Some Like It Deadly (10 page)

“You’ve still got the adrenaline going from the attack and probably a little bit of shock—not to mention the local anesthetic they used before they stitched you up. Tomorrow will be more uncomfortable. At my place, I can look after you, make sure you take your meds and you can sit and soak up the sun. It’s a win-win.” He sidled over to her and grinned. “Turnabout’s fair play. You’ve been looking after me since your first day in the office and I know you weren’t fooled about how tired I was.”

“That’s different,” she argued. Instead of going toward her bedroom, she headed for her tiny kitchen. Despite the slender length of it, a large window filled the space with light. Popping the fridge open, she extracted a bottle of water.

Richard reached over and unscrewed the top for her. “No, it’s not. The only difference is you didn’t know me, you walked into a hellacious job and you didn’t complain—not once—about the amount of work it took to catch me back up. In the office at seven and not out again until ten or eleven at night. I don’t think you’ve had a day off since you started.”

“But I got to watch you play golf and eviscerate a douchebag.” She grinned and took a drink of her water. He’d acted purely on impulse the day he’d picked her up for that game. She hadn’t needed to be there, but she’d tagged along and walked the entire course, standing in the sun and been pawed by the “actor” brother-in-law. No, he hadn’t needed her there. He’d
wanted
her there.

“Yeah, that just tells me I owe you more.” He blew out a breath. “Honey, you can keep fighting me on this and I’ll stand here and argue with you, but I’m an attorney. I can argue all night.”

“Okay, one you can’t just walk into a hospital room, tell me I am staying with you for the weekend, follow me home and continue the argument. I’m your assistant, not your girlfriend.” A struggle played across her expression.

“I know, but you’re my
friend
Kate. I like my
friend
and I want to take care of her. Can you let me do that?”

Their gazes clashed. He understood the difficulty—hell, he wrestled with his own issues. A part of him thought she would be better off far away from him—but the selfish part of him didn’t want to send her away. Armand had him under watch, apparently whether he liked it or not, so the safer place was with him.

After all
,
isn’t that what I told Armand when he was so determined to push Anna away for her own good?

“You don’t fight fair.” She set the bottle down and rested back against the counter. Her statement of the obvious suggested she wavered, but she’d hardly given up.

“I fight to win.” A truth he had long since come to accept about himself. “I’m going to go pack a bag for you. What do you want?”

“I can’t sleep with you Richard.” Her quiet words stopped him. “We would be crossing a line we can’t take back.”

Leaning on the doorframe to her kitchen, he stared at her levelly. “I know. You work for me. Sleeping with me has not been, is not, and never will be a condition of that employment. But I know we’re a little bit more than employer and employee—and I know you feel it too.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel or don’t.” She ran her tongue over her upper lip and shook her head. “It doesn’t change the facts.”

“It can,” he said softly, because what he said in the next few minutes could very well change the direction they went. He really wanted to control the steering of that particular course. Maybe they’d only had a few weeks to get to know each other, but what he knew of her he liked and dammit—he wanted more. “We make rules, we negotiate them, and we don’t break anything or change until we’re both ready.”

“Life is not a negotiation. Not always.” Not a rejection.

“It can be, if you want it bad enough.” His had been. He didn’t like the life he’d grown up in—one stained by his father’s dishonesty and double dealings—so he’d changed his life by changing the rules. “But this? Right now? This isn’t about taking you home to my bed, stripping off your clothes and kissing you until we can’t see straight. See, I know that’s a potential outcome and it’s an attractive one. But that’s not what I’m asking you for or what I am trying to accomplish. Tonight.”

Blowing out a long breath, she gave him a skeptical look. “What are you asking?”

“You. Me. My house. The weekend. Tonight through Monday morning at eight a.m. We’re not an attorney and his assistant. It’s not about the office or the job—just you and me. Richard and Kate. Spending a weekend together, getting to know each other and letting me look after you so I don’t worry that you’re okay.” It sounded damn good to him. They could always renegotiate later.

“Can I get that in writing?” The smile curving her mouth teased him. “Specific terms and definitions.”

