Just Another Pretty Face (HT 459) (19 page)

"You're a scandalous rogue, Pierce Kingston," she said, but there was no censure in her voice.

He gave her his pirate's grin. "And you love it."

Yes,
Nikki thought, and in that instant everything was suddenly made blindingly clear to her.
Yes, I love it. And you. I love you.
How could she not have realized it sooner? How could she not have seen it coming and done something—anything—to protect herself against it? She, Nikki Antonia Martinelli, bodyguard and ex-leatherneck, was in love with another pretty face. And this time he was the reigning heartthrob of the silver screen.
Oh, dear.

"Here." He plucked a bright red strawberry out of the bowl and popped it between her open lips, totally unaware of the cataclysm going on inside her. "Have a strawberry. And then take a sip of champagne. The flavors enhance each other. I learned that from
Pretty Woman,"
he admitted ingenuously, his smile inviting her to smile with him.

He meant for this to be a lighthearted afternoon, with no thoughts of crazy fans or fires or thinly veiled death threats. Or wondering if someone he knew was really behind it all. There would be no tying himself up in knots, forcing himself to keep his hands off his bodyguard, either, because here, in public, she was his to touch and kiss and romance to his heart's content.

He'd never really romanced a woman before, not in the sense of wooing a reluctant woman into his arms and his bed. The women he'd known before Nikki had never been reluctant. Coy, sometimes, to add spice to the chase, but never truly reluctant. The sensation was an interesting one. A mite frustrating, but interesting, all the same. It made the thought of her eventual surrender all the sweeter. All the hotter. Because, when this was over, she
would
surrender to him. She'd surrender everything.

"You're not drinking your champagne," he said. "Don't you like it? Should I order a different kind?"

"No, it's fine."

"But?"

"But I'm working."

"Oh, jeez, still?" He made it a comic refrain, pouting just a bit, like a spoiled little boy who wasn't getting his own way by being charming and was wondering if throwing a tantrum would help.

Nikki eyed him warily, not at all sure it was just an act put on for her benefit.

He sighed. Heavily. "Okay," he said. "No champagne." He motioned the waiter over. "Take this away," he said grandly, indicating the bottle of champagne, "and bring us a bottle of your best ginger ale."

"And menus," Nikki said in a strangled voice, trying not to laugh. "I'm hungry."

"And menus," Pierce said to the waiter. "The lady says she's hungry." He picked up Nikki's hand and brought it to his lips. "The gentleman is hungry, too," he said, and pretended to gnaw on her knuckles.

"Very good, sir," the waiter said, deadpan, as if he were quite used to seeing the male clientele of the Polo Lounge nibble on their female luncheon companions.

The afternoon continued in the same lighthearted vein after that. Kisses and silly conversation were interspersed with bites of grilled chicken breasts with a honey-mustard sauce and baby vegetables dressed with olive oil and herbs. They had more strawberries for dessert, with whipped cream this time, and tiny cups of double-strength espresso. It was late afternoon when they finally left the hotel, sated with good food and easy laughter, feeling at peace with the world.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Kingston," the valet said when he came back from the parking lot without Pierce's Lamborghini. "I don't know how it could have happened."

"How what happened?"

"I'm sure the hotel will be willing to pay for the damage."

"Oh, jeez. Did someone sideswipe my car?"

"No, sir. It's right over there, sir," the valet indicated the Lamborghini's position on the lot with a nervous sweep of his arm. "I don't know how it could have happened," he said again. "It's never happened before," he assured them as Pierce and Nikki hurried over to where the car was parked.

All four of the Lamborghini's tires had been slashed.

There was a piece of paper tucked under the windshield wiper, like a note left behind when the damage has been accidental and the perpetrator has enough of a conscience to leave his phone number and insurance information. The paper was pale blue. Nikki leaned over and plucked it out from under the wiper.

"
I hope your little afternoon love jest was worth it
," she read aloud. "
Next time it will be you
."

All the blood drained from Nikki's face. "Oh, God," she said, knowing that the author of the note was insinuating that, the next time, she intended to use the knife on Pierce. "Oh, dear God."

