The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid

“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?”

“I’ll make our excuses. You take the car, and I’ll take a taxi home.” He kissed his wife. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Ryan, would you mind walking them to the car?”

“Glad to.”

Maggie led her to the parking lot at a brisk pace, but she was conscious of Ryan behind them, speaking to someone on his cellular phone.

“Now when we get home, I’m going to draw you a nice hot bath, and then I want you to—”

“Aunt Maggie,” Ryan cut in, his voice deep and tight. As they reached the car, he took the key from his aunt’s fingers and unlocked the door. “I called the police. They’re sending a unit out to speak to Clea.”

“Then you’ll have to call them back and tell them to come to my house, because that’s where she’ll be.” Maggie ushered Clea into the back seat and climbed in beside her.

Ryan ducked his head inside the car. “You intend to drive from back here?”

She patted Ryan’s cheek as though he were a child. “No, my dear boy, I intend for you to drive us home, and then I want you to come back here to pick up your uncle.”

“I’m a security specialist, not a chauffeur,” Ryan argued, but he slid into the driver’s seat anyway and started the engine.

“You’re also my nephew, Ryan Fitzpatrick. And you might want to remember that at least for the time being, you and your agency are on my payroll.”

Stunned, Clea asked, “Fitzpatrick Security is working for you?”

Maggie made a face. “Yes, but given Ryan’s performance here tonight, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Two

“I don’t need a private investigator or a security specialist, or whatever it is he calls himself,” Clea told his aunt several hours later.

“Either one works for me. Take your pick,” Ryan offered from across the Donatellis’ living room. He earned himself another glare. Clea had gone all stiff and prim the moment she had discovered she was the case he had been working on. And she had been spitting mad ever since.

“You shouldn’t have hired him without consulting me.”

“Someone had to do something,” Maggie countered.

“I was...” She hissed out a breath. “I am doing something. I’m letting the police handle it. You heard the officer. They’re working up a profile on the type of...on the type of person who does this sort of thing.”

This sort of thing. She made it sound so civilized, Ryan thought, observing the exchange between Clea and his aunt. He took another sip of scotch and leaned against the bar. There wasn’t anything remotely civilized about being terrorized by some sicko who got his kicks from frightening women. Every time he thought of how close he had been when that creep had... He bit back an oath and tightened his fingers around the glass. Whatever it took, he intended to make sure the guy never got another chance at Clea.

“And what have the police come up with so far?” Maggie argued, her Irish temper showing. “I’ll tell you what they’ve come up with. Nothing.”

“She does have a point,” James added. “It doesn’t look like Chicago’s finest are getting anywhere fast on this case.”

“And you’re not going to be safe until that madman who attacked you is caught and locked behind bars,” Maggie chimed in. “And the only way that’s going to happen is if you have a professional, someone who knows how to hunt down that kind of vermin.”

“I already have an entire group of professionals looking for him,” Clea pointed out. “They’re called the Chicago Police Department.”