Protect Me (The Donovan Family Book 6)

by Margaret Watson

  "Do you want me to admit I screwed up? Because I did. It won't happen again. But if you want to call your godfather and ask for another bodyguard, I understand."

  "You think I want someone else? That I'm pissed off because we made out at the park?" He stared at her in disbelief. She had to know how much he'd wanted her. And all signs pointed to her wanting him just as much.

  "I would be," she retorted. The color began to fade from her cheeks, a testament to her control. And a challenge to make her lose it all over again. "I have a job. A job I wasn't doing. Losing my focus could have gotten you hurt."

  "I'm not pissed off," he said, setting his cola on the end table and sliding closer. "I wasn't hurt. I'm…" Still turned on was what he was. "It's easier to show you than tell you," he said, reaching for her.

  "Stop!" She jumped off the couch and retreated to a chair across from him. "That's not happening. Ever again. End of discussion."

  "Really? You're never going to touch me again?" He leaned into the couch, anticipation unfurling inside him. He liked games. A lot.

  "Nope." She tapped her finger on her notebook. "Unless it's because I'm protecting you from someone."

  "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

  "I guess we will." She held his gaze for a long moment, just long enough to let him know she'd accepted his challenge. She thought she could win, if her tiny smirk and the determination in her eyes was any indication.

  He intended to win, too.

  Game on.

  * * *

  "So you don't see any of your fan mail?" she asked, frowning, fifteen minutes later.

  "Nope. My publicist or the studio sends out canned responses. 'Thank you for your interest in Finn O'Rourke. You can see him in his next movie, Dark Vengeance, in the summer of next year. Finn appreciates all his fan mail, and asked me to thank you personally.' Blah, blah, blah."

  "What about letters that are disturbing? Or threatening?"

  He shrugged. "I have no idea. No one's ever mentioned nasty fan mail."

  She closed her notebook with a snap. "Really? Your," she twirled her hand, as if looking for the correct word, "handlers don't tell you about stuff like that?"

  "I don't have 'handlers'." The word evoked idiot actors who got into trouble constantly and needed a team to bail them out and do damage control. "I have a publicist, a manager, and an agent. And I pay them to deal with that stuff."

  "You need to get in touch with your people and find out. The letter your stalker sent indicated that she'd written to you before. I'd like to know what she had to say."

  "Okay. I'll call Angie. My publicist," he added at her questioning look.

  Two minutes later, Angie was on the phone with him. "Crank mail, Finn? We've got boxes full of it."

  Finn glanced at Mia and pressed speaker. "Threatening stuff?"

  Angie inhaled slowly. "Mostly people telling you they'd love to help you get over that bitch Gemma. Lots of them say they'll marry you. Take your mind off your troubles."

  Mia was scribbling furiously. She held up her notebook, and Finn squinted at it. Then nodded. "Do you think you could have one of your interns look through it for anything with a Chicago return address or postmark?"

  "Yeah, I could do that," she finally said. "Might take awhile. You have lots of that kind of mail. Less since the Gemma thing, though."

  "Start with whatever we have after Gemma. Get it together today and express it to me in Chicago."

  "Why?" A hint of unease filled Angie's voice. "Is something going on?"

  "Nothing serious. I just need to see any letters we got lately."

  "Okay, Finn. I'll get them to you."

  "You're the best, Angie."

  "You got that right. I'll get those off to you today."

  "Thanks, Ange. Knew I could count on you." He pressed the 'off' button on his phone and slid it into his pocket. "What's next?"

  "I have a few more…" 'Shake It Off' jingled in her pocket.

  He raised his eyebrows. "The tough cop uses a Taylor Swift ring tone? Really?"

  "Shut up," she muttered, pulling the phone out of her pocket. "Hold on," she said as she glanced at the screen. "I need to take this."