“Contracts favor the one who writes them.” He glanced around her kitchen and spotted a legal pad. He grabbed it and a pen, carried them over and set them next to her. A phone number was in the upper right hand corner of the pad. He recognized it instantly. Armand’s private number at the tower. He paused. Then, remembered Anna, how fondly the women spoke of each other. He wouldn’t be surprised if they too had formed a deeper employer/employee relationship. Though, he doubted contract terms were involved in their friendship.

Tearing off the top sheet and laying it aside, he held up the pen. “Dictate the terms.”

“You’re serious?” She studied him, disbelief and—
dare he hope?—
a hint of enchantment in her eyes.

“Deadly.” He nodded once and waited, pen poised over the paper. “Terms, woman. Name the terms.”

“Fine. The following contract and terms, to be hereinafter known as ‘The Contract’ will be between Kate Braddock and Richard Prentiss, hereinafter known as ‘The Parties’ with regard to the next—” she paused to look at the clock on her stove, “—sixty-eight hours. Expiring at zero-eight hundred, Pacific standard time, Monday.”

He grinned at the “hereinafters” and the definition of “the parties.” Adding Monday’s date to it, he glanced up. “Someone’s been paying attention.”

“After the seventy-four we’ve written, reviewed or amended in the last four weeks, I should hope so.”

“Seventy-four? Are you sure?”

“The consortium contracts—we had to write out individual ones for each negotiation and each company licensing
Spherecast
software.” The amused impatience in her tone drew another grin from him.

“True. All right, point to you. Next, terms?” He tapped the legal pad.

“Impossible man,” she muttered.

He wrote down
Richard must be impossible.

“That is not a term.” Her mouth formed an “o” and he had to bite his tongue to keep from kissing her.

“You said it, it goes in, and I don’t have a problem with that stipulation.” Hell, he rather enjoyed imagining how many ways he could be impossible.

“Fine.” Straightening, she tapped the top of the legal pad. “The parties will sleep in separate bedrooms, shower in separate bathrooms. They will refrain from intimate contact, with a minimum of six—no, make that twelve—inches of distance between them at all times. Conversations may include friendly banter, but must avoid overt sexual advances and at no point will I sleep with you.”

Richard grinned and read his way through the contract. Damn if she didn’t give him a lot of wiggle room, particularly with the first item. “I have no problems signing this.”

“For a contract to be valid, it has to have three things.” She stopped his signature with a finger on the back of his hand. “An offer, an acceptance...”

“...and consideration.” The woman’s mind never quit. “I think your brain is the sexiest thing I’ve ever known.”

“That falls under sexual advances,” she countered, but she was smiling. Yes, he had her. The last knot in his gut relaxed. She was brilliant, but when it came to cutthroat negotiations, he was better and he knew how to close this deal.

“The offer is my house and care for the weekend. The acceptance is you spending the weekend with me under my care.” He added that to the contract.

“And the consideration?”

The sizzle in his blood turned up at the arch challenge in her voice. “I don’t suppose you’d let me take it out in trade?”

“Nope.” But she laughed again.

“Consideration is just quid pro quo. I want to get to know you better and this arrangement lets me do it—and it gives you a chance to get to know me.”

“I do know you,” she murmured, and the soft whisper of her voice stroked him. “Pretty well, I think.”

“Then how about it gives you a fair opportunity to change your mind about pursuing an off hours relationship—no harm, no foul if you decide against it.” He wanted her like he wanted air. Getting her to his place for the weekend, that was a win, but he played for stakes in the longer game.

“And this is fun and enticing as hell, but saying yes? That’s the thing chaos is made of.” She still wasn’t saying
no.

“So, all we need is consideration. That’s not a yes or a no.”

Retreating a step, Kate rubbed her hand against the back of her neck and he could see the exhaustion weighing on her. She ended his internal debate with another exasperated sigh. “The hell with it. Put it on there. I’m tired and you’re right—you have a great pool.”

Scrawling his signature, he turned the pad around and handed her the pen. “Now that wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Said every spider to every fly ever, but game on, Mr. Prentiss. You have the next sixty-eight hours of my life.”

And I’ll make every single one count.

