The Big Bad Wolf Tells All

by Donna Kauffman

  Still, he knew very little about Tanzy’s distant past and wished he’d dug back a bit further. Although there was nothing professional about his curiosity now. He did know the general story, that her mother hadn’t been around much and had stuck her only child in boarding schools while she jetted around the globe. He was surprised, knowing Tanzy and her great-aunt a bit better now, that Millicent had put up with Penelope treating her only child so callously. But then, he wasn’t privy to all the skeletons in their closets.

  “I’m going to have to call her,” Tanzy said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me something, is Frances really ill? And for that matter, is Millicent really in Philly?”

  “I couldn’t say about her friend. I know Ms. Harrington is visiting her.”

  Tanzy blew out a breath and raked a hand through her hair. “Okay.” She stood and walked over to him.

  He stood, too, when she stuck out her hand.

  “Don’t be so suspicious,” she said with a wry smile when he regarded her hand warily. “It’s not like I’m secretly a black belt or something. I just wanted to thank you.”

  He could tell her that having her in his arms, even briefly, had almost been payment enough. Fortunately he was able to keep his mouth shut. For a change. He took her hand. “Thank your great-aunt, for caring,” he said.

  “Oh, I will.”

  Her tone had him raising an eyebrow. “She really was only trying to protect you, you know.”

  “I know.” Tanzy turned away then and abruptly walked to the door.

  “Where are you going?” He assumed she’d have more questions for him.

  She looked back at him as if surprised by the question. Like it wasn’t any of his business. He didn’t at all like how that made him feel. Problem was, that reaction was far more personal than professional.

  “I’m going to pack.”

  “For what?”

  “I do appreciate that she’s worried about me. But I don’t see the need to stay here any longer. I realize your employment is up to my aunt. But my residence here is not.”

  “It makes a lot more sense to stay here,” he said, surprised by this sudden turn of events. “Security is established, everything is monitored.”

  She was moving to the door again. “I appreciate that but—” Then she stopped, turned. “Just how much of ‘everything’?”

  Riley shot her a look. She wasn’t the only one who could do that. “I’m not a pervert, okay? I don’t have your rooms directly monitored.”

  “There’s a relief,” she said dryly.

  Continuing to give her the same look, he went on. “But most of the rest of the house is. The entries, exits, exteriors, interior halls, that sort of thing. I doubt you have anything set up like that at your place, so—”

  “Oh, you’re not coming to my place. I’ll talk to Millicent about your retainer. I’d feel better knowing who this guy is, too, if for no other reason than to prove you wrong about my editor. But it’s only right that I foot the bill. However, I don’t need a watchdog.”

  “Excuse me, but have you forgotten the note you received?”

  “No. But your presence hardly thwarted that little maneuver, now did it?”

  Riley gritted his back teeth. “We didn’t think he’d make contact. Which is just my point. Until we do get a better handle on him, you should stick with the established program. It’s not perfect, but it beats the hell out of being an open target.”

  He saw her try to hide the little shudder. She wasn’t very good at it. But then, she wasn’t very good at hiding much of anything. Another reason he needed to stay on top of her.

  He tried not to groan at the unintentional visual that brought up.

  “You keep saying ‘we.’ You’re in business with your father, right? So is he in on this somewhere? Have we met and I don’t know it?” Her eyes lit up. “Was he the older man at the dance?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. Well then, who was that guy anyway? Another client?”

  “My father is on another assignment,” he said, deciding he’d revealed enough. If she wanted to find out about his past, she could do it on her own time. “As for the ‘we’ part,” he doggedly continued, “I told you, I use outside resources.”

  “Which you get how?”

  “The same way any business does, through connections made doing business.” So what if, in his case, the business had been football? Sporting events had long been a venue for making outside business connections. So his had been done on Astroturf instead of a putting green, it wasn’t all that different, was it?

  “How did my aunt come across Parrish Securities?”

  Riley propped his hands on his hips. “What is it, exactly, that gives you such a low opinion of me, huh? I explained about the dance and the note—”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that she usually goes for big and centuries-old, not independent mom-and-pop. Or son-and-pop, as the case may be.”

  “Nice to know your opinion of small businesses is equally flattering.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a slam.”

  His expression told her what he thought of that. “We got the referral from a friend of hers that we did some work for a few months back. Mr. Waterston.”

  Tanzy’s eyes widened. “The guy that just got hammered in a headline-making divorce?” She smiled. “Nice work.”

  Riley glared at her. “You don’t know all the details. Nor will I be telling them to you.”

  Folding her arms, her smile widened. “Now you’re sounding more like the prissy Riley I’ve come to know and—”

  “Prissy?” He was spluttering, he couldn’t help it. “I wasn’t prissy. I was—”

  “Punctilious? Sententious?”

  “Remind me never to argue with a writer. I was just trying to blend in with the background. Fly under the radar.”

  “You mean my man-eating radar.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Nice to know my own flesh and blood has as high an opinion of me as the media does.” She held up a hand to stall whatever response he would have made. He was still wishing he’d shut up long enough to hear what she was going to tack onto “the Riley I’ve come to know and” blank.

