Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel

by Julie Lessman

  The grin faded into a formidable smile. “Yes, Mr. Barone, I know—working for me.”

  Nick shot to his feet, palms strained flat on Harmon’s desk once again. “What’s he talking about, Captain?”

  “Sit down, Nick,” Harmon said with more patience than Nick would possess in a lifetime. He nodded to Nick’s chair and waited for him to comply. “After the incident where the supervisor’s niece was accosted, I’m sure you understand his concern to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Yeah, but the solution is so simple, a moron could figure it out.” Nick cocked his head. “Tell her to stay inside after dark on the Barbary Coast, Supervisor McClare, all cozy-comfy and safe.”

  A chuckle parted from Logan’s lips as he absently scratched the back of his neck, gaze on the floor. “Well, I’m afraid nothing is ‘simple’ when it comes to my niece, Mr. Barone, or with her mother, for that matter.” He glanced up, affection lacing his smile once again. “Beautiful women both, but cut from different cloth than most. Fragile hearts and hard heads, independent and stubborn to the point of feisty, but as soft and gentle as newborn kittens.” The grin was back. “But you’ll want to steer clear of the claws if you step on their tails.”

  One side of Nick’s lip angled up. “Yeah, and I got the scars to prove it.”

  “Well now, see there, Nick?” Logan reached to slap him on the shoulder with a low chuckle, an action meant to disarm him, no doubt. And it was working—a realization that steeled Nick’s jaw all the more. “You and I have something in common after all, eh?” He sat back, arms on the chair and eyes squinted in calculation. “So . . . I came to see the captain today because I need a watchman and handyman for the school until Mr. Bigley returns.”

  Nick’s gaze flicked to Harm and back, forehead bunched in annoyance. “No offense, Supervisor McClare, but why me? Any officer with a firearm can provide protection and most are handy enough. Some might actually enjoy working with a time bomb like your niece.”

  Logan chuckled. “Yes, any officer can supply armed protection and handle odd jobs, I suppose, not to mention jump at the chance to double his salary working with beautiful women for a brief span. And who knows—maybe even aspire to snag the heart of a wealthy young girl in the process.” He crossed his arms, then propped one fist to his mouth, assessing Nick through pensive eyes. “But Captain Peel assures me no one but you possesses the unique skills I need to ensure my niece’s physical and emotional safety as well as my peace of mind.”

  Nick quirked a brow. “The ability to step on her tail?”

  A slow smile inched across Logan’s face. “Partially.”

  “Come again?” Nick’s gaze thinned.

  “You just made the point yourself, Nick. You can’t abide my niece and she can’t abide you. It only took thirty seconds to see the discord between you two, which is exactly what I need.” A granite-like hardness settled over the supervisor’s features, marking him as a formidable foe—obviously out of the courtroom as well as in. “Or what Allison needs, actually, at least right now. Regrettably the girl’s had her heart stomped on more times than I care to admit, and I’m looking for someone with no interest in either her or her money.”

  Nick grunted. “Well, that shoe certainly fits.”

  “Yes, it does, Mr. Barone, but the most important reason I want to hire you makes you the perfect fit all around, head to toe.”

  “And what would that be, Supervisor?” Nick said with a stiff smile, playing nice before he told him what he could do with his high-priced patsy job.

  “I want you to teach my niece jiu-jitsu.”

  Nick blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “Jiu-jitsu, Nick,” he said with an easy stretch of his arm over the back of the chair. “Harm tells me you picked it up in the war and have trained several of the officers here.”

  Nick actually smiled. Teach a woman? Jiu-jitsu? The man is out of his mind. He shook his head, certain McClare was as loony as his cockamamie niece. Runs in the family, apparently, probably from generations of intermarriage. He cleared his throat. “Uh . . . I appreciate your confidence in me, sir, but I don’t teach women jiu-jitsu.”

  Challenge gleamed bright in Logan McClare’s eyes like new-minted money. “Not even for triple your salary?”

  Nick bolted up, teeth clenched so hard, he had to pry them open just to bite out the words. “Not-even-for-triple-your-salary, sir.” He stood to his full six-foot-four height, once again infuriated at the gall of wealthy men like McClare who thought they could buy people to do their bidding. Like ex-Governor Gage and Mayor Schmitz obviously bought the Board of Supervisors with the Chinatown quarantine, ultimately costing his friend Ming Chao the life of his grandson. He singed Logan with a withering glare. “Unlike some people, Supervisor, I can’t be bought.”

