VIP Protector, Page 3

  Besides, Stella had insisted she could trust him, and so trust him she would.

  Guilt washed through her when she noticed Blade was limping a little, undoubtedly a result of her whacking him with the sculpture. Either he was too preoccupied to notice, or he was ignoring the hurt.

  He stopped at the only vehicle parked in front of her building illegally, though lucky for him no ticket. She wondered what use he got out of a Jeep in the city. He might be a back-to-nature kind of guy if the jeans and boots and soft brown shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled up to reveal arms roped with muscle were any indication. Could that be how he'd honed his instincts? His expertise with a knife? Hunting?

  He stashed her luggage in the back, opened the passenger door and offered her a hand.

  Ignoring it, she said, “Thanks,” and slipped inside.

  Once they were on their way and had crossed North Michigan Avenue and were traveling through the happening River North area still crowded mostly with suburbanites and tourists, Lynn knew, she picked a safer subject than had been rattling through her head. “Tell me about this Club Undercover.”

  “It's a late-night dance club, and what goes on earlier in the evening varies from night to night. Teen get-togethers, poetry slams, performance art. You name it. Audiences seem to enjoy the variety.”

  It sounded frenetic to her, but then she wasn't about to spend any more time in the club than necessary. “Personally, I find a night at the ballet or the opera or an opening at a gallery enjoyable.”

  “Ah, snob stuff.”

  “I'm no snob. We just... move in different circles.”

  “You can say that again.”

  She gave him an intense look. Did he mean that to sound superior? If he did, he wasn't gloating, merely concentrating on driving and checking the rearview mirror.

  For a moment, Lynn was mesmerized by his profile, the high-bridged nose, especially. This added to his eyes revealed some Native American ancestry, maybe the reason he seemed so dark and dangerous.

  Her breath catching, she said, “You mentioned changing my identity. Have you done this before?”

  He gave her a quick glance. “Is that the officer of the court speaking?”

  “Try the worried victim.”

  Stopping at a light, Blade turned to face her more fully. “Once, for a woman wrongly incarcerated for murder.”

  “Incarcerated? You mean she escaped? Wait a minute. You don't mean the Mitchell woman?” The story had been in the paper for weeks.

  “Elise Mitchell,” he agreed.

  “I read about that. You helped her?”

  “You mean me personally? Just with a little computer research. John Logan was the real force behind that investigation.”

  “Logan. The former police detective.”

  “Right. And Club Undercover's chief of security. He and Elise have been an item ever since.”

  An item. She remembered reading that this Logan had quit his job with the CPD to nail his sister's murderer himself. What she hadn't remembered reading was his connection to the club.

  “What have you got going? Some kind of covert operation?” she asked, though the idea that a former cop would be part of this team that would help her made Lynn feel better.

  “Uh, nothing you have to worry about. Except to keep it to yourself.”

  “Keep it to myself, but it's not a covert operation?” When he didn't answer, she made a sound of exasperation. “Okay, I'm not in any position to give you a hard time. Your secret dies with me,” she joked, making a cross over her heart. “Does Logan have any ideas about how to approach this investigation?”

  “Whoa. Who said anything about our investigating?” The light changed and they were off again, still heading west. “Logan may not even know about you yet, not unless Gideon told him. He's the club owner.”

  “Oh.”

  “I simply volunteered to keep you safe. That's it.”

  Lynn tried to pretend she wasn't disappointed, but she couldn't lie to herself. For a brief moment, she'd thought she could be more than a victim in hiding, that with the proper help she might figure her own way out of this mess. After all, who knew her own life better than she. Of course, a little recall of the actual event might help, but so far nothing on that score. Not that she'd had time to pursue it.

  “So where do you plan to stash me?”

  “In plain sight. You're in luck. We just lost a waitress and Gideon said you can replace her.”

  “Lucky me?” Lynn was aghast at the prospect of waiting tables, something she'd never done, not even while in school. “I'm a lawyer, for heaven's sake!”

  “If you're on the lam you're not going to be practicing law now, are you?”

  Something she hadn't given due consideration. She would have to call her firm and tell them she was taking a leave of undetermined time.

  Still...

  “I don't need to work for tips. I have enough money to pay my way.”

  “How are you going to blend in? Sitting at the bar alone every night, all night, watching me fill drink orders? A woman like you will be bored. And noticeable.”

  They'd left the populated area and were heading up a deserted angled street, part of the old manufacturing corridor. Filled with growing trepidation fed by their lonely surroundings, Lynn said, “I wasn't planning on spending any more time at the club than I have to.”

  “Well, I'm not planning on quitting my job,” he informed her quietly. “If you want my help, you'll have to compromise your standards a little.”

  He was applying the snob factor to her again!

  Lynn sank into silence and seethed for the rest of the drive through an impoverished neighborhood whose streets were equally deserted. No use arguing with Blade, no matter that his telling her what to do was like nails on a chalkboard. She'd had enough of that growing up. Her father had ruled his home by intimidation and denigration and had made anyone who defied him sorry.

  She would go along with Blade's plan for the moment until she figured out a better one of her own.

