked backhand on the tennis court.

  Lara stared at the doorway of her apartment building, blinked, and went slowly inside. It wasn’t until she was in her apartment and leaning back against the closed door that she released a shaky sigh of relief.

  “Prrupp?” Ching inquired, still sitting patiently on the back of the couch.

  “We can’t go back now, cat,” she murmured. “Like it or not, we’re in for the duration.”

  “Wauur,” Ching said, and rang his bell.

  She frowned at him. “I told you not to do that.”

  Ching smiled. Just like the Grinch.

  —

  “Devon?” Nick looked a bit startled. “There’s a man here to see you. In my office. He said that Com-Tech suggested you might be here.”

  They had been about to run through a few lines, since Nick had made changes overnight, and Devon rose from his seat at the scarred table with a slight lift of his brows.

  “Who is he?”

  Nick cleared his throat. “He has a badge.”

  Devon looked even more surprised, and slightly amused. “I have an unpaid parking ticket; does the law in Pinewood usually track down citizens for that?”

  “Um. An FBI badge.”

  His amusement died, and Devon just looked baffled. He hesitated, then shrugged and headed backstage toward Nick’s office.

  Sonia Arnold was the first to speak. “FBI? What on earth could it be about?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick offered. “He was very casual, even friendly. Just asked if he could speak to Devon for a few minutes. I didn’t think it was my place to ask what it was all about, so I didn’t.”

  “Maybe Devon will tell us,” Melanie said hopefully.

  “Only if he wants to,” Nick returned in a warning tone. “Unless he’s carted off in handcuffs, it isn’t our business.”

  Melanie grinned. “It’s definitely Lara’s business; she won’t want to kiss a known felon!”

  Ching hissed at her. She had been sitting across from Devon, and the cat had very obviously put up with her presence in order to sit near his idol. However, now that Devon had left, Ching stood up and walked down the table to be near Lara.

  She welcomed him with a frown for his bad manners, then looked at the others with a casualness that she hoped appeared a little tense. “I don’t think they let known felons run around loose. Do they?”

  “In a perfect world, no,” Pat murmured.

  “Let’s not speculate,” Nick begged. He looked behind Lara, who was sitting with her back to the stage, and said, “Luke, did your guys put the garden scene back onstage?”

  “Yeah, it’s ready,” Luke returned cheerfully. “So’s the inside tower room. The stage is crowded, and it looks peculiar, but both sets are there.”

  “Great. Sonia, Pat, you and Melanie come with me. I want to go over your marks for the first scene.”

  Lara remained where she was, her fingers idly toying with the pages of her script and her gaze fixed in the direction that Devon had taken to Nick’s office. She was tensely aware of Luke’s presence behind her, but didn’t react to him until he came around the table and sat down with one chair between them.

  “Lara?”

  She blinked, then looked at him. This man could well be a cold-blooded killer, and the chill of that was inside her. But she kept her fear buried and with grim determination hung on to the role she was playing.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. I’m fine.” She allowed her lips to curve in a strained smile and h
er eyes to flicker again toward the distant office.

  Luke wore a grave expression, his clear blue eyes concerned. “Fine? I can feel the strain, like last night. You were so upset last night. I was going to stop by your apartment, but—well, Devon’s car was parked out front.”

  He had, she thought coldly, made a number of observations in a very few days. He knew where she lived, knew the car Devon drove. Since she was reluctant to say too much for fear of giving her true feelings away, Lara chose to remain silent, and merely looked at him.

  His gaze fell first. “I know, it’s none of my business. But he was watching your apartment, like I told you. And now there’s an FBI agent talking to him.”

  A vague part of Lara’s mind recognized that if Luke was indeed the cartel’s man, he was one hell of an actor. He seemed so genuinely concerned, so worried about her. She felt the prickle of a doubt, but didn’t let it alter her behavior; until there was proof to the contrary, she had to suspect Luke. She had to suspect virtually everyone.

