Krystal's Bodyguard

by Molly Rice

  “I forgot to take clean clothes into the bathroom with me,” Nico said. His grin was apologetic. “I’ll go get dressed,” he said, starting to turn away.

  “No!” Oh, God, where did that come from?

  He turned back. “No?” A ferocious gleam brightened his eyes, a feral tilt shaped his lips.

  “I mean…” What do you mean, Harper? a nasty voice prodded from inside her head.

  He closed the distance between them, entering her personal space, cutting off the little bit of breath she was able to muster. His own breath was plentiful, pelting her face sweetly as he lowered his head and spoke in a near whisper.

  “Tell me what you want, Dana.”

  “I want…I want…” she stammered. “I w—” His mouth closed over hers, and she forgot everything but the want. The need. Her hands came out from behind her to slide up his damp chest as his closed around her waist to pull her against the warm, solid bulk of his body.

  They melted into each other, lips and tongues dueling to gain dominance, hands struggling for control, sighs and moans accompanying their exploration.

  Dana was dizzy with desire as Nico pulled her blouse from her waistband and she pushed his hands away so that she could get the blouse over her head, too impatient to deal with the buttons. Nico pulled her bra down to her waist as she flung her blouse aside and stepped in to press her breasts against his masculine chest. The hair that fuzzed between his nipples enticingly teased hers into hard pebbles that made her cry out at the intensity. His arms folded around her, pulling her against the hard, throbbing evidence of his arousal as he tilted his head to deepen their kiss.

  Dana was desperate to free her body from the bondage of the rest of her clothing, to bring their bodies into total naked contact without breaking the kiss.

  When Nico suddenly pulled away, she rocked back on her heels, grabbing the wall to keep from falling. It was then she heard the doorbell.

  Nico grabbed the towel that had slipped down. “Doorbell,” he gasped.

  Her eyes, bluer than he’d ever seen them, blinked and then squinted. She slipped bra straps up her arms and pulled them up over her shoulders. “Who could it be this late?” Her voice wasn’t much stronger than his.

  Suddenly Nico smacked his palm against his forehead. “Jeez, I forgot Heather.” He turned and made a dash for his room and the nearest pair of pants he could locate.

  “Who? Who’s Heather?” she called after him.

  “Heather Wilson, she’s going to take my place with Krystal.” Nico was already zipping up the fly of his blue jeans as he came running out of his room. He’d tossed on a short-sleeved shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button.

  A woman? Dana hadn’t expected that. Though certainly it seemed logical to have Krystal’s guard be a female since she was going to be spending so much time with the little girl.

  But why did she have to come at such an inconvenient time? Dana thought as she buttoned her blouse and tucked it back into the waistband. “Or the best possible time,” she wryly muttered under her breath. She was still shaky from their lovemaking, her breasts still sensitive, her lips still humming. How smart was that, to almost drag the man she’d hired as investigator to her bed? She put her hands to her flushed cheeks and decided it would be wise to take a moment to splash with cold water before going down to meet her new employee.

  She stared at herself in the mirror over the sink as it hit her that Heather’s moving in would mean Nico could move out Her stomach lurched and a lump rose in her throat.

  She could have sworn that his constant presence in her home had been more intimacy than she’d been prepared to deal with, and that his leaving would bring genuine relief. But try as she would, she could conjure nothing but good memories of the time he’d stayed there.

  “Get it together, Harper,” she whispered to her image. The face that stared back at her seemed cheerless, depressed. Her mind insisted on replaying images of Nico in the kitchen, happily chatting with Krystal as he whipped up his gourmet dinners. Nico sitting at her desk, going over her files, his face illuminated by the glow of the desk lamp, his dark curls springing back every time he ran a hand through his hair. Nico in the bosom of his family, beloved and respected, taking their teasing in stride with ease, dishing it out with a good dose of loving humor of his own.

