CHAPTER 2
Libby gasped, stifling another scream and jerking away in fear from the hands that touched her. She whirled around and stared up at the man who had been following her for the past few days. The terror in her eyes quickly died, replaced with a seething, uncontrollable anger.
“You!” She glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. “Did you and Bill have something to do with this?” She gestured wildly at the shop. “Is this some sort of scam to prove that I can’t survive on my own? Well, it won’t work. You can just go back and tell Bill that his little scheme is stupid. Nothing and nobody can make me go back to him.”
Without saying a word, the man walked over to the shop and opened the door. His brow wrinkled and his jaw muscles tightened as with one quick glance he assessed the situation. “I would suggest a call to the police would be in order.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” she snapped sarcastically, her shoulders sagging as her anger vanished, usurped by an overwhelming sense of despair. She blinked rapidly to dispel the hot tears that were once again threatening to fall.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, this time not firmly but softly, as if in sympathy. “Is there a phone in your shop?” His voice was a pleasant, low-pitched rumble.
She nodded, biting her bottom lip and allowing him to lead her back into the shop. Once inside, she stood in the center of the rubble, vaguely aware that the man was talking on the telephone.
As he murmured softly into the receiver, giving all the pertinent information, Libby looked around, assessing the damage. She moved to straighten a lamp shade on a brass lamp, then picked up a wooden chair that was lying on its side.
“You really shouldn’t touch anything until the police arrive.”
She turned at the sound of his deep voice, realizing he had hung up the phone and now stood looking at her.
“Why don’t you look around and see if you can discover if anything has been stolen,” he suggested.
She nodded, relieved to be able to do something—anything. Her fingers itched with the need to straighten and clean, but she realized that his advice about not touching anything until the police arrived was sensible.
She walked around the small confines of the shop, her gaze darting from place to place. She was slightly perturbed by the fact that she was drawn again and again to the handsome man who was now casually leaning against the inner-office door, his eyes darkly inscrutable.
She couldn’t help but notice that he was a magnificent specimen of masculinity. The night before, she had only gotten a view of him from the neck up. Now she was unsurprised and somehow pleased to discover that his body perfectly suited his head. He was sleekly toned, dangerously fit, and clad in a shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and slender waistline. His blue jeans were tight, hugging and molding his lean hips and muscular legs. He did not have the physique of a man who worked out with weights, but was lean and wiry, possessing the physical attributes one usually ascribed to a swimmer or a runner.
There was little physical evidence that he had spent the entire night in the cramped confines of a car. His shirt was slightly rumpled and his lower face had a dark shadow that attested to a morning without shaving. Other than that, he looked as fresh and vital as if he’d spent the night in his own comfortable bed.
She pulled her gaze away with an audible sigh of irritation. What the hell was she doing, admiring the physical attributes of a virtual stranger while her livelihood lay in shambles around her?
“Anything missing?”
She shook her head slowly. “Nothing that I can tell right offhand.” She sat down on the wooden chair she had righted moments before, once again looking at him. “I’m sorry…about what I said earlier. I was upset. I know Bill had nothing to do with this. Even he wouldn’t stoop this low.”
He merely nodded, his expression unreadable.
“I’m sure you know my name…but I…uh…don’t know yours.” She stifled a nervous giggle. God, her shop had been broken into, ransacked and vandalized, and she was sitting here, casually asking the name of a man who had been hired to follow her every move for the past three days. Could things get any more ludicrous?
He smiled, flashing beautiful, white teeth. “I’m Tony Pandolinni.”
At that moment two patrol cars pulled to a halt outside the shop, their sirens whooping the news that something was amiss.
* * *
The next two hours passed quickly as the officers surveyed the damage, discovered where a crowbar had been used to break the lock of the back door and asked questions, questions and more questions.
Libby was totally wrung out by the endless interrogation of the police officers. No, there had been no guns kept on the premises. It was a personal managerial position to never accept firearms. No, she hadn’t been aware of any recent customers who had been angry or upset enough to commit this senseless vandalism.
The officers, with Libby’s help, discovered that the only thing that appeared to be missing was Libby’s daily ledger, a diary of sorts with each day’s transactions written up in detail. The stereos, VCR equipment, televisions—even the cash in the register—remained intact and untouched.
The officers dutifully wrote everything down in small black notebooks, then left, but not before voicing their own personal opinions that the break-in had probably been committed by kids out for an evening of destruction.
