Guarding the Socialite (9 page)

Chick paused a minute, then said, “What if your dad makes good on his threat to shut down Iris House?”

Chick's question sat between them, and Emma wished she had a solid answer, but the truth was she didn't know what she'd do if her father pushed the issue. She hated to admit that he might have the power to do it, but then again, she couldn't pretend that his influence hadn't helped draw the wealthy benefactors to the seasonal fundraisers she organized to keep the house going. “I don't have a clue what I'll do. Not yet anyway,” she admitted with a sigh, heavy with her own growing tension that everything she'd built might be destroyed. “But I'll figure something out. No one is taking Iris House down. Not my father and not some maniac,” she said darkly.

She'd made a promise and she meant to keep it.

D
illon stared at the intel he'd received through his cell phone from forensics on the paper the letter had been printed on. Here was something interesting, he took note, sitting a little straighter. The paper was high-end, not your ordinary stock found at the average office supply store. Forensics matched the paper to a store in New York that catered to society types for their customized stationery. Had the killer screwed up? Or was it on purpose? Considering that Emma traveled in tony circles, it might mean something. As if the killer knew Emma was accustomed to the best, which suggested he cared on some level for his target. Or that he cared for appearances.

Dillon considered all he knew of Emma and the boarders at Iris House. He still had to talk with Ursula and get her background, but last time he checked in she was still recuperating from the smack-down she'd gotten from her john.

He found it intriguing that Emma allowed Ursula to
hook and still live in the house. He could tell it bothered her even if she didn't say anything outright. He caught the worried expression, though she immediately blanketed it with a cool veneer. Why didn't she just insist that as part of the house rules the girl had to quit? It didn't make sense to him. It also didn't make sense why Emma was so driven to offer sanctuary to women who were clearly out of her social circle. Emma was uptown while the girls she fostered and protected were obviously downtown. Yet, she cared for them as if they were family. Perhaps he needed to dig a bit deeper into Emma's past to figure out the connection.

His phone trilled at his hip and after a quick check at the caller ID, he answered.

“Heard you were on a new case…kinda high profile,” Kara Beauchamp said on the line. He broke into a delighted yet surprised smile at her voice. He missed his former partner but he didn't begrudge her a new life filled with happiness after the nightmare she went through during the Babysitter case. They'd all lost something in that case even if the bad guy, or woman was it were, was taken down in the end. “You doing okay?”

Her concern touched him but he covered with laughter. “What? Your husband doesn't keep you busy enough that you have to start poking around in my business?” he asked. “Being a mum isn't excitement enough?”

“Oh, it is and I love being able to be home with the kids. but I heard through the vine that you'd been assigned to a pretty big case and I was surprised and a bit worried,” she admitted. “Last I heard you were content to stay away from the action. Now you're in the thick of it again with another serial killer.”

He sent his gaze to the ceiling and scrubbed at his jaw, suddenly feeling every hour of sleep he'd lost last night while otherwise engaged. “Yes, well, things change and they
needed someone with experience. I was the best man for the job.”

He didn't say that they'd wanted Kara. She deserved peace after nearly losing her daughter, Briana, when the Babysitter, aka Crazy Wackadoo Woman, tried to even a decades-old score that she'd cooked in her head with Kara's kid as the bounty. The case had been national news because one of the Babysitter's victims had been the son of a California senator. Those days were hard to remember without some kind of flinch from everyone who'd made it out alive. “Last time we talked, you were having a bad time with the night sweats and nightmares. That all better?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he lied. He had a shrink. He didn't need another, and he regretted sharing that personal stuff with Kara, but he never imagined that this crap would still be kicking him in the tender parts each night. Besides, there wasn't much that could be done. He'd lost a team member during that case. It'd all happened so fast. He remembered two things: a dirty flash of white and Tana's expression of panic and fear a second before that. And then both he and Tana had been thrown out a window. For some reason, the impact had killed Tana instantly but he'd been spared. He'd spent a lot of time wondering why right after it'd happened. Now he didn't waste the mental energy on wondering but he still suffered the guilt. He forced a smile into his voice as he said, “Right as rain. Fit as a fiddle and all that nonsense.” He paused and, though his heart ached to say it for he truly did miss her, he needed to get off the phone before she got him to remember too much. “I'd love to chat a bit but you caught me in a bad spot. I'll give you a ring when I have more time. Deal?”

