One of the Good Guys

by Carla Cassidy

  * * *

  Tony changed out of his clothes and pulled on a robe, then went downstairs to the living room to sit and unwind. He knew from past experience that it would be some time before the adrenaline quit pumping through his veins and he could settle down to get some much-needed sleep.

  He turned on the table lamp beside the sofa and was satisfied when the room lit with the warm glow of the low-watt bulb.

  Libby… His expression turned thoughtful as he lit a cigarette and settled back on the sofa. What could she possibly possess that was so important? She certainly wasn’t wealthy; her living conditions ruled out the possibility of a simple burglary. No, he was smart enough to recognize the signs of a search, and both the pawnshop and her apartment had undergone a massive one. Whatever it was they had been looking for, it had to be something very important to somebody.

  His eyes narrowed even more as he remembered the bullet that had been directed at him. It was an intriguing puzzle, one that he was determined to put together. He dismissed the idea that her ex-husband was involved. Although the man was obviously besotted with Libby, and obsessed with getting her back into a marriage, he was far too pathetic to be able to put together this kind of thing.

  He stirred restlessly on the sofa, his thoughts still on the woman upstairs in his spare room. Those eyes, those beautiful sapphire eyes. A man could melt into those blue depths, or he could be pulled up short by the strength and determination that lingered there. Most women would have completely fallen apart under the circumstances, yet Libby had remained firmly in control. There was more to the lady than met the eye, and this somehow pleased Tony.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering that instant in her apartment when he had pulled her tightly against him. It had been the first moment when he’d noticed that her attire was less than modest. The blue teddy did little to hide the rounded curves of her breasts and slender hips, the silky length of her long legs. He’d been shocked at the unexpected flare of desire that ripped through him, a desire that was completely unwanted.

  He stubbed out his cigarette, looking up as he heard a door open upstairs. Libby appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked, noting how small and vulnerable she looked as she stood hesitantly, clad in her oversize robe. Her pale hair was tousled like a halo around her head, attesting to the fact that she had tossed and turned restlessly.

  “No. I’m totally exhausted, but I can’t seem to wind down enough to sleep.” She self-consciously smoothed the front of her robe, pulling the belt tighter around her slender waist. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

  “Not at all,” he agreed easily, watching her grace as she walked down the stairs and sat down in the chair across from him.

  “This is all so bizarre,” she began hesitantly, fingering the fringe at the end of the robe’s belt. She sighed tiredly. “I’m sitting in the living room of a man I hardly know because somebody is after me for something I have, only I don’t know what that something is—” She broke off with a deep sigh of frustration. “I’m so tired, but the minute I lay down on the bed, all kinds of questions start playing in my mind.” She smiled ruefully. “Twilight didn’t have the same problem. He curled up in a ball on the bed and immediately fell asleep.”

  Tony grinned his easy smile. “We should all have the adaptability of animals.” He smiled at her again, suddenly making her conscious of the intimacy of their setting. The soft, warm lighting…both of them in bathrobes. Anyone peeking in the windows at the moment would have guessed them to be a married couple, or perhaps lovers. Certainly nobody would guess they were relative strangers thrown together by a series of events that were out of their control.

  “How about a drink?” Tony suggested. “I’d offer you a glass of wine. Physically you look like a wine sipper, but something tells me that look is probably deceptive.” He smiled teasingly. “Let me guess, you probably can knock back ten Scotches on the rocks without blinking an eye.”

  “Actually, I’m a tequila drinker from way back,” she admitted, finding it impossible not to respond to his light tone.

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise at her answer. “Whew! You’re a better man than I, Libby.” His grin was infectious and Libby felt herself responding with a warmth that coursed through her veins as he continued. “I’m afraid I don’t have any tequila, but I can offer you some nice, smooth brandy.”

  “That sounds great,” she agreed, a smile lingering on her lips as she watched him rise from the sofa and disappear into the kitchen. Did he know how potent his smile was?