After the police left, Libby immediately began straightening the clutter, wondering if the shop would ever be the same.
“Maybe you should just leave this mess for today. Go home and relax,” Tony suggested.
She jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice, having forgotten his presence in the store. She shook her head. “I could never rest knowing this mess was here.”
He nodded as if in understanding, and to her surprise he picked up a broom that had been standing in a corner. He began sweeping up the slivers of broken glass that glistened in the sunlight pouring through the large front window of the shop.
“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.
“I know, I want to.” He flashed her that devastating grin, then resumed his sweeping.
Libby watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged and went back to work. At her request, Tony kept the sightseers out of the shop, allowing in only the regular customers whom Libby first okayed.
It was almost another two hours later when Libby sat down tiredly on a chair and looked around her, grateful to see that the shop had been put back into some semblance of order. She sighed, then jerked upward in the chair as a loud banging noise came from the back rooms. Noting that Tony had disappeared, she followed the sound to discover him boarding up the back door.
She watched him silently for a moment, almost able to see the taut muscles of his back flexing and working through the fabric of his shirt as he applied hammer to nails. He finished driving in the last nail, then turned to her and smiled. “Hope you don’t mind. I found the hammer and nails back here and thought I’d put them to good use. This should hold until a new door can be properly installed.”
She nodded her thanks, then walked back to the front of the store, where she flopped tiredly into a chair and pushed her damp, blond hair away from her face with the back of her hand.
He sat down on a chair across the room and looked around. “I’d say we did a good day’s work, Libby Weatherby.”
“And I thank you for all your help,” she said simply.
He nodded, then stood up and walked over to stand before her. He knelt in front of her and pulled a pristine handkerchief from his back pocket. In a quick, gentle motion he wiped the cloth across her forehead.
“What…what was that for?” she asked, jerking back from his momentary contact.
He smiled, making her notice the fine webbing of wrinkles that radiated out from his dark eyes. “I never take a woman to lunch who has dirt streaked across her forehead.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to have lunch with you?” she asked peevishly, suddenly very hot and tired.
“It’s after noon. I’m hungry and I imagine you are, too. You’ve had a harrowing day. Surely you can close up shop early after such an experience.”
She started to protest, irritated at his presumption that she would have lunch with him. Still, he was right. She was rather hungry and she really wasn’t in the mood to keep the store open for the rest of the afternoon. She was exhausted and bewildered, and at the moment nothing sounded more appealing than a restaurant meal before going home to a warm shower and a long nap.
“I am hungry,” she admitted aloud.
“There’s a little café on the next block. It’s supposed to have great food. Olive’s—have you ever eaten there?”
“Many times. I often go there for lunch.” Decision made, Libby stood up and grabbed her purse. “Okay,” she agreed.
At the door of the shop she paused, her gaze lingering on the contents, basically back in order, but not quite the same as before.
“Anything wrong?” he asked, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
She shook her head slowly, then pulled the door closed and carefully locked it. How could she explain to him that somehow the shop now seemed tainted, blemished? A stranger, or several strangers, had wandered around, touching things, breaking things, effectively destroying the peace she’d always felt while in the store.
They walked in silence toward the café, and Libby’s thoughts turned to the man beside her. What kind of person was he? How could he make his living by following people, spying on people? She’d always thought those kind of paid voyeurs were sleazy, but Tony Pandolinni didn’t appear to be a sleaze bag. He was not only attractive to a fault, he’d also been kind enough to help her with the cleanup.
Maybe over lunch she could ask him to appeal to Bill, to get him to stop this senseless, constant surveillance. If that could be accomplished from this mess, then maybe it would all be worthwhile. It would be nice to be able to call her life her own again, to no longer feel the presence of someone constantly watching her, following her.
They entered Olive’s Café and sat down at a booth toward the back of the small restaurant.
“Hi, Libby.” Olive waddled to their booth, barely able to fit her massive bulk between the tables. “I hear there was some excitement over at your place this morning.”
“Hmm, a break-in and a big mess, but nothing of value was stolen,” Libby replied, noticing the way Olive looked at Tony hungrily, as if he were a thick, juicy red steak.
“What can I get for you folks today?” Olive’s gaze never wavered from Tony, and to Libby’s utter disgust, Tony actually winked at the big woman.
