The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid

“I Don’t Care What Anyone Says, I Don’t Want You Protecting Me,” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright

“I Don’t Care What Anyone Says, I Don’t Want You Protecting Me,”

said Clea.

“You sure about that?” Ryan asked.

“Positive,” she tossed back. It was bad enough the man made her hormones act up. The last thing she needed was to have him trailing her back to her apartment, sticking himself into her life.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s too bad. Your not wanting me, I mean. It would have made us being roommates a lot more interesting.”

“Roommates?” she repeated. “What are you talking about? We’re not going to be roommates.”

“Sure we are. Because from now on, Duchess, wherever you go, I go. That’s what a bodyguard does.”

Dear Reader,

MEN! This month Silhouette Desire goes man-crazy with six of the sexiest, heart-stopping hunks ever to come alive on the pages of a romance novel.

Meet May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, love-wary secret agent Daniel Lawless, in The Passionate G-Man, the first book in Dixie Browning’s fabulous new miniseries, THE LAWLESS HEIRS. Metsy Hingle’s gallant hero protects an independent lady in danger in the last book of the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM series, The Bodyguard and the Bridesmaid. Little bitty Joeville, Montana, has more tall, dark and rugged ranchers than any other town west of the Mississippi And Josh Malone has more sex appeal than all of ’em put together in Last of the Joeville Lovers, the third book in Anne Eames’s MONTANA MALONES senes.

In The Notorious Groom, Caroline Cross pairs the baddest boy ever to roam the streets of Kisscount with the town virgin in a steamy marriage of convenience. The hero of Barbara McCauley’s Seduction of the Reluctant Bride is one purebred Texas cowboy fixin’ to do some wife-wranglin’—this new groom isn’t about to miss a sultry second of his very own wedding night. Yeehaw! Next, when a suddenly wealthy beauty meets the owner of the ranch next door, he’s wearing nothing but a Stetson and a smile in Carol Grace’s The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy.

Silhouette Desire brings you the kind of irresistible men who make your knees buckle, your stomach flutter, your heart melt...and your fingers turn the page. So enjoy our lineup of spectacular May men!

Regard,

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.. 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

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The Bodyguard and the Bridesmaid

Metsy Hingle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

METSY HINGLE

is a native of New Orleans who loves the city in which she grew up. She credits the charm of her birthplace, and her own French heritage, with instilling in her the desire to write. Married and the mother of four children, she believes in romance and happy endings. Becoming a Silhouette author is a long-cherished dream come true for Metsy and one happy ending that she continues to celebrate with each new story she writes. She loves hearing from readers. Write to Metsy at P.O. Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433.

To Sandra and Michael Brown.

Two very special people, two very special friends.

Prologue

She hated weddings, Clea Mason decided, scowling at the bridal bouquet of white roses and lilies that had managed to land in her hands. Silently she cursed Ryan Fitzpatrick. If he hadn’t distracted her, she never would have caught the blasted bouquet.

“Oh, Clea, you’re going to be the next bride!”

“Not if I can help it,” Clea muttered to her newly-married assistant, Gayle. There was no way she intended to get married—ever.

“You’ll change your mind when you meet the right man. Just like I did when I met my Larry,” the other woman replied dreamily before being ushered off for the garter toss.

Relieved to relinquish the spotlight, Clea glanced at her watch and frowned. Just how long does the maid of honor need to remain at these things? Recalling her two sisters’ weddings, she nearly groaned. If memory served her correctly, she’d have to stay at least until the newlyweds left, and they didn’t look like they would be going anytime soon.

Resigned to being stuck a while longer, Clea studied the guests who had turned out for the wedding of her assistant at Destinations. Most were employees of the travel agency, Clea noted. Not surprising, since the bride and groom had no family in Chicago and the agency’s owners had insisted on hosting the reception. Clea paused as her gaze fixed on Ryan Fitzpatrick.

Even huddled with the tuxedo-clad groomsmen, he stood out, and not simply because of his height. The man was flat-out gorgeous, Clea admitted. With his sharp-edged features, deep blue eyes and wicked grin, he reminded her of a fallen angel. His dark hair brushed the collar of his shirt in a way that made a woman itch to run her fingers through the wayward curls, she thought, and tightened her fingers around the stem of the bouquet. As though sensing her scrutiny, Ryan looked up and flashed her that lady-killer smile.

