by Debby Giusti
Glancing over her shoulder, Violet saw nothing.
The woman hurried outside.
“Ma’am? Gwyn?” Violet called to her over the sound of the passing traffic.
Digging into her purse, Violet retrieved her cell, clicked on the camera mode and took a photo. The woman’s face appeared on the tiny screen.
“Wait, Gwyn?”
Violet watched her blend into a crowd of college students. Once the light changed and Violet crossed the street, the group—including the fleeing woman—had disappeared from sight.
Violet stepped inside the shop, the robust smell of brewing coffee sailed around her. She studied the remaining customers. No one glanced her way.
After ordering a tall coffee, heavy cream and two sugars, she dug in her purse for her wallet.
“Coffee’s on me,” a deep voice said behind her.
She turned to find Clay standing too close. The crooked smile curling his lips did something to her equilibrium. She took a step back and reached for the coffee the barista held out to her.
“I can take care of myself, Clay.”
“Sure you can, but humor me, okay?”
Dropping a ten on the counter, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
“This should cover whatever he orders.” Ignoring Clay’s protests, she walked to a table by the window.
He grabbed a black coffee and pulled out a chair across the table from her. “Who was that woman?”
“What woman?”
“Come on, Violet. Level with me. The woman you were racing to meet. You took her picture with the camera on your cell phone.”
Cops could be so annoying. “A friend.”
“Do your friends always run away when they see you?” Again, that aggravating but loveable crooked smile.
She shrugged. “Some follow me wherever I go. Others run away. I’ve got strange friends.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For calling me a friend.”
Her cheeks burned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow and feigned sadness. “So, I’m not a friend?”
Violet sighed. “You do this on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“Talk in circles. You enjoy twisting my words. We’re not friends. We’re acquaintances. Friends require knowing each other longer.”
“We met two years ago.”
“And haven’t seen each other since. That makes us acquaintances.”
“At least, it’s a start.” He raised his mug. “Here’s to our friendship. May it develop into something more.”
His playful mood disappeared, and he stared at her with such raw emotion that her stomach turned a cartwheel.
All around them people chatted, chairs moved, outside traffic lined the street, but Violet’s attention was riveted solely on his eyes—eyes that were saying unspoken words that made her skin tingle.
Surely she wasn’t reading him right.
Her fingers gripped the coffee mug. With effort, she pulled her gaze from his as the waitress brought two sandwich platters and dropped one in front of Violet. Clay accepted the second plate and thanked the waitress.
He smiled at Violet. “I thought you might like something to eat. Pastrami on rye sound okay?”
Her favorite, although she wouldn’t tell him. Her mouth watered as she looked down at the plate. After the coffee in the middle of the night, she’d stayed awake for hours, finally falling asleep just minutes before her alarm went off. Snooze control had given her twenty minutes more in bed but forced her to race from the house without eating breakfast to keep from being late for work.
She lifted the sandwich to her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the delectable flavors. “I didn’t realize I was hungry,” she confessed.
Violet reached for the mustard at the same time as Clay. Their hands collided. Heat warmed her cheeks. If only her body wouldn’t give her away.
“Ladies first,” he said, but his hand remained playfully on top of hers. He rubbed his finger over her skin.
Her blush deepened. No doubt, the entire upper half of her body was scarlet. Yet she didn’t move, enjoying the way his finger stroked her flesh.
Food was the last thing on her mind at the moment.
“I plan to hang around for a few days, Violet. Maybe we could pool our information and work together?”
Exactly what she’d wanted when she’d called him just days ago.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he continued. “Maybe if I help shed light on what’s been happening, you’ll see law enforcement is handling the situation.”
“Sharing information sounds good, Clay. Why don’t you start by telling me about the mob’s next target?”
He pulled his hand back and shrugged. “I don’t have any information about a possible hit.”
“Isn’t that what brought you to Missoula?”
He sighed. “I told you. I’m here to talk some sense into you.”
She dropped the sandwich to her plate and put her hands on her hips. “You mean, what I’m doing is so important that the Feds sent you on a two-day road trip to shut me up?”
“Ensure your safety is more like it, Violet.”
“Because two women have died in Montana and another one is in the crosshairs of the mob.” She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Give me her name, Clay.”
“Her name and an exclusive on the story?”
Now she was getting someplace.
“Her name will be Violet Kramer if you don’t stop involving yourself in the mob’s business.”
She straightened and jammed her thumb against her chest. “Now you’re saying there’s a hit out on me?”
He let out a deep breath and shook his head. “You’re amazing.”
She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Maybe determined would be a better word to use.”
“Tell me who you think will be the next victim in Witness Protection?” she pushed.
“Violet, please.”
“Green eyes? Between twenty-one and forty years of age? Attractive?”
He shoved the sandwich into his mouth and turned his gaze toward the traffic passing on the street.
Violet picked up her sandwich and took a bite. Why couldn’t Clay be more forthright about why he was in Missoula? Before she could come up with a way to make him talk, he pointed across the street.
