Krystal's Bodyguard

by Molly Rice

  Nico grunted. “Yeah, right. Like you guys have such a great record for crime solving.”

  Dana stepped between the two men who had faced off as if to start throwing punches. “That’s not fair, Scalia. I’m trying three criminal cases presently, thanks to the work of the Minneapolis police, and I’m only one of thirty-nine prosecutors who’s up to the armpits in criminal suits.”

  “I guess this wise guy thinks because he solved one case, he’s some kind of hero,” Joe Lake said over her shoulder. “Maybe you better look elsewhere for security.”

  “No way,” Nico snapped. “I’d love to see you put your money where your mouth is, Lake. I’ll take it on for forty-eight and let’s see you guys hold up your end.” He directed his gaze to Dana. “That is, I’ll do it on two conditions.” Dana breathed a sigh of relief. “And they are?” Nico started to tell her, glanced past her at Lake, and said instead, “We can discuss it when you get back.”

  THEY WEREN’T even out of the drive before Joe Lake put his hand on Dana’s knee and resumed an old conversation.

  “You know, Dana, if you’d have accepted my proposal you’d have a man around the house all the time, and you wouldn’t need to hire a bodyguard.”

  She laughed lightly while removing Joe’s hand. “I don’t need a man to protect me, Joe, and if I did, I wouldn’t consider that a justification for marriage.”

  Joe’s profile reflected his chagrin, his mouth tightening to a thin line, his jawbone jerking as he ground his teeth. His voice was a little desperate as he responded, “You know I love you, Dana, I’ve told you often enough.”

  She tried not to let sympathy color her tone. “I know, Joe, and I wish I could say I returned the feeling, but I think of you as a kind of brother, Zack’s and my best friend. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without you after Zack was killed, but I can’t marry you just to repay your kindness.” She put her hand over his and squeezed gently. “I love you enough to feel you deserve better than that, Joe.”

  He laughed suddenly, the air in the car turning decidedly lighter. “I had to try. Didn’t want to blow my record.”

  Dana breathed easier. “Yeah,” she said fondly, “you were never one to let an opportunity pass you by.” She thought about that, about how Joe had always had a reputation for being a womanizer. Zack and the other cops had groused about Joe’s ease with the ladies, often with a tinge of envy coloring their remarks. Personally Dana had often wondered why Joe had never married, given his obvious pleasure in the company of women. Despite being a bachelor for forty years, he was the one who always remembered the little things women liked. He was great with all the other cops’ kids and Zack had admitted that it was Joe who reminded him of their anniversary date and birthdays.

  Her thoughts were distracted when she spotted a KXLI remote van parked in front of the Super America store and recalled the circus that could have gone down at her house tonight.

  “Thanks for keeping the press at bay, Joe. I know that took some juggling.”

  Joe shook his head. “Not all that hard. The stations know if they want access to crime news, they have to cooperate when we tell them to hold off on a story.” He gave her a quick glance, and one of those grins that turned most women around. “Not to mention that I called in a few markers.”

  They laughed about that, each recalling Joe’s special propensity for anchorwomen. He’d been seeing Cilly Baker from Channel Four when Zack died and since then he’d dated at least two other TV personalities from the other stations. Until he’d suddenly surprised her with a marriage proposal and as far as she knew, hadn’t been dating anyone since, despite the fact that she’d turned him down. Numerous times.

  Joe turned the car left onto Highway 394, headed toward the city. When they’d joined the light, late-night line of traffic he said, “You asked Yearling about Caprezio. Any particular reason you zeroed in on him?”

  The car’s heater had kicked in and Dana unzipped her jacket and settled back. “I don’t know, I suppose it’s like free association. I think ‘Caprezio—murder,’ ‘murder— Caprezio.’ Sort of like ‘hand—glove.’”

  “So you think it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re prosecuting Marcus Caprezio?”

