Metsy Hingle - The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid

“Not exactly,” Michael informed him as he shoved back from his desk. He went over to the coffee setup and poured himself a cup from the pot. “It seems some guy’s been sending her twisted love letters. Last night he phoned her. Aunt Maggie was with Clea when she got the call, and from what she heard, the fellow’s verbal skills leave something to be desired.”

Sean swore and crushed his empty cup. “I’d like to get my hands on the creep.”

“You’ll have to wait in line,” Ryan informed him.

“No one’s going to get a shot at the guy unless the cops catch him,” Michael replied. Until they do, Aunt Maggie wants someone from Fitzpatrick Security to keep an eye on Clea.”

“And that someone is going to be me,” Ryan insisted.

“Hey, wait a minute! Why do you get to have all the fun?” Sean countered. “Besides, I think Clea has a thing for me. Did you see the way she looked at me at that wedding reception last week? The woman’s nuts about me. I certainly wouldn’t object to keeping her company. I’m your man, Mike. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

“The hell you will,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. “If anyone’s going to take care of Clea, it’s going to be me.”

Sean practically beamed at the outburst. “Face it, little brother. The lady’s not interested.” Pitching his empty cup into the trash can, Sean scored a ringer and pulled his fisted arm down in a victory sign before turning back to Ryan. He grinned. “Now what was it she said in answer to your proposal? Oh, yeah, I remember. Something like, ‘not if you were the last man on earth.’ Guess you’re just not her type.”

“And you think you are?” Ryan shot back.

“As a matter of fact, I do. And you know, now that I think about it, she never did turn down my proposal.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “I guess that means she and I are engaged. In that case, I definitely should be the one assigned to keep her safe.”

At thirty-two, he would have sworn he’d outgrown the habit of rising to his siblings’ baiting, Ryan told himself. Obviously, he hadn’t, because he was itching to pound his fists against his brother’s grinning face. “Like hell you will,” he repeated with a snarl, clenching his fists at his side.

“You know, Sean does have a point,” Michael said, failing miserably to hide the smile tickling his lips. “From the look on Clea’s face when you kissed her at that wedding, I’d say you’re not exactly her favorite Fitzpatrick.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Ryan told him. Clea’s response to his kiss may have been brief, but there had been no mistaking that flash fire between them before she’d caught herself.

“Guess you got shortchanged on the Fitzpatrick charm, little brother,” Sean needled. “Now, me on the other hand—”

“Didn’t get any,” Ryan fired back, then turned to Michael. “I want this case, Mike. We agreed I’d be an equal partner when I joined the agency. Well, I’ve been with the firm nearly a month and all I’ve done is shuffle papers.”

“Shuffling papers is part of the job.”

“But it’s not all of it,” Ryan argued.

Michael sighed. “Give yourself a break, Ry. From what I heard, you were handling some pretty heavy stuff before you turned in your badge.”

“Handled is the right word. It’s done, and now I’m ready to move on. I want to go to work.”

“Kids,” Michael said as though his extra three years made him ancient. “I’d think you would appreciate having some time to get used to not being a cop before having cases dumped on you.”

“I don’t need any time. I’m finished being a cop.” He had done the best he could at the job, but the system had gotten to him. He would no sooner bring in a bust, than the criminals were back on the street. But it hadn’t just been the job. He had felt something was missing in his life and realized it was family. So, he had turned in his shield, packed his bags and come home. “What I need is to work—and I don’t mean more desk-jockey duty. Besides you and Sean are already tied up on other cases. It only makes sense that I get Clea.”

“Hold on a second,” Sean countered. “You take the check fraud case I’m working on, and I’ll guard Clea’s body.”

Michael shook his head. “Sorry, bro. No can do. Sylvia Miller specifically requested you head that investigation.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Sylvia,” Sean said, his eyes brightening at the mention of the shapely bank president. “So much for me not having any charm.”

Ryan snorted. “Then it’s settled. I get Clea.” Standing, he decided to get going before anyone objected.

“Ry, hold on a second,” Michael said.

Ryan paused, then frowned at his brother’s serious expression. “Yeah?”

“Chances are this nut who’s harassing Clea is harmless. That type usually is. But if he’s not—if he decides he wants more of a thrill than he can get from a letter or phone call—she could be in real danger. She can’t afford to have someone who isn’t completely focused on the job protecting her.”

Ryan stiffened. “You think I can’t handle the job?”

“I’m saying I know you’ve got a thing for Clea.” Michael held up his hand when Ryan started to protest. “We both know becoming involved with a client screws up your judgment. You lose focus because you’re no longer thinking with just your head. If that happens on this case, it’s Clea who’s going to pay the price. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

I’m not going to let anything happen to her and I’m not going to screw up.”

“Maybe not intentionally, but—”

“Hey, come on, Mike,” Sean cut in as he retrieved a candy bar from his pocket and began unwrapping it. “Clea’s got better taste. Why would she fall for this guy when she can have me?”

Ryan swiped the candy from Sean’s fingers, grateful for something to wrap his fist around. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you, big brother.”

“She turned down your proposal, remember?” Sean teased.

“Haven’t you heard, women often change their minds. She’ll change hers.”

“Right,” Sean quipped, giving him a disgusted look and reclaiming his half-eaten chocolate bar. “I got a hundred bucks that says the lady turns you down flat—again.”

“You’re on,” Ryan told him. “Let’s see your green.”

Sean reached into his wallet and pulled out two fifties. He slapped them on the desk. “What about you, Mike? You want a piece of this?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He threw a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the desk. “I’m with Sean. I say Clea tosses you out on your can.”

Ryan dropped his own C-note onto the stack. “Six months from now when I slip a wedding ring on Clea’s finger, I’ll be back to collect that.”

A chill chased its way down Clea’s spine. She spun around, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched. Clenching and unclenching the strap of her evening bag, she glanced at the faces of the people around her. Normal faces. Just people in a crowd. And not one of them seemed to be the least bit interested in her.

It’s just nerves, Clea told herself. No doubt brought on by working too many hours and not getting enough sleep. In fact, she should be at home now, making it an early night—not standing on a Chicago street comer in a crush of people waiting for the theater doors to open. She should never have agreed to accompany the Donatellis on this dinner-and-theater outing. Especially not after receiving that last phone call.

Clea shuddered, recalling that eerie whispered voice at the other end of the phone line a short while ago.

“You looked so beautiful today. I liked that red dress you were wearing. I wish I could see you right now. I need to see you. I want to be with you tonight. I want to—”