  Mia stood up and turned her back. "Hey, Bren," she said softly. "What's up?" She paused, then said, "I wish I could, but I'm working tonight. Sorry. Yeah, I'll miss you, too. Talk to you later." She was about to push the 'off' button, then spoke into the phone again. "Bren? You still there? Could you do me a huge favor? Go to my place and get the bag that’s sitting inside the front door. Bring it to the Drake hotel and leave it at the desk with my name." Another pause. "I'll tell you later. Yeah, I love you, too."

  Finn sat stiffly on the couch, trying to swallow around the cold lump that had formed in his throat. Was Mia talking to her boyfriend? Telling him she loved him after the way she'd kissed Finn that afternoon?

  "Sorry," she said as she sat down on the chair. "When one of my brothers calls, I always take it." Her jaw tightened a little. "They're all cops. Bad stuff can happen."

  Finn slumped against the couch, relieved. Immediately uneasy at the depth of his relief. "That was your brother?"

  Mia frowned. "Who did you think it was?" She stared at him for a long moment, clearly replaying the phone call in her mind, and her eyes widened. "You thought it was my boyfriend?"

  "You told him you loved him." What sister told a brother that she loved him?

  "Do you have any siblings?"

  "A brother and a sister."

  "Don't you tell them you love them when you talk to them on the phone?"

  "No. It's kind of an assumed thing."

  "I always tell them I love them. My mom, too. You never know what…"

  She closed her mouth, but Finn had no trouble filling in the blanks. "You never know what might happen to a cop."

  "Yes," she said quietly. Then her eyebrows pulled together. "Wait a minute. You thought I had a boyfriend? After the way I kissed you this afternoon?" Her eyes turned into blue flames as she stared at him. "You think I'm a cheater?"

  "I didn't say that." Finn watched, fascinated as her expression changed from confused to incensed. Skipped from there to arousal, although she managed to blank her expression almost instantly.

  Too late. He'd noticed.

  "You implied it," Mia fumed. "I don't cheat. Ever. A guy che…" She pressed her lips together. "If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't have kissed you. Even if it was pretend. A ruse." Red flared in her cheeks, and her eyes burned through him. "But I guess cheaters always think everyone else is cheating, too."

  Her barb caught in his chest and twisted, burying itself deep. He managed to keep his voice even when he said, "I think it's reasonable to assume a woman is talking to her boyfriend when she tells someone she loves him."

  "No boyfriend."

  He leaned a little closer. Noticed she didn't back away. "If you don't have a boyfriend, you're free to kiss me. So tell me, Mia. What was that kiss, exactly? Pretend or real?"

  Chapter 9

  Mia took a deep breath. Let it shudder out. He wanted the truth. Acting or genuine…spark.

  She didn't cheat, and she didn't lie, either. Except in the course of her job. Lying to suspects and dirt bags was expected. Encouraged.

  Finn was her job, but he was neither a suspect nor a dirt bag.

  So, the truth.

  Mia squared her shoulders and studied his expression. Hurt lingered below the surface. Because she'd called him a cheater?

  The truth shouldn't hurt. So maybe he hadn't cheated on Gemma. Maybe there was more to the story than Gemma's version.

  Finn had never spoken publicly about it. Never addressed Gemma's accusations. His silence had let everyone assume he'd been the one in the wrong.

  Suddenly, she was desperate to know the real story.

  She refused to think about her reasons.

  "I'll make you a deal," she said.

  "What kind of deal?" He watched her, his eyes narrowed. Clearly wondering what she wa
s up to.

  "I'll tell you the truth. If you do the same thing."

  His shoulders relaxed. "Happy to. I'll tell you exactly what you did to me." His eyes darkened as he leaned toward her. "I won't hold back."

  "Not what I meant. I know what I did to you." She let her gaze drift below his waist. Linger there. "Men can't hide…some things."

  His eyes darkened. His muscles tensed, as if he was preparing to stand up. Reach for her. As she watched, he took a deep breath and steadied himself. Leaned against the back of the couch. "If not that, then what truth do you want from me?"

  "I want to know exactly what happened between you and Gemma. Not the story that Gemma told. I want your side. The truth."