“Don't make promises you won't keep, McIntyre” came her dry response, and he had to smile because she knew. “All
right, you're off the hook for now. Just remember to stay tight and don't get hurt. I don't want to lose another friend.”

“I rather like the idea of staying alive so no worries there,” he joked but his palms had begun to shake. “Besides, this case is nothing like the Babysitter. I think I've already got this one figured out. No namby-pamby nursery rhymes to muddle through, you know.”

“Thank God for that,” she said but her voice softened as she added, “Don't be afraid to walk away. You don't owe the world. If it gets too hot, give it to someone else.”

He agreed that he would even though they both knew he wouldn't. He couldn't walk away any more than she could have. Somehow the case felt personal for him. He couldn't fathom walking away from Emma, leaving her in the care of someone else…someone who might not know how to keep her safe.

But then, a part of him wasn't sure he was that man, either.

That saying about best intentions felt much too close for comfort.

But he wasn't walking away.

Not until the job was done.

And then? Who knows. He wasn't about to think that far ahead.

 

Emma was just leaving when Dillon returned to Iris House, something about his demeanor a little off. She hesitated, confused by her urge to inquire what was wrong and her desire to wipe away that look in his dark eyes. He was possibly the most handsome agent she'd ever seen—granted, her involvement with the FBI was fairly limited but even ones portrayed by actors didn't hold a candle to Agent Dillon McIntyre. She swallowed a distressed groan at herself
and attempted to hurry past him but he stopped her with a frown.

“Going somewhere?”

“Out, Agent McIntyre. The needs of the house don't disappear just because of the current situation. I have errands to run, shopping to do and meetings to attend. Surely you don't expect me to hide in my room until this crazed person is caught?”

“There's an idea that has merit,” he said, but she wasn't amused. The thought of remaining holed up in the house was enough to cause her to start chewing on her nails again, a nasty habit she worked diligently to erase from her early childhood programming. Seeing the set of her jaw, he said, “Fine. But you shouldn't go out alone. Take Chick with you,” he instructed. “Or an agent.”

“Chick is taking Cari to meet with potential adoptive parents for her child. It's a very important meeting and I wouldn't dream of asking Cari to reschedule just because you would like someone to hold my hand while I cross the street.”

“And what about an agent?” he asked, ignoring that little bit of sarcasm.

She sighed. “The officer left around noon. And I was glad. There's something creepy about being watched, even if it's by someone who's supposed to be watching out for you. I'm just not accustomed to this kind of thing and it doesn't feel natural.”

“Neither does being tied to a bed and assaulted and then sliced like a Christmas turkey,” he said, shocking her with his plain talk of such gruesome things. She stared and he shrugged. “Sorry. But I don't seem to be getting through to you. There's a killer out there and that letter was addressed to you. In my experience, he's trying to tell you something. The killer wanted your attention. He didn't do that with any
of the other victims. That tells me he's interested in
you.
Do you really think it's wise to make it easy for this person to snatch you unawares? He likely knows your habits, your schedule and is just waiting for the right opportunity. Don't make it easy for him.”

She suppressed a shudder. He had a valid point. And she certainly didn't want to end up like Charlotte. She swallowed. She supposed she didn't have a choice. Emma drew a short breath and looked up at Dillon, resigned. “Would you mind accompanying me today on my errands?”

“I don't mind at all.” He smiled and she forced herself to look away before she saw more than she was ready to handle. It was difficult enough to pretend that they hadn't been together last night—why she thought it would be easy was a mystery—but with him shadowing her every move it would be downright impossible. “What's on your agenda?” he asked solicitously, causing her to scowl.

“As I said…errands.” Then a brilliant thought came to her. “Actually, I could use a male perspective. I'm planning to visit the caterer to discuss the menu items for the annual Winter Ball. It'd be nice to have a second opinion.”

“My services are at your disposal.”