Her traitorous pulse jumped. Blast the man, she thought. Turning away quickly, she barreled right into Sean Fritzpatrick. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back to steady herself.

“I’m not. You can run into my arms anytime,” Sean informed her with a grin. He shifted his gaze to the flowers in her hands. “I was going to ask you to dance. But what do you say we just skip the dancing part and get married instead?”

“Ignore him,” Michael Fitzpatrick said, shouldering his younger brother aside before she could even catch her breath. “Marry me. I’m a much better catch.”

Clea laughed at their outrageous proposals, the tension inside her evaporating. Amused, she relaxed as the brothers bickered over which of them she should marry. Nephews of the owners of Destinations, the pair were familiar faces at the agency she managed and the source of more than a few fantasies among her female staff. Given their good looks and reputations with the fairer sex, Clea was grateful she’d never been tempted to engage in anything more than friendship with either man. Too bad she couldn’t say the same thing about their brother Ryan. Ryan disturbed her in a way no other man had for a very long time.

“Clea, tell my thick-headed brother here that he’s wasting his time,” Sean insisted.

“You’re both wasting your time,” came Ryan’s deep voice from behind her. “Clea isn’t going to marry either one of you clowns. She’s going to marry me.”

Stunned, Clea whirled around. Her pulse hammered furiously as she stared at him. Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he twirled the bride’s garter on his index finger. A smile played across his lips. “Marry you?” she repeated, her temper spiking at his arrogance. “Why I—”

“Can hardly wait. I know, darling. I feel the same way.” And before she could utter a word of protest, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

One

“I want Clea Mason’s case,” Ryan said firmly. Folding his arms over his chest, he stared across the desk at his brother Michael and prepared to do battle.

Michael disengaged the speakerphone, severing the telephone connection with their aunt. He leaned back in his chair. “There is no ‘case,’ little brother.”

Ryan bit back the temper that had been building inside him from the moment his Aunt Maggie had come on the line and told them some nut had been pestering Clea. “I may be the new kid on the block here as far as being a private investigator goes, but as a former cop I can tell you that some pervert sending Clea twisted love letters and calling her on the phone makes for a good case of harassment.”

“Which is what I tried to tell Aunt Maggie,” his brother replied, looking more like a lawyer than a detective in his neat white shirt and tie. “We’re security specialists, Ry, not bodyguards.”

“The office manager at Destinations being harassed by some guy doesn’t warrant some specialized security?”

“You and I both know this isn’t a security matter. It’s a police matter—which is why I didn’t want to take this job to begin with.”

“But you did take it,” Ryan pointed out.

Michael scowled at him. “When’s the last time you came up against Aunt Maggie and won?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “Besides, what chance did I have when you sat there agreeing with everything she said?”

“I happened to think she was right. Clea needs protection.” At his brother’s snort, Ryan said, “Come on, Mike. You heard Aunt Maggie. This has been going on for a couple of months, and the cops haven’t gotten anywhere. That’s why she wanted to hire us, and it’s the reason you let her bamboozle you into accepting the job. And since you did accept the job, someone needs to keep an eye on Clea. I’m volunteering.”

“Seems to me you’ve been keeping your eye on Clea for quite some time.” Michael pitched down his pen and eyed Ryan closely. “Hell, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she was the reason you decided to leave the LAPD and move back here to join Sean and me at the agency.”

It was pretty close to the truth, Ryan admitted silently. Clea had played a role in his decision to come home. But as the youngest of four boys, he’d learned a long time ago not to give his brothers that kind of ammo. They’d rag him to no end if he did. “My reasons for coming home aren’t the point here. Clea’s safety is. I’m offering to do the job and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“The ‘job’ would be a lot easier if we could tell Clea we were going to keep her under surveillance.”

“I agree. But since she balked at the idea when Aunt Maggie suggested it, we can’t. I’ll just have to protect her without her knowing it.” And while he was keeping her safe, who knew what would happen? A smile tickled his lips as he remembered meeting her for the first time six months ago. He had stopped in at the travel agency to visit his aunt and uncle. While he had waited, he’d been admiring the rear view of the feminine curves and legs of the woman whose back was to him.

