Enjoy a classic story of love and danger by New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy, available as an ebook for the first time!
Libby Weatherby was aware that her jealous ex-husband had hired private detective Tony Pandolinni to follow her. In fact, she got a kick out of evading him…until she discovered that Tony wasn’t the only one on her trail. Someone desperately wanted the mysterious locket she’d found in her pawnshop—someone who would stop at nothing to get it.
Tony knew he had no business getting involved with this case, but he was suddenly fiercely determined to protect the independent Ms. Weatherby. Never mind that her slightest touch made him tremble and wish that he’d never sworn off women…
They’d been brought together for all the wrong reasons. Would they live long enough to make all the right moves?
Originally published 1993
One of the Good Guys
Carla Cassidy
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
CHAPTER 1
She was being followed again. Libby had suspected it only minutes after locking the door of the pawnshop and climbing into her car. Now that she thought about it, she realized it was the same car that had been everywhere she had been for the past three days. As she watched in the rearview mirror, the tan Buick kept a steady, even distance from her.
Had this been the first time, she might have panicked, wondering why she was being tailed and by whom. But it was not the first time. In fact, she’d lost count of the number of times her footsteps had been echoed, her movements shadowed, her life observed. Now, after almost three months of being under constant surveillance, she was tired of the game.
“Enough is enough,” she muttered, stepping down on the gas pedal, effortlessly maneuvering her sports car in and out of traffic. She had become quite proficient at losing inept private investigators, and if this one was as inefficient as the last two had been, she should have no problems giving him the slip in the evening rush-hour traffic.
Logically, she knew Bill would have provided the investigator with the necessary information—name, address, employment and regular habits. She also knew that eventually her pursuer would catch up to her, but it gave her a perverse satisfaction to speed along, zigzagging across lanes and between other cars, imagining the panic on her pursuer’s face as she left him farther and farther behind.
“Eat my dust,” she murmured with a grin, watching in her mirror as the Buick disappeared in the heavy flow of traffic behind her.
After several more minutes of evasive driving, certain that she had lost him, she slowed down and took a deep, steadying breath. Her playful mood of moments before had changed into a burning, seething resentment.
“Damn him,” she expelled, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. It was not the man in the Buick she cursed. He was merely a paid employee. Her curse instead was directed at the man who had been her husband for three long years, the man who had been her ex-husband for the past eight months. Why couldn’t Bill just face the fact that their marriage was over, dead?
Libby rolled down the window, enjoying the gusty early spring wind that whipped her pale hair around her head. Her thoughts lingered on her ex-husband. Poor Bill—even in her anger, she could almost feel sympathetic for the macho, overprotective, smothering construction worker she’d married, then divorced as a means of self-preservation.
She’d tried to make the marriage work. For three long years she had put her wants and needs aside to accommodate Bill’s. She’d stayed home and waited patiently for his return when he went out on his weekly drinking binges with his construction buddies. She’d even managed to convince herself that he didn’t occasionally come home reeking of another woman’s cheap perfume.
The end of the marriage had come abruptly. She’d awakened one morning wanting to scream from the strain of trying to be something she was not.
Instead of screaming, she filed for a divorce. She’d tried to be kind, tried to convince Bill that he’d be much happier with a different woman. But it was as if the divorce suddenly spurred a case of undying love in Bill. Unfortunately, his efforts to revive the marriage had been a case of too little too late.
Bill was certain the divorce was caused by another man. He’d hired the investigators to prove the fact and to somehow remain linked to her life.
But there was no other man. In the past eight months, the most exciting thing the investigators could have reported was that Libby’s cat, Twilight, had developed a hair ball and had to be rushed to the vet’s office.
A small smile curved her lips as she thought of the private eye she’d just left behind. At least he had been a little better than the rest. It had been three days before that she’d initially noticed him behind her. Three days, she mused. She’d caught on to the previous investigators immediately. A giggle escaped her as she remembered a month ago, when an overzealous investigator had accidently bumped into the rear of her car in his zest to stay on her tail. The giggle blossomed into a snort of laughter as she thought of the hot blush that had reddened the man’s chubby, florid face as she told him to give her regards to Bill.
The smile that lit her face now died abruptly as she turned down the street where her apartment building was. Her gaze landed on the tan Buick already parked in her usual parking space.
How on earth had he managed that? She had driven the most direct route home and was certain he hadn’t passed her. A small hint of respect at his finesse grudgingly arose inside her. The man was good. The man was definitely good.
As she slowly drove past the car, she turned and scrutinized the occupant, giving him her total, undivided attention.
Shock pierced through her as she stared at him. He wasn’t a dumpy, florid-faced, thick-necked investigator. Oh, no. His features were sharply defined in the golden light of dusk. Dark curls, just this side of unruly, topped his head. A wide forehead gave way to dark, intense eyes and a straight, arrogant nose. A full, dark mustache hid his upper lip and as their gazes met, he gestured as if tipping an imaginary hat to her, showing her a flash of the glittering whiteness of perfect teeth as he smiled in obvious amusement.
