Metsy Hingle - The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid

“But you did take it,” Ryan pointed out.

Michael scowled at him. “When’s the last time you came up against Aunt Maggie and won?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “Besides, what chance did I have when you sat there agreeing with everything she said?”

“I happened to think she was right. Clea needs protection.” At his brother’s snort, Ryan said, “Come on, Mike. You heard Aunt Maggie. This has been going on for a couple of months, and the cops haven’t gotten anywhere. That’s why she wanted to hire us, and it’s the reason you let her bamboozle you into accepting the job. And since you did accept the job, someone needs to keep an eye on Clea. I’m volunteering.”

“Seems to me you’ve been keeping your eye on Clea for quite some time.” Michael pitched down his pen and eyed Ryan closely. “Hell, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she was the reason you decided to leave the LAPD and move back here to join Sean and me at the agency.”

It was pretty close to the truth, Ryan admitted silently. Clea had played a role in his decision to come home. But as the youngest of four boys, he’d learned a long time ago not to give his brothers that kind of ammo. They’d rag him to no end if he did. “My reasons for coming home aren’t the point here. Clea’s safety is. I’m offering to do the job and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“The ‘job’ would be a lot easier if we could tell Clea we were going to keep her under surveillance.”

“I agree. But since she balked at the idea when Aunt Maggie suggested it, we can’t. I’ll just have to protect her without her knowing it.” And while he was keeping her safe, who knew what would happen? A smile tickled his lips as he remembered meeting her for the first time six months ago. He had stopped in at the travel agency to visit his aunt and uncle. While he had waited, he’d been admiring the rear view of the feminine curves and legs of the woman whose back was to him.

Then she’d turned around. And wham! It hit him—that quick-fire flash of awareness. One look into those cat-green eyes, and he’d been a goner. Sure, there was lust. A man couldn’t look at Clea and not want her. But it was more. There was something endearing about the swift way she moved around the office, the way she dealt with the young mother trying to stretch her travel dollars for a visit home. It touched something inside him.

He hadn’t expected it, and certainly hadn’t thought it would happen with her. He’d heard all about the efficient Clea. Ambitious corporate women held no appeal for him. He liked his women soft, fragile—the Suzy-Homemaker types who would be happy being a wife and producing a team of little leaguers. No way had he imagined falling for a career woman. And he certainly hadn’t imagined that the woman he did fall for would take so much convincing that he was the right man for her.

“—besides, you’ve only been with the agency a few weeks. Hardly enough time to get your feet wet in this business.”

Ryan jerked his attention back to Michael and realized he had missed half of what his brother had said to him. “Sorry. What was that you were saying?”

“I said tailing someone who knows you can be a tricky business. Both Sean and I have had more experience at it. It might be better if one of us handled this.”

“No way.”

“Ryan—”

He shot to his feet. Flattening his palms on the desk, he leaned in, bringing his face within inches of his brother’s. “I’d say twelve years on the police force with eight of those years working under cover in vice and homicide gives me a lot of experience. So don’t pull that garbage about you and Sean being older and more experienced. I’m telling you I want this case.”

“What case?” Sean asked, breezing into the room and looking as though he had just tumbled out of bed. Some female’s bed no doubt, Ryan decided, given the sleep-hungry, but sated expression on his brother’s face. Making himself at home on the edge of Michael’s desk, Sean drank deep and long from the steaming cup he held in his hands.

“Clea Mason’s case,” Michael replied.

Sean glanced up from his cup, his eyes sharp with interest. “Clea The Dish is a client?”

“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.