“How long have you known Olivia?” Nicco asked over delivery pizza and soda in Scout’s kitchen that evening.
She plucked a mushroom off her pizza and chewed it thoughtfully. Her earlier run had done her good, but she’d still been keyed up after the near-miss at the docks. Now, with good food and, she admitted, good company, she felt herself relaxing. “A couple of years. We met at an auto-repair class for women.” She tapped her chest. “You are looking at class valedictorian.”
Nicco’s eyes lit with humor. “Don’t tell me. Olivia was salutatorian.”
“You got it. It didn’t hurt that there were only five of us in the class and one woman dropped out before the end of the semester.”
“I’m impressed.” He chuckled. “You and Olivia, huh? I’m trying to see it, but the picture won’t take hold.”
“We called ourselves Mutt and Jeff. But it works.” Her voice warmed. “I’m glad she and Sal found each other again.”
“Me, too. Sal’s never been happier. They want to start a family right away. Mama’s in seventh heaven at the idea of more grandchildren.”
Scout smiled, but her thoughts took a melancholy turn. There’d been a time when she’d thought she’d found the right man and that they’d marry and start a family. He’d broken her heart and shattered her trust. Since then, she’d been heart-whole and intended on staying that way. Focusing on her career was safer than giving her heart to a man.
“Sal and Olivia are the perfect couple,” she said, pulling her thoughts away from that time. “They deserve to be happy. What about you? Do you want the white-picket-fence-and-bikes-in-the-driveway thing?”
“Not in my future,” he said.
“I get it. You like the idea of having a girl in each port.” She gave him an appraising glance. “Let me guess. You were BMOC. Big Man on Campus,” she explained at his quizzical look. “Captain of the varsity football team. Prom king.”
The reddening of his cheeks told her she’d gotten at least part of it right.
“Guilty. Except for the BMOC thing. I played football and dated the prom queen. What about you? Homecoming queen. Head of the cheerleading squad. Voted Girl Most Likely to Succeed.”
“Hardly. I was Girl Most Likely to Swallow Her Retainer and Choke on It.”
He barked out a laugh. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it. I was a nerd with a capital N.”
“You grew out of it just fine.”
Now it was her turn to blush. His words brought a rush of pleasure, but she refused to take them seriously. She leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m still a nerd. I just grew out of the retainer phase.”
Humor lit his eyes. “Good to know.”
She felt herself responding to his easy manner. He was charming without trying, funny without being obnoxious. Careful, she cautioned herself. She’d fallen for Bradley without knowing the man beneath the good-looking exterior. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
But Nicco didn’t give off any warning signals. He was genuine, an honest-to-goodness American hero. He was funny, his comments insightful, and his observations about people dead-on.
She did her best to banish thoughts of how appealing he’d looked with his dark hair still wet from the shower, or how the snug black T-shirt he wore highlighted his broad shoulders.
Her parents would have liked him. Automatically, she fingered the pendant she was never without. A small gold pencil with a diamond at the tip hung from a thin gold chain. A present from her mother upon Scout’s graduation from college.
“Pretty,” Nicco said. “Something tells me there’s a story behind it.”
“There is. My parents gave me a car when I graduated from college, not a new one, but better than the beater I’d been driving. Mama wanted to give me something personal as well.” Once more, Scout touched the pencil. “She had a jeweler make this. I’ve never taken it off.”
Thoughts of her parents, their love for her, the vow she’d made to expose the truth about their murders, intruded on her enjoyment of the moment, and she pushed her plate away.
“Not hungry?” he asked.
“I lost my appetite.”
Nicco studied her. “You’re biting the inside of your cheek because you want to say something and don’t know if you should.”
“There’s something you don’t know.”
“Now’s the time to tell me. Spill it.”
“There might be another reason someone wants me out of the way.”
He got it. “Your parents.”
“How did you know?”
“When Olivia asked me to keep an eye on you, I did a background check. Same as I’d do on anyone,” he said.
Her chin came up. “What did you come up with?”
“Your mother was writing another true-crime book, this one about union murders.” The topic of Georgette McAdams’s new book wasn’t common knowledge, but Nicco must have done some digging. “You’re finishing what she started.” His lips thinned to a hard line. “Whoever’s after you thinks she left you her notes, her research. They’re afraid you’re getting too close.”
“My mother had been receiving threats before she died. The carjacking was too convenient to be random.”
“If you’re right and you keep asking questions, you could be digging yourself the same grave.”
She flinched but held his gaze. “I have to do this.”
“You’re in way over your head. You’ve got to see that.” Urgency leaked through the words.
Her jaw set. “You have a job to do. So do I.” She folded her arms over her chest, hoping he took the hint that the matter was closed.
Nicco must have gotten the message for he turned his gaze to the embroidered plaque on the kitchen wall. Great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. “I like that.”
She followed his gaze. “Thanks. Olivia gave it to me when I moved in.”
“What’s a great moment in your life?”
She didn’t have to think about it. “When I saw my first byline. It was a small thing—like the plaque says—but it was everything to me.” She cocked her head. “What about you?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Holding my first niece in my arms. I’ve never felt such pure joy.”
“What about children of your own?” It was an extremely personal question, but she couldn’t keep the words back.
“Like I said—not in the future for me.”
Why not? The words trembled on her lips, but she bit them back. “You never know,” she said lightly.
“What about you? Do you want children?”