His smile effectively broke the trancelike spell she had momentarily fallen into, and she gunned the motor and roared by him, shooting into a parking space halfway down the block. Once there, she remained in the car, mentally steadying herself from the shock of his unexpected attractiveness.
He possessed a handsomeness that hinted at danger. Physically speaking, he was the type who could either play the hero, saving the heroine from the clutches of death, or the villain—dangerously handsome, luring the hapless, innocent heroine into trouble.
She shook her head, effectively dispelling the fanciful thoughts. She was allowing her imagination to run wild. Still, she knew instinctively she’d rather have this man on her side than have to face him as an adversary.
She shut off the engine and fumbled with the key ring until she held her apartment key firmly in hand. She got out of her car and walked hurriedly toward the brick building, her slender shoulders militarily straight. She was self-conscious that a dark, glittering gaze followed her every movement.
At the front door of the building she paused impulsively. With an impish grin, she turned and waved two fingers at the handsome investigator, then turned and entered the apartment building.
Once inside her fou
rth-floor apartment, she flipped on all the lights against the darkening night and kicked off her high-heeled shoes. Flopping down on the couch, she smiled as the gray tomcat greeted her by jumping up and sitting on her chest. “Hi, Twilight,” she murmured, scratching the cat affectionately behind his furry ears. “Did you miss me today?”
The cat meowed plaintively, then jumped down on the floor and looked at her expectantly.
“Okay, okay.” Rising off the sofa, she went into the small kitchen, the cat a shadow at her heels. She grabbed a can of cat food that, according to Twilight, tasted better than it smelled. With efficiency born of habit, she opened the can and dumped the contents into the dish on the floor. “There you go,” she muttered maternally, once again petting the tomcat’s soft fur as he lapped greedily at the fishy-smelling food.
She went back into the living room, drawn to the window that provided a perfect view to the street below. She pulled the curtain aside a fraction of an inch, just enough to peer out and see that the Buick was still parked below. She jerked the curtain closed as the phone rang shrilly. Flopping down on the sofa once again, she picked up the receiver.
“How’s my favorite girl?” a deep voice asked without preamble.
“Vinnie!” Libby smiled at the sound of her father’s familiar voice. “How is life in sunny Florida?”
“Hot, humid and full of husband-hungry widows,” he answered with a snort. “I love it,” he added with a gusty explosion of laughter. “How are things there?”
“About the same as usual. The shop keeps me busy. You know business is always good in the spring when people clean out their attics and basements.”
“Are you still dragging home abandoned crap?”
Libby laughed. “Anything that’s left unclaimed, and you know it isn’t crap. It’s history. Everything I bring home talks to me.”
“Huh, some men my age get grandchildren. I get a daughter whose furniture talks to her.” His gruff voice was full of affection. “What do you hear from that ex-husband of yours? Has he finally decided to leave you alone?”
“No such luck. As a matter of fact, there is a new detective sitting outside my apartment at this very moment.” Libby sighed. “Bill called me the other night wanting a reconciliation. He sounded like he’d had too much to drink. I think he figures I’ll get tired of being spied on and go back to him.”
“Will you?”
“Not a chance,” Libby answered without hesitation.
“You know all I want is for you to be happy. Well, I just wanted to check and see how you were getting along.” Vinnie began winding down the conversation and Libby smiled at the mental picture she had of him checking his watch and mentally calculating the cost of the long-distance phone call.
“I love you, Vinnie,” she breathed softly into the phone.
“I love you, too, doll. I’ll call you the same time next week.” With that he clicked off.
Libby replaced the receiver slowly, thoughtfully. She was glad her father was happy in Florida, but there were times when she really missed him. Since her mother’s death when she was three years old, it had always been Vinnie and Libby.
“Did you finish your gourmet supper?” she asked the cat, who strode regally across the floor from the kitchen and stretched out languidly on a colorful hook rug, his contented purring instantly filling the silence of the room.
Yawning, Libby stretched and looked at the antique clock that sat on the walnut bric-a-brac shelf. It was only a few minutes after eight o’clock, but she was exhausted. It had been a particularly busy day at the pawnshop.
She got up from the sofa with another tired yawn and went into the bedroom. She walked over to the wardrobe in the corner and pulled out a blue lace teddy. Laying it on the bed, she quickly undressed, pulling off the skirt and blouse she had worn to work that day. Slip and hose quickly followed, landing in a heap in the middle of the floor. She stepped into the teddy and pulled it up, pausing as her hand encountered the heavy gold necklace resting around her neck.
Going into the bathroom, she turned the necklace around and peered into the mirror above the sink, fumbling for a few moments with the sturdy, complicated fastening. Finally the necklace unclasped, sliding down her throat. She caught it and carried it into her bedroom where she set it on the table next to the bed.
