Reilly's Promise

by Christyne Butler

  “What?”

  “You’re home, Cinderella. I paid the fare for your pumpkin. You wanna get out and let this gentleman be on his way?”

  Cassandra looked over at the cabbie, his head angled back over the front seat. “Thank you,” she muttered to the driver before quickly exiting to stand next to Reilly. “How much was the fare?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Reilly opened the lobby door and stepped aside to allow Cassandra to enter. “I’ll add it to my bill.”

  His bill? Right. One more thing for her to worry about. She had no idea what the going rate was for bodyguards, but she’d bet it wasn’t cheap. Great. Now she had another expense to try to fit into her already tight budget. The upcoming jewelry auction couldn’t happen soon enough.

  The moment the toe of her three-year-old Jimmy Choo heels crossed the threshold, Cassandra froze. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. Someone was watching her. Someone other than her newly hired bodyguard. She could feel Reilly watching her back, but this was different. And at the same time it felt familiar. Very familiar.

  “What’s the matter, princess?”

  Cassandra turned around. Her gaze zipped to the right, taking in the busy sidewalk. She looked over the cars parked along the curb then turned to look at the sidewalk on the building’s left. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Hey, if the glass slipper fits—Cassandra?”

  She looked at Reilly. The teasing glint in his steel-gray eyes hardened to a somber, no-nonsense look.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Someone’s watching me.” Cassandra took a step closer to him, immediately feeling safer, as if his six-foot-plus frame was an armored wall around her. Now how silly was that? “I can’t explain it. I don’t know, maybe it’s my imagina—”

  Reilly grabbed her arm, swung her around and hurried her through the door. His touch burned through her jacket as he hustled her through the lobby. She barely had time to wave at the doorman, signaling she was okay, as they passed his station. At the elevators, he pressed the up button and when the door slid open, he pushed her inside. She just managed to make it without falling on her face.

  “Which floor?” Reilly asked.

  “What was that all about?” Cassandra yanked her arm free as the door closed, surprised he let go so easily.

  “Which floor?” he repeated.

  “Fourteen.”

  Reilly jabbed the button. “How often has this happened in the past?”

  Cassandra knew what he was asking. Playing dumb was out of the question. “A few times over the last month. I can’t explain it and no, no one has approached me. It’s just a feeling and it’s strange…”

  Should she say anything else? The man was going to think she was a kook.

  “It doesn’t feel like whoever is watching me is close by,” she continued. “It’s more like I’m being watched from a distance. I can tell they’re concentrating on me, but they aren’t close enough to—”

  “To touch?” Reilly stared at her for a long moment before he spoke again. “Are your keys in your purse?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your keys? Do you carry them in your purse?”

  “Of course.” Cassandra waved her handbag at Reilly.

  “Get them out. You should get in the habit of having them at the ready as soon as you enter the lobby of your building.”

  “At the ready?”

  “To use as a weapon in case you need it. Carrying a can of pepper spray isn’t a bad idea either.”

  “We have the very best security in this building.” Cassandra reached inside her purse for her key ring. “There are surveillance cameras all over, including in this elevator.”

  She never saw him move.

  Cassandra found herself pressed hard against the richly paneled wall of the elevator, with Reilly’s forearms flat on either side of her head, trapping her in the corner. The suddenness of his actions surprised her as the width of his shoulders blocked out the domed overhead light. He lowered his head, his breath warm on her face. She breathed in a trace of mint and her mother’s fine Kentucky bourbon.

  “Those cameras aren’t going to do anything if someone gets you like this except give the police a nice record of what happened. You’re all alone and a stranger’s getting a bit too close. What do you do?”

  “This?”

  Cassandra jabbed her keys into the pit of his stomach just as the elevator came to a stop and a bell chimed. Reilly jumped back and she slipped under his arm. Marching down the hall, she heard faint swearing before he called out her name.

  “Go piss up a rope,” she muttered, borrowing one of Lily’s favorite sayings while ignoring him. He was too far away to hear her. Still it felt good to say it. Her erratic breathing came under control, but her heart continued to beat so fast she almost walked past her apartment door.

  Cassandra knew it wasn’t fear that caused her heart to race so wildly. She wasn’t afraid of Reilly Murdock. It was impossible for a woman in New York City, or any city for that matter, not to have experienced the kind of fear Reilly had hoped to instill with his macho caveman-like demonstration back there.

  No, what she was feeling was entirely different.

  Shoving a key first into the deadbolt, then into the lock, Cassandra pushed open the door. Flipping on the light switch, she turned around to find Reilly had joined her. “Was that what you had in mind?”

  Rubbing his belly, Reilly grimaced. “You should’ve let me get off the elevator first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have no idea if a person was waiting for you. If you think someone’s watching you outside this building, someone else, an accomplice, could be inside.”

  His words caused a lump to form in Cassandra’s throat. She’d always felt safe here in her building and now, in a matter of seconds, this man had taken away that feeling. “It’s been a long day, Mr. Murdock. All I want to do is relax and get something to eat. I’m sure I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

  “Brighter and earlier than you might think.” Reilly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Do you have any coffee?”

