Protect Me, Love Read online

  She’d inched along the wall till she was next to him. He could hear her gasping breath. He had the urge to reassure her, but he knew he mustn’t. The alertness her fear brought with it could keep her ready to react quickly. Meanwhile he saw the questions in her eyes. He made the silence motion with his finger to his lips again. She mouthed, “What’s going on?” He shook his head in response, to signal that he couldn’t answer her now. He motioned downward then, for her to crouch lower against the wall. “Stay here,” he mouthed, and she nodded.

  Nick moved low and fast along the wall to the next stairway. He held his gun gripped in both hands and pointed upward directly in front of his face. He hesitated a moment, then leapt around the corner into a crouch at the bottom of the stairwell with his gun barrel aimed at what was, thank God, empty space. He maintained the crouch and climbed several steps with his back brushing the stairwell wall and his gun pointed at the fourth-floor landing above. Nothing up there, either. The inside of the building looked secure.

  He moved quickly back down to the third floor and along the wall to Delia’s door. Her eyes were even wider now and focused on his gun as if stuck there. Her mouth had dropped open. He already had his free hand in his jeans pocket, clutching the three front door keys on a ring that she’d given him last night. He pulled out the keys and turned one in the main lock, a second in the backup lock, then a third in the police lock. He motioned for her to stay where she was till he went inside. His guess was the intruder hadn’t gotten in here, but it would be best to double-check before bringing Delia along. Nick made a circuit of the living room, bedroom and bath with his firearm preceding him into each space. All was clear.

  He went back to the apartment door.

  “You can come in now,” he said.

  She scurried through the doorway. He took one last visual sweep up and down the hall. The bundled evergreen was still propped in the corner at the top of the stairway from the second floor. He’d go back and get it later, after he made certain Delia was okay. He shut the apartment door.

  “Be sure to triple-lock it,” she said.

  He could hear the tremor in her voice. She’d been truly frightened. Once again, he was glad she could let herself show her fear. False bravado had gotten more than one person killed in his experience. He snapped the locks shut and checked that they were secure.

  “All set,” he said in his most reassuring tone, “and the apartment is all clear.”

  She was standing in the middle of the living room floor with her coat and gloves still on. Dampness filmed her forehead. Old, steam-heated buildings like this one could be too hot in the winter, especially on the lower floors. Even the hallway had been close to stifling.

  “Let me take your coat,” he said.

  Delia jerked away from his reach. “Tell me what’s going on here first. Was all of that outside for real, or are you just trying to convince me you’re earning your pay?”

  “It was real. Somebody attempted to get into this apartment sometime since we left this morning.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t see any sign of that.”

  “It’s the oldest trick in the book,” he said. “I put a tiny strip of paper in the door just below the latch when we were leaving this morning. When we got back, I could see that the paper had slipped down the crack, as if somebody had been trying the knob and pulling at the door. And there are scrape marks around the keyholes that weren’t there before. I’d say somebody tried to pick your locks. I’d also say it wasn’t a pro.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “A pro would have noticed the slip of paper trick and put it back where he found it. He also wouldn’t have left scratches on the plate, and he’d probably have gotten through that first tumbler lock, maybe the second one, too.”

  “Great!” she said sarcastically. “That’s really reassuring.”

  “He probably wouldn’t have made it through the police lock.” This wasn’t entirely true and depended on what kind of equipment the B and E artist had with him, but she didn’t need to know that just now. “Besides, like I said, it wasn’t a pro.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  She pulled off her gloves and began unbuttoning her coat.

  “Why? Would you expect this Benno guy to hire somebody to come after you?”

  She looked at Nick for a minute then looked away, as if she might be deciding what to tell him. He’d noticed her doing that a few other times when he’d asked her about Benno. Nick strongly suspected there was something she hadn’t told him. He was running up against that wall of client secrets again. He hadn’t expected such resistance from her. She was in the personal security business, after all. She must know that an important key to being effectively protected is full disclosure. What he knew was that direct questioning could push her even further under wraps. He’d bide his time for now and see what surfaced on its own.

  “I don’t know what Clyde is capable of.” She slipped her coat off and tossed it over the chair arm. “It’s hot in here,” she said, maybe to divert the subject, and moved in the direction of the closed windows.

  “Don’t do that!”

  Nick jumped in front of her and grabbed the hand she’d extended to lift the window latch. She’d been in motion when he intercepted her. Her final step put her very close to him, almost flat against his chest, with him still gripping her hand. Her face was tilted upward toward his. Her eyes inquired yet again what was going on here. Suddenly he found himself very aware of her mouth, only inches from his, close enough for him to see how the heat of the room had misted her upper lip. The urge to pull her into his arms came fierce and fast and straight from his groin. Her lips were full and slightly parted, as if she might have felt the same surge of desire. He pulled back from her and dropped her hand like it was a hot coal.

