Tough As Nails. Jackie Manning
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you want to talk…”
“Thanks” was all she trusted herself to say. She’d forgotten what an easy listener he was. Whenever she’d had a problem, whether it was with her father, her indecision about a career or what kind of car to buy, Mike would patiently listen until she was all talked out. How she’d missed that.
She caught herself. Surprised to find her hand wrapped in his, she drew back. She couldn’t tell Mike that Kristi was going to tell her boyfriend about the baby. She bit her lip. “I know it’s not professional to get involved with one’s clients, but there’s something about this young woman. I really think I could help her.”
“She’s lucky to have you in her life.” His voice warmed again, flowed over her. Brianna glanced into Mike’s caring expression. For a moment, she felt genuinely relieved that he had accepted her case. Nora had been right. Mike believed he could help her and his confidence was catching. Yes, she was beginning to believe he could keep her safe. And she wouldn’t fight the secure feeling he gave her. But after all, this was his job.
More than likely, his charm was part of that service, too. The bond that was forming between them was merely the security in knowing she was in expert hands. Nothing more.
She never spoke of her clients to anyone outside the office, and she felt a bit embarrassed. Glancing at her watch to break the tension, she was surprised to see how late it was. “I should be going—”
“I’ve got a call to make. This will only take a minute.” Mike reached for the black leather case beside him and clicked open the lid. “I’m going to check on one of my partners, Liam O’Shea. He’ll be running the sweep on your apartment.”
Surprised, she looked up. “You’re not going to do it?”
“Liam is the team expert on eavesdropping detection.” Mike reached for her hand. “Don’t worry. He’ll be discreet.”
His hand cupped over hers felt warm, protective and strong. A sudden memory of how those hands had felt touching her skin, how those fingers felt teasing her, seducing her, brought with it a stab of incredible yearning.
She pulled her hand away and rubbed the stem of her wineglass. When their eyes met, she thought she saw a flash of remembrance in his face. But she must be imagining it, for in the next moment he removed a boxlike phone from its case and punched in a series of numbers. She sipped her wine again and forced herself to relax.
“Hello, Bailey?” Mike said. “Page Liam this time and have him call me on the bubble machine in about an hour. I’ll be at the Crib.”
His eyes leveled on her as he hung up the receiver and tucked the phone back inside the case.
Surprised, she asked, “Bubble machine at the Crib?”
He flashed a smile. “The bubble machine is our satellite phone. And the Crib is the name of our safe house in Brooklyn. TALON-6 owns it.”
“Why can’t I stay in my apartment?”
“Until Liam runs a thorough check on your home, car and office, I want you safe with me.”
She clutched at his arm. “I can’t, Michael. I’ll stay at a hotel.”
“Very well, but you won’t have the same security. We’ll get adjoining rooms.”
She glared at him. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m extremely appreciative for what you’re doing, but I’m perfectly capable of staying by myself.”
His features settled into an unemotional mask. “When I said you’d stay with me, I didn’t mean that literally. The Crib is a secure building where our clients, those in need of top-security protection, stay. Celebrities, politicians, people in the witness-protection program, that sort of thing. You’ll be safe, comfortable, and you can relax and catch up on some needed sleep.”
“This is not where you live, right?”
He flashed a grin, a dimple deepening in his left cheek. “True, I do keep a small apartment there, but there’s plenty of room for both of us. You’ll have your own suite and you won’t know I’m there, if that’s what you want.”
She arched an eyebrow as her gaze met his. “I’ll consider going on one condition. If I don’t like it, I leave for a hotel. Okay?”
“Okay.” He gave her another devastating grin that melted her insides. “You’re the boss in this business relationship,” he added.
“I’m the boss,” she repeated. But when she looked deeply into those familiar blue eyes, she felt as if she was sitting in the front seat of an out-of-control roller coaster, holding on for the ride of her life.
ON THE WAY to the Crib, they stopped at Brianna’s apartment only long enough for her to pack an overnight bag, pick up the mail and replace the recording tape from her answering machine. Mike had suggested she not listen to her messages until she was safely ensconced in her new quarters at the Crib.
It was after four o’clock by the time their cab pulled up in front of an elegant Greek Revival building that blended right in with the picturesque Brooklyn neighborhood. The street looked deserted. From the back seat of the taxi, she craned her neck to see the three-story, brick and brownstone dwelling. A wrought-iron set of urns housed red geraniums and white petunias set on stone pedestals. “This is the Crib?” she asked, unable to hide the surprise from her voice.
“Uh-huh.” Mike peeled several bills from his wallet, then handed the cash to the driver. After the cab drove away, she glanced up at Mike.
“I was expecting something more…I don’t know, snarling pit bulls chained at the door, bars over the windows, concertina wire on the roof.” She bit back a laugh.
He grinned. Clutching his briefcase in one hand, he grabbed her suitcase with the other. “Looks can be deceiving.”
Her high heels clicked in step beside him as they strode over the cracked sidewalk toward the white door. Inside, an old-fashioned wrought-iron and brass elevator loomed a few feet from the entrance. With a trust she didn’t feel, she followed Mike into the polished cage.
The metal gates clanged shut, and the car, instead of the clattering, bone-jarring climb that she’d expected, sped smoothly to the top floor.
Mike took her arm as they stepped out of the elevator into a room the size of Yankee Stadium. Bookcases stretched to the ceiling along one wall. Opposite, bare windows overlooked the Manhattan skyline and the rosy sunset beyond.
Natural-leather sofas adorned with oversize russet and teal pillows nestled in cozy groups. A modern painting leaned against an easel. A granite egret wading in a metal lily pond shone with unseen illumination. Glass tables with black urns filled with white moth orchids flanked each side of the sofas.
“I’m very impressed,” she said, feeling a surge of admiration at his obvious success. Mike was self-made, receiving little help from his alcoholic father or the mother who had abandoned them.
He didn’t look at her when he shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over a chair. His black T-shirt showed off his well-developed chest and biceps to perfection. “You mean it’s a far cry from those tar-paper shacks along Mill Street?”
He was reading her mind and she felt suddenly self-conscious. “I’m very pleased that you’re successful, Mike.” She walked to the windows and gazed at the Brooklyn Bridge. “I’d like the name of your decorator,” she said, half teasing.
He grinned. “What’s important is that the Crib is electronically secure. This is my apartment when I’m in the city, but I don’t think of it as home.”
She paused to study an impressionistic watercolor in the hallway. She recognized the signature of an up-and-coming artist who’d had her first showing in a leading gallery last winter. “Where do you call home?” she asked, then damned herself for the question. On the way over in the taxi, she’d vowed not to ask him