  Dana shrugged, glancing over at her friend. “Nothing—or everything.” She was tempted to tell him about the notes but once again felt something holding her back. Was it her innate obstinacy? Zack had always accused her of that, said she got her back up the minute she thought she might sound needy. It had been the real crux of their marital difficulty. Unfortunately she’d only recognized that after her husband was gone.

  “Well, I’m inclined to agree with Yearling. If it had been Caprezio, the hit would most likely have met its target.”

  “Meaning me?”

  “Yeah, who else? Unless Mrs. J. is enhancing her cookies with hard stuff and stepping on some drug lord’s toes.”

  They both laughed at the absurdity. And were instantly reminded of the solemnity of the situation.

  “I just hope Mrs. J. can find it in her heart to forgive me,” Dana said, sighing.

  “Why? Did you shoot her?” Joe turned to glance at her, a wry smile on his lips.

  “You know what I mean. If I was the target, and she got in the way, well, it wouldn’t have happened if she didn’t work for me, after all.”

  They were a block from the hospital and Joe’s response was swallowed up by the noise of an ambulance that had just pulled out of the garage on their right.

  They spent only a few minutes at Mrs. Johnson’s bedside. The elderly woman looked grayer, more pale against the white linens, her eyes dim when she opened them briefly.

  “She won’t come out of the anesthetic for quite a while, but she’s stable and the bullet came out clean,” . the doctor said, gesturing for them to join him out in the hall.

  “The bullet?” Dana asked, automatically thinking like the prosecuting attorney she was.

  “Detective Haroldson took it as soon as we got it out,” the doctor said, wearily running a hand over his round face. His hands were long and capable-looking and didn’t match his pudgy face at all. She gave a brief prayer of thanks that he was competent and had given her housekeeper his best. She thanked him and reminded him to call her if there was any change.

  On their way out, they stopped at admitting where Dana signed papers identifying her as the person responsible for any costs not covered by Mrs. J.’s medical aid.

  Back in Joe’s car, she fell asleep almost as soon as she snapped her seat belt on and leaned her head against the window. She slept all the way and when they pulled into her drive and she awakened, she thanked him blearily and staggered into the house thinking of nothing but bed.

  It wasn’t until she saw Nico sprawled on the couch in the living room that she became completely alert. He jumped up as she came down the three steps into the room.

  “You look beat,” he said.

  “I am. Did Krystal wake up?”

  “Yeah. I got her a drink of water and talked to her for a minute and she went right back to sleep.” He leaned a hip against the wing of one of the chairs flanking the fireplace and folded his arms across his chest. “I think we should get something straight right up front,” he said.

  Dana sighed and slumped down into the nearest easy chair. It took her a moment to sort her thoughts, to recall where she and Scalia had left off.

  “You said your decision to take the job was based on a couple of conditions, Mr. Scalia?”

  “Yeah, and the first one is that we skip the formalities and use first names. Frankly, I’m not used to this ‘Mister Scalia’ routine.”

  Dana wearily gestured acquiescence. “And?”

  “Our living in the same house is going to crowd you a little, even given the size of this place, but in order for me to do my j—”

  Dana’s gasped, “Living together?” surprised Nico midword.

  “Well, yeah, of course. How else would I watch out for the kid if
I wasn’t with her ‘round-the-clock?”

  Dana blew a sigh of dismay. This was all getting so complicated, so messy. She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said irritably. “I guess I thought you’d come over before I had to leave for work and leave when I got home in the evening.”

  She didn’t have the market on irritability. His expression matched her own. “In other words, you thought you’d hire me to take Mrs. Johnson’s place in her absence. Maybe throw in a little light housework while I was at it?”

  “No, not at all. Of course not!” Dana shook her head vehemently, her voice rising to cover something that felt like guilt…or shame. “You don’t have to twist everything I say,” she snapped, turning away from his accusatory glare.

  “I think I do,” he said as he moved to make sure she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “It seems like the only way to wring the truth out of your meaning.”

