Keeping Her Safe Page 7

  Silence stretched between them for an uncomfortably long time. He finally forced himself to say something. “She’s a cute girl.”

  DJ. smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

  He gestured toward the garden. “What about those roses? Are you going to show me what to do?”

  She frowned at him with mock seriousness. “You need me to teach you how to hold a garbage bag?”

  “I could be a little more help than that.”

  “You really don’t know anything about gardens?”

  “No.” He shrugged and grinned. “But how hard can it be? I know you dig in the dirt, and I’ve always been good at that.”

  She laughed—an easy sound that sent a wave of comfort through him—and brushed hair from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’ll bet you have. Just follow along behind me and do what I tell you.”

  After checking on Marissa and the dog again, she climbed to the highest level of the terraced garden. Adam watched, anticipating the outline of her waist and hips beneath the sweatshirt.

  She turned back and caught him standing there, and her expression left no doubt in his mind that she knew exactly what he’d been doing. Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. “Well, come on.”

  Ducking his head to hide his grin, he followed her up the narrow rock walls and through the damp, spongy soil. She moved easily; he felt slightly off-balance and decidedly less than surefooted.

  The fragrance of roses filled the air as if it emanated from her. DJ breathed deeply, pulling in the scent with her. She met his gaze and grinned almost shyly. “I love roses. They’re probably my favorite flower.”

  Adam picked up a smashed beer can and came to a stop behind her. “I can tell you spend a lot of time working with them.”

  “Can you?” She looked pleased. “How?”

  “Footprints. They’re all over.” He stooped to pick up another can from the rutted soil. “Looks like you had a party out here.”

  She frowned and held out a hand for one of the cans. “These aren’t mine.”

  Adam’s hand froze, but he tried not to let his face betray him. “They’re not?”

  She shook her head slowly and studied the can before she dropped it into the garbage bag. “No. Probably some homeless person who needed a place to sleep.”

  Adam hoped the explanation was that innocent. Just the idea of Galloway getting this close made him nervous as hell.

  DJ didn’t look even slightly concerned. She crouched beside a bush and snipped several drooping blooms from its branches. “Mom didn’t tell me what kind of books you write.”

  The sudden change of subject caught him off guard, and he blinked in surprise. “Didn’t she?”

  “No. So what do you write?”

  He thought frantically. What could he say? What did he know about? “I…uh…” He laughed and said the first thing that came to mind. “Police…”

  “Police procedurals?”

  Maybe. Sounded good. He just wished he knew what they were. “Yeah.”

  “Is that what you like to read?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What else?” She held out a handful of dead leaves and twigs, a few weeds and a plastic ring from a six-pack of soda or beer.

  He held open the garbage bag while she dropped the trash inside. “That’s it, for the most part.”

  “So who’s your favorite author—besides yourself, of course?”

  What a question. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. “I try not to have any favorites.”

  She leaned back on her heels and studied him as if he’d landed from another planet. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She grinned and turned her attention back to the garden. “It’s a tactful answer, but I don’t believe you for an instant. What about my mom’s books? Do you read them?”

  He couldn’t say yes. One question about the books would give him away, but how could he maintain his cover as Christina Prescott’s friend if he said no? Frustrated beyond words, he hesitated a second too long.

  To his surprise, she laughed. “I didn’t think so. Does she know?”

  “I don’t know. She probably suspects.”

  “And she likes you, anyway?” She shook her head in mock amazement, then sobered. “She probably wouldn’t care, you know. She’s not the type to hold a difference in taste against you. Has she read all your books?”

  He shook his head and allowed himself a smile. “I don’t think she’s ever read a word I’ve written.”

  “I didn’t think so. Police procedurals aren’t really her type of books. She’s more the cozy type—nice, innocent murders committed by the next-door neighbors.” She grinned suddenly. “I’ll admit, I haven’t read your work, either. Are you going to hold that against us?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Not in a million years.”

  “Good. I’d like to look at them—do you write under your own name?”

  He didn’t know the right answer to that—didn’t authors usually write under their own names? He nodded slowly and muttered something vague enough to leave her free to interpret the sound in whatever way she chose.

  DJ clipped a few more roses and held out another handful of trash, and for a moment he thought she was about to say something more. But her expression suddenly sobered and she focused on something over his shoulder.

  Half expecting to find Marissa in some sort of mischief, he glanced behind him. He did see Marissa walking toward them, but a man was approaching just a step or two behind her.

  Adam stood slowly and studied him. Medium height, medium build and dark hair. And he knew that if he got close enough, he would see a cold pair of dark eyes.

  Larry Galloway. He’d aged a bit and his face had grown heavier over the years, but even at this distance Adam recognized him easily from the mug shot locked in his suitcase.

  Adam’s shoulders tensed, his easy mood evaporated, and his nerves pricked just under the skin the way they’d always done when he’d dealt with offenders like Galloway.

  Every impulse urged him to grab Marissa and stand in front of DJ to shield her. Every instinct told him prison hadn’t changed Galloway a bit—he was still a very dangerous man. But Adam couldn’t do a thing.

