In His Sights

She studied the intruder more carefully, going beyond his startling good looks this time.

She noticed that despite the seeming rebelliousness of his hair, there was a stylish cut there.

Noticed that the watch on his left wrist was definitely out of her league.

Noticed that while the jeans and knit shirt he wore weren’t blatantly expensive, the belt around his slim waist was.

Noticed that the athletic shoes he wore were past new, but a top brand.

Why?

Why would a good-looking guy who obviously wasn’t down on his luck rent a room from an elderly couple in a tiny place like Summer Harbor? And be so darned nice to them to boot?

She could only think of one reason.

He was up to something.

In His Sights

Justine Davis

JUSTINE DAVIS

lives on Puget Sound in Washington. She says that years ago, during her career in law enforcement, a young man she worked with encouraged her to try for a promotion to a position that was at the time occupied only by men. “I succeeded, became wrapped up in my new job, and that man moved away, never, I thought, to be heard from again. Ten years later he appeared out of the woods of Washington State, saying he’d never forgotten me and would I please marry him. With that history, how could I write anything but romance?”

Once upon a time, there was a genre of books that was sadly misunderstood by many people who didn’t read them. Those who did read them loved them, cherished them, were changed by them. But still, these books got no respect on the outside, in fact were belittled, denigrated, held up as bad examples, while their readers and authors were sneered at and insulted by people who, although they never read the books, had somehow arrived at the idea that it was all right to slap others down for their choices. But those readers and authors kept on in the face of this horrible prejudice. Why? Because they found something in these books that they found nowhere else. Something precious, that spoke to them in a very deep and basic way.

Then one day, this beleaguered genre was given a gift. A fairy godmother if you will, a person with an incredible knowledge of these books and why they worked, and an even more incredible generosity of spirit. A one-person support system who gave so much to the writers of these stories, and was ever unselfish with her time and that amazing knowledge. And her endorsement counted for something; readers took her word and knew they would rarely be disappointed. She was a rock, a pillar on which the genre depended. Her loss has left a gaping hole that can never be filled, and will always be felt by those who love these books—and loved her.

For those reasons and so many more, the Redstone, Incorporated series is dedicated to

MELINDA HELFER

Lost to us August 24, 2000, but if heaven is what it should be she’s in an endless library, with an eternity to revel in the books she loved. Happy reading, my friend….

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 1

“You’ll just love him. He’s the sweetest man. Absolutely charming.”

Kate Crawford gaped at her grandmother. “You rented out a room? What room? To what man? Why?”

“My goodness, do you think you could string a few more questions together?”

Kate sat down, certain she wasn’t understanding something. Her plans to make a grocery run for her grandparents were obviously going to have to wait.

“Gram,” she said slowly, “what have you and Gramps done?”

“I told you,” Dorothy Crawford said patiently, “we rented out our room.”

“Your bedroom?”

“It’s the only one that made sense, since it has the private bath and sitting area. We’re thinking of using some of the income to add an outside stairway to the upper deck, then it will have its own private entrance as well.”

“But—

“We’re not using it, after all. The stairs are just too much for your grandfather’s knees.”

“I know that,” Kate said.

And she did; she’d been the one to help them move into the one downstairs bedroom in the house. She hadn’t liked the idea—the room was too small and the bathroom was way down the hall—but it had seemed the best temporary solution they could manage until they could afford to do a remodel. Or talk her grandfather into the knee replacement surgery he insisted he didn’t want, a decision Kate suspected was also based on finances.

“If you needed money,” Kate began, but stopped when her grandmother gave her the look she knew too well.

“We won’t keep taking from you, Kate. You’ve done so much, too much, for us already.”

“I could never do too much.”

“And that’s why your grandfather and I have to step in now and then, or you’d spend all your time and money on us, instead of having a life of your own.”

“But—”

“No buts. Besides, it’s done. We have a renter. We can’t back out now.”

And that brought Kate back to one of her initial questions. “Who is this person you’ve rented a room to? There’s no one in town looking for a place that I know of.”

In any place but Summer Harbor that might be a ridiculous statement, but here it was quite reasonable that if someone was looking for a place to live, everybody in town would know it. It was easy to keep track of such things when you only had a couple of thousand people to deal with.

“Oh, he’s not from here.”

That alone was enough for Kate, and her voice was rather sharp when she demanded, “Where is he from, and what’s he doing here?”

“I believe he’s a photographer,” her grandmother said. “And I can do without that tone, young lady.”

Chastened, Kate reached out and put a hand over Dorothy’s. “I’m sorry, Gram. You know I just worry.”

“You worry too much,” Dorothy said, but the stern tone had been replaced by a lovingly gentle one. “This is Summer Harbor, you know. Bad things don’t happen here.”

Tell that to Joshua Redstone, Kate thought.

