Chapter Four
Jon
had to get her out of this house. It wasn’t safe here. "Come on," he
said, coaxing her to stand. "You’ve got to pack a bag. You’re not staying
here."
She
drew back. "I’m not going to let them run me out of my home."
He
admired her fire and determination, but he wasn’t going to be waylaid.
"They obviously have a video feed somehow connected in here. Who knows how
long they’ve been watching you. Are you really okay with that?"
Straightening
her shoulders, she shook her head. "No, I’m not."
"Grab
enough clothes for the rest of the week," he said as he propelled her
toward her bedroom.
At
the door, she paused and glanced back at him. "Where will I stay?"
"We’ll
figure that out. Later," he said, giving her a meaningful look. He didn’t want to reveal too much in case
the caller had audio as well as video into the small house.
Understanding
crossed her pretty face and she hurried down the hall. A few minutes later, she
returned to the living room dressed in well–worn jeans that hugged her curves
and a maroon Boston College sweatshirt. She carried a pink-and–brown–striped
duffel bag that was bursting at the zipper. Her blond hair had been brushed out
and was now held back with a black headband.
Liking
this casual side of her, so unlike her normal buttoned–down work demeanor, Jon
smiled with approval as he took the duffel from her hands.
From
the front entryway closet she grabbed a long black wool coat and then slipped
her sock–clad feet into a pair of tan Uggs. "Ready?"
Jon
opened the door. "After you."
They
left her house and walked around the corner to where he’d parked his sedan.
Once they were in, with the engine running and the heater cranked high, Jon
said, "We need to call the FBI."
"No!
They’ll kill her if we do."
Jon
had figured she wouldn’t go for calling in the Feds. So he proposed another
option. "Then we have to call Trent Associates."
She
frowned. "The personal security company? We don’t need a bodyguard."
"The
Trent team does more than just guard people," he said. "Tabby, we
need some reinforcement here from people who are trained to handle situations
like this."
She
considered for a moment. "You’re right. But you have to make it clear, no
cops."
"Understood."
He drove them out of Newton and back toward downtown Boston.
When
he pulled up to the parking garage for his high–rise condo, Tabby said,
"I’m not staying here."
He
pressed the automatic opener attached to his sun visor and drove inside.
"Yes, you are. This place is totally secure."
She
looked a bit panicked. "But I can’t stay with you."
"Why
not? I have tons of room and, besides, Mrs. Marsh will love doting on
you." He could just imagine how delighted his live–in housekeeper would be
to have his assistant in residence since the two women worked so well together
organizing his life.
He
shifted a sidelong glance at his companion. Oh, yeah, Tabby already had a
special place in Mrs. Marsh’s heart. Bringing her home was going to make his
housekeeper’s year. He’d just have to be careful that he didn’t let his lovely
assistant get too embedded into his heart as well.
…
Minimalist
furnishings in soft earth shades and the replicated impressionist masterpieces
adorning the walls of Jon’s condo brought the same calming serenity to Tabby
they always did as she followed Jon inside.
A
woman in her late sixties bustled out from the kitchen. She blinked at Tabby a
moment before a smile burst on her lined face and shone in her kind green eyes.
"Miss Grant!" Mrs. Marsh gave Tabby a bear hug. "So good to see
you." She turned to Jon and gestured to the bag in his hand. "Guest
room?"
"Yes,"
Jon said. "Tabby will be staying with us for a few days."
Mrs.
Marsh clapped her hands in delight. "Wonderful. You take that bag on in
and I’ll be there in a moment to ready the room."
"Please
don’t go to any trouble," Tabby said, a bit overwhelmed by the welcoming
response of Jon’s housekeeper.
"No
trouble at all," Mrs. Marsh replied. "Are you hungry? Jon usually
comes home from these functions starved because he tends to forget to eat with
all his talking."
Tabby
laughed. "Yes, he does do more talking than eating. And yes, I’m
hungry."
Mrs.
Marsh led the way to the kitchen where the center island counter was covered
with all the fixings for sandwiches. "What would you like?"
"Oh,
I can make my own," Tabby said quickly.
Mrs.
Marsh sighed. "Self–sufficient, just like Jon. Well, I’ll leave you to it
while I put fresh sheets on the guest bed." She bustled out, her ample
hips swaying with each step.
Taking
advantage of the moment alone, Tabby closed her eyes and bowed her head to
pray. Lord, please watch over Beth. And let us get her back safely. Thank
you for Jon and his willingness help. I would be so lost without him.
In
so many ways. Spangler Sports Management had become the center her world
revolved around. But at the core was Jon. Always Jon.
Admiration
and affection filled her. She knew if she wasn’t careful the protective barrier
she’d built around her heart would crack and she’d find herself longing for the
impossible. Jon’s love. He was a playboy and her boss.
Two
very good reasons to keep emotion and sentiment from entering their
relationship.
A
whisper of movement beside her let her know she was no longer alone. She
quickly finished her prayer with a hasty amen and then lifted her gaze
to find Jon staring at her, curiosity in his dark eyes.
"I’m
sorry. You were praying. I didn’t mean to interrupt."
"No
worries," she said and reached for a plate.
"Were
you praying for your sister?"
"Yes."
She bit her lip. "I hope she’ll be okay until we get her back on
Monday."
"You
don’t trust God will keep her safe?"
Guilt
pricked at her. "Of course I do. It’s just… It’s hard not to worry."
One
side of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. "That I can understand."
"I
was also thanking God for you and your generosity." The revealing words
were out before she could censor them. She held her breath and waited for his
reaction.
For
a moment he looked taken aback and then pleased. "Okay. Wow."
Tears
of gratitude gathered at the back of her eyelids. "I really am grateful,
Jon."
He
held her gaze, his dark eyes warm and penetrating. "You’re welcome."
The
moment stretched as something elemental arced between them. A smoldering flare
glowed in the depths of his eyes. An answering flame ignited within her. Her
heart jolted and her pulsed pounded. Extremely conscious of his magnetic
appeal, she forced herself to look away and fumbled with the sandwich fixings.
Getting caught up in the moment wasn’t a good idea.
"I’m
starved," he said and reached past her to take a plate, a sliced roll, and
began building a sandwich. "I called James and he’s sending someone over
tomorrow afternoon."
Keeping
focused on her task, she forked a pickle from the jar and laid it on her plate.
"You and James served in the army together, didn’t you?"
"We
did."
"Was
he an MP like you?"
Jon
paused. "How did you know I was an MP?"
"It’s
my job to know everything about you, Jon," she replied as she finished
making her sandwich.
He
arched an eyebrow. "Everything?"
Her
cheeks heated at his suggestive tone. "Well, everything that is
pertinent."
"Hmmm.
I wonder," he said and took a bite out of his sandwich creation.
Not
sure what he meant and determined not to ask, she said, "Tomorrow morning
I want to go to my church service. Will you come with?"
He
choked on his sandwich. "Uh, sure."
She
took a bite of her sandwich to hide a satisfied smile. She hated that it took
her sister’s kidnapping to bring this opportunity about, but she wasn’t going
to waste it. Jon had always declined her invitations to church. But he’d said
he’d go with her tomorrow and that could only be a good thing.