Justine Davis - In His Sights

Why?

Why would a good-looking, twenty-something guy, who obviously wasn’t down on his luck, rent a room from an elderly couple in a tiny place like Summer Harbor? And be so darned nice to them to boot?

She could only think of one reason. He was up to something. And the most likely thing was trying to con her loving, generous grandparents. It was in the news almost every day—some poor, sweet grandmother or grandfather who had been taken in by a smooth operator. And that was something she would never, ever allow to happen. To her, people who scammed the elderly were beyond redemption. Anyone who would try to steal from the couple who had raised her, who had changed their entire life’s plan for her, was going to have to deal with her. And she would not be kind.

“What are you doing in Summer Harbor?” Kate asked during the first pause in her grandmother’s animated conversation, not caring if her bluntness offended him.

“Working,” he said, the charming smile still in place, but his reaction clear in the one-word answer. Oddly, that reassured her. If he’d acted as if her nearly rude query were normal, she’d have been even more convinced he was up to no good.

“You’re a photographer?” She reined in her tone a little, aware her grandmother was not looking pleased with her.

“This is a beautiful part of the world, worth photographing, don’t you think?”

Well, there’s an answer that avoids answering, she thought. “Freelance, I suppose,” she muttered, knowing the answer. If he said he worked for some established magazine or publisher, it would be too easy to check. Her suspicions deepened.

“I do some freelance work, yes,” he said, eyeing her steadily, almost as if he had suspicions of his own. “I like to make my own choices of what to photograph.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve been all over the world,” Dorothy said. Almost gushed, Kate admitted ruefully.

“I’ve logged some miles,” he agreed.

“You and Kate should talk. She used to travel a great deal. She was a big executive with an investment company back east.”

“I don’t think Denver qualifies as ‘back east,’ Gram,” Kate said.

“It’s east of here,” the man said, turning a smile on Dorothy that would have melted the heart of any woman.

Except one who was afraid for the people she loved most in the world.

“Exactly,” Dorothy said with obvious delight. “Come have a cup of coffee, now that there’s sugar to put in it.”

Oh, good grief, Kate thought again as the man followed her grandmother into the kitchen. She nearly said it aloud, then realized that if he was what she suspected, she’d best not antagonize him right off the bat. Better to let him think he was succeeding, and catch him in the act. She’d just have to watch him carefully.

That won’t be too painful, she thought, then immediately castigated herself for being beyond stupid. Besides, even though it might not be painful, it was going to be a pain. She didn’t have time for this. She already had those thefts at work to deal with. Plus her best mechanic, who’d lost his wife last year, was in a state of total distraction over his rebellious son. And then her grandparents needed a more reliable car to replace their old station wagon, and neither they nor she could afford it just now….

Which was why they’d decided to rent out a room, she realized suddenly. And felt guilty; they’d done so much for her. They’d taken her in and raised her at a time when they’d been looking forward to retiring, and then they’d taken her back again when her world had fallen apart. She owed them everything, and had paid them back so little. They’d argue with her, of course, and mean it. They’d done it out of love, but that didn’t lessen her worry that she wasn’t taking good enough care of them.

“I gather you didn’t know about this?”

The quiet voice behind her startled her. She spun around to see the new boarder watching her as he sipped from one of her grandmother’s favorite coffee mugs.

She tried to rein in her antagonism, but it was fueled by worry and she wasn’t very successful. “About this plan to rent a room in their own home? No, I didn’t.”

“And you don’t like it.”

She noticed it wasn’t a question, but supposed her demeanor had made that obvious to all but the thickest bricks. He clearly wasn’t one of those. But she supposed you didn’t make a good con artist if you couldn’t sense what your victims were feeling.

“No,” she said, reverting to bluntness once more.

“Fortunate for me, then, that it’s not your decision.”

He turned then and walked back into the kitchen, leaving Kate gaping after him.

After a moment she closed her mouth.

You’d think a con man would be a little more careful about offending, she thought. Which led to the obvious thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t one.

Or, she amended, he was just a very good one, and knew better than to appear too ingratiating.

“Whatever you’re up to, you’re not going to get away with it,” she muttered as she picked up her keys. “I’ll see to that.”

Somehow, she added silently. Along with everything else I have to do, I’ll see to it.

Kate Crawford was nervous, Rand Singleton thought.

She was also beautiful. Not in the way of the photos he’d seen in her personnel file, where she was glamorous, gorgeous and looked very high-power, but in a much more natural way. More real. More reachable. More.

Touchable, he thought, then shook his head at his own folly. It didn’t matter what she looked like. Didn’t matter that her hair was sleek and shiny and the color of rich, dark coffee. Or that her eyes were unexpectedly topaz and quite striking. Or that she was tall and graceful with just the right amount of curves. What mattered was the fact that she clearly didn’t like the idea of him being here at all.

