Annie couldn’t help smiling at the somewhat aggrieved tone in Bobbie’s voice—as if the pianist had deliberately chosen the timing of her accident, just to put everybody out.
Even Bobbie must have realized how her words had sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that, of course,” she said immediately. “I’m very sorry about her poor leg. It’s just that it puts us in such a bind. No one here feels capable of stepping in at the last minute to play the special piece of music we’d selected, but Jamie’s sure you can do it.”
Easter was four days away. Annie gulped, hoping Jamie’s faith in her hadn’t been misplaced. “When do you need me?”
“Choir practice starts in an hour,” Bobbie answered apologetically.
“An hour—from now?”
“Yes. I hope you have no other plans this evening.” She had planned to sit in her chair with her feet up and stare at the phone, willing Trent to call. Since there was no way she was going to divulge that rather pathetic agenda to his mother, she said briskly, “No, I’m free. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you so much, dear. Everyone will be so appreciative.”
Annie hung up the phone, drew a deep breath and dashed into the bedroom to freshen up and change her clothes. She would deal with Trent later, she promised herself. Somehow.
THE CALL TRENT had been waiting for came late Wednesday afternoon. “Hey, Trent. It’s Blake,” his private-detective brother-in-law drawled on the other end of the line.
“What have you found?”
Blake chuckled lazily. “It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, too, Trent. No wasted time on meaningless small talk or family chitchat. You just get straight to the point.”
“Too bad more people don’t,” Trent said gruffly. He wasn’t interested in idle chatter when Annie’s safety could be at stake. As independent as she was determined to be, he knew she had been unnerved by that dark car, and utterly terrified when she’d thought someone was trying to break into her house.
The protectiveness he’d always felt toward her had doubled since that night. It felt good to be needed by her—even if it shook him so badly he’d been finding excuses to avoid her while he came to terms with the feelings that had been swirling in him since the night he’d spent in her bed.
Surrendering to Trent’s impatience, Blake cooperated. “If Annie’s father has hired anyone to keep her under surveillance, he’s used someone who doesn’t normally operate in this area. If he’d hired a local, I would have found it out.”
“Damn. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried to hear that.”
“I see your point. If her father had hired someone to follow her around, it would be irritating to her, but not dangerous.”
“So what if it’s some pervert stalker, instead? That sort of thing happens even in places like Honoria.”
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“Rarely,” Blake cautioned. “It was more likely the coincidence Annie believes it to be, Trent. There are a lot of nondescript dark cars on the road—even in Honoria—and just because she spotted a couple, or even the same one, twice, doesn’t necessarily mean she’s being followed.”
“I know. It’s just—well, I have a bad feeling about it.”
“I’m the last person to discount hunches. They’re pretty much my standard operating procedure. But sometimes they’re wrong, Trent.”
“Yeah.” But he still wanted Annie to be careful.
“There’s still the chance that Stewart has one of his own men or someone I’ve never dealt with watching your Annie. He certainly has the resources to bring in round-the-clock surveillance from anywhere he chooses, if that’s what he wanted to do.”
Startled by Blake’s wording, Trent asked, “Just who the hell is her father, anyway?”
“Nathaniel Stewart.”
Trent’s jaw felt as if it had suddenly locked. He had to force the words out. “Nathaniel Stewart—as in Stewart Pharmaceuticals? The man who made an unsuccessful run for governor a few years ago?”
“Yeah. Old Carney was his uncle—the black sheep of the clan. Didn’t want to fall in line with family expectations, so he took off. Apparently, his great-niece takes after him. I wonder how Nathaniel feels about his daughter cleaning other people’s houses for a living?”
“I have a feeling he hates it,” Trent murmured, remembering something Annie had said. Nathaniel Stewart’s daughter. He sank into his chair, his shoulders drooping. “Damn.”
“I take it she hasn’t mentioned her father’s name to you.”
“No. She neglected to fill me in on that detail.” He felt like a fool. Here he’d been telling himself that Annie was all alone, that she needed his protection. That she needed him. The truth was, she could probably buy anything she needed, including a whole passel of bodyguards, if she desired.