  “Okay. So I misunderstood the term ‘bodyguard,’ so sue me,” she said, jumping to her feet. “You do whatever you have to do. You’ll find an extra set of keys in the drawer of the table in the foyer and there’s a guest room at the top of the stairs on the right.” She brushed past him and made for those stairs. “I assume you’ll want to go to your own home to pack some things. As for me, I’m going to bed.”

  She left the room without a backward glance, uneasily aware that it only “seemed” like she’d had the last word.

  It wasn’t until she’d reached the top of the stairs that she heard him go up to the foyer. Had he stood there the whole time, debating about taking the job, after all? A frisson of fear cooled her skin. She had to curb her unruly tongue. She couldn’t leave Krystal to just anyone’s care, not now when the threats had escalated to action.

  She stopped on her way to her own room to check on Krystal. Even in sleep the little girl held her favorite stuffed animal to her chest, as if protecting it from nighttime terrors. The panda had been a gift from her daddy.

  Krystal had tried to relinquish it at one point, insisting she was too old for stuffed animals, but when the box was packed to go to Goodwill, Krystal had changed her mind.

  Dana smiled at the pair and pulled the blanket up over her child’s shoulders. She placed a kiss on Krystal’s cheek and was rewarded with a frown and a snuffle. She tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door ajar so she’d hear if Krystal awoke and needed her during the night.

  Or what was left of it, Dana thought, dragging herself down the hall to the master bedroom.

  She almost fell into bed, so tired she was sure she wouldn’t hear Scalia even if his return were heralded by a marching band.

  But she was wrong. After half an hour of tossing and pillow plumping, she turned on her lamp and attempted to read herself to sleep.

  Her thoughts persisted even against the lure of Mary Higgins Clark’s latest mystery. Her own mystery was far more compelling.

  She froze midthought when she heard sounds from below and then realized it was Nico reentering the house. She lay back against the pillows and breathed a deep sigh of relief. She would never have admitted it aloud, but it felt good to have someone to share the fear with; someone, and yes, a man, to make her home feel more secure.

  She thought she could hear him moving around in the guest room though it was located at the other end of the hall. She could visualize him preparing for bed, doing the things men did, like emptying his pockets onto the dresser, hanging his pants over a chair back, going into the hall bathroom to shower.

  She imagined him standing under the spray, his body glistening wetly, his dark hair slicked back off his forehead. Abruptly it occurred to her that it was as if she were spying on him, if only in her imagination.

  “Losin’ it, Harper,” she muttered, snapping off the lamp, turning her face into her pillow, willing her mind to relinquish such tantalizing thoughts.

  Maybe it was time to consider dating again, as her friends constantly urged her. She was certainly ready if this was her reaction to the first man who came along, and a man she barely knew, at that.

  She turned over, tucking her hands under her cheek, staring at the tree outside her window, its branches eerily etched in shadow and moonlight.

  Granted, Nico Scalia left nothing to be desired in a woman’s fantasy; tall, dark, handsome, he moved with the grace of an athlete and the self-assurance of a movie star. And it had been impossible to overlook his competent ease with Krystal during the trauma of the evening. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to calm her daughter down as dispassionately and tenderly as Nico had. Her own nerves had been so frayed, only her resolution to remain professional in front of her colleagues and calm in front of her child had kept her from going to pieces.

  But this was no time to be thinking about the manwoman thing. Aside from the very real danger to herself and Krystal, there was the continuing pressure from her job and the three cases she would be prosecuting over the next few months.

  A soft knock at her door startled her. She gasped and then called out, “Who is it?”

  The knob turned and the detective’s figure loomed in the doorway.

  “This room is off limits, Scalia,” she snapped, disgusted by her momentary fear.

  He lounged against the door frame, an arrogant smile creasing his cheeks, exposing large, even teeth. He’d taken off the denim jacket and the white T-shirt he’d worn beneath it clung to his broad-shouldered upper body, molded to each and every muscle.

  “Are you suggesting my being in your room is too much temptation for you, Ms. Harper?”

  A warm feeling moved through Dana’s stomach and flushed her cheeks.

