Under Surveillance
She wouldn’t be able to recognize him, she told herself resolutely. What had just occurred had been one of those bizarre incidents that happen to everyone at one time or another. Meeting the eyes of the handsome man in the cab next to you while you waited for a red light. Or in an elevator. Or a restaurant. It was absolutely nothing of consequence.
Which was good, she thought, as she slipped through the doors and out into the hall. She couldn’t afford any distractions. Certainly not one as time-consuming as a man like that might prove to be.
IN THE END it was after two o’clock before Kelly managed her escape, slipping out of the ballroom by a back door. Chad would have teased that that was the story of her life, she acknowledged, as she stood watching the numbers flash by on the parking-deck elevator, but she refused to feel guilty. Most of the crowd had gone. She had done her duty. Paid her dues. Made nice to anyone with a checkbook. Now she was going home.
She hadn’t bothered to change out of the copy of the Givenchy she’d modeled. She would return it later.
The elevator doors opened and she stepped out, pulling the red stole more closely around her shoulders. After the heat of the ballroom, the night air felt cool against her skin.
She was surprised to find there were only a handful of cars left on this level. Of course, it had been reserved for those who would come early and leave late. And it seemed that despite her remorse at slipping out early, she must be one of the last to depart.
She started across the concrete, the sound of her high-heeled sandals echoing off steel beams and cement pillars. She expected the security guard to step out of his booth in response to the noise. He didn’t, however, and as she came closer to the location, she could tell that the security box was empty.
She glanced at her watch, but it was too dark to see the hands. Maybe security had gone off duty. That was something she should probably mention to the board when they met to rehash tonight’s successes and failures. Their patrons had a right to protection, no matter how late they stayed.
Her car, which was actually Chad’s car, was parked halfway up the far ramp. Before she headed over to it, she bent her head a little to take another look into the security booth. Definitely empty.
She stopped at the bottom of the ramp. Putting one hand on the cold metal of its railing for balance, she bent her knee, pulling the strap of her sandal more securely onto her heel.
She resisted the temptation to slip the shoes off. Despite the fact that they consisted of only a couple of crossed pieces of leather, by now the sandals had begun to rub. She could imagine what walking barefoot over the rough concrete of the ramp would do to her feet, however.
She looked up to estimate the distance to her car and caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a shadow moving behind or under it. A rat? Or one of the city’s feral cats? There were plenty of both in D.C., but despite her attempt to find some rational, nonthreatening explanation for what she had just seen, the hair on the back of her neck began to lift, sending a shiver down her spine.
She looked again toward the security booth, an oasis of light in the dimness of the concrete structure, and then once more toward her car. The darkness increased sharply near the top of the ramp where it was parked.
Back to the elevator, she decided without any further hesitation. This time she would do what she should have done in the first place. She would get someone to walk her out here. Whatever was waiting in the shadows up there, she wasn’t about to face it on her own.
She turned, already taking the first step in retracing her journey, when her blood froze. Lined up between her and the elevator doors were three men. Or rather three teenagers, she amended, as her eyes skated back and forth between them.
Their youth wasn’t comforting. Not given their dress and demeanor. Actually, the latter was distinctly menacing.
As if in response to some unseen signal, they began to walk toward her. All the survival reflexes kicked in, sending a rush of adrenaline through her system.
Fight or flight. A hell of a choice, given that the three of them were blocking the only viable exit.
Maybe she was wrong about what she’d seen behind her car, she thought. Maybe it had been a rat. Something other than a cohort of the teens who were now advancing on her.
She slipped the strap of her evening bag off her wrist and fumbled her car keys out of it. Then she threw the purse underhanded toward the trio. It skidded to a stop about ten feet in front of them.
If their intent were to rob her, she’d make it easy for them. Maybe the purse would give them something to occupy themselves with while she made a run up the ramp to the car.
And if another one were waiting for her there, she’d deal with that when she arrived. Those odds were still better than trying to go through these three to get to the elevator.
She thought briefly again about taking off her shoes, but the boys were advancing more quickly now. The bag she’d thrown lay halfway between them and her position.
She had no idea whether they would be sufficiently distracted by it to allow her to escape. That would probably depend on what they wanted. If she tried to run before they had gotten to it, however, they might very well ignore the purse in order to come after her.
Almost before the thought had time to form, the boy in the middle reached the evening bag. He stooped to pick it up, his eyes never leaving hers.
As she watched, he took her wallet out and opened it. He made a show of running his thumb across the money in the bill compartment. She couldn’t remember how much was there. She never carried much cash, so it couldn’t be a great deal.
Please, God, let it be enough.
Then, without bothering to remove the money, he threw both the purse and billfold to the side and took another step toward her. As soon as he did, she rounded the railing, sprinting up the ramp toward her brother’s Jag.
