“Megan once told me you’ve read her books.”
Nick nodded, unsure of how that fact was relevant.
“Have you ever noticed some authors—Megan included repeat a certain phrase, or have a way of uniquely describing something that is repeated in almost every one of their books?”
Nick shrugged. “Not really.”
Riley’s eyebrows drew down, colour returning to her face. “Like an artist signs their work of art, an author has a unique voice. No two styles are the same. There is no one way of writing because writing comes from within someone—their own personal imagination or desire,” she stopped, checking to see if she lost him. “But more than one book from the same person yields the same result and subconsciously or not, like a person sticks to their comfort zone an author’s technique will be the same.”
“Riley—”
She huffed out a heavy sigh. “You may not believe in my abilities but let me assure you like an appraiser knows the difference between a Monet and a—a Bailey, I can tell you without looking at a cover—just by reading a page if an author is the same.”
Nick raised his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t dissing your abilities Riley, I was just asking if you were sure.”
“As sure as the sun will rise again tomorrow—for some of us at least.”
Nick tossed the manuscript onto her couch and crossed the small space dividing them and drew her into his arms. She went willingly but didn’t reciprocate, her arms, still wrapped around her body were crushed between hers and his chest.
He ran a comforting hand up and down her back, willing her to relax. “It’s okay to be scared. It was a blatant threat.”
She swallowed hard, stepping away. “I’ll be fine. I’m made of sterner stuff.”
Nick let his hands drop to his sides. As much as he wanted to pull her back into his arms, he knew she didn’t want to be coddled right now. He smiled.
“Real Irish, aren’t you?”
“All the way.” She looked about her apartment as if seeing it for the first time.
The killer had been inside her home. Long enough to describe everything with detail. His stomach tightened as he imagined her asleep in her bed at the time. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t erase the picture. He’d been here recently too. His blood chilled at how close he’d gotten to Riley. How easily she could’ve been killed. His heart clenched, a physical pain as he imagined life without her.
“Where did you find the manuscripts?” Nick was surprised to find his voice calm despite the emotions coursing through him.
“Both were by the door. My mailman slips them through the crack under my door. I have certain clients who send their novels directly to me.”
He caught her eyes and held her gaze. “Listen, Riley, this place isn’t safe for you right now. He got in once there’s no telling when he might come back. Either you come willingly with me, or I’m going to move you out forcibly and believe me you won’t like it.”
Even if he had to hogtie her.
Riley wet her lips. “Sure. Give me five mins.” She turned and sped toward the back room.
Nick was delightfully surprised. He had expected resistance. A fight. She must be more scared than he realised and had already gone through any likely scenarios. If she was thinking clearly, she would immediately know that staying with friends like Megan would only put them in danger and Nick knew Riley would never do that. Unfortunately for both of them, he was the only likely candidate as a housemate and bodyguard, and if Riley ever needed one or the other now was that time.
He wasn’t about to let anything happen to her, not now, not ever. He knew better than to tempt fate but he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t fathom a life without her and it was only hurting him keeping her close.
Glancing about the room, Nick took the time to actually look around. This was the first time he’d ever been inside and he doubted he’d ever get another invitation so he took in his fill. Her apartment wasn’t anything like he had imagined. But then Riley was an enigma. Her place was homey yet liveable. Neat but not obsessively so.
The photos hanging on the wall caught his attention. The same ones the killer had commented on. Nick moved toward them, studying them. The first one was of Riley and Megan, another with a person he didn’t know. The third photograph was of Riley standing dressed in her emerald green bridesmaid dress beside Dean and Megan. His breath caught in his throat as recognised Heather’s baptism—which hung diagonally below the wedding photo. He and Riley looked so happy together, the baby secure in her arms as if the most natural thing in the world. He quickly looked away, trying to ignore the emotions and dreams the picture generated to a photo taken long ago. A young Riley—she had to only be around fifteen or sixteen—was flanked by two men, one on either side of her. He guessed these were her father and older brother, Declan.
If it weren’t for the blue eyes and strong chin there was no way you’d believe these three were related. In fact, had they not been standing side by side you would’ve missed the resemblance. Riley’s father, a strong-looking man with light brown hair that held just the slightest bit of Irish red had his arm around his daughter’s waist. Declan, a blond who was built just as sturdy as his father looked like a Calvin Klein model—and he was a cop?
Riley looked engulfed. No wonder she felt the need to push her slight weight around. It would’ve been difficult arguing a case in the O’Neill household.
Little by little the pieces that made up Riley as she was today fell together.
True to her word, she was back four minutes after she’d left the room. She re-entered carrying an overnight bag and small suitcase. Joining him, her gaze fell to the picture he’d previously been admiring.
“My father and brother. He worked a lot. Declan raised me the best he could.” She studied the picture almost as though she’d never seen it before. “Our father died a year later. That’s when I went to live with my grandparents. They died shortly after my eighteenth birthday.”
He’d had no idea she’d been orphaned. There was a lot about Riley O’Neill he didn’t know. Completely intentional on his part. The more he knew about her, the more he may like her. If such a thing were possible. He didn’t think he could want her more.
