opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, what his personal stake in justice was.
But he reached out and touched one finger to her lips, startling her. Her body reacted and she almost leaned forward to get closer and feel more as he pulled away. “You need some sleep,” he growled, and she knew that he wasn’t going to give up any secrets to her. Maybe he didn’t trust her not to turn him into another feature story, or maybe he just didn’t like her all that much. She was, after all, a client his brother had foisted on him.
A slow, disappointing ache slipped through her. That was too darn bad. Because Vincent Fortune was exactly the macho type of man she needed to stay away from.
“Don’t worry, I won’t ask about your personal life.”
He gave her a slow smile. “And you’ll be more careful than you were tonight?”
She nodded.
“Good. I didn’t like that guy.”
She didn’t have to ask what guy he was talking about. Neil had barely said a word. “I didn’t like him much myself.”
Vincent chuckled. “He did get one thing right, though. Nice legs,” he said as he pulled up in front of her house and came around to open her door. “I’d be more careful slipping out of windows if I were you.”
Her eyes opened wide and she blinked. Vincent laughed again. “Ah, not as hard-boiled as you like to pretend, are you, Natalie?”
She managed a challenging smile as she got out of the car and stood beside him. “I’m many things, Vincent, and hard-boiled is just one of them. Nice biceps,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I’d be more careful knocking the stuffing out the bad guys. Your muscles show.” She took a deep breath and dared to wink at him.
Vincent’s eyes turned dark, but then he laughed. “All right, one for you,” he admitted with a touch of admiration in his voice as she turned and walked to her door, the sound of Vincent’s heels on the pavement close behind her.
All the time that Natalie was moving down the hall to her apartment, opening her door, letting herself in, and saying goodnight and locking the door behind her, she was incredibly aware that Vincent was watching her every move. She might be his client, but she remembered that look in his eyes and realized that he didn’t think of her as just a job. He also saw her as a woman.
And that made her feel like a woman, soft and desirable and…frustrated, because she couldn’t ever touch or be touched by Vincent Fortune.
“No, one for you, Vincent,” she admitted with a sigh once she was safely inside. One of them was going to go sleepless tonight, and it wasn’t Vincent. Derek Seefer would be taking over his duties in an hour. Vincent would go home and sleep like all men slept, like her fathers and brothers had slept. No matter what happened, they managed to sleep soundly.
While she would toss and turn in her bed and wonder why on earth Daniel Fortune had had to send her a man like Vincent.
A man who reminded her that no matter how much progress she had made over the years, she still had weaknesses. Ah well, no matter; by morning she would have those weaknesses harnessed.
Vincent wasn’t going to get under her skin again. And he’d probably soon be gone. Those notes were most likely written in the heat of the moment and would soon stop.
Reporters got them all the time. There was no real danger other than Vincent’s masculine appeal.
Vincent spent a long time staring up at the ceiling that night. He had half a mind to call Derek and ask him if everything was all right. The other half of his mind wanted to drive to Natalie’s house and tell Derek that he would take care of things from here on out.
Which was stupid and wrong. Derek was a good guard. He knew how to do his job.
Even if Natalie tried to give him the slip? Vincent wondered, and he almost smiled at that. He remembered her climbing from that window, remembered her giving him that knowing smile and tossing his own words back at him. She was sassy and determined and she cared about her subjects. He had to admire that about her. Her green eyes were alive with intelligence and indignation at the injustice done to her friends. She was a beautiful woman on a mission, and she was determined to do her job no matter what. Could Derek handle that?
“The better question is, can you handle that?” Vincent asked himself. He was attracted to her, and he never allowed that to happen on a job.
But he would handle it this time.
Somehow.
“This is so difficult to handle,” Blake Jamison said two days later in a conversation with Ryan Fortune, head of the Fortune family and empire and now a new friend and relative whom Blake cherished. “I don’t really understand how all of this can have happened. In the years since we’ve been married, Darcy and I have led a dull but mostly contented existence. My family has had its problems, but this…this is so…I don’t know how to handle this. How is it that one of my sons—”
His voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You don’t have to explain anything to us,” Patrick Fortune, Ryan’s cousin, said. Patrick’s banking business had led to a life in New York but he was spending more time in Texas these days and planned to retire here soon. His opinion carried weight. “I’m sure you know that the Fortunes have had their own history of family problems over the years.”
“Yes, but for one of my sons to kill his own brother!” Blake practically yelled the words. “How does a man deal with that?”
“I don’t think he does, Blake,” Ryan said quietly. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to reconcile the fact that Jason was able to kill not once, but twice, and that one of those he murdered was his own brother.”
Blake ran one hand through his hair, mussing it. Not that it mattered. Did anything matter anymore?
“I spent years trying to locate Jason. I don’t know what else Darcy and I could have done. We tried so many things. We tried to reach him, to change him. He was always difficult, but still, he was mine. I thought he would change as he grew up. I thought he was still mine. I understand that he seemed to be an exemplary employee while he was working for you.” Blake raised his eyes questioningly, hopefully, to Ryan.
“He seemed to be. But there’s a lot we still don’t know. Like the woman he killed. He passed her off as his wife. It appears that she wasn’t. The police said that her real name was Melissa Anderson, not Melissa Wilkes.”
“If that reporter, Natalie McCabe, hadn’t seen what happened and reported it, he might still be on the loose.”
Ryan shook his head. “They would have found him in time. Family members always get questioned. The fact that he claimed to be married to her and wasn’t would have only made the authorities more suspicious. Natalie’s witnessing the act only speeded up the process.”
Blake nodded. “I’m glad she turned him in. That’s a terrible thing for a father to say.” Tears filled his throat, and he paused, searching for words. “There’s a sickness in him, I think. He has to be sick.” But sickness implied that no one was to blame. That wasn’t what he meant to say.
Blake