Then she’d turned around. And wham! It hit him—that quick-fire flash of awareness. One look into those cat-green eyes, and he’d been a goner. Sure, there was lust. A man couldn’t look at Clea and not want her. But it was more. There was something endearing about the swift way she moved around the office, the way she dealt with the young mother trying to stretch her travel dollars for a visit home. It touched something inside him.

He hadn’t expected it, and certainly hadn’t thought it would happen with her. He’d heard all about the efficient Clea. Ambitious corporate women held no appeal for him. He liked his women soft, fragile—the Suzy-Homemaker types who would be happy being a wife and producing a team of little leaguers. No way had he imagined falling for a career woman. And he certainly hadn’t imagined that the woman he did fall for would take so much convincing that he was the right man for her.

“—besides, you’ve only been with the agency a few weeks. Hardly enough time to get your feet wet in this business.”

Ryan jerked his attention back to Michael and realized he had missed half of what his brother had said to him. “Sorry. What was that you were saying?”

“I said tailing someone who knows you can be a tricky business. Both Sean and I have had more experience at it. It might be better if one of us handled this.”

“No way.”

“Ryan—”

He shot to his feet. Flattening his palms on the desk, he leaned in, bringing his face within inches of his brother’s. “I’d say twelve years on the police force with eight of those years working under cover in vice and homicide gives me a lot of experience. So don’t pull that garbage about you and Sean being older and more experienced. I’m telling you I want this case.”

“What case?” Sean asked, breezing into the room and looking as though he had just tumbled out of bed. Some female’s bed no doubt, Ryan decided, given the sleep-hungry, but sated expression on his brother’s face. Making himself at home on the edge of Michael’s desk, Sean drank deep and long from the steaming cup he held in his hands.

“Clea Mason’s case,” Michael replied.

Sean glanced up from his cup, his eyes sharp with interest. “Clea The Dish is a client?”

“Not exactly,” Michael informed him as he shoved back from his desk. He went over to the coffee setup and poured himself a cup from the pot. “It seems some guy’s been sending her twisted love letters. Last night he phoned her. Aunt Maggie was with Clea when she got the call, and from what she heard, the fellow’s verbal skills leave something to be desired.”

Sean swore and crushed his empty cup. “I’d like to get my hands on the creep.”

“You’ll have to wait in line,” Ryan informed him.

“No one’s going to get a shot at the guy unless the cops catch him,” Michael replied. Until they do, Aunt Maggie wants someone from Fitzpatrick Security to keep an eye on Clea.”

“And that someone is going to be me,” Ryan insisted.

“Hey, wait a minute! Why do you get to have all the fun?” Sean countered. “Besides, I think Clea has a thing for me. Did you see the way she looked at me at that wedding reception last week? The woman’s nuts about me. I certainly wouldn’t object to keeping her company. I’m your man, Mike. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

“The hell you will,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. “If anyone’s going to take care of Clea, it’s going to be me.”

Sean practically beamed at the outburst. “Face it, little brother. The lady’s not interested.” Pitching his empty cup into the trash can, Sean scored a ringer and pulled his fisted arm down in a victory sign before turning back to Ryan. He grinned. “Now what was it she said in answer to your proposal? Oh, yeah, I remember. Something like, ‘not if you were the last man on earth.’ Guess you’re just not her type.”

“And you think you are?” Ryan shot back.

“As a matter of fact, I do. And you know, now that I think about it, she never did turn down my proposal.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “I guess that means she and I are engaged. In that case, I definitely should be the one assigned to keep her safe.”

At thirty-two, he would have sworn he’d outgrown the habit of rising to his siblings’ baiting, Ryan told himself. Obviously, he hadn’t, because he was itching to pound his fists against his brother’s grinning face. “Like hell you will,” he repeated with a snarl, clenching his fists at his side.

“You know, Sean does have a point,” Michael said, failing miserably to hide the smile tickling his lips. “From the look on Clea’s face when you kissed her at that wedding, I’d say you’re not exactly her favorite Fitzpatrick.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Ryan told him. Clea’s response to his kiss may have been brief, but there had been no mistaking that flash fire between them before she’d caught herself.