“Isn’t that the guy who was hovering around you at the paper today?”
“Jimmy?” Violet followed Clay’s gaze. Instead of her old college friend, she saw Quinn Smith climb into his car. “He’s probably covering a story in the area.”
“How much do you know about the people you work with, Violet?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I need a list of their names. Surely, Stu would provide the information. I’ll have the FBI run a background check on the staff.”
As if that wouldn’t improve her odd-man-out status on the Daily News. “Don’t do me any favors, okay?”
“Someone broke into your house, Violet. You can’t be too careful.”
“Yeah, but I have to work with these people. They might not appreciate their private information aired like dirty laundry.”
“If they don’t have anything to hide, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
Except there was a problem. Clay was jumping to the wrong conclusion and would pull innocent people into an investigation that would prove nothing. The Daily News staff was made up of hardworking folks who did their jobs and went home to their families. No one was involved with the Chicago Mafia. In fact, the longer she thought about Clay infringing on their privacy, the more irritated she became.
Violet grabbed her purse and scooted her chair. “I have to get back to work.”
“How about dinner tonight?”
“I can’t, Clay.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Maybe both, but she wouldn’t let him in
on the secret. “I have plans.”
He stood as she walked away. She needed some space and time away from Clay. The reaction he had on her was too unsettling. Violet liked to be in control, and she felt anything but when she was around the cocky Chicago cop.
In her rearview mirror, Violet saw Clay follow her back to the office. Once she pulled into the parking deck, he drove past.
“Good riddance,” she mumbled although only halfheartedly.
Riding the elevator to the third floor, she stepped into the hallway, rounded the partition and slipped behind her desk. She worked on fillers for the rest of the afternoon. By 6:00 p.m., only a handful of reporters were still at their desks.
Digging her cell out of her purse, Violet pulled up the photo she’d taken on the street, sent it to her computer and stared at the face of the woman she’d seen running from the coffee shop. Pretty, with high cheekbones and an expressive brow.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Violet closed the window and glanced at the partition. Quinn’s strong nose and receding hairline came into view.
He startled. “Violet? Didn’t expect to see you here this late.”
She shrugged, feeling her cheeks heat as she recalled the last time they’d met. Thank you, Clay West.
“I’m catching up.”
Quinn nodded knowingly. “Stu told me you’re working on a police recruitment piece.”
“Which needs to be rewritten.”
“Editors demand perfection. But I’ve seen your work so I’m sure that wasn’t the problem.”
His words of encouragement bolstered her flagging confidence. If only Quinn were her boss.
“I know you’re eager to take on something with a little more meat, but bide your time, Violet. Right now, Stu’s a little top-heavy with writers. You’ve seen the stats. Folks are getting their news from the Internet. Subscriptions are down. The economy has problems. He’s walking a tightrope, trying to keep the paper up and running and in the red. Stu has some tough decisions to make in the days ahead.”
“You don’t mean cut staff?”
“That’s one option.”
Violet swallowed. She needed this job.
Quinn leaned over her desk and patted her hand in a fatherly sort of way. “Just work hard and you’ll be fine. Stu knows you’re a strong writer.”
Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes keyed on Jimmy’s desk. “Some others may be in a less advantageous position.”
“Are you talking about Jimmy?” Her old friend needed his job as much as she did.
“I’m not mentioning names. But since you brought him up, Jimmy’s work sometimes falls short. Plus, you’ve seen how he and Stu butt horns.”
Actually, she hadn’t seen anything of the kind, but her desk was in the far rear corner. No telling what happened in the upper-echelon cubicles, closer to the windows and within earshot of Stu’s office.
Quinn sniffed. “I know you two go back a long way, but watch your step. Jimmy knows Stu’s thinking about making cuts. Stu asked me to rework the last story Jimmy submitted.” Quinn pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’d hate to think you’d be caught in the middle.”
“Middle?”
“That’s right,” Quinn said. “Between Jimmy and Stu.”
Quinn pointed to his cubicle. “I’ve got a few leads to follow up on. Don’t work too late.” He smiled and walked away.
Violet shook her head, wondering what to make of the latest turn of events. After what had happened yesterday, Stu could easily decide she was the weak link in the editorial chain. Jimmy seemed to be standing on firmer ground.
Violet closed down her computer and grabbed her purse. She didn’t want to think about decreased subscriptions and a declining economy and staff cuts that loomed on the horizon.
She needed the security of her home.
The thought of last night’s intruder played through her mind.
Okay, her not-so-secure home. She’d follow Clay’s advice and make some changes. Install a couple dead bolts, maybe an extra floodlight or two.
Glancing at the darkening sky outside, she tried to remember if she’d turned on a light this morning when she left for work.
Of course not.
Hopefully, Clay wouldn’t be hanging around to rub her nose in her mistake.
A tingle of regret settled over her. Deep inside, she liked having the cop underfoot.
Stupid hormones, no doubt, which could get a girl in trouble. And that’s exactly what Clay West was—trouble.
