They spent a few more minutes kicking around theories before Nicco checked his watch. He had to be back on duty in less than thirty minutes. “Thanks. If you find out anything, I’d appreciate a heads-up.”
“Same goes.”
He met another S&J operative outside Scout’s office for the handoff. The agent looked over Nicco’s shoulder. “She’s heading this way.”
Scout paused, lifting her head as though sensing something. Fortunately, Nicco knew how to blend in with a crowd, and she didn’t make him.
He’d seen Scout McAdams in a dark pantsuit when he’d followed her to the courthouse where she’d gone to cover a story two days ago. Last night, he’d seen her in an evening gown. But this was the first time he’d seen her in jeans and a white T-shirt, with her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.
She looked smaller, somehow, and younger. More fragile. He doubted she’d appreciate the description. Everything he’d learned about the reporter told him that she was independent to a fault and prided herself on being able to handle anything.
Look at how she’d reacted last night: she hadn’t fallen apart when shot at, and, in fact, had tried to comfort others. The lady was pure steel, but that didn’t mean she was invincible. He settled down to the routine of making himself invisible.
The trick was to not try too hard. Fortunately, Nicco had had years of experience blending into the background, first in the mountain villages of Afghanistan for the Rangers, and now in the far more civilized streets of his hometown.
He’d protect her, whether she knew it or not.
* * *
She was being followed.
Scout felt it as surely as she felt the early afternoon sun warm the back of her neck. She didn’t turn around to see who was tailing her. Instead of heading directly to her car as she’d intended, she walked to a coffee shop, deliberately taking her time. Every few minutes, she paused, pretending to gaze into a window. No one jumped into a doorway or suddenly pulled out a newspaper to cover his face.
At the coffee shop, she ordered her coffee, black. Fancy coffee drinks baffled her. If all you wanted was a shot of sugar, there were easier—and cheaper—ways to get it. She nursed the coffee as she made her way to her car. After she climbed inside, she took advantage of adjusting her rearview mirror to scan the sidewalk behind her.
Had she imagined it? She couldn’t detect anyone tailing her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was under surveillance.
She was new to the cloak-and-dagger business. Okay. Play it cool. She kept an eye out as she drove to the docks. Either her tail was really good, or he’d peeled off.
At the docks, she parked her car and walked to the spot the caller had told her was the best vantage point to witness the goings-on of the dock in question. A quick glance around told her that she was not alone. She glanced up at workmen on scaffolding above her hiding spot as they struggled to balance a replacement panel to a warehouse that looked like it should have been condemned during the Carter administration.
The clanging of steel beams grated along her nerves; the smell—a brew of garbage and fish—had her taking shallow breaths through her mouth.
Scout remained where she was and hoped the men didn’t spot her. The grumbling and muttering coming from them told her they were fully occupied with their task and not at all concerned with her.
Still, she didn’t like the vibe she was getting. An anonymous call that Leonard Crane would be at a certain dock receiving a payoff was too good to pass up.
The docks were controlled by the mob. Organized crime had its hand in everything that passed in and out of Savannah’s port, one of the busiest in the United States. No one moved anything without it being approved by the mob bosses.
City fathers made noises about cleaning up the docks and surrounding area. Speeches were given. Raids were staged. And nothing changed. Those in charge maintained that they had done everything possible to end the corruption. And those who had their nose to the street, as Scout did, knew differently. The mob had infiltrated every area of government, from the mayor’s office to the police, making any effort to wipe out the corruption impossible.
Crane didn’t arrive at the time she’d been given. She wasn’t surprised. If he was connected to the murders, he’d be understandably cautious. The pep talk delivered, she should have felt better, but the uneasiness persisted.
The hair at the nape of her neck hackled. Warily, she looked about but didn’t see anything to cause the sensation. Despite that, she couldn’t shake the inkling of danger. Over the years, she’d learned to pay attention to such impressions.
The clank of metal against metal ratcheted up the tension building inside her as though she had a crank attached to her, tightening every nerve notch by notch.
Crane and another man showed up at that moment. From their angry gestures, they appeared to be arguing.
Abruptly, the men stopped talking and now seemed to be waiting. If she could only get closer...but she didn’t want to give away her location. A big part of a reporter’s work involved waiting and watching. In many ways, it was like a cop’s job. She had friends on the force who reported that boredom was often more deadly than any threat of gunfire.
A rumbling sound alerted her. Before she could move, muscular arms pushed her aside, and a large body fell on top of her, shielding her.
The scaffolding she’d noted earlier tumbled to the ground. If she’d been where she was only a moment ago, she’d have been crushed beneath its weight. Shock rendered her unable to function. Her mouth went dry, her limbs stiff. She couldn’t make her legs work.
Strong hands reached down to pull her to her feet. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Nicco Santonni. “You saved my life. Again.”
THREE
Nicco called the police and asked for Wagner, though he didn’t expect the detective to find anything more than he had.