  She pulled the sheet up under her chin. “Of all the nerve,” she said, her voice sounding weak even to her own ears. “I see your ego is equal to your boot size.”

  “Yeah, women really seem to go for the boots,” he said, deliberately choosing the wrong interpretation of her insult.

  “It so happens that I find boots, outside of a mucky barnyard, appallingly tacky.”

  His voice was low, smoky, threatening. “Then I’ll be sure to take my boots off before we get cozy,” he said.

  Dana blew a raspberry at him. Nothing seemed to stop this guy’s stampeding ego. “What do you want, Scalia? I’m tired, I’d like to get to sleep.”

  Nico decided to forego the word games that came to mind. He’d probably gone too far as it was. Something about her made him want to strip away all of her cover, to needle her into exposing the woman beneath the facade. But she wasn’t playing tonight.

  “You didn’t give me the alarm code, and I noticed a camera on the wall over the front door, where do you activate that?”

  “The code is one-zero-seven and the alarm beam is activated by the wall switch at the top of the stairs, next to the window, behind the drape.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  And with that he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him.

  Dana let out a whoosh of air and shook her head, her blond, layered hair swishing around her chin at the front, the back brushing well below the shoulders of her pajama top. “What a jerk!” she muttered aloud.

  She punched her pillow a couple of times and tested it for comfort. She’d wasted far too much time dancing a verbal two-step with the detective, she wasn’t going to give him another moment’s thought.

  She turned off the lamp and wiggled down under the covers.

  Think about work, she told herself in her sternest inner voice.

  She directed her focus toward her work and pictured, within her mind, the file of notes on the three cases that predominated her workload.

  Her mind’s eye had scanned only the first page of notes before she fell asleep.

  Chapter Three

  She awakened to bright sunlight, its heat tickling her face. It took a moment to recall the events of the previous night and then she jumped out of bed, alarmed at the lateness of the hour, concerned about Krystal.

  She found her child ensconced at the kitchen table, eating an orange a
nd watching Nico fit a piece of glass into the opening of the side-yard door into the kitchen.

  “Then why did the guy shoot at our house?”

  Dana stopped in the doorway, unnoticed. Obviously they were in the middle of a discussion. She stepped back, out of sight, and waited, along with Krystal, for his answer.

  Nico spoke around the glazing point he held between his teeth. “Could be the guy made a mistake, thought this was someone else’s house.”

  “Ha!” Krystal’s retort was far more sophisticated than Dana would have expected. “So you expect me to believe Mommy was getting those notes and phone calls but that had nothing to do with Mrs. J. getting shot? I don’t think so,” she drawled sarcastically.

  Dana held back a snicker of amusement at her daughter’s stance. Nico Scalia had his hands full if he thought Krystal was a typical eight-year-old.

  Nico spun around and glared at Krystal. “Sarcasm is not an attitude one likes to hear from little children.”

  “I’m not a little child,” Krystal protested. “And you’re just trying not to answer my question.”

  Dana heard Nico’s short, derisive chuckle. “No, you’re probably a midget, thirty years old with a college degree.”

  Krystal giggled. “No, I’m not. But I know grown-ups make up stuff when they don’t want us kids to know something.”

  “Listen, kid, you know everything I know. The rest is just guessing.” His sincerity rang with respect for the little girl. He wasn’t talking down to her. It warmed Dana to hear that in his tone. He sure had a better attitude with underage females than he did with grown women.

  “Okay, then tell me what you’re going to do to get the guy and make sure he doesn’t hurt my mom,” Krystal ordered.

  Nico’s sigh quivered across the room, heartfelt and deep. Dana heard him pull out a chair as he settled across from Krystal.

  “The thing is, Krys, your mom doesn’t want my help. She wants to handle things herself and I can’t make her accept my help if she doesn’t want it. But I’ll promise you one thing, the cops are working on it right now and if the shooting last night had anything to do with those threats against your mom, they’ll find out about it and they’ll do something about it. Meanwhile, you really don’t have to worry, you know, because I’m here and you’re safe. Right?”