as if he were aware that she was wearing white bikini underpants beneath her clothing. It was a bizarre and unsettling feeling for her. She was used to being in control, the one who called the shots, the one who dictated how things were going to be. Now she felt as if she were spinning in circles, completely off balance, unable to control anything. Her body felt flushed and hot in a way it hadn’t when Brad was trying to grab her.
Bad sign if she was lusting after her bodyguard. She didn’t like men, or people for that matter, who hovered.
She heard a car door slam, an engine rev, and soon Vincent pulled up beside her. “Get in,” he said.
Oh, that would be such a completely bad idea. Just moments ago, she had been thinking lusty thoughts about him. Closing herself up in the small space of a car wouldn’t help anyone. She shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “It’s a nice night. I’d like to walk.”
He rubbed one hand over his eyes. “It is, but I don’t feel like having to beat anyone to a pulp tonight. That greasy idiot in the bar was bad enough, but those guys behind you could be dangerous.”
Natalie turned and saw that there were three men following her down the street. They eyed her with interest.
“Get rid of that guy, lady. We can pay you more.”
“Or you can pay us,” the second one said, making kissing sounds at her.
Natalie’s heart started to drum. It was obvious that, lost in her thoughts, she had been careless. And Vincent was right. Brad she could take down if need be. Three guys who looked as if they fed on fear were something else entirely. And from their vantage point, they couldn’t see Vincent’s size. They weren’t slowing down. She thought one of them might be holding a knife.
She turned toward the car, but heard rushing footsteps behind her.
“Not another step,” Vincent ordered the men as he climbed from the car, rolling those impressive shoulders of his and turning to face the men in the street.
The men hesitated, but they didn’t stop.
“You want to fight for her, let’s do it,” Vincent said, his voice eerily quiet and deadly. He looked like a man who could kill with his bare hands, and he was twice as big as any of the men he was facing.
“You think you’re scary?” the guy with the knife asked. “Not a chance. Get her,” he ordered his friends. He ran straight at Vincent, while the other two men headed for Natalie.
Vincent ignored the guy hurtling his way. Instead, he kicked out at one of Natalie’s pursuers, and there was a crunching sound as his foot connected with bone. Then he whirled, leaving the guy screaming, kicking the man with the knife in the stomach while he brought his elbow up and caught the third man in the neck. Both men fell.
“Are we done?” Vincent asked, and Natalie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to the men. She didn’t wait to see. Instead, she got into the car.
Vincent followed her, leaving the three men struggling to rise. He drove the car in silence for the first few blocks.
“Have fun back there?” he finally asked.
“Not especially, no.” She tried not to shiver with revulsion as she thought about Brad grabbing at her or about the three who had awaited her outside.
“Good. I’m assuming you’re done with the octopus.”
She breathed in deeply and the scent of Vincent’s aftershave, the scent of man, drifted to her. Natalie closed her eyes and tried to ignore her reaction, which was very definitely female. She hated having those kinds of reactions. It was a weakness, and in her line of work and with her background, she couldn’t afford to be weak. All her life, weakness had been the enemy. She couldn’t let it creep in.
“I have to go back and see the octopus again. I need information.”
Vincent swore beneath his breath. “That guy isn’t looking to hand out information. He’s looking to get laid.”
“I know that. I’m not planning on getting that close.”
“Is this so important?”
Was it? Natalie examined what had happened tonight. She had been propositioned, nearly pawed in a sickening and degrading kind of way. She hated that. Frankly, she wanted to do as Vincent asked and turn her back on the whole thing. But then she thought of Mrs. Morgensen and she knew that this job had become more than a job for her. It was much more than a ticket to a hot story and a byline. Her family had never trusted her to get through an entire day on her own. But Mrs. Morgensen and the others trusted her to help them, to salve their wounds, to see that justice was done, to save them. No one had ever needed her in that way. For that alone she cared about her frightened neighbors. She felt such an overwhelming sense of responsibility for each and every one of them. And while she didn’t know if she could save them, she had to try. That was all there was to it. If she didn’t do it, who would? And if she couldn’t do it, then maybe her family had been right all along. No, this was more than a story, more than a career path. Helping her friends was a necessity.
“Natalie?” Vincent urged.
She sighed. “These are elderly people, people with very little money to lose, and they’ve had their life savings taken away. I think someone is cheating them.”
“Then leave it to the police.”
“The police know about it, but there isn’t any proof whatsoever. Old people lose their money every day. They get taken advantage of. No one can do anything about it if there isn’t any proof.”
“And you intend to get that proof. You want to stop covering Beep-Beep the Clown.”
She glared at him. “Actually, Beep-Beep was a pretty nice guy in his way, but yes, I’d like to do something more meaningful.”
“And you’re willing to put yourself in danger for a story.”
She refused to explain about her bonds with Mrs. Morgensen and the details of her problems with her family. That wasn’t anyone’s business but her own. Besides, she didn’t want anyone thinking she was soft in any way.
“That’s what reporters do,” she said, trying to sound as hard-boiled as possible.
“And to hell with the risks? To hell with everything? Including your own feelings about being some man’s toy?”
No, that was part of her problem. She couldn’t seem to put the emotional aspects of this case aside. She was already too personally involved with this story, but Mrs. Morgensen and her other neighbors were real people who hurt and dreamed and cried. She was supposed to be able to turn the emotion off and just write, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t good for a reporter to get entangled with her subjects. She knew that.
“Natalie?”
“I can handle my feelings,” she lied.
“Can you deal with what’s going to happen if those two men both decide they have to have you? Can you handle the fallout and the risks?”
“I’m not going to lead anyone on. I’ll keep it light.”
“What
