Reilly’s attention darted to the older woman, dressed head to toe in white, except for a blue and red scarf around her neck. Here was another surprise. Margaret Van Winter was nothing he expected a woman of her wealth and status to be. Her smile was genuine, her handshake warm and firm when they met.
How would a lady like her know Marines hated to be called “ex”?
“What did you say, Mother?”
Margaret turned back to her daughter. “I said most men who’ve served in the Marine Corps prefer to call themselves ‘former Marines’. They never consider themselves out of the Corps. ‘Once a Marine, Always a Marine.’ Isn’t that right, Mr. Murdock?”
She smiled as she looked his way again, and the muscles in his neck relaxed. With her silvery hair cut short and few lines on her face, Margaret Van Winter wore her age with grace and beauty. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Former Marine, ex-Marine,” Cassandra said. “I don’t care what he’s called or what he was. I’ll tell you what he isn’t. He isn’t my bodyguard.”
“Yes, dear, he is,” Margaret countered.
“How am I going to run my shop with John Wayne here snapping at my heels?” Cassandra asked.
Reilly crossed his arms over his chest. John Wayne, huh? Well, he guessed there were worse things than being compared to his boyhood hero.
“Cassandra, Mr. Murdock is a professional. This is what he does for a living. And he isn’t only your bodyguard. He’s going to be investigating this situation—”
Her daughter’s rigid posture would’ve made a drill sergeant proud. “There is no situation.”
“Darling, I’m worried. Too many odd things have happened since you got back from your trip to Europe.”
Reilly walked to the edge of the muted Oriental carpet that defined the sitting area. “What trip?”
Cassandra whirled around.
Damn, those eyes again.
The varying shades of green, changing from a light aqua to the darkest jade, reminded him of the ocean he’d seen while on an island in the Caribbean. Of course, he’d been looking through a scope of a high-powered assault rifle most of the time.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“When did you go to Europe? Did you travel alone and why?”
“August, yes.” Cassandra snapped out her one-word answers. “And none of your damn business!”
“Cassandra Margaret!”
Reilly hid a grin as the beautiful creature in front of him attempted to rein in her temper by pressing her lips into a thin line. Her efforts did little to diminish the heat in her eyes or the bright pink tint on her cheeks.
Okay, she was hot. He could admit that. And after reading the information Digger had provided, he did see it pointing in the direction of something strange going on in the lady’s life, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to be here.
“I need a drink.” Cassandra took a step around him and headed for the floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the far wall. “Mother?”
“No, thank you, dear. Would you like something, Mr. Murdock?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Reilly saw Cassandra’s hand still over the crystal decanters. “Whatever Miss Van Winter is having is fine with me. And please, call me Reilly.”
“Are you sure you won’t sit down?” Margaret asked with a smile. “I think we may be in for a long siege.”
Reilly returned her smile and walked to the sofa. He gripped his knee and sat, praying it wouldn’t give out. Grateful to find the throbbing pain absent for the moment, he looked up to a glass half filled with ice and a smoky brown liquid. “Thank you.”
Whiskey, he guessed. He was surprised by Cassandra’s choice of liquor, but perhaps this afternoon’s narrow escape was bothering her more than she was willing to admit. And with good reason.
“Will you tell me about your trip now?” he asked.
“Mr. Murdock, I don’t believe we’ve established your need to know yet.” Cassandra moved to the other side of the coffee table.
Reilly reined in his temper, reminding himself that the society princess had only found out a little over an hour ago she had a bodyguard. “Look, I can find out what happened with or without your help. This’ll go a lot better if you work with me.”
Dropping into the chair next to her mother, Cassandra took a sip of her drink. She ignored him and turned to her mother. “Mom, this is crazy.”
“No, it’s not.” Margaret covered her daughter’s hand with her own. “What’s going on is crazy, and you have to admit it. Please, let him help you.”
“You don’t know this man from Adam.” Cassandra waved her glass in his direction. “Where did he come from? How did you find him? Can you trust him?”
Okay, that hurt.
Reilly’s fingers tightened on his glass. Damn, he’d give anything to be back in bed with more than just this splash of booze. What he wanted was another bottle of Tequila. Correction, a bottle of 100 proof Mexican Blue Agave Tequila Reposado. None of that cheapo stuff for him again. If he was going to get good and drunk, he might as well splurge for the best of the best.
The bed didn’t matter.
His bed.
Her bed.
Whoa, scratch that.
Reilly eyed the glass in his hand. It wasn’t a bottle, but it would do. He swirled the contents once before lifting it to his lips, emptying it in one mouthful. He braced for the slow burn of expensive booze, so the taste of sweetened tea on his tongue was a shock.
Lowering the glass, he caught Cassandra’s arched brow of triumph, and he offered a small salute in return. Score one for the lady.
Margaret caressed Cassandra’s cheek. “Believe me, honey, we can trust him. Would I place the most precious thing in my life in anything but the most capable hands?”
“You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”
“Do you think your stubborn streak came only from your father?”
Reilly had wondered if Cassandra knew the details of how he came to be employed by her mother. He now realized she had no idea. What he still couldn’t figure out was Digger’s tie to Cassandra’s now deceased father. “Should I leave the room so you ladies can talk?”