The sound of their boots, amplified by the low overhang, pounded against the concrete behind her. She could tell that they were gaining on her. She released the stole she had unthinkingly hung on to and used both hands to pick up the long skirt of the red dress, freeing her legs from its constraints.
As she neared her car, a figure stepped from the shadows behind it. She dodged as it appeared in her peripheral vision, heading for the far side of the ramp instead of toward the car.
She was running full-out now, but still she couldn’t avoid him. He leaped across the expanse that separated them and grabbed her upper arm, long fingernails digging into her flesh.
He jerked so hard that she stumbled against him. Unconsciously she put her hand on his chest in an attempt to regain her balance.
She was close enough now that she could smell him. Stale sweat and cigarette smoke. He put his other hand on her bare shoulder, dragging her to him so that her breasts brushed the stained T-shirt he wore.
As they did, she finally realized why they hadn’t been tempted by the purse she’d thrown them. Apparently money had nothing to do with what they were after.
Chapter Two
Driven by panic and fury, Kelly ground the high heel of her sandal down on her assailant’s toes. Luckily, he was shod in sneakers rather than the boots the others favored.
Hissing a profanity, he loosened his grip long enough to allow her to pull free. She started up the ramp again, intending to run to the next level, which she hoped would not be as deserted as this one.
Before she’d taken two steps, she heard the sound of a car. She looked up in time to see headlights appear at the top of the ramp. She ran toward them, waving her arms to attract the driver’s attention. Surely he would take in the situation and stop to help her.
And what if he did? Always assuming it was a “he.” It would still be four to one.
Four to two, she amended, feeling a ridiculous sense of triumph in the victory she’d achieved with her high heel.
Realistically she knew that the smart thing for whoever was in that car to do would be to drive past her. Just get the hell out of the parking deck. If she were lucky, he might stop somewhere and call the police. If the driver were another woman, that was almost certainly what would happen.
If it were a man, maybe he would slow enough to let her jump into the car as he went by. That would probably depend on whether or not she could put enough distance between herself and the boy who’d grabbed her to make that maneuver safe for the driver. Right now that was doubtful.
Even as she acknowledged the difficulty, the hand of the teen who had been hiding behind her car closed around the fabric of her skirt. She staggered forward, feeling the sheer material rip free from where it was attached to the bodice.
Desperation lent her strength. Somehow she managed to pull away from him. Once she had, she looked up again, trying to gauge how far she was from the approaching car.
She’d made almost no progress at all, she thought in despair. Then she realized the vehicle had stopped, its headlights shining down on the scene playing out below.
Her heart sank. Either this was a confederate arriving with the getaway car or the driver was rethinking his route.
Don’t leave, she pled silently as she ran. Please don’t leave me alone with them.
The sound of a car door slamming at the top of the ramp put an end to any hope of rescue. No one in his right mind, if he were an innocent bystander, would get out of that car. He might drive by at full speed. He might even back up to a higher level and park somewhere in the darkness, hoping the boys wouldn’t come looking for him.
Those were options a normal person might take. Getting out of the car wasn’t. Not in this situation.
As she ran toward the top, she could hear the sound of the driver’s footsteps coming down the ramp. Slow, almost measured, they were suddenly the only noise on this level of the parking deck.
She turned from the blinding glare of the headlights to glance behind her. The four attackers had stopped their pursuit. Just as she was, they were listening to the approaching footsteps with a wary intensity.
Not a confederate then. This was something—someone—totally unexpected.
She picked up speed as she ran toward the driver, hope reviving her flagging strength. She didn’t have breath enough to scream for help. She had to trust that he’d assessed the situation and figured out what was about to happen.
“What’s going on here?”
The voice was deep and unbelievably calm. Too calm. Maybe he hadn’t understood. Maybe he’d just seen people on the ramp and stopped to investigate.
As the man posed his question, he stepped toward the center of the ramp. She could see him now, silhouetted against the twin beams of the headlights. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked capable of holding his own in a fight.
“Help me,” she gasped as she ran toward him.
He didn’t look at her, focused instead on the teenagers who were still watching from below. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but—”
“Get in the car.”
That had clearly been an order, given in a tone that brooked no argument. She didn’t even think of making one.
She ran past him, her hand closing over the handle of the passenger door of the black SUV he was driving. Before she opened it, she looked back down the ramp.
The four had apparently recovered from their shock. Or maybe they had finally realized there had been only one person in this car and that he wasn’t a cop or a security guard.
They were advancing again. Slowly this time. From somewhere a long iron bar had appeared.
Tire tool or crowbar, she guessed. The one who’d thrown her purse aside held the instrument in his right hand, slapping it against the palm of his left. The whole thing looked like something out of a bad production of West Side Story, but she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to laugh.
