The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid. Metsy HingleЧитать онлайн книгу.
finished for tonight. So, I can take you home. While I’m there, I’ll check out your apartment for you. Make sure your locks and alarm system are up to snuff.”
Clea swallowed. She hadn’t even considered that he could be waiting in her home for her. It had never once crossed her mind. But then, she hadn’t expected him to be here at the theater tonight either.
“Heavens! You’re shaking like a leaf,” Maggie told her. “You’re in no condition to be by yourself tonight. You’re coming home with James and me.”
“Uh, Aunt Maggie. I’ll see that she gets home safely. And she really should file that report with the police.”
“The police will just have to wait. They haven’t done anything so far.” She turned to her husband. “Can you finish up things here with the marketing people from Taylor’s without me?”
“I’ll make our excuses. You take the car, and I’ll take a taxi home.” He kissed his wife. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Ryan, would you mind walking them to the car?”
“Glad to.”
Maggie led her to the parking lot at a brisk pace, but she was conscious of Ryan behind them, speaking to someone on his cellular phone.
“Now when we get home, I’m going to draw you a nice hot bath, and then I want you to—”
“Aunt Maggie,” Ryan cut in, his voice deep and tight. As they reached the car, he took the key from his aunt’s fingers and unlocked the door. “I called the police. They’re sending a unit out to speak to Clea.”
“Then you’ll have to call them back and tell them to come to my house, because that’s where she’ll be.” Maggie ushered Clea into the back seat and climbed in beside her.
Ryan ducked his head inside the car. “You intend to drive from back here?”
She patted Ryan’s cheek as though he were a child. “No, my dear boy, I intend for you to drive us home, and then I want you to come back here to pick up your uncle.”
“I’m a security specialist, not a chauffeur,” Ryan argued, but he slid into the driver’s seat anyway and started the engine.
“You’re also my nephew, Ryan Fitzpatrick. And you might want to remember that at least for the time being, you and your agency are on my payroll.”
Stunned, Clea asked, “Fitzpatrick Security is working for you?”
Maggie made a face. “Yes, but given Ryan’s performance here tonight, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m getting my money’s worth.”
Two
“I don’t need a private investigator or a security specialist, or whatever it is he calls himself,” Clea told his aunt several hours later.
“Either one works for me. Take your pick,” Ryan offered from across the Donatellis’ living room. He earned himself another glare. Clea had gone all stiff and prim the moment she had discovered she was the case he had been working on. And she had been spitting mad ever since.
“You shouldn’t have hired him without consulting me.”
“Someone had to do something,” Maggie countered.
“I was...” She hissed out a breath. “I am doing something. I’m letting the police handle it. You heard the officer. They’re working up a profile on the type of...on the type of person who does this sort of thing.”
This sort of thing. She made it sound so civilized, Ryan thought, observing the exchange between Clea and his aunt. He took another sip of scotch and leaned against the bar. There wasn’t anything remotely civilized about being terrorized by some sicko who got his kicks from frightening women. Every time he thought of how close he had been when that creep had... He bit back an oath and tightened his fingers around the glass. Whatever it took, he intended to make sure the guy never got another chance at Clea.
“And what have the police come up with so far?” Maggie argued, her Irish temper showing. “I’ll tell you what they’ve come up with. Nothing.”
“She does have a point,” James added. “It doesn’t look like Chicago’s finest are getting anywhere fast on this case.”
“And you’re not going to be safe until that madman who attacked you is caught and locked behind bars,” Maggie chimed in. “And the only way that’s going to happen is if you have a professional, someone who knows how to hunt down that kind of vermin.”
“I already have an entire group of professionals looking for him,” Clea pointed out. “They’re called the Chicago Police Department.”
Maggie sighed. “I have the utmost respect for our police officers, but I’m afraid in this case, you just can’t afford to rely on them to find that creature. Things are not the way they used to be when my father and brothers were on the force. Back then, the police would have had that...that cretin in custody right after you received the first letter.
“But things are different now. Now a police officer has to be concerned about things like overtime and budgets, instead of just making sure the streets are safe and the criminals are behind bars. There’s not enough time or money to spend on real police work anymore. Why do you think so many officers are leaving the force? Why I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it’s the reason both Ryan and his brother Connor decided to get out.”
His aunt’s little speech brought Ryan up short, reminding him that his departure from the LAPD two months ago marked the first time in four generations that no Fitzpatrick was serving in law enforcement somewhere. Of course, there was always the chance that wherever Connor was, he’d gone back to being a cop. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine his oldest brother doing anything else. But then, he’d never been able to imagine his father and brother nearly coming to blows five years ago, or the angry silence that had followed since Connor had packed up his things and left town.
“Maggie, I understand everything you’re saying, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, I’ve made up my mind on this. It’s bad enough I have to deal with the police poking their noses into my personal life. I refuse to have someone else snooping around in my affairs and watching my every move.”
At the sharpness in Clea’s tone, Ryan brought his wandering thoughts back to the present. The look she leveled at him probably made most men shiver, he decided. Fortunately, he didn’t have an aversion to cold—not when he knew there was heat banked just below the surface of that frosty disdain of hers. And he intended to sample that heat again, he promised himself.
Clea picked up her coffee cup, then set it down again untouched. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Fitzpatrick. But I won’t be needing your services after all.”
So, they were back to Mr. Fitzpatrick. “No need to apologize, Duchess. I’m being compensated for my time.” Pushing away from the bar, Ryan ambled over to the couch where Clea sat looking cool and regal in her ivory cocktail dress and pearls. He could still spot the nerves she was trying so hard to hide. She was scared down to her pretty little toes, and just didn’t want to admit it.
He snagged an oatmeal cookie from the tray in front of her and devoured it in two bites. Taking his time, he skimmed his gaze over her face, down her body and back up again. “Besides,” he said, reaching for another cookie. “The fringe benefits have certainly been worth it.”
Her eyes snapped with green fire, anger overriding the fear, just as he had hoped it would. Suppressing a grin, he held up another cookie and said, “Great cookies.”
“Thank you, dear,” Aunt Maggie said from behind him.
He nodded, but held Clea’s gaze. “So, you want me to follow you home, or are you going to stay here tonight?”
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Your assignment where I’m concerned is over.”
“Oh,