“Guess you got shortchanged on the Fitzpatrick charm, little brother,” Sean needled. “Now, me on the other hand—”

“Didn’t get any,” Ryan fired back, then turned to Michael. “I want this case, Mike. We agreed I’d be an equal partner when I joined the agency. Well, I’ve been with the firm nearly a month and all I’ve done is shuffle papers.”

“Shuffling papers is part of the job.”

“But it’s not all of it,” Ryan argued.

Michael sighed. “Give yourself a break, Ry. From what I heard, you were handling some pretty heavy stuff before you turned in your badge.”

“Handled is the right word. It’s done, and now I’m ready to move on. I want to go to work.”

“Kids,” Michael said as though his extra three years made him ancient. “I’d think you would appreciate having some time to get used to not being a cop before having cases dumped on you.”

“I don’t need any time. I’m finished being a cop.” He had done the best he could at the job, but the system had gotten to him. He would no sooner bring in a bust, than the criminals were back on the street. But it hadn’t just been the job. He had felt something was missing in his life and realized it was family. So, he had turned in his shield, packed his bags and come home. “What I need is to work—and I don’t mean more desk-jockey duty. Besides you and Sean are already tied up on other cases. It only makes sense that I get Clea.”

“Hold on a second,” Sean countered. “You take the check fraud case I’m working on, and I’ll guard Clea’s body.”

Michael shook his head. “Sorry, bro. No can do. Sylvia Miller specifically requested you head that investigation.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Sylvia,” Sean said, his eyes brightening at the mention of the shapely bank president. “So much for me not having any charm.”

Ryan snorted. “Then it’s settled. I get Clea.” Standing, he decided to get going before anyone objected.

“Ry, hold on a second,” Michael said.

Ryan paused, then frowned at his brother’s serious expression. “Yeah?”

“Chances are this nut who’s harassing Clea is harmless. That type usually is. But if he’s not—if he decides he wants more of a thrill than he can get from a letter or phone call—she could be in real danger. She can’t afford to have someone who isn’t completely focused on the job protecting her.”

Ryan stiffened. “You think I can’t handle the job?”

“I’m saying I know you’ve got a thing for Clea.” Michael held up his hand when Ryan started to protest. “We both know becoming involved with a client screws up your judgment. You lose focus because you’re no longer thinking with just your head. If that happens on this case, it’s Clea who’s going to pay the price. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

I’m not going to let anything happen to her and I’m not going to screw up.”

“Maybe not intentionally, but—”

“Hey, come on, Mike,” Sean cut in as he retrieved a candy bar from his pocket and began unwrapping it. “Clea’s got better taste. Why would she fall for this guy when she can have me?”

Ryan swiped the candy from Sean’s fingers, grateful for something to wrap his fist around. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you, big brother.”

“She turned down your proposal, remember?” Sean teased.

“Haven’t you heard, women often change their minds. She’ll change hers.”

“Right,” Sean quipped, giving him a disgusted look and reclaiming his half-eaten chocolate bar. “I got a hundred bucks that says the lady turns you down flat—again.”

“You’re on,” Ryan told him. “Let’s see your green.”

Sean reached into his wallet and pulled out two fifties. He slapped them on the desk. “What about you, Mike? You want a piece of this?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He threw a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the desk. “I’m with Sean. I say Clea tosses you out on your can.”

Ryan dropped his own C-note onto the stack. “Six months from now when I slip a wedding ring on Clea’s finger, I’ll be back to collect that.”

A chill chased its way down Clea’s spine. She spun around, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched. Clenching and unclenching the strap of her evening bag, she glanced at the faces of the people around her. Normal faces. Just people in a crowd. And not one of them seemed to be the least bit interested in her.

It’s just nerves, Clea told herself. No doubt brought on by working too many hours and not getting enough sleep. In fact, she should be at home now, making it an early night—not standing on a Chicago street comer in a crush of people waiting for the theater doors to open. She should never have agreed to accompany the Donatellis on this dinner-and-theater outing. Especially not after receiving that last phone call.

