Christmas Guardian. Delores Fossen

was strictly surveillance. Too bad his gut didn’t tell him why Burke had put a tail on him.

      Thankfully, there were no other vehicles on the street. There probably wouldn’t be, either. The street was private, leading only to his neighborhood, and this time of night, there weren’t many residents out and about. Jordan wanted that privacy in case this took an ugly turn.

      “Should I call the police?” Kinley asked. Her breath was jagged, and she had her purse in a white-knuckle grip.

      “No.” Not yet anyway. If he phoned anyone, it’d be Burke to find out what the devil was going on. That call would still happen, but first he wanted answers from the guy who’d tailed them.

      “Anderson Walker!” Jordan called out, and he made sure it didn’t sound like a question.

      The man still didn’t budge, and Jordan wondered if he’d made a mistake by jumping into this confrontation.

      Especially with Kinley in the car.

      Maybe he should have waited, but he really just wanted to end this here and now. He didn’t want anyone following him, especially when he didn’t know their intentions and when they were being so obvious about following Kinley and him.

      “Walker!” Jordan shouted.

      That did it. The door to the black car opened, and the sandy-haired guy stepped out. Anderson was what Jordan called a muscle man. Bulky shoulders. Young. He looked physically capable of pulverizing someone with his bare hands. Jordan had a few P.I.s like that on the Sentron staff because there were times when a strong arm was needed.

      So, why had Burke or Anderson thought he needed some intimidation?

      Anderson held his gun in his right hand. Not aimed. He had his index finger through the trigger loop, but the gun dangled upside down in a nonthreatening position.

      Jordan went for the threat. He pointed his Sig Sauer right at the man.

      “You plan to shoot me?” Anderson challenged. He had cocky written all over him.

      “That depends on your answer to my question. Why are you following me?”

      Anderson started to shift his gun, as if getting ready to aim. Jordan stepped forward and put his Sig Sauer at the guy’s head. “Don’t,” Jordan warned.

      Anderson froze. And Jordan said a silent prayer of thanks. He didn’t want to start a gunfight, and he didn’t want to put Kinley in danger. She apparently had enough danger after her without his adding more.

      “Toss your gun into your car,” Jordan instructed.

      Anderson looked at his gun. At Jordan’s. Then at Jordan himself. Jordan put on his best scowl, which he didn’t have to fake. There was plenty to scowl about. Anderson finally relented and put the gun inside his car. That didn’t mean they were safe because Jordan figured the guy was carrying at least one other backup pistol. Heck, he might even have actual backup in the form of another P.I. or security agent.

      “Why are you following me?” Jordan repeated.

      “It’s not personal.”

      Jordan arched his left eyebrow and gave him a flat look. “And that’s not an answer.”

      “It’s the only answer I can give you. My employer didn’t say why he wanted you followed, only that I was to report where you went tonight and who went with you.”

      That was a lot of info crammed into that brief two-sentence report. “Why didn’t Burke just ask me where I was going? I saw him at the party less than an hour ago.”

      The guy blinked. “Because Burke didn’t hire me.”

      Jordan studied the guy’s face, looking for any sign that he was lying, but he seemed darn smug about telling the truth. “Then who did?”

      “Dunno. I was contracted freelance through a broker.”

      A broker. In other words, a middle man who acted as a go-between for P.I.s and clients who didn’t want to be identified. That didn’t mean the employer couldn’t be traced. It just meant Jordan would have to dig through some layers to get to it. Judging from what Anderson had said, Kinley was the reason for this since his employer had wanted to know who went anywhere with Jordan.

      “What did your broker-using employer tell you to do?” Jordan questioned.

      “Wait outside Sentron.” The man paused. “And when you left, I was to follow you and report back.”

      They were simple instructions, but they could have deadly implications.

      Jordan stared at him. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re a really lousy P.I. or if you wanted me to know I was being followed.”

      Anderson lifted his shoulder.

      “Well?” Jordan pressed. “Which is it?”

      It still took him several moments to answer. “I was told to be obvious.”

      So, this was for intimidation. “Why?”

      “Wasn’t told that,” Anderson insisted.

      Jordan was about to push for more details, but he spotted the headlights of another vehicle. He eased his gun to his side so as not to alarm any of his neighbors who might be coming home late.

      But the car stopped.

      It stayed idling just up the street. And the driver kept the high beams on so that the blinding light glared through the darkness.

      Anderson glanced back at the car. “I’m leaving now. My advice—you do the same.”

      “Who’s your friend in the car?” Jordan demanded.