“No, Mr. Murdock,” Cassandra said on a sigh as she faced him. “It looks like I’m stuck with you until you can prove to my mother nothing unusual is going on.”
Reilly forced his eyes away from her legs, trying to ignore the whisper of silk when she crossed them. “Tell me about Europe.”
“I was there for a week. I stayed with friends and attended a few estate auctions, first in London, then Paris. On my way back, I managed to get through customs without any difficulty. That’s it.”
“What did you bring back with you?”
Cassandra swallowed hard. “A number of items, from paintings to miniature furniture pieces, for a select group of clients and my store.”
“Including the dress and jewelry you were wearing this afternoon?”
“Oh, you tried on the ball gown?” Margaret asked. “I wish I could’ve seen you. I’ll bet you looked beautiful!”
“Breathtaking,” he whispered.
Both women turned to stare at him. Cassandra’s eyes were wide with shock, but her mother’s, of the same green color, reflected amusement. Reilly returned their stares for a moment, not believing he’d actually said the word aloud.
He cleared his throat. “Now, who’s Willard?”
Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and grew serious before she looked away. “I took over Van Winter Treasures after my aunt’s death six months ago. Willard Bancroft is an old family friend and a silent partner in my business. He’s been very helpful with the financ—legalities.”
“He didn’t travel with you?”
“Willard’s a full-time partner in a law firm. He only comes by the store occasionally.”
Digger’s report said Cassandra’s tickets for her trip were charged to Willard’s personal credit card instead of to the shop’s accounts. Was there something more between this lady
and her partner than just business?
“What about Lily?” he asked, pushing away the unfamiliar jolt of protectiveness that raced through him.
“Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Murdock? You seem to know all about her, and the names of her three ex-husbands.”
Reilly leaned forward and placed the glass on the table before bracing his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together. “Are you aware she has a criminal record?”
“Yes,” Cassandra snapped. “Thanks to her third husband, who’s working off a ten-year prison term. When she figured out what the louse had roped her into, she went to the authorities and cooperated for a reduced sentence.”
“Probation.”
“Which ends in two months. But you already know that too.”
He also knew Lily was still several tens of thousands of dollars in debt, thanks to her choice of husbands. “It sounds like you two are close friends.”
Another shadow passed across Cassandra’s features before she masked it with an expressionless gaze. “We first met years ago at summer camp. We continued our friendship and when she came to the city needing a job, I asked my aunt to hire her to work at the shop.”
“Would you like another drink, Reilly?” Margaret Van Winter asked, rising from the chair.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Margaret took his glass before turning to her daughter. “Dear?”
“No thanks, Mom. I’m fine.”
A series of low growls caused Reilly to jerk his attention to his feet. He eyed a small black and white dog, its head lowered to the ground while its hindquarters lifted into the air. It wasn’t the sort of spoiled lap dog he’d expected to find in this house. “Well, where did you come from?”
“Come here, Digger.” Cassandra leaned over and snapped her fingers. “Come here, boy.”
Reilly’s head snapped up. What did she just say? “Digger?”
“That’s his name.” Cassandra snapped her fingers again. “Come Dig, you silly dog, come here.”
Was that a common name for a dog? Or did he finally have his connection?
The dog trotted toward Cassandra, stopping once to look back before jumping up on her lap.
“Dig, you mad mutt!” Cassandra laughed and arched her neck as the dog lapped at her with his flying pink tongue. “Knock it off.”
The transformation of the woman before him stunned Reilly. She visibly relaxed as a wide smile came easily to her lips. Lips that allowed a small giggle to escape as she tried to defend herself from the dog’s playful greeting.
“Is he—is Digger yours?”
“No, he belongs to me.”
Reilly looked up to find Margaret holding out a half-full glass of the same dark liquid as before. “Yours?”
“Yes, I’ve had him just a few months now.”
“And he’s still a puppy,” Cassandra said. She got the animal to calm down by scratching at a spot behind its ears.
Lucky dog. Reilly shifted in his seat. If she touched him in the same spot, he’d probably melt into her lap as well. “Why ‘Digger’?” he asked.
“He’s a Jack Russell Terrier and the breed is known for digging in the dirt,” Cassandra said. “You should’ve seen what he did to Mother’s flower beds this past summer.”
Turning to Margaret, Reilly wasn’t surprised to find her watching him, a serene smile on her face. The pieces clicked. He’d assumed when Digger asked him to do this job for a friend that his friend was Cassandra’s deceased father. It’d never occurred to him it might be a woman.
“Well, I’d better head home.” Cassandra gave the dog a gentle push. “Shoo, Dig. Go see your mama.”
The dog jumped off Cassandra’s lap and trotted over to its owner before lying at her feet. “I would offer dinner,” Margaret said, “but I have a charity event to attend tonight.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Reilly stood the same time as Cassandra. “But your daughter and I have a few more things we need to discuss.”
“In case you didn’t hear me the first time, Mr. Murdock, I’m going home.” Cassandra reached for her purse and turned to give her mother a quick kiss.