“Your father was a good man?”
She shrugged, her face closed to any emotion. “As good as he could be.”
His curiosity piqued at how she’d completely shut down. He’d never seen her do that before. Not even when he figured she should. Her emotions were often broadcast over her face. The statement too, had his instincts screaming there was more than she was telling. But that was her business. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.
He refused to allow her not telling him the truth to hurt him. He’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Riley was only abiding his wishes. Even if they stank.
Nick retrieved the manuscript from the couch and replaced it inside its original envelope.
“Are you ready to go?”
She hugged her body, her gaze washing over her apartment. Her shoulders sagged.
“I guess so. Where are you taking me?”
“My place.”
She stumbled. “Oh. Are you sure you don’t mind me squatting at your place? I’d rather not be an inconvenience.”
“You’re not going to be an inconvenience. I promise.”
She studied him, probably wondering how truthful he was being. He didn’t blame her. Of all their time together, he’d never been overly friendly or warm toward her.
Wetting her lip, she nodded. “All right then.”
A weight he hadn’t been aware of lifted. Muscles which had tensed, believing she would decline his offer relaxed and he let out his breath slowly so not to alert her to his less than confident manner.
The next hit followed quickly behind. He was about to take Riley O’Neill home. The woman he’d spent too much time thinking about. The woman he feared would breakdown his resolve to remain distant and possibly
destroy everything he’d done for near on two years.
A question flittered across his mind.
Was this going to be the second biggest mistake of his life?
Chapter 9
Nick hustled Riley inside his apartment. The third floor two bedroom ‘loft’ looked nothing like a bachelor’s domain. There were no clothes on the floor. No empty pizza boxes or beer cans littering the floor, but it was definitely a ‘guy’ place. His furniture was a mixture of black and white leather and glass. The loft was one large open room, the kitchen dead ahead, the counter dividing the space between the family room to the right which had its own large widescreen TV and Dolby Digital sound system. The only clutter was a couch and coffee table. To the left, past the small dining table was a door which Nick told her would be her room. Another two doors further up were the laundry and bathroom, and hidden behind the kitchen was the main bedroom—Nick’s. Not that she needed to know where that was. She wouldn’t be setting one toe in that room, she told herself as she looked about the sparkling clean loft.
“My mother comes in twice a week to clean and do my laundry.” His sheepish admission had her smiling. That explained the cleanliness. If only she had someone to do that for her.
“She worries with me working so much that my place will turn into a pigsty.”
An orange and black West Tigers scarf hung from the stool parked beneath the kitchen counter and she noted the matching beanie hanging from a knob beside the door.
He removed his coat and slung it over the back of the couch. “Make yourself at home.”
Sinking down onto the arm rest of the couch, Riley felt somewhat disorientated. Never once did she think she’d go home to Nick’s apartment. It was too surreal. Sure, she had dreamed that they would one day find themselves, entwined together, a mass of limbs on Nick’s bed, but that was just a dream. In just a few short weeks, her entire life had turned upside down and she was powerless to stop it.
“Have you any enemies?” Nick’s voice cut into her self-pity, demanding her full attention as he slowly moved towards her. He leaned against the opposite wall as if knowing she needed some space between them.
“Not that I know of.”
“Really? Surely, the great Riley O’Neill has pissed off plenty of people in the past. Even made a few enemies on her climb to the top.”
Her teeth ground together. “No one comes to mind.”
“Who has a set of your keys?”
“No one besides me and Michelle. But Michelle only borrows my spare, which is kept locked away at B&G.”
Nick cocked an eyebrow before pressing on. “No ex-boyfriend? Not even Megan?”
“No ex-boyfriend stayed long enough to warrant a key and Megan always returns them as soon as she’s finished with them. Why are you asking about my keys?”
“Your lock didn’t look picked but I’ll have the forensics team go over it to double check. I’ll also have a locksmith come by and change them out—if that’s okay with you?” He seemed to add the last as an afterthought, as if unsure how she might react with him organising her life.
“That’s fine. Just the thought of someone being in my apartment gives me the creeps. There’s nothing worse than when you realise your sanctuary’s been compromised.”
Nick’s steady gaze unnerved her more than the situation. “Have you had any work done at the apartment lately? Or even in the past, painters, plumbers, handymen?”
“No and I don’t make it a habit to let men into my apartment without being monitored.” She snapped her fingers. “No wait, it could be my neighbour Mr. Lennox. He’s eighty-four and has arthritis, but you never know, do you?”
Nick levelled a look at her. “What about boyfriends?”
She hadn’t had a real boyfriend in ten years and for good reason. She knew that all men weren’t like her first but a part of her wasn’t about to make that mistake again. The old adage once burned twice shy applied there. She didn’t see all men as bad but she was more cautious of them. Riley still trusted though not easily. She also didn’t waste her time. Her ex had taught her one thing. She wanted everything and wouldn’t settle for anything less. Then there was Nick. It was hard to keep up a conversation when you busy wishing you were with someone else.