  ***

  Once called the “Polish Gold Coast,” Wicker Park and the adjoining Bucktown neighborhood were now home to an eclectic mix of residents. Artists had moved in when space was affordable while city housing had been made available to the less fortunate. And then young professionals had been drawn by the proximity to the downtown area and gentrification had skyrocketed.

  The Chicago skyline sparkled with lights in the distance as Blade guided Lynn along Milwaukee Avenue toward the building with a fancy tile facade that housed Club Undercover. A cacophony of sound assaulted his ears the moment they neared the cave-like entrance to the below-street-level club. Patrons in their twenties and thirties were bouncing up and down the wide-open stairway, somehow having conversations with their companions despite the competing thump-thump of bass coming from the sound system below.

  “How can anyone have a conversation over all this noise?” Lynn asked, raising her voice a few decibels above the blasting music.

  Blade arched his eyebrows at her. “What noise?” He was used it.

  She rolled her eyes and dodged a guy with brilliant green hair who was walking up the stairs backwards. Club patrons were pretty much an eclectic mix that reflected the neighborhood.

  Lynn would get used to it all, too, Blade thought.

  “Hang on a second.”

  He approached the hostess Mags, whose current dark orange hair matched her skimpy garment that looked more like a long tube top than a dress.

  “Would you ask Cassandra and Logan to meet me in Gideon's office?”

  “Sure thing, Blade.”

  Wearing headsets with mike attached as did all the wait staff, she relayed the message. Lynn was staring into the club itself, neon-lit in blue and red, the floor packed with frantic dancers gyrating to Nebula's Come Down. The club was a two-story affair, and the seating area rose in tiers, the highest being at street level.

  Blade turned his charge from the entryway to
ward a quieter hallway.

  His calf was burning where she'd clobbered him with that sculpture and he was trying not to show it. His plan was to ice the bruised area when he got back to his place. In the meantime, he focused on the sensation and mentally dissipated the pain as he'd been trained to do.

  Lynn had been awfully silent after their discussion about her spending time at the club that was now like home to him. He wondered what she was thinking. Being a lawyer, she was probably planning some kind of strategy. He could see he had his work cut out for him.

  As long as she didn't plan another physical attack, he thought, biting back a smile. He had to give her points for that one. Though she sure had guts, he didn't think she was as tough as she pretended to be. Those eyes, up close a stormy gray, were a dead give-away. He wondered how she ever bluffed an opponent in a legal stand-off.

  Then again, not everyone read people as easily as he did.

  “In here.”

  He leaned over to get the doorknob and got a closer whiff of her exotic scent, a bit of pungent spice mixed with a subtle floral fragrance. He'd smelled it when they'd hit the floor together, he balancing himself over her so close that... well, he'd been hard pressed to remain professional. The perfume and the strappy sandals were certainly interesting choices for the woman hiding in lawyer's clothing.

  Cass would fix the rest, Blade thought, letting a smile settle on his lips as he let Lynn into his boss's inner sanctum.

  ***

  Lynn shortly found herself surrounded by testosterone—club owner Gideon at his desk, Blade next to her, and security expert John Logan to the rear.

  With its black and chrome furniture and walls the same deep blue as the owner's eyes, the office was as masculine as the man himself. Gideon wore his longish blue-black hair slicked away from classically handsome features that could easily grace the cover of a man's magazine.

  Suddenly an equally striking woman burst through the doorway, demanding, “Did I miss anything? I was in the middle of setting up my next illusion.” To Lynn, she explained, “I do a little magic for the customers between sets.”

  “The Amazing Cassandra is very versatile,” Gideon agreed, then said, “We were just making introductions. Our new client, Evelyn Cross... Cassandra Freed.”

  “Client?” Lynn murmured, Gideon's inflection making her wonder what she'd gotten herself into.

  “Gideon can be a little intimidating,” Cass said, holding out her hand for a shake, “but he's got a soft heart.”

  Lynn liked the other woman right away. Her smile lit up an interesting face surrounded by a long mass of mahogany hair tipped with brilliant fuchsia the same shade as her short dress and long nails.

  “What's the plan?” Logan asked, still leaning against the back wall. He flicked an invisible speck of dust from the lapel of his designer suit jacket. Good-looking in his own way, he had more rugged features topped by a silver-threaded light brown hair spiked in a buzz cut.

  “Simple,” Blade said. “We give Lynn a new look, some new IDs and protection. I'll take care of the last.”

  Startled by his possessive tone, Lynn gave him a wide-eyed stare and wondered if three such seemingly potent men were able to work together smoothly. The male lawyers at her firm were always trying to find ways to one-up each other, and they were wimps compared to these guys.

  “I can give you a full make-over tomorrow,” Cass stated. “Any preference for hair style or color? Oh, never mind. We can figure it out in the morning. My place. Not too early,” she warned Blade.

  “Yes, ma'am,” he said.

  Cassandra's style really wasn't her own, Lynn thought. “Wouldn't some make-up and a new outfit be enough?”

  Gideon ran right over her half-hearted protest. “Then once Cassandra is done with you, Logan will take some photos and I'll get you new IDs. If you have a name you'd prefer to use, let me know.”

