back of her neck as she noted that it was identical to the other letters.
“Thanks.” Scout signed for it, slit open the envelope and looked at the message composed with words cut from a magazine and pasted on a sheet of cheap paper. Another threat. Okay. She’d dealt with threats ever since she’d earned her first byline in the paper’s city section.
This was no different.
She read the words aloud, testing them. “Mind your own business. Or we’ll mind it for you.” She pinched her lips together even as she shook her head, as though the slight movement would dispel the unwanted picture the letter etched in her mind.
Scout prided herself on her independence and self-reliance, but right now she wished she had someone to stand with her.
She’d thought she’d found that with her ex-fiancé, Bradley Middleton, but, after wooing her and even asking her to marry him, he’d left her. The experience had soured her on men for the moment. Maybe forever.
Forget Bradley and concentrate on the letter. Only, she didn’t want to think about the letters she’d received over the last month. She had never been one to stick her head in the sand, so why was she doing just that with the letters that were coming with increasing regularity? Nothing she’d done lately was like her, including wasting time thinking about Nicco Santonni.
Now that she wasn’t so shaken from nearly getting killed, she’d put it together. Nicco Santonni. Brother to Sal Santonni, her best friend Olivia’s husband.
It didn’t take much to call up a picture of her rescuer in her mind. Inky black hair a little too long for current fashion, ebony eyes hooded beneath slashing brows and sharply angled cheekbones made for an arresting face. Add to that a body that looked like it was forged from steel and you had a man whom any woman would stop and give a second...or third glance to.
She forced her thoughts away from the handsome Nicco Santonni to her self-imposed mission. Digging into union murders meant investigating the unions themselves. When her mother had begun research for her exposé of Savannah’s labor unions, she’d told Scout that graft was most often the cause of murder in unions. Ironically, that same research had resulted in the murder of both of Scout’s parents.
Six weeks ago, Scout had started going through her parents’ papers. She should have done it months earlier, but after her release from the hospital, she’d been too bogged down in grief and pain to look through their belongings. She’d started with her father’s notes for the university physics classes he taught. The clutter triggered a memory of his self-deprecatory comparison to Disney’s absentminded professor. He was a brilliant lecturer but chronically disorganized in his paperwork.
With a sigh, she’d turned her attention to her mother’s research for her latest true-crime book. It was among those notes that Scout had found information about Leonard Crane and her mother’s belief that he was involved with union murders.
For the last six weeks, Scout had been digging for proof behind her mother’s suspicions. Not for the first time, she wished she had plunged into the investigation earlier.
She’d healed from her bullet wound far more quickly than she had the crippling pain of acknowledging that her parents had been taken from her through a hideous act of violence. After leaving the hospital, she’d wandered around in a daze for months. It was only recently that she’d been able to set aside her grief to fix her attention on finding the truth.
She wadded the paper into a ball and then executed a perfect three-pointer into the trash can. Upon reflection, she stood, walked to the trash can, and retrieved the paper.
Why had this threat turned her into a Nervous Nellie? Scout forced a laugh over her uncharacteristic fears. That wasn’t who she was.
Her hometown was a beautiful city, steeped in history and tradition, but it wasn’t without its faults. She had seen firsthand the ugliness that lay beneath the beauty, the violence that destroyed lives and occasionally even took them.
The crumpled paper in her hand yanked her back to the present.
Meticulously, she smoothed the creases from the paper, and glanced at the message once more. Scout didn’t intend on giving up her investigation. Some accused her of being stubborn. She preferred to see it as determination, the same determination that had fueled her ambition to expose the dark secrets of the city since the night she’d lost her parents.
The aftereffects of the nightmare dogged her throughout the day, following her around like a shadow. Much as she tried to shake the feelings, they clung to her like a burr.
After prayer, work was her antidote against the pain.
When her cell phone chirped, she glanced at the number, saw it was blocked. More than once she’d received blocked calls which had ended up giving her valuable information. She picked it up, heard a mechanically altered voice.
“If you want to get the goods on Crane, be at the docks at three fifteen.” The voice went on to give directions as to where she should stand if she wanted to see Crane taking a bribe.
Common sense told her to ignore the tip, which could be a setup, but she couldn’t. She wished she had someone who’d go with her, and her thoughts took her back to Nicco Santonni.
Unwillingly, she acknowledged that he had stirred something in her, an attraction she hadn’t felt in too long, not since her fiancé, a reporter at a local TV station, had dumped her.
Impatient with herself, she pushed Bradley out of her thoughts. She’d already wasted enough time and tears on him. She had more important things to think about.
Like who wanted her dead.
* * *
A relief agent had taken over the detail last night when Scout McAdams had left the ballroom. Though Nicco was primary in the protection unit, no one operative could effectively guard a client twenty-four seven. Usually operatives worked in threes, eight hours on, sixteen off. Because Olivia had asked for Nicco specifically, he’d opted for twelve-hour shifts.
He’d clocked seven hours sack time and had spent the other five finishing the paperwork for which his boss and friend Shelley Judd was a stickler.
“Trying to get on my good side?” Shelley asked when he turned in the expense report she’d been nagging him about for the last two days.
Since S&J had opened an office in Savannah last year, Shelley spent a couple of days there every month. With the arrival of baby Chloe, Shelley didn’t get out in the field as often as she’d like, but she still knew every operation and every assignment.
Nicco smiled at the picture of his hard-hitting boss in her role as mother. Shelley Rabb Judd and brother Jake Rabb, co-founders of S&J, had never known a loving mother’s care. Nicco knew she gave her child everything she’d been denied, most of all love.
The once efficiently streamlined office now resembled a nursery with a bassinet and other baby items spilling over the space. Six-month-old Chloe had definitely made her appearance known.
“Always.” He bent to brush a kiss over the downy hair of the baby nestled at Shelley’s shoulder. “Motherhood suits you.”
Dimples peeked out in her pixie face. “I’m operating on three hours’ sleep. My shirt has spit-up on it. I haven’t had a decent haircut
