He shrugged. “It’s what partners do.” He started across the room only to halt and turn back to face Griff. “After I leave I don’t want you to open the door until I get back,” he commanded. “I don’t care if it’s someone waving a badge. Whoever is doing this has managed to kill twelve people and move across the country without getting caught. They’re smart, and they’re organized. I don’t want you becoming the next victim.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t trust anyone,” Griff assured him, following his friend out of the study and to the front door. He waited there as he watched Rylan slip into his rented car and drive away.
Only then did he close the door and lock it.
Rylan was right. Whoever was responsible for the killing spree was either incredibly smart or lucky. Either way, he wasn’t going to take any chances.
Pouring himself another mug of coffee, he wandered back to his study and tried to concentrate on scouring for more information on the two men who’d been identified. They had to offer some clue to the killers.
Unfortunately, he found it increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts from straying to the woman who was currently sleeping in a room above him.
He didn’t want to disturb her. Not after her restless night. But he needed to assure himself that she was safely tucked in his bed.
Strolling to the back of the house, he was struck at how quiet it seemed. Odd. He’d lived here for years, and he’d always felt comforted by the peace that shrouded his home. Now he realized that he’d already become addicted to hearing Carmen’s bright chatter and the sounds of her moving around his house. And the scent of her lemony soap lingering in the air.
The thought that she might eventually disappear and leave him alone in his silent house was enough to make his heart squeeze with dismay. He didn’t want the silence. Or the illusion of peace.
He wanted Carmen.
In his life. And in his home.
Reaching the master suite, he eased open the door and stepped inside. He frowned, coming to a startled halt. He’d left the room shrouded in shadows. Now the French doors had been pushed open to allow the morning sunlight to spill across the empty bed.
Carmen was awake. And instead of coming to find him, she’d chosen to walk in the garden.
Weirdly hurt, Griff headed onto the balcony and down the staircase. His head might tell him that it was perfectly reasonable for Carmen to want to spend time in the beautiful morning air, but his heart wanted her to jump out of bed, anxious to be with him.
Juvenile, but true.
He headed down the flagstone pathway, and his steps quickened as his gaze swept the garden. Where was she?
He didn’t think she would leave the yard alone. Even if she was frustrated by her inability to be a part of the hunt for the killer. She was stubborn, not stupid.
He reached the end of his property and circled toward the side of his house. It was possible she preferred the shady terrace. In his haste, he didn’t notice the sound of the side gate being pushed open, or the man who strolled up the paved walkway. It wasn’t until a male voice interrupted his increasingly frantic search that Griff realized he was no longer alone.
“Morning, Griff.”
Glancing to the side, Griff came to a grudging halt. His neighbor was a tall, lanky man with a thick mane of silver hair. Dr. Randall Gregory had been a plastic surgeon to the stars for over forty years before retiring and moving away from the glitz and glamour of Hollywood.
Now he was like Griff. A man who just wanted to live his life without people poking their nose into his business.
Which made them perfect neighbors.
“Randall.” He smoothed his features to a polite smile. “Have you seen the young woman who’s staying with me?”
The man’s heavy brows rose at the unexpected question. “Not this morning. Has something happened?”
Griff shrugged. “Just wondering if she’d wandered out here. I was about to make breakfast.”
“Oh.” The man gave a lift of his hands. “I can’t help you. I just came out myself.”
“Okay. Thanks.” On the point of turning away, Griff was halted when the man spoke again.
“Hey, I was going to ask if you got your alarm system fixed?”
Griff froze. “What?”
“The security firm you asked to come check your system was here a couple days ago,” Randall told him.
“I wasn’t home a couple of days ago,” Griff reminded the man.
“Yeah. The man came over and said that you told him that I had a key,” Randall said. “I didn’t tell anyone I had a spare to your place, so I assumed you must have sent him.”
“You let him in?”
“Yeah.” Randall frowned, a hint of worry settling on his tanned face. “Did I do something wrong?”
Griff wanted to screech in fury. Instead, he forced himself to find out as much information as possible.
“What do you remember about the man?”
“He had on a uniform from a security company.” Randall looked defensive. “I assumed you must be having trouble with your alarms.”
Griff balled his hands into tight fists. He’d never gone into details about his business or the fact that he was the owner of one of the top security firms in the world. Which meant he would never, ever hire anyone to screw with his high-tech equipment. Now his dislike in casual chitchat was coming back to bite him in the butt.
“Do you remember the name of the security company?”
Randall furrowed his brow, searching his memory. “Residential Alarms,” he at last murmured. “Or something like that.”
“Did you see what he was driving?”
“Just a plain van. White.”
“Christ,” Griff breathed.
“Is there anything I can do?” Randall called out as Griff spun on his heel and ran at full speed back into the house.
Griff ignored his worried neighbor as self-disgust blasted through him. He was considered the premier security expert in the world. His talents helped to protect America from terrorist attacks. But he’d been outmaneuvered by one of the oldest tricks in the book.
Jerking out his phone, he dialed 911.
Then he called Rylan.
Chapter Twenty-One
December 28, California
After a year spent traveling from one hotel room to another, Carmen was used to waking up and not knowing exactly where she was. Usually she’d roll onto her back and slowly allow the memory from the day before to fill in the blanks. Eventually she’d figure it out.
This morning it wasn’t nearly so easy.
For one thing, she was lying on a hard floor instead of a bed. And despite the gloom that surrounded her, she could tell that she was in a vast space, not an expensive suite.
With a small groan, she lifted a hand to press it against her aching head, trying to pinpoint just what had happened.
She remembered being in Griff ’s bed. His arms had been tightly wound around her as she’d finally fallen to sleep. And then...
Nothing.
She struggled to clear her oddly fuzzy gaze, her confusion only deepening as she focused on the ceiling high above her.
There were a few rays of sunlight that peeked through narrow windows. The rays caught the speckles of dust that danced in the hushed air, and allowed her to catch sight of the heavy iron beams that served as rafters. The sort of beams that were only used in industrial buildings.
Certainly not expensive hotels.
It took longer than it should have, but at last her confusion mutated into fear.
She didn’t exactly know how she’d gone from the comfort of Griff ’s bed to being stretched out on the hard cement floor, but she did know that she was in danger. And that she had to escape.
Sucking in a deep breath, she sorted through the fog in her brain. Her first instinct was to leap to her feet and flee in terror. A smart decision, except for the fact that her limbs felt like they were filled with lead.
Her second instinct was to close her eyes and pretend that she was still unconscious. Playing dead worked for possums, didn’t it?
But almost as if to prove that she couldn’t run, or hide, the sound of soft footsteps echoed through the silence.
Fear clogged her throat, making it hard to breathe as she forced herself to turn her head. At first she was distracted by the huge stacks of wooden planks that were neatly piled on steel racks throughout the vast, open space. On the far walls were square sheets of plywood and tall posts that didn’t fit on the shelves.