Chapter Eight

Peterson waited for them at the cliff-side beach house and, to her boss’s credit, he didn’t say a word about the overnight bag Richard carried inside or the fact that she would be staying with her protectee for the weekend.

“If you’ll give us a moment, I want to get Kate settled in a guest room.” The solicitous and intoxicating need he had to take care of her could prove dangerous. The only way to truly nip it in the bud was to tell him the truth—and
that
came with another inherent set of problems.

“Actually—” she paused in the living room, “—I’m fine just sitting down for a while and I would like to hear what they have to say too.” What arrangements had been made while she’d been stuck getting her shoulder stitched? What had they found out about the shooter? The car? She’d given a description to the police officers and to Peterson, but the details remained sketchy.

“You should probably get some sleep.” The adorable pit bull returned full force in that statement. Richard was sweet and thoughtful and it needed to stop or he’d wrap her up in cotton and she’d never be able to do her job.

“I’m physically tired, but not mentally.” Countering that base protective instinct meant appealing to the logical, if ruthless, man beneath. When she’d said she knew him well, she’d meant it. Under that warm, extremely civilized exterior lurked a merciless attorney who played to win. He knew exactly how to leverage his charm to get what he wanted. She was at his house, wasn’t she? “And you’ll just have to tell me everything he says anyway...”

A scowl tensed his forehead, then relaxed when she didn’t look away. “All right,” he relented. “Do you want something to eat? We didn’t have dinner.” It was after eleven and they’d spent their entire evening at the hospital, then her apartment.

Shifting her attention to Peterson as she sat on the sofa, Kate murmured, “Pizza?”

His subtle nod assured her the gate security protocols wouldn’t be affected by the request.

Richard sat the bag down by the steps to the upstairs before joining her and pulling out his phone. “Pineapple?”

Surprise rippled through her and she blinked. “Yes.”

“You like fruit,” he reminded her. “Ham and pineapple or just pineapple?”

Torn between embarrassment because Peterson observed the interaction and delight that Richard had indeed noted what she’d said earlier, she shrugged, then winced. The shoulder didn’t like the movement. “Pineapple only would be great.”

Five minutes and three pizzas ordered later—Richard asked for two pineapple and one meat lovers—Peterson spread out some papers on the coffee table. She recognized the layouts for beach house, office and courthouse. Shifting forward, she tried to ignore Richard’s thigh brushing against hers. It violated the twelve-inch rule, but she could hardly point that out with their audience.

Slanting a sideways look at him, she found him grinning at her.
Behaving impossibly...and he damn well knows it.
His not so subtle wink coiled tension in her belly.
Security first then deal with Richard in private.

“As you can see, most of your standard locations—this house, your office, and the courthouse—are relatively easy to secure. We’d like to station a man inside the gates here,” he marked a spot on the property. “He can handle any deliveries, anyone seeking admission, and unless we have a champion rock climber, no one’s coming up the cliff side. However, I would recommend regular patrol intervals, particularly when you’re going to be outside. We’ve already done security checks on your neighbors and they’re all clean.”

“You did this a long time before tonight.” The too cool tone didn’t indicate a receptive attitude. If anything, Richard’s chill screamed disapproval.

“His Highness requested the security checks at regular intervals anytime you had someone new move into the neighborhood.” Peterson had no problem with Richard’s disapproval, and why should he? He didn’t work for Richard and what His Highness requested, the grand duke received.

“Fine.” Richard scratched at his jaw. “I know you have the club secure, or Armand wouldn’t use it.”

“That’s correct. We’ll need to make few alterations there. As for your office, the new security protocols fall directly in line with what we would suggest, however—” Peterson’s gaze switched to her, “—Ms. Braddock’s apartment building is far more difficult to secure.”

Don’t you do it.

Her boss ignored the look she sent him.

“She’s staying here this weekend. We’ll address next week when we get to it.” Richard took the news well. Too well. He actually smiled for the first time since the meeting started.

Son of a bitch.
I
need to tell Richard.
Peterson’s gaze fixed on her and she could almost hear his negative response. They needed to talk, but they couldn’t while Richard hovered so protectively. Yes, his protectiveness served a purpose—she could effectively be glued to his side—but at what cost?