It was a beautiful piece. It had been brought in only that morning by a diminutive old man. Libby had tried to talk him into pawning it, but he had insisted he wanted to sell it outright. He’d seemed anxious, in a hurry, and had accepted her first offer.
She turned down the blankets on her bed, a smile curving her lips as she thought of her conversation with Vinnie. Like the necklace, most of her apartment furnishings were items from the pawnshop, things that had never been reclaimed or items she’d bought outright. She tried to tell herself she brought them home for safekeeping, but the truth was she loved the curious mishmash of things people brought in to sell or to pawn for extra money.
On impulse, she walked back into the living room and shut off all the lights. She drew open her curtains and looked down on the street below. Still there… He was still down there watching her, spying on her. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the glow of a cigarette arcing away from the car window.
Good, let him stay down there all night, smoke a hundred cigarettes and develop a bad case of smoker’s cough. Maybe it would be cold tonight and he would be miserable in the confines of his car. Or better yet, let it rain…an arctic downpour that would chill him to the bones.
She turned away from the window with a smug smile of satisfaction, content that she had wished all the bad things she could think of on him. After all, it served him right. If he was going to intrude on her privacy, the least she could do was curse him to a horrible fate. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, allowing the curtains to fall back into place, then went back into the bedroom.
She crawled into bed and shut off the bedside lamp and within seconds she felt the bed depress beneath the weight of Twilight. Within minutes, Libby slept.
* * *
In the street below, Tony Pandolinni watched the light of the fourth-floor apartment go out. He slowly climbed out of the Buick and stretched his long, lean legs, almost enjoying the sensation of needles and pins that tickled at his feet, signaling that circulation had begun once again.
In all the advice, all the opinions he had solicited before leaving the police department and starting his own detective agency, nobody had mentioned the fact that the greatest risk a private detective faced was the loss of a limb from lack of circulation and/or death from perpetual boredom.
In the past year since beginning his own business, he had suffered plenty of both. While this particular assignment was proving quite boring, at least the subject was pleasant to look at. In fact, she was more than just pleasant—she was really very pretty.
His lips curved into a soft smile as he thought of the way she had waved her fingers at him just before disappearing into her apartment building. She had wanted him to know that she was on to him, that she was aware of the fact that he was following her. Her action had shown a certain amount of spunk. No wonder her ex-husband was reluctant to cut his ties with her. Pretty and spunky—it was an appealing package…
Tony shoved these thoughts from his mind. Keeping an eye on Libby Weatherby was merely a job. He’d give this particular job one more night and day, then he’d report back to the husband that Libby lived a boring, solitary existence. Then that would be the end of that.
He leaned back against his car and shook a cigarette out of the pack. Another hazard of this line of work—one tended to smoke too much. A nasty habit…he’d been trying unsuccessfully to quit for months. He lit the cigarette, his gaze going back to the darkened fourth-floor window. It was going to be a long, boring night.
* * *
Libby awoke suddenly, aware of some sort of activity taking place at the foot of the bed. She opened her eyes to see Twilight contentedly gnawing on the to
e of her last pair of good panty hose.
“Twilight!” She sat up and swatted at the cat, then moaned as she picked up the tattered remains of the hose. “Dumb cat,” she muttered sleepily, sliding from the bed and heading for the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later she emerged freshly showered and clad in a beige lacy bra and matching panties. She stood in front of the open wardrobe, indecisively staring at the clothes before her. It was so difficult to dress for spring in the Midwest, where the temperature could fluctuate as much as thirty degrees in a single day. She finally settled on a pair of jeans and a lightweight, crew-neck sweater. She added the heavy gold necklace and a pair of earrings. As she applied her makeup, she cast a scurrilous gaze at the errant cat who had returned to his position at the foot of the bed, resuming his task of totally shredding the panty hose.
Then, ready to face a new day, Libby left the apartment. She studiously ignored the Buick and its driver, who was still in the same position as the night before. She continued to ignore his vigilance as she headed her car toward the pawnshop, vowing that tonight she would have it out with Bill. Tonight she would tell him to call off his bloodhounds or else he’d be slapped with some sort of harassment charge. They were legally divorced. She’d tried to be nice, she’d tried to maintain a friendship, but now it was time to cut the umbilical cord.
This issue settled in her mind, she turned on the radio, enjoying the rhythmic mellow rock music that immediately filled the car. The upbeat melody caused an uplifting optimism to course through her veins. It was a beautiful morning, and she was looking forward to what this day in the shop would bring. That was one good thing about owning a pawnshop—no two days were ever the same.
She parked her car in front of the store, in the space reserved for her. A feeling of pride swelled in her heart as she stepped up to the front door, her gaze lingering on the bold black lettering that proclaimed Vinnie’s Pawnshop. When her father had retired almost a year before, she had never considered changing the name. For twenty-five years it had been Vinnie’s, and it was going to remain that way. With a smile, she unlocked the door and walked in.
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