she wasn’t alone with her father that had her heart beating faster. It was the intensity of the man’s eyes as he continued to stare at her. She held his gaze, at first because a three-foot crowbar couldn’t have pried her away, and then as she gained her composure, out of sheer defiance.
His hair was dark as coal, his eyes midnight blue, intensely intelligent and completely void of emotion. There were tiny lines at the corners, most certainly from frowning, Allison figured, based on the hard set of his jaw and lips. And tall. At least six foot three, and even with the sport coat and slacks he had on she could see that he had the distinct build of an athlete: broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular arms and legs. His stance appeared casual, but Allison felt the vibrations of the energy coiled inside him, and she sensed he could move with the same speed as the lightning that streaked across the sky behind him at this very moment.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Allison turned back to her father. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with anyone. I can come back—”
Oliver Westcott shook his head. “Come sit, Allison.”
There was something wrong, something terribly wrong, Allison realized with icy dread. She hadn’t heard that tone in her father’s voice since the night he’d called her into his study and told her that her mother had died.
Her legs shook as she moved closer to the desk, but she did not sit. “What is it?”
“Maybe nothing at all,” Oliver answered, and his frown softened. “But just to be on the safe side, I’ve ordered additional security here in the building and brought in Mr. Kane. Kane, this is my daughter, Allison. Allison, Thomas Kane.”
“Mr. Kane.”
He nodded. “Just Kane will do.”
She acknowledged him with a nod of her own, then turned her attention back to her father. She could see he was hedging, and she knew he only did that when he was worried. Really worried. “What ‘safe side’ are you talking about, Dad? What’s happened?”
Oliver sighed, then scooped up the papers on his desk and handed them to Allison. As she took them she realized they weren’t papers, but black-and-white photographs. She glanced at them quickly. They were all pictures of her and her father.
“Detective Carlos Fandino of the Seattle police department gave these to me early this morning,” he said soberly. “The police lab developed them from a roll of film found under the seat of a stolen car.”
She looked at the pictures more closely. The first few shots were of her father coming out of the pavilion. The next three were taken at a restaurant where they’d had lunch together two days earlier. Confused, she continued to move through the pile. There were more shots of her getting into her car after grocery shopping, a few more of her coming out of her apartment.
A cold chill seeped through her as she looked through the pictures. When had these been taken? And by whom? She hadn’t seen anyone with a camera or—
She froze as she came to the last picture. It was of her, obviously taken from a distance with a zoom lens. She knew exactly when and where this picture at been taken: last week, the night she’d slept at her father’s house after his birthday party. She was sitting at the dressing table in the upstairs bedroom.
And the only things she had on were a bra and panties.
Kane watched Allison as she slowly sank into the chair. Her face, flushed only moments ago from her mad dash out of the rain, turned ghostly white, giving her the appearance of a frightened porcelain doll. Her mouth opened in astonishment, and as he stared at her lips he realized they were wider and fuller than he’d noticed in his ID pictures.
She was much more beautiful in the flesh, he decided, but couldn’t quite decide why. Perhaps it was the fire that danced in her brown hair under the fluorescent lights, or maybe it was the shade of green in her eyes, a soft, almost bluish green that reminded him of delicately carved jade statues. Whatever it was, he found it disturbing.
He moved beside her, smelled the wild scent of the storm she’d brought in with her, then reached down and pulled the photographs from her white knuckles. She looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning.
“I—I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “How…Who took these?”
Kane laid the pictures on the desk, then sat on the edge, blocking her view of them. “We don’t know yet. The police are checking out what appears to be a thumbprint on the film case, but the film itself is standard and could be purchased at any one of a hundred stores in this area alone.”
She straightened and her gaze darted to her father. “Has someone threatened you?”
Oliver shook his head. “Only by taking those pictures. But we weren’t the only ones on that roll of film, Allison. There were two other people, local businessmen like myself, well known in the community. They both live on Fox Island within two or three blocks of our house, and they’re both wealthy.” His frown deepened. “And that was just one roll of film. There’s no way of knowing how many more photographs this person—or persons—has taken.”
The thought of someone following her, watching her, taking pictures…Allison tugged her skirt down over her knees. “What about the police?”
Oliver’s sigh had a strong note of exasperation. “There’s been no real threat, just some kook taking pictures. A kook we can’t even identify,” he added with annoyance.
Allison glanced at Kane, then back to her father. “Your security team is more than capable of handling perverted photographers, Dad. I don’t understand why you’ve brought in Mr. Kane.”
“It’s just a precaution, Allie.” Oliver smiled reassuringly. “I’ve got to go to Los Angeles for a few days and I’ll feel better if Kane keeps an eye on things.”
Allison knew her father well enough to know when he wasn’t being completely honest. She shifted her gaze to Kane. Something told her that if she wanted a direct answer, with no sugarcoating, this was the man to ask.
“Mr. Kane, my father has spent my entire life sheltering and protecting me. I know him well enough to recognize when he’s hiding something from me. I would appreciate it if you would tell me what it is he’s worried about.”
Kane glanced at Oliver, who sighed, then nodded. Kane looked back at Allison. “Kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Celebrities or politicians I could maybe understand, but as far as money, there are lots of people here in Seattle with a great deal more than us.”
“What might be pocket change to you could look like a life’s fortune to one of these guys.” Kane picked up a Waterford paperweight on the desk and examined it. “They’ll look for an easy mark. The simple fact that you don’t think it could happen to you makes you that easy mark. In case you weren’t aware of it, kidnapping has become quite fashionable.”
Allison bristled at Kane’s patronizing tone, but she couldn’t argue with the truth of his words. Last year one of her father’s business associates had barely escaped an attempt and then six months ago the newspapers had been filled with the story of the cable-television CEO abducted at gunpoint from his car. His wife had paid the ransom and he was found the next day. Dead.
“What makes you so sure it’s a kidnapping threat?” she asked. “What about extortion, or someone’s twisted attempt at blackmail or even just some crazy that likes to take pictures?”
Impatience shifted Kane’s shoulders. “Not too many photographers steal cars to take pictures. There’s nothing incriminating about the photographs to suggest blackmail, and there’s been no contact for extortion money. If you’re betting with your lives, always take the safe bet. If there’s no kidnapping attempt, the only thing you’ve lost is money.”
She narrowed a cool gaze at him. “And that’s easily replaceable, right?”
“A