The thievery at Redstone Northwest had already come to the attention of the multibillionaire entrepreneur who owned the business, and while she doubted there was another boss of his stature who would care, she knew Josh Redstone was different. Very different. It was one of the many reasons she loved her job there.

“Ah, good,” her grandmother said at the sound of a tap on the door, “here he is now, so you’ll get to meet him. Then you’ll see there’s no problem.”

Kate turned, expecting the man to walk right in. But he politely waited for her grandmother to call out to him.

“Come on in, Rand.”

Since Dorothy Crawford was hardly one to call a man by his last name unless it was preceded by a Mister, Kate had to assume Rand was his first name. She turned to look at the door as it swung open.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The man who came in was, in a word, beautiful. Young, but beautiful. Six feet or better, with hair a shade of platinum blond she’d only seen on children until now. It was thick and a bit unruly, falling forward over his forehead in the same way a child’s silky hair did.

But while young, he was anything but a child. He moved with a very male kind of grace that told her he was probably an athlete of some kind, or at least in good shape.

Very good shape, she amended wryly as she got a better look.

“No point in you knocking if you’re going to be living here,” her grandmother was saying. “Just come on in.”

The man glanced at Kate before he answered her grandmother, and Kate felt an odd little jolt at the sight of vivid, cobalt-blue eyes.

Oh, now that really wasn’t fair. Not fair at all.

Then he smiled, not at her but at her grandmother, and Kate instantly went on guard.

“I stopped at the market for some things,” he said, “so I picked up the sugar you said you’d forgotten.”

“Well, wasn’t that sweet of you?” Dorothy cooed.

Her grandmother actually cooed, Kate thought, barely managing to resist shaking her head in shock. That sort of reaction was usually limited to babies and puppies. Certainly not grown men. And for all his boyish looks, there was no mistaking this Rand was just that. He looked to only be in his twenties, but he was still all man.

“Gram,” she began, unable to stop the urge to caution that rose in her.

“Ah. You must be Kate,” the man said. “I should have guessed.”

Instantly provoked, and not quite sure why, Kate went on the offensive. “And why is that, Mr….?”

“Singleton,” he supplied politely. “Rand Singleton, Miss Crawford.”

He made her feel like a schoolteacher, with that very proper “miss.” An old schoolteacher. But if he thought that would distract her, he was mistaken.

“Why would you assume I’m Kate?” she persisted.

“Because,” he said with a smile at her grandmother, “beauty seems to run in the family.”

Oh, good grief, Kate thought. He can’t think anybody’s buying this!

Then she caught a glimpse of her grandmother’s face and, astonishingly, the spots of color rising in her cheeks. Her jaw dropped. Her grandmother, it seemed, was buying it by the bagful.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned them on the newcomer. He met her gaze steadily, with one brow lifted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

I don’t care if you do, she muttered inwardly.

“If you doubt that,” he said softly, clearly aimed at her, “you need a new mirror.”

“And you need a new line,” she said as her grandmother smiled with obvious pleasure.

She had a mirror, and she knew perfectly well what she looked like. Average. Nice eyes, although of late they were tired and bloodshot more often than not. Hair was okay, kind of a nondescript dark brown, but healthy and shiny even if simply clipping back the shoulder-length strands was her only effort at a hairstyle.

No, nothing striking or eye-catching about her, not these days. There had been a time, in the big corporate world and with the help of polished makeup, chic haircuts and stylish clothes, that she had drawn that kind of attention, but no longer. She didn’t look bad for a woman of forty-one, but she was still average.

And still old enough to be this guy’s…aunt.

She nearly laughed aloud at her own absurdity. The man must have seen the change in her expression, for his own changed to one of puzzlement.

No, I haven’t changed my mind about you, she said to herself in answer to his look. I’m just realizing I’m as touchy as any woman of a certain age confronted with an attractive man too young for her. Especially when he seems to be flirting.

Which was, of course, her imagination. Whatever he was doing, it likely had very little to do with her. And everything to do with charming her grandmother, who was chatting away as if this man had grown up next door.

She studied the intruder more carefully, going beyond his startling good looks this time. She noticed that despite the seeming rebelliousness of his hair, there was a stylish cut there. Noticed that the watch on his left wrist was, while not a Rolex, definitely out of her league. Noticed that while the jeans and knit shirt he wore weren’t blatantly expensive, the belt around his slim waist was. Noticed that the athletic shoes he wore were past new, but a top brand.

Why?

Why would a good-looking, twenty-something guy, who obviously wasn’t down on his luck, rent a room from an elderly couple in a tiny place like Summer Harbor? And be so darned nice to them to boot?