“I already told you no.”
“Okay, what about photos? Are there any laying around of the interior?”
As if she weren’t already feeling disjointed, Nick’s seriousness had tension creeping back into every muscle. She was too used to seeing his teasing, flirting side or complete indifference that this new facet to his personality had her heart thumping.
“The only ones possibly hanging around would be from the realtor I bought the place from but that was over five years ago and the apartment had been empty at the time.”
“Did you change the locks when you moved in?”
Again with the damn keys. She wanted to strangle him. She was tired and cranky—usually not a good sign when paired with an O’Neill temper. All in all, it had been a tough day and being harangued by a relentless detective was tearing her apart. Especially when all she wanted was a friend and she wasn’t even sure if she had one in Nick, their relationship somewhat indescribable.
“Yes, so enough. I don’t hand out my apartment key like lollipops on a street corner.”
Nick sighed heavily. “Riley, honey—”
Riley jumped to her feet. “Don’t call me honey, or sweetie, or love, or any of those stupid endearments men throw around to every woman they meet like they’re something special.”
Blood boiling, she couldn’t bite back her anger or rant. One that had been long overdue even if he was a convenient target and not the one deserving of her wrath. She’d finally had enough, pushed far past her limit.
“If you don’t want to call me Riley, come up with an original nickname. Something that didn’t come off the assembly line.”
Storming off, she made it to the spare room he’d pointed out earlier and slammed the door behind her.
Riley slumped against the closed door, her hands curled into tight fists. She couldn’t believe she had just gone off on Nick. It wasn’t his fault a man in her past had called her nothing but pathetic, useless endearments that she thought meant he loved her.
Should she apologise? After all, he was taking a risk having her here and for what? For Dean? Because she was Megan’s friend?
What does it matter, Riley? Whatever the reason you’re safe now. Protected. Nick, no matter how pissed he is at you would never allow anything to happen to you.
She flopped down on the bed. The virgin white bedspread smelled of lavender. She smiled. Where could she get her very own Mrs. Doyle?
She had been out of line. Nick had only been trying to help. He could hardly be blamed for pushing buttons he’d had no idea would trigger her temper. So what if one man had called her by the same pet name? Or that others hadn’t even bothered to learn her name before making a play to get inside her pants.
She needed to let go. Of the past and of her closely held control or it will consume her.
Already, she felt as though she was spiralling without her mobile. Nick had made her leave it behind so she couldn’t be traced. She’d had to call Michelle, advising her she wouldn’t be coming into the office for a while. Again, not her idea. Nick was taking his protecting her seriously which meant until further notice she would be practically his prisoner.
Riley had objected at first, knowing Michelle wasn’t up for it.
Nick had only stared her down and said, “If you give people a chance you may be surprised.”
She’d had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about Michelle but she was too tired to work it out.
“Besides the publishing world will not come crashing down if Riley O’Neill misses a few meetings.”
She didn’t doubt it. But she had worked hard to be where she was and without her work, she had nothing.
Riley rubbed her hands over her face. Feeling as though she were a hu
ndred instead of only twenty-nine, she rose from the bed.
After exiting her room, she found him sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter. His face alight from the glow of his laptop. Night had fallen while she’d been calming down.
He glanced over as she neared.
Lights twinkled out the window, and for a heartbeat she simply took in inky blackness and the scattering of sparkling diamonds over his shoulder before shifting her gaze to his. She inhaled deeply. “I apologise for my behaviour. I’m used to be being in control. Though it’s no excuse.”
“All’s well, Riley. I understand. I do. I’m sorry I pushed so hard. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He took her hands and pulled her closer. His hands were warm and the strength in them had her insides quivering. “You’re safe. Nothing bad will touch you. I promise.”
He stroked her face, removing her hair which had fallen allowing her to hide. She shivered, her body humming with arousal. Her pulse fluttered beneath his touch. She wanted to lean forward, cover the small space separating them and feast on those luscious lips she’d been fantasising about for too damn long. She wanted to lay all her burdens on him, knowing he would easily be able to shoulder them, but she couldn’t.
She stepped back, straightening her spine. She needed to be tough or else she wasn’t leaving Nick’s with her heart intact. What she imagined as disappointment had his lips turned downward, but then he blinked, hiding his expression from her. What she wouldn’t give to know what’s going on inside that mind.
Self-preservation stopped her from asking. It was best she didn’t know.
“You hungry? I think I have some leftover spag bowl.” He sent her a sheepish shrug of his wide shoulders. “I haven’t had a chance to get groceries this week.”
“Whatever you have on hand is fine.”
“Spag bowl it is then.” He retrieved the microwaveable container from the refrigerator. A minute later it was rotating on the glass turner, the scent of rich tomato sauce filling the space.
Riley settled on the stool Nick vacated and rested her three-inch heels against the metal support bar. Riley went nowhere without her heels. Being five foot two had so many disadvantages.
Fatal Fiction (Harbour Bay Book 5) Page 5