He grimaced. “I’m more of the mind that no action is good action. Action tends to mean lots of paperwork.”
Her smile turned into a wince as thunder cracked overhead and the wind picked up again. “You can’t get a trim up in Washington?”
He shook his head. “I’m on the clock the entire time. Can’t leave my principal.”
“You know there are flash flood warnings?” She looked down at the water racing over her exposed toes in her heeled sandals. “The news was saying a couple of cars have already been washed away.”
“I guess I’ll have to be extra careful, then.” He jiggled his keys in his hand. “I should get going—”
“I can do it if you want.”
He lifted his eyebrow.
“I’m not licensed for hair, but I used to do my neighbor’s in Las Vegas all the time, and he never complained. I trim my own.” She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her fingers through his soft layers, making certain she wasn’t offering help she couldn’t deliver. “You’re short and mostly clean. I can fix you up easy enough.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. It’ll take ten minutes. Fifteen if I screw up and have to shave you bald.”
A smile ghosted his mouth. “This is where I’m supposed to laugh, right?”
She chuckled. “Come on. Trust me.” She grabbed his hand and walked with him to her front door, where Lucy waited beneath the overhang.
“Hey, girl.” Reed gave her a solid rub while Bella twisted the key in the lock.
“Come on in,” she said, pushing open the door.
“Thanks.”
She waited for Lucy and Reed to move inside and collapsed the umbrella, leaving it out of the worst of the rain. Stepping out of her heels, she flexed her toes and sighed. “Better.”
“I bet.” Reed swiped at his dripping hair as he gave his shoes several wipes on the rug. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yeah. Definitely.” She set down her purse. “Let me change real quick—get out of my work clothes—and we’ll start.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I’m happy to help.” Hurrying upstairs, she exchanged her pencil skirt and blouse for skinny jeans and a pale sage cashmere sweater to chase away the evening chill, then walked to the bathroom for the canvas organizer she kept beneath the sink and snagged a towel too, taking her supplies with her downstairs.
Reed turned from the grouping of pictures on one of her living room walls. “You have a lot of friends.”
“I’m very lucky.”
“Do you own stock in companies that specialize in wedding gifts and baby toys?”
She grinned as she stepped closer, looking at the shots of her posing with brides and grooms and mothers-to-be. “I don’t, but that’s a good idea.” She looked from the photographs to him and handed him the towel. “Here. Dry off some.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed at his muscled forearms, neck, and face.
“I wish I had a shirt to offer you.”
“This is fine.” He swiped at his arms once more and balled the Egyptian cotton in his hand.
She glanced at the pictures again. “Why don’t I ever see you at any of these functions?” She pointed to a shot of her smiling with Reagan and Shane after their simple yet lovely ceremony early last winter. “Don’t you like your coworkers?”
“I like them fine. I’m on duty a lot.”
She frowned. “We’re going to fix that. You’re my new project, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
They smiled at each other.
“Does it count that I was in Europe for some follow-up training when Reagan and Shane got hitched?”
“Since you can’t be in two places at once, it does, but think of all the gatherings you’ve missed since then. You’ve been here for months, and Friday was the first time I saw you. There’s more to life than boxing gloves and those bodyguard earbuds.”
He grinned. “Bodyguard earbuds?” He pursed his lips and nodded. “I like the jargon.”
She laughed. “You know those things the Secret Service wear—and you guys?” She gestured to her ear and the wire that would disappear under her collar.
He flashed her another smile. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, what do you call it, then?” She gave him a playful shove to the arm, knowing he was teasing her.
“An earpiece and microphone.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s pretty boring. For some reason, I thought they would have a cooler name.”
“Like what?”
“Like…I have no idea, but something much less dull.”
He chuckled. “Some parts of what I do are. The movies make it look action-packed, but it’s a lot of waiting around and assessing situations before they can turn into problems.”
“I think I like Hollywood’s version better.”
“If my life were a Hollywood movie, with all of the action those guys see, I would never get out of the office. Remember the paperwork?”
She laughed again. “Right.”
“It truly sucks.”
“I bet. Should we get started?” She gestured to the kitchen.
“After you.”
She walked in front of him, hurrying to the table to pull out a chair. “Does this work?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” He sat down.
She immediately draped him with the black cover, wanting to get to his hair while it was still wet. “So, what are we doing here, exactly?”
“Just a cleanup, especially on my neck.”
“Sure.” She grabbed the sheers and took her place by his side, sliding her fingers though his short hair and stopped. “Oops.”
His shoulders tensed. “What?”
“Just kidding. A little haircutting humor.”
He tilted his head up, meeting her eyes. “A comedian.”
She laughed as he smiled. “I haven’t even started cutting yet.” She gave him a bump. “Try to relax. I promise you’re in good hands.”
“Chop away.”
“Thanks.” She combed her fingers through his hair once more, using small snips to freshen up his look. Silent seconds ticked by as she breathed in the masculine scent that was Reed. He didn’t seem to wear cologne or use any fancy shampoos, but he smelled good just the same. “So, how was your day?”
“Not too shabby.”
She worked her way around his head, finding his cut a breeze to clean up. He easily could have gone another week without any problems. “What did you do?”