  Lynn's heart drummed in her throat, making it difficult for her to speak. They were taking over her life... and they were doing it by being organized in techniques that could be used to scam others. The officer of the court in her went on alert... but the victim gladly turned off the radar. For once, she would voluntarily give up control of her life.

  Gideon cleared his throat. “The only thing we ask of you in return is that you keep quiet about the help we're giving you.”

  “Blade already clued me in.”

  “Then you agreed?”

  “Agreed. I'm in your hands,” she said, hoping she wouldn't live to regret those words.

  Chapter Three

  “Where are you going to put me up?” Lynn asked Blade once they were on their way again in the Jeep.

  “It's only a few blocks from here. There's a vacancy next door to me, and I'll contact the landlord in the morning, so for tonight it'll be my place.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I have a nice big bed. Very comfortable.”

  She imagined it was, but the very thought of sharing it with him made her decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, I'm not sleeping in your bed.”

  “Then you can have the couch and I'll take the bed.”

  He'd been planning on sleeping on the couch and giving her the bed? The heat of embarrassment at her assumption crawled up her neck. Why hadn't he just said so? Now she was stuck with the arrangement.

  Unless...

  “Any hotels around here?”

  “It would be difficult to keep tabs on you if you were bunking in a hotel, Lynn.”

  “We could get adjoining rooms. On me, of course.”

  “We'll be in adjoining rooms. Well, sort of.”

  Whatever that meant.

  Lynn bit back further argument. Blade Stone owed her nothing. He was simply babysitting her as a favor to Detective Stella Jacobek. She couldn't make him go even farther out of his way than he already had.

  Though she didn't have to like it, she would take the couch, which really was only fair. After all, they were going to his place, where she would be the intruder, albeit an invited one. Besides, there was a lot more of him than her. He probably didn't even fit on the couch.

  A speculation that activated her imagination.

  For a moment, she saw him in her mind's eye, sprawled over the bed... naked. His muscular body would be beautiful, all bronzed angles and planes...

  Flushing, she forced the image away. They had nothing in common, so certainly she shouldn't be indulging in such whimsy. Besides, whimsy wasn't appropriate in her situation. She needed to concentrate on the issue at hand—her continued safety.

  “Where did you get your training?” she asked as he turned the Jeep into an alley.

  “Mixing drinks?”

  “Bodyguarding,” she said.

  He pulled into a diagonal spot behind a three-story building. “You're my first.”

  No experience. Hm. Then again, the sheer size of him would make most men think twice about crossing him.

  So, she said, “Okay, weapons.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Let's start with knives.” The source of his nickname.

  His “On the mean streets of Chicago” didn't surprise her.

  He cut the engine and they left the Jeep, then he pulled her luggage out of the back and hefted it as easily as he had earlier.

  “We'll go up the back way.”

  Lynn followed Blade down the walkway to the open stairwell and noticed that he was still limping. Actually, the hitch looked more pronounced than it had earlier, which meant he must really be hurting.

  Frowning, wondering why he hadn't said anything or done anything about it, she kept her own counsel. Instead, she circled back to their conversation. “You were part of a gang growing up?”

  “I fought to stay out of one.”

  “And then did what?”

  “Joined the military.”

  Which meant he knew how to handle not only himself but weapons far scarier than knives. “Did you go overseas?”

  “A few times.”

 
“You weren't stationed there?”

  “Not for any length of time.”

  “Then for what?”

  “Special... assignments.”

  “Could you be more cryptic?”

  “I could try if you really want me to.”

  Though she would swear that was his attempt at humor, she didn't think he was really joking with her. Just giving her a runaround.

  She guessed he must be a private person. And she, being a lawyer, was too nosey for many people. Obviously, him, as well. Another example of how they were oil and water. She wanted to know everything. He wanted to tell nothing.

  He started up the back stairs and she could see he was having some trouble climbing.

  “Give me that suitcase,” she said, reaching for it.

  Blade didn't let go and the result was her drawing up close and personal on him. Arm-to-arm, the heat of his flesh seared Lynn so that she froze and considered letting him have the damn case.

  And then she changed her mind.

  Through gritted teeth, she insisted, “I can handle my own bag.”

  He shrugged and let go and the weight almost pushed her back down the stairs. Quickly recovering, she carefully balanced the suitcase and pulled the handle out of the back before turning it around.

  “Anyone with any sense would do it the easy way,” she informed him.

  “I don't know. For some women, the harder the better.”

  With that, he turned away from her and more easily took the stairs, leaving her suspicious once more about his verbal intent. Surely, she wasn't crazy. He was trying to get a rise out of her, wasn't he? So why didn't that surprise her? Who better than she knew a man wanted to have the upper hand over a woman?

  One way or another.

  Grunting as she bumped the heavy wheeled case up one step at a time all the way up to the third floor, she decided not to let his low-key humor get to her. And by the time she reached his landing and waited for him to unlock the back door, she was breathing hard.

  While the back porches below had been barren, this one had a couple of resin chairs with a small table between them, a large house plant in one corner, and another two flowering plants hanging from two sides of the porch roof. Inviting, she thought. Unlike the man himself.