elderly woman in 404 swung her door open. “Yes, dear?”
“Look at this man, Edna.” Sunni spun on her heels and jabbed the air with a nervous finger in the direction of her early-morning caller. “Take a good look, Edna. If you read in the Tribune tomorrow that I was found in my apartment with my throat slit, call the police and give them this man’s description. Green eyes, Edna. Dark hair, almost black. He hasn’t shaved in days.”
“Five, to be exact,” Rambo supplied. “That’s if you want to count today.”
Edna angled her head and squinted Jackson Ward into focus. “He looks tall, dear. How tall did you say?”
“Very tall, Edna. He must be—”
“Six three.”
“Three, Edna. He said he’s six thr—” Sunni snapped her mouth shut and glanced back to find Rambo leaning comfortably against her doorjamb. He was wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket along with an amused smile that didn’t exactly make him look nasty or dangerous. Or much like a hit man.
“Handsome? Is he a looker, Sunni? His voice is sure nice.”
Edna’s question went unanswered, but not for long. Suddenly she shuffled forward in her pink terry-towel bathrobe, fuzzy pink bunny slippers and pink sponge rollers—nine, to be exact. She was three feet from Rambo when Sunni rushed forward and jerked Edna to a stop. “Wait. What are you doing?”
“Getting a closer look, dear.” Edna stretched her birdlike neck and licked her crooked lips as she dissected Rambo as if he were the dessert special for Thursday night bingo. Finally, she asked, “Who is he, again?” To Sunni’s surprise, Rambo shoved away from the doorjamb and stuck out his hand to her elderly neighbor. “Hi, Edna. I’m Jackson, Sunni’s older brother. The one she never talks about.”
“Brother? No, I don’t believe she mentioned you.”
“I’m not surprised. I’m the black sheep in the family.”
When Edna reached for his hand, Sunni’s jaw dropped. “You are not—”
One minute Rambo was shaking Edna’s hand, and the next minute he had successfully captured Sunni around the waist. A quick jerk forward and her body collided with a slab of iron. A solid squeeze after that—using only one arm around her waist—he lifted her off her feet. “God, it’s good to see you, Sis.”
Another hard squeeze successfully stripped the air from her lungs, and she fought to speak. As she sucked in air, his male scent rushed up to greet her—that and the smell of sweet tobacco and mint toothpaste.
“I should have called first,” he told her. “Forgive me, Sis? Please?”
The question wasn’t meant to be answered. He followed it up with a fast kiss planted square on her open mouth. Startled, Sunni jerked her head back only to hear him swear softly, then he thrust his free hand to the back of her head and forced her mouth to meet his once more. Their eyes locked in a battle of wills, he whispered, “Be nice,” then clamped his shiny white teeth around her lower lip and hung on.
Behind them, Edna said, “Oh, dear, would you look at the time. I had no idea it was so late. Jeopardy starts in three minutes. I hope I can move that fast.”
Flattened against Rambo, dangling a foot off the floor with her lip caught between his teeth, Sunni heard Edna’s famous slipper-shuffle start back to her apartment. Desperate to keep the elderly woman in the hall, she jerked her head back, only to wince in pain when sharp teeth clamped down hard to keep her silent.
Edna’s retreating shuffle stopped. “You two have a nice family reunion.” Then the sound of her door closing resigned Sunni to whatever fate Rambo had planned for her.
She squeezed her eyes shut as he stepped inside her apartment and closed the door. Sunni felt his arm loosen up around her waist enough to allow air to filter back into her lungs. Eyes still closed, her lip still caught between his teeth, her heart beat like an African drum in her chest.
A minute must have elapsed before he released her lip. Afraid to open her eyes, Sunni opted to keep them closed. That is, until something warm and wet slid over her lower lip. The unexpected sensation brought her eyes open in one quick blink.
“You’re bleeding.”
Her tongue went to investigate, and sure enough, she tasted blood. “What’s next?”
“Next?”
“A quick kill, or are you one of those sadistic animals who enjoys seeing his victim beg?”
It appeared he was struggling to keep from smiling. A warning bell sounded in Sunni’s head.
“Begging is good in some instances. But in this case, I think you’ve got me confused with somebody else, Sis. I’m here to keep you from being a victim, not make you into one.”
“Who are you?” Sunni insisted.
“You know who I am. We met last night.”
“Okay, then what are you?”
“I’ve never liked the word bodyguard, but if that word works for you, then—”
“Bodyguard?” Shock cracked Sunni’s voice. “You’re not connected? A hit man?”
“No.”
“Bodyguard? My…bodyguard?”
“That’s right.
Relieved yet confused, Sunni demanded, “Put me down.”
“First we negotiate.”
Sunni narrowed her eyes. “Negotiate what?”
“I need a shower. Agree to let me use yours, and I’ll put you down.”
“Your apartment is right across the alley. Use your own shower.”
“No water. It’s your fault, really. If you lived on the second or third floor I wouldn’t have bargained with old man Ferguson for the fourth. The Wilchard’s plumbing is out on that floor.”
The humor in what he was saying took Sunni by surprise. And so did the desire to believe what he was saying.
“You find that funny, Sis?”
“Very. Swear you’re not a hit man.”
“If I was, you would have been dead four days ago.”
There was some truth in that. And last night at the window she’d had the strangest feeling. It was as if he was watching over her. “All right. A shower if you can prove you’re who you say you are. Now, put me down.”
He set her down, then reached into his pocket. Sunni thought he meant to show her his ID, but when he produced her .22, she nearly fainted. “Oh, God!”
“Take it easy. Silk pockets are lousy for hiding heavy hardware. Noticed it the minute you bolted through the door.” He grinned, then studied the .22 in his hand. “Do you know how