  “Okay, Barone, that’s a week’s salary to the police fund,” the captain snapped. He arched a brow. “Care to make it two?”

  Nick gritted a response through his teeth. “No.”

  “Good, because I’m not giving you a choice here, Nick—it’s either commit to working for the supervisor or turn in your badge—it’s as simple as that.”

  Nick gaped, facial muscles slack. “You wouldn’t do that, Harm.”

  The captain scratched the front of his neck, expression steeped in regret. “Wouldn’t want to, but this precinct owes Supervisor McClare a debt of gratitude. He’s our biggest ally—”

  “And your friend . . . ,” Nick spit out.

  The captain vented with a heavy blast of air and leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his chest while he peered up with a tired expression. “Yes, Logan and I are good friends, but more importantly, he’s an influential member of our governing body, Nick, and a man I respect and admire. Just like I respect and admire you. But when I agreed to hire you, I was assured you were willing to start anywhere, do anything—”

  “And I have,” Nick shouted, slamming his fist on Harmon’s desk. He’d give anything to just walk, but DeLuca’s warning grafted his feet to the floor. “You have no choice but to lay low, Nick, till our guns are loaded and ready to fire.”

  “Yes, you have, and you’re a good detective, but I need a man who can follow orders, and if that’s not you, then there’s the door.”

  It took everything in him not to spin on his heel and leave both of them in his dust, but Nick knew that wasn’t an option. Not if he wanted the payoff, and he and DeLuca had worked too hard to get this far. Blasting out his frustration, he glared at Harm, ignoring McClare altogether. “One month, and I still work my cases while school is in session during the day.”

  “Two months,” Logan said calmly.

  Nick all but scorched him with a scowl. “Six weeks, Supervisor—take it or leave it.”

  Harmon glanced at McClare, who gave a short duck of his head. Logan’s eyes locked on Nick in unspoken threat. “If six weeks is enough time to teach Allison what she needs to know.”

  “It is.” Nick stared him down, a tic pulsing in his cheek like the one in McClare’s jaw.

  The supervisor studied him with cool deliberation. “Good, and you’re responsible for escorting her home after jiu-jitsu lessons three times a week.” His tone softened as the barest hint of a smile shadowed his lips. “I think you’ll find Allison an able student, Mr. Barone. As a little girl, she tended toward the tomboy. A competitive streak and an almost reckless thirst for adventure that’s given more than one gray hair to her mother and me, I can tell you that. She’s fiercely athletic, and if she were a boy, she’d give you a run for your money.”

  Nick grunted. “Already has.”

  Logan’s tone turned crisp. “As far as the school, you’re on duty first thing in the morning, during lunch recess outside, and back before the last class ends, remaining until everyone is home safe and sound, including my niece. And, of course, all handyman projects must be completed in a timely fashion to Mrs. McClare’s satisfaction.”

  “Agreed.” Nick met his gaze with a hard th
reat of his own. “For ten times my salary—”

  The captain launched to his feet. “You’re out of your mind, Barone—”

  Logan interrupted, an edge of challenge in his voice as he slowly rose to his feet, his demeanor as cool as his tone. “No, Harmon, let him set the terms—my family is worth it. If Mr. Barone is willing to agree to six weeks’ employment as the school’s watchman, handyman, and jiu-jitsu instructor for my niece come Monday, then he’s worth it too.” He faced Nick head-on, assessing him through narrow eyes. “That is, if he’s willing to provide extra protection for Allison whenever she’s on the premises or on her way home.”

  A nerve flickered in Nick’s jaw before he finally nodded his consent.

  “Good.” Logan folded stiff arms across his chest. “Then I suppose there are only two conditions yet to be met, Mr. Barone, and I’ll need your word on both.”

  Nick’s lip curled in sarcasm. “What, I can’t use a leash?”

  Logan actually chuckled. “No, Mr. Barone, although I understand how that might make your job easier.” He sat on the edge of Harm’s desk with a faint smile. “You can’t let her know.”

  Shifting his stance, Nick stared, head dipped. “Pardon me?”