“Worked a little. Boxed.”
“Fascinating.”
“I could make up something about stopping a bank robbery in progress or rescuing a cat from a tree.”
She smiled. “The truth is fine, thanks.”
“What about you?”
“It was pretty much a normal day at the office—a second-session tattoo removal, a microdermabrasion, two stretch mark reductions, the usual stuff.”
“What’s the tattoo of? The one you’re taking off?”
“A woman’s name. Genevieve. The relationship didn’t work out.”
He winced. “Ouch.”
“Triple ouch. Tattoo removal is not a pain-free procedure, nor is it cheap—and he went pretty ornate with Genevieve. Hopefully next time he’ll pick a woman with a shorter name or abstain from getting himself tatted up altogether.”
He laughed.
She grinned, loving that sound. Did he have any idea how gorgeous he was when he smiled like that? She picked up the clippers off the table and let her knees rest against his as she leaned in and gently lifted his chin, evening out his sideburns. She swallowed, feeling his breath on her skin and his eyes studying her face. Licking her lips, she met his gaze. “You better hope I get this part right, or you’ll have to tilt your head for the next four days.”
He sent her another one of his pulse-pounding smiles. “You’ll have to help me decide if I should lean more to the left or right.”
&n
bsp; Oh, this cutie had the potential to be trouble. Her eyes darted to his mouth mere inches from hers as his five o’clock shadow tormented her sensitized fingers. She took a step back and a steadying breath. It was a good thing they were just friends—currently the only relationship status she was interested in. “The goal is straight.” She nudged his head slightly higher and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing. “I think we’ve achieved success.” She let him go and removed the guard from the clippers. “Let me just get your neck, and you should be good to go.” Moving behind him, she cleaned up the few hairs that needed to be banished. “There.”
“That was pretty quick.”
She shook powder into her hand and dusted it along his skin, then gave him a wipe with the towel. “And not a bald patch anywhere to be seen.”
“Bonus.”
She slid her fingers through his hair again, making certain everything was even, and started massaging, unable to resist as she noted the rigid set of his body.
He tensed, then groaned. “What are you doing?”
“I used to have this hairstylist who would give me a scalp massage when she washed my hair. I would die and go to heaven every time. It’s a great addition to any haircut.” She transitioned to his neck, then a little lower, frowning at the knots she discovered along his trapezius muscles. “Jeez, you’re tight through here.” She went after the trigger points with firm, stroking movements.
Another grumble escaped his throat as he let his head fall forward. “You never have to stop doing that.”
“You know, Julie’s a massage therapist.”
“Feels like you are, too.”
“My clients receive brief massages with certain treatments.”
“This works just fine for me.”
She shook her head, even though his eyes were closed. “You need deep tissue. Julie does yoga more than massage these days, but I bet she would hook you up if you asked.” She moved along the contours of his rock-hard shoulders, pretty darn certain that Reed had to look like a god with his shirt off. “I’d suggest an hour, even ninety minutes on a table.”
He grunted.
“Seriously.”
“Maybe sometime.” He sighed. “You two should go into business together—you and Julie.”
“It’s crossed my mind. But I love where I’m at now, what I do now.” She kneaded a final time and ended with a soothing effleurage technique before taking off his cape and shaking it out.
He stood, rolling his neck. “That is hands down the best haircut I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks. I—” Her cell phone rang on the table, and she glanced at the readout, recognizing Dad’s number. “Um, hold on one second.”
“Sure,” he said, continuing with his neck rolls. “Where’s your broom?”
“In the closet.” She pointed to the door in the corner of the kitchen and pressed talk. “Hello?”
“Bella, it’s Dad.”
Would she ever get used to hearing his voice? “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Awkward silence filled the line, making her more nervous than she already was. She’d prepared herself for the very real possibility that their lunch date in Van Nuys was the last she would see of him—a defense mechanism against hurt and disappointment—but here he was, calling again. “I was thinking about you today,” she said, hoping to get things started. Holding up a finger to Reed, she moved to the living room as he cleaned up the hair on her floor.
“It was nice having lunch on Sunday.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Damn good grilled cheese.”
She smiled, trying to relax. “I agree.”
“Maybe we could do it again.”
She fiddled with a book on the built-in shelf, pulling it out and pushing it back. “I would like that.”
“How about dinner?”
“I’m pretty fond of dinner.”
He chuckled. “I could take you out for seafood or a steak or whatever it is that you like to eat.”
She thought of his tiny house and lack of transportation. Expensive meals weren’t a good idea, nor were they necessary. “I could always bring something over. We could eat in.”
“I don’t have much in the way of pots and pans or nice dishes. I’d like to take you out.”
She sighed quietly. “All right. I would love it.”
“Does Saturday work?”
He was reaching out, making a real effort. “I happen to be free Saturday night. It’ll take me a little while to get up to you with the traffic—”
“I’ll make the reservation for seven. We can meet.”
She stopped herself from offering to pick him up. He clearly didn’t like her coming to his home. “Sure.”
“I’ll find someplace nice—unless you have a preference.”
“Whatever you want. I like a little adventure.”
