nodded. “Sure.” He handed her a card. “If you think of something, anything at all, give us a call.”
After promising to do so, Olivia headed home. Though a long shower helped to rid her skin of the memory of the knife and the stench of her own fear, she admitted what she hadn’t wanted to just an hour earlier: she needed help.
She picked up the phone and punched in the number of the man she had thought never to see again. She needed the kind of help that only Salvatore Santonni could give.
* * *
At core, Salvatore Santonni was still a soldier. He shoved a hand through his hair. Though he’d left Delta several years back, he had only recently exchanged the military haircut for a nonregulation one. He missed the buzz cut that had been his for more than a decade.
Now an operative for S&J Security/Protection, he took the jobs assigned him with the same dedication to duty with which he had carried out missions for his country. Individuals contacted S&J only when circumstances had turned dangerous and they needed a bodyguard.
When he’d gotten Olivia’s call, he’d driven through the night, unable to wait until morning. He knew she wouldn’t have called unless she was terrified. He rapped on the door of the Savannah law offices of Chantry & Hammond.
Olivia Hammond let him in and stared up at him, her mouth forming a soft O, her eyes widening. He took a moment to take inventory of her. Tall and willowy, she was elegant in a red suit. He imagined she thought the severe style made her look powerful, even tough, in the courtroom where she shredded witness testimony on a regular basis. Instead, it only emphasized the delicate femininity that was so much a part of her.
Sun-streaked blond hair swung to her shoulders, framing a face that was so breathtakingly beautiful that he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Her features weren’t perfect: her nose was slightly too small, her lips too full, but together, they made for an arresting package.
Something flitted through her eyes, but he couldn’t make out what it was. His eyes narrowed when his gaze zeroed in on the bandage that marred the perfection of her cheek. He fisted his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out and skimming his fingers over it.
“It’s nothing. Only a prick of a knife,” she said softly.
His hands tightened at the thought of men threatening Olivia, using a knife on her. Even though he’d decided that he and she couldn’t be together, he cared about her. Always would.
“Olivia.” Just her name. It was all he could manage. The feel of it on his tongue was infinitely sweet.
She looked down, away, and then gestured to her office. “Let’s talk inside.”
He followed her into the office. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth so he looked about. Water damage from the sprinklers was as evident here as it was throughout the suite of offices.
Even with the damage, though, he could make out the spartan decor. A desk with an efficient-looking chair behind it, a couple of battered file cabinets and two uncomfortable chairs for visitors comprised its only furnishings. He remembered her saying that comfortable chairs invited visitors to linger and she had too much work to do to indulge in small talk.
“Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else to call. I know Shelley would have come, but she’s like a hundred months pregnant.”
Sal smiled at the exaggeration. Shelley was eight months pregnant and counting, but to hear her tell it, Olivia’s description was more accurate.
Olivia looked down at her hands. “You didn’t have to come, but I’m glad you did.”
He schooled his voice to a coolness he was far from feeling. “You called. I came.” Because he cared about her. Whatever had transpired between them didn’t change that. “You had to know I would.”
“I wasn’t sure.” The silence stretched until the air was thick with it. “I figured you never wanted to see me again.” A punch of hard silence followed.
He ignored the past and focused on what was important. “What’s going on, Olivia?”
“I told you over the phone. Two men broke into the office. If it hadn’t been for Teresa—the cleaning lady—they’d have killed me.” She recited the words by rote, probably having said the same thing to the police.
“Can you describe them?”
She gave a detailed description that had him nodding in approval.
“What about their clothes?” he asked.
“Their pants dragged on the floor. One man kept having to yank his up. He looked annoyed each time he did it and I remember wondering why he just didn’t wear clothes that fit.”
“Prison shuffles,” Sal said, naming the pants in question. “Anything distinctive about their voices?”
“They both had an accent, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t Spanish. I would have recognized that.”
“Middle Eastern?”
“More guttural.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was too busy concentrating on not throwing up on their shoes and making them really angry at me.” The last was said with a half smile that quickly died.
Sal kept his voice quiet as he asked further questions. The last thing Olivia needed was for him to come on like gangbusters. She looked fragile enough to break. Who could blame her? Being held captive and threatened with torture and death was enough to send anyone into a tailspin.
She picked up a mug of coffee from her desk, her hand trembling so much that she had to set it back down again. The small gesture was telling in the extreme, but he pretended not to notice. Just as he pretended not to notice that his own breathing was having a tendency to stutter.
“What did they want?”
“I don’t know.” Her already husky voice turned even huskier.
“You said the men mentioned your boss. Where is he?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from him in two days.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said, thinking aloud. “First your boss disappears, then you’re threatened by two men you’ve never seen before. The two have to be connected.”
“I don’t see how. Calvin would never have anything to do with men like that.”
“He’s a lawyer. Lawyers work with all kinds of people, including ‘men like that.’”
There was a new edge to his voice now, and he worked to gentle it. Olivia wasn’t one of the men he’d commanded in his unit. She didn’t snap to attention when he barked out an order.
In an attempt to curb his impatience, he lifted his gaze to study the vivid print hanging on the far wall. Fortunately, it had escaped being drenched with water. Bold colors depicted a boat docked at the Savannah harbor at sunrise, the clashing tones juxtaposed against the quiet scene. That was Olivia, he thought, both bold and quiet.
She was a contradiction