  “You see, independence is very important to Allison,” Logan said calmly, “and I don’t want her to know part of your job at the school is to keep an eye on her, to protect her so to speak, escort her home after jiu-jitsu or follow her unaware on nights she chooses to work late.”

  Nick’s face screwed in a squint. “And just how am I supposed to keep that quiet, sir, when I’ll be shadowing her wherever she goes?”

  “You’re a bright man, Nick, figure it out. Convince her you’re a gentleman who refuses to allow a lady to walk home or use a cable car by herself.”

  Cable car? The very words jammed in Nick’s throat, churning the acid in his gut.

  Logan smiled. “Although my second condition will definitely make the first a challenge.”

  Nick remained silent, unable to speak for the blockage of air in his lungs.

  Any semblance of humor on Logan’s face faded away . . . along with Nick’s peace of mind as the supervisor’s gray eyes took on a steely glint. “You are under no circumstances to ever lay a hand on my niece except in those cases necessitated by jiu-jitsu lessons, is that clear? And I want your word and your signature that you will not make advances.”

  Nick started to hack, acid choking in his throat as much as the thought choked in his mind. Advances? To Allison “Whack ’em Till They Weep” McClare? “Are you crazy?” he sputtered. “I may be a lot of things, sir, but suicidal isn’t one of ’em.”

  Logan remained unfazed by Nick’s flippant manner. “Glad to hear that, Nick, because suicide is an apt description if I even suspect a glimmer of romantic interest between you two.”

  A grunt rolled from Nick’s lips. “Yeah, well it’s not me you have to worry about, Supervisor, but I take no responsibility for any featherbrained ideas rolling around in her head.”

  Logan’s lips pressed thin. “You better take responsibility, Barone, because I want Allison to despise you as much as you despise me.”

  Nick seared him with a hard look. “Not possible, sir, but I promise it’ll be close.”

  “Good.” The edge of Logan’s mouth tipped. “Much as I hate to say it, you’re the type of man who turns women’s heads, so I’m asking you point blank to . . .” A grin inched across his lips as he kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Hang it all, I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but . . .” He glanced up, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Keep any ‘charm’ you may possibly possess under wraps around Allison because she seems to have a weakness for smooth talkers.”

  “Come on, Logan, you even know this guy?” The captain grinned. “He speaks in grunts.”

  Logan’s eyelids narrowed, assessing Nick as if he could peer into his very soul. “You know, Harm, my gut tells me one of Mr. Barone’s greatest assets is the fact people underestimate him. They see this crusty, hard-nosed cop and assume he’s a half-wit, but in my line of work, I’ve learned not to assume anything. So I’m asking again, Mr. Barone . . .” He offered a handshake, challenge in his eyes. “Do I have your word you won’t make advances to my niece?”

  Nick stared at the hand before him, visions of Allison McClare’s ebony hair, angelic face, and inviting lips flitting through his brain, twitching his nerves. Steeling his jaw, he gripped Logan’s hand with more force than necessary, quite sure he’d never be in agreement with the man more. “Carved in stone,” he said, tone clipped, “or so help me, you can cut out my tongue.”

  Logan laughed. “Don’t think I won’t.” Reaching behind him, he shoved a two-page document to the front of Harmon’s desk. “But to safeguard us both, I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a contract outlining the terms we’ve just discussed.” He removed an expensive ink pen from inside his jacket and scratched in the revised salary on both sheets before initialing them and offering the pen to Nick. “Hopefully this document will ensure I won’t have to.”

  Nick snatched the pen and then the paper from the desk. “Lawyers,” he muttered, scowling as he read every single line. He slashed his signature in the appropriate place and tossed the pen on top. “I bet you draft a contract for everything you do, counselor. Meticulous to a fault to ensure your payback is secure.”

  “As a matter of fact I do,” Logan said with an easy swipe of his pen into his coat pocket. “Except with my family.” His eyes hardened like gray quartz. “With them, payback is never necessary because they mean the world to me, and I will do anything or destroy anyone to protect them.” He handed the second sheet to Nick. “Your copy of our agreement, Mr. Barone.”

  Jerking it from his hand, Nick glanced at Harmon. “Are we through here?”