“I’d like a hamburger, fries and a glass of ice tea.” Libby snapped her menu shut, already regretting the impulse that had led her to agree to have lunch with the virtual stranger across from her. Her day had been horrendous enough, and the last thing she needed was to spend time with a mini-Magnum who’d probably skated through life on the magnetic attraction of his high cheekbones and dimpled chin.
“And what about you?” Olive grinned broadly at Tony, then leaned toward him with a conspiratorial whisper. “I have it on good authority that the spaghetti sauce is exceptional today.”
“Homemade?” Tony raised a dark eyebrow.
“By these very own hands,” Olive said with an uncharacteristic girlish giggle.
“That’s good enough for me.” Tony grinned at her, handing her his menu, his body leaned toward her attentively.
“And for you, I put a couple of extra meatballs on the plate.”
“Ah, you’re a real charmer.” Tony gave the broad woman the benefit of his hundred-watt smile.
Libby watched this byplay with disgust, unable to believe that even a hardened, world-wise woman like Olive could be affected by male physical attractiveness. “I’ve been eating in this restaurant almost every day for the past several months, and never has Olive offered to put something extra on my plate,” she commented, picking up her paper napkin and positioning it on her lap.
Tony shrugged and looked at her innocently. “Perhaps you just don’t know how to order properly.”
“Or flirt outrageously,” Libby muttered beneath her breath.
For a moment he merely stared at her; then he grinned slowly. “Ah, is it possible the beautiful flower perhaps has thorns?” He reached across the table and lightly touched one of her hands.
“It is very possible, and it’s dangerous to get too close to a thorny flower. You’re liable to get stuck.” She withdrew her hand and moved it out of his reach, irritated by the sudden infusion of warmth that had coursed through her at his light touch.
“There are some men who thrive on danger.” He grinned easily, seemingly unaffected by her withdrawal from him. “Is that why you and your husband divorced? Because you’re full of thorns?”
“Is that why you decided to become a private investigator? Because you thrive on danger?” Libby countered coolly.
Once again Tony’s gaze was thoughtful as another small grin played on his lips, making his mustache twitch beguilingly. “Very good—when the conversation gets too personal, it’s always a good tactic to counter with a question.” He shrugged in good-natured defeat. “Okay, we’ll talk about me. I’m thirty-six years old. I was a police officer for eleven years. I was a damn good cop, but I decided I was ready to go into business for myself. I’ve been a private investigator for almost a year now.”
“Business must be pretty bad if you have to take cases like Bill’s,” Libby exclaimed with a touch of sourness, not forgetting for a moment that this man had been shadowing her life for the past three days.
Tony shrugged. “Actually, I usually don’t take these kind of cases…but to be perfectly honest, this particular surveillance case intrigued me.”
“Intrigued you?” Libby gave a short burst of unbelieving laughter. “What could you possibly find intriguing about Bill and me?”
“Oh, it wasn’t so much Bill. He just appeared to me to be a lovesick, obsessed ex-husband. What intrigued me the most was that he told me he’d hired two prior detectives and you’d caught on to all of them within hours.”
Libby nodded, wry humor lifting her features as she thought of the previous P.I.s’ ineptitude. “I’ll admit, you were much better than the others. You’ve been following me for three days. All the others lasted only a single day.”
His dark eyes glinted with suppressed amusement, and a small smile touched his lips. “Actually, I’ve been following you for six days.” He laughed at her expression of shock, his laughter deep and pleasant. “You’re good, but I’m better.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said flatly, looking at him skeptically. Her mind whirled back over the past six days. Surely she would have known if somebody had been following her for almost an entire week. “I…I would have sensed you…I would have known…”
He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small black notebook. Thumbing through the pages, he came to a halt and began reading aloud. “Wednesday evening, subject stopped for groceries on way home from work, then proceeded directly to her apartment. Subject went to bed at ten o’clock.” He looked up from the notebook, the teasing laughter back in his eyes. “Oh, by the way, I find that little blue thing you wear to bed quite attractive.”
She opened and closed her mouth several times, sputtering in total outrage. For a moment her indignation was so great, words wouldn’t come, and so she settled for glaring at him. “That is absolutely despicable,” she finally managed to sputter, grabbing her purse, intent on leaving. She was stymied by Olive, whose massive bulk appeared at their table with their orders, effectively blocking Libby’s desired escape.
