One of the Good Guys Read online

  For a moment her mind refused to assess what lay before her. The entire contents of the shop lay topsy-turvy. Knickknacks and dishes had been smashed and shards of glass littered the floor, crunching and snapping beneath Libby’s tentative footsteps.

  Furniture had been tossed helter-skelter, with no respect for age or value. As if in a dream—no, some horrible nightmare—she walked slowly toward the small office door at the back of the shop, cringing at the senseless vandalism that surrounded her.

  The scene in her office was worse. Her desk drawers had been emptied and papers were strewn all over the floor. The entire place looked as if a miniature but destructive tornado had swept full force through the store.

  My God… Her mind reeled with shock as she leaned weakly against the wooden desk. What had happened here? And why? As shock began to wear off, anger took its place.

  The police…she needed the police. They would find out who did this. They would punish the person who had destroyed her shop.

  Angry tears blinded Libby as she ran back out into the bright sunshine, seeking the reassuring blue uniform of a police officer. Her tears came faster and faster as she stood helplessly in the center of the sidewalk, unsure where to go for help.

  She screamed as a hand suddenly came down firmly on her slender shoulders.

  CHAPTER 2

  Libby gasped, stifling another scream and jerking away in fear from the hands that touched her. She whirled around and stared up at the man who had been following her for the past few days. The terror in her eyes quickly died, replaced with a seething, uncontrollable anger.

  “You!” She glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. “Did you and Bill have something to do with this?” She gestured wildly at the shop. “Is this some sort of scam to prove that I can’t survive on my own? Well, it won’t work. You can just go back and tell Bill that his little scheme is stupid. Nothing and nobody can make me go back to him.”

  Without saying a word, the man walked over to the shop and opened the door. His brow wrinkled and his jaw muscles tightened as with one quick glance he assessed the situation. “I would suggest a call to the police would be in order.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” she snapped sarcastically, her shoulders sagging as her anger vanished, usurped by an overwhelming sense of despair. She blinked rapidly to dispel the hot tears that were once again threatening to fall.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder, this time not firmly but softly, as if in sympathy. “Is there a phone in your shop?” His voice was a pleasant, low-pitched rumble.

  She nodded, biting her bottom lip and allowing him to lead her back into the shop. Once inside, she stood in the center of the rubble, vaguely aware that the man was talking on the telephone.

  As he murmured softly into the receiver, giving all the pertinent information, Libby looked around, assessing the damage. She moved to straighten a lamp shade on a brass lamp, then picked up a wooden chair that was lying on its side.

  “You really shouldn’t touch anything until the police arrive.”

  She turned at the sound of his deep voice, realizing he had hung up the phone and now stood looking at her.

  “Why don’t you look around and see if you can discover if anything has been stolen,” he suggested.

  She nodded, relieved to be able to do something—anything. Her fingers itched with the need to straighten and clean, but she realized that his advice about not touching anything until the police arrived was sensible.

  She walked around the small confines of the shop, her gaze darting from place to place. She was slightly perturbed by the fact that she was drawn again and again to the handsome man who was now casually leaning against the inner-office door, his eyes darkly inscrutable.

  She couldn’t help but notice that he was a magnificent specimen of masculinity. The night before, she had only gotten a view of him from the neck up. Now she was unsurprised and somehow pleased to discover that his body perfectly suited his head. He was sleekly toned, dangerously fit, and clad in a shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and slender waistline. His blue jeans were tight, hugging and molding his lean hips and muscular legs. He did not have the physique of a man who worked out with weights, but was lean and wiry, possessing the physical attributes one usually ascribed to a swimmer or a runner.

  There was little physical evidence that he had spent the entire night in the cramped confines of a car. His shirt was slightly rumpled and his lower face had a dark shadow that attested to a morning without shaving. Other than that, he looked as fresh and vital as if he’d spent the night in his own comfortable bed.

  She pulled her gaze away with an audible sigh of irritation. What the hell was she doing, admiring the physical attributes of a virtual stranger while her livelihood lay in shambles around her?

  “Anything missing?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Nothing that I can tell right offhand.” She sat down on the wooden chair she had righted moments before, once again looking at him. “I’m sorry…about what I said earlier. I was upset. I know Bill had nothing to do with this. Even he wouldn’t stoop this low.”

  He merely nodded, his expression unreadable.

  “I’m sure you know my name…but I…uh…don’t know yours.” She stifled a nervous giggle. God, her shop had been broken into, ransacked and vandalized, and she was sitting here, casually asking the name of a man who had been hired to follow her every move for the past three days. Could things get any more ludicrous?

  He smiled, flashing beautiful, white teeth. “I’m Tony Pandolinni.”

  At that moment two patrol cars pulled to a halt outside the shop, their sirens whooping the news that something was amiss.

  * * *

  The next two hours passed quickly as the officers surveyed the damage, discovered where a crowbar had been used to break the lock of the back door and asked questions, questions and more questions.

