The soles of his shoes fall heavily on the pavement. The night breeze is chilly, but I don’t feel cold. I’m wrapped in his warmth, with his strong arms around me. The heat of his body is the lifeline I need.
I’m jostled slightly as he bends to deposit me on a soft leather seat. I’m inside a car. The thought has barely had time to form when I’m being lifted again. This time, I’m set down on hard, muscular thighs. He’s got me on his lap. Still holding me.
I should protest. Say something. But that calming scent of an ocean breeze is already pulling me under. With my energy spent and fortitude long depleted, I slump against his broad, comforting chest.
Something soft gets draped over me. A jacket. Then, the car door latches softly, and the engine rumbles to life.
I close my eyes beneath the blindfold. He kept his promise; I will keep mine.
This man guards his privacy for a reason. But that didn’t stop him from rescuing me. And it won’t stop me from keeping him safe.
Even from me.
After all, I’ve been taught by the Mafia.
I know better than most what being a witness to a murder could mean.
***
“Miss?”
I startle awake.
“Miss, you’re home.”
I’m alone in the back of what appears to be a limo. My blindfold is gone. And so is the man who held me in his arms. Only his suit jacket remains, wrapped around me like a blanket.
I look around the darkened interior until my eyes connect with the driver’s through a rearview mirror.
“You’re home,” he repeats.
I glance outside, shocked to see my apartment building.How did I get here? How long was I out?
And then there’s the most pressing question of all.
Where did my silent guest disappear to?
Chapter 17
“So?” Barty asks while getting more comfortable on my couch. “Are you going to tell me why your men broke into my home at four in the morning and essentially kidnapped me, dragging me from my bed to bring me here in my pajamas?”
“Emergency.”
“Yeah, I got that from the whole kidnapping bit.” He adjusts the blanket around his shoulders and takes a sip of the tea I had the maid make for him. “I hope that pooch had his breakfast already. I don’t like the way he’s eyeing me.”
I follow Bartholomew’s gaze toward the doorway, where the dog in question is sitting at the library threshold. To the ignorant, he may appear relaxed, just a lazy presence as he chills with my guest and me, casually checking out what’s happening but not even remotely cautious. In truth, he’s on full canine alert. Ready to leap into action and go for Barty’s jugular. Or maybe even mine. And if he does, there’d be nothing I could do. I’ve wasted thousands of dollars on all sorts of expert trainers, but the overgrown puppy still won’t listen to a single order from me.
“He ate, so I believe you are safe on that count.” I point at Barty’s pajama pants. “But I don’t think he’s a fan of those.”
“What? These were a gift from my wife. She liked leprechauns. Could you…ask him to leave or something? Please? I can’t focus when he’s staring at me like that.”
“Taffy.” I nod toward the other side of the house. “Go to the kitchen.”
The dog gives me a bored look. Then simply rests his head on his front paws, ignoring my order completely.
“You named what is sure to be a hundred-plus-pound Cane Corso…Taffy?”
“Ididn’t,” I grumble. “The dog was a thank-you gift from an insane Russian for fixing a small customs-related issue for him.Hegave the pup that idiotic name.”