“Very well. We’re going to ask you to share your schedule with us.”
As if he didn’t already have it.
Very smooth.
“We need at least twenty-four hours’ notice of any physical location changes so we can scout them ahead of time.”

“Some meetings are required last minute and I won’t always have twenty-four hours to let you know about them.” A muscle ticked in Richard’s jaw. He really hated this and Kate’s heart squeezed.

Touching a hand to his, she pulled his attention to her. “We have a list of all the centers where you do representation. We can give them that and they can clear them ahead of time for security concerns or whatever it is they’re looking for.”

He turned his hand over and caught hers in an easy grip. “That won’t prevent things like what happened today.”

“Precisely,” Peterson agreed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you both some questions about today’s events. For example, why did you stop?”

“Richard wanted to pick out flowers for Miss Novak. We were on our way to the tower for supper at the grand duke’s invitation.” No way would she allow Richard to shoulder the blame. His mouth tightened and she squeezed his hand in comfort. “It was an impulse, so we pulled off and went over to check the flower stand.”

“When did you become aware of the threat?” Peterson’s gaze locked on hers and she heard the unasked question.
Why didn’t she stop him from getting out of the car?

“When the gun went off,” Richard answered before she could. “It was pretty crowded and I was watching for your men. I’d noticed the vehicle following us a few times now.” Cool anger crept into his tone. “I wanted to be sure before I spoke to Armand about it, so I asked Kate to stop. She had no idea beyond the flowers.”

Peterson didn’t buy that as an excuse and neither did Kate. She’d screwed up letting him get out of that car and she’d seen the threat, but too late to prevent the attack. Seemingly letting it go, the security chief nodded. “What can you tell me about the shooter?”

Nowhere near as much as she wanted to be able to say. “White male. Maybe six foot. Dark baseball cap, longish hair, no facial hair.” The scene replayed in her mind. The height comparison she took from the man’s relative position to his vehicle. “Couldn’t get a good physical build.”

“You got a lot.” Richard stroked his thumb along the side of her hand.

“What about the gun? The LAPD is running ballistics, but we may have to wait some time for that report.”

The scene scrolled across her mind’s eye.
The car.
It’d passed once. She’d noticed it on the second pass. The third time it had pulled up to a stop. The man climbed out. He wore a suit jacket—odd in counterpoint to the hat—but the sun was in her eyes.

“She’s tired,” Richard interrupted before she could answer. “Maybe we can finish this tomorrow.”

“No, I’m fine,” she assured him. “But I can’t be sure of the gun. I see the barrel, I know it was a handgun. Could have been a .45? The pop sounded like a .45, no silencer.”

“And how do you know what a .45 sounds like?” Richard pinned her with a look.

“I’ve fired one.” It was the absolute truth and the answer didn’t mollify him. “But I couldn’t swear to it.”

“That’s fine. Make and model of the car?”

“Dark sedan, some kind of tinted windows because they really reflected the glare. Didn’t see a license plate.” Which amounted to a fat lot of nothing, but she knew every detail added to a bigger picture and when it came to securing a target, the more they knew the better off they were.

“That’s fine. We’re going to see if we can get some footage from the security cameras in the coffee shop. They might have had an angle.” Peterson gathered up his papers. “Any plans to leave the house this weekend?”

“No,” Richard answered. “We’re locking it down for now. I can access most of my files digitally, so we won’t need to go to the office.”

“Excellent.” Extracting two cards from his inner jacket pocket, Peterson handed one to Richard and held the other out to her. She had to tug her hand from Richard’s to accept it. “Please put my number in your phones, if you think of anything—no matter how inconsequential, let us know. The LAPD is expediting the case for you, Mr. Prentiss. As you’re aware, they are very fond of you.”

He nodded and rose, shaking Peterson’s hand once. “I’ll walk you out.” The two men left.

Kate flipped the card over. It had a time on it. She understood the message. Peterson wanted to speak to her alone.