“And it’s my job to make sure you get there safely.” Reilly brought the glass to his lips and emptied it with one swallow.
A path of liquid fire burned his throat until it came to rest in an inferno in the pit of his stomach. Closing his eyes to hide the shock at finding a fine Kentucky whiskey in his glass instead of tea, Reilly savored its taste before he felt the glass being lifted from his fingers.
He opened his eyes to find Cassandra standing there. He tightened his hold, forcing her fingers to brush over his. Her touch sizzled against his skin and he could’ve sworn he saw tiny electric sparks crackle in the air. It was the same feeling that had jolted his body the moment it came in contact with hers back in the storeroom. He’d chalked it up then to an adrenaline rush due to the body slam he’d given her in order to get her out from under that light fixture.
Could he blame it now on the effects of the alcohol?
Judging from the widening of those gorgeous eyes, Reilly knew Cassandra felt it too, before she masked her surprise behind a cool indifference.
“I’ll call you in the morning, Mother.” Cassandra turned and walked over to the bar, placing his empty glass on the counter.
“Thank you, Reilly,” Margaret said to him. “I hope you’ll be able to get to the bottom of whatever is happening and put a stop to the accidents plaguing my daughter.”
Reilly brushed his fingers against his jeans before he took Margaret’s extended hand. “Cassandra is safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to her.”
“I believe you,” she answered with a smile.
“Bye, Mother.” Cassandra’s voice drifted from the front hall.
Reilly offered the elder Ms. Van Winter a quick nod before moving to catch up with Cassandra as she went out the door. Heading down the wide steps, he wasn’t surprised to see his assignment already at the edge of the sidewalk, trying to wave down one of the many passing yellow taxis.
Assignment. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy. Reilly closed the space between them. “Why didn’t you tell your mother about the light fixture falling this afternoon?”
“Because she’d add it to her list of things to worry about.” Cassandra waved at the approaching taxi. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I inspected the fixture while you changed out of that ball gown,” Reilly shot back. “The bolts holding it in place gave way.”
That got her attention. She turned to him, her translucent skin paling another shade. “As in they were old so it was their time to go, or are you saying they were tampered with?”
“I didn’t see anything deliberate,” he was forced to admit. “I checked the other fixtures and they looked to be okay, but years of rust—”
“Well, there you are. It was an accident.”
Reilly thought differently and the caviler attitude of this princess wasn’t helping. “Your extensive training brought you to that conclusion?”
“My mother may have hired you—” Cassandra paused, her tongue taking a swipe at her bottom lip before she continued, “—but that doesn’t mean I have to like you, Mr. Murdock.”
“You don’t know me.” He lowered his voice as a taxi came to halt in front of them. “And for the last time, it’s Reilly.”
“Goodbye—” Cassandra reached for the door, “—Reilly.”
Their hands collided at the cool metal of the handle. His fingers folded over hers, and that same powerful punch as before propelled its way up his arm. He turned toward her, his nose inches from the mass of curls piled on the top of her head. Her exotic fragrance, hinting of something spicy and warm, swirled around him. An ache for a taste of her filled his chest and he fought against the urge to trail the tip of his tongue along the delicate curve of her ear.
Hell, the moment he’d laid eyes on her he’d known he wouldn’t ever be satisfied with only a taste of Cassandra Marga
ret Van Winter. He wanted all of her.
Plain and simple.
Alone and naked.
Clean, soft white sheets, a bottle of fine wine, slow jazz on the stereo and a locked door completed the fantasy.
Forcing his thoughts away from the crystal clear vision, Reilly pressed her fingertips against the latch, pulling open the door with both of their hands. “Ladies first,” he whispered.
Ignoring the way his warm breath caressed her skin, Cassandra yanked her hand free and scooted into the far corner of the taxi. Rattling off her address, she struggled to keep herself from watching him as he climbed in beside her.
The sheer size of Reilly Murdock filled the interior. His knees pressed against the partition, he stretched his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers inches from her shoulder. She moved away from his hand and clutched at the purse in her lap, refusing to allow herself to stroke the soft leather.
Stop, please stop, she silently commanded the tingling sensations that continued to skate across her palm. She wanted desperately to erase his touch from her fingers. Not that it would do any good. The same commotion was whirling inside her body.
It’d been a long time, years in fact, since any man made her feel this way. A man who, thanks to her mother’s overactive imagination, was going to be sticking to her like glue.
Oh, a great analogy!
Turning to face the window, Cassandra focused on the passing buildings, trying to block out the memory of his body cradling hers after he’d shoved her out of the way of the light fixture. It might not have killed her, but it surely would’ve put her in the hospital. Could someone really be trying…?
No. She refused to think about it. No matter what her mother believed, she rejected the idea someone was out to hurt her. What motive would they have?
The store had started to earn a decent profit, revenue vital to both her and her mother’s welfare, but nothing extravagant. Nowhere near the life they used to have. But all that would change as soon as she unloaded the necklace.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
His deep voice startled Cassandra from her reflections. Her newly hired bodyguard stood on the sidewalk, leaning into the taxi’s open door in front of her apartment building.
Reilly's Promise Page 3