  He’d been ordered to say nothing to DJ. He’d been assigned to watch Galloway and, if possible, catch him violating parole. He forced himself to stand still and wait. Sooner or later Galloway would reveal his reasons for being here. And when he did, Adam would be ready for him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DJ WATCHED ADAM push to his feet and glare at the stranger on the driveway. Tension radiated from him, and a surprising level of hostility crackled in the air. His face looked taut and angry, just as it had when he’d come crashing through her bedroom door to save her.

  She wondered whether he’d always had a hero complex or whether her mother had charged him personally with DJ and Marissa’s safety. She’d long ago learned not to be suspicious of everyone who came her way, and she hoped that this time Adam would contain his urge to leap into battle over some imaginary problem.

  Standing quickly, she moved through the flower bed toward the bottom terrace level. To her dismay, Adam followed.

  Marissa stopped near the end of the driveway and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Mommy. This man wants to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be right there, sweetheart.”

  “Who’s that?” Adam asked under his breath. “A friend of yours?”

  “I don’t know who he is,” DJ admitted.

  “Do you want me to see what he wants?”

  “No.” She smiled and tried to use a more mellow tone. “He might be a customer.”

  Adam nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. He followed her onto the grass and moved swiftly to her side. “I’m serious, DJ. Why don’t you let me talk to him?”

  This time, she didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “Why? Because you’re a man and I’m a woman?”

  At
least he had the grace to flush with embarrassment. “No. It’s just—”

  But he broke off and shook his head, as if he didn’t know how to explain.

  DJ turned away again and crossed the lawn toward the driveway. The stranger wore jeans and a baseball cap, a black T-shirt and matching cowboy boots. He looked harmless.

  Until he smiled down at Marissa and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. “You have an awfully cute daughter.”

  DJ might not instinctively fear everyone, but she wouldn’t allow her annoyance with Christina and Adam to make her reckless. She put one hand on Marissa’s shoulder and spoke softly. “Sweetheart, why don’t you take Holly inside for a few minutes, okay?”

  Marissa frowned at her. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you do. But just for a few minutes.”

  Marissa hesitated another second, then seemed to think better of protesting any further. Calling to her dog, she led the way inside.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, DJ turned back to the stranger, only to discover that Adam had taken up an almost-threatening stance at the man’s side. She sighed softly and wished she could think of a way to send Adam inside with Marissa and Holly.

  She tried to ignore him and turned her attention to the stranger. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  He studied her for several long seconds without answering. His eyes flicked over her face and hair, and she felt another small twinge of concern. “Are you Devon Jo Prescott?” His voice was deep. Gruff. Gravelly. And the sound of it sent shivers down her spine.

  She pulled back and stared at him. Devon Jo? Where on earth had he heard that name? She hadn’t used it for years. In fact, she’d never used it that she could remember.

  She nodded slowly. “I am.”

  “I guess you don’t recognize me.”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied him. “No,” she admitted. “Should I?”

  “I thought you might,” he said. He glanced at Adam, then back at her. “Can we talk for a few minutes? Alone?”

  Before she could even open her mouth to respond, Adam pushed his way between them. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  DJ had no intention of going off alone with some strange man, and she resented Adam’s implication that she might, or that she needed him to tell her not to.

  “It’s a personal matter,” the man said without even sparing Adam a second glance.

  DJ shook her head. “I think it would be best for us to stay right here. Tell me, how do I know you?”

  “The name’s Larry Galloway.”

  It meant nothing to her. She frowned a little, trying to remember. “Have we met before?”

  Something unsettling flickered behind Larry’s eyes; his smile withered, but his voice remained friendly. “Galloway,” he said again. “Larry Galloway.”

  It seemed so important that she recognize him, DJ probed her memory again, hoping to find some clue, but her mind remained stubbornly blank. “I’m sorry. Where—”

  Adam sent her a sideways glance. “You don’t know him?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  Adam firmed his stance and crossed his arms. “Why don’t you tell her who you are and how she knows you.”

  Larry barked a laugh—one humorless note. He turned halfway away and worked his baseball cap over his head for a few seconds before he faced DJ and tried to laugh again. “I’ve gotta admit, this is strange. Not what I expected at all.”

  Larry’s evasive tactics combined with Adam’s defensive ones grated on DJ’s nerves, and a headache started throbbing low in the base of her skull. “Can you tell me something that might help me remember?”

  “All right. You were awfully young last time I saw you, so I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me. But I thought for sure you’d know my name. Didn’t your mother tell you about me?”

  “My mother?” DJ glanced at Adam, then back at Larry. “How do you know my mother?”

  “You really don’t know?” Larry asked. “You don’t remember anything?”

  Adam took another step toward Larry, but DJ put a restraining hand on his arm. “I don’t remember anything, so please, just tell me who you are.”

  “This, uh…” Larry paused, then snorted. “Hell, I don’t know what to say. This wasn’t how I pictured meeting you again after all these years. I expected you to remember.”

  “Remember what?” Adam demanded.

