He tucked his tongue in his cheek. „Cerberus would give you a matched set and would get on well with Mephistopheles and Nostradamus.“
To his surprise she laughed. Not a chuckle, but a full, throaty laugh that went all the way up to her eyes. And listening, it was like he’d been slugged in the chest.
Thursday, February 19,
9:00 P.M.
Zoe topped off her wine, her bones finally warm after a soak in the tub. When she hit the big time, she was going someplace warm. To hell with Chicago in the dead of winter.
Dead. Her lips curved. Anthony Ramey was dead and CPD had a vigilante on their hands. And she, Zoe Richardson, had made the scoop.
Mayhew will be furious, she thought gleefully. How very marvelous. Zoe carefully removed the tape from the VCR. This piece was definitely a keeper. She’d neatly printed half the date on the label when she was startled by loud banging on her front door. Eyeing the peephole, she felt the smallest bit alarmed, but quickly dismissed it.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t say a word. She could and would expose him. He was putty in her hands. She opened the door, feigning her surprised doe look. „I wasn’t expecting you. Didn’t you get my message canceling tonight?“
He pushed open the door and closed it hard before grabbing her shoulders even harder. His face was dark and angry, a vein throbbing at his temple. Excitement shivered down to her toes.
„What the hell do you think you’re doing?“ he demanded, shaking her.
She blinked, even as her mouth watered. Who would have guessed he’d had it in him? „What do you mean?“
„This is Zoe Richardson, reporting,“ he mimicked nastily. He shook her again. „What the fucking hell are you doing?“
„You’re hurting me.“ Instantly he released her, but his chest still heaved like a bellows. She met his eyes, all pretense gone. „I am doing my job. I am a reporter. I report the news.“
„Don’t treat me like one of your imbecilic groupies,“ he snarled. „I know you are a reporter. But why follow Mayhew? Do you have any concept of the trouble you’ll cause?“
With a careless shrug she retrieved her wineglass. „That’s not my problem. Would you like some wine? It’s a wonderful Chardonnay.“
He was looking at her as if she’d gone insane. „You don’t care, do you? You don’t care that you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest that could ruin my career.“
She hoped her smile was sincere. „I simply don’t see the connection between your job and mine.“ Of course there was a connection. She was counting on it. She approached him, well aware of the way the silk draped over her skin, scented from her bath. Of the way the silk parted to reveal just enough cleavage to make his eyes drop, flash, and burn. „Don’t pout, darling.“ She lifted herself up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his hard mouth. Felt his shoulders soften, just a little. Felt him harden elsewhere, quite a lot.
Like taking candy from a baby. Men were so wonderfully predictable.
„You knew I was a reporter before you managed to be introduced to me.“ She’d been the one to manage an introduction to him, but letting him believe he was the aggressor was part of the charade. She touched her tongue to the corner of his mouth, felt him shudder. „I reported on Mayhew for months before you met me and will continue to do so after you grow tired of me and go back to your wife.“ She kissed him, the briefest nibble. „So how is she?“
His hand supped under her robe, against the bare skin of her back. „Who?“ he murmured, lowering his head for more.
„Your wife, darling,“ she purred.
„Most likely she’s asleep.“ His other hand toyed with the ties between her breasts. „And once she’s asleep, she doesn’t wake until morning.“
Zoe blindly set the wineglass on the lamp table and reached over his shoulder to flip the deadbolt on her front door. „Excellent“
Chapter Eight
Thursday, February 19,
9:00 p.m.
Adjusting her rearview mirror, Kristen cautiously looked both ways before exiting the parking garage, feeling alone and very vulnerable. Looking over her shoulder, wondering if he was following. And if he wasn’t, where was he, what he was doing? Who was next for his vigilante justice? Her hands gripped the steering wheel and she squinted at the onslaught of headlights coming in her direction. So many people, most engaged in perfectly legal pursuits. But for every twenty who were honest citizens, there was one who was not.
The sum total of that one in twenty was enough to keep her gainfully employed for the rest of her life. She blew out a breath, watched it turn to vapor, then disappear. He was out there, somewhere, hunting for the one in twenty.
And for some reason, he brought the fruit of his labors to her.
Fruit of his labors. „I’m starting to sound like him,“ she murmured. „All pomp and circumstance.“ She bit her lip, glanced up to her rearview mirror once again. With teeth. Their humble servant was pomp and circumstance with very sharp teeth.
Which made her think of Jack’s funny face as he’d urged her to get a dog with sharp teeth, and it made her smile. They’d tried so hard to lighten her mood, to lessen her fear. They’d walked her to her rental car, all of them. Mia and Jack and Marc. And Reagan. She couldn’t forget about Reagan. With his intense blue eyes and dry wit. Cerberus. She chuckled out loud. The three-headed guardian of the gates of Hell. How apropos. Maybe she would get a dog at that. This weekend, perhaps. A dog that barked, wasn’t cute, and had big sharp teeth. That didn’t eat cats.
She entertained herself with the notion all the way home, but when she pulled into her driveway, the lighthearted thoughts fled, leaving her staring at her own house with dread.
He could be anywhere. Anger mixed with the dread, fury that her fear had her still sitting in her driveway. She was afraid in her own home. Dammit.
A knock on her car window nearly sent her though the roof. With her hand on her racing heart she turned to find Reagan’s frowning face. He twirled his fingers and she rolled down the window, shuddering from the cold blast of frigid air.
„It’s ten below out here,“ he hissed, mindful of the darkened windows up and down the street „If he doesn’t get you, you’ll die of exposure.“
She narrowed her eyes at him. „It was warm in the car.“
„Well, I’m freezing my keister off out here. Give me your keys.“
„Excuse me?“
He shoved his gloved hand through the open window, palm up. „Give me your keys and I’ll check your closets. Dammit, Kristen, hurry up.“
She yanked her keys from the ignition and slapped them in his palm. „I didn’t ask you to come.“ But she was suddenly, fiercely glad he had. Cursing her unsteady legs, she followed him up the sidewalk.
„You’re welcome,“ he muttered. „You should have a spotlight by your door.“
„I did,“ she muttered back, wincing as he missed the keyhole and the key skittered across the door she’d so painstakingly painted last fall. „The neighbors complained it was keeping them awake and signed a petition to make me get rid of it.“
He pulled a flashlight from the pocket of his overcoat, shone it on the lock, and unlocked the door to the kitchen. „Your neighbors need to get a life.“ He waited for her to follow him inside before closing the door. „Disarm the alarm, then stay here.“
„Yes, sir.“
He threw a lopsided grin over his shoulder at her caustic reply and her heart took off at a canter once again. Not with fear this time. Not the same kind of fear anyway. But just as fast and just as hard. She watched as he drew his weapon and his grin faded. „Stay here,“ he repeated, softly this time. „I mean it.“