She could only think of one reason. He was up to something. And the most likely thing was trying to con her loving, generous grandparents. It was in the news almost every day—some poor, sweet grandmother or grandfather who had been taken in by a smooth operator. And that was something she would never, ever allow to happen. To her, people who scammed the elderly were beyond redemption. Anyone who would try to steal from the couple who had raised her, who had changed their entire life’s plan for her, was going to have to deal with her. And she would not be kind.

“What are you doing in Summer Harbor?” Kate asked during the first pause in her grandmother’s animated conversation, not caring if her bluntness offended him.

“Working,” he said, the charming smile still in place, but his reaction clear in the one-word answer. Oddly, that reassured her. If he’d acted as if her nearly rude query were normal, she’d have been even more convinced he was up to no good.

“You’re a photographer?” She reined in her tone a little, aware her grandmother was not looking pleased with her.

“This is a beautiful part of the world, worth photographing, don’t you think?”

Well, there’s an answer that avoids answering, she thought. “Freelance, I suppose,” she muttered, knowing the answer. If he said he worked for some established magazine or publisher, it would be too easy to check. Her suspicions deepened.

“I do some freelance work, yes,” he said, eyeing her steadily, almost as if he had suspicions of his own. “I like to make my own choices of what to photograph.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve been all over the world,” Dorothy said. Almost gushed, Kate admitted ruefully.

“I’ve logged some miles,” he agreed.

“You and Kate should talk. She used to travel a great deal. She was a big executive with an investment company back east.”

“I don’t think Denver qualifies as ‘back east,’ Gram,” Kate said.

“It’s east of here,” the man said, turning a smile on Dorothy that would have melted the heart of any woman.

Except one who was afraid for the people she loved most in the world.

“Exactly,” Dorothy said with obvious delight. “Come have a cup of coffee, now that there’s sugar to put in it.”

Oh, good grief, Kate thought again as the man followed her grandmother into the kitchen. She nearly said it aloud, then realized that if he was what she suspected, she’d best not antagonize him right off the bat. Better to let him think he was succeeding, and catch him in the act. She’d just have to watch him carefully.

That won’t be too painful, she thought, then immediately castigated herself for being beyond stupid. Besides, even though it might not be painful, it was going to be a pain. She didn’t have time for this. She already had those thefts at work to deal with. Plus her best mechanic, who’d lost his wife last year, was in a state of total distraction over his rebellious son. And then her grandparents needed a more reliable car to replace their old station wagon, and neither they nor she could afford it just now….

Which was why they’d decided to rent out a room, she realized suddenly. And felt guilty; they’d done so much for her. They’d taken her in and raised her at a time when they’d been looking forward to retiring, and then they’d taken her back again when her world had fallen apart. She owed them everything, and had paid them back so little. They’d argue with her, of course, and mean it. They’d done it out of love, but that didn’t lessen her worry that she wasn’t taking good enough care of them.

“I gather you didn’t know about this?”

The quiet voice behind her startled her. She spun around to see the new boarder watching her as he sipped from one of her grandmother’s favorite coffee mugs.

She tried to rein in her antagonism, but it was fueled by worry and she wasn’t very successful. “About this plan to rent a room in their own home? No, I didn’t.”

“And you don’t like it.”

She noticed it wasn’t a question, but supposed her demeanor had made that obvious to all but the thickest bricks. He clearly wasn’t one of those. But she supposed you didn’t make a good con artist if you couldn’t sense what your victims were feeling.

“No,” she said, reverting to bluntness once more.

“Fortunate for me, then, that it’s not your decision.”

He turned then and walked back into the kitchen, leaving Kate gaping after him.

After a moment she closed her mouth.

You’d think a con man would be a little more careful about offending, she thought. Which led to the obvious thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t one.

Or, she amended, he was just a very good one, and knew better than to appear too ingratiating.

“Whatever you’re up to, you’re not going to get away with it,” she muttered as she picked up her keys. “I’ll see to that.”

Somehow, she added silently. Along with everything else I have to do, I’ll see to it.

Chapter 2

Kate Crawford was nervous, Rand Singleton thought.

She was also beautiful. Not in the way of the photos he’d seen in her personnel file, where she was glamorous, gorgeous and looked very high-power, but in a much more natural way. More real. More reachable. More.

Touchable, he thought, then shook his head at his own folly. It didn’t matter what she looked like. Didn’t matter that her hair was sleek and shiny and the color of rich, dark coffee. Or that her eyes were unexpectedly topaz and quite striking. Or that she was tall and graceful with just the right amount of curves. What mattered was the fact that she clearly didn’t like the idea of him being here at all.

He mentally filed the knowledge away. This assignment was just beginning, so he wasn’t sure where—or if—she fit in yet. What he was sure of was that she was in the perfect position at Redstone Northwest to be involved, or even be the mastermind behind the thefts. Especially since they had begun shortly after she’d started working there.

