Night Moves Read online

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Night Moves

  ISBN # 978-1-907010-33-0

  ©Copyright Desiree Holt 2009

  Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright June 2009

  Edited by Michele Paulin

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road

  , Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-sizzling.

  The Sentinels

  NIGHT MOVES

  Desiree Holt

  Dedication

  To Wolfie, the ultimate alpha male

  Chapter One

  Regan Matthews sat in her car in the parking lot and stared at the side of the stone building. She couldn’t sit here all day. A glance at her watch told her she’d already been here for fifteen minutes and hadn’t even been able to unbuckle her seatbelt. How ridiculous was this? She was a lawyer—and a damn good one—with a level head and a firm grip on reality. And yet here she sat, unable to complete a simple task.

  Maybe the trouble was finally admitting she had a real problem she couldn’t solve by herself. Regan always took care of things herself. An only child whose parents had both passed away, she’d learned to depend on herself long ago. Never show weakness. Even now, she wanted to convince herself this entire thing was a hoax that she could make go away by ignoring it. But the hang-up calls every night unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. The emails made her nervous, wondering who would send threatening messages to her personal email address.

  She’d debated with herself through the entire work day as she prepared motions to be heard in court, reviewed evidence and interviewed witnesses. She was focused enough to shut everything away when she was working, but by evening, the problem had popped up again. Just a simple message on her windshield, but it had been enough to shake her. Especially since it had been left in a secure garage.

  You’re dead, bitch. You can’t run away from me now.

  It had finally convinced her this was more than a prank and made her admit the unthinkable. She was scared.

  Damn!

  Standing in the garage, looking at the message, she’d realised only a fool would ignore what was an escalating situation. Okay, so now it might be time to talk to someone. Not the police. She didn’t trust them any more than she trusted anyone else. As a high profile assistant prosecutor, she’d seen her share of bad cops and had her run-ins with them. Who was to say one of them wasn’t doing this?

  She pulled out the business card that her friend, Linda Gillette, had given her at lunch after Regan had dumped the problem on her. She’d had to talk to someone, just to make sure she wasn’t crazy. When Linda had run from an abusive and very wealthy husband, she’d hired an agency to protect her, shield her, and get enough on her husband to make him go away quietly. The Sentinels, it was called.

  “They’re terrific,” Linda had told her. “There are eight partners, including one woman, and they just do…incredible things.”

  “What, you mean like magic tricks?” Regan snorted. “Give me a break. One agency’s the same as all the others.”

  “Not them,” Linda insisted.

  “Well, I’m glad they helped you, but I hardly think I’ll ever need their services. I’m not hiding from a rat like Calvin Gillette.” She laughed. “I don’t even have a relationship, for God’s sake.”

  “Something you need to remedy as soon as possible, my friend. You’re going to burn yourself out.” Linda pulled a business card from her wallet and thrust it at Regan. “Take this. Someone’s waging a campaign against you. You’ve put a lot of crazies away, Regan. You never know when one of them will decide it’s time for a little payback.”

  Now Regan stared at the card, and before she could change her mind, punched the numbers into her cell phone. Maybe no one would be there this late, and she could go home and forget she was being a nervous old maid.

  But the man who took her call identified himself as Brian Spencer, assured her they kept late hours and it was fine for her to come right over. His voice was deep and warm like chocolate syrup, only with a slightly rough quality to it. For some reason, the sound of it reminded her of the wolf head logo on the business card, and a tiny shiver danced on her skin.

  She looked at her watch again. Five more minutes had passed. Well, Regan, you won’t get anywhere just sitting in the car. Just go talk to him. If he thinks it’s nothing, all you’ve lost is an hour or so. And you’ll have reinforced your own thoughts.

  A stalker. How ridiculous. Something she absolutely did not need.

  She pulled down the sun visor and checked herself in the small, lighted mirror. Her thick blonde hair, which she usually wore pulled back with a clip, was still in place even after a harrowing day. Her emerald-green eyes looked tired, missing their usually sparkle, and her pale skin looked even paler. She took a minute to refresh the minimal amount of makeup she wore. The last thing she wanted when she walked in was to look like a basket case. Smoothing her navy silk blouse and skirt, she climbed out of her SUV.

  Automatically, she scanned the parking lot for any other presence, a habit she’d developed the last few days. A shadow moved at a distant corner, and she blinked her eyes. Surely that wasn’t a wolf. No, her eyes were playing tricks on her because she’d just looked at the business card. When she looked again, whatever it was had disappeared. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she locked her car and strode to the entrance of the small building. Through a glass door, she saw a deserted lobby, no one in sight.

  Well, it is almost eight o’clock.