She shot him a quick glance and when she couldn't decide whether there was some sort of innuendo hiding within the seemingly innocent statement she simply turned on her heel with an “I'll drive” thrown over her shoulder and a private prayer for strength.

 

Dillon supposed he hadn't planned to shadow Emma on her errands but when it became apparent she wasn't going to remain within the confines of Iris House until they could make arrangements for her safety, there'd been no choice.

She slid into the understated yet sleek black Mercedes sedan and he followed with a whistle of appreciation. She
rewarded him with an arched brow as he admired the buttery leather interior inlaid with deep, rich wood accents that gleamed in the bright sunlight. “Gotta love German engineering,” he murmured, stretching his legs in the roomy passenger seat. “But you surprise me. I would've guessed a sensible Honda for you. Something quiet, fuel-efficient and perfectly unnoticeable.”

“How so?” She frowned, mildly affronted. “Are you saying I'm boring?”

“Not at all.” Lord, help him,
boring
would never be a word he'd use to describe her. Sexy, controlled, hot, did he mention sexy? But never boring. “No, but seeing as you spend your time with…women of a certain nature, a Mercedes seems…”

“Ostentatious?” she supplied for him. When he didn't disagree, she simply smiled and brought the engine to life with the push of a finger. The luxury car purred like a content beast wearing a jeweled collar. “Agent McIntyre, I may spend most of my time with former prostitutes, but the people who help fund Iris House have lots of money and you can't circulate among those with money without showing off a little yourself. It's like your calling card. I consider the car a necessary tool in my arsenal.”

“Smart,” he admitted, resisting a grin of full-blown appreciation for her savvy, but it was hard. He respected that fully functioning, calculating mind. And damn if that wasn't a turn-on in the worst way. Sexy and brilliant. A winning combination by his estimation. “So does it work?”

The corners of her lips twitched, turning those luscious lips into twin halves of sweet temptation that he barely had the wherewithal to resist sampling. “Of course it does. I'm good at what I do,” she said.

“I'm beginning to realize that,” he murmured. “So what exactly is this Winter Ball you keep mentioning?”

“It's our biggest fundraiser of the year. As I mentioned, Iris House runs on the generous donations of others. Without it, we'd fold within a few months.”

“How'd you get the seed money to start it?”

She slid him a sidewise glance, testing his reaction as she said, “My trust fund.”

“Ah…” Vale Enterprises suddenly jumped to mind from the file on Iris House. He took a guess. “How'd the parents feel about that?”

“Not overjoyed.” Her tone dulled but she shrugged. “It was my money to do with as I pleased. I chose to make a difference in the world rather than spend it frivolously.”

“Some parents might find that noble,” he offered for her benefit but she didn't seem to appreciate the sentiment. “So, what was their objection?”

Emma gave a short, dark laugh and shook her head. “Oh, just family stuff. They had different ideas about how I should live my life.”

He mulled the small clip of personal information and wanted to push for more but he sensed her hesitance to discuss her family. She was intensely private, but he reminded himself that often what people sought to hide turned out to hold valuable clues to the puzzles he was trying to solve.

“So what compels a society girl to open a boardinghouse for prostitutes? Doesn't seem the kind of thing that women of your breeding are exposed to.”

“Perhaps I'm not your average society girl, as you call it.”

“That's apparent. But most people don't make overt changes to their comfort zone unless compelled to do so, either by some circumstance or situation, which leads me to wonder…what happened to you to make you want to buck what you've known your entire life, risking familial scrutiny
in the process, to spend your trust fund on strangers and sacrifice yourself in the process to keep it going.”

“Agent—”

“Dillon.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “We've been over this. We agreed—”

“No, I never agreed. Call me Dillon,” he said, wanting to hear his name on her lips at least once even if he knew it was inappropriate to encourage additional familiarity. But they'd already crossed the line…the damage was done, so to speak, so what the hell? When she pressed her lips together, he said softly, “Just right now. In the car. Where no one else will hear us. I'll call you Emma and you'll call me Dillon.”

She faltered, shooting him an uncertain glance, then when he thought for sure she'd decline, she said, “All right…only in the car.
Dillon.
”