  “You’re inviting yourself in for a cup of coffee?”

  “I don’t drink the stuff this late in the day, but I’m a bear in the morning if I don’t get any with my breakfast.”

  “I don’t eat breakfast.” Cassandra tossed her purse and keys on the bar.

  “That’s okay. I’m pretty handy with a spatula.” Reilly walked past her to stand in her kitchen, looking impossibly gigantic in the compact space. “I’ll be chief cook and bottle washer, for breakfast anyway, since I’m bunking in.”

  “Bunking what? Wait a minute—you’re staying? Here? Tonight?”

  “Nope. For the duration.”

  Chapter Three

  “For the what?”

  Reilly’s gaze moved away from the shocked look on Cassandra’s face and swept over her apartment. “Sorry, military term.”

  Her place wasn’t what he expected. The furniture was simple, and hardwood floors and a boatload of plants filled the loft. An exterior wall of exposed brick ran the length of the room before it disappeared behind an adjoining wall. Evenly spaced floor-to-ceiling windows allowed in plenty of late afternoon sun.

  Too many windows.

  Anyone could be watching her from one of the neighboring buildings. With a minimum amount of advanced technical equipment, they could see Cassandra’s every move.

  “Excuse me. Hello?”

  Reilly jerked his attention back to his new roommate. Yeah, she was in princess mode, with her hands on her hips, her weight balanced on one outstretched leg resting on one very sexy high heel.

  “Duration,” he repeated. “For the time being, until the job is done.”

  “You already decided this? Without asking me?”

  “My job is to protect you, twenty-four-seven, find out who’s trying to harm you and why.” Reilly stopped her protest with a rais
ed hand. “I have no idea how long this is going to take. Being close by makes more sense than staying at a hotel. Besides, a room in this city would cost a small fortune.”

  Cassandra’s face paled at his words before she dropped her arms and looked away. Was she worried about his expenses? According to the file, the Van Winters were one of the wealthiest families in New York City and could well afford his services. Not that it mattered. Digger had sent a generous advance and he doubted his buddy would pass along the cost of this job to Cassandra’s mother.

  He’d expected Margaret Van Winter to explain the details of his hiring to her daughter. When she hadn’t, he’d guessed she had her reasons, especially given her connection to Digger. He doubted Cassandra knew about his old friend. So the best action to take at the moment was to sit tight on that bit of information and keep his mouth shut.

  “Well, I guess I don’t have a choice.” Cassandra waved at the pair of leather sofas. “You can pick a couch or a couch.”

  “Throw in a pillow and a blanket, and I’ll be fine.” Reilly walked to the front door, pleased to see a double set of dead bolts above the standard lock. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

  “I’ll bet. Do they still have whorehouses in Texas?”

  Reilly’s hands froze on the locks. Score two for the lady. He flipped the locks back and forth, testing their strength. “Oh, I’m sure they do somewhere. I’m going to get my bags in the lobby. Lock the door behind me.”

  “Your bags?”

  “Yeah, I did a little reconnaissance earlier and left my stuff at the front desk.”

  Reilly stepped out into the hall, pulled the door closed and started to count. He grinned as he hit eleven before Cassandra slid the deadbolts into place. Thanks to overcrowding on the elevators, it took him fifteen minutes to get back upstairs. Forcing two large duffle bags into one hand, he knocked on the door with the other.

  Nothing.

  “Cassandra? It’s me, Reilly.” He knocked again, this time rapping so hard a door opened and then closed three apartments down the hall.

  Still nothing.

  He dropped his bags and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small leather pouch. Grabbing a thin metal hook, he inserted it into the keyhole of the bottom lock. Three seconds later, he was working on the deadbolt knowing he’d have a better chance of kicking in the solid core door with only the top inside lock engaged.

  The solid ca’chunk of the sliding deadbolt filled his ears.

  Reilly shoved the hook and the pouch into his pocket and reached inside his jacket. His fingers curled around his Glock 9MM. He pulled it from the shoulder holster and pivoted. With his back pressed against the wall, he secured a two-handed grip as the door swung open.

  “Is it necessary to pound on the—”

  Reilly stepped back into the doorway and saw Cassandra’s eyes grow round before he quickly looked around her apartment. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Not sure I can say the same for you.”

  Letting loose a stream of profanity in three languages—military training had its benefits—Reilly shoved the gun behind his back into the waistband of his jeans. “What took you so damn long to answer the door?”

  “I was changing.”

  It then hit Reilly she was indeed dressed differently.

  His gaze locked onto well-toned calf muscles, then traveled over what seemed like miles of bare skin before reaching bright purple, spandex shorts that rode high on her thighs. The shorts went on to hug her flat stomach and the curve of her hips before stopping just above her belly button.

  Innie or outie?

  The question popped into his head before he could brush it away. It echoed there while his gaze continued over her bare midriff until it reached the cropped edge of a matching tank top that compressed the rounded curves of her breasts. A V cut at the neckline called attention to a deep valley of cleav—

  Stop. Now.

  He refused to clear his throat despite a sudden dryness demanding it. “You work out?”

  “I usually do about five miles a night.”