Once the big woman had departed from their table, Libby glared at him once again. “I think you’re rude and obnoxious, and I think the job you perform is equally odious.” She fumed silently for a moment, then turned her attention to the hamburger before her, wanting only to eat, then go home and leave behind this man who’d invaded her privacy so completely. Imagine… he’d actually seen her in her teddy. Her face shook as she guided a hot French fry toward her mouth.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Tony offered, but Libby didn’t think he sounded the least bit sorry. In fact, he sounded quite amused, and this only served to infuriate her further.
She retreated into a silence that grew as both of them concentrated on their lunch.
“A pawnshop is rather an unusual business for a young woman, isn’t it?” He broke the uncomfortable silence.
“What’s wrong with a woman being a pawnbroker?” she asked defensively.
“Nothing. I just said it was unusual. Are you always so touchy?”
“Only with snakes who’ve been spying on me,” she snapped, refusing to look at him.
“Libby.” His voice softly cajoled.
She looked up to see him waving his white napkin, which he’d stuck on the prongs of his fork. “Can’t we call a truce, at least for the remainder of the meal? Hostility always gives me indigestion.”
In spite of her anger, Libby felt herself soften a touch. He looked so ridiculous, waving the makeshift flag in front of his handsome face. “All right, a truce. But just for the remainder of the meal.” She smiled slowly. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s discomfort due to indigestion.”
“Good. Now tell me how you came to be in the pawnshop business.” He replaced the napkin in his lap and smiled at her expectantly.
“I practically grew up in the pawnshop. It never entered my mind to do anything else.” Her features softened and a smile touched her lips, her earlier anger tempered by thoughts of Vinnie. “My father always told me I was brought into the pawnshop by an angel who pawned me in exchange for a harp of gold.” She laughed softly. “For the longest time I couldn’t figure it out because I always thought gold harps were standard equipment that every angel received upon entering heaven. You know, every angel got wings, a white robe and a harp of gold.”
“Your father sounds like a very special man,” Tony observed.
“Oh, he is. My mother died when I was very young. My father raised me. He’s a tough old cougar, very strong and independent.”
“And I have a feeling his daughter has an independent streak in her, as well,” Tony said, efficiently twirling a bite of spaghetti neatly onto his fork and popping it into his mouth.
“Something my ex-husband couldn’t accept,” Libby explained. Then, realizing she had provided herself with the opening she’d been looking for, she continued. “Speaking of Bill, I’d like you to do me a favor. When you report back to him or whatever it is you private eyes do, please tell him to stop this harassment of my life. Tell him to stop spying on me.”
“He doesn’t think of it as spying. From what he told me, he thinks of it more like a guardian angel service he’s providing for you. He’s concerned about the neighborhood where you live, the kind of work you do.”
“But that’s ridiculous. I don’t need a guardian angel,” Libby scoffed. “All I want is to be left alone to get on with my life.” She pushed away her half-eaten hamburger.
“He still loves you,” Tony said, as if to explain Bill’s actions to her.
“He doesn’t love me—he thinks he does, but he doesn’t. He just doesn’t like to lose. He’s sure that I left him for another man, and he won’t be satisfied until he’s proved the fact. That absolves him from failure. Then the breakup isn’t his fault, it’s the ‘other man’s.’” She closed her mouth, realizing she’d said far too much.
They finished the meal in silence as Libby withdrew into herself, mentally contemplating the problems the vandalized shop held for her. She would have to contact her insurance company about the dishes and vases that had been destroyed. She cringed inwardly at this thought. She’d already paid an exorbitant price for insurance. Another rise in the premiums would really crimp her budget.
Still, that thought didn’t begin to depress her as much as the task of telling some of her customers that their items had been destroyed. Her customers had entrusted their valuables to her, believing she would hold those items safely until a time when they could come back and claim them. She had betrayed their trust, and it was this knowledge that pained her more than anything.
“Are you all right?” Tony’s eyes gazed at her sympathetically, making her aware of how sensitive he seemed to be to her moods.
She nodded. “I was just thinking about the mess at the shop—all the things that were broken. Monetarily speaking, none of the things were worth much, but to my customers many of the items were invaluable.”
“You can’t blame yourself for the break-in,” Tony said, pushing away his now-empty plate and shaking a cigarette out of the pack.
“Yes, but I should have had some sort of security system installed…or something—” She broke off helplessly.
“You’re the victim, remember? Don’t make the mistake of blaming yourself. If you want to lay blame, do it at the doorstep of the person who broke into your shop, but don’t blame yourself.” His voice rang with an authority and conviction she couldn’t ignore, and she nodded at him gratefully.