  “I know what you’re thinking. And God only knows what you’ve read about me in your”—she crooked her fingers in a quotation mark gesture—“research.”

  “Tanzy—”

  “Sure,” she interrupted, “I date. Sometimes more often than others.” She eyed him directly. “But Santa notwithstanding, I don’t sleep around. I mean, men have their definite uses and all—”

  He couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes.

  She pounced on it. “What? It’s only okay for you guys to be sexist when you refer to women?”

  “Have you ever heard me refer to a woman like that?”

  “I haven’t been around the real you long enough to know how you refer to women. Besides, I was generalizing.”

  “You do that a lot.”

  “It goes with the job. And I thought you said you read my column. Surely you’d know, then, that we are just as shallow and obsessed with sex as you men are.”

  Now he smiled. “I respect that you believe that. But I highly doubt it.”

  “Which was my point exactly, I believe.”

  “Oh, we may think about sex most of the time, but we like to fool ourselves into believing you need us for more than just that.”

  “Oh, but we do.”

  He lifted a brow, thinking she looked too damn sexy, sharply decimating his entire sex while wearing bunny slippers.

  And just when in the hell had he developed this fetish with animal footwear, he had no idea. But he suspected it coincided with the first time he’d seen her in them.

  “So,” he asked, “you do realize we can be witty companions, good providers, and defenders of home and hearth?”

  She shrugged. “That, too, I suppose. I was thinking of the important stuff.”

  “Which is?”

  “The
ruling triumvirate of genetic male abilities. Bug squashing, tire changing, and moving heavy things.”

  He couldn’t help it, he laughed. He’d never figure out how it was that she could simultaneously annoy and arouse him. But she did all the time, and made it look effortless.

  “But getting back to my original point, I’m just saying that I don’t necessarily deserve the tag that’s been hung on me.” At his questioning look, she gritted her teeth and clarified, “Man-eater.”

  “I never said you did.”

  “You don’t have to when the rest of the world does it for you.” She lifted a hand to stall his argument. “I’m not even complaining. About the rest of the world, that is. I accept that as part and parcel of revealing things of a personal nature to a readership of over a hundred thousand people. I guess I just thought, when it came to Millicent, that she knew me better than that.”

  “I suspect she does. Maybe you should take it as a compliment. That she thinks so highly of your appeal to the opposite sex as to warn me about it.”

  She snorted. “Highly overrated, trust me.”

  “I might have agreed. At first.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and he just grinned.

  He had to hand it to her, caught bare-faced, she ended up smiling and rolling her eyes. “Nothing wrong with my ego, apparently.”

  “I said, ‘at first.’ “

  Now that gleam came into her eyes, that carnal one he’d dreamed about. He took a mental if not physical step back when she stepped more fully into the room.

  “So, what changed your mind? Was it my sterling wit? Or, being a man, likely it was Clarisse’s wizardry with a needle?”

  “Honestly?” he said, though he had no idea why. She was teasing, expecting him to dish the nonsense right back at her. But apparently her say-what’s-on-your-mind-at-all-times attitude was catching. “It was a lot of the former and admittedly a little of the latter. But you got my attention way before that.”

  “Oh?” She looked a little more unbalanced by his revelation than she sounded. “Do tell. A woman needs to know these things. For future reference, of course.”

  She’d pulled it together admirably, but he was still smiling, knowing he’d snagged the edge away from her, even if only momentarily. Holding her gaze, enjoying his grasp, and not really thinking about possible future fallout, he said, “It was the first time I saw you in those things.” He pointed to her feet. “That and the Niners jersey. Which is something else we really have to talk about. San Francisco? Just because you live here—”

  But she wasn’t interested in talking football. “What do you mean, the first time?”

  Oops. Oh well, it had been fun having the upper hand while it lasted.

  “The only time you’ve seen me in that jersey was last night.” Her eyes widened as his cheeks probably colored just a touch. “You said you didn’t have voyeuristic tendencies.”

  “No, I said I wasn’t a pervert. No red-blooded male can claim to have no voyeuristic tendencies. We picture all women undressing. It’s genetic.”

  She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “The more I get to know the real you, the more amazed I am you pulled off the sheep act.”

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought his feelings might be a little hurt. “I’m not all that bad a guy.”

  She simply looked at him, reserving judgment.

  “Well, if it helps improve your opinion of me, and I see where it can only go up, I never actually watched you undress.”

  “Meaning you have imagined it.”

  She just shook her head when he shrugged and smiled shamelessly. “Like I said, it’s—”

  “Genetic,” she finished with him. “Yeah, yeah. Go on.”

  “Fine. It’s really not that big a deal. I happened to be down here that first night when you came down to raid the fridge. I was closing up the house and watched you scuff down the hall. Where did you get those things anyway?” He pointed at the ragged pink ears that drooped to the floor.

  “My friend Sue. She has an odd sense of humor. But they happen to be really comfortable.”

  “I can see that.”

  Her gaze narrowed even as she smiled sweetly. “I can have her get you a pair if you’d like.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “So, why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. “That night, I mean. Instead of ogling my bunnies?”