Within ten minutes, Wagner showed up. After examining the scene, he shook his head. “You were right. Nothing to indicate it was anything but an accident. But you don’t think so.” He didn’t make it a question, and Nicco didn’t treat it as such.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said. “First, she’s targeted last night, then a pile of scaffolding barely misses her today. You do the math.”
“I get what you’re saying, but there’s no proof that today was anything more than an accident.” Wagner held up a hand to forestall Nicco’s objections. He turned to Scout. “What do you have to say about it, Ms. McAdams?”
“I...I don’t know.” Her eyes remained cool, her expression neutral, but Nicco noted the clenching and unclenching of her hands. Fear always found an outlet, as did adrenaline.
He felt it coursing through his bloodstream as well, his heartbeat at double-time as he processed the near miss.
“What were you doing here?” Wagner asked.
“I received a tip.”
“Care to share?”
She shook her head. “Reporter’s privilege.”
Wagner scowled but didn’t press the matter. “If you—either of you—think of anything, you know where to find me.” After slanting one last glance at Scout, he took off.
Nicco was more concerned about Scout than he’d let on. Though the day was unseasonably hot, even for a Georgia summer, she shivered. Reaction. The lady had nearly been reduced to a bug-splat on the ground beneath thousands of pounds of processed wood and metal. That came on the heels of last night’s shooting. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She brushed herself off. He watched as she pulled herself together, her shoulders squaring as though bracing for another blow. “Did you tail me here?”
He raised a brow. “What? No thank-you?”
“Sorry. My manners tend to go MIA when I’m almost killed for the second time in two days.”
He gave her
kudos for a quick recovery. A lot of people would have gone into hysterics after what she’d barely escaped. “I get that.”
“Thank you.” The words weren’t fancy, but he heard the sincerity behind them. “Thank you for showing up when you did.”
Scout looked about, visibly shuddering when her gaze landed on the scaffolding, now scattered like giant pickup sticks over the ground.
Nicco took her arm and tucked her against him, her softer build fitting into the harder planes of his own. “Let’s get out of here.” They’d come back for her car when she was no longer suffering from shock.
“You don’t have to ask twice.”
He steered her to his truck. Halfway there, she shrugged off the supporting arm he’d kept around her and marched forward, as though keeping moving was the secret to maintaining control.
He gave her a boost into the truck. “You’re no bigger than a minute.”
“You know the saying. ‘Good things come in small packages.’”
“I know of a little place not far from here. I don’t know if you’re hungry, but rescuing damsels in distress tends to make me work up an appetite.”
She grinned. “I’m hungry enough to forgive that ‘damsel in distress’ remark, so you’re on.”
He shut the door and rounded the truck. After getting in and buckling his seat belt, he turned to her. “Ordinarily, I’d canvass the area, see if anybody saw anything. But this was a setup through and through. I don’t think we’re going to learn anything. Not here. Not now.”
She gave another shiver. “Frankly, the sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“You got it.”
* * *
The restaurant, barely more than an abbreviated alley in size, was packed. Diners crowded at the counter. Nicco apparently knew the owner, for a large man in an apron that might once have been white greeted them with a smile and a “Hiya, Nicco.”
“Same to you, Phil. You got room for us?”
“For you, Nicco, anything.”
He showed them to a booth. The red vinyl seats and gray Formica counter appeared to be circa 1960s.
Scout didn’t have to think about what she wanted. “A double cheeseburger. Extra-large fries. Chocolate shake. And three chocolate chip cookies.”
“And a heart-attack chaser on the side,” Nicco added with a wry smile.
“You have a problem with my order?”
“No problem. I’m just wondering how someone your size puts away all that food.” His eyebrow hiked. “Or maybe it’s just for show.”
She made a face at him. “Give me twenty minutes and then be prepared to eat your words.”
A fresh-faced waitress, who must have been all of seventeen, showed up to take their order. She never took her eyes from Nicco.
He gave their order to the girl, who giggled and batted her eyelashes at him.
When she left, Scout lifted a brow. “The famous Santonni charm. It’s an education to see it in action.” She was talking too much. Too fast. A cover for the nerves that skimmed just below the surface.
The banter felt good, a reminder that she was alive. If not for Nicco Santonni, things could have turned out differently.
She owed him. Again. “You’ve saved my life. Twice.”
Nicco didn’t say anything, only waited.
The pieces clicked into place. Scout had confided in her best friend Olivia Hammond Santonni about the threatening letters she’d been receiving. Olivia had hired Nicco, her brother-in-law, to protect Scout. It wasn’t a coincidence that Nicco had been at the right place at the right time both last night and today.
“Olivia.” There was both affection and resignation in the four syllables. Olivia was a great friend, but she fretted over Scout like a mother hen over her chicks.
Nicco nodded. “Got it in one. She’s worried about you.”