“Ready?” he asked, standing up as he lit his cigarette.
“Ready,” she agreed, also rising. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Lunch is on me,” she said firmly as they approached the cashier.
“Oh, no. I invited you to lunch,” Tony protested.
“Please, I want to do this. After all the help you gave me in cleaning up the shop, I feel like I owe you,” she said earnestly.
“And I’ll just bet you always make sure you aren’t obligated to anyone for anything,” he observed, a touch of amusement making his mustache twitch once again. “Okay.” He relented after a moment. “Lunch is on you. Are you going back to the shop?”
She shook her head. The morning events had been too unsettling. “No, I think I’ll just go home and make some phone calls to the insurance people.” She looked at him curiously. “So, what are you going to do now that your cover has been blown and you won’t be following me anymore?” she asked as they left the restaurant.
“The first thing I intend to do is sleep for about twenty-four hours.” He smiled and for the first time she noticed that he looked tired. “Then I’ll wait for the next case to come up.”
“Will you have to wait long?”
He shrugged. “As long as it takes. In the meantime, I have several ongoing jobs with large companies as a sort of unofficial security consultant. I come in periodically and check out their security systems, evaluate their effectiveness and make suggestions as to how the systems can be improved.” They stopped walking as they arrived at Libby’s car. “I’ll follow you home,” Tony said.
“That really isn’t necessary,” she protested stiffly, some of her earlier resentment coming back.
“But I insist. I always see my subjects home.” He opened her car door, allowing her to slide in behind the steering wheel. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” Libby muttered as he slammed her car door. She started the engine and took off, laughing aloud when she caught sight of Tony’s surprised expression as he realized she wasn’t waiting around for him. She turned the steering wheel, pulling into the traffic and ignoring the honk of the irate driver she’d cut off as she’d pulled out.
There was no rhyme or reason to her actions—he knew where she was going, he knew where she lived. But this little game of beating him there made her feel exceedingly good. She wanted no more investigations of her life. She simply wanted to be left alone.
She drove as fast as traffic would allow, determined to be inside her apartment before he could catch up to her. She’d be satisfied if she never saw a private eye for the remainder of her life.
She whirled the steering wheel, rounding the corner that led to her apartment and braking with a squeal of astonishment. There, in her parking space, was the tan Buick. Even from where she sat, she could see the wide grin of amusement that lit Tony’s face.
She muttered an oath of irritation and pulled her car to the curb. The man was living up to the title of guardian angel, for the only way he could have beaten her here was to have flown.
“I told you…you’re good, but I’m better.”
She looked up to see him standing beside her car, a lazy smile on his arrogant face.
“I don’t find you amusing,” she retorted, making him jump aside as she threw open her car door.
“Oh, and I was trying so hard,” he said lightly, then added in a more serious tone. “I told you, I always see my subjects safely home.”
“But you’ve forgotten. I’m no longer your subject.” Libby walked toward the building, her anger making her steps short and jerky.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He fell into step beside her. “You’re my responsibility until I report back to Bill.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous.” She turned away from him without waiting for a reply. Ignoring him, she forgot the elevator and stomped up the four flights of stairs that led to her apartment. She fumbled with her keys, flushing as they skittered to the floor. She fumed inwardly as he picked them up and put the correct key in the lock, unlatching the door and swinging it open.
He bowed gallantly. “Now my job is officially done. The lady is safely home.”
“Good riddance,” Libby exclaimed, stepping into her apartment. She stifled an outcry as she viewed the chaos that greeted her. “What’s going on?” she cried, unable to comprehend the shambles in her apartment.
“What?” Tony stepped in, took one look at the mess, then quickly shoved her behind him.
Libby opened her mouth to complain of his rude treatment, then gasped as she realized a gun had somehow materialized in his hand.
“Stay behind me,” he commanded in a whisper, taking another step into the ransacked apartment. “Whoever did this may still be in here.”
Stay behind him? If Libby had the ability, she would have instantly become melded to his backside. “Tony…that’s a gun,” she squeaked inanely, her body pressed tightly against his back.
“Shh,” he hissed, taking another awkward step forward, shadowed by Libby’s leg, which moved as if joined to his.
