French Kiss Part 24

With nostrils flaring, she picked up the receiver and angrily punched in Johnny's unlisted number, which he'd given her in a weak moment.

Thirty-two.

"Don't say anything, just listen," Nicky snapped as Johnny sleepily answered the phone. "And when I'm finished," she said, her voice rising into the shriek zone, "I want a groveling apology, or maybe a thousand groveling apologies. Do you f.u.c.kING UNDERSTAND?"

"Gotcha." He'd not risen so far in the world of entertainment without knowing how to deal with temperamental artist types. His voice was smooth as gla.s.s.

"And I don't need any glib replies like that, either," Nicky screamed. "Do you know what JUST HAPPENED TO ME? Do you know who just broke into my house and rousted me from a dead sleep, put a gun to my head, and f.u.c.king SCARED THE s.h.i.+T OUT OF ME?"

Johnny sat bolt-upright in bed, his adrenaline beginning to course through his veins, because he had a pretty good idea who she was talking about. "Are they gone?" he asked.

"Yes, no thanks to you! And no thanks to your lying, thieving ex, who wouldn't know how to tell the truth if the f.u.c.king Spanish Inquisition had her on the rack!"

"What did they want?" No longer concerned with appeas.e.m.e.nt, his voice was curt as he thrust the covers aside.

"Little Miss Kleptomaniac apparently didn't just take the black pearls, she took some stupid ring from this Yuri guy! And the b.i.t.c.h dumped the box into my purse on the way to the airport!"

"Don't move. I'll be right there." Johnny was out of bed and striding toward his closet.

"It's too late for the f.u.c.king cavalry," Nicky bristled.

"Too bad, I'm coming. Stay put. Lock your doors." Each word was crisp and decisive. "Are you upstairs or downstairs?" He stepped into a pair of jeans.

"Downstairs."

"Go upstairs with your cell phone; give me the number. I'll be over in ten minutes."

She should say no. She should tell him to go to h.e.l.l. She should spurn his too-little, too-late help with bitter indignation. "Make it sooner," she said instead, because she needed someone to tell her everything was going to be alright. Preferably someone who carried handguns in duffel bags under the seat of his car.

"I'm so d.a.m.ned sorry to involve you in any of this," he murmured, as though he could read her emotional s.h.i.+ft across the lines. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Now, give me your cell number, lock the doors, and go upstairs. Okay?"

Jeez, now she knew what it felt like when the cavalry really did come to your rescue. The man was a f.u.c.king virtuoso with the finesse of a diplomat and the macho a.s.surance of a neanderthal.

She could practically hear the bugles sounding the charge.

"Are you there?" he whispered, the concern in his voice vibrating over the miles.

She blew out a breath, all the adrenaline draining from her veins. "Kinda."

"I need your cell number," he said in the tone of voice you'd use to coax a kitten down from a tree.

Some delayed reaction seemed to be setting in, her brain turning to mush, her focus in chaos. It took two tries to get the number right.

"Hang up now," he said, real softly, worried she might fall apart before he got there. "Lock up. Go upstairs." He p.r.o.nounced the words slowly. "I'll take care of everything from now on."

Now, that was confidence, she thought, hanging up the phone.

The kind of confidence that could take a man to the top.

Sort of where he was, come to think of it.

Which made her feel a whole lot better. That was the kind of can-do att.i.tude she needed to hear to help her stop imagining a thousand worst-case scenarios.

Yep. She definitely felt as though her life was improving. Like maybe it could actually return to normal. Like maybe she wouldn't have to move after all. Like maybe she wasn't feeling as mad at him as she did before.

Was he good at just about everything, or what?

The second Johnny set down the receiver, he found his cell phone and scrolled down his directory to a number under the listing: Malibu.

It wasn't a California number though. It was an international number, and as he hit the call b.u.t.ton, he pulled a T-s.h.i.+rt from a dresser drawer.

When someone picked up on the other end, Johnny said, "I need a favor."

The conversation was short, cryptic, no names were mentioned.

"I'll have a driver at the airport to pick you up," Johnny said after exchanging the briefest of comments. "I appreciate your help."

Then he pulled the T-s.h.i.+rt over his head, slipped on some sandals, wrote a note for Vernie, and, dropping it on the kitchen table on his way out, sprinted for his car.

Thirty-three.

After setting a personal speed record, Johnny pulled up to the curb in front of Nicky's house and gave her a call on his cell as he swung out of his Lamborghini. "I'm outside," he said.

By the time he reached the porch, she was standing in the open doorway.

He should have censored his comment, but the thought of her half-undressed in that way-too-small Simpsons T-s.h.i.+rt and panties with them wasn't conducive to self-censors.h.i.+p. "They saw you like that?" His voice was sharp as a knife, his scowl unmistakable.

"I'm very well. Thanks for asking," she tartly replied, not in the mood for any more male libido working overtime after Raf's loathsome overtures. Really, if Johnny didn't get a little nicer real quick, her good mood was going to go south.

"Sorry. Strike that last remark. I'm f.u.c.king groveling, okay?"

Groveling was good. He was immediately exonerated.

"I couldn't be more sorry, babe. Really."

Definitely a man with a golden tongue.

A second later, he'd leaped up the stairs and was pus.h.i.+ng her back inside. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." His smile was up close and personal, as he shut the door behind him. "But, what can I say? You're just too d.a.m.ned hot for your own good." She may or may not have heard him-something about hot. He was standing too close. All she could think about was throwing her arms around him, clinging to him with a stranglehold, and declaring her undying love. It must be nerves. She must still be hysterical. Even thinking the word love about a man like Johnny was pure insanity.

