Wild About The Bodyguard (4 page)

“
And Leo?”
Chase asked. “You’re here for moral support?”

“
I have a new
assistant who’s driving me nuts,” Leo said, at the same time Taylor
tossed over a can.

“
So, get rid
of him,” Chase said, finding the remote under a throw
cushion.

“
It’s
a
her
. Catalina,”
Leo murmured like the name tasted of honey. “And I admit to hiring
her for all the wrong reasons. If I hadn’t got out of there this
morning, I might not have been able to defend my actions
later.”

Taylor
wandered over to the worktable displaying Chase’s most recent
project. He nudged his beer at the mess—what was destined to become
a stained glass panel.

“
Well, now,
this looks almost arty,” Taylor said.

“
It’s more
about attention to detail,” Chase said. “Adding a truly personal
touch.” When Taylor eyed the snapped pieces of glass—the bits
that
hadn’t
worked—Chase explained. “It’s not as easy as you’d
think.”

A distant look
came over Leo’s face. “Ignoring Catalina’s legs isn’t easy,
either.” He shook himself. “Sorry. That happens a lot lately. Carry
on.”

“
I’m using
opaque glass so the words “Chase’s Place” will show up day or
night.” Transparent glass, both textured and cut with bevelled
edges, would frame the piece.

Taylor picked
up a pair of cutters. “These look downright dangerous.”

Chase set
down his beer, lowered his protective glasses, took the self-oiling
glass cutters and, planting his feet shoulder-width apart, gave a
demo. He scored a simple outline, and then, using his hands,
applied enough pressure to snap the glass. Only it snapped and
broke in the wrong place.
Again
.

Taylor lifted
the beer to his lips. “Looks like fun.”

“
It is,”
Chase said. “In a two steps forward, one step back kind of
way.”

Attention on
the TV, Leo dropped back on the sheet-covered couch. “Game’s
on.”

At the
seventh-innings stretch, the two boys cracked open another beer
while Chase opted for coffee; he could live on the stuff. In the
kitchen, rinsing the pot, he mulled over the stained glass project.
He’d always been a pedantic type. Nothing was ever good enough
unless it was perfect, and to be perfect, a man needed to put his
all into the task at hand.

Lately,
however, more and more, he’d felt his feet dragging at the club.
Laser target practice aside, renovating gave him the distraction he
needed—particularly since finding Samantha Mayne in that locker
room last week.

Chase was
inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed beans, listening to his
cousins in the next room debate the call on that last out, when his
cell phone rang. He took the call from Tim Fielding of the San
Francisco Police Department.

“
I have that
information,” Tim said down the line. “It’ll cost you a
beer.”

“
I’ll throw
in a steak, too. Whatcha got?”

“
Your contact
is right on the money. That particular robbery was reported in the
Tenderloin district ten years ago this month. A ring matching your
description was the only item lifted.”

“
A ruby
surrounded by gold lips.”

“
Kinky, if
you ask me. My wife would refuse to wear something like that. My
girlfriend? Well, now. She’s another matter.”

Chase grinned.
All talk. Tim was the most devoted family man he’d ever met. “Name
of the complainant?” he asked.

“
A young
woman, last name Mayne. The report says she was visibly shaken, but
the detective didn’t discount an insurance job.”

“
Which was
for how much?”

“
Doesn’t
say.”

“
I know the
money was paid out so they must have bought the story.”

“
My take?
That area’s knee-deep in crime. Those girls were lucky they weren’t
home when the perp broke in. No signs of forced entry, by the way.
Doesn’t mean a lock wasn’t picked or window jimmied.”

Chase
nodded.
Child’s play
.

He heard a
creak as Tim Fielding leaned back in the chair his butt had been
close friends with for fifteen years.

“
So, buddy,”
Tim went on, “sounds like you’re getting itchy feet. You thinking
about getting back in the game?” He paused, lowered his voice.
“What happened to your partner was a tough break. But you can’t
blame yourself. You’ve got a natural talent where this kind
of—”

“
I’m just
making some inquiries for a friend,” Chase cut in. He wouldn’t
point out that his “natural talent” hadn’t helped Will Spencer that
night a year ago.

“
Okay. Sure.”
Tim muttered under his breath, “That’s how it begins.”

“
Suspects
questioned?” Chase asked, ignoring that last comment. He was
not
getting back in the
game. Not on a professional level at least.

“
The woman’s
boyfriend. The building super and some tenants. A couple of
friends. A David Green, Charles Roberts—”

“
Whoa
. Hold up. That
name…”

Silence echoed
down the line. “Chase, Green is a common name.”

Chase
shrugged, nodded. Kneejerk reaction. There were thousands of Greens
in the phonebook.

After
disconnecting, Chase poured a big, steaming mug. He dumped in three
sugars and stirred all the while rolling the facts around in his
head. From a police report perspective, Samantha Mayne’s story
checked out. Now he wanted to know more. Only following this thing
through would mean reuniting with a woman who was inquisitive and
pushy and, let’s not forget, flat-out sexy. If he did delve deeper
on her behalf, could they keep it professional? Getting involved
that way with a client wasn’t wise.

At least until
after the case was solved.

Sammy was
standing in her condo’s living room, going over some lines for a
daytime drama part she would kill to land, when she noticed the
luxury sedan parked out front. Then she recognized the driver and
her heart began to pound.

