by Molly Rice
“Yes, yes, Mrs. J., I remember,” Dana interrupted, “but what about Krystal?”
“She wasn’t there.”
“You mean she’d left already? Then she should be here any—”
“No.” The woman twisted her hands in her apron and her gray hair threatened to come loose from its topknot as Mrs. Johnson shook her head. Her words came out in a choked whisper.
“Mrs. Halyard said she hadn’t been there.”
“Then…where…”
“I don’t know. I was just about to call some of her other friends when you walked in.”
“Oh, my God!” Dana rushed for the phone, her hand shaking as she lifted the receiver from the hook. “I’ll start calling, you go across the street and see if she’s at the Barnes’s.”
She’d just hung up after getting a negative response from Terri Montford’s father and was about to dial the Smalley’s number when the doorbell chimed. She dropped the phone, leaving it to dangle from its cord, and rushed through the house to open the front door, her heart racing faster than her legs.
The man’s face was shadowed by a large Stetson, his height looming, cutting off her view beyond the front entrance. He filled her vision so that it took her a moment to realize that there was a child beside him and that the child was her own Krystal.
A mix of feelings flooded through her. Relief, fear, rage. Hysteria. She grabbed Krystal’s arm and pulled her forward, thinking only of getting her child away from the strange man, back into the safety of her arms. Words and sounds, all meaningless, burbled from her throat as she clutched Krystal against her.
She finally managed to squeak out a rational sentence. “Krystal, run and call 9-1-1, quick!” But she clung to the girl, her arms frozen around her.
Krystal cried out in protest. “‘Mommy, you’re squishing me, I can’t breathe!”
Dana loosened her hold and pushed Krystal behind her, thinking only to keep the girl from returning to the man’s clutches.
“Mommy, mommy,” Krystal cried, yanking on Dana’s shirt. “Please, Mommy.”
Dana turned toward the child as the man took a step forward. Fright clogged Dana’s throat and she halted, uncertain which way to move. The man stopped and seemed to be waiting for her to make some kind of gesture.
“What are you doing with my child?” she demanded of the man and, without taking a breath, spun around and shouted, “Why did you lie to Mrs. Johnson?” at Krystal.
Nico stared at the woman before him, his brain barely believing what his eyes were registering, his ears closed to her cries of outrage. This was no asexual career fanatic, no male wannabe; this was living cheesecake, every man’s fantasy. A wealth of wheat colored hair fell in a ponytail from the top of her head swinging with her every movement. She was wearing shorts that showed off the longest, shapeliest legs he’d ever seen, legs that ended seductively in bare feet, and a T-shirt that clung to a full bosom without the confinement of a bra.
Sanity threatened. Oh, Scalia, you male chauvinist pig! he jeered mentally. But it was hard to react any other way with such a vision before him in the flesh. Dana Harper was the kind of woman who brought out the worst in a man.
He forgot why he was here, what he was about, momentarily forgot his own name.
“Mommy, that’s Mr. Scalia, the man from TV…” Krystal protested, still pulling on Dana’s shirt to get her attention.
Dana turned back, squinting in appraisal of Nico. “Take your hat off,” she ordered. He did so, looking properly sheepish, and she recognized the man who’d been featured on the news just a few nights ago. Krystal and she played a game where they watched the news and Krystal had to determine how many stories were good news and how many bad. Dana helped her analyze which was which. The story featuring Scalia ended in a draw; the bad news was that a man had been conning elderly people out of their money, the good news was that Scalia had found the evidence to get him arrested.
That didn’t explain what he was doing here, and with Krystal.
“What are you doing with my daughter?”
“I brought her home. She came to my office wanting to hire a private bodyguard.” His eyes were still appraising her as he spoke and Dana fleetingly wished she hadn’t changed out of her work clothes when she got home. At the same time she registered what he had just said.
She looked down at her daughter. “Krystal, what is this all about?”
Krystal was about to answer when Mrs. Johnson called out as she came toward the front of the house. “She wasn’t over there, Dana, and…” Words trailed away and she cried out with relief when she saw Krystal. She began to shoot rapid-fire questions but now Dana interrupted her.
“I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I get some answers, Mrs. J. Meanwhile, will you make us some coffee and bring a juice for Krystal, as well, please?”
The older woman cast a curious glance at Nico Scalia but nodded her head and left for the kitchen.
“We might as well get comfortable,” Dana said, opening the French doors off the large foyer with one hand while the other still firmly clasped her daughter’s.
Nico followed a couple of feet behind, his eyes reluctantly leaving their study of the Harper woman’s backside to take in the environment in which she lived. The doors opened onto a living room larger than average that owed its first impression to a magnificent view of Lake Minnetonka through multiple windows on the south wall. On the east and west walls of the room were glass-paned doors that opened into matching screened porches.
The neighborhood alone, not to mention the size of the house from the outside, had told Nico that this was a costly piece of real estate. Now, for the first time, he thought about Mr. Harper, wondered what he did for a living that provided the kind of money required to live in such a house. One thing he was sure of, Dana Harper didn’t earn this working for the county attorney’s office.