  He stilled as soon as she said 'Gemma'. Silence hung between them for a long moment. She didn't move. Neither did he.

  Finally he said, "Why do you think Gemma's story isn't the truth?"

  Now that she'd re-framed the situation, she wondered why no one else had noticed the discrepancies. She held up one hand and began ticking off her fingers.

  "First, it sounded as if she'd barely gotten her stuff out of your house before she ran to every reporter in Los Angeles. Telling them what happened. Making herself out as a saint and you as the scum of the earth. That's not what a devastated woman does.

  "Second." Mia touched another finger. "Her career skyrocketed immediately afterward. When she recorded all those songs about being wronged. About how she'd walked in on you cheating on her. Being destroyed by it.

  "Third." One more finger. "She got together with her drummer awfully fast. Especially for someone who was 'insanely in love' with another guy.

  "Fourth." She hesitated, not sure if she should tell Finn she'd never liked Gemma Radley. That she'd always found her a little sleazy. A little too opportunistic. How Mia had noticed she'd used Finn's name on Twitter all the time – not talking about how crazy she was about him, or promoting his movies. Just reminding people that he was her boyfriend. Her inspiration, she'd called him.

  "Fourth?" Finn asked.

  She curled her fingers into her palm. She wouldn't share number four with Finn. It would reveal too much about Mia. About how she used to have a secret crush on him. How disillusioned she'd been when Finn was exposed as a cheater.

  About how she'd wondered about herself, being drawn to men who cheated.

  Yeah. She'd stick with one, two and three. "Don’t need the fourth one. The first three are enough."

  "Your evidence is thin. All speculation and no facts." He crossed his legs and settled in, a tiny smile flirting with his mouth as if he thought he had the upper hand. "You're a cop," he said. "You should know the difference between conjecture and facts."

  "Sometimes you have to look at motive to get to the truth."

  "And what would Gemma's motive be for lying about what happened?"

  Mia tilted her head. "You're a smart guy, Finn. All you have to do is look at how her career's taken off since…whatever happened."

  His little smile disappeared. "I didn't realize you read the tabloids, Officer. Because your facts are as baseless as theirs are."

  Just like when a suspect slipped, she pounced. "So you admit that what everyone said is wrong."

  "Not at all. I don't talk about that day. With anyone. The only people who know the truth are the ones who were in that room. And that's the way it's going to stay."

  Which meant she'd gotten too close to the truth. Otherwise, he'd simply tell her the story that everyone in the civilized world could recite by now, then demand her truth. The truth of what she'd felt that afternoon.

  Although maybe he didn't need her to tell him. Maybe he'd seen the truth in the way she'd clutched him. The way she'd kissed him.

  Heat crept into her face. The way she'd practically ripped his shirt off behind the Pritzker Pavilion.

  "So we're good?" she asked, swallowing around the words.

  "We're peachy keen." He stood up and walked to the window. Stared down at the Oak Street Beach beneath them.

  Mia moved closer and peered out the window. The beach wasn't full, not like in the middle of summer, but there were a fair number of people sitting on colorful towels and beach chairs. The water was still cold and there were few swimmers, but several groups were playing beach volleyball.

  "It's the 'see and be seen' beach," Mia offered, trying to change the subject. "Where all the beautiful people go."

  "Why did you ask me about Gemma?" he asked in a low voice.

  Because she hadn't wanted to answer his question. Because she'd always wondered what had really happened with his ex. "Seemed like a fair trade."

  "I don't need to trade. I know what our kiss did to you this afternoon."

  "Then why did you ask?"

  "I wanted to hear you say it."

  "Say what?" Her heart thudded against her chest.

  "That you were as into it as I was."

  "What difference would it make if I was? I'm supposed to be protecting you. And I can't do that if I'm…if I'm…"

  "Fucking me? Are those the words you're searching for?"

  "Yes." She was determined to keep her cool. And she regretted asking him about Gemma. Teasing, fun, easy-to-be-with Finn had disappeared, replaced by this stranger with hard eyes and harder words.