  She kept her voice steady, but allowed the tension to be heard. “As you suggested, there was a reasonable explanation for Devon’s watching my apartment.”

  “Oh?” Luke was clearly doubtful.

  “Yes. He was concerned about me. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?” They had decided that Lara shouldn’t be too forthcoming with information; she was unlikely to admit to anyone that her apartment had been searched, but both she and Devon hoped that Luke would assume that was what she meant.

  Frowning, Luke said slowly, “I get the feeling it wouldn’t have mattered much whether it was a reasonable explanation or not. But, Lara, the FBI. Doesn’t it bother you?”

  She let her gaze wander in the direction of the office again and smiled just a little. “You shouldn’t worry about me, Luke. I’m careful. I’m very careful.”

  “Yah!” Ching said, his eyes fixed on Luke.

  Luke met that inimical glare for an instant, then ignored the cat as he looked back at Lara. “Careful? You haven’t known him a week.”

  “I haven’t known you a week, either.”

  He grimaced slightly. “Touché.”

  Lara rose from the table and smiled at him a bit absently when he rose as well. “Like I said—don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl, all grown up and everything.”

  “No kidding.” His tone was polite.

  She started toward the stage. “No kidding.”

  “It’s just because your cat likes him,” Luke muttered, following her.

  She felt a surge of warmth it was impossible to fight as memories flashed through her mind. “No,” she murmured. “Not because my cat likes him.”

  Luke must have heard something in her voice, because he didn’t say anything else. Instead, with a rueful expression on his face, he went on past her as Nick hailed him.

  She stood watching, realizing that Nick wasn’t happy with the garden scenery and was ordering a great number of changes. Sonia and Pat were sitting patiently on a low “stone” garden wall as they waited for the director’s attention to return to them, and Melanie wandered up to Lara a few minutes later.

  “If you’re through with that one,” she said dryly with a nod toward Luke, “can I have him?”

  Lara swallowed instinctive words of warning that she couldn’t afford to offer and conjured a smile. “He isn’t mine to give.”

  Melanie’s dark eyes held a glimmer of laughter. “No? Just wanted to be, huh?”

  “He’s a charming man,” Lara said diplomatically.

  “But you obviously prefer Devon, who is also a charming man.”

  “What can I say?” Lara shrugged, still smiling. “Except that I didn’t know it showed so clearly.”

  “Around the edges,” Melanie replied with a soft laugh. “Well, good luck.”

  “Thanks. I may well need it.”

  Melanie looked at her somewhat curiously, but before she could say anything else their attention was caught by their bellowing director.

  “Where the hell’s Devon? If the FBI’s going to cart him away, for Pete’s sake, somebody tell me!”

  “Why would they do that?” Devon asked, emerging from the wings looking harassed.

  Nick glared at him. “How should I know? Will they?”

  “No.” Devon glanced around at the curious faces, then sighed and said patiently, “One of my designers at the California branch of Com-Tech had applied for a government job and gave my name as a reference. They’re doing a background security check on him, that’s all.”

  “I didn’t know the FBI did that,” Nick said in his normal voice, interested in spite of himself.

  “They do if it’s a high-security job,” Devon said.

  “Oh.” Nick visibly shook off the interest. “Well, are you free to rehearse now?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Great. Lara, I want you two to start running your lines together in the tower room.”

  She hesitated, then said, “Okay, but can I have a couple of minutes first? I’ll be right back.”

  The director rolled his eyes heavenward and said in a long-suffering voice, “Yeah, sure. Hurry it up, will you?” He clearly thought it was a call of nature.

  Lara hurried offstage. She and Devon had decided, after careful thought, that she would have to be fairly obvious in leaving the others soon after the FBI agent had departed, and she had chosen the moment well. Everyone was wandering about as they prepared to get to work for the night, and the absence of anyone who might follow Lara would hardly be noticed.

  She went to the heavy stage door and pushed it open about a foot, remaining inside. Immediately, the neatly dressed agent appeared in the opening and flashed his badge.

  “Well?” Lara snapped softly.

