There was no rhyme or reason to her actions—he knew where she was going, he knew where she lived. But this little game of beating him there made her feel exceedingly good. She wanted no more investigations of her life. She simply wanted to be left alone.
She drove as fast as traffic would allow, determined to be inside her apartment before he could catch up to her. She’d be satisfied if she never saw a private eye for the remainder of her life.
She whirled the steering wheel, rounding the corner that led to her apartment and braking with a squeal of astonishment. There, in her parking space, was the tan Buick. Even from where she sat, she could see the wide grin of amusement that lit Tony’s face.
She muttered an oath of irritation and pulled her car to the curb. The man was living up to the title of guardian angel, for the only way he could have beaten her here was to have flown.
“I told you…you’re good, but I’m better.”
She looked up to see him standing beside her car, a lazy smile on his arrogant face.
“I don’t find you amusing,” she retorted, making him jump aside as she threw open her car door.
“Oh, and I was trying so hard,” he said lightly, then added in a more serious tone. “I told you, I always see my subjects safely home.”
“But you’ve forgotten. I’m no longer your subject.” Libby walked toward the building, her anger making her steps short and jerky.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He fell into step beside her. “You’re my responsibility until I report back to Bill.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous.” She turned away from him without waiting for a reply. Ignoring him, she forgot the elevator and stomped up the four flights of stairs that led to her apartment. She fumbled with her keys, flushing as they skittered to the floor. She fumed inwardly as he picked them up and put the correct key in the lock, unlatching the door and swinging it open.
He bowed gallantly. “Now my job is officially done. The lady is safely home.”
“Good riddance,” Libby exclaimed, stepping into her apartment. She stifled an outcry as she viewed the chaos that greeted her. “What’s going on?” she cried, unable to comprehend the shambles in her apartment.
“What?” Tony stepped in, took one look at the mess, then quickly shoved her behind him.
Libby opened her mouth to complain of his rude treatment, then gasped as she realized a gun had somehow materialized in his hand.
“Stay behind me,” he commanded in a whisper, taking another step into the ransacked apartment. “Whoever did this may still be in here.”
Stay behind him? If Libby had the ability, she would have instantly become melded to his backside. “Tony…that’s a gun,” she squeaked inanely, her body pressed tightly against his back.
“Shh,” he hissed, taking another awkward step forward, shadowed by Libby’s leg, which moved as if joined to his.
They moved like this throughout the apartment, checking every corner, every closet. As they crept past the dresser mirror in the bedroom, she had an irresistible urge to giggle. They looked like an old-time vaudeville act in a bizarre dance without music. It was the look on Tony’s face that kept her giggle trapped deep within her. Gone was the easy, lazy amusement she’d come to identify with him. His facial features were now tensed with the cold, calculated look of a man accustomed to coping with dangerous situations. His eyes were dark orbs, glittering with detail-consuming observation.
“It’s okay, there’s nobody here,” he said, lowering the gun that had been leading their way around the small apartment.
“Are you sure?” she whispered, still clinging to his back like a baby koala bear to its mother.
“I’m positive,” he answered, then grinned. “Besides, I’m beginning to enjoy this a little too much.”
Libby blushed hotly and quickly stepped back from him, suddenly aware of how her full breasts had pushed insistently into his firmly muscled back.
A violent trembling seized her body as she looked at the ruins surrounding her. She wandered around, touching an item here and there, moaning as she saw her cherished possessions broken, torn apart, destroyed. The entire apartment had been thoroughly gone over, nothing left untouched. She turned tortured eyes to Tony. “Why?” she breathed softly. “What in the hell is going on?”
He shrugged, having no answers. Unable to control her spasmodic trembling, she stumbled to the sofa, her breaths coming in shallow, quick gasps. She was numb, stricken by the fact that she’d been violated not once, but twice in the same day.
She watched dully as Tony wandered around the apartment. She followed his gaze, noting the way the television had been gutted, the chair cushions slashed. In the kitchen, the drawers had been pulled out and emptied onto the floor. The cabinet doors hung open, their interiors showing signs of riffling.
“It looks like somebody was searching for something,” Tony said.
“But what? I don’t have anything of value.” She felt a hysterical giggle bubble to her lips. “Some of the furniture might be valuable to an antique collector, but nothing was taken…at least nothing I can see.”
“Hmm,” Tony murmured thoughtfully. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying a tall glass of cold water. He held it out to her.
She took the glass from him, her throat scratchy and sore from the ache of suppressed tears.