  "You don't want to know about Gemma, do you? That's old news. What do you really want from me, Mia?"

  She stared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

  "All that elaborate set-up. Asking me a question every reporter on the face of the earth has asked. A question you knew I wouldn't answer." He held her gaze, his eyes as cold as Lake Michigan. "So you must have a hidden agenda. Everyone wants something. A favor. A friend who has a screenplay. A relative who wants to be an actor. There's always a request."

  She tilted her head, studying his closed-off expression. His flat gaze. "First of all, I wouldn't take advantage of my job as your bodyguard and try to get something for myself out of it." Like Gemma did, she wanted to add. But she took a deep breath instead.

  "I asked about Gemma because I didn't want to talk about what happened at the park. You already knew I wasn't faking anything, but you wanted to make me say it. Reveal myself. So I asked you something equally revealing. That's it.

  "I don't want a damn thing from you, Finn." She thought about Brendan's book, making the rounds of Hollywood studios. It had never occurred to her to ask for Finn's help with that. "Except to keep you safe for three weeks, wave goodbye when you leave for Hollywood, and get back to my real job."

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "I don't care if you believe it or not. It's the truth." She studied him for a moment. "If everyone in your world has an agenda, I'm sorry for you. That's an unpleasant way to live. All I want from you is to do my job and keep you safe. Nothing else."

  Her conscience pinged, making her look away from him. She did have an agenda – passing that detective's exam. But Finn couldn't influence that outcome. It was all on her.

  She turned and headed for the smaller bedroom, the one she assumed was hers. "I'll let you study your script. Don't answer the door. Let me know if you want to leave the suite. Behave."

  She walked into the sumptuous room and closed the door part way. She'd have a little privacy, and so would he. Both of them could regroup. Settle down. Try to forget what had happened at the park.

  Or at least, in her case, put it behind her. Chalk it up as a mistake, and move on.

  Grabbing the pad of paper the hotel left on the desk in the room, she threw herself into the leather chair beside the window, pulled out her pen and began listing all the things she needed to do. Starting with examining the letters Finn's publicist was sending.

  Fifteen minutes later, she'd itemized a few things, but she'd spend most of her time doodling on the paper.

  Instead of trying to organize what she needed to do, she'd been thinking about the heated words she and Finn had exchanged.

  He'd been out of line, but so
had she. She shouldn't have asked him what happened with Gemma. It was none of her business. Worse, it had no bearing on her job.

  Finn knocked on her door. She froze for a moment, then clicked the pen closed. "Come in."

  He pushed the door open but didn't enter. Sunlight from the other room haloed around him, making his hair glow golden and highlighting the breadth of his shoulders. "I need to apologize," he said.

  "I owe you one, too," she said, standing up. "I shouldn't have asked you about Gemma. It's none of my business. It doesn't have anything to do with my job. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

  His composed expression softened. "I'm sorry, too. That kiss…it was incredible, and I didn’t want to stop. I was pretty sure you didn't, either. And when we got back up here, I was still thinking with the little head. It pissed me off that you were so cool and collected about it. I'm sorry I pushed."

  He shoved his hand through his hair, and the waves stood up, catching the light. "Gemma…I don't talk about her. Ever. For a lot of reasons."

  "I was out of line. So can we let it go and move on?"

  "Yeah. I hope so."

  "Great." Mia took a deep breath and reached behind her for the pad of paper. "I have some questions I need to ask you. Can we go into the other room?"

  "Yeah." His gaze strayed to the bed, then snapped back to hers. "Good idea."

  She followed him into the living area and sat in one of the chairs. He sat on the couch across from her. There were at least a couple of feet between them, but she was certain she felt the heat radiating off his body.

  Shifting her knees to the side so they were farther away from him, she cleared her throat and glanced at the paper. "First thing. I need a list of everyone here in Chicago who's going to be working at the studio."

  He frowned. "I can get that, but it's going to be a lot of people."

  "That's okay. I want to check through some databases and see if any of them have records for stalking or similar behaviors.