Was it always this quiet? Tamara Bennington wondered as she spent another late night behind the desk in her office. Had the air conditioning always made such eerie noises? Had weird shadows always danced along the windows? Normally, nothing could distract her from work. Was she on the verge of a nervous breakdown?

The telephone near her right hand jangled suddenly and she nearly jumped out of her cushioned seat. Her heart lodged in her throat and her pulse rate accelerated. Scolding herself for foolishness, she picked up the receiver.

"Hello."

"Hello, Tamara." It was Skip's familiar, suave voice and she cringed. There was nothing left for them to discuss.

"Hello, Skip."

"You're obviously working late," he said. "Why don't you let me stop by and take you out for a quiet dinner?"

"Thanks, but I don't think that's a good idea," she replied. A lingering touch of guilt kept her frayed temper in check, even though he was making a real nuisance of himself. "We agreed that we shouldn't see each other socially."

"You came to that decision," he countered sullenly. "I want to spend time with you. Maybe then you'll realize what a mistake you've made by postponing the wedding."

Tamara had to give him credit for persistence. She'd called the wedding off and returned his ring, yet he refused to accept no for an answer. Handsome, charming, and independently wealthy, Skip Reardon had never learned the meaning of the word no. He assumed she'd eventually honor his wishes by marrying him. Repeatedly denying the fact hadn't gotten her anywhere.

"I have a lot of work to do," she responded in a dismissive tone. She knew his blue eyes would glitter with indignation and his lips would tighten in a petulant frown, but she was weary of their verbal skirmishes.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to come between you and your work," he drawled. "We know that your family and the family business are far more important than a mortal man. Forgive me if I resent being jilted in favor of the real loves of your life."

Tamara sighed deeply. She was tired of this argument. Her family and the Bennington Department Stores would always be important to her. She lived and breathed for little else.

"Goodbye, Skip," she said, gently hanging up the phone.

Depressed, she rested her head in both hands and then groaned in distress when it rang again.

She considered ignoring it, but her family would worry if they couldn't reach her.

"Hello."

There was a short, static pause at the other end of the line and Tamara's nerves grew taut. Her stomach tightened as the rough, rasping voice of her anonymous caller crackled through the line.

"Working late? All alone, Ms. Executive?" the rough, well-disguised voice had a sinister tone that sent shivers down her spine. She'd had several mysterious calls lately. No specific threat was ever verbalized, yet the caller was intent on harassing her. She responded in a crisp, businesslike tone.

"Bennington Department Stores, Tamara Bennington speaking. May I help you?"

A grating laugh echoed in her ears, reminding her of Marlon Brando's imitation of a Sicilian godfather. "That's good. That's real good, Ms. Executive," the rasping voice derided. "Have a safe trip home tonight."

The sharp click of the receiver sent another shiver through her. She was insane to listen to this maniac's veiled threats. She should have her phone tapped or let her answering machine take all her calls. She'd take care of it next week. Right now, she was going home. There was no hope of getting any work done tonight.

Grabbing her purse, she quickly turned off lights, locked the office, and strode to the elevator, telling herself that she had nothing to fear in her own building. The security was the best money could buy. The Benningtons could afford the best.

When the elevator came to an abrupt halt, she caught her breath in alarm and then mentally berated herself. The elevator always stopped abruptly at the basement parking level. She was just a bundle of nerves this evening.

"Good evening, Ms. Tamara," the night watchman greeted as she stepped from the elevator. "Ready to call it a night?"

Tamara managed a warm smile for the security chief. Even if her fears were irrational, she couldn't help being relieved to have him nearby.

"I'm calling it a week," she declared with feeling. She rarely ended her work week on Thursday, but she needed this three-day weekend. "Tomorrow I'm helping Katie buy some new clothes and pack for her summer vacation. Then Saturday morning I'll take her out to the ranch."

"I know your Uncle Harold and. Aunt Lucinda will be glad to see you," he responded, lightly grasping her arm to escort her to her car. It was a routine Uncle Harold insisted upon.

Tamara welcomed the routine and mentally commanded herself to relax. She asked the guard about his family and tried to pay attention to his response, but she couldn't quiet her nerves. The underground parking lot was oppressively hot. The humid air made the silk of her dress cling to dampening skin, increasing her discomfort. She couldn't remember ever feeling such an intense foreboding of disaster.

As she and the watchman stepped from the protection of the building, they were caught in the glare of oncoming headlights. Then everything happened so fast that she would never recall all the details. She would remember the blinding light, the screech of tires, her own terrified scream, and the guard's quick reaction that saved her life by mere inches.