CHAPTER 2
Libby gasped, stifling another scream and jerking away in fear from the hands that touched her. She whirled around and stared up at the man who had been following her for the past few days. The terror in her eyes quickly died, replaced with a seething, uncontrollable anger.
“You!” She glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. “Did you and Bill have something to do with this?” She gestured wildly at the shop. “Is this some sort of scam to prove that I can’t survive on my own? Well, it won’t work. You can just go back and tell Bill that his little scheme is stupid. Nothing and nobody can make me go back to him.”
Without saying a word, the man walked over to the shop and opened the door. His brow wrinkled and his jaw muscles tightened as with one quick glance he assessed the situation. “I would suggest a call to the police would be in order.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” she snapped sarcastically, her shoulders sagging as her anger vanished, usurped by an overwhelming sense of despair. She blinked rapidly to dispel the hot tears that were once again threatening to fall.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, this time not firmly but softly, as if in sympathy. “Is there a phone in your shop?” His voice was a pleasant, low-pitched rumble.
She nodded, biting her bottom lip and allowing him to lead her back into the shop. Once inside, she stood in the center of the rubble, vaguely aware that the man was talking on the telephone.
As he murmured softly into the receiver, giving all the pertinent information, Libby looked around, assessing the damage. She moved to straighten a lamp shade on a brass lamp, then picked up a wooden chair that was lying on its side.
“You really shouldn’t touch anything until the police arrive.”
She turned at the sound of his deep voice, realizing he had hung up the phone and now stood looking at her.
“Why don’t you look around and see if you can discover if anything has been stolen,” he suggested.
She nodded, relieved to be able to do something—anything. Her fingers itched with the need to straighten and clean, but she realized that his advice about not touching anything until the police arrived was sensible.
She walked around the small confines of the shop, her gaze darting from place to place. She was slightly perturbed by the fact that she was drawn again and again to the handsome man who was now casually leaning against the inner-office door, his eyes darkly inscrutable.
She couldn’t help but notice that he was a magnificent specimen of masculinity. The night before, she had only gotten a view of him from the neck up. Now she was unsurprised and somehow pleased to discover that his body perfectly suited his head. He was sleekly toned, dangerously fit, and clad in a shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and slender waistline. His blue jeans were tight, hugging and molding his lean hips and muscular legs. He did not have the physique of a man who worked out with weights, but was lean and wiry, possessing the physical attributes one usually ascribed to a swimmer or a runner.
There was little physical evidence that he had spent the entire night in the cramped confines of a car. His shirt was slightly rumpled and his lower face had a dark shadow that attested to a morning without shaving. Other than that, he looked as fresh and vital as if he’d spent the night in his own comfortable bed.
She pulled her gaze away with an audible sigh of irritation. What the hell was she doing, admiring the physical attributes of a virtual stranger while her livelihood lay in shambles around her?
“Anything missing?”
She shook her head slowly. “Nothing that I can tell right offhand.” She sat down on the wooden chair she had righted moments before, once again looking at him. “I’m sorry…about what I said earlier. I was upset. I know Bill had nothing to do with this. Evenhewouldn’t stoop this low.”
He merely nodded, his expression unreadable.
“I’m sure you know my name…but I…uh…don’t know yours.” She stifled a nervous giggle. God, her shop had been broken into, ransacked and vandalized, and she was sitting here, casually asking the name of a man who had been hired to follow her every move for the past three days. Could things get any more ludicrous?
He smiled, flashing beautiful, white teeth. “I’m Tony Pandolinni.”
At that moment two patrol cars pulled to a halt outside the shop, their sirens whooping the news that something was amiss.
* * *
The next two hours passed quickly as the officers surveyed the damage, discovered where a crowbar had been used to break the lock of the back door and asked questions, questions and more questions.
Libby was totally wrung out by the endless interrogation of the police officers. No, there had been no guns kept on the premises. It was a personal managerial position to never accept firearms. No, she hadn’t been aware of any recent customers who had been angry or upset enough to commit this senseless vandalism.
The officers, with Libby’s help, discovered that the only thing that appeared to be missing was Libby’s daily ledger, a diary of sorts with each day’s transactions written up in detail. The stereos, VCR equipment, televisions—even the cash in the register—remained intact and untouched.
The officers dutifully wrote everything down in small black notebooks, then left, but not before voicing their own personal opinions that the break-in had probably been committed by kids out for an evening of destruction.
After the police left, Libby immediately began straightening the clutter, wondering if the shop would ever be the same.
“Maybe you should just leave this mess for today. Go home and relax,” Tony suggested.
She jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice, having forgotten his presence in the store. She shook her head. “I could never rest knowing this mess was here.”
