Shiver of Fear (40 page)

“A body double.”

This time he just stared at her, a slow realization dawning. “You’re not serious.”

She thumped her fist on the table. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“C’mon, Lang, it’s the oldest form of security in the world. Put a fake—a
professional
fake—in her shoes until the killer is caught. If there even is a killer, which I don’t happen to think there is. But, still,
we bait with a decoy and—”

“Stop it,” he said, his voice low and harsh, not having to pretend seriousness at all now. “For one thing, all kidding aside,
you’d need an extreme makeover to pass as Cara Ferrari.”

“Not from a distance.”

“Second, if a decoy or bait was used, the job would go to a trained professional, not an outside consultant, ever.
And third, good luck getting to Cara Ferrari. It’s easier to get an appointment with the president.”

A flicker of arrogance crossed her face. “Maybe I already have.”

“What? How?”

She shrugged. “What do they say? Everyone is six degrees of separation from someone.”

“You are not six degrees of anything from Cara Ferrari.” Was she?

She picked up her drink and then set it down again. “Forget it, Lang. You’re right, she sucked in that role. She should stick
to the trashy stuff that made her real money.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Like one of her really early B-movies, the one where she played the undercover cop working as a
stripper? I liked that.”

“Of course you did. What man doesn’t love the raw acting talent it takes for a woman to use her mouth to unzip thigh-high
boots during a lap dance?”

“You have to admit that was a memorable scene.”

“Yeah, that took mad acting skills.”

“And coordination,” he agreed. “Just think how many college boys she made happy.”

“Were you one of them, Lang?”

“Please. I was in the FBI Academy when that movie came out.” Still, he fought a smile. “But it was a pretty sexy lap dance.
Although, I guess that’s redundant.”

She blew out a breath, giving her little Italian hand wave of dismissal. “Yeah, whatever. And can we just forget we had this
conversation? It’s moot anyway. They say Kimberly Horne has the Oscar in the bag.”

He relaxed a little as she accepted the truth. “Vivi, you can’t seriously think you could convince Cara Ferrari to
let you
be
her for however long it takes to trap a killer, who, by the way, greater minds than yours don’t think exists. I think you
should forget this idea completely.”

She snorted and grabbed her drink. “I don’t care what you think.”

And that right there was the problem with them. She didn’t really care what he thought, what anybody thought. He didn’t respond
and she sucked the straw again, this time looking up at him with wide eyes as her mouth closed… kind of exactly like she’d
look up from a blow job.

Goddamn his dancing dick.

“Just forget it,” he said, as much to his disobedient organ as his unintentionally sexy consultant. “It’s a cute idea, but—”

“Fuck you, Lang.”

“Sorry, I know you hate anything cute.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

Evidently not. “Get what?”

“What I’m trying to do with this business my brother and I started.”

“How can you say that?” He pushed his drink aside to get closer. “I believe in your business. Hell, if I’m not careful, my
boss is going to start questioning just why you guys have had, what, four or five assignments in as many months? We’re supposed
to spread the outsourcing wealth, not focus on one firm.”

She just shook her head. “This isn’t about you and your office. This is about
me
and
my
office.”

“Seriously, Vivi. You only started this business last fall. What do you expect?”

“Greatness,” she replied without pause. “There are companies doing what mine does and making millions.
They’ve got multiple offices and hundreds of investigators and bodyguards and security specialists on their payroll.”

“And that’s what you want?” Somehow, the dream of big business just didn’t fit this skater chick. The raw ambition, like so
many things about Vivi, surprised him.

“I always want to be the best,” she told him. “I don’t like to do things half-assed.”

“I respect that, but…” He placed both his hands over hers, damning the electrical charge he got every time his skin made contact
with hers. “You’re not starting with Cara and your body double idea.”

She snapped her hands away. “You can’t tell me what to do, Lang. No one can.”

Obviously. “Consider it professional advice, then.”

“Give me one good reason why not,
other
than the fact that I don’t look like a movie star, as you’ve pointed out with great relish and ruthless candor.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“My job is dangerous,” she replied. “Your job is dangerous. That’s the life we’ve chosen. If we get the assignment, Zach has
three excellent bodyguards who can come stay with me twenty-four seven.”

Three guys with her twenty-four seven? Something unfamiliar and ugly rolled through him. Jealousy. “Doesn’t matter. With all
the nutcases out there, it’s too risky.”

She pushed back with a disgusted breath. “You are so…
careful.
”

“You say that like it’s a detriment. I’m an FBI agent, Vivi. Cautious is my middle name. And if you’re going to make it in
the security consulting business, you’d do well to adopt the same one.”

“Well, my middle name is Belladonna,” she informed him.

“A poison.”

“A beautiful woman in Italian,” she corrected him, then raised a palm to stop his response. “Don’t. You’ve dinged me enough
for one day. My point is
cautious
doesn’t always work in business, Lang.”

“It does in the security business.” Three bodyguards? Shit, he hated that.

“Nobody gets ahead being safe. It’s like that half-pipe over there.” She tipped her head to the concrete slopes where skaters
flew and flipped. And fell on their asses. “You gotta go big and go wild or go down.”

“Yeah, well I’ve gone big and wild, and went down hard.” No, he didn’t go down. The one and only woman he’d ever loved had
gone down. All the way down. Six feet under down.

“What happened?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Just don’t take crazy risks, Vivi.”

“Can’t help it, dude, that’s how I roll.” She got up, kicked her board out from under the table and hopped on it. “I gotta
head out to my family’s house for Sunday dinner. See ya, Assistant Special Agent in Charge Colton Cautious Lang.”