The acting
role was for a twenty-five-year-old who, in this scene, was
speaking with a male friend she secretly crushed on. The friend was
moving to New York to follow his dreams. Swallowing her tears,
Sammy’s character decides to be gracious and support her friend’s
decision; she wouldn’t get in the way of his big plans by revealing
her true feelings and, perhaps, sabotaging his decision.

Sammy had been
wondering about execution of body language with regard to dialogue
when she’d glanced out the window, spotted that car.

This couldn’t
be coincidence.

She moved out
onto the sidewalk, looked both ways, and then jogged across the
street. As she knocked on the driver’s side window, Mr. Wild
dragged the aviator sunglasses down to the tip of his aquiline nose
and sent over a slanted smile. She rolled a finger in a tight
circle:
Wind down the window.
When the glass had whirred down, she laid her
forearms on the ledge and, bending at the hips, rested her chin on
stacked fists.

“
Are you
tailing my ass, Mr. Wild?” she teased.

“
Your tail
will get creamed if you keep it stuck out there in the
traffic.”

“
Would that
be an invitation to join you?”

He tried for a
bland expression but she caught a sparkle in his eyes at the same
time a sedan whizzed by and blew up her skirt. Growling, Chase
leaned across and opened the vehicle’s passenger side
door.

“
For Christ’s
sake, get in.”

A week had
passed since her mishap at The Don. Chase Wild had made it clear
that he didn’t want to see her again. He wanted nothing to do with
her search for the stolen ring. But he
had
been curious. Obviously still
was.

Sammy trotted
around front and zipped inside. Eager, she rubbed her hands
together. But before she got too excited, she wanted to be sure she
had this right. Had he ultimately decided that he
did
want to help, just
like Laycee had thought he would?

“
Does this
mean you’ve decided to work with me?” she asked.

“
Let’s see if
we can establish some ground rules first.”

She sat back.
“Sounds good.”

“
You speak to
no one else about this,” he said, “unless, or until, I okay it. No
police, or insurance companies, or Garfield. Check?”

“
Check.”

“
You keep
your mouth shut about what we’re doing. No flapping of gums with
friends.”

“
But I have a
couple of—”

“
No
. Now say it.”

“
I won’t tell
my friends what we’re doing.” She turned to him more. “What are we
doing exactly?”

His steely
expression eased into a bone-melting grin. “We’re going to find
some answers. See if we can piece this together.”

Sammy wanted
to punch the air. She felt so psyched, she could have kissed him.
Kissed him really, really hard.

“
You and me.”
She beamed. “Like a team?”

“
I guess. In
a Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson sort of way.”

“
So, I’m the
apprentice. The sidekick.”

She’d gone for
a part like that in a low budget flick once. She’d got so into the
head of the character, she felt as if she still owned it. There was
a huge psychological slant to detective work which she thought her
character had got right. The director had said she’d shown real
potential.

“
You can be
my sidekick as long as you do precisely what you’re told,” Chase
Wild said, sounding stern.

But his body
language—the way he leaned toward her—tipped his hand. She could
tell. He was psyched, too.

“
When do we
approach Garfield?”

“
I have some
research to do,” he said, “before we think about going anywhere
near him.”

“
What kind of
research?”

“
Records of
similar crimes around that time for starters.”

“
How are we
going to get records like that?”

He winked. “I
have some pretty hot connections.”

She almost
licked her lips.
I just bet you
do.

Chase felt his
eyes bug out.

Was that
a
dance pole
?

Yep.
Definitely. The kind next-to-naked women wearing six-inch heels
swirled around in establishments that catered to certain men’s
needs. Establishments vastly different from The Don.

When he had
entered Sammy’s condo a moment ago, he’d made mental notes: small,
neat and, given her vocation as an actress, partly predictable.
Overlapping movie posters littered the walls. Several stacks of
DVDs towered beside an LCD. But the pole?

Was it for
fitness—a hobby—or to practice for a dancing gig on the side?
Either way, it’d be hard to say no to a demo.

“
I was going
over a part,” Samantha explained, sweeping a bundle of pages up off
the coffee table, “when I glanced out the window and spotted a
suspicious looking Caucasian parked outside.”

Pushing aside
that image of her body arched, a shapely leg hooked around that
pole, he sauntered over. “I meant to be obvious, by the
way.”

Her look
said,
That’s good coz you
were
.

An
old-fashioned desk stood against the far wall. The timber was dark
and had an old-world smell about it. In another time, it might have
taken pride of place in some big banker’s office. Reminded him a
little of the one he’d left behind at his old job, not that he’d
ever used it much.

Samantha
dropped the script on the desktop before she leaned back against
its ledge. He liked her mussed hairdo—sexy. Wild. She might have
just jumped out of a late-model convertible after a high-speed
chase.

“
Anyone ever
mention that you’re a darker version of Ryan Gosling?”

He cocked a
dubious brow. “All the time.”

“
I can see
you playing a hard-nosed detective, a toothpick hanging between
your teeth while you interview some mysterious femme
fatale.”

Assuming the
role, she hitched a shoulder up under her chin and sent over a
seductive pout.

His own lips
twitched. “Needs work.”

“
We have
time.” She pushed off the desk. “Who knows? You might end up seeing
me as an asset.”

Chase set his
hands low on his belt. He didn’t like the glimmer in those starry
green eyes. Or, more correctly, he liked it too much. He’d be
clear.

“
This—what
I’m doing here for you—it’s a one time only thing. This is strictly
short-term.”