Clea shuddered, recalling that eerie whispered voice at the other end of the phone line a short while ago.

“You looked so beautiful today. I liked that red dress you were wearing. I wish I could see you right now. I need to see you. I want to be with you tonight. I want to—”

Stop it, Clea ordered herself, fighting against the panic bubbling inside her as she remembered the letters, the sound of that menacing voice telling her all the despicable things he wanted to do to her. No one was watching her. She was just edgy, she told herself, drawing in a calming breath and releasing it. Nerves. That’s all it was. She had been running on overload for too long. Who wouldn’t be a little tense under the same circumstances?

Of course, spying Ryan Fitzpatrick in the restaurant tonight hadn’t helped. She frowned as she considered the unlikely meeting. The third time in as many weeks that the man had turned up in the same place where she was. Ever since that day at the wedding....

The wedding. Clea squeezed her eyes shut, mortified every time she thought of his behavior at the reception and, even worse, her own shameful response to him. For a brief moment when he kissed her, sanity had deserted her. She had been unable to resist the warmth of his arms around her, the feel of his mouth moving seductively, expertly over hers. Color climbed her cheeks as she recalled how she had melted into the kiss.

It didn’t matter that her loss of control had been only momentary or that no one else seemed to have noticed. Ryan had noticed. She’d seen it in the deep blue of his eyes when she’d jerked free of his embrace. And it had still been there in the satisfied curve of his lips when she’d stomped off.

How could she have been so foolish? She knew Ryan Fitzpatrick’s type—the easy charmers who turned a girl’s head with sweet talk and empty promises. She knew the type, and she had no desire to become involved with him or anyone like him. She had learned the hard way just how expensive and painful a relationship with a man like him could be. She still bore the scars to prove it. And she didn’t care if he did kiss like a champ and made her heart stutter with just a look. She had no intention of becoming involved with him.

Suddenly she stiffened, feeling that uneasy prickle at the base of her neck again. She hugged her arms about herself and slowly turned around. She scanned the faces in the crowd again, not even sure who or what she expected to find. Her gaze skipped over face after face—some young, some old. Just people. Strangers waiting, as she was, to see the play. No one face, no one person stood out as anything but normal.

Frustrated, Clea shifted her gaze across the street. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of a dark-haired man leaning against a building. He seemed familiar, she thought. Then he turned his head and looked right at her. For a split second, their eyes met.

Ryan? Someone walked in front of him, blocking her view. And when the man had passed, he was gone. So what if it is Ryan? The man’s a security detective for pity’s sake. He’s probably working on a case.

“Oh, look. I think they’re about to open the doors,” the woman next to her said.

Dismissing Ryan from her thoughts, Clea cut a glance to the glass doors of the theater entrance where a uniformed employee stood fitting a key into the lock.

“About time,” someone grumbled.

The crowd stirred as the doors opened. Clea braced herself against the gentle nudge of bodies and murmured apologies as they made their way slowly toward the theater doorway. Wishing again that she had declined the Donatellis’ invitation, she realized that she hadn’t even seen Maggie or James since they had all left the restaurant. They must be at the front of the line waiting for her and their other guests, she decided. An errant strand escaped her upswept hairstyle, and Clea tucked it into place as she inched forward with the others.

A warm breath tickled the back of her neck, sending a chill down Clea’s spine. Heart pounding, she started to turn around when the crowd shot forward again.

“I’ve been wanting to touch you all evening.”

Fear tightened her throat, paralyzing her for long seconds, at the sound of that voice. She tried to whip around, but found herself trapped, unable to move amid the crush of bodies pushing her toward the theater entrance. Panic raced through her. “Please. I need to get through,” Clea choked out the words and shoved at the man in front of her, struggling to break free.

“You’ll have to wait your turn like the rest of us, sister,” somebody snapped.

“You don’t understand, I have to—”

“You can’t escape. I’ll never let you go.”

The blood in her veins turned to ice as he began telling her what he wanted in that throaty whisper. She started to shove again, but a hand reached from behind her and fingers closed tightly around her breast.