“Bye, Private Investigator Viviana Poison Angelino.”

She rolled a little, tugging on her helmet, and threw him one last rueful look. “Thanks for the Slurpy and the advice.”

She zipped off, giving him a perfect shot of her ass as she kicked into high speed.

There went his cock again.

To make the blood flow north to his brain, he forced
himself to think about her stupid, foolish, crazy idea. Okay, it wasn’t entirely stupid, but the last time he took a risk
like that, he lost
everything
. Which would also be the last time he let a boner get in the way of his work.

Never again.

I
understand you got into that little law school across the river.”

Samantha Fairchild scooped up the cocktails from the service bar, sending a smile to the man who’d been subtly checking her
out from behind rimless glasses. “Our trusty bartender’s been bragging about me again.”

Behind the bar, Wendy waved a martini shaker like a sparkler, her eyes twinkling. “Just a little, Sam. You’re our only Harvard-bound
server.”

Sam nodded to the light-haired gentleman, not really wanting to start a conversation when Paupiette’s dining room was wall-to-wall
with a Saturday night crowd. Anyway, he wasn’t her type. Too pale, too blond, too… safe.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, a Harvard law degree,” the man said. “I’ve got one myself.”

“Really? What did you do with it?”

The smile widened. “Print money, like you will.”

Spoken like a typical Harvard law grad. “I’m not
that interested in the money. I have another plan for the future.” One she doubted a guy dripping in Armani and Rolex would
appreciate. Unless he was a defense attorney. She eyed him just as two hands landed on her shoulders from behind.

“I seated Joshua Sterling and company in your section.” Keegan Kennedy’s soft voice had a rumble of warning in it, probably
because she was flirting with lawyers in the bar when her tables were full. “I’ll expect a kickback.”

“That sounds fair.” She shrugged out of his grip, balancing the cocktail tray.

“I bet he’s a generous tipper, Sam,” the lawyer said as he placed two twenties on the bar and flicked his wrist for the bartender
to keep the change. “You’ll need it for the Con Law texts alone.”

She gave him a wistful smile, not too encouraging, but not a complete shutdown, either. “Thanks…”

“Larry,” he supplied. “Maybe I’ll stop in before you start classes with some first-year pointers.”

“Great, Larry.” She forced a more encouraging smile. He looked like a nice guy. Dull as dry toast, but then he probably wouldn’t
kick her in the heart with an… army boot. “You do that.”

She turned to peer into the main dining area, catching a glimpse of a party of six being led by the maître d’s second-in-command.

Joshua Sterling’s signature silver hair, prematurely gray and preternaturally attractive, glistened under the halogen droplights,
hung to highlight the haute cuisine but casting a perfect halo over this particular patron.

It wasn’t just his tipping that interested Sam. The last time Boston’s favorite columnist had dined here, they’d
gotten into a lively debate about the Innocence Mission, and he ended up writing a whole article in the
Globe
about the nonprofit. The Boston office where Sam volunteered had received a huge influx of cash because of that story.

“Good work, Keegan.” Sam offered a grateful smile to the maître d’, who had vacillated between pain in the ass and godsend
since he’d started a few months ago. “Count on ten percent.”

He laid a wine list on her cocktail tray, threatening the delicate balance of the top-heavy martini glasses. “He tips on wine,
so talk him into something from the vault. Make my cut fifteen percent and I promise you we will not run out of the tartare.
It’s Sterling’s favorite.”

She grinned. “Deal, you little Irish weasel.”

After delivering the cocktails to another table, she headed toward the newly seated party, nodding to a patron who signaled
for a check while she paused to top off the Cakebread chardonnay for the lovers in the corner, all the while assessing just
who Joshua Sterling was entertaining tonight.

Next to him was his beautiful wife, a stunning young socialite named Devyn with sharp-edged cheekbones and waves of golden
hair down to trainer-toned shoulders. Two other couples completed a glossy party of six, one of the women finishing an animated
story as they settled into their seats, delivering a punch line with a finger pointed at Joshua and eliciting a hoot of laughter
from the rest. Except for Devyn, who leaned back expressionless while a menu was placed in front of her.

Joshua put a light hand on his wife’s back, waving casually to someone across the dining room. He whispered
to her; then he beamed at Sam as she approached the table.

“Hello, Samantha.” Of course he remembered her. That was his gift, his charm. “All ready to tackle
Hahvahd
?” He drew out the word, giving it an exaggerated Boston accent.

“Classes start in two months,” she said, handing over the wine list, open to the priciest selection. “So, I’m ready, but nervous.”

“From what you told me about that volunteer work of yours, I think you’ve got more legal background and experience than half
that first-year class. You’ll kick butt over there.” He added a smile to his laser-blue gaze, one that had been getting more
and more television airtime as a talking head for liberal issues on the cable news shows.

No one doubted that Joshua Sterling could hit the big time down in New York.

“I hope you’re right,” she said, stepping aside for the junior maître d’ to snap a black napkin on Devyn Sterling’s dark trousers.
“Otherwise I’m going to give it all up and go back into advertising.”

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Joshua warned with a sharp look. “You’ve got too much upstairs to push computers and burgers. You
need to save innocent victims of the screwed-up system.”

She gave him a tight smile of gratitude, wishing she were that certain of her talents. Of course, doling out bullshit was
another gift of his. “What’s the occasion?” she asked, wanting to get the conversation off her and onto a nice big drink order.

Joshua waved toward the brunette who’d been telling the story. “We’re celebrating Meredith’s birthday.”