  She pulled on the door, but it was obviously locked. What the hell?

  “Miss Matthews?”

  She looked around. The voice was coming from a speaker just above the door to the right.

  “Yes. I can’t seem to get the door open.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Regan checked her surge of impatience and watched as a tall, dark-haired man strode into the lobby from the left. Even through the glass, there was something electric about his presence.

  Stop it, you idiot. You’re not here for a date.

  A buzzer sounded, and seconds later, he pulled the door open and waved her inside.

  “Brian Spencer.” He held out his hand.

  The moment they connected, a bolt of pure lust shot through her. She was struck speechless. Other men had certainly appealed to her, and she’d had her share of lovers, but nothing—absolutely nothing—had ever elicited such a powerful reaction from her. An electric charge seemed to zap the air. She looked at the man and saw a flash of surprise whisk across his face. Then it was gone.

  She was tempted to call the whole thing off and run to the safety of the car. Oh, wait. Her car w
as no longer safe. But neither was this man. She drew in a breath and pulled herself together as best she could.

  “Sorry about the door,” he told her. “A lot of our clients have not so nice people dogging them so we built in some security safeguards.”

  “Not so nice people. Like Calvin Gillette.

  “Seems like the smart thing to do. I’m Brian Spencer. Thanks for calling the agency.”

  She raked her eyes over him in a quick assessing gaze. Well over six feet, he had broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and hips and ending in long, long legs. His long-sleeved, black T-shirt and grey slacks fit him closely. His face was lean with a broad forehead and high cheekbones, amber eyes beneath sooty thick lashes and all of it framed by a thick mop of silken black hair that flowed almost to his shoulders.

  This was the man Linda told her could handle any problems? Regan thought he looked like the kind who would make them. She couldn’t help staring at him. There was something almost feral about him, and she wondered if she’d made the right choice. Then he spoke again, and the spell was broken.

  “My office is upstairs,” he told her in that same deep voice, leading her to a curved open stairway. “This way.”

  Although the lobby was empty of people, as they moved along the upper hallway Regan saw ribbons of light beneath closed doors. Another door was partially open, giving her a view of a massive electronics set-up. As they passed, a man in jeans and a rumpled T-shirt spotted them and rose to shut the door.

  Brian’s office was at the end of the hall and was a reflection of the man himself. A wide desk with a black granite top set on chrome legs was angled at one corner, a high-back ergonomic chair behind it. In front of it were two client chairs in ebony upholstered in black and white tweed. A black leather couch ran along one wall. A side extension of the desk held not just one but four computers, all with the Sentinel logo blinking on their screens.

  He gestured towards one of the client chairs and sat down easily behind the desk, watching her. “All right, Miss Matthews, let’s hear what your problem is and see if we can help with it. You mentioned on the phone that Linda Gillette had recommended us, so I’m going to assume you’re familiar with our services.”

  She wet her lips nervously, once again wondering if this was such a great idea. She, who found most men either boring or abrasive, was imagining the kind of services she’d like from this man, and they had nothing to do with investigation or detecting.

  “It’s probably nothing,” she began, trying to get herself on track. “And I’m not someone given to jumping at every little thing. I’m an assistant prosecutor with the homicide unit. Very little scares me.”

  Brian shook his head. “Almost every client who walks in here says something similar. If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be sitting across from me. So tell me what’s going on.”

  “All right.” She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, doing her best not to let her skirt ride up, especially when she saw his eyes drop to the exposed area of thigh, a faint flame flickering in them. “I seem to have picked up a stalker.”

  “A stalker.” Those eyes seemed glued to her face, and with an unexpected jolt, her nipples hardened and moisture dampened her panties.

  Holy shit, Regan! This is a business appointment. Your life might be in danger and the guy you want to hire is waking up your almost dead hormones?

  “I think so. It started with hang-up calls at night. One then another, until now, it’s every night. Then I got a couple of text messages on my cell, followed by three emails to my personal email address.”

  “So…someone who obviously knows you.”

  She shrugged. “A frightening thought. And now, he’s taken to leaving messages under my windshield wipers.” She pulled the most recent note from her purse and handed it to him. “This is why I decided to call you.”

  Brian studied the note. “You’re dead, bitch. You can’t run away from me now,” he read. “Seems pretty explicit to me. You were smart to call us. What else can you tell me?”

  Regan shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I think maybe…that is, on a couple of nights, I was sure I heard someone outside my house, but when I looked out the windows, I couldn’t catch any movement. I turned on all the lights, so maybe if there was someone out there, it scared them away. And no one’s broken into my house. At least, not so far.”

  “Anything else? Any actual attempts or just warnings?”