She put her left hand on Pierce's back, pushing him toward the entrance to the hotel, reaching under her jacket with her right hand to touch the reassuring bulk of the 9mm Baretta nestled in the shoulder holster under her arm.

"Nikki, damn it, wait a minute," he said, automatically resisting her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Please, Pierce." She pushed him harder. "Don't argue with me now. We've got to get you inside where it's safe."

11

NIKKI AGONIZED all the way home in the taxi, chastising herself for exposing Pierce to danger, telling herself she should have resisted his blandishments and insisted that they stay behind the closed gates of the estate. What if the culprit hadn't been content with just slashing the tires on Pierce's car? What if she'd come inside the restaurant after him? What if she'd been carrying a gun instead of knife?

Next time it will be you
.

Her mind raced on at a mile a minute, trying to analyze the true extent of the danger and figure out what form it would take the next time. Her instincts were on autopilot, automatically monitoring the traffic as it flowed around the taxi, checking out the occupants of each car that passed them, tensing each time the taxi slowed or stopped. A backfire split the air and she grabbed Pierce's arm with both hands, intent on dragging him down on the seat, out of the line of fire. She released him in the next instant, realizing that the sound hadn't been a gunshot. Pierce reached over, totally oblivious to what she had intended to do, and covered her knee with his hand. "You okay?"

Nikki gritted her teeth. "Fine."

"Well, try to relax a little." He gave her a reassuring smile and a caressing little pat on the knee. "We'll be home in a few minutes."

Did the man have ice water in his veins? Or didn't he understand that his life was in danger?

Next time it will be you.

Just remembering the words written on that pale blue piece of paper sent a cold shiver down Nikki's spine.
Who is it?
she wondered, sifting through all the possibilities in her mind.
Damn it, who?

It had to be someone who knew they were going to be at the Polo Lounge, she decided. Someone who knew Pierce's luncheon plans. The only two people who'd been at the estate when they left were Kathy Frye and Marjorie Gilmore.

Then again, the Lamborghini's tires could have been slashed by someone who'd followed them from Pierce's Beverly Hills estate to the hotel. Someone who'd been waiting outside the now-barred gates for just such an opportunity. Janice Bressler, maybe. Or that woman from the cleaning service Bill's investigators still hadn't been able to trace. Or Lisbeth Greene, who hadn't been to visit her aunt since the fire.

The culprit could also have been someone who just happened to see the car in the parking lot of the Beverly Hills Hotel. A red Lamborghini wasn't all that unusual in Southern California, certainly, but it was eyecatching, and Nikki would bet there was only one with a pair of fuzzy white baby booties hanging from the rearview mirror. Someone who wasn't even on their list of suspects could have recognized the car and the booties and realized her quarry must be inside the hotel with his new lover.

The culprit could be anyone.

Anyone at all.

Which meant the danger was everywhere.

Nikki turned to the man sitting beside her in the back seat of the taxi. "Do you have someplace you can go?" she asked, low. "Someplace where no one would ever think to look for you?"

"My family has a cabin at Mammouth," he answered in the same soft whisper she'd used to ask the question. "Why?"

"And no one knows about it? Not the press or your friends or anyone?"

"Just the family."

"And it's absolutely safe?"

"As safe as anyplace can be, I guess. Why do you—" And then it hit him. "Oh, no. No. You can just forget that idea. I'm not going into hiding. That's totally out of the question."

"Damn it, Pierce, your life is more important than that macho movie-star reputation of yours!"

"No," he said again. "And that's absolutely final."

"But why?" It was a cry directly from her frightened heart.