  Libby was totally wrung out by the endless interrogation of the police officers. No, there had been no guns kept on the premises. It was a personal managerial position to never accept firearms. No, she hadn’t been aware of any recent customers who had been angry or upset enough to commit this senseless vandalism.

  The officers, with Libby’s help, discovered that the only thing that appeared to be missing was Libby’s daily ledger, a diary of sorts with each day’s transactions written up in detail. The stereos, VCR equipment, televisions—even the cash in the register—remained intact and untouched.

  The officers dutifully wrote everything down in small black notebooks, then left, but not before voicing their own personal opinions that the break-in had probably been committed by kids out for an evening of destruction.

  After the police left, Libby immediately began straightening the clutter, wondering if the shop would ever be the same.

  “Maybe you should just leave this mess for today. Go home and relax,” Tony suggested.

  She jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice, having forgotten his presence in the store. She shook her head. “I could never rest knowing this mess was here.”

  He nodded as if in understanding, and to her surprise he picked up a broom that had been standing in a corner. He began sweeping up the slivers of broken glass that glistened in the sunlight pouring through the large front window of the shop.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she protested.

  “I know, I want to.” He flashed her that devastating grin, then resumed his sweeping.

  Libby watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged and went back to work. At her request, Tony kept the sightseers out of the shop, allowing in only the regular customers whom Libby first okayed.

  It was almost another two hours later when Libby sat down tiredly on a chair and looked around her, grateful to see that the shop had been put back into some semblance of order. She sighed, then jerked upward in the chair as a loud banging noise came from the back rooms. Noting that Tony had disappeared, she followed the sound to discover him bo
arding up the back door.

  She watched him silently for a moment, almost able to see the taut muscles of his back flexing and working through the fabric of his shirt as he applied hammer to nails. He finished driving in the last nail, then turned to her and smiled. “Hope you don’t mind. I found the hammer and nails back here and thought I’d put them to good use. This should hold until a new door can be properly installed.”

  She nodded her thanks, then walked back to the front of the store, where she flopped tiredly into a chair and pushed her damp, blond hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

  He sat down on a chair across the room and looked around. “I’d say we did a good day’s work, Libby Weatherby.”

  “And I thank you for all your help,” she said simply.

  He nodded, then stood up and walked over to stand before her. He knelt in front of her and pulled a pristine handkerchief from his back pocket. In a quick, gentle motion he wiped the cloth across her forehead.

  “What…what was that for?” she asked, jerking back from his momentary contact.

  He smiled, making her notice the fine webbing of wrinkles that radiated out from his dark eyes. “I never take a woman to lunch who has dirt streaked across her forehead.”

  “And what makes you think I’m going to have lunch with you?” she asked peevishly, suddenly very hot and tired.

  “It’s after noon. I’m hungry and I imagine you are, too. You’ve had a harrowing day. Surely you can close up shop early after such an experience.”

  She started to protest, irritated at his presumption that she would have lunch with him. Still, he was right. She was rather hungry and she really wasn’t in the mood to keep the store open for the rest of the afternoon. She was exhausted and bewildered, and at the moment nothing sounded more appealing than a restaurant meal before going home to a warm shower and a long nap.

  “I am hungry,” she admitted aloud.

  “There’s a little café on the next block. It’s supposed to have great food. Olive’s—have you ever eaten there?”

  “Many times. I often go there for lunch.” Decision made, Libby stood up and grabbed her purse. “Okay,” she agreed.

  At the door of the shop she paused, her gaze lingering on the contents, basically back in order, but not quite the same as before.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

  She shook her head slowly, then pulled the door closed and carefully locked it. How could she explain to him that somehow the shop now seemed tainted, blemished? A stranger, or several strangers, had wandered around, touching things, breaking things, effectively destroying the peace she’d always felt while in the store.

  They walked in silence toward the café, and Libby’s thoughts turned to the man beside her. What kind of person was he? How could he make his living by following people, spying on people? She’d always thought those kind of paid voyeurs were sleazy, but Tony Pandolinni didn’t appear to be a sleaze bag. He was not only attractive to a fault, he’d also been kind enough to help her with the cleanup.

  Maybe over lunch she could ask him to appeal to Bill, to get him to stop this senseless, constant surveillance. If that could be accomplished from this mess, then maybe it would all be worthwhile. It would be nice to be able to call her life her own again, to no longer feel the presence of someone constantly watching her, following her.

  They entered Olive’s Café and sat down at a booth toward the back of the small restaurant.

  “Hi, Libby.” Olive waddled to their booth, barely able to fit her massive bulk between the tables. “I hear there was some excitement over at your place this morning.”

  “Hmm, a break-in and a big mess, but nothing of value was stolen,” Libby replied, noticing the way Olive looked at Tony hungrily, as if he were a thick, juicy red steak.

  “What can I get for you folks today?” Olive’s gaze never wavered from Tony, and to Libby’s utter disgust, Tony actually winked at the big woman.