  “The other night in the rain, I thought someone was trying to run me off the road, but it could have just been the wet pavement.”

  “That’s always a good cover up,” he pointed out. “Anything you’ve left out?”

  She wrinkled her forehead, trying to think. “I don’t know. I haven’t exactly been keeping track.”

  “I would imagine being someone who handles high profile cases would put you in the line of fire a lot.”

  Regan leaned forward in her chair. “Listen, Mr. Spencer—”

  “Brian,” he interrupted. “We’re big on informality here.”

  “All right. Listen, Brian. In my job, you get nutcases threatening you all the time so I tend to disregard most of it. And I’m usually quite good at taking care of myself.”

  “So what makes this one different?”

  “Usually the perps I put away, or whose lives I make miserable, threaten, yell, scream, and then, if they’re actually going to do something, they act on it. They don’t play these kinds of game. They’re actually pretty predictable.”

  Brian narrowed his gaze. “There are other agencies in the city. What made you choose The Sentinels?”

  She brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her skirt. “Linda Gillette convinced me to at least let you look into it. And these threats are more plentiful and vicious than usual. After the first vent of rage, whoever it is usually goes away, but not this time.”

  “We aren’t cheap,” he warned her and quoted an hourly rate. “There’s a retainer if you sign a contract with us, but we provide everything from bodyguard services to electronic snooping.” He opened a drawer and took out a folder, sliding it across the desk. “Take a minute to look at this. If it suits you, please sign it, and we’ll get started.”

  Regan glanced through it, but she’d already looked at the one Linda had signed. Scrawling her signature in the appropriate place, she pulled out her chequebook and wrote out a retainer cheque then handed both of them to the man across from her.

  He raised one eyebrow at the speed of the transaction but silently signed his own name to the contract. “I’ll make you a copy before we leave.” He sat up straighter in his chair and pulled one of the keyboards onto his desk. “Start from the beginning. Every note. Every incident. Any little thing that comes to mind. I’ll want to take a look at your house and check out your office as well.”

  “My house? My office?”

  “Your car, too. Places where you’re most vulnerable.”

  “But I have an alarm system at my house,” she protested. “And on my car. And in my office, there are people around all the time.”

  “But these places are also vulnerable to bombs and other explosive devices. And a good sniper can pick you off through a window. Besides,” he pointed out, “this could very well be someone you work with.”

  The thought had occurred to Regan, too, but she’d hated to think someone at her office had it in for her like this.

  “Actually, a man I convicted a few years ago was just released. Mickey Walker. Rich and powerful and thought he could get away with murder. He made a lot of threats then. I…thought maybe this might be him.”

  “Did you ask the cops to check on him? They ought to be able to do that easily enough.”

  She snorted. “The cops are so overworked they don’t know up from down. I checked with his parole officer, and a couple of the guys paid him a visit, but he’s been out a while and nothing has happened. So…” She shrugged.

  “So they wrote him off and left it at that,” Brian finished.


  Regan nodded. “I don’t blame them. Anyway, it’s a stretch. But he’s the only one I can think of.”

  “You never know who else might be lurking around that doesn’t even occur to you. Let’s go over everything and see what we’ve got.”

  By the time, she’d finished answering all the questions, including a list of everyone who might have the slightest reason to do this, Regan was beginning to wonder how it had taken her so long to be frightened. Especially when she listed the people at her office who might be motivated to threaten her, out of anger or envy or something she couldn‘t even think of. For one crazy moment, she thought about asking Brian Spencer if she could just hide in his office until he caught whoever it was.

  “Do you have your cell with you?” When she nodded, he said, “Let me see it. I hope you saved the messages.”

  She dug into her purse then handed the phone to him. “Not the first one, but when the second one showed up, I kept it just in case.”

  At the time, she’d still thought it was some stupid prank. Now she was glad she hadn’t deleted it, also.

  “What about the emails you got?”

  “I’m sorry, but I deleted them. I just thought it was some idiot amusing himself by giving the prosecutor a hard time.”

  “Too bad. We might have been able to backtrack it. Okay, give me your best guess of anyone—and I mean anyone—at your office who might possibly have a reason for doing this. Other prosecutors who think you’ve screwed them over. Support staff who have a hard-on for you. Anyone. Let’s get started.”

  He finished inputting information on his computer, saved the file, typed an email and hit the Send key then pushed the keyboard away. He picked up his phone and punched a button. To whoever answered, he said, “I’m off with the new client. I sent you an email with some instructions for you to hand out. I’ll have my cell on if you need me.“ He replaced the phone and stood up. “Come on. I’ll follow you to your house. I want to check out every inch of it, inside and out.”