  She straightened the collar of her blouse. Her stomach lurched again as the image of him bending to kiss her ran through her mind, followed instantly by the vision of the two of them locked in a battle of passion as they fought to get closer to each other.

  She sank to the edge of the tub, her legs turned rubbery, her hands shaking, her breathing gone shallow again. All that from just the memory.

  Letting her imagination go wild, she pictured herself offering to pay Nico to stay—as cook and housekeeper if need be. The idea caused her to catch her breath on a giggle. But at least she was breathing again.

  “I’ll tell him I want to hire him as my personal bodyguard,” she said, grimacing as she rose to her feet.

  “In a pig’s eye,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “I made it without him before, I can certainly do it again. And it will be fun having another woman in the house, sort of like having a roomie again.”

  A pounding at the door caused her to jump back.

  “Dana, are you all right?”

  “Just coming, Nico,” she said, opening the door to prove it

  “Heather’s waiting to meet you,” he said, leading the way to the stairs. Over his shoulder he continued, saying, “Did I hear you talking to someone in there?”

  “Yeah, right, I keep a spare friend in the linen closet in case I ever need someone to talk to.”

  Nico stopped short so that she bumped up against him. He turned and clasped a hand at the back of her neck.

  “You’re a sarcastic little wench, Ms. Harper.” His lips hovered inches from hers, his breath warmed her mouth, making her melt as she recalled the taste of him.

  It took real effort, but she said, “We have a guest waiting, don’t we, Scalia?”

  His jaw muscle worked and his eyes blazed as he considered sweeping her up into his arms and hauling her off to his bed and to hell with Heather Wilson.

  Dana saw the danger in his stance and though part of her thrilled to it, sanity won out. She gave a shaky laugh, pushed away from him and ran down the stairs.

  HEATHER WILSON KNEW she made a striking figure with her red hair, the requisite jade green eyes, and a healthy smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Straight-legged jeans, high-heeled boots and a short, leather, bomber jacket emphasized her tall, lean figure. The grin she gave Dana, as she turned from the wall of family photos she was studying, was meant to put Dana at ease.

  They shook hands and exchanged names as Nico appeared in the archway. “Want some coffee, Wilson?”

  Heather looked from Dana Harper to Nico and back again, surprised that the offer came from her co-worker rather than the lady of the house. But Dana didn’t seem to find it at all strange.

  “Sure, that’d be great,” Heather said, shrugging. Maybe Harper was so rattled by the threats and the shooting that she’d given over control to the investigator.

  But as they seated themselves in the grouping of chairs near the fireplace, Heather couldn’t help but notice that Dana’s eyes were focused and made direct, easy contact Obviously Harper was no frail female.

  “So, Heather, you’re going to be with us for a while. Did you bring your things or will you have to go and get them?”

  “My bag’s in the front hall,” Heather said, gesturing in that direction. “And I’m officially on duty as of this moment. Unless…”

  Dana shook her head. “No, I’m sure you’re perfect for the job. Nic…uh, Mr. Scalia…” Her words trailed away as she realized there wasn’t going to be any way to keep up the pretense of formality between herself and Nico, especially since Heather would be living there. Especially since Krystal already treated him like a favorite un
cle.

  “Nico swears you’re the best in the agency, and I trust his judgment,” she stated firmly.

  “I’ll need a room near Krystal’s if that’s possible, although I’d feel better if there were an extra bed in her room.”

  That shook Dana a little. Hiring a bodyguard for Krystal had merely been a precautionary measure, not something she’d have done if Mrs. J. were able to be with them. This suggested that Krystal was in actual danger.

  “I didn’t think anyone thought Krystal was under any real threat,” she said.

  A very professional, no-nonsense expression settled on the other woman’s face. “What if the person threatening you decides that the best way to get to you is to snatch your daughter?”

  “What?” Dana leaped to her feet. A chill rushed through her, freezing her blood, making her feel the cold right to the roots of her hair. She rubbed her arms and began to pace. “That scenario never crossed my mind,” she admitted, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

  Behind her, Heather said, “Ah, coffee, good. I think Ms. Harper could use a shot of brandy in hers, Nico.”

