Guarded Moments Page 3

  Within two blocks, she was on a residential street that was a hundred times more quiet than Third Avenue. The early dusk was pleasant. Another beautiful cloudless day in Colorado. When she stepped into the street to cross toward her car, her mind was a million miles away, thinking of the simple black dress she would wear tonight and mentally trying to decide how to accessorize.

  Car keys in hand, she approached the driver’s side door. Then she heard the rumble. Her head turned. She saw headlights, though it wasn’t dark. A black sedan raced down the street. Moving too fast. Speeding. The car bore down upon her.

  She felt herself being lifted, thrown between the hood of her car and the bumper of the car parked in front of her. Tasha didn’t scream until she hit the grass. She heard the scrape of metal against metal. Someone was lying on top of her. David!

  He flipped her over. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know. I think so.” She looked up into his gray eyes. “What happened?”

  “Somebody tried to kill you.”

  Chapter Two

  Tasha shoved at David’s chest, pushing him away. She sat up, scrambled to her feet. It seemed important to be upright, as if being vertical meant being in control. But once she was standing, she felt dizzy. Was she in shock?

  Hurriedly, she patted her thighs and arms, assuring herself that everything was still intact. She seemed to be amazingly unhurt. There wasn’t even a rip in her clothing.

  Yet, when she looked at David, her vision blurred. The stark awareness of danger pressed around her, smothering her, and she braced herself against the hood of her car so she wouldn’t keel over.

  “Do you believe me now?” David demanded. His voice was harsh. “You’re in danger. Somebody tried to run over you with a car.”

  He slipped his gun back into the shoulder holster. The gesture was swift and efficient. He fairly bristled with an excess of adrenaline. Tasha half expected to see him race down the street, attempting to overtake the speeding vehicle on foot. But the black sedan had vanished.

  “HGB 344,” David said. “That was the license plate. I’ll bet it was a rental.”

  “How did you notice all that?”

  “It’s my job, Tasha. I’m a bodyguard.”

  When she touched her fingertips to her temples, she realized that her palms hurt from hard contact with the grassy strip beside the street. There was no apparent bruise, no mark of any kind. But her sense of touch was unusually sensitive.

  She tucked both hands away, folding her arms beneath her breasts. For a long second, she squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them again. Not injured. She was okay, and she didn’t want to seem weak in front of David.

  “Listen, David. I’m not trying to be difficult, but I just can’t believe that somebody would purposely try to run me down. It’s far more likely that this was a random traffic accident. The guy was a careless driver. That’s all.”

  “The guy? Did you get a look at him?”

  “Didn’t you?” she sniped. “I thought you bodyguards were trained to notice everything.”

  As soon as she spoke, Tasha regretted her words. She ought to be thanking David. Even if this was only an accident, he had saved her from what might have been a serious injury.

  “Come here, Tasha.” He summoned her with a brisk wave of his hand. “Come around the car.”

  Slowly, she obeyed. The trembling in her knees had subsided enough that she could walk.

  “Look.” He pointed to the driver’s side door of her car where there was a huge dent. “That’s where you were standing. How can you think this was an accident? The other car was aiming directly at you. He was parked up the street. When he saw you, he pulled out. It was a ‘he,’ wasn’t it? I couldn’t tell through the tinted windows.”

  “It was somebody big,” she said. “At least, that was my impression. I really couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. But I know this—it was an accident.”

  Her denial became more vehement each time she stated the words. She was not in danger. She refused to be. Tasha had worked damn hard to be a responsible, law-abiding citizen. People like her weren’t supposed to be threatened. “An accident,” she said. “Not on purpose.”

  “Then why was he waiting? Why did he pull out as soon as you started across the street?”

  “Maybe he was drunk. That would explain why he didn’t stop. Didn’t want to deal with a DUI.”

  “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.” David’s jaw clenched tight. “Come with me. I’ll take you home.”

  “You don’t need to. I think my car is drivable.” She struggled with the door for a moment, finally wrenching it open. “It’s fine. Only a dent. I don’t need for you to hover around watching me.”

  “What’s it going to take to convince you? A bullet in the head?”

  “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Dammit, Tasha.” He held her by the shoulders, peering into her face, trying to force her to believe him. “Somebody is out to get you. I don’t know who. I don’t know why. But this attack proves it.”

  She shook free from his grasp. She wasn’t a silly little girl anymore. It had been years since she’d gotten herself into trouble, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to treat her like a fool. She’d done nothing wrong. She didn’t need protection. “I don’t need you, David. I don’t need anybody.”

  She dove behind the steering wheel of her car. It took three tries to finally slam the door, and she had the feeling that it wouldn’t open ever again. But she didn’t care. She just wanted to be gone, to run away and hide from this strange confusion that had settled upon her when she first laid eyes on David.

  Cranking the engine, she pulled away from the curb and left him standing, staring at her exhaust pipe.