  Great, she’s a runner. He’d figured it was a high-priced aerobics class that gave her such a sleek shape. How in the hell was he going to keep up with her while she ran? He could only manage a slow jog for a couple of miles on his worthless knee before the pain began. Pain he’d have to ignore.

  He grabbed his bags from the hall and tossed them onto the dining room floor. “Do you mind if I change first?”

  Cassandra eyes narrowed. “The reason being?”

  “Don’t think you’re going out there without me.”

  “I’m going about thirty feet.”

  Reilly followed the direction of her pointed finger, and found she’d moved a folding screen of aged wooden shutters out of a far corner. There stood a mini gym complete with a treadmill, free weights and full-length mirror with an attached wooden bar.

  “Since I took over the shop full-time I can’t get to the gym. This is the next best thing.” She turned away. “The bathroom is through the archway if you still feel the need to get out of your jeans.”

  Cassandra heard him clear his throat and her skin again prickled from the heat of him staring at her as she walked away. Stopping in front of the mirror, she bent over and wrapped her hands around her ankles, resuming her pre-run stretching.

  Okay, so I lied.

  Well, half lied. It was true, the store took up a lot of her day. Cassandra exhaled, bent her knees and dropped to a low crouch on the balls of her feet. The truth was she didn’t have the money for the overpriced membership fee at her old club. She could’ve found another gym, but even if she could afford it, how would she explain the switch to her friends?

  Boy, who’d thought lying would be so easy to do?

  What she didn’t know was how long she and her mother had until the lies caught up with them. Thank goodness, all that would change in a few weeks after the auction. Three million dollars might not be a lot in her circles, but it was more than enough for her and her mother.

  Cassandra pressed her butt back into the air. Opening her eyes, she looked through her legs. A jolt raced through her when she saw Reilly standing there. “You’re staring at me.”

  “Ah, sorry.” He looked away. “Got anything to drink around here?”

  “Try the refrigerator.”

  Even upside down, the jeans on that man looked as good going as they did coming.

  So he’s good looking, so what?

  New York City overflowed with good-looking men. Then again, few in the group she usually traveled with walked around in black leather. Not to mention the scuffed cowboy boots and a gun stuffed into their jeans. Why he hadn’t put it back in that sheath-like carrying case she’d seen inside his jacket she didn’t know. Maybe because he—

  Reilly came back with a bottle of spring water in his hand. Cassandra righted herself and turned around so quickly the room spun for a moment. “Is that all I’ve got in there?”

  “It’s either this or iced tea.”

  She couldn’t stop a small grin, but it froze when he started toward her. She blamed her rapid heartbeat on the stretching when he got closer. Then he walked past her to the windows.

  “Nice view,” he said. “What’s the name of this neighborhood?”

  “Chelsea.”

  Reilly continued to stare out the window. “Any reason why you live on this side of Manhattan?”

  “As opposed to my mother’s neighborhood?”

  “Both her home and your shop are located there. It just makes sense you’d live there too.” He took another long draw on the bottle and then fingered the silky cord of the window shade.

  Sweat broke out over her skin. Geez, she hadn’t gotten on the damn machine yet. She stepped up on the treadmill. “What’s a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?”

  Reilly gave the cord a quick tug and the shade released. It dropped to the windowsill at his feet. The taupe-colored gauze diffused the
remaining sunlight. “Something like that.”

  “I’m only a fifteen-minute cab drive away. You make it sound like I’m living on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  “Just making an observation.” Reilly made his way to each of the windows, releasing the shades until her apartment was bathed in shadows.

  “What are you? Part vampire?”

  His low rasp of laughter drifted from the other end of the room. “I hope closing these shades is something you do every evening when you get home.”

  “I get around to it, sooner or later.”

  “You should do it as soon as you walk through the door. Any one of those buildings would give a person a direct view into your apartment.”

  Cassandra’s finger stilled over the power button. Reilly walked past one of the sofas that defined her living room, his fingers dragging along the tufted back. She had to look away. The rare, warm memory of her childhood wrapped around her, bringing with it joy and misery. Her father used to make the very same gesture.

  During the infrequent childhood visits she’d made to his office, she’d sit tucked into the corner of that same sofa while her father dictated letters. Steven Van Winter, the genius behind the merger of Bancroft and Van Winter, two investing firms with roots in the industrial revolution of the early twentieth century, often paced as he spoke. He would drum his fingers along the back of each sofa, only pausing long enough to ruffle her curls as he walked by.

  A knock at the door brought her out of the memory.

  What now?

  Cassandra headed for the door with Reilly silently moving in behind her. He whispered over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to use the peep hole.”

  “No kidding.” Cassandra looked. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Ask who it is.”

  His words rolled over her. She tried to control the shivered response to the feel of his breath dancing across her bare skin. “Who is it?”

  “Cassandra, is that you? Come on, open up. Your mu-shu pork is leaking all over the place.”

  “It’s Willard.” Cassandra recognized the tinny, high-pitched voice through the door. She sighed, realizing she’d forgotten about her dinner meeting with her partner. She turned the locks and opened it. “Hey, there.”