Krystal's Bodyguard

by Molly Rice

  To herself Krystal secretly agreed with Nico. This was nice. The whole day with him had been special and she’d had a sense, all through it, that she’d been right in picking him for the job. She’d noticed right away how, together, Mommy and Nico looked like one of the couples in those swanky car ads in the magazines. She could just picture them all dressed up in fancy clothes stepping into a long black limousine, sipping champagne, dancing around a huge sparkling ballroom. She sighed aloud and poked desultorily at her dinner.

  “Something the matter, Krys?” Nico asked.

  “Maybe you’d prefer a peanut butter sandwich, hon,” Dana said. “I know veal isn’t one of your favorites.”

  Hurriedly Krystal picked up her fork and put on her best smile. “Oh, no, Mommy, this is great, I love Nico’s cooking. I didn’t used to like veal, but Nico’s is better than the stuff I had before, honest.”

  Dana gave the child a dubious look, but Krystal was already busy eating again with apparent relish.

  “This is really excellent,” Dana said, lifting her eyes to Nico’s face across the table. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, returning his attention to his own plate.

  He ate with gusto. Dana couldn’t help noticing that he also ate Continental style, keeping his knife and fork in his hands without ever setting them down. When he reached for his wineglass, he transferred his fork to the same hand that held the knife, never setting it across his plate as she did. Intrigued, she continued to observe him through her lowered lashes. The British, she knew, ate like that, and she’d always considered it a trifle tasteless, but Nico made it look elegant

  It disturbed her, though, to see Krystal attempting to mimic Nico’s movements. Funny, she’d never thought Krystal was father obsessive. She’d certainly never been so enamored of her uncles, Zack’s brothers, nor of Joe Lake, who was her honorary uncle and godfather. Of course Zack’s two brothers lived on the west coast and Krystal had only seen them about twice in her life. And Joe was her godfather, more part of the background of the child’s life.

  With Nico it seemed almost like hero worship, the way Krystal blatantly looked up to him. But then Dana realized that was appropriate since Krystal had first seen Nico on TV, being lauded by a newswoman who gushed over his ability to solve a crime that had eluded the local police and the FBL Children did view anyone they saw on TV as larger than life.

  Satisfied that she had the answer, and that in time Nico’s appeal would dim with proximity, Dana finished her meal with warranted pleasure.

  Both Krystal and Dana refused dessert, Dana wanting nothing to detract from the pleasure of the entrée and Krystal itching to get to the family room to watch a favorite TV show before bedtime.

  Dana excused Krystal and scraped the last of the sauce from her plate with regret.

  “That was the best piccata I’ve ever had,” she reiterated as she got up and began clearing the dishes. “Thank you again.” At the sink she turned on the taps and began rinsing the tableware. Over her shoulder she asked, “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  Nico came up behind her and reached around her for the sponge.

  “At my mother’s knee,” he said, his words carried on his warm breath, caressing her hair, the back of her neck.

  Her own knees seemed to weaken and a plate slipped from her fingers. Nico’s reflexes were better than hers; he caught the plate before it could break against the porcelain sink.

  Dana froze, waiting for him to step back, to free her from the accidental prison his arms made around her.

  Instead he leaned in closer, inhaled deeply and breathily said into her hair, “You smell like wild clover. Does your fragrance come from a bottle?”

  Her head cleared. She ducked and slipped out from under his arms, moving briskly and purposefully toward the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Scalia. I wash my hair like any other woman, use soap, dab on a little cologne. No biggy.” But her hands trembled slightly and she made fists and took a deep steadying breath before relaxing her hands and reaching for a cup and saucer.

  Nico chuckled. “The lady doesn’t take compliments well.”

  “The lady doesn’t fall for every loose line that comes down the pike. And you might remember that you’re here in a professional capacity, not as a houseguest or a live-in Lothario.”

  His laughter deepened. Her irritation grew. Didn’t anything penetrate the man’s thick ego? She plunked the cup and saucer back on the table, heedless of their monetary value, and spun around. “Listen, since you’ve obviously nothing else to do, why don’t you finish up in here and I’ll go to my study and get to work.”

  “Hey,” she heard him gripe as she left the room. “Not fair. I did the cooking.” This time she was the one to laugh and she kept going, ignoring his plea that he’d behave. She didn’t trust his promise any more than she trusted his line.

  Chapter Four

  Dana detoured to the family room to check on Krystal.

  “Twenty minutes to countdown, sweetie,” she said, tousling her daughter’s curls. Krystal nodded, her eyes glued to the screen.

  Dana sighed with exaggerated exasperation. “If you can hear me, Krystal, I’m going to my study to work. When your show is over, please turn off the TV, get in your jammies, brush your teeth and then call me on the intercom and I’ll come up and tuck you in.”

  Again Krystal nodded and this time she murmured, “Yes, Mommy.”

  Knowing that “Family Matters” on television held more interest for an eight-year-old than family matters in real life, Dana settled for that and went down to her study.

  Her first step was to line up the files in the order she’d go through them. That done, she activated her computer. She dialed a number on the phone attached to her modem and entered the password that would link her with the computer in her office at city hall and set to work.

