Carla Neggers - Tempting Fate

Quietly, without a word, Zeke retreated to the kitchen. Dani appreciated the gesture. But she was still determined that he leave the Pembroke.

She changed the subject. “Grandfather said he spoke to you.”

They both knew she was referring to her Chandler grandfather, not to Nick. “Yes, he was cordial. Of course. He invited me to join him for dinner tonight. I refused, but he knew I would.” He grinned, his dark eyes sparkling. “Haven’t had dinner with the old fart in over twenty years. He’d slip me a batch of poisoned mushrooms and bury me in the backyard with that dead mole you found when you were six or seven.”

Dani laughed, surprising herself-and, she could see, her father. She’d carried the mole on a spatula she’d fetched from the kitchen and showed it to her grandparents at tea. They’d been apoplectic. Her mother had quietly maneuvered her out to the garden, where they’d had a proper burial. Lilli had cried. Dani, who’d adored small fuzzy animals, had wanted to find the culprit who’d killed the poor ugly little thing.

“When did you get in?” she asked, less confrontational.

“Early this morning.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“Didn’t.”

“Pop, why didn’t you knock on my door? You know I’ll always take you in-” She broke off, thinking her life-and maybe his, too-would be easier if she didn’t love him. It was that way with Pembrokes and their fathers. “Mattie’s room is free.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” John said, “I’ll just find something in town. I stayed with a trainer friend last night, but he’s having company tonight.”

“You don’t know Saratoga in August anymore. It’s me or the gutter.”

He made a face. Since her mother’s disappearance, she and her father under the same roof hadn’t been a winning combination. “Not much choice, then, is there?”

She looked at him. “Nope.”

“Well, you might not be welcoming me with open arms, but at least you haven’t told me you hope I fall into a well and drown. Not, I understand, that the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”

She started to argue with him but realized he was just trying to jerk her string to keep her from asking questions-demanding answers-about what was really at stake. Zeke came out of the kitchen with her last beer but didn’t sit down. Dani looked from him to her father and back again. “You two know each other,” she said, and it came out an accusation.

Neither man answered right away. A squirrel ran up the crabapple tree at the edge of the garden, and a breeze cooled the suddenly very warm late-afternoon air.

Finally her father got up, threw his peach pit over the fence, stretched and yawned. “I’m beat-really, this trip’s taken everything out of me. I don’t travel the way I used to. Why don’t you two go to some nice, quiet place for dinner, and I’ll take a walk and get some sleep. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

“Pop-”

“Sounds fine to me,” Zeke said.

Her father planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Good to see you, kid.”

It was two against one, and her father was adept at getting himself out of a tight spot. And he was fast. He was out the garden gate before Dani had figured out a good counterargument and worked up the energy to make it.

She was intensely aware that she was alone in her garden, again, with Zeke.

“I’ll walk back to the inn with you and see that you check out,” she said stiffly.

“That line’s wearing thin, Dani. I think we should do as your father suggests and head to town and a nice, quiet restaurant for dinner.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because,” he said, “we need to talk.”

Zeke turned down Dani’s offer to cook on the grounds that he’d seen her kitchen, but agreed to ride with her in her car to town. She was a good driver. Even as distracted as she was, she concentrated on what she was doing. She found a parking space on Broadway in front of an attractive downtown restaurant with sidewalk tables that were tempting on such a beautiful day. But Dani led the way to a table inside, where it was quieter, pleasantly informal. A waitress brought them a small, steaming loaf of bread and dots of herbed butter.

“Is this all right?” Dani asked.

“It’s fine.”

She ordered a glass of the house red wine, and he did the same, watching her make a show out of examining the menu. She probably knew every item on it and had already decided what she wanted, but he figured she needed something to do besides look at him. He had no problem at all looking at her.

Their wine arrived. Dani immediately took a big drink of hers, then held on to the glass. “You don’t mind having a blocked view of the entrance?”

It was an obstructed view, not blocked, but he didn’t argue the point. “No, do you?”

She shrugged. “I’m just trying to figure out what kinds of things security consultants know, what they look out for. If I were to hire you, what would you tell me?”

Oh, sweetheart, he thought, if you only knew .

But he tried his wine and decided to take her question relatively seriously, even if it was intended to distract him. “I would teach you the basics of personal safety.”

“Which are?”

“First you have to know what personal safety is. To my way of thinking, it’s providing yourself with a stable environment in which you can pursue the activities and lifestyle you enjoy with limited fear of harm.”

“Does that mean you’d make me stop rock climbing?”

He shook his head. “That’s an activity you enjoy. I’m talking about ensuring yourself the kind of environment in which you can do your rock climbing, or whatever else you do for fun, without fear of intrusion.”

“You mean like burglars and kidnappers and such?”

“I mean,” he said, not especially appreciating her cheeky tone, “that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

She drank more of her wine; he noticed that her eyes were as black as Mattie’s and maybe even more dazzling. “Give me some examples.”

“I encourage common sense and reasonable precautions-”

“For rich girls?”

“And boys. And men and women. And the poor, the middle-class, the downtrodden. I give the same basic instructions to everyone, regardless of gender, position or wealth. I encourage common sense and reasonable precautions,” he repeated.

Their waitress returned and took their order, a cold pasta salad for Dani, lasagna for Zeke. He tore off a piece of bread and buttered it, then took a bite with a swallow of wine. He wondered if she was deliberately provoking him or if she just had a knack for it.

“An egalitarian bodyguard,” she said.

He decided it was deliberate.

“What kind of precautions?” she asked.

“The usual. Make sure someone always knows your plans, change your routine periodically, don’t draw undue attention to yourself.”

“And people don’t think that’s too restrictive?”

“Some have more trouble with certain suggestions than others. One executive I worked with hated telling anyone his plans, another enjoyed flaunting his notoriety. And there are always those who are married to their routines. It’s a balancing act. I don’t encourage recklessness or paranoia.”

“I see.” She took a piece of bread but skipped the butter. “What do you advise when something bad does happen?”

Her voice had softened, lost its bantering edge, and Zeke yearned to reach across the table and take her hand, but he held back. Kept his distance. It wasn’t just necessary, it was the right thing to do. Or so he told himself.

“Again, common sense,” he said, focusing on her question, his answer. “If attacked, it’s important to remain calm and to be assertive-to find a balance between seeming too weak or too superior to an attacker, or to becoming dehumanized. I suggest my clients give up money and valuables on demand, without question. In general, it’s best not to resist unless in immediate mortal danger-but that’s in general. Every situation is particular, needs its own reading.”