  “Stay away from the windows,” he said in a huskier tone than was usual for him, “especially these, since they overlook the front of the building. There’s a clear line of vision into this apartment from the park. It would be best to keep the lights turned off in this part of the room, too.”

  “Can we open the windows?” she asked. “It’s way too hot in here.”

  “Yes, it is.” The temperature had vaulted even higher for him in the last few minutes. “I’ll open them for you.”

  He was glad for the opportunity to stop facing her and move toward the windows. He checked carefully around the blinds. He didn’t see anybody suspicious in the park or the street so he reached through the bars of the window gate to unlock the latch on the casing and ease the bottom half of the window up from the sill. He repeated the same cautious operation with the second window.

  “I’ll check the bedroom windows, too,” he said.

  “What about the blue spruce?”

  “I’ll bring it in as soon as I’ve checked the rest of the windows.”

  “I can probably manage the tree by myself,” she said, and made a move toward the door.

  He stepped in front of her but was careful not to touch her this time.

  “Delia, please,” he said. “Let me do my job.”

  She looked into his eyes for a moment. He was tempted to turn away. Her gaze threatened to get that fierce urge started in his groin again. Then she nodded and he was free to escape into the bedroom, at least for a short while. He heaved a sigh of relief as soon as he was out of her sight. He had to clamp a rein on himself right now. She was a beautiful woman, and it was natural for a man to be turned on by her. He, however, had a bottom line to attend to. That bottom line had nothing to do with nature and everything to do with business. Nick cranked his head back and forth to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. He needed to plant his butt on that bottom line right now and keep it there for the duration.

  As a first step in fulfilling that resolve, he walked to the bedroom window and pulled the cord to raise the blind just enough so he could see the outside sill. There he saw what he was looking for but had hoped he wouldn’t find
. This was the window onto the fire escape. The opening was gated on the inside like the rest but with a release mechanism to allow for quick exit in case of a fire. Nick wasn’t interested in that mechanism at the moment. His attention was riveted on the sill.

  “Delia,” he called loudly enough to be heard in the living room. “Could you come in here, please?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she was at his side almost instantly.

  “What is it?” she asked, sounding anxious again, as she had when they’d first entered the apartment from the hallway.

  “Do you see what I see on the windowsill?”

  Nick pointed toward the glass to show her where to look. She examined the spot he’d indicated.

  “It’s a handprint, isn’t it?” she asked.

  The print was plainly visible in the sun’s reflection off the greased surface.

  “Yes, and it wasn’t there when I checked last night.”

  “That means somebody was on my fire escape since then, maybe even last night while I was sleeping.”

  Nick nodded. “Most likely this morning. The same person who tried the door.” He gestured toward the glass once more. “Is there anything else you notice about the print?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked after examining the sill again.

  “The size of it,” he said. He’d moved around her toward the window so he’d have a clear visual angle on her face. “It’s from a woman’s hand. A small woman. What do you make of that?”

  Delia didn’t reply. She didn’t avoid his gaze, either. She stared back at him with her face such a blank canvas that he had to wonder what she was erasing from his view.

  Chapter Six

  “This guy who’s after you. Is he married?”

  Nick had dragged the tall evergreen into the apartment from the hallway and used his pocketknife to cut the cords that bound the tree. At the moment he was holding it up straight while Delia twisted the screws of the green metal stand into the base of the trunk. She’d kept him busy in the hope that he’d forget the question he’d asked in the bedroom about the handprint on her windowsill. She’d had no answer then. The print definitely couldn’t belong to the man who’d followed her from the office last night. So, whose could it be? What woman would climb three flights up a cold, slippery fire escape to try Delia’s window? Nick had found more evidence—greasy fingerprints on the window itself. The gates probably discouraged whoever it was from breaking the glass. But, why a woman? That was Delia’s question as well as Nick’s. She needed a real answer for herself and a cover story answer for him. He’d just offered her the latter.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m afraid he is.”

  One problem with lies is that it takes a lot of thought and planning to make sure you’re telling the right one. Otherwise you may have to live with the consequences for a very long time. Delia knew this better than most people. Her entire life was a made-up story, and there’d been plenty of consequences to live with because of that.

  “You sound relieved,” Nick said.

  “I suppose I am relieved.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Delia’s position at the base of the tree saved her from having to look him in the face as she continued telling nontruths, half truths and barely truths.

  “It’s always a relief to bring a guilty secret out into the open,” she said.

  “I see.”

  Delia finished turning the screws—first one, then the next, then the last—till they were each equally anchored into the trunk to balance the tree and hold it upright. It occurred to her that she had to maintain the same kind of precarious balance with her life of deception. Otherwise everything could come toppling down. She got up from the floor and brushed off the slacks she’d worn to work today in case she needed to be more ready for action than a skirt allowed. Blue spruce needles clung to the dark wool, especially at the knees and below. She didn’t mind. It was worth a stiff brushing to have the tree here, scenting her little hideaway with reminders of deep, quiet forests in a cleaner, simpler place.