He sank into one of the easy chairs across from the couch where Dana sat, the little girl beside her under the protection of her mother’s arm, and placed his Stetson on his knee.
“I think we can get this cleared up in a hurry, Ms. Harper,” Nico began, getting right to the point. “It seems your little girl thinks you’re being harassed through the mail and by phone calls. She thought I could help.”
Dana’s reaction was immediate, her expressions making rapid changes across her face until she settled for surprise. She turned to her daughter. “How did you know…”
The little girl blushed. “I saw one of the letters, Mommy. I wasn’t snooping, honestly! It was that day you told me I could get a pencil from your desk and I saw this piece of paper sticking out of your bottom drawer. I just pulled on it and it came out and I read it” The child sat back. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
Dana nodded, feeling more sad than anything that her eight-year-old should have had to suffer the worry engendered by the obscene threats. But now she had to deal with the unwanted presence of this professional snoop and do so without having the whole thing become a public circus. His appearance on TV told her that he was a publicity seeker and would probably sell their story to the highest bidder. She couldn’t have that, too much was at stake.
She turned back to face Nico Scalia and took a moment to study him while she formed the right words in her mind. It was easy to see why Krystal would believe him capable of protecting a woman at risk; he was tall and well-built, with dark hair, and eyes that gave him a threatening presence. A black mustache offset the sensuality of his mouth, the white gleam of his teeth. Easy to see, too, why he might be the darling of the press. A reminder that she had to get rid of him.
“I’m sorry you were dragged into this, unnecessarily, Mr. Scalia,” she said, clearing her throat and making her voice firm while keeping it pleasant, “but I assure you I’m in no danger and have no need of a private investigator or a bodyguard.” She smiled down at Krystal and left a remnant of it on her lips as she looked across at Scalia. “I’ll be glad to pay for your time up until now, however, and mayb
e a little something extra to forget this whole foolish incident. If you’ll just wait while I get my checkbook.” She started to rise.
Nico leaped to his feet, his ears ringing with anger. “I’m not in the business of blackmail, Ms. Harper!” he practically growled through clenched teeth, bunching his hat in an angry fist. “And I don’t appreciate being patronized like some sleazy private eye in a B movie. Ours is a reputable firm of investigators which, I might add, has provided agents to work with many of your colleagues in the legal profession.”
Dana stared, openmouthed, at the bristling detective. His eyes were glinting dangerously and his considerable size and stance were plainly threatening. If she were in the market for a bodyguard, she could do worse. It occurred to her that he was a very attractive man and that this was the first time she’d really enjoyed looking at a man since Zack’s death. If they had met socially, she might actually have been inclined to flirt a little. Of course the Stetson would have to go, and she’d like to see him in something other than denim jeans and jacket and those silly cowboy boots.
But then his next words echoed in her mind, distracting her from the critique of his physical attributes and haberdashery.
“If you were paying more attention to your job as a mother, your kid wouldn’t have ended up in my office, all alone, looking for help. You may not need a bodyguard but I’d say you certainly do need someone to look after Krystal and…”
Dana’s outrage would have burst forth in a volley of verbal shots if the sound of actual gunfire hadn’t just at that moment rung out from the direction of the kitchen.
They almost knocked each other over as both adults and the little girl reacted to the sound, rushing in the direction of the gunshots.
Mrs. Johnson lay on the floor, blood forming a circle beneath her right shoulder, one leg pointing, like an arrow, toward the heap of glass shards from the broken window next to the back door.
“Krystal, dial 9-1-1,” Dana shouted for the second time that evening as she knelt beside her fallen housekeeper and Nico Scalia ran out the back door, attempting to spot the shooter.
Chapter Two
The flashing lights of police cars eerily lit up the night, strobing reflections off the trees that rimmed the east side of the property. Dana watched the affect from a window, her mind almost numb with fatigue and guilt. Her boss, John Yearling, had been talking to the detectives and now he joined her at the window just as Joe Lake came up on her other side and put an arm around her shoulders. “You okay, Dana?” Lake asked softly.
As if she was the one who’d been hurt. She shook her head. “I’m not the one who got shot, Joe. I just want to get to the hospital to make sure Mrs. Johnson is all right.” She turned to her boss, looking for support.
Yearling nodded. “I think they’re about through here, Dana. Listen, don’t come into the office in the morning, you’re going to have plenty to take care of around here.”
“I’ll take you up on that, John, but don’t hesitate to call me if something comes up that can’t wait.”
He was about to turn away when Dana stopped him. “Do you think this was Caprezio’s doing, John?”
The county attorney shrugged and shook his head. “I can’t call it, Dana, it’s too iffy. For one thing, I don’t see Caprezio’s people screwing up like this. If they had a hit on you, you’d have been the one who went down and you wouldn’t have got back up.” His face was grim though his eyes were compassionate.
This was the moment to tell him about the threats, but when she opened her mouth, she couldn’t let the words come out. She said instead, “I guess that makes it unlikely we’ll find a suspect.”
John’s day had been as long as hers. She recognized the signs of exhaustion in the shadowed eyes, trembling hands. “We’ll put interviewers out in the street, maybe we’ll come up with backdoor answers.”