  She bent to her work with purpose. Only today she’d had a meeting with a federal forensic accountant who had assured her that if she could justify a warrant to break open Caprezio’s books, he could find that single thread, normally invisible to the average person’s eye, that would lead to a hidden and more accurate picture of the don’s business and ultimately to proof of enterprise corruption.

  Two birds with one stone, Dana thought with anticipatory satisfaction. Marcus in the state penitentiary for murder, his father in a federal prison, his Mafia-like empire destroyed. A coup for the FBI who had been trying to nail Caprezio for years, but most especially for the county attorney’s office and Dana’s career.

  She was poring through notes and researching the computer files that defined the murder investigation when Krystal’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Mommy, I’m ready.”

  “Right up, sweetie,” Dana said, almost reluctant to leave her work now that it had taken on its own rhythm.

  But Krystal was her first priority. She hurried up to the child’s room.

  “Nico’s nice, isn’t he, Mommy?” Krystal said, coming out of the bathroom with a shining face and dressed in pajamas and robe.

  Dana tucked in one side of the bedding and pulled the other side up loosely, so Krystal could get easily into bed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and caressed her child’s soft, smooth cheek as Krystal came to stand in front of her, bending to rest her elbows on her mother’s knees.

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Nico’s nice. And you—” she tickled Krystal under the chin “—you’re nice too.”

  Krystal giggled and then grew serious. “Nico says he can help you, Mommy.”

  Dana was picking up the library books lying beside the bed, stacking them neatly on the nightstand. “Help me with what, dear?” she asked as she looked at the title of the book in her hand. Nancy Drew. Gosh, was Krystal old enough for Nancy Drew already?

  “You know, help you find out about those notes and stuff.”

  Dana looked up, startled. Krystal’s blue eyes nailed her, rousing feelings of regret
and even a little guilt. It was bad enough her father had died, how would she have taken it if they were to have divorced? Looking back, she recalled the thought had crossed her mind frequently in that last year of Zack’s life. It got the grieving all mixed up with guilt and remorse.

  “Honey, I told you…”

  “I know. But Mommy, how can it hurt your career if Nico helps? He’s a private investigator so he has to keep your business private and nobody will find out.”

  Dana laughed and hugged Krystal. “You’re so logical, my love, and so grown up for your age.” She changed the subject. “Nancy Drew books were my favorite, too.”

  “Way back when you were my age?”

  “Yeah, way back then,” Dana wryly mimicked. “Only I guess I was more like ten when I started reading them.”

  “That’s because children are more mature today than when you were little. Mommy,” Krystal pedantically quoted some grown-up source.

  “Too true,” Dana said sadly. Fleetingly she thought about the cases of child crimes that were discussed with ever-increasing and frightening frequency at work. The thought reinforced her priority for assuring that Krystal learn family values at home.

  “Prayer time, sweetie,” she said.

  Krystal got down on her knees, put her elbows on the bed, put her palms together and tucked them under her chin.

  The prayer was pure Krystal.

  “And God bless Mommy and Grandma and Grandpa Taylor even if Grandma Taylor is too bossy sometimes and acts silly for a grown-up, and all my friends. And, God, please make Mrs. Johnson get well fast and don’t let that bad man come back again. Thank You, God. Amen.”

  Dana smiled and bent to kiss Krystal good-night. “That was lovely, dear, but I don’t think you should tattle on Grandma Taylor.” They both giggled. And Dana added as a last and sober note, “And, honey, I don’t want you going to sleep worrying about anything. Nobody is going to come back here now that the police have increased their patrols in the neighborhood, and don’t forget we have Nico here, as well.”

  Krystal hadn’t forgotten.

  As soon as her mother had left the room, she scooted out of bed, fell to her knees, reclasped her hands and said in a near whisper, “God, I forgot something. No, I didn’t forget exactly,” she corrected, fearing God would detect a lie. “But I didn’t want to upset Mommy. Please, God, help Nico find the bad guys and bless him, too. And, God…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Make Mommy like him. Ame—” She stopped and then added firmly, “A lot! Amen.”

  NICO CAME to the door of Dana’s study and cleared his throat.

  “Yes?” She didn’t look up.

  “Will it disturb you if I turn on the TV in the living room?”

  “Hmm? No, go ahead.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

  She was hardly aware that Nico had been at the door, barely registered the sound of the television voices through the open door. It might be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but she was determined to find that elusive clue.

  She didn’t know what drew her attention from her work. Perhaps it was movement she caught peripherally as Nico got up to lower the volume, got up again to change the channel, and once more to readjust the volume.

  What was the matter with him? Why wasn’t he using the remote like most men? He bent forward to fiddle with a dial and her eyes registered his tight butt, long, muscled legs, broad shoulders. He stood erect and gazed at the set a moment before deciding he was comfortable with the picture. A low chuckle confirmed that he was content with the program.

  Finally he settled in the easy chair across from the TV set, his profile illuminated by the table lamp at his side.

