Jane M. Choate - High-Risk Investigation

He gave her kudos for a quick recovery. A lot of people would have gone into hysterics after what she’d barely escaped. “I get that.”

“Thank you.” The words weren’t fancy, but he heard the sincerity behind them. “Thank you for showing up when you did.”

Scout looked about, visibly shuddering when her gaze landed on the scaffolding, now scattered like giant pickup sticks over the ground.

Nicco took her arm and tucked her against him, her softer build fitting into the harder planes of his own. “Let’s get out of here.” They’d come back for her car when she was no longer suffering from shock.

“You don’t have to ask twice.”

He steered her to his truck. Halfway there, she shrugged off the supporting arm he’d kept around her and marched forward, as though keeping moving was the secret to maintaining control.

He gave her a boost into the truck. “You’re no bigger than a minute.”

“You know the saying. ‘Good things come in small packages.’”

“I know of a little place not far from here. I don’t know if you’re hungry, but rescuing damsels in distress tends to make me work up an appetite.”

She grinned. “I’m hungry enough to forgive that ‘damsel in distress’ remark, so you’re on.”

He shut the door and rounded the truck. After getting in and buckling his seat belt, he turned to her. “Ordinarily, I’d canvass the area, see if anybody saw anything. But this was a setup through and through. I don’t think we’re going to learn anything. Not here. Not now.”

She gave another shiver. “Frankly, the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“You got it.”

* * *

The restaurant, barely more than an abbreviated alley in size, was packed. Diners crowded at the counter. Nicco apparently knew the owner, for a large man in an apron that might once have been white greeted them with a smile and a “Hiya, Nicco.”

“Same to you, Phil. You got room for us?”

“For you, Nicco, anything.”

He showed them to a booth. The red vinyl seats and gray Formica counter appeared to be circa 1960s.

Scout didn’t have to think about what she wanted. “A double cheeseburger. Extra-large fries. Chocolate shake. And three chocolate chip cookies.”

“And a heart-attack chaser on the side,” Nicco added with a wry smile.

“You have a problem with my order?”

“No problem. I’m just wondering how someone your size puts away all that food.” His eyebrow hiked. “Or maybe it’s just for show.”

She made a face at him. “Give me twenty minutes and then be prepared to eat your words.”

A fresh-faced waitress, who must have been all of seventeen, showed up to take their order. She never took her eyes from Nicco.

He gave their order to the girl, who giggled and batted her eyelashes at him.

When she left, Scout lifted a brow. “The famous Santonni charm. It’s an education to see it in action.” She was talking too much. Too fast. A cover for the nerves that skimmed just below the surface.

The banter felt good, a reminder that she was alive. If not for Nicco Santonni, things could have turned out differently.

She owed him. Again. “You’ve saved my life. Twice.”

Nicco didn’t say anything, only waited.

The pieces clicked into place. Scout had confided in her best friend Olivia Hammond Santonni about the threatening letters she’d been receiving. Olivia had hired Nicco, her brother-in-law, to protect Scout. It wasn’t a coincidence that Nicco had been at the right place at the right time both last night and today.

“Olivia.” There was both affection and resignation in the four syllables. Olivia was a great friend, but she fretted over Scout like a mother hen over her chicks.

Nicco nodded. “Got it in one. She’s worried about you.”

“Look, I appreciate what you’ve done, but I can take care of myself. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“No?”

“No.” She let the single word stand. “Consider yourself fired.”

“You didn’t hire me, so you can’t fire me.” His maddening logic stymied her. “Olivia would have my hide if something happened to you. According to her, you’ve been receiving some pretty nasty letters.”

At mention of the letters, bands of cold wrapped around Scout’s chest, making her wonder if she were having a heart attack. Of course, she wasn’t. If she was struggling to catch her breath, well, that was only natural under the circumstances.

A shiver danced down her arms, a delayed reaction to the near-death experience. Breathe. The silent reminder had her inhaling quietly, letting the air out slowly. Her mouth had gone so dry at the idea that someone had made a second attempt on her life in less than twenty-four hours that she couldn’t even work up enough spit to swallow.

Nicco pushed a glass of water her way. “Drink.”

She picked up the glass, held it with trembling hands, brought it to her mouth. A long sip allowed her to wet her lips.

Bars of sunlight slanted through ancient blinds. She basked in the warmth and felt some of the chill leave her.

He was talking, and she worked to listen to the low rumble of his voice. “You said a tip brought you to the docks?”

Knowing where this was going, she nodded reluctantly.

“Anonymous?”

“Yeah.”

He raised his brow, whether at her stupidity for following what was obviously a bogus tip or at her one-word answer, she didn’t know.

Another chill shivered through her as she accepted what might have happened if not for Nicco. She hoped he didn’t notice anything amiss. He’d probably never known a moment of panic in his life. He had a reassuring way about him, his calm, measured tones like the practiced strides of the soldier Olivia had told her he’d been. His presence made her feel safe, and she could really use a feeling of safety right about now.

Honesty forced her to admit that it wasn’t only the attempt on her life that had sent a rush of sensation skittering along her nerves. A tiny thrill had whispered through her when Nicco Santonni pulled her from harm’s way. It reminded her of the energy-charged air before a lightning storm struck.

She wanted to believe that the feelings were due to the heightened emotion of the moment, but that was a lie.

“I was following you.” His words confirmed her earlier suspicions. He studied her. “You’re not as cool as you’re pretending. Even hotshot reporters are allowed to have a moment after almost being crushed by a couple of tons of steel and wood.”

Unwilling to pursue the subject of her reaction to the scaffolding nearly killing her, she turned the tables on him. She made no secret of her scrutiny of him, her gaze shrewd and assessing. Last night, he’d been debonairly handsome in a tux.

Today, with cords of well-toned muscle showing to advantage in a gray T-shirt and black jeans, he was even more devastating.

Though not movie-star handsome, he possessed something more basic: raw power. A combination of roughly drawn features, muscular shoulders and a long, lean build imbued him with a presence that made him hard—make that impossible—to forget.

She tore her gaze away from his chest and lifted it to meet his. He scraped a hand over his cheek, drawing her attention to the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw.

He wasn’t as tall or as big as his brother Sal, but there was an inner strength to him, a steely resolve in his eyes. It was that determination that set him apart from other men and put him at the top of the food chain, an apex predator.

Dark eyes were filled with amusement. “You’re staring. What’s the verdict?”

“You left the military but still have a side of hero complex. You’re self-confident but not arrogant. You pride yourself on doing the right thing no matter the cost.”