in Kitty Hawk, the nearest hospital with full diagnostic services.
Lana had known Gladys Easterbrook nearly all her life and there was no reason to distrust her. However, she tried her father’s cell phone anyway. There was no answer.
This heightened her fear and she immediately called the airport to book a flight home.
Chapter 3
Lana arrived at Norfolk International Airport at noon the following day. Once she departed the plane she looked everywhere for Gladys Easterbrook. She had tried to talk the older woman out of driving all the way to the airport when she could just rent a car and drive directly to the hospital. But Gladys had insisted.
“Mrs. Lana Braithwaite-Corday?” said a masculine voice behind her.
Lana spun around and peered up into the face of a gorgeous giant. He had burnt-caramel skin and eyes that were so dark brown they looked black. High cheekbones, a strong, masculine chin and a clean-shaven jaw added to his appeal. The neatly shorn hair on his well-shaped head was dark brown and its texture was wavy. She had this inane thought that when he was a boy, and his mother had let him grow it out, it must have fallen to his shoulders in thick spirals. He was wearing jeans, athletic shoes and a T-shirt with the University of Virginia emblem on the front. Her first thought after being confronted by all that hotness was, Oh, God, not a reporter way down here! True, he wasn’t wearing a suit or shoving a microphone at her, but he was definitely TV-ready.
She brushed past him, clutching her shoulder bag and a small carry-on bag close to her side, as she headed for the exit. “Bug off. I’ve said all I’m going to say to the media.”
“Your dad sent me to pick you up,” the stranger called. “Miss Gladys’s back is acting up today.”
Lana stopped in her tracks and turned to regard him with a surprised expression on her face. She knew Miss Gladys often had back problems. “Who are you?” she asked tightly.
“Tennison West,” Ten said, holding out a big hand for her to shake. “I’m a filmmaker working on a documentary about your father.”
Lana briefly shook his hand, her eyes still locked with his as if she were trying to discern whether or not she could trust him by the intensity of her gaze.
“You got a driver’s license?” she asked cautiously.
Ten showed her his driver’s license which stated he was Tennison West and he lived in Washington, D.C. The bureau had established a whole new identity for him. They had even set up a website for him replete with samples of the past documentaries he’d produced.
They hadn’t prepared him for Lana, though. Ten felt a bit vulnerable under her scrutiny. He had seen her only in photographs and in videos. He had read about her life in reports given to him by agents he’d assigned to observe her. To be this near, smelling her perfume, a light, enticing floral scent, was entirely different. He could feel the warmth emanating from her denim-clad body and it ignited his senses.
He attempted to turn them off, though. He was here only because he had a hunch that as soon as Lana arrived in the Outer Banks, she would be followed. The only way to find the person potentially trailing her was to be with her as much as possible. He had to be extremely observant, which meant he couldn’t allow emotions to cloud his mind or judgment.
“That’s odd,” Lana commented as she handed him back his driver’s license. “Dad didn’t mention you the last time we talked. How long have you been working with him on this documentary?”
Ten smiled warmly. “Actually, he hasn’t signed on the dotted line yet. I went to see your father, explained what I wanted to do, he then passed out and I took him directly to the emergency room.”
Lana stared up at him, startled. “We’re wasting time. There’s still a two-hour drive to Kitty Hawk!”
She sprinted from the terminal with Ten close behind, shouting, “He told me to tell you not to worry. Wait, don’t you have any luggage?”
Lana didn’t slow down in her headlong rush. “No, no luggage. I was in a hurry. Where’s your car?” She didn’t have time to explain to this stranger that she had a closet full of clothes in her old bedroom at her dad’s house. It saved her from having to pack for her frequent trips home.
Ten got in front, and then reached back for her hand. “If you’ll allow me?”
They jogged hand in hand to the black SUV that was waiting in visitor parking. Ten helped her inside, then went around to the driver’s side and got in.
He turned to her as he started the engine. “There’s no need to panic. I overheard the doctor telling him he has a little arrhythmia. Nothing he can’t live with for a very long time.”
That was news to Lana. Her father didn’t have any health problems that she knew of. He was sixty-two and he still ran practically every day. He’d never smoked and he drank in moderation. The only vice he had was too much shellfish, which could be high in cholesterol. The man loved shrimp and lobster; he could devour steamed soft-shell crabs by the bucketful.
* * *
As he drove out of the parking lot, Ten noticed a short dark-skinned man with thick dreadlocks surreptitiously snap a photo of them with his cell phone. He smiled with satisfaction. Earlier, while he was waiting for Lana to arrive, he had seen the same man rubbernecking when the passengers from Lana’s flight were disembarking. The guy had obviously been waiting for someone and, when his gaze had fallen on Lana, he’d taken a couple of photos of her. Ten had then immediately taken photos of him.
“Did you see that?” Lana asked.
“See what?” Ten casually said.
“That guy just took our picture. Why would he do that?” The picture-snapper was dressed shabbily in dirty jeans, stained white athletic shoes and a faded long-sleeved shirt. Not the basic attire of a reporter. And Lana didn’t believe she was gossip-worthy enough for grungy paparazzi to have any interest in her. Besides, wouldn’t they use professional-quality cameras instead of a cell-phone camera?
“Have you ever seen him before?” Ten wanted to know. He watched as the guy got into a late-model Toyota Corolla. He made a mental note of the car’s tag number.
“No,” Lana responded tiredly.
* * *
“Are you a celebrity or something?” she asked, looking sideways at him.
Ten laughed. “In no way, shape or form,” he said. “I work behind the camera. Are you?”
Lana gave him a suspicious look. If he’d done his homework on her father before approaching him about doing a documentary on him, wouldn’t he have found out that Aaron Braithwaite’s only child was married to one of the most notorious frauds of the century? Or maybe she was giving Jeremy too much credit. Yes, he was public enemy number one in San Francisco but how many people had ever heard of him on a global scale?
“I would have to say no to that,” she said dryly.
“Maybe he just likes taking photos of beautiful women,” Ten said, smiling at her.
Lana laughed. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Beautiful and modest, too,” Ten said admiringly.
“Just keep your eyes on the road, buster,” Lana jokingly told him. But his compliment had relaxed her and made her laugh. God knew she could use a good laugh.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Ten good-naturedly, focusing on his driving.
The traffic from the airport was congested but once they got on the interstate, driving was a cinch. They made small talk all the way to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where Aaron had been admitted into the hospital.
“Nice little town,” Ten said. “There’s no traffic to speak of.”
“Your