  “I was being stealthy. I can do that when I’m not being punctilious and sententious.”

  She finally broke down and flashed a genuine Tanzy smile. “Is this the witty companion part on display?”

  “So I’m no Cary Grant, but at least I make the occasional effort to tamp down my inner troglodyte.”

  She hooted. “Oh, please say you’ll let me use that in a column.”

  “You mean you haven’t already?” He’d been teasing, but the slight hint of color that bloomed in her cheeks was very interesting. He wondered just how much Riley the Sheep had influenced recent “Tanzy Tells All” musings.

  “Only because I hadn’t thought of it.” Her smile caught his, she hesitated, looked into his eyes, then abruptly turned to leave. She paused in the doorway, her smile no longer there, but that irrepressible gleam still twinkled. “I do appreciate what you’re doing, Riley. I know Millicent can be mighty convincing in getting things done her own way. And as for my opinion of you, professionally that is, if she hired you and trusted you under the same roof with me, then that’s quite a testimonial.”

  “For a son-and-pop operation, you mean?”

  She just made a face at him, which made him smile. “For any operation. Will you report what you find out to me directly?”

  “I have to tell Millicent—”

  “No, I understand that. But I’d like to hear whatever else you come up with directly from you, rather than via my great-aunt. I’ll discuss your fee with her. As I said before, considering it’s my ass you’re trying to save, I should be footing the bill. Or whatever part of it she’ll let me pay. Perhaps we can work together on that?”

  At that moment Riley really hated that he was the hired help. He wanted to tell her he’d take care of this as a friend. But though he’d blubbered on about wanting to be all those things she’d listed when she’d fallen apart, he knew that had just been the stress talking. And he’d been a convenient outlet. They were both back in control now, and they knew their actual boundaries. He was fooling himself to think they were anything more.

  Yeah, he was definitely having trouble with that “nothing more” part. “We’ll work something out,” he told her. He didn’t add that no matter what part of his bill she was going to pay, it was highly likely, given what he was going to report to Millicent, that she’d request he continue the protection services as well. It was just going to get a hell of a lot more uncomfortable for him to do so. Camping out in cars instead of comfort. His knee twinged just thinking about it. “What about that fingerprint? I don’t want you meeting him without me knowing about it.”

  “We’ll work something out,” she tossed back at him.

  He sighed. He should have known working for the rich wasn’t going to be any different. Just then his pager went off. He tugged it out of his sweats pocket and looked down at the number. Ernie.

  “I’ll let you get that,” she said, slipping out of the room before he could stop her.

  “Don’t think we’re done yet,” he muttered, then scowled as he went to find a phone.

  Is love a four-letter word? It’s certainly more complicated than sex. But while sex without love is easily understandable, and at times quite preferable, why would anyone desire the reverse? I suppose I should just be thankful there are only three letters in sex.

  Chapter 13

  He was out there again. Watching her.

  Tanzy sighed, letting the drapes flicker shut. She leaned back in her office chair and tried to focus on the column she was supposed to be writing. But it was hard to concentrate, knowing he was down there.

 
She looked around the office of her cozy two-bedroom Russian Hill writer’s nest. It was good to be home again. In her own space. Her own perfectly broken-in office chair, her own framed Trevor Southey prints. Her own minifridge, stocked with the staples of a writer’s life: Coke and a bag of miniature Snickers.

  And then there were her newest additions. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed the sassy little sugarplum fairies Millicent had chosen for her rooms in Big Harry. But she was forming a definite attachment to the growing herd of sheep figurines crowding the bookshelves that lined the wall next to her.

  Readers, apparently filled with the holiday shopping bug, had sent them to the magazine’s post-office box. It all began with a stuffed sheep, sent by a male herd member, that came with the sign that read, “Join the Herd, the Grass Is Greener.” She’d joked about it during a Barbara Bradley taping, and it had snowballed from there. They ranged in size and shape; some were glass, some stone or plaster, all of them hilarious. Someone had even found one wearing a wedding dress, the ultimate last bridesmaid.

  Her personal favorite, however, was the Wile E. Coyote Martin had given her to put in the midst of the herd. Not exactly a wolf, but it made her laugh every time she looked at it. Or it had. Now she looked at it and hated herself for wondering.

  No way SoulM8 was Martin. But she was forced to admit she’d been uncomfortable enough by what Riley had said to blow off their phone session the other day and opted to do their usual postcolumn analysis via email. Martin questioned her evasiveness and she’d chalked it up to the holiday crush overwhelming her. He’d been nice about it, understanding. Too nice? Too understanding?

  “Stop it already.” He’d been analyzing her column and she’d been analyzing every word he typed, looking for some deeper meaning. Mostly to reassure herself there wasn’t any. But if she was so sure of herself, why hadn’t she set up the face-to-face meeting Riley requested? She looked at the Wile E. Coyote again, frowning. Then she suddenly sat up straighter. Martin had surely picked up the figurine, had to have handled it when he sent it. Maybe she could just give the figurine to Riley and be done with this whole thing.