  Probably, she reasoned. Men who looked like Tony Pandolinni were rarely unaware of their charm. It would be easy to be drawn into the magic of it, but that was something she wasn’t about to do. She was finally getting her life back together, learning to be alone again. She wasn’t interested in jumping into another relationship, especially not with a smooth operator like Tony.

  She looked around the room, for the first time noticing her surroundings. Unlike the bachelor pad she had first imagined, there was very little in the room to attest to the character of the man who lived here. All the furnishings were basic, nondescript, earth tones. The pictures on the wall would have been as much at home in any impersonal motel room. There were no books, no knickknacks, no photographs—nothing to reveal the character of the man residing here. She frowned pensively, once again aware that she had placed her safety, her very life into the hands of a man she knew nothing about.

  “Here you go.”

  She looked up as Tony reentered, holding two glasses of the amber liquid. He handed her a glass, then resumed his half-prone position on the sofa. She took a sip of the brandy, feeling the warmth of the alcohol caressing her insides. She looked at him reflectively. “I was just thinking about how little your home tells about you. I really don’t know anything about you.”

  He shrugged and sipped his drink. “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “Were you hatched, or do you have a family?” she asked lightly, needing conversation to keep away thoughts of boogeymen in the night.

  He laughed. “My father is Italian, hot-blooded and temperamental, and my mother was Irish, very emotional. They always told me that I’m the product of their worst attributes.” For a moment his face darkened, as if a storm cloud had drifted momentarily in front of the sun. “So, tell me about owning a pawnshop,” he said, smoothly turning the topic of conversation away from himself.

  “Did you know that owners of pawnshops are in the high-risk category for being junk-food junkies?” She laughed at his look of surprise. “It’s true. Every pawn-store owner I’ve ever known is a sucker for greasy hamburgers and potato chips.”

  “I’d quit the business before I’d allow a fate like that to befall me,” Tony exclaimed.

  “Oh, no,” she protested. “That’s exactly why I got into the business. When I discovered my love for junk food, I knew what my professional calling would be.”

  “You like being in the business,” he observed.

  “I love it,” she replied, sipping her brandy and leaning back in the chair.

  “I’d think it would be sort of sad, to see people bringing in their things to be pawned.”

  “Sometimes it can be rather sad,” she agreed. “But my shop has a high ratio of people who come back to reclaim their items. I like to think of my shop as a friend for my customers, a friend who will make loans when times are tough.” She finished her drink and set the empty glass on the coffee table next to her. “So, tell me about your private-eye business.”

  He winced. “At the moment, there’s very little to tell. It’s all still pretty new and like any young business, it’s going to take time to get on its feet.”

  “What made you decide to quit the police department?” she asked, smiling apologetically as she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

  He shrugged, getting up off the sofa and wandering to the window where he peered out into the darkne
ss of the night. “My father was a cop…retired off the force with thirty years’ street experience.” He frowned, thinking of all the things he could tell her…but wouldn’t. “He encouraged me to follow in his footsteps, join the force. I did. For eleven years I worked the streets, got promoted from traffic cop to Homicide. I worked, ate and slept the job.” Again he frowned, shoving back old, painful memories. “I just got tired of the paperwork, decided I wanted to be my own boss. So, here I am.” He paused a moment, waiting for some sort of response from her. When none was forthcoming, he turned to look at her, a rueful smile curving his lips as he realized she was sound asleep.

  For a long time he simply stood there staring at her, trying to find a single physical trait he didn’t like. There were none. Everything about her appealed to him, the dainty features, the firm, stubborn chin, the pale gold angel hair that was tousled carelessly around her face. He could admire her beauty, enjoy her strength and sense of humor, but that was as far as it would go. He’d made a vow long ago that he would never share his life with any woman on a permanent basis, and it was a vow he intended to keep, no matter how attractive the woman might be.