Shifting to slide it into the pocket of her jeans, she reached behind her neck to undo the sling. The damn thing was more annoying than helpful and the ache in her shoulder had turned into a constant burn. They’d given her painkillers, but she hated to feel muddled.

Flexing her right hand, she tested her mobility and the sting traveled all the way down to her fingers. She had a couple of days to get it back, but for now, this would have to do.

“You should put the sling back on,” Richard chided as he returned, three pizza boxes in hand. He stacked them onto the coffee table. “What do you want to drink?”

“Water is fine.” She didn’t need any alcohol, not on top of the anesthetic or if she ended up having to take one of those damn pain pills to placate Richard. The fact that she wanted to erase the worry in his eyes worried her. The deeper she went down this rabbit hole, the more it would hurt to extract herself.

He returned from the kitchen with plates, paper towels and two bottles of water. Setting it out, he turned and scooped her up before settling back onto the sofa with her in his lap.

“Richard, this violates the twelve inch rule,” she reminded him and tried to ignore just how nice it was to be in his lap with his body curved around hers. She’d never craved protection before, but damn if he didn’t make it nice.

“Shh, I’m being impossible.” His arms tightened around her. “And I need a minute to make sure you’re all right.” Touched by the rough emotion in his voice, she leaned into him and brushed her fingers down his cheek.

“I am all right. It’s really a scratch.”

“It could have been a lot worse.” He studied her and the deep brown of his eyes seemed to have darkened to black.

“But it wasn’t.” She needed to soothe away his worry. “I’m fine. See? You can feel me. You’re holding me and I’m okay.”

“You know it’s okay if you’re not, right?” He tucked a finger under her chin and nudged her gaze up. “I get that you didn’t cry because you’re used to being the strong one, but it is okay if you were scared. Hell, I was terrified.”

Most men would never admit that and her already tremendous respect for him inched up a notch. “I didn’t have time to be afraid,” she confessed. Ready to kick herself for allowing the distraction and giving that shooter the opportunity, yes. Afraid? No. But a lick of fear against her spine made a lie out of those words. She hadn’t been afraid for herself at all—but the shooter hadn’t wanted to kill her. Choking the thought off, she focused on him. “But I do need something.”

“Anything.” He brushed his fingers through her hair. She hadn’t put it back up after the hospital, only taking the time at her apartment to comb it out.

“Food?” Distract him, get the worry out of his eyes and ease the guilt she could read in his troubled expression—that was her goal. “I’m starving.”

Her stomach cooperated with the mission, growling as if to punctuate the demand, and his cheeks creased with a wide smile. “Food I can do.” He let her go with some reluctance and set her down on the sofa next to him as though she were made of fine porcelain. Loading up the plates with pizza and opening her water bottle for her, he dragged a pillow over to set it on her lap like a makeshift table.

Violently aware of his gaze on her as she took a bite, she nodded to the television. “Movie?”

“It’s late.” He frowned. “You should get some rest.”

“Are you ready to sleep?” Pushing aside her fatigue, she knew without asking he’d have trouble. He wore his concern like a hair coat and it would torture him if she didn’t find a way for him to relax.

“No...any preference?” He twisted and found the remotes, flicking the television on, but muting it while he pulled up the guide.

“Find something you like,” she suggested. God, she played with fire and would likely go straight to hell at this rate. “We’re supposed to be getting to know each other, right?”

The slash of a grin softened the hard line of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

More curious than anything, she nodded. “Done.” She took a bite of her pizza and watched as he switched the television over to a selection of films and in the list of most recently watched were legal films. She raised her eyebrows. He selected
A
Time to Kill.

“You watch movies about lawyers.” She didn’t laugh, but she had to bite the inside of her lip hard.

“Yes.” He slid her a sideways glance. “What kind of movies do you like?”

“You can find out tomorrow when I pick.” Because admitting her love for action movies with military themes might be a bit too revealing.

“Tease.” But he grinned.

“Shut up and play the movie.”
Before I make an even bigger mistake than I already have.
She wasn’t supposed to be involved. Caring compromised her objectivity. But she suspected that it was too late. Settling back against the sofa, she tried to concentrate on the pizza and the movie. The quiet only served to heighten her awareness of the man next to her.