  “I’d like a hamburger, fries and a glass of ice tea.” Libby snapped her menu shut, already regretting the impulse that had led her to agree to have lunch with the virtual stranger across from her. Her day had been horrendous enough, and the last thing she needed was to spend time with a mini-Magnum who’d probably skated through life on the magnetic attraction of his high cheekbones and dimpled chin.

  “And what about you?” Olive grinned broadly at Tony, then leaned toward him with a conspiratorial whisper. “I have it on good authority that the spaghetti sauce is exceptional today.”

  “Homemade?” Tony raised a dark eyebrow.

  “By these very own hands,” Olive said with an uncharacteristic girlish giggle.

  “That’s good enough for me.” Tony grinned at her, handing her his menu, his body leaned toward her attentively.

  “And for you, I put a couple of extra meatballs on the plate.”

  “Ah, you’re a real charmer.” Tony gave the broad woman the benefit of his hundred-watt smile.

  Libby watched this byplay with disgust, unable to believe that even a hardened, world-wise woman like Olive could be affected by male physical attractiveness. “I’ve been eating in this restaurant almost every day for the past several months, and never has Olive offered to put something extra on my plate,” she commented, picking up her paper napkin and positioning it on her lap.

  Tony shrugged and looked at her innocently. “Perhaps you just don’t know how to order properly.”

  “Or flirt outrageously,” Libby muttered beneath her breath.

  For a moment he merely stared at her; then he grinned slowly. “Ah, is it possible the beautiful flower perhaps has thorns?” He reached across the table and lightly touched one of her hands.

  “It is very possible, and it’s dangerous to get too close to a thorny flower. You’re liable to get stuck.” She withdrew her hand and moved it out of his reach, irritated by the sudden infusion of warmth that had coursed through her at his light touch.

  “There are some men who thrive on danger.” He grinned easily, seemingly unaffected by her withdrawal from him. “Is that why you and your husband divorced? Because you’re full of thorns?”

  “Is that why you decided to become a private investigator? Because you thrive on danger?” Libby countered coolly.

  Once again Tony’s gaze was thoughtful as another small grin played on his lips, making his mustache twitch beguilingly. “Very good—when the conversation gets too personal, it’s always a good tactic to counter with a question.” He shrugged in good-natured defeat. “Okay, we’ll talk about me. I’m thirty-six years old. I was a police officer for eleven years. I was a damn good cop, but I decided I was ready to go into business for myself. I’ve been a private investigator for almost a year now.”

  “Business must be pretty bad if you have to take cases like Bill’s,” Libby exclaimed with a touch of sourness, not forgetting for a moment that this man had been shadowing her life for the past three days.

  Tony shrugged. “Actually, I usually don’t take these kind of cases…but to be perfectly honest, this particular surveillance case intrigued me.”

  “Intrigued you?” Libby gave a short burst of unbelieving laughter. “What could you possibly find intriguing about Bill and me?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t so much Bill. He just appeared to me to be a lovesick, obsessed ex-husband. What intrigued me the most was that he told me he’d hired two prior detectives and you’d caught on to all of them within hours.”

  Libby nodded, wry humor lifting her features as she thought of the previous P.I.s’ ineptitude. “I’ll admit, you were much better than the others. You’ve been following me for three days. All the others lasted only a single day.”

  His dark eyes glinted with suppressed amusement, and a small smile touched his lips. “Actually, I’ve been following you for six days.” He laughed at her expression of shock, his laughter deep and pleasant. “You’re good, but I’m better.”

  “I don’t believe you,�
�� she said flatly, looking at him skeptically. Her mind whirled back over the past six days. Surely she would have known if somebody had been following her for almost an entire week. “I…I would have sensed you…I would have known…”

  He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small black notebook. Thumbing through the pages, he came to a halt and began reading aloud. “Wednesday evening, subject stopped for groceries on way home from work, then proceeded directly to her apartment. Subject went to bed at ten o’clock.” He looked up from the notebook, the teasing laughter back in his eyes. “Oh, by the way, I find that little blue thing you wear to bed quite attractive.”

  She opened and closed her mouth several times, sputtering in total outrage. For a moment her indignation was so great, words wouldn’t come, and so she settled for glaring at him. “That is absolutely despicable,” she finally managed to sputter, grabbing her purse, intent on leaving. She was stymied by Olive, whose massive bulk appeared at their table with their orders, effectively blocking Libby’s desired escape.

  Once the big woman had departed from their table, Libby glared at him once again. “I think you’re rude and obnoxious, and I think the job you perform is equally odious.” She fumed silently for a moment, then turned her attention to the hamburger before her, wanting only to eat, then go home and leave behind this man who’d invaded her privacy so completely. Imagine… he’d actually seen her in her teddy. Her face shook as she guided a hot French fry toward her mouth.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” Tony offered, but Libby didn’t think he sounded the least bit sorry. In fact, he sounded quite amused, and this only served to infuriate her further.

  She retreated into a silence that grew as both of them concentrated on their lunch.

  “A pawnshop is rather an unusual business for a young woman, isn’t it?” He broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “What’s wrong with a woman being a pawnbroker?” she asked defensively.