  Nico watched Dana’s jerky movements, her hands rubbing her arms as if she were freezing, the way she was pacing, muttering under her breath. He set the tray down on the coffee table, went to Dana and halted her midpace by enfolding her in his arms. His hands and low voice soothed, and Dana took deep breaths and let herself grow quiet under his ministrations.

  “What brought this on?”

  Dana lifted her head and he could see the despair in her eyes. “Nico, I’ve got to give up my caseload, take a leave of absence, or maybe just quit my job altogether.”

  He led her to the couch, poured her coffee and put the cup into her hands. He knelt in front of her. “Dana, you can’t mean that. Why would you even consider—”

  “Nico, I can’t risk Krystal just for the sake of my pride or even for my career. If these threats could expand to include her, I’ve got to remove myself from the arena.”

  He began to laugh, surprising both Dana and Heather.

  Dana slammed her mug on the table and gave Nico a shove so that he fell back on his butt.

  “Damn you, Scalia, what’s so funny?”

  But he’d already sobered. “Well,” he drawled, not bothering to get up, “I guess the threats paid off. The sender got you off his case just as he intended and he didn’t have to do anything but write a few notes.”

  “And shoot my housekeeper,” Dana snapped.

  Nico shook his head and got to his feet, rubbing his butt. “Not the same person,” he boldly stated.

  “Not the same…How do you know?”

  It was Heather who answered as she filled a cup for herself. “The shooter was right-handed, the writer was left-handed.” As if she hadn’t noticed the undercurrents of personal drama that existed between Nico and Dana, she calmly stirred sugar into her cup and went back to her seat.

  “How do you know that?” Dana turned to Heather.

  “Our lab tech submitted the findings in his report. Angle of bullets, description of wound, position of idling car according to your Mrs. Johnson. And, of course, the location of the spent shell. The shooter could only have been right-handed. As for the notes, they are clearly typed by a lefty as evidenced by the greater pressure placed on the letters on the left-hand side of the keyboard.”

  Dana thought about that for a moment “Well that should help narrow it down some. At least we can find out which of my suspects is left-handed.”

  Nico chuckled. “That was one of the things I meant to tell you about when…”

  Both women stared at Nico as a blush heightened his coloring.

  It took a minute for reality to dawn. Dana put her hand over her mouth to hide a nervous grin. “Oh, right,” she improvised, attempting to help him out. “When we heard the doorbell ring.”

  Nico shot her a look of gratitude tinged with relief.

  Heather, clearly in the dark as to their meaning, but definitely spotting that some form of intrigue had passed between them, cleared her throat.

  “So we’re dealing with two sources of harassment,” she said, returning to the initial subject.

  “Unless it was a drive-by, victim chosen at random,” Nico said, “and not intended for Dana at all.”

  “How often have you heard of drive-by shootings in Wayzata?” Dana asked.

  “They can happen anywhere, none of the burbs are crime free these days.”

  They were all silent for a moment and then Nico said, “So what’s your decision now, Dana, you still want to quit?”

  “I suppose I could have Heather and Krystal move in with my parents for the duration,” Dana said, her voice and expression etched in regret.

  “We’ve already discussed that alternative in staff,” Heather said, “and agreed it isn’t a great idea.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s too obvious, the most likely place to start looking. We concluded it would be no safer than this house and only to be considered as a last resort. Actually, none of us think we’ll reach that point.”

  Dana arched an eyebrow. “It sounds as if you think you’re going to get a make on the guy.”

  “Oh, we’ll make him—or them,” Heather said. “You’ve got Nico on the case, and he’s the best there is for sniffing out rats.”

  They’re a mutual fan club, Dana thought, seeing them exchange a look of admiration. Or was it affection. For the first time it dawned on her that Heather Wilson was a damned attractive woman. Was there history between them? After all, they shared a career, had a great deal in common.