  He touched her shoulder gently. “Libby,” he whispered in an effort to wake her and send her off to bed. She stirred, but didn’t waken. He thought about leaving her in the chair to sleep, but knew that in the morning she’d be cramped and sore from the awkward sleeping position.

  With a sigh of resignation, he gently scooped her up into his arms. His heart thudded erratically as, in her sleep, her arms sought out and clung around his neck. He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom, trying to ignore the sweet fragrance that emanated from her, the feminine curves that pressed against him.

  He gently deposited her on the bed, his breath catching in his throat as the robe she wore gaped open and he spied a teasing glimpse of blue lace and creamy skin.

  Ignoring the cat, who hissed a warning, he covered her with the sheet. He turned to leave the room, then paused a moment, staring at her. What could she possibly possess that somebody would want so badly? Why the ransacking of both the pawnshop and her apartment? There was a scent of danger surrounding her, and Tony wondered how to fight an unknown enemy who had mysterious motives.

  * * *

  Hawk sat alone in the all-night café, sipping a cup of stale, thick coffee and cursing the Fates that had brought him to this hole-in-the-wall eatery.

  He looked at his wristwatch, then popped an antacid tablet into his mouth, hoping it would work its magic against the acidic burning in the pit of his stomach.

  He frowned, wondering why these meetings were always set up in fly-infested, filthy cafés and bars. Even as the question crossed his mind, he dismissed it, knowing the answer. Most of the men who worked with him and for him were living on the edge. They were hardened criminals, seasoned mercenaries, men who owed their loyalties only to the people who paid the highest dollar amount. They were men without conscience, men who would do anything to anyone if the price was right. But they were also men who shied from the bright lights of public places, men who preferred the shadows of little frequented spots of a city.

  And so here he sat in the gloom of the squalid café, growing more and more agitated as minutes grew into hours. He gestured for more coffee and popped another antacid tablet from the roll in his pocket.

  As the sullen, disinterested waitress refilled his coffee cup, Hawk’s frown deepened. He was irritated that the attempt to get the item from Libby Weatherby had been bungled. However, no one had anticipated the possibility of a man being in the apartment with her.

  Hawk’s eyes darkened as he thought of the man who had not only thwarted their efforts in the woman’s bedroom, but had also managed to spirit her away from them. He sipped his coffee with a grimace, thinking of the man who’d made the mistake of helping Libby Weatherby. Hawk would take great pleasure in dealing with the man himself. He would smile while he slit the man’s throat.

  He sat up straighter in the red vinyl booth as a tall albino man walked into the room. The albino’s pale eyes swiftly swept the perimeters of the nearly empty café, then focused on Hawk.

  He slid into the seat across from Hawk and stared at him enigmatically. Of all the men who worked for Hawk, this one made him the most uncomfortable. Perhaps because of all the men who worked for him, the albino was the most unpredictable, the most dangerous.

  Hawk knew very little about the man, didn’t even know his real name. What little he did know made him doubt the pale man’s sanity, but he never questioned his cunning or instinct for survival.

  The two men faced each other silently. The albino never spoke first, maintaining silence as a sign of power and control. Many times Hawk had challenged the muteness of the pale man, meeting silence with silence, but he’d always been the first one to grow uncomfortable and speak. This time he didn’t even consider playing a game of power with the man. The stakes were much too high. Time was too precious to waste in such foolishness.

  “Did you get the information I requested?” Hawk asked.

  The albino shook his head. “We can’t do anything until morning. Some of these things do take time.”

  “We don’t have time,” Hawk spat out angrily. “We not only don’t know where the merchandise is, we don’t even know where the girl is!”

  “She will be found,” the albino stated succinctly, his pale, pinkish eyes glittering with an unholy light Hawk found unnerving.

  “She will have to be disposed of, but not until we have what we need from her.” Hawk’s voice was a mere whisper.

  The albino nodded, no expression on his pale face. “I will see to it personally.”