“Look, I appreciate what you’ve done, but I can take care of myself. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“No?”
“No.” She let the single word stand. “Consider yourself fired.”
“You didn’t hire me, so you can’t fire me.” His maddening logic stymied her. “Olivia would have my hide if something happened to you. According to her, you’ve been receiving some pretty nasty letters.”
At mention of the letters, bands of cold wrapped around Scout’s chest, making her wonder if she were having a heart attack. Of course, she wasn’t. If she was struggling to catch her breath, well, that was only natural under the circumstances.
A shiver danced down her arms, a delayed reaction to the near-death experience. Breathe. The silent reminder had her inhaling quietly, letting the air out slowly. Her mouth had gone so dry at the idea that someone had made a second attempt on her life in less than twenty-four hours that she couldn’t even work up enough spit to swallow.
Nicco pushed a glass of water her way. “Drink.”
She picked up the glass, held it with trembling hands, brought it to her mouth. A long sip allowed her to wet her lips.
Bars of sunlight slanted through ancient blinds. She basked in the warmth and felt some of the chill leave her.
He was talking, and she worked to listen to the low rumble of his voice. “You said a tip brought you to the docks?”
Knowing where this was going, she nodded reluctantly.
“Anonymous?”
“Yeah.”
He raised his brow, whether at her stupidity for following what was obviously a bogus tip or at her one-word answer, she didn’t know.
Another chill shivered through her as she accepted what might have happened if not for Nicco. She hoped he didn’t notice anything amiss. He’d probably never known a moment of panic in his life. He had a reassuring way about him, his calm, measured tones like the practiced strides of the soldier Olivia had told her he’d been. His presence made her feel safe, and she could really use a feeling of safety right about now.
Honesty forced her to admit that it wasn’t only the attempt on her life that had sent a rush of sensation skittering along her nerves. A tiny thrill had whispered through her when Nicco Santonni pulled her from harm’s way. It reminded her of the energy-charged air before a lightning storm struck.
She wanted to believe that the feelings were due to the heightened emotion of the moment, but that was a lie.
“I was following you.” His words confirmed her earlier suspicions. He studied her. “You’re not as cool as you’re pretending. Even hotshot reporters are allowed to have a moment after almost being crushed by a couple of tons of steel and wood.”
Unwilling to pursue the subject of her reaction to the scaffolding nearly killing her, she turned the tables on him. She made no secret of her scrutiny of him, her gaze shrewd and assessing. Last night, he’d been debonairly handsome in a tux.
Today, with cords of well-toned muscle showing to advantage in a gray T-shirt and black jeans, he was even more devastating.
Though not movie-star handsome, he possessed something more basic: raw power. A combination of roughly drawn features, muscular shoulders and a long, lean build imbued him with a presence that made him hard—make that impossible—to forget.
She tore her gaze away from his chest and lifted it to meet his. He scraped a hand over his cheek, drawing her attention to the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw.
He wasn’t as tall or as big as his brother Sal, but there was an inner strength to him, a steely resolve in his eyes. It was that determination that set him apart from other men and put him at the top of the food chain, an apex predator.
Dark eyes were filled with amusement. “You’re staring. What’s the verdict?”
“You left the military but still have a side of hero complex. You’re self-confident but not arrogant. You pride yourself on doing the right thing no matter the cost.”
“Not bad.”
> “Not bad or spot on?” she challenged.
“Not bad. Take it or leave it. Tell me what you know about last night.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
She put down the menu and sat back, unwilling to share the jumble of feelings that made her stomach feel like it was coated with acid. “Right now it’s telling me that I’m hungry. I went off without breakfast and worked through lunch. You want something from me, you need to feed me first.”
The food arrived, rich and plentiful, redolent with the smells of grilled meat and fried onions.
She closed her eyes. The silent prayer over the food was both comforting and humbling.
When she looked up, it was to find Nicco watching her keenly. “You were praying, weren’t you?”
Her nod was brief. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” At one time, she’d questioned the idea of praying, even silently, in a public place, but had decided she couldn’t worry over the opinions of others. Prayer was an important part of her life. Offering gratitude to the Lord was her way of acknowledging His hand in her life.
“Don’t apologize. It was...nice.” His gaze dropped. “My family always prayed at meals when I was a kid.”
“And now?”
“My parents and sisters still do.” He paused. “And Sal.”
“And you?”
“I sort of got out of the habit.” He popped a French fry into his mouth. “It’s good that you do.”
“You can, too. God doesn’t turn away prayers.” She smiled gently. “No matter how rusty they are.”
“I’m afraid mine are more than rusty. It’s hard to pray when you no longer believe.”
“What made you stop?”
“Stuff.” He left it at that.
The roughness of his voice told her to back off. She lifted her burger, brought it to her lips, and took a large bite. The meat was grilled to perfection. “Why didn’t I know about this place? I thought I knew all the good burger joints.”
High-Risk Investigation Page 3