  But she refused to allow herself to be ruled by jealousy. “Well, then, I guess there’s no need for me to make any abrupt career changes at this time,” she said. She stood.

  “Heather, there’s a twin bed to Krystal’s in the attic. We can get it down and set it up in her room tomorrow. Meanwhile, you can use the room Nico’s been occupying.”

  She hid a smile behind the pretense of a yawn as she saw the look of alarm on Nico’s face.

  “There isn’t any need for you to be here ‘round-the-clock now that Heather’s here, is there, Nico?” Her tone dripped sugar.

  It was clear that hadn’t occurred to him.

  “I…I guess not,” he stammered. He pulled himself together, his face closed. “I’ll just go up and get my things.” He turned back when he reached the steps up to the foyer.

  “Heather, why don’t you come along. I’ll show you where the linens are.”

  Dana sank down on the couch as the two of them went up to the second floor. She felt numb. How could she have thought she’d one-upped him, she wondered, when she was feeling so bereft at the idea of him leaving? And when Krystal awakened in the morning, and found him gone, she was going to be very upset.

  She wanted to go to the stairs and call up to him, beg him to stay, offer to hire him on as her bodyguard.

  She couldn’t—wouldn’t—go that far.

  She comforted herself that it wasn’t as if she’d never see him again. He was still going to be working with her as an investigator, so they’d see each other frequently.

  It was small comfort but it would have to do.

  When Nico came down, his bag in one hand, his jacket in the other, she was waiting with a brave smile and a falsely cheerful note in her voice as she bid him goodnight.

  She expected to toss and turn, missing his presence in the house. What she didn’t expect was the phone call from John Yearling.

  “I’m sorry to call so late and with such bad news,” he apologized, “but I just got a call from headquarters. George Vale was murdered sometime this evening.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dana found the newspaper unfurled on her desk as if someone had left it to catch her attention. She spotted the pertinent headline just as she was sinking onto her chair, one hand reaching for her coffee cup. Her hand hovered and then fell onto the desk, balled in a fist.

  “Witness For The Pros
ecution Found Dead in Garage.”

  According to the story, Vale had been found by his wife who had been bringing him a cool drink and a snack. She found him lying on a pallet, his legs still under the car, a bullet dead center of his forehead.

  At that point Dana stopped reading to ponder the information. Only one shot, a perfect target. She’d have to get the M.E.’s report to learn the distance from shooter to target, but unless the shot had been discharged from a foot away, the killer had to be a pro, and most likely, one of the Caprezio clan.

  She resumed reading. The rest of the article had little more information to convey, except, as she expected, there’d been no physical evidence left at the scene and no witnesses. According to Mrs. Vale, she’d been in her kitchen, the windows open to the backyard with a full view of the back of the garage. She’d not seen anyone nor heard anything that could have been a shot.

  Dana nodded. Silencer. Definitely a pro.

  She refolded the paper carefully, her mind replaying the interview she’d had with Vale. A pleasant guy, likable. The jury would have responded to him. She regretted the thought instantly. This wasn’t about a witness snatched from the prosecution’s roster, this was about a fairly young man who had cared about his community, his neighbors, and been prepared to go all the way to do his civic duty. A husband and father who would be sorely grieved and whose death would leave a gaping hole in his loved ones’ lives.

  She certainly knew what that was like, from firsthand experience. A glimmer of insight lit her mind. Could Zack have been shot because he’d witnessed something incriminating and had to be stopped before he got back to tell his partner?

  Her throat clutched up as she recognized the irony of the situation; as a witness, Vale had not had any definitive proof to support the prosecution’s case. Dana had been using him only to give the jury a picture of the animosity between the good citizens of the neighborhood and the dark menace the Caprezio warehouse posed. With so little physical evidence in the Nunzio case, she had to strengthen the circumstantial evidence as much as possible. Even at that, a good defense attorney could tear her case to shreds, and Marcus Caprezio could end up walking.