That’s why he’d been so pleased with his luck. He’d planned to just stay in a local motel, figuring it would work for his cover as a photographer. Little had he known that the town of Summer Harbor didn’t have a motel. Not this time of year, anyway; the small guest operations that were open during the tourist-filled summer months were closed now, many of the owners fleeing south ahead of the approaching winter.

“Teach you to assume,” he told himself as he finished unpacking in the comfortably sized upstairs room, furnished with older but quality pieces that made him feel as if he was staying back at his own grandparents’ suburban home outside San Diego.

He smothered the pang he always felt when he thought of the two people who had loved him so. He still missed them, and the only thing that eased the pain was the knowledge that they had died as they had lived for so many years; together. Dorothy and Walt Crawford reminded him of them, and he’d felt immediately comfortable with the couple. And, as usually happened, they seemed to take to him right off. Sometimes this innocent baby face of his was an advantage.

He’d chosen the armoire as a storage place for his photographic gear. He handled the equipment with the familiarity of long usage. He’d once considered becoming a photographer in fact, but the lure of working for Redstone, Inc. had been too much, and once he’d landed on the crack Redstone security team, he knew he’d found his true calling.

His mother hadn’t been happy about it, knowing he would occasionally be sent on risky assignments, but she’d finally backed off, saying that if he was going to have such an insane career, it might as well be for Joshua Redstone, who was known for looking out for his people.

Josh also made sure Rand had a chance to do some photography work now and then, some of which had been used around the world in Redstone literature and advertising, and Rand felt as if he had the very best of two worlds.

When he’d finished with the photo gear, he turned to the rest of the things he’d packed. He tossed the jeans in a dresser drawer along with a couple of pullover sweaters and several shirts. He had a feeling he would be glad he’d taken Josh’s advice and put in some heavy socks. The days were still warm, but the brisk scent of winter was already in the evening air up here in the Northwest, although the actual turn of the season was still a couple of weeks away.

The sound of singing from downstairs brought him back to his original thought about his luck. What else would you call it when you stumbled into the perfect setup—a room for rent by the family of the head of the very Redstone department he’d been sent to investigate?

When the man at the small grocery had mentioned that the Crawfords were looking for a tenant, it had seemed so lucky that he’d been suspicious at first, until he realized that in a town with a year-round population of less than two thousand, it was likely everybody really did know everybody else’s business.

There didn’t seem to be much buzz about anything going on at Redstone, though. He’d felt his way very carefully, saying only that he’d seen the place while out exploring the countryside. The only reaction he’d gotten was one of open, cheerful enthusiasm for the presence of Redstone. It had apparently done wonders for the tax base of the tiny town, thanks to some bargaining Joshua Redstone had done with the county, making sure a large portion of the taxes they would pay would go directly to Summer Harbor.

But now someone was stealing from the benefactor. And although to some the crimes might seem petty when weighed against the vastness of the Redstone empire, Josh was not one to let things like this slide or consider them beneath his attention. Especially when what was being stolen was one of Redstone inventor Ian Gamble’s latest inventions. The new self-regulating, automatic insulin pump functioned like a normal pancreas because it could sense when the body needed insulin and automatically administer it. It could not only save thousands of lives, but make thousands more easier.

Of course, that made it even more valuable to the thieves.

Rand finished unpacking the last of his clothes and stood for a moment, contemplating whether he was going to need the heavy parka he’d just hung up in the closet. He decided against it for now, figuring he’d get the feel of the temperature first. He’d just been in Canada last week, so perhaps he was still acclimated somewhat to the cooler clime.

Sure he’d left his small .38 revolver securely locked in the case for now, he was done. He dug his cell phone out of the side pocket of the duffle that had held everything he’d brought, including his laptop. He hit the button that had been programmed to dial Redstone Security at their California headquarters.

“Draven.”

“It’s Rand,” he said to his boss, head of Redstone security. “I’m in place.”

“Good.”

Man of very few words, his boss. “You’ll never guess where.”

“No, I won’t.”

Rand sighed; John Draven seemed edgier than usual today, which was saying something.

“Crawford’s grandparent’s.”

There was a pause, and Rand thought with some satisfaction that for once he’d surprised the unflappable Draven.

“They were renting out a room,” he added, feeling he should.

“Convenient,” was all Draven said.

“Yeah, I wondered about that, especially finding out about it like I did. But the town’s so small, everybody knows everything.”

“Different.”

“Very,” Rand agreed.

“Your cover going to work?”

Rand had been offered a cover inside the Redstone facility here, but had decided it might work better if he was on the outside. Besides, there was a new security guy on board at this plant, Brian Fisher, a kid Josh himself had hired. He had been trying to investigate the thefts, and Josh didn’t want the twenty-two-year-old’s confidence crushed. So Rand had taken out the camera gear that had sat unused for too long and headed for the rural Northwest undercover.