  Other men had promised to take care of her. Other men had offered their “protection” against the big, cruel world. But they never really meant it. They couldn’t be trusted. Tasha had learned that lesson long ago. She’d been taught by her parents. First her father left when he divorced her mother, then he died. And her mother…

  Tasha had been forced to make it on her own, and the struggle had not been easy. But she was close to having her life arranged exactly the way she wanted—not depending upon anyone but herself. Her flower shop was doing well. Her expenses were covered, and she was making regular payments on her small business loan. She refused to believe that her comfortable life was in jeopardy.

  Less than fifteen minutes away from her shop, she parked on the street in front of her four-story, earlyAmerican-style, redbrick apartment building. Though dusk had lengthened the shadows, there was still plenty of sunlight. She didn’t see anything that looked like a threat in front of the clean, well-kept building. Surely, if someone was after her, they would come here. There were few witnesses on this quiet, residential street with its tall, old, heavy-limbed oak trees and elms. Though many parts of this area called Capitol Hill were run-down, Tasha lived in the center of urban renewal. This neighborhood was relatively safe. Still, she scanned the street, looking for that black sedan. Nothing! There was nothing suspicious at all.

  She fought with her car door for a moment before giving up and climbing out the passenger side. Only an accident, she told herself. The driver who hit her car must have been blind drunk. There wasn’t any reason for anyone to threaten her.

  After picking up her mail in the tiled foyer, she unlocked the main door and climbed the stairs to the second floor. She hesitated for a moment before unlocking her door. What if she was wrong? What if someone was after her? What if they were here, inside her apartment, waiting to grab her?

  With a burst of determination, she strode inside and was rewarded with the pleasant air of comfort that she always found in her home. The front room was sparsely furnished with a lovely beige brocade sofa in the Queen Anne style with rosewood trim. An antique coffee table matched perfectly. The artwork decorating the walls included a couple of very good lithographs and an oil that Tasha had done her
self when she was in art school. And, there was a rack of drying flowers hanging upside down in the front window.

  Tasha left her mail on the refinished library table in her second bedroom and meandered into her bedroom. The puffy white spread and gleaming dark furniture pleased her eye. In here, she kept two bouquets of baby’s breath and fragrant jacaranda roses, using whatever colors weren’t selling at the shop. Right now, the fully opened blossoms were white, tinged with fragile pink.

  She sank down on the bed and remained there, motionless. From outside her window, she heard the harsh cries of migrating Canadian geese. At one time in her life, she’d fled from danger. Only once. Never again. There was no reason for anyone to be after her.

  Tasha flexed her hands and lightly rubbed the tips of her sensitive fingers together. No reason for fear. With a sigh, she allowed her worries to fly away on the great gray wings of the geese. Rising from the bed, she began to prepare herself for the premier showing of the Sheikh’s Rubies.

  AT FIFTEEN MINUTES before seven o’clock, Tasha studied her reflection in the full-length oval mirror that stood in her bedroom. She was satisfied with the simple, formfitting black sheath hemmed just above her knees. And she loved the hot pink satin gloves that stretched above her elbow. Her short black hair had pouffed out nicely and the long tendrils at her cheek and neck were held in place with a light mousse. Her lipstick matched the pink of the gloves. She looked pretty good. Except for the jewelry.

  She’d planned to wear matching earrings and choker necklace of cubic zirconia, but it was too faux. She was on her way to see the Sheikh’s Rubies, a genuine treasure, and it seemed tacky not to wear real gems—precious stones she did not own.

  Finally, she opted for a simple gold necklace, earrings and bracelet worn over the gloves. Now, she was ready.

  With perfect synchronization, the telephone rang and she answered. “Hello?”

  “This is David. If you’re ready, I’ll pick you up in the back alley.”

  “What makes you think you’re coming to the premier showing?”

  “I was invited this afternoon by Ms. Pola herself.”

  Tasha was so accustomed to attending various events by herself that having a handsome escort might be a charming novelty. But this was David the bodyguard, she reminded herself. She didn’t want to encourage him. “Why are you in the alley?”

  “You’re parked on the street. If anyone followed you home, they’ll be watching for you to come out the front door.”

  “Nobody followed me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She’d taken a look around after she parked. There hadn’t been anybody lurking in the shadows. More emphatically, she said, “I wasn’t followed.”

  “It never hurts to be extra cautious.”

  Overzealous was what she would call his attitude. Hadn’t she told him to back off? Tasha had to wonder at his motivation. Why was he so anxious to protect her?

  “I’ll be waiting,” he said.

  “Fine.”

  She hung up the phone. For all she cared, he could wait in the back alley until her cubic zirconia turned into real diamonds. She didn’t intend to be ordered around. Nor did she find David’s overly aggressive caring to be reassuring. All this protection was downright suspicious.

  Tasha grabbed her black purse, a short black jacket and her car keys, then went down the stairs to the front door. With any luck, she could be gone and at the party before David realized what she was up to. She hurried along the sidewalk as fast as she could in three-inch-high spiked heels.

  A gaunt, almost emaciated, man wearing a long, dark trenchcoat blocked her way. He spoke in Russian. “I must apologize for my comrade’s clumsiness this afternoon.”

  Tasha was shocked. First, because she actually recalled enough of her Russian to understand him. Second, because of what he was saying. “Who are you?”