  For a split second, Hawk almost felt sorry for Libby Weatherby. Her death would not be quick and clean. The albino never worked that way. Her death would be excruciatingly slow and painful.

  “What of the man?” Hawk asked. After picking up their cohort, who’d snuck into the apartment, Hawk had doubled back just in time to see Libby and the man getting into a car. He’d been about to follow them, but had the misfortune of getting pulled over by a cruising patrol car who had seen him roll through a stop sign. At least he’d been able to get the license number of the car that had spirited Libby Weatherby away from her apartment.

  “We’ll know his name and address first thing in the morning,” the albino assured him. “Our contacts in Motor Vehicles will get us the information we need. And then we’ll take care of them both.” For the first time, a smile lifted the albino’s lips, sending a cold chill waltzing up and down Hawk’s spine.

  CHAPTER 5

  Libby awoke slowly, disoriented, as she opened her eyes and viewed her surroundings. Fear tensed her body beneath the thin covers of the bed as she looked around the room blankly. Where was she? The light of dawn was just creeping over the horizon, letting her know it was very early. Then, as she felt the familiar, heavy weight of Twilight at her feet, she remembered. She was in Tony Pandolinni’s spare bedroom.

  She remained in the bed for a few minutes, rerunning the previous day’s events in her mind. The pawnshop… her apartment…the man in her bedroom… It all whirled around, dizzying and confusing. What in God’s name had happened to her safe and orderly life? She was in a stranger’s bedroom, driven here by circumstances she didn’t understand. And what was really strange was that Tony didn’t seem like a stranger. At that moment Libby felt like he was the only sanity in a world gone crazy.

  Oh, she should have never drunk that glass of brandy the night before. The smooth warmth of the drink on top of her empty stomach had combined with her confusion to put her out like a light. Heat suffused her as she vaguely recalled being lifted into strong arms and laid gently onto the bed. Thank heavens Tony Pandolinni was a gentleman, because she had a feeling that the combination of the alcohol and her fear would have made her vulnerable to the touch of his lips against hers, the warmth of his hand against her breast. And that was a complication she didn’t need in her life at the present time
.

  She took a deep, refreshing breath, then bounded from the bed with a burst of energy, pulling fresh clothes from the small overnight bag and laying them on the bed.

  In the soft light of the morning, with the brilliant bird songs filtering through the window and a soft breeze blowing the lacy curtains, it would have been easy to minimize the events of the previous day. However, Libby was no fool, and she was not particularly comforted by the normalcy promised in the beauty of the new morning.

  “What I want today is some answers,” she said aloud to Twilight, who sat patiently at the closed bedroom door, drawn there by the scent of frying bacon wafting on the air. Tony was also up early. “We’ve got to find out what’s happening,” she continued, pulling on a pair of clean jeans, ignoring Twilight’s meow, which sounded like a definite complaint. “We need to find out what those people want from me,” she explained to the cat as she pulled a pale blue sweatshirt over her head, ignoring Twilight’s impatient scratching on the closed door.

  She removed a hairbrush from her suitcase and quickly pulled it through her sleep-tousled hair as Twilight once again scratched insistently on the bedroom door. She replaced the hairbrush in her purse, then efficiently made the bed. “Okay, okay, I’m ready,” she said to the cat, opening the bedroom door and allowing Twilight to dart out ahead of her and down the stairs.

  “Ah, the killer beast has awakened.” Tony’s deep voice rang out pleasantly from the kitchen. “And the killer beast’s fair mistress,” he added, as Libby stepped into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” Libby murmured, hesitantly, feeling unaccountably shy as she watched him puttering in the kitchen, apparently preparing a full, hearty breakfast. He wore a gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his strong, tanned forearms. And the worn jeans did little to hide the firm shape of his rear end. It should be a crime to have a butt that looks that good in jeans, she thought, a strange warmth coursing through her.