“Get back into the car,” she said to the man standing in front of the headlights. “Let’s just get out of here.”
There was no response. His stance, illuminated by the headlights, seemed completely relaxed.
“Please,” she begged, beginning to be as afraid for him as she had been for herself. “We can lock the doors and drive by them. They can’t hurt us if we’re in the car.”
No response. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he still hadn’t realized what was going on. Maybe—
There was some sound from the group of teenagers. As if it had been a signal, they charged up the ramp in unison. The one holding the iron bar raised it high above his head, in full attack mode.
Sick with fear, she watched as they closed the distance to the solitary figure standing in front of the vehicle. She released the door handle and started back around the SUV. She had no idea what she could do, but she wasn’t about to let him bear the brunt of that assault alone.
“I told you to get in the car,” he said again, his voice as low and steady as it had been before.
And then, suddenly, they were there. She saw the raised crowbar begin its descent and knew its target. Too horrified to look away, she watched as it began to slice downward and then seemed to stop in midair.
The boy who wielded it staggered backward. With an agonized yell, he clutched his crotch with both hands. That’s when she realized he was no longer the one holding the weapon.
It was being employed by the driver of the car instead. Although the headlights distorted the scene, so that it was almost like watching a flickering silent movie, she could still follow his movements. Shifting the weapon he’d taken from the first teen, he slammed the end of the bar into the ribs of a second, leaving him doubled over in agony.
In the time it had taken him to dispatch those two, the second pair had decided on a concerted effort. They attacked in unison before the man could get the crowbar into position to repel them. The momentum of their forward motion carried all three backward to slam onto the hood of the SUV. Kelly flinched at the hollow thud of their impact.
After that, given her position at the side of the car, she couldn’t tell what was happening. All she knew was that two of the original four were still down and that the others were engaged in a fierce struggle with the driver of the SUV for possession of the weapon he’d taken away from their leader.
And that meant they were all occupied, she realized belatedly, their attention focused on him or on their injuries.
Her eyes flicked toward the elevator. Now was her chance to get out of here. While they were either distracted or in too much pain to care what she did.
The clang of the metal bar, striking and then bouncing off the concrete floor, brought her attention back to the bodies writhing on the hood of the car. She could hear the sound of blows as well as the noise their victim made as they impacted against flesh and bone.
She couldn’t distinguish the recipient, but given the loss of the crowbar, she believed she knew who was getting the worst of the fight. No matter what happened to her, she couldn’t run away without trying to aid the man who’d stopped to help her.
She bent down and slipped off one of her sandals, unable to think of anything else to use as a weapon. When she raised her head again, she saw that the three were no longer on the hood of the car. They were upright again, still exchanging blows.
Gathering what fragile courage she had left and feeling like a fool, she raised the flimsy shoe over her head and ran toward the struggling figures. Before she reached them, the two slighter bodies were propelled backward.
With room to maneuver, the driver, obvious both by his height and the breadth of his shoulders, began a series of lightning punches that drove his attackers back. His movements were so fast they were difficult to follow. She almost expected him to add a couple of martial arts kicks to the mix.
Apparently, he didn’t need to. One of the two teens still on their feet broke away, running down the ramp with a clatter of boot heels. When the second realized he was about to have the driver’s undivided attention, he also took off. His less noisy departure identified him as the one who had leaped across the ramp to grab her.
Having vanquished those two, the man advanced toward the first couple he’d dispatched. They weren’t inclined to wait for him to reach them.
The one he’d kneed in the groin to take possession of the crowbar was still breathing in low, keening moans. His agony didn’t prevent him from staggering to his feet and backing down the ramp, however, his eyes never leaving the driver. The second punk had his arms wrapped around his body, possibly the victim of broken ribs. If so, they didn’t slow his retreat.
In a matter of seconds the parking level was empty except for her and the man who had just effected her rescue. In the sudden stillness she could hear the sound of his breathing. He swayed a little, but somehow managed to give the impression that he was both ready and able to take them on again if they returned.
Kelly realized she was simply standing, openmouthed at the speed and efficiency with which he’d detached the four attackers. She closed her mouth and started toward him.
Either he had incredible peripheral vision or very good instincts. He turned, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. When he saw that she was the one who’d been moving behind him, he straightened.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“What is that? Is that your shoe?”
Only then did she realize that she was still holding the sandal over her head, its heel pointing toward him.
“What the hell were you planning to do with your shoe?”
“Hit one of them,” she answered truthfully.
Embarrassed, she lowered the feminine, near-nothing sandal he’d just belittled. Reaction was finally setting in. Her knees were shaking so hard she was in danger of falling flat on her face. She leaned tiredly against the hood of the SUV, tears threatening for the first time since the assault had begun.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The first one she’d managed in quite a while.