He mentally filed the knowledge away. This assignment was just beginning, so he wasn’t sure where—or if—she fit in yet. What he was sure of was that she was in the perfect position at Redstone Northwest to be involved, or even be the mastermind behind the thefts. Especially since they had begun shortly after she’d started working there.

That’s why he’d been so pleased with his luck. He’d planned to just stay in a local motel, figuring it would work for his cover as a photographer. Little had he known that the town of Summer Harbor didn’t have a motel. Not this time of year, anyway; the small guest operations that were open during the tourist-filled summer months were closed now, many of the owners fleeing south ahead of the approaching winter.

“Teach you to assume,” he told himself as he finished unpacking in the comfortably sized upstairs room, furnished with older but quality pieces that made him feel as if he was staying back at his own grandparents’ suburban home outside San Diego.

He smothered the pang he always felt when he thought of the two people who had loved him so. He still missed them, and the only thing that eased the pain was the knowledge that they had died as they had lived for so many years; together. Dorothy and Walt Crawford reminded him of them, and he’d felt immediately comfortable with the couple. And, as usually happened, they seemed to take to him right off. Sometimes this innocent baby face of his was an advantage.

He’d chosen the armoire as a storage place for his photographic gear. He handled the equipment with the familiarity of long usage. He’d once considered becoming a photographer in fact, but the lure of working for Redstone, Inc. had been too much, and once he’d landed on the crack Redstone security team, he knew he’d found his true calling.

His mother hadn’t been happy about it, knowing he would occasionally be sent on risky assignments, but she’d finally backed off, saying that if he was going to have such an insane career, it might as well be for Joshua Redstone, who was known for looking out for his people.

Josh also made sure Rand had a chance to do some photography work now and then, some of which had been used around the world in Redstone literature and advertising, and Rand felt as if he had the very best of two worlds.

When he’d finished with the photo gear, he turned to the rest of the things he’d packed. He tossed the jeans in a dresser drawer along with a couple of pullover sweaters and several shirts. He had a feeling he would be glad he’d taken Josh’s advice and put in some heavy socks. The days were still warm, but the brisk scent of winter was already in the evening air up here in the Northwest, although the actual turn of the season was still a couple of weeks away.

The sound of singing from downstairs brought him back to his original thought about his luck. What else would you call it when you stumbled into the perfect setup—a room for rent by the family of the head of the very Redstone department he’d been sent to investigate?

When the man at the small grocery had mentioned that the Crawfords were looking for a tenant, it had seemed so lucky that he’d been suspicious at first, until he realized that in a town with a year-round population of less than two thousand, it was likely everybody really did know everybody else’s business.

There didn’t seem to be much buzz about anything going on at Redstone, though. He’d felt his way very carefully, saying only that he’d seen the place while out exploring the countryside. The only reaction he’d gotten was one of open, cheerful enthusiasm for the presence of Redstone. It had apparently done wonders for the tax base of the tiny town, thanks to some bargaining Joshua Redstone had done with the county, making sure a large portion of the taxes they would pay would go directly to Summer Harbor.

But now someone was stealing from the benefactor. And although to some the crimes might seem petty when weighed against the vastness of the Redstone empire, Josh was not one to let things like this slide or consider them beneath his attention. Especially when what was being stolen was one of Redstone inventor Ian Gamble’s latest inventions. The new self-regulating, automatic insulin pump functioned like a normal pancreas because it could sense when the body needed insulin and automatically administer it. It could not only save thousands of lives, but make thousands more easier.

Of course, that made it even more valuable to the thieves.

Rand finished unpacking the last of his clothes and stood for a moment, contemplating whether he was going to need the heavy parka he’d just hung up in the closet. He decided against it for now, figuring he’d get the feel of the temperature first. He’d just been in Canada last week, so perhaps he was still acclimated somewhat to the cooler clime.

Sure he’d left his small .38 revolver securely locked in the case for now, he was done. He dug his cell phone out of the side pocket of the duffle that had held everything he’d brought, including his laptop. He hit the button that had been programmed to dial Redstone Security at their California headquarters.

“Draven.”

“It’s Rand,” he said to his boss, head of Redstone security. “I’m in place.”

“Good.”

Man of very few words, his boss. “You’ll never guess where.”

“No, I won’t.”

Rand sighed; John Draven seemed edgier than usual today, which was saying something.

“Crawford’s grandparent’s.”

There was a pause, and Rand thought with some satisfaction that for once he’d surprised the unflappable Draven.

“They were renting out a room,” he added, feeling he should.