As night fell, Clay kept his eyes peeled on the Plaza Complex, waiting for Violet to leave the paper. He’d followed her back to work after their run-in at the coffee shop and parked on the street where he could see the front door of her building and the adjoining parking deck.
Grabbing his phone, Clay opened the photo file to the picture he’d taken of the woman leaving the coffee shop. Violet wasn’t the only one with a camera phone.
He sent the photo to Jackson’s e-mail, then called the FBI agent. When he answered, Clay told him about Violet’s aborted rendezvous with the woman on the run.
“I sent you her photo,” Clay said. “See if you can identify the woman.”
“Any idea who she is?”
“No clue. And she didn’t hang around long enough for Violet to talk to her.”
“We’ll run the photo and let you know if we come up with anything.”
“Thanks.”
“Did Missoula P.D. find out anything about the punk you apprehended on Violet’s street?”
“The guy played dumb for most of the morning. Officer O’Reilly said he broke shortly after noon.”
“Hunger probably helped.”
Clay chuckled. “No doubt. Jamie claims he was taking a circuitous route to meet up with a dealer who lives on the next block. Missoula P.D.’s had an influx of perpetrators come in from Spokane. They’ve known someone was selling in the neighborhood, but didn’t have a name or location. They’re staking out the druggie’s house as we speak and hoping to make a bust as soon as they have probable cause.”
“What about a possible connection with Chicago? Did they run a check on Jamie?”
“It’s in the works. O’Reilly said he’d let me know if they uncover anything.”
“Does the reporter realize she’s had two close encounters?”
“You’d think she’d realize she might be in danger. Unfortunately, she was quizzing me over lunch about a possible next Mafia hit. She’s convinced I’m in Missoula because the mob’s coming after another green-eyed woman.”
“Did you tell her if she continues to ask questions about the Martino family, she may be writing her own obit?”
Although Clay knew Jackson was trying to make a point, what he had said hit Clay hard. Cute and feisty though Violet was, her life was in danger. He needed to keep up surveillance so the mob wouldn’t have an opportunity to take her out.
“From what we’ve gotten,” Jackson continued, “the mob’s focused on the Treasure State. There’s talk of more women in danger. The U.S. Marshals are attempting to notify everyone in Witness Protection who fits the Mafia-hit profile.”
Clay remembered what Violet had said. “Green eyes. Age twenty-one to forty. Attractive.”
“That’s right.”
Violet fit the bill, except her eyes weren’t green. They were brown. Big brown eyes that revealed so much of what she was trying to hold inside—her control, her desire to excel, her wit and charm.
“Listen, Clay, I’ve got another call. Let me know if anything new develops.”
“Will do.”
Clay disconnected and continued to watch the Plaza Complex, knowing Violet would eventually leave her office. He’d follow her home and keep her under surveillance tonight. She’d been in danger last night, and he may have thwarted two attempts to do her harm.
From what Jackson said, the mob was on the move to Missoula. Violet was too naive to see the danger, but Clay was well aware of what could happen if he let down his
guard.
If he had to stick like glue to Violet to keep her safe, that’s exactly what he’d do. Whether she liked it or not.
Approaching her house from the alleyway, Violet turned into the garage and hurried inside, locking the door behind her. Her answering machine blinked from her desk. She hit the play button and listened as a telemarketer started his spiel.
Delete.
The second call made her smile.
“Vi-o-let.” Her neighbor Bernice used a long “o” for the middle vowel. “Come over when you get home from work. I’ve cooked a nice dinner and hope you can join me tonight.”
Bernice’s home cooking was hard to pass up. Plus, Violet had told Clay she had plans. Her neighbor’s invitation proved she did. Violet was out the door before giving her decision a second thought.
The temperature had dropped with the setting sun. Luckily, Bernice didn’t live far. The penetrating cold chilled Violet’s bare hands. She rubbed them together as she climbed onto the porch and knocked on her neighbor’s front door, glancing back at her own house to ensure she’d left the light on. The door creaked open behind her.
“If it isn’t my old friend Violet Kramer.”
She turned, realizing her self-control might be in danger again when she saw who was standing in the open doorway.
FIVE
“Your former commitment must have fallen through. I hope it wasn’t anything important.” Clay tried to keep from smirking. “There’s a fire in the living room. Come in and get warm.”
“Ah…what…are you…?”
Violet acted as flustered as she had this afternoon at the newspaper. Her cheeks pinked from embarrassment. Both of them knew she hadn’t been forthright about her plans for the evening. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned his new lodging, either.
Bernice stepped from the kitchen. “Everything will be ready in a minute, Violet. Pot roast and mashed potatoes. Clay said you were friends in Chicago.” The older woman smiled. “He saw my Room For Rent sign in the window and needed a place to stay. After that ruckus last night, I decided we could use a man around to keep us both safe.”
“You’ve moved in with Bernice?” Violet glanced from Clay to Bernice and back to him again.
