She looked around the room, for the first time noticing her surroundings. Unlike the bachelor pad she had first imagined, there was very little in the room to attest to the character of the man who lived here. All the furnishings were basic, nondescript, earth tones. The pictures on the wall would have been as much at home in any impersonal motel room. There were no books, no knickknacks, no photographs—nothing to reveal the character of the man residing here. She frowned pensively, once again aware that she had placed her safety, her very life into the hands of a man she knew nothing about.
“Here you go.”
She looked up as Tony reentered, holding two glasses of the amber liquid. He handed her a glass, then resumed his half-prone position on the sofa. She took a sip of the brandy, feeling the warmth of the alcohol caressing her insides. She looked at him reflectively. “I was just thinking about how little your home tells about you. I really don’t know anything about you.”
He shrugged and sipped his drink. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“Were you hatched, or do you have a family?” she asked lightly, needing conversation to keep away thoughts of boogeymen in the night.
He laughed. “My father is Italian, hot-blooded and temperamental, and my mother was Irish, very emotional. They always told me that I’m the product of their worst attributes.” For a moment his face darkened, as if a storm cloud had drifted momentarily in front of the sun. “So, tell me about owning a pawnshop,” he said, smoothly turning the topic of conversation away from himself.
“Did you know that owners of pawnshops are in the high-risk category for being junk-food junkies?” She laughed at his look of surprise. “It’s true. Every pawn-store owner I’ve ever known is a sucker for greasy hamburgers and potato chips.”
“I’d quit the business before I’d allow a fate like that to befall me,” Tony exclaimed.
“Oh, no,” she protested. “That’s exactly why I got into the business. When I discovered my love for junk food, I knew what my professional calling would be.”
“You like being in the business,” he observed.
“I love it,” she replied, sipping her brandy and leaning back in the chair.
“I’d think it would be sort of sad, to see people bringing in their things to be pawned.”
“Sometimes it can be rather sad,” she agreed. “But my shop has a high ratio of people who come back to reclaim their items. I like to think of my shop as a friend for my customers, a friend who will make loans when times are tough.” She finished her drink and set the empty glass on the coffee table next to her. “So, tell me about your private-eye business.”
He winced. “At the moment, there’s very little to tell. It’s all still pretty new and like any young business, it’s going to take time to get on its feet.”
“What made you decide to quit the police department?” she asked, smiling apologetically as she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.
He shrugged, getting up off the sofa and wandering to the window where he peered out into the darkness of the night. “My father was a cop…retired off the force with thirty years’ street experience.” He frowned, thinking of all the things he could tell her…but wouldn’t. “He encouraged me to follow in his footsteps, join the force. I did. For eleven years I worked the streets, got promoted from traffic cop to Homicide. I worked, ate and slept the job.” Again he frowned, shoving back old, painful memories. “I just got tired of the paperwork, decided I wanted to be my own boss. So, here I am.” He paused a moment, waiting for some sort of response from her. When none was forthcoming, he turned to look at her, a rueful smile curving his lips as he realized she was sound asleep.
For a long time he simply stood there staring at her, trying to find a single physical trait he didn’t like. There were none. Everything about her appealed to him, the dainty features, the firm, stubborn chin, the pale gold angel hair that was tousled carelessly around her face. He could admire her beauty, enjoy her strength and sense of humor, but that was as far as it would go. He’d made a vow long ago that he would never share his life with any woman on a permanent basis, and it was a vow he intended to keep, no matter how attractive the woman might be.
He touched her shoulder gently. “Libby,” he whispered in an effort to wake her and send her off to bed. She stirred, but didn’t waken. He thought about leaving her in the chair to sleep, but knew that in the morning she’d be cramped and sore from the awkward sleeping position.
With a sigh of resignation, he gently scooped her up into his arms. His heart thudded erratically as, in her sleep, her arms sought out and clung around his neck. He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom, trying to ignore the sweet fragrance that emanated from her, the feminine curves that pressed against him.
He gently deposited her on the bed, his breath catching in his throat as the robe she wore gaped open and he spied a teasing glimpse of blue lace and creamy skin.
Ignoring the cat, who hissed a warning, he covered her with the sheet. He turned to leave the room, then paused a moment, staring at her. What could she possibly possess that somebody would want so badly? Why the ransacking of both the pawnshop and her apartment? There was a scent of danger surrounding her, and Tony wondered how to fight an unknown enemy who had mysterious motives.
* * *
Hawk sat alone in the all-night café, sipping a cup of stale, thick coffee and cursing the Fates that had brought him to this hole-in-the-wall eatery.
He looked at his wristwatch, then popped an antacid tablet into his mouth, hoping it would work its magic against the acidic burning in the pit of his stomach.
He frowned, wondering why these meetings were always set up in fly-infested, filthy cafés and bars. Even as the question crossed his mind, he dismissed it, knowing the answer. Most of the men who worked with him and for him were living on the edge. They were hardened criminals, seasoned mercenaries, men who owed their loyalties only to the people who paid the highest dollar amount. They were men without conscience, men who would do anything to anyone if the price was right. But they were also men who shied from the bright lights of public places, men who preferred the shadows of little frequented spots of a city.
And so here he sat in the gloom of the squalid café, growing more and more agitated as minutes grew into hours. He gestured for more coffee and popped another antacid tablet from the roll in his pocket.
As the sullen, disinterested waitress refilled his coffee cup, Hawk’s frown deepened. He was irritated that the attempt to get the item from Libby Weatherby had been bungled. However, no one had anticipated the possibility of a man being in the apartment with her.
Hawk’s eyes darkened as he thought of the man who had not only thwarted their efforts in the woman’s bedroom, but had also managed to spirit her away from them. He sipped his coffee with a grimace, thinking of the man who’d made the mistake of helping Libby Weatherby. Hawk would take great pleasure in dealing with the man himself. He would smile while he slit the man’s throat.
He sat up straighter in the red vinyl booth as a tall albino man walked into the room. The albino’s pale eyes swiftly swept the perimeters of the nearly empty café, then focused on Hawk.
He slid into the seat across from Hawk and stared at him enigmatically. Of all the men who worked for Hawk, this one made him the most uncomfortable. Perhaps because of all the men who worked for him, the albino was the most unpredictable, the most dangerous.