  “Almost.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Since this is late Friday, you’ll start Monday morning, eight sharp, which is when Mrs. McClare arrives with my nieces. But I’d like you to stop in tonight to introduce yourself after school lets out, which I believe is in twenty minutes.” He peered up, arms folded once again. “Have you had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. McClare?”

  Pleasure? Nick’s lips went flat. Not if she’s anything like her daughter. “No.”

  Gaze averted to the floor, Logan’s professional air softened with the flicker of a smile. “Caitlyn McClare is one of the most remarkable women you’ll ever meet.” The smile faded as quickly as the kindness in the man’s tone when his eyes lifted to Nick once again. “My sister-in-law and her daughters and niece are the only women alive who have my ear, Mr. Barone, so I suggest you tread lightly and see to it there are no complaints.”

  Nick’s mouth took a hard slant. “Even from your ‘independent’ niece?”

  The smile was back. “No, I expect plenty of complaints from Allison, but they best be about your lack of charm, Detective, and not your teaching skills.” He stood and extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Nick.”

  Nick ignored the gesture and adjusted the sleeves of his coat. “Well, that makes one of us, counselor. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like half my salary now, delivered to the station Monday before the end of the day, then the rest after the last lesson.”

  Tone casual, Logan folded his copy of the contract in thirds and slipped it inside his coat. “I think that can be arranged.” His lips curved in a smile. “Afraid I won’t pay?”

  “Not at all, Supervisor,” Nick said on his way to the door, thinking Logan’s money wouldn’t make up for Ming Chao’s grandson, but it’d be a start for his grieving old friend. “You’ll pay all right.” He never bothered looking back, slamming the door behind him.

  Through the nose and more.

  10

  Jeepers, Miss Alli, you really mean it? We’re gonna have a real, honest-to-Pete play?” The whites of Heidi Abbott’s blue eyes grew as big as her two elbow patches, both as faded and worn as the dirty calico dress they held together.

 
Allison laughed, her excitement equal to each of the giggling girls in her English/Drama class. Sunlight streamed through the shiny windows that Mrs. Lemp kept spotless, spilling across the polished wood floor while excited chatter spilled from the lips of each of her eight students, ages six to sixteen. The rumble of footsteps overhead reminded her school was now at an end, and Allison couldn’t help a tinge of regret. She’d come to love the ragtag band of students who tromped through the halls, always regretting when Mother rang the bell at the end of each day. Throughout the course of their first week, word of mouth had caused their ranks to grow, and now thirty-two eager young women attended Monday through Friday, thirsty to learn, including Miss Penny’s ten. Shocked and delighted with the numbers, Mother had already begun her search for an assistant principal to help out in the office when Vigilance Committee duties called her away. Allison had never seen her happier. Like a schoolgirl herself, Caitlyn McClare’s cheeks bloomed with the soft blush of purpose and pride, and Allison had to admit—the glow was catching.

  “Of course I mean it,” Allison said with a chuckle. She closed her brand-new copy of Shakespeare’s Comedies, Histories and Tragedies and stood to her feet, rounding her desk to hand out homework. “After all, what good would it be studying Shakespeare’s plays if we didn’t at least attempt one of our own? Especially with such a fine theater, right?”

  “Right!” The class of eight shouted in unison.

  “Can I be in it too, Miss Alli, please?” Lottie bounced in her seat, bobbling the cinnamon-colored curls on her head.

  “Of course you can, La-di-da. Everyone who wants to play a part certainly can.”

  “But who will watch the play, Miss Alli?” Ten-year-old Shannon Murphy blinked, serious brown eyes wide with concern amid a sea of freckles. She slapped a chestnut pigtail over her shoulder. “If we’re going to have a play, somebody has to watch.”

  Allison paused, aware that most of the girls in the school were either orphans or the daughters of women who worked in the brothels, neither of which allowed for an abundance of family members to invite. “Well,” she said with a chew of her lip, thoughts scrambling to come up with live bodies, “not everyone in the school will be in the play, of course . . .” The seed of an idea suddenly sprouted and she caught her breath, a grin inching across her face. But if the play were a fundraiser and Mother invited people she knew . . . ? A giggle broke loose and she clapped her hands. “I have an idea that just might bring in an audience, but I’ll need to discuss it with Mrs. McClare first, so let’s just see what happens, okay?”