YULETIDE PROTECTOR by Julie Miller Page A

weren’t heading home to the suburbs were apparently eager to get to the shopping and nightlife districts near downtown K.C.
    Five lanes of traffic, all blocking her escape.
    “Come on.” Unless she was willing to cause a wreck, she was trapped.
    How long had the man in the car been spying on her? He must have been lying in wait, biding his time until she emerged from the building. How could he have known she was even coming here at all unless he’d followed her from her lunch date with her mother at the Mayweather estate to the interview? Or even longer than that? Had he been at her apartment? Did he know where she lived? Why hadn’t she sensed his presence earlier?
    Maybe she was the only thing that was off today. She’d been so angry, so unsettled by another argument with her mother and the outcome of the interview, that she’d forgotten the cardinal rule of personal safety—be aware of your surroundings. Know where you are and who’s there with you. Detective Montgomery would be saying “I told you so” right now. She knew better. She’d let this happen.
    Could there be a longer red light anywhere in the city? “Come on!”
    She pounded her fist on the steering wheel. She’d been angry that night, too. Angry that her mother and Harper were taking over the plans for her wedding, that her future was spinning out of her control. She’d stormed away from the Fairy Tale Bridal Shop, wanting fresh air, needing time alone. She hadn’t been aware of the danger stalking her until it was too late.
    Maybe she did need someone to take care of her.
    The black car was close enough that she could make out the shape of the driver, if not his face. His window was sliding down. She spotted the narrow camera lens again. Just the flash of reflected sunshine on glass. Aimed her way.
    That was a camera, wasn’t it?
    Could that be the scope of a rifle instead?
    With a desperate sound that was half groan, half scream, Bailey stomped on the accelerator and fishtailed out into the nearest lane of traffic. Horns honked, cars skidded. But she managed to put three vehicles between her and the black car before the light finally turned red and she was forced to stop.
    She checked her rearview mirror, then turned all the way around in her seat to verify that the black car had leisurely pulled out of the parking lot and turned left, merging into traffic and heading in the opposite direction.
    Not following. Not interested. Not a gun. Not threatening her in any way.
    Sinking back into her seat, Bailey closed her eyes. The relief coursing through her was so intense that it made her lightheaded.
    It took another blast of honking horns to open her eyes and pull forward at the green light. Remembering the relaxation techniques Dr. Kilpatrick had taught her, Bailey breathed in deeply, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She organized her thoughts as she settled into the normal flow of traffic. Had she ever been in any danger at all? Had the only threat been inside her head? She’d been in the papers before, and probably would be again.
    Perhaps her mother had even leaked Bailey’s name to the press. Just like the Blue & Gold Ball a decade earlier, where she’d been presented as a debutante, Loretta’s Christmas Ball would be Bailey’s reintroduction to Kansas City society—and a huge publicity coup in the name of charity. The press’s interest in her might be annoying, but it wasn’t dangerous.
    The photographer’s appearance probably merited a heart-to-heart with her mother about avoiding the spotlight, not a phone call to Detective Montgomery about imminent danger. Thank God she hadn’t called him. He’d probably shake his head at her paranoid imagination, blowing the perceived danger all out of proportion. If she overreacted like this any time someone showed the least bit of curiosity about her, then he was right to worry that she wouldn’t make a credible witness on the stand.
    And she didn’t want Spencer Montgomery