Clea screamed, a bloodcurdling cry of outrage and fear that echoed in her ears. She whipped around, her elbows striking against chests, shoulders and arms. Heedless of the grunts and protests her frantic movements incited, she stared into a sea of strange faces. “Who are you?” she demanded, hating the note of hysteria climbing in her voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Who are you yelling at?” an elderly gentleman asked.

She registered the cap of snow-white hair gleaming in the evening light. “Someone...someone just said something to me.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit that the monster had also touched her.

“Harry, did you say something to the young lady?” the woman beside him asked.

“Not me.” He eyed her as though he thought she were ill.

“Then it must have been someone else,” Clea insisted as people began to step around them. “You must have seen him. A man. He was standing right behind me.”

The couple looked at one another and shook their heads. “Sorry. Didn’t notice anyone in particular. Hard to with this kind of crowd.” Draping his arm protectively around the shoulder of the woman beside him, he said, “Come on, Josie. We want to see the play.”

“But wait—”

“Clea.” Ryan shouldered his way to her side. “What is it? What happened?”

Relief flooded through her at the sight of him. “There was a man. He—”

“It’s all right,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He stroked her back, made soothing sounds, then slowly steered her away from the dwindling crowd.

“Clea! Ryan!”

Margaret Donatelli rushed over to them. “What’s going on?”

Clea stepped out of Ryan’s arms and went to her friend. “He was here, Maggie. At the theater.”

“Who?” Margaret asked.

“The...the man who’s been sending me the letters and calling me.”

“What happened?” James Donatelli asked as he rushed over to join them. “I was buying theater programs, and then the next thing I knew I couldn’t find Maggie or you.”

“Poor Clea’s had a terrible fright. Apparently the man who’s been sending her those letters followed her here tonight.”

“Where is he?”

“He ran away when I screamed,” Clea explained.

“My God!” James exclaimed.

“Did you get a look at his face?” Ryan asked, his gaze fastening on hers. The look in his eyes was dark, determined, and not even remotely flirtatious. His cop face, she decided, remembering that he had been one. Given his fierce expression, she almost pitied the criminals who had crossed his path. The serious, focused Ryan Fitzpatrick was even more unsettling than Ryan Fitzpatrick the charmer.

“Did you get a look at his face?” Ryan repeated.

“No. He was behind me, and the crowd was too thick. I couldn’t turn around. All I could do was listen.”

“Did you recognize his voice?” he asked, his voice sharp, his eyes sharper, reminding her of a wolf on a hunt.

“No. He...whispered.”

“What did he say?”

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to shake off the chill inside her as she remembered what he had told her. “Things... things that he wanted to do.” Clea trembled. No way could she repeat to Ryan the things the man had said when he’d touched her.

“Enough with the questions,” James snapped. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”

“It’s all right. I’m sure Ryan’s only trying to help.” Regaining a grip on herself, Clea straightened her shoulders. “If you two don’t mind, I think I’m going to skip the theater. I just want to go home.”

“You need to call the polite,” Ryan told her.

“I intend to. After I get home.”

“You should call now so they can take your statement while everything’s still fresh. Here, you can use my cell phone.”

Clea ignored the phone in his outstretched hand. “I said I’ll call when I get home.”

“I’ll give you a ride home. You can call from my car.” He cupped his hand under her elbow.

Clea dug in her heels, feeling as though she were being railroaded. “What about your case?”

“My case?”

“The one you’re working on. That is why you were across the street earlier, isn’t it? Because you’re working on some type of investigation?”

Ryan paused. His eyes darted from her to his aunt and back again. “I’m finished for tonight. So, I can take you home. While I’m there, I’ll check out your apartment for you. Make sure your locks and alarm system are up to snuff.”

Clea swallowed. She hadn’t even considered that he could be waiting in her home for her. It had never once crossed her mind. But then, she hadn’t expected him to be here at the theater tonight either.

“Heavens! You’re shaking like a leaf,” Maggie told her. “You’re in no condition to be by yourself tonight. You’re coming home with James and me.”

“Uh, Aunt Maggie. I’ll see that she gets home safely. And she really should file that report with the police.”

“The police will just have to wait. They haven’t done anything so far.” She turned to her husband. “Can you finish up things here with the marketing people from Taylor’s without me?”