  “Then you do think it’s wrong.”

  “What?”

  Delia was still brushing her pants and musing about the tree. The significance of what he was saying eluded her for the moment.

  “You said this was a guilty secret. That must mean you think you were doing something wrong.”

  She continued to stare at him with what she knew had to be a dumb look on her face. They were getting into a territory in which she had to be careful what she said and even more careful what she lied. She chose to say nothing at all for the moment.

  “Getting involved with a married man…” Nick went on, though she wished he’d drop the subject. He was obviously intent upon prying a response out of her and probably wouldn’t quit till he did. “You know that’s not a right thing to do.”

  She actually agreed with that statement, but something in his tone suddenly shot her back up as straight as the trunk of the tree he was still holding.

  “I believe that issues of right and wrong have to be decided by each person for him- or herself on a case-bycase basis depending on the circumstances.” She knew that sounded like a line from either an ethics textbook or a TV talk show, but she didn’t care.

  “I see.”

  She hated the way he kept saying that.

  “You see what?” she snapped.

  He let go of the tree trunk and pulled his hand out from among the evergreen branches. She’d made him put on gloves while holding the tree so he wouldn’t be scraped by the branches and needles. He pulled the gloves off slowly now and didn’t speak till he’d walked over to his suede jacket, which he’d left on the couch before starting with the tree, and stuffed the gloves into one of the pockets. With every second of this slow, deliberate process on his part, Delia grew more irritated.

  “What I see,” he said finally, turning toward her again, “is that thinking the way you do about right and wrong amounts to changing the rules according to what’s convenient for you at the moment.”

  “I didn’t mean that at all.”

  “What did you mean then?”

  He sounded perfectly calm while she was getting more and more agitated.

  “I meant that what a person decides to do with her life is her personal business, and she shouldn’t have to be preached to by some pompous jerk who thinks he knows all of the answers.”

  She saw the smile beginning on his face and wished she could reach out and rip it off. Where did he get the nerve to smirk at her?

  “I’m not very much in favor of pompous jerks myself,” he said in a suddenly softened tone that was tailor-made to disarm. “Especially when I’m being one myself.”

  The heat of Delia’s anger was ready to explode all over the room, the blue spruce, and Nick Avery in particular. His words threatened to deflate that anger much more gradually and without damage. Delia wasn’t sure she wanted that. A good blowup might be just what the doctor ordered. She could scream and yell, throw something at the wall. She could let out all the tension of these past two days, maybe even the past five years, in one colossal eruption, then worry about the resulting devastation later. That might be preferable to pounding her pillow and sobbing her heart out all by herself. One or the other needed to happen for her, and fairly soon.

  “Let’s start this conversation over again,” he was saying while she decided whether to stick a cork in her temper or let it blow. “Hey, Ms. Barry, this is one really beautiful tree you’ve got here. Sheds a little.” He displayed his needle-encrusted sweater sleeve for her to see. “But then, none of us is perfect.”

  He’d taken on a pointedly jocular tone, and the look in his eyes seemed to be asking her for forgiveness. Delia took a deep breath, held it a moment, then sighed a long exhale. It looked like she might have to find some other outlet for those pent-up emotions of hers, after all.

  “You may have to wait for hanging the tinsel on ‘er, though.” He went on charming Delia out of her tantrum. “
These branches are frozen harder than—”

  “Harder than an angry woman’s heart,” she cut in.

  At another moment they might have laughed together. Feelings had run too high for that this time. He only nodded and smiled as he picked needles from his sweater.

  “I don’t have time for decorating now, anyway,” Delia said, checking her watch. “I have an appointment to keep.”

  “Then I’ll be keeping it with you,” Nick said, back in his bodyguard mode. “Where are we going?”

  “The Lower East Side.”

  “What kind of business could you have down there?” He didn’t sound pleased, probably because she was talking about a pretty rough neighborhood.

  “It’s not business this time. I tutor at a literacy center in the Hester Street Settlement House. I’m down there once a week, sometimes more.”

  “Could you call it off for a week or so, till we get this Clyde Benno thing cleared up?”

  “I can’t do that.” Delia understood his concern, but she couldn’t bring herself to do what he was asking. “These people I work with have had too many disappointments in their lives already. I can’t let them down, especially not at Christmastime.”

  He studied her face for a moment. Then it was his turn to heave a sigh.

  “Okay. The Lower East Side it is,” he said, “but could we try to get there in the daylight?”

  “Sure. We’ll leave right now.” Delia didn’t remind him of how early it gets dark in late December. He’d figure that out for himself soon enough.

  Nick pulled on his jacket. “I don’t want to start another argument, but I do need to clarify something about that handprint on the windowsill.”

  Delia stopped at the bedroom doorway on her way to make a quick change into something more appropriate for Hester Street.

  “What would you like to clarify?”

  “Is it possible that the person you saw following you last night could have been a woman?”