On her other side, Joe nodded and squeezed Dana’s shoulder. “This could very well have been almost anyone you’ve ever prosecuted, Dana.”
Dana shivered. “You’re right. Which makes me feel even more responsible for Mrs. J. I’ll feel a lot better after I see for myself that she’s going to be okay.”
“I’ll drive you over, Dana,” Joe offered. Dana was about to refuse and then realized she wasn’t in any condition to drive into town. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll just be a minute changing my clothes.”
She was about to start up the stairs when she realized that with Mrs. J. out of commission, she had no one to stay with Krystal. Could she take her along to the hospital? A glance at her watch told her it was nearing midnight
Krystal had fallen asleep, still sniffling, in Dana’s arms at around eight and Joe Lake had carried her up and put her to bed. The comings and goings of the crime scene crew hadn’t wakened her and Dana hesitated to do so now. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the private detective, Nick Scalia, talking to one of the cops. He looked up and their eyes met. As if reading her mind, he strolled to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her.
“Something I can do, Mrs. Harper?”
“As a matter of fact there is, Mr. Scalia,” she said, turning toward him. “I need to get to the hospital but Krystal’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake her and I wondered if…” Her words trailed away as it dawned on her that she was asking the man to baby-sit. She started over. “Look, I’m really sorry you got hung up in all this. I tried to explain you were an innocent bystander but the police don’t leave anything to chance and you were on the premises, an eyewitness, more or less.”
He smiled and shrugged off her concern. “You’re not satisfied with the telephone reports from the hospital, I take it.”
She tried to return his smile, found her lips stiff and unyielding. “Yes…that is, I was going to see for myself and that’s why I…”
The idea didn’t seem to bother him. “Sure. You go ahead. I’ll stay.”
She was about to suggest some kind of remuneration and then recalled his earlier reaction when she’d offered him money for what had only been a kindness on his part.
“Thanks. I’ll make it quick as I can.” She turned and hurried up to her bedroom.
It was while she was slipping into gray corduroy slacks and a soft, white sweater that the big picture finally opened in her mind. If Krystal had been in the kitchen, she could have been the one wounded…or worse! For the first time Dana saw that she hadn’t really given proper credence to the threats. They seemed to be directed solely at her, and she’d felt up to the task of protecting herself, but this incident tonight proved that they could mean danger for anyone in her life.
According to the doctor, during their last conversation by phone, Mrs. J. was going to be hospitalized for only a few days and able to return to work in a few weeks. But after tonight would the housekeeper ever feel quite safe being here alone with only Krystal?
She pushed her feet into loafers and snatched a gray jacket off its hanger in the closet. Maybe Krystal had been right on the money. Maybe they did need a bodyguard. She left the bedroom with a clear image of Nico Scalia in her mind. A large man who obviously took very good care of his body, he was both lean and muscular. And something about the set of his jaw, the glint in his brown eyes, told her that he could be dangerous if crossed. The kind of man who could easily protect one little girl and one elderly woman.
Scalia was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “Take your time, Ms. Harper, the night’s already gone for me, I can stay as long as it takes.” His smile was reassuring.
Dana stopped on the last step so that her face was almost level with his. At this proximity she could smell his aftershave, the clean soapy smell of his skin that even five hours of havoc hadn’t obliterated. She gave him an even look. “How about indefinitely, Mr. Scalia?”
“Whatever it ta…Oh, I see, you’re kidding, right?” He chuckled.
“No, actually I’m not. I’d like to hire you, Mr. Scalia. As a bodyguard,” she said in a near whisper, conscious of Joe Lake and the other detectives
milling around nearby.
Nico let out a low whistle. “I wondered if you were going to see that this goes beyond mere threats. But I figured you’d ask your own people for help.”
“You misunderstand me, Mr. Scalia, I’m not hiring you to protect me. I want you to act as bodyguard for Krystal and, of course, Mrs. Johnson when she’s here.”
“I told you before, I don’t usually hire on as a bodyguard,” Nico said.
She made a pointed survey of his wide shoulders, his long, strong-looking legs; the total picture of masculine power. “Are you licensed to carry a gun?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, then, you’re certainly equipped—in every way—so I guess it’s just that you consider the work beneath you. It certainly won’t put you in the limelight, get your face plastered all over by the media.”
Nico bit back a vulgar retort and shoved his fists into his pockets. This dame could certainly use a bodyguard if her tongue was always this sharp and unrestrained. But he hadn’t missed the obvious study she’d made of his person and he couldn’t keep his mind from doing its own quick study of what it would be like to spend some time getting to know her, testing the depth of her reserve.
Still, this wasn’t the kind of job he liked to take on.
“I agree, Krystal should have someone looking after her until they can find out who the shooter was, but as I said, I’m not really a bodyguard.”
Joe Lake came up just as Nico made his statement. He pushed his arms into a football letter jacket and nodded at Nico. “I wouldn’t say that, Scalia. You have the qualifications. The cops can’t spare ‘round-the-clock protection and we don’t know this freak won’t try again. Why don’t you give it a try? Maybe for forty-eight hours. We should have a line on the guy by then.”