  This time, DJ didn’t resent his interference. Larry’s cat-and-mouse game had worn her patience thin.

  Larry drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not trying to cause trouble, I just didn’t expect to have to introduce myself.” He fiddled with his cap again, readjusted the waistband of his jeans, then sighed heavily. “All right, look—I don’t know any other way to say this, so I guess I’ll just blurt it out. I’m your father, Devon.”

  DJ drew back as if he’d hit her, and her stomach clenched. Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it hadn’t been that. “What kind of sick joke are you playing? My father is dead.”

  His expression sobered instantly. “Is that what she told you? She told you I was dead? Where is she? She’ll have to tell you the truth now.”

  DJ shook her head and backed a step away. “She’s on a book-signing tour if it’s any of your business. Look, I don’t know who you are, and I want you to leave. Now.”

  “What about Laura? Ask her, why don’t you?”

  She could feel Adam watching, but while he’d been so anxious to play hero a few minutes ago, now he did nothing but stare in stony silence.

  “She’s away, too, but I don’t need to ask her anything. You are not my father.” She spoke slowly, deliberately, so Larry wouldn’t misunderstand a single word. “My father died when I was two years old. His name was not Larry Galloway.”

  “I’ve got all the documents right here to prove what I’m saying. At least look at them.”

  DJ shook her head and took another step away. “I told you to leave. If you don’t, I’m calling the police.”

  But Larry didn’t look even slightly concerned. Instead, he reached for her as if he intended to keep her from leaving. “Wait. At least look at what I’ve got. If you don’t believe me then, I’ll leave. I swear I will.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a folded manila envelope from his back pocket.

  DJ didn’t want to touch anything of his. She shook her head again, cautious now about saying something that might anger this man who was so obviously delusional. She silently willed Adam to go inside the house and telephone the police, but he remained rooted to the spot.

  He nodded toward the envelope in Larry’s hand. “Take a look inside. See what he’s got.”

  “No.” The word exploded like a gunshot, but Adam didn’t listen. He took the envelope from Larry’s grasp and pulled a worn Polaroid snapshot from inside. He studied it for countless seconds and his expression grew more guarded, more sullen, more solemn by the moment. Without a word, he handed the photograph to her.

  She didn’t want to look at it, but Adam insisted. In her hand she saw a handsome, youthful version of Larry Galloway, smiling at the camera and holding a beaming child in his arms. DJ closed her eyes and fought back the wave of nausea that washed through her. She knew that child. She’d looked through her mother’s old photographs too many times not to recognize herself.

  She lowered the picture slowly. “Where did you get this?”

  Larry smiled. “I’ve had it since the day your Grandma Galloway took it. It’s worn, but it’s the only picture I have of you. To tell you the truth, it’s the only thing that’s kept me going.”

  DJ held it out to him. It proved nothing. Nothing. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re trying to do,” she said. “But it’s not going to work.”

  He nodded toward the envelope again. “There’s more. Go on. Look at the rest.”

  “I don’t want to look at anything else,” she insisted. Her voice sounded too high, too fran
tic, and she forced herself to calm down before she spoke again. “This is a cruel joke, and I refuse to have anything to do with it.”

  She expected Adam to hand the envelope back to Larry, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled out a folded document and studied it before he held it out to her.

  Her eyes focused on the document slowly. It looked like a birth certificate, but it said her name was Devon Jo Galloway, and named Lawrence Andrew Galloway as her father, not Peter Prescott.

  Her heart raced, her mouth dried and the world around her seemed to blur as tears of anger filled her eyes. She touched the seal, praying it wasn’t real, but the embossed lettering certainly made it feel authentic.

  She fought down the nausea that swamped her and shoved the offending document back at the vile man who’d brought it. “This isn’t real. It can’t be. Who are you? What do you want?” As if he intended to calm her, Adam touched her shoulder lightly. She jerked away from the contact, too angry to think, too confused to want anything from him.

  Larry looked at her with sad eyes. “It’s true, Devon. You were the most beautiful baby I ever saw, and you were mine, my first child.”

  Covering her ears with her hands, she backed away from him.

  “What about Laura?”

  “She was Prescott’s, but you were my very own daughter.”

  “Stop it. Don’t say another word.”

  “Laura and I waited together for the nurse to bring you into the nursery. Seemed like they took forever. I drank tons of coffee, and I thought Laura would jump out of her skin waiting.” Larry laughed a little and tried to meet her gaze.

  She refused to look at him. She couldn’t. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to purge herself of this horrible feeling. “If you’re not off my property in thirty seconds, I’m calling the police.”

  Half expecting Adam to start toward the telephone, she glanced at him, but he stood beside her, watching without moving, listening without reacting.

  Larry stepped into her line of vision. “You were the noisiest baby in the nursery. In fact, the nurses had to bring you into your mother’s room so the other babies could sleep.”

  Bile rose in DJ’s throat. She’d heard that story many times before, from her mother and Laura. And somehow this man had heard it, too—in some writing class her mother had taught, or at a seminar. Somewhere. Anywhere.