They moved like this throughout the apartment, checking every corner, every closet. As they crept past the dresser mirror in the bedroom, she had an irresistible urge to giggle. They looked like an old-time vaudeville act in a bizarre dance without music. It was the look on Tony’s face that kept her giggle trapped deep within her. Gone was the easy, lazy amusement she’d come to identify with him. His facial features were now tensed with the cold, calculated look of a man accustomed to coping with dangerous situations. His eyes were dark orbs, glittering with detail-consuming observation.
“It’s okay, there’s nobody here,” he said, lowering the gun that had been leading their way around the small apartment.
“Are you sure?” she whispered, still clinging to his back like a baby koala bear to its mother.
“I’m positive,” he answered, then grinned. “Besides, I’m beginning to enjoy this a little too much.”
Libby blushed hotly and quickly stepped back from him, suddenly aware of how her full breasts had pushed insistently into his firmly muscled back.
A violent trembling seized her body as she looked at the ruins surrounding her. She wandered around, touching an item here and there, moaning as she saw her cherished possessions broken, torn apart, destroyed. The entire apartment had been thoroughly gone over, nothing left untouched. She turned tortured eyes to Tony. “Why?” she breathed softly. “What in the hell is going on?”
He shrugged, having no answers. Unable to control her spasmodic trembling, she stumbled to the sofa, her breaths coming in shallow, quick gasps. She was numb, stricken by the fact that she’d been violated not once, but twice in the same day.
She watched dully as Tony wandered around the apartment. She followed his gaze, noting the way the television had been gutted, the chair cushions slashed. In the kitchen, the drawers had been pulled out and emptied onto the floor. The cabinet doors hung open, their interiors showing signs of riffling.
“It looks like somebody was searching for something,” Tony said.
“But what? I don’t have anything of value.” She felt a hysterical giggle bubble to her lips. “Some of the furniture might be valuable to an antique collector, but nothing was taken…at least nothing I can see.”
“Hmm,” Tony murmured thoughtfully. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying a tall glass of cold water. He held it out to her.
She took the glass from him, her throat scratchy and sore from the ache of suppressed tears.
“We need to talk,” he said, his eyes searching her face thoughtfully.
She merely nodded, wondering what there was to talk about. She certainly had no answers for the craziness of the day.
“I think it’s fairly obvious that the break-in at the pawnshop and this one are somehow connected.” He began to pace in front of her. “It seems curious to me that nothing was stolen from the shop. It’s filled with televisions, stereos, VCRs and such, yet the only thing you could find missing was your daily ledger.”
“But the police seemed to think that the thieves must have been interrupted before they could take anything. Or that it was kids and the ledger was taken by mistake or thrown away.”
“I can’t buy either of those explanations, especially now. It’s too much of a coincidence that both your pawnshop and this apartment have been broken into.” He stopped pacing and looked at her once again, his dark gaze so piercing, he seemed to be trying to see into her very soul. “What could they have been looking for?”
“How should I know?” she asked. “I told you before, I don’t have anything of real value. Certainly nothing worth all this trouble.”
“Somebody apparently thinks you do.”
“That’s their problem,” she retorted tiredly.
“For the moment, it seems to be your problem,” he returned. “That pawnshop of yours… You haven’t borrowed any money from anyone lately…you don’t happen to have any high-finance backers or anything like that?”
For a moment she stared at him incredulously. “Are you asking me if I have a connection to organized crime? Don’t be ridiculous.” She eyed him with a sudden misgiving. “How do I know you don’t have something to do with this? My life was very quiet and manageable until you began following me.” Her gaze narrowed suspiciously.
“I guess we’ll just have to trust each other,” he finally said with staid calmness.
“Guess so,” she quietly agreed after a long moment, too tired to sustain her suspicions and realizing Tony’s involvement in this mess made no more sense than her own involvement.
As exhausted as she was, she roused herself from the couch, unable to stand the disorder around her for another moment.
“We should call the police and report this,” Tony said, picking up a Navajo blanket from the floor.
“No. I don’t want them here,” she protested, pointing to where the blanket had been hanging on the wall. “I don’t want anyone else pawing through my things, poking into my life.” She shrugged. “Besides, what could they do? Ask me a million questions, then tell me it was the work of bored kids or dope addicts.” She was aware that her voice sounded as hollow as she felt. She returned to the cleanup work, not even protesting as he began to work alongside her.
“I guess I’m going to owe you another meal,” she said, trying to smile in spite of her chilled fatigue.
He smiled at her, a touch of humor back in his ebony eyes. “I have a feeling that before this is all over, you’re going to owe me a hell of a lot more than just a meal.”