“Great. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I have clients until five, so text or leave a message if you don’t get ahold of me. I’ll call you back when I can.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“See you Saturday.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.” She hung up and pressed the phone to her chin, smiling and closing her eyes. Dad wanted to see her, to get to know her as much as she wanted to know him. She turned back, remembering Reed was still in the kitchen, and hurried to take the dustpan he’d just finished emptying into the trash. “Sorry. I needed to take that.”
“No problem.” He pulled out his wallet. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“I have to pay you something.”
She shook her head. “That’s what friends are for.”
“You’ve fed me and taken me to the beach, and now you’ve cut my hair. The friend balance is off.”
“How about a ride on that fancy motorcycle of yours sometime?”
He shoved his wallet back in his pocket. “You like motorcycles?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been on one, but it looks fun.”
“It is. Whenever you want.”
She beamed, thrilled with the idea of a new adventure. “Great.”
“Catch me on a day when you’re not busy and I’m actually home, and we’ll ride up the coast or something.”
“Deal.” She put the broom and dustpan back and glanced outside where the rain still poured. “I’m going to heat up some butternut squash soup. I bought it at the little gourmet grocery down the street on my lunch break yesterday. I could make us paninis if you want to stay.”
“That sounds good, but I have a couple of reports Ethan needs, and I still haven’t packed.”
She nodded. “Some other time.”
“Let me know about the bike ride.”
“I will.” She walked him to the door, pretty sure she’d imagined the electricity buzzing between them before, because there was nothing sparking now. “Safe travels, and good luck with the hostile takeover.”
“Thanks. And again for the hair. Bye.”
“Bye.” She watched him jog over to his house, tossed him a wave, and shut the door, looking back at Lucy. “Two unexpected surprises in one night. You saw your boyfriend, and Dad wants to have dinner on Saturday.”
Lucy wagged her tail.
“It’s great, huh?” She bent down and hugged her girl. “What do you say I put this stuff away and we have some dinner?”
Lucy licked her cheek.
“Thanks. We’ll snuggle up after and watch something on TV.”
She went to the kitchen and finished cleaning up, always eager to put things back to rights. Her mind kept wandering to the moment when she’d held Reed’s chin in her hand, staring into his eyes. “It’s perfectly normal to be attracted to a gorgeous man,” she rationalized to Lucy as the puppy stared at her from her cozy bed in the corner of the room. “Right?”
Lucy wagged her tail again.
“Exactly. You’d have to be dead not to notice that our neighbor’s a hunk.” She gave a de
cisive nod, feeling better about the entire situation. “Let’s have our dinner.” She moved to the fridge and got out the makings for soup and a pesto chicken Panini.
~~~~
Reed sat at his desk, staring at the ideas he’d jotted down after his round with the punching bag a couple of hours ago. His thoughts had sounded good at the time; now most of them had a solid line drawn through the middle. Strategies to force Nicoli Caparelli into talking didn’t matter much until he and Joey had their positive ID. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense for them to establish some long, drawn-out plan if the man he’d followed today wasn’t even their guy. Making one hundred percent certain that this Vincent Pescoe was a one-time Caparelli mobster needed to happen first, but that would have to wait until he could find some free time later in the week.
He came to attention when Bella’s voice carried through his open window as she stepped onto her back deck with Lucy. The puppy headed for the grass in her tiny backyard while Bella crossed her arms, rubbing them roughly on the unseasonably chilly night.
He’d opened his windows shortly after he got back from her place, finding the brisk breeze blowing in soothing. It was odd not hearing the constant drone of traffic or honking horns. And he liked this view much better than the one he’d glanced out at in Manhattan—when he’d been home long enough to see it. Bella Colby in snug designer jeans and a stylish sweater, all for a simple night at home alone.
He looked back at his legal pad, then the new file he’d created for Vincent Pescoe. There weren’t many details yet, just an address and this morning’s picture of the man he was mostly certain was an older Nicoli Caparelli. Flipping to another tab and the image he still had open, he studied the infamous Caparelli brothers. Although Alfeo currently sat in a prison cell, none of the Caparellis had paid for their long list of crimes—not the way they should have. Back in the eighties and nineties, law enforcement had decimated La Cosa Nostra, the five mafia families of New York, but somehow the Caparellis dodged the majority of the RICO charges that devastated the other families so thoroughly. Slippery, corrupt, so powerful that the federal prosecutor’s accusations never stuck, even when the evidence was there.
The FBI’s days of going gangbusters on the mafia were over, but that didn’t mean he and Joey couldn’t figure a new equation. They’d never had an inside man to help them before—or not anyone on the same caliber as Nicoli Caparelli. Walter Hodds and the Marshals had done their job well, keeping their most compelling witness hidden. Nicoli’s testimony had put his father away for the rest of his life when he made the jury believe that Patrizio ordered his sons to carry out the deadly hit on one of his men. His brother had gotten a measly twenty-six years due to a technicality when it should have been a death sentence. But Alfeo “Alfie” Caparelli had yet to pay for the murders of two police officers and an FBI Senior Special Agent. Reed had every intention of settling that score.
Deceiving Bella: Book Eleven In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series Page 6