  In a low but perfectly audible voice, the stranger said, “No problem, Miss Callahan. Devon Shane’s background checks out completely. He worked at Com-Tech in California for almost ten years and was transferred out here two weeks ago. He’s living in a company-leased apartment here in Pinewood and is driving a company car. Aside from one lone unpaid parking ticket, he’s clean.”

  “Should I bet my life on that?” Her voice was even, but held a thread of hostility.

  The agent shifted his weight restlessly and said, “Look, I wasn’t one of the agents on your case months ago, so don’t take it out on me, all right?”

  “Sorry.” She didn’t sound it.

  He sighed. “Right. Devon Shane is clean. That was all you wanted to know. Any other problems?”

  “No,” she said flatly, without hesitating.

  “Fine, then. If you get suspicious of anyone or anything again, give us a call. We’ll check it out.” He waited for an instant, but when she didn’t offer any thanks, finished sardonically, “Can I go now?”

  “Oh, sure. I wouldn’t want you to miss your plane.”

  With something of a snap, the agent said, “Goodbye, Miss Callahan.”

  She pulled the door shut, but stood there for a moment without moving. Mentally she was sending a Well done! to the nameless agent who had played his part so well. She was also wondering if this gamble had paid off.

  After all, they couldn’t lead the cartel’s man around by a leash; they could only assume that he kept a close watch on her, and that he saw and heard what they wanted him to. If he did, he should now be doubting any suspicions he had concerning Devon. And he should be aware of the strong implication that Lara’s past dealings with the FBI weren’t happy ones.

  Given all those highly uncertain coulds, shoulds, woulds, mights, and maybes, to say nothing of all the ifs, the cartel’s man was right where they wanted him to be.

  The ad would run in the Pinewood newspaper tomorrow (Lara had gotten it in just under the deadline), and in the New York and D.C. papers the day after. With a little luck or a benevolent fate (depending on which belief one leaned toward), she and Devon had given the cartel and their man pause.

  The cartel would likely be informed by their man that Lara was
playing a lone hand. She had used her FBI contacts only to check out the new man in her life while keeping quiet about the definite presence of a hunter, and had simultaneously sent a warning message to the effect that there was still a great deal she could tell the FBI, if she wanted to do so.

  The message, which she and Devon had worded very carefully, was imprinted on her mind. To an unaware reader, it would seem like a simple, if somewhat obscure, personal ad; but to those who understood, it may as well have glowed in neon.

  To Whom It May Concern: Lara Mason wishes to thank those interested in her welfare after the death of her father. At present, she has no intention of continuing the late Dr. Mason’s work herself, but assures interested parties that said work did not die with him. She asks that anyone concerned contact her for further details.

  Following was a post office box number, which neither Lara nor Devon expected anyone to make use of.

  Mason, the name Lara had been born with, stood out boldly in the ad, along with her father’s. It would catch the eye—certainly the eye of a watcher who was looking for just such an ad.

  “Lara!”

  She shook off the thoughts and headed back toward the stage, forcing all signs of tension from her face. She wanted to present the appearance of a woman who had been reassured somewhat during the brief trip offstage, but who was still troubled by other fears. A woman who was hiding those troubling thoughts, not from a possible assassin, but from the new man in her life.

  She didn’t know how well she carried it off. There was no opportunity to talk privately with Devon for quite some time, since Nick immediately placed them in the tower room set and had them begin running lines.

  Surprisingly, considering all the tensions inside her, Lara found it easy to rehearse the careful, gently tentative first scene with Rapunzel and her prince together in the tower. Though her love for Devon had ended her isolation, she remembered only too well how it felt, and had no difficulty in recreating in her voice and expression that scared aloneness, the wistfulness of being apart from others.

  Nick, who was sitting just beyond the set and observing them closely, seemed more than satisfied. “Good,” he murmured from time to time. He became so involved with their portrayals, in fact, that he skipped the scene of the witch’s return to the tower and asked them to continue their scenes alone together.