“A houseful. I always wanted brothers and sisters when I was growing up.” Regret wadded up in her throat as she realized that she may never achieve this dream. How could she have a family when she couldn’t trust men? “I love your big family.” She’d met the Santonnis, minus Nicco, at Olivia and Sal’s wedding and had been immediately charmed by them.
Only later had she learned that Nicco had been called back to Afghanistan to help teach the defusing of explosives to new members of his unit.
His smile was wry. “It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. Always waiting for the bathroom comes to mind.”
“You wouldn’t trade them for the world.” A knot of longing bordering on envy lodged in her throat. The Santonni family was everything she’d dreamed. Once again, she was forced to acknowledge that she may never have that for herself.
“You’re right. We’re big, loud, and everybody talks over everyone else.”
“It’s wonderful.” Her sigh was wistful.
“That’s one way of describing it.”
“For me, family means love. ‘Eternity is where true love exists.’ That’s what my father had engraved on my mother’s wedding ring.” Her voice broke a little. “They were so much in love. Sometimes, when I’m missing them, I think of that and it makes it hurt a little less to know that they’re together.” Tears gathered in her eyes. She started to swipe at them when he took her hand in his.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of hurting. Pain is the price for loving.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not telling me that the pain will go away. When…it…happened, that’s what everyone said. ‘Don’t worry. The pain will go away in time.’ But it hasn’t. I don’t think it ever will.”
“The pain doesn’t go away because your love hasn’t gone away. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“No,” she said slowly. “I wouldn’t.”
* * *
Nicco hoped he hadn’t blundered. Pretty talk wasn’t his style, but he’d spoken from the heart and maybe he hadn’t done too badly.
It was obvious that Scout was still raw from her parents’ murders. Grief didn’t have a timetable. Look at him. He was still grieving over Ruth’s death, and that had been nearly three years ago.
Her voice was soft with the South lilting through it. Too soft to be talking about murder. Especially the murder of her parents, a murder that took place a scant year ago.
He was curious about Scout. For professional reasons only, he tried to convince himself. But he knew deep inside that the curiosity wasn’t just professional, and he found that he wanted to know her better. There were shadows in her eyes, hinting that she’d learned some things the hard way. Was it the obvious—the murder of her parents—or something more?
“Is there someone special in your life?”
She shook her head. “Not since my fiancé dumped me.”
“What happened?”
“Bradley Middleton showed up in my life shortly after my parents were killed, just when I needed a prince charming.”
“And?”
“He took me out, treated me like a princess. Within a couple of weeks, he asked me to marry him. I said yes. I can’t believe how stupid I was. I started planning a wedding and Bradley left for New York.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah. Just like that.”
“Has there been anyone since?”
“No. I’d rather stay home with a good book than be set up on a blind date. Or go to a singles’ event.”
“You and me both.”
“It’s better to be alone than to be with someone who isn’t right. My mother always told me not to settle. To hold out for my ‘one and only.’”
“Your fiancé was a jerk. He didn’t deserve you.”
“That’s what I told myself.” A mischievous smile turned up her lips. “Bradley’s the kind of man who lights up a room by leaving it.”
Nicco laughed deeply.
She directed a laser-sharp gaze at him. “What about you?”
“I stick to work.”
“Looks like we have that in common.”
They sat back and regarded each other.
“You’re not so bad, Santonni,” she said at last.
“Same goes, McAdams.”
The accord between them startled Nicco. The last thing he wanted was to fall for a reporter. With that self-administered reminder, he reined in the unwanted feelings Scout roused in him and did what he did best: the job.
* * *
Scout had a network of CIs, just as the police had theirs. Confidential informants were a reporter’s bread and butter. The best CIs were clued in to what was hot on the street often before the cops were.
So when Bug called, saying he had information about Crane, she could hardly contain her excitement. Bug, aka Terrence Howard, had given her viable tips in the past. She’d asked him to keep his ear to the ground for any information about union bosses, especially Leonard Crane.
Not only was Bug plugged in to what went on in the shadier parts of the city, he was a veritable genius when it came to computers. Give him a lead and he’d ferret out any and everything there was to be found.
“When and where?” she asked.
He gave her a time and location.
“I’ll be there.”
She relayed the information to Nicco, who frowned when he heard the location. “No way. That area’s bad news.”
“It’s not the best,” she agreed. “But I didn’t have a choice.”
“Of course you did. You could have said no.”
“This is important. Bug may have stumbled across something big. He’s come through for me before.”
“Doesn’t mean he can’t be used to get to you.” Frustration edged Nicco’s words.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten about the shots and the falling beams.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything. Including watching my parents being murdered.”
When she grabbed her purse, Nicco blocked her way. “I don’t like it. I can meet your CI for you.”
“He’s not going to talk to you.” Bug was skittish at best. He’d scurry away like a scared rabbit if he saw Nicco, big and tough and totally intimidating, arrive in her place.
“I smell a setup. If you weren’t so intent on getting the goods on Crane, you’d see it, too. Think. Why is this guy calling you now? When was the last time you heard from him?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Don’t you get it? He wants to get you alone. Make you vulnerable.”
“You’ll be with me.” She was confident Nicco would keep her safe. He tried to stare a capitulation out of her—she recognized the tactic, having used it herself on reluctant interview subjects—but she wasn’t giving in.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t have to act smart. You’ve let this obsession blind you. Listen to your gut,” he said. “I learned that on the schoolyard. Nothing changed when I was deployed. Your gut feels things before your head can process them. What is your gut telling you right now?”
“It’s telling me I have to do this.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and threw back her shoulders, settling the matter. “I’m going. The question is, am I going alone?”