"Because if I went into hiding I'd be doing the very thing I've fought against all my life." He reached out and took both of her hands in his, turning sideways on the seat to face her. "I was six months old when I appeared in my first movie," he said in explanation. "My father was directing a film with Sophia Loren and they decided they needed a baby in one scene, and since I was on the set with my mother..." He shrugged. "The point is, I've been in the limelight practically since the day I was born. There are very few places I can go without attracting attention. There are some places I can't go without attracting a mob. It's something you learn to deal with if you plan to stay in this business very long, and my way of dealing with it has always been to ignore it as much as I can. And that means refusing to live my life behind an electrified fence, surrounded by an entourage to insulate me from the world any more than I already am. That's why I won't go into hiding, Nikki. Not because of the damage it might do to my reputation, but because I refuse to let anyone put any more restrictions on me than there already are. And because, if I do, then she's won."

"Not even for a little while?" Nikki said. "Not just until this woman is caught?"

"Who's to say she'll ever be caught? And how are you going to catch her, anyway—" he lifted one hand and touched her nose lightly with the tip of his finger "—if you haven't got me for bait?"

"Don't joke about it, please. It isn't the least bit funny."

"I wasn't joking, sweetheart," he said as the taxi pulled up in front of the gates to his estate. "I was just stating a simple fact. There's no way to smoke this woman out without me, because I'm what triggers her to do what she does." He leaned over to reach for the window controls.

"No," Nikki said, stopping him. "You stay right there." She would have liked to tell him to get down on the seat, but she had a pretty good idea of how that would be received. She lowered the window on her side and leaned out of the car to press the intercom button on the pole-mounted control panel.

"Yes, who is it, please?" said a voice in answer to her buzz, and then, as whoever it was recognized her on the monitor. "Oh, Nikki, it's you."

Nikki tensed. The voice didn't sound familiar.

"How come you didn't use the transmitter in Pierce's car?" the voice asked. "Is it broken?"

"Lisbeth?" Nikki said, finally recognizing the voice coming over the intercom. What was Lisbeth doing here? When had she arrived? How long had she been here? And why had she asked about the car? Had they left danger behind only to find it waiting for them again at home?

There was just one way to find out, and staying here wasn't it. "We left the car at the hotel and took a taxi home," Nikki said.

"Why-"

"It's a long story." She cut the young woman off before she could finish asking. "Just buzz us in, please," she said, and released the button. "Lisbeth's here," she said to Pierce.

The taxi started up the wide curving driveway.

"So?" said Pierce.

"So, she hasn't been to visit her aunt since the night of the fire. What's she doing here now?"

"Visiting her aunt?" Pierce guessed.

"On the very day there's another assault on you? Doesn't that strike you as the least bit suspicious?"

"Nikki, sweetheart, she's here and we were there," he pointed out with infuriating logic. "How can that be suspicious?"

"It depends," Nikki said darkly as the taxi circled the topiary garden and pulled to a stop in front of the wide stone steps, "on just how long she's been here. Pay the man," she said, and slid out of the taxi.

She positioned herself between Pierce and the front door, not really expecting trouble from anyone inside but prepared for it nonetheless. She'd been lax up to now, letting Pierce's relaxed charm and unconcerned savoir faire lull her into letting things slide.

That was about to change.

They went up the front steps together and stood there for a moment, at Nikki's insistence, watching the taxi until it disappeared through the gates.

"Don't you think you're taking this just a tad too far?" Pierce asked as she opened the front door and went directly to the monitor panel to press the button that would close the gates. "You can't suspect everyone of trying to do me bodily harm."

"Yes," Nikki said. "I can." She closed the door, throwing the dead bolt lock into place with a flick of her wrist and a significant look at the man standing beside her. "And you have no idea how far I can take it."

She moved away from him and the door, the soles of her strappy white Farigamo sandals slapping against the black-and-white marble tiles of the foyer as she headed for the kitchen. There was determination in every step she took.

"What are you up to?" Pierce asked, following along behind her.

She didn't pause. "You'll see."

"No." He grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "I won't see. I want you to tell me."

Nikki tried to yank her arm out of his long-fingered grasp, couldn't, and immediately stopped the useless effort. She could have freed herself, and quite easily, if she'd been willing to take advantage of his injured leg. Which she wasn't. She glared at him instead, her green eyes flashing sparks that promised all sorts of madness and mayhem if he didn't let her go.