  She noticed that he was wearing chinos now, rather than jeans, and a neatly laundered, short-sleeved polo shirt. Best of all, he’d exchanged the boots for loafers. With socks! She mentally applauded that. She’d always thought there was something so affectatious about the fad that had men wearing leather shoes over bare feet. She realized she was allowing her thoughts to be distracted by Krystal’s bodyguard and scolded herself for using such cheap methods to avoid working.

  With a sigh, Dana returned her attention to her computer.

  After a few minutes she realized that she’d been staring at the screen but seeing nothing. She looked up and saw that Nico was sprawled in the easy chair, his attention focused on the TV screen, his long legs stretched out before him. She noticed the way his dark hair curled around his ear, almost touching the collar of his polo shirt. Did he need a haircut or was that his preferred length and style?

  She shook the thought away, disgusted that she’d allowed herself to be so frivolously distracted. Again! She swiveled her chair away from the sight of the man.

  The screen saver pattern had filled the monitor screen, a precaution for keeping the wrong eyes from reading the screen if the user left her work for more than a few minutes. She hadn’t realized she’d been distracted for that long. Feeling foolish, she pushed Enter and restored the screen.

  When she discovered that she still couldn’t concentrate, she got up to close the door between the study and the living room.

  Nico looked up as she stood at the door, her hand on the knob.

  His breath caught in his throat. The sight of her suddenly appearing there had an unsettling affect on him.

  Their eyes met. There was a kind of pleading in her soft blue eyes, something desperate that he hadn’t seen before.

  Hot. The word came to him from the terminology of the street; it fit her perfectly. She was hot!

  Bellisima. The word came to him from his father’s language, his eyes seeing her as his father would, all soft curves, the golden halo of her hair, her poise, her innate elegance. His father would consider her a goddess. He thought about her feistiness and realized it was an attribute that made her more approachable, less goddess and more woman.

  “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.

  Yes, that’s the word exactly. You disturb me, and I don’t know why. Dana shook her head. “No, I…yes, the television…”

  “Sorry. I’ll go into the family room.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll just shut the door.” She did that, abruptly cutting off any further protestations from him.

  Feeling shaky, and bemused by that reaction, she returned to her work, determined to make herself concentrate. It took a few minutes but she finally found her focus and settled in.

  Sometime later a knock at the door penetrated her consciousness.

  “I’m going to make some fresh coffee, would you like a cup?” Nico asked, popping his head around the door after she’d called out, “Come in.”

  She glanced at her watch, surprised to discover she’d been working over two hours. “Yes.” She stretched and then self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest when she saw that his gaze had followed the sensuous movement. “I could use a break,” she said, avoiding his ardent expression. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

  Coffee was already brewing when she entered the kitchen. Once again she sat at the table and observed the easy way he moved around her kitchen. As if he’d been living in the house for months instead of barely twenty-four hours. He was obviously a man who could make himself at home anywhere. She found that thought disturbing and then rationalized that as a private investigator, he might often be called upon to settle in unexpected places for long periods of time, especially if he did a lot of surveillance work. A niggling thought that he might have made his way through a long line of other women’s kitchens was quickly scotched and considered unduly cynical and none of her business anyway.

  Nico carried two cups of steaming coffee to the table and went to the refrigerator for the cream she used. He didn’t know why it gave him such a kick to wait on her. Was it a power ploy, a kind of control? He decided that wasn’t it. More likely a matter of conditioning.

  He’d been raised by a doting, nurturing mother, but his father had tempered that by insisting on independence for all of his children.
Not a typical Italian male, old dad, though he treated his wife—and for that matter, all women—with Old World charm and gallantry.

  He remembered his father insisting Mama teach the kids to use the laundry machines, the stove, the iron, while he gave lessons on the proper use of the gas-fueled lawn mower and lined them all up to show them how to change a tire, check and replenish car fluids, and restart the old furnace in the basement.

  The four boys were not exempt from Mama’s lessons, the girls included in Dad’s. As papa had pointed out many times, with pride, “Anything happens to me and Mama, my kids could run this house by themselves. They’ll never need help from outside to take care of them.”

  “Want some dessert now?” he asked as he joined Dana at the table.

  She shook her head. “This is fine,” she said, stirring her coffee. “I don’t want anything to override the memory of that wonderful dinner,” she said, shyly smiling.

  They sipped in companionable silence for a few moments and then Nico spoke.

  “Do you mind answering a question?”

  “Shoot.” Her hair swayed across her cheeks as she lifted her head and turned to look at him.

  He watched her pull it back, hold it there with two hands for a moment and then let it spring back. An automatic, unconscious habit he’d seen her exhibit frequently in the short time he’d been there. He knew she’d get up at any time, seek out a rubber band and impatiently pull the whole shimmering mass into a ponytail. Half an hour later she’d discard the band and let it all swing free again.

  Nico drew his gaze from her hair. “Why haven’t you turned those notes over to the police? That would be the first thing the average citizen would think to do.”

  Dana hesitated, debating how much to confess to this man, a veritable stranger. But then she recalled the conversation he’d had with Krystal that morning, and his attitude toward the police department’s efficiency in crime solving.