It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Now isn’t the time to fall apart.
“Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes to find him looming over her. Because they were standing between the beams of the headlights, she still couldn’t see his face.
He was nothing but a shape, tall and broad. And a deep voice, filled with concern for her.
Which was ridiculous. He’d just taken a beating, and she was the one who was weak-kneed and weepy.
“If being scared spitless counts as okay.” She hated that her voice trembled, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it.
“Spitless?” he repeated, the intonation amused as he emphasized the first syllable.
“Are they gone?” She ignored the mockery, feeling she had earned it. She looked back down the ramp, half expecting to see the attackers regrouping at its foot.
“They won’t be back. They’re the kind who like—”
“Easy pickings?” she supplied when he hesitated. If so, they’d come to the right place, she acknowledged bitterly.
“Obviously, they didn’t know about the shoe.”
The amusement was back, but she found she didn’t resent it, even if it were at her expense. He was right. The sandal was a ridiculous weapon, but there was some justification for why she’d felt it might do some good.
“I ground my heel into his toe, and he let me go. I thought that maybe if I hit one of them with it—”
She sounded like an idiot. Actually, she felt like one.
“Thanks.” The deep voice had been wiped clean of mockery. “There aren’t many people who would have put themselves at risk to help.”
“You did.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a failing of mine.”
“Helping people?”
“I’m a sucker for a woman in distress.”
For a fraction of a second she thought he’d said “a woman in a red dress.” She must be more rattled than she’d believed.
“Why don’t we get out of here,” he suggested.
Since he’d used the plural pronoun, she wasn’t sure if he meant individually or collectively. He didn’t start around his vehicle to open the door for her to climb in, so she supposed he must mean in their own cars.
He took a long assessing look down the ramp and then moved toward the driver’s side of the SUV. In doing so, he passed directly in front of the beam of the left headlight.
“You were at the auction,” she said, finally taking in the tuxedo.
“Sorry, but I didn’t buy anything.” He bent to retrieve the iron bar that had been lost in the scuffle, so she had to strain to hear the last. “A little too rich for my blood.”
Since the guest list had been carefully screened to ensure that their checkbooks would be equal to the task before them, she wondered if that was his idea of a joke. She’d been introduced to most of the attendees during the cocktail hour, but she couldn’t place him.
Could he be one of the wait staff? The big SUV he was driving made that unlikely, however, so who the hell was he?
After he retrieved the crowbar, he had continued past the driver’s side door to open the back of the vehicle. He carelessly tossed the weapon inside. Then he straightened, looking at her over the line of the roof.
His face was still shadowed, but she couldn’t help feeling there was something familiar about it. Maybe they had been introduced. After all, there had been a huge crowd of people.
“I’m Kelly Lockett.”
It was a rather obvious attempt to evoke information. If he’d been there, he knew certainly who she was. She’d been paraded around that room like a sideshow for most of the evening.
“Of the Lockett Legacy. I know.” The tone was sardonic.
“Do I know you?” she asked, reacting to it.
She had never been particularly self-conscious about the notoriety her family’s wealth and prestige created. She had known nothing else her entire life, but something about that comment rankled.
“I was there on a friend’s invitation. He said the food would be good.”
“I trust you found that to be true,” she said, a hint of ice creeping into her voice.
This man had rescued her, and she was genuinely grateful. Her initial inclination, which had been to view him as some kind of knight in shining armor, seemed to be fading.
Of course, she was well aware that most knights had been lacking in the courtly graces. Their forte had been the battlefield. She could hardly deny his skill there.
“You plan the menu?” He leaned forward, putting his arms on the top of the SUV.
“I was on the committee,” she said stiffly.
“Could I make a suggestion?”
“About the menu?” There was something surreal about the conversation, considering what had just transpired.
“Fewer frills and more substance.”
Despite her anger of a moment ago, she felt a tinge of sympathy. Dinner probably had seemed meager to a man his size. The appetizer had consisted of three large prawns, a dollop of crabmeat and a couple of avocado slices. The entrée, a nice piece of sole, had been surrounded by a selection of lightly sautéed vegetables. She had left food on her plate, but by no stretch of the imagination could the meal be called substantial.
“Steak and potatoes,” she said, deliberately lightening her voice.
“It’s hard to go wrong with a good steak. Especially at those prices.”
“I’ll ask the committee to take it under advisement,” she promised, controlling her urge to smile.
“Almost makes me wish I could be at next year’s shin-dig.”
Something subtle about his intonation indicated he was aware she was patronizing him. It made her feel like a jerk.
“What happened to your shawl?”
“Stole,” she corrected automatically, welcoming the change of subject.