"You shouldn't have had to deal with a.s.sholes like Yuri and Raf. It p.i.s.ses me off something awful." Taking her hand, he led her over to the couch in her living room. "Tell me what happened, now. Start from the beginning. I want to know what they said and how they said it. I want to know if they mentioned where they were going. As for Lisa, I'm too teed off to go anywhere near her. My lawyer will deal with her." Sitting down, he pulled Nicky onto his lap and held her in a gentle embrace. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you feel better about this. I t' s my fault that they even knew who you were. So, give me a list, or tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

With such a carte blanche offer, that dazzling engagement ring fantasy immediately took center stage in her consciousness. It was crazy, of course-and totally immature. But she was feeling all warm and cozy in his arms, and white picket fence fantasies always went hand-in-hand with that kind of storybook enchantment. Not having lost all reason, however, she didn't put in her bid for an engagement ring. She said, instead, "You're off the hook. No list required, but thanks for the offer. Mostly, I'd like if I didn't have to worry about people like them ever again."

"You won't. My word on it."

"How can you be so sure? They're not the type to live by your rules."

"Trust me. I just am. But with your safety in mind, why don't you come and stay with me for a while. I'd feel more comfortable." A startling statement if he'd acknowledged it. But he didn't. He conveniently ignored the implications of such an invitation. "What d'you say?"

"If you don't mind." She had to admit, the thought of staying alone in her house wasn't so attractive after having had a gun to her head.

"Of course I don't mind. Why should I mind?"

Maybe because he'd sworn off relations.h.i.+ps since his divorce.

Or because he'd vowed to never become involved with a woman again.

At least not until Jordi was grown and gone-say in ten years.

But previous pledges were conveniently overlooked at the moment.

Who knows why?

Maybe the all-too-revealing Simpsons T-s.h.i.+rt was to blame.

While Nicky went upstairs to dress and pack, Johnny made a few calls to augment his plans for some personal revenge.

But he was smiling and congenial when Nicky came back downstairs. Taking her suitcase from her, he kissed her and said, "I'm looking forward to waking up with you."

"Me, too," she answered, more grateful and relieved than she would have thought by his generosity. She was also half in love, but that was a separate issue and one she was seriously fighting.

For his part, Johnny never thought in terms of love. He never had-even when he'd married. Not that his wedding had been planned. It had unwittingly happened one out-of-control week-end. He and Lisa had flown up to Vegas from L.A., and when he woke up the next morning, he saw a marriage certificate on the bedside table. Lisa told him she was pregnant later that day, and his first thought was to ask if it was his. But he figured it was a little late for that.

When Jordi was born, he was glad he hadn't bailed.

She became the center of his life.

From that moment on, he'd stopped taking recreational drugs.

As for Lisa, once he'd detached himself from the drug scene, she'd become a real pain in the a.s.s.

So, long story, short, since breaking free of Lisa, he'd avoided permanent women in his life.

Until now.

Thirty-four.

"The remodeling story, then," Johnny said as he and Nicky walked toward his house a short time later.

"It works for me." She tried to smile and only managed to remind herself that she was still shaky from her early morning encounter with evil.

Johnny reached out and slid his fingers through hers, folding them into the warmth of his hand. "You're safe here. We have security on top of security."

The gate at the bottom of the drive did bring her comfort, not to mention all the security cameras she'd never noticed before. They all twinkled in the trees and bushes, like personal guardians of the peace.

She exhaled softl y. "I should be back to normal soon."

"Sure you will. Not that my household is exactly normal, with Jordi keeping everything stirred up." He grinned. "In a good way, of course. I'm not complaining. But you might not be used to kid commotion."

"I'm the youngest of three." Her smile was real this time. "Believe me, I understand turmoil."

He was pleased to see that the haunted look in her eyes had dissipated. "Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all," he said, squeezing her hand. "Brace yourself. We're going in."

They found Jordi and Vernie having breakfast in the kitchen with Maria and Johnny launched into the agreed-upon story. "Nicky's having some remodeling done on her house, and the crew woke her up at the crack of dawn with"-he turned to Nicky with a grin-"did you say jackhammers?"

"It sure sounded like jackhammers."

"Anyway, I told her she might as well camp out with us until all the dust settles at her place. We've got plenty of room."

"And then Nicky can finish up on my tree house faster!" Jordi exclaimed. "Come, sit by me," she added, patting the chair next to her. "After we eat, I'll show you the most perfect swinging chair for my tree house Vernie and I found on the Internet."

Johnny met Nicky's gaze. "I don't know if Nicky's schedule-"

"That would be fun," Nicky said, moving around the table to take a seat beside Jordi. "After breakfast we'll check that out."

He hadn't been about to tell Nicky she should take the day off; he knew better. But he was pleased she'd decided to take a breather. Not that she was going to forget what happened to her in a few hours or a day.

Nor would he for that matter.

He already had a list of people who were gonna pay for what they'd done to her.

As predicted, Jordi kept everyone busy. Several hours in the morning were devoted to the tree house, even though it was temporarily on hold. Jordi and Nicky selected some furniture on the Internet and went over the addition of fairy lights and a bunk bed to the plans. They even laid out a secret path to the structure, outlining it on the gra.s.s with washable pink spray paint.

They all ate a picnic lunch on the hill where the tree house was going up, the blue Pacific sparkling in the sun, the scent of eucalyptus pungent in the air, the specimen redwoods that outdated not only San Francis...o...b..t the state of California soaring high above them in all their stately splendor.

While they ate peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwiches, chips, and cookies-Jordi's menu having precedence over this picnic luncheon-the adults shared a fine Riesling, a wine tolerant of such wide and varied food groups.