  “Call me Mr. Brown. If you come with me for only a few moments, I will explain everything.”

  “Speak English, for goodness’ sake.”

  He started over in heavily accented English, “If you will please come with me—”

  “I heard you the first time,” she interrupted.

  “You will come. I will explain.”

  She was almost tempted to go with him and satisfy her curiosity. This man didn’t seem to mean her any harm. His manner was reasonable. Then the creases of his face folded into a grotesque death’s head smile, and her instincts told her to get away fast.

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” she said. “We could make an appointment for tomorrow, Mr. Brown. Is there a telephone number where I can reach you? Do you have a card?”

  “You will come.” He withdrew his skeletal hand from his pocket. The corner street lamp shone on the dull pewter of his pistol. “You will come now.”

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage. Her reaction was equal parts of fear and outrage. How dare he! A man with a gun was accosting her on the street outside her house, in the middle of her quiet neighborhood, and there wasn’t much chance of running away from him in these high heels.

  Stalling for time, she spoke to him in halting Russian. “Please do not hurt me.” She opened her purse. “I will give you all my money.”

  “I do not want your money.” He sneered, an expression that looked much more typical than his smile. “We go now.”

  Her hand closed around her spray bottle of Opium cologne. In her other hand, she still held the keys to her apartment. Feigning terror, Tasha took a few backward steps, closer to the front door of her apartment building. Still speaking Russian, she said, “I am afraid.”

  “Silly goose. I will not hurt you if you do as I say.”

  Another two steps. She was almost to the walk leading back inside. “I cannot move. I am too afraid.”

  Her arm shot out straight. She sprayed him directly in the eyes with her cologne.

  He screamed.

  She ran. Damn these shoes. Her steps were wobbly, but she made it into the foyer without wrenching her ankle. Frantically, she opened the interior door with her key, darted inside and yanked it shut as she heard the outer door opening.

  Tasha kicked off her shoes, picked them up and sprinted down the hallway to the alley exit. In an instant, she was down the steps and leapt into David’s car.

  “Go!” she ordered.

  Without questioning, he obeyed, jamming into drive and whipping onto Eleventh Avenue without looking in either direction.

  Gasping for breath, Tasha sank back in the bucket seat of his car. She couldn’t believe what she’d done—attacked an armed man with Opium cologne.

  David turned south on York Street. “What happened?”

  “You were right.” She didn’t feel like talking. She’d just had a narrow escape, and her brain wasn’t connected with her mouth. “Who knows what would have happened if he’d gotten me in his car.”

  “Who?” David demanded.

  “The Russian.” She laced her pink-gloved fingers together. Her palms were still sore from when David threw her to the ground. None of this danger had started until David arrived. Coincidence? Were bodyguards supposed to bring their own danger with them? The only reference she had for him was a New York phone number. “You don’t happen to know a Mr. Brown, do you?”

  “It’s not an uncommon name.”

  “What about a Mr. Brown who looks like the poster boy for anorexia and speaks Russian?”

  “Tasha, are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Maybe.” It had been several years since she’d had to survive by her wits, but she remembered the first rule: Trust nobody. Nobody except her sister, Stacey.

  David tried again to pry information from her, “Did this Mr. Brown attack you?”

  “He had a gun.” Saying it out loud seemed to release some of her tension. The knot in her stomach slowly uncurled, and she reached down to put on her shoes. “Damn, I have a run in my panty hose.”

  He swerved right into the Polo Grounds where the hou
ses were as big as medieval castles, and he parked. “Let me get this straight. You were attacked by a skinny Russian with a gun, and you’re worried about your panty hose?”

  “Well, I can’t go to the premier showing of the Sheikh’s Rubies with a run, can I?”

  “I assume you got a good look at this guy.”

  “You bet I did. And he wasn’t a pretty sight.”

  David started the car engine. “We’re going to the police station to look at mug shots.”

  “No, we’re not. I’m going to Pola and Tweed.”

  David weaved through the tangled streets of the gracious Polo Grounds. “Identifying the man who assaulted you is more important than a party.”

  “Let me explain something to you, David. This isn’t just a party. This is my opportunity to meet several of the wealthy elite, the people who live in these mansions, the A list. Hopefully, they’ll like the arrangements I did for Janet Pola. If I’m really lucky, they’ll like me and want to hire me to do flower arrangements for all their social affairs. This event is hugely important to my business.”

  “It’s best to look at the mug shots when his face is clear in your mind.”

  The practical side of her brain agreed with him. Tasha was ready to accept the fact that she was in danger and needed to cope with it. But she wasn’t going to put her life on hold. “I’ve got a better idea. Go to my shop.”

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “In the first place, because I have an extra pair of panty hose there. In the second, I have a sketch pad. I’ll draw this guy.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I studied art,” she informed him. “That’s how I got into flower arranging. And I’m pretty good with portraits.”

  Though she directed him to the rear parking behind the shops, the small lot was filled with other cars and the caterer’s trucks. At the back entrance to Pola and Tweed, there were two armed guards. They found a space just around the corner.