"Declan?" Kim said. "I can't believe you had some guy's name tattooed on your bottom. You hate men."
"He was my first boyfriend. I got it done when I was seventeen. Look a bit closer."
Kim got to her feet and came around the desk. She leaned in and let out a giggle. "Is a prick."
"I got that bit added a little while later." She pulled up her pants. "Now that's all cleared up, can I get to work?"
"Hmm. Jake left you a note."
She took the piece of paper Kim held out and unfolded it.
I hear the job was canceled-what happened to "playing nice?"
And you have a tattoo?"
"Fuck," she muttered.
Kim gave her a sympathetic smile. "He talked to Dave when he got back yesterday."
Oh well, she'd known it was bound to happen. But no way was Gary getting her promotion. She'd find another way to prove she was nice. If it killed her. She peered up at her best friend as she leaned against the desk. "Am I nice?"
Kim snorted. Then coughed and cleared her throat. "Of course you're nice. Would I be best friends with someone who wasn't … nice?"
"You're lying." Christ, even her best friend didn't think she was nice. Was she aiming too high? She flung herself into the chair. Actually, there was something she needed Kim's help with, might as well make use of her while she was here. "Have you got a few minutes?"
"As long as you need."
She took a deep breath. "I joined a dating agency."
"When? Where? How? I don't believe you."
"It's really your fault-well, yours, and Dani's. I figured if the two of you could find someone, then so could I. But it's a load of crap. The guys I've met so far are … boring."
"And you want … exciting?"
"No, I've done exciting and I've no plans to repeat the experience."
"Declan, I presume."
"Yeah. Anyway what I want is nice." Oh God, that word again. It was taking over her life. "But I need to be able to spend time with them and stay awake. Anyway, I'll give it one more try, but I thought I'd adjust my criteria."
"And strike boring off the list."
"Something like that."
Kim shook her head. "I can't believe you didn't tell me. First the tattoo, now this." She peered at her closely. "What other secrets are you hiding?"
"None. And I'm telling you now. I thought you could have a quick look at my questionnaire on the dating site, see where I'm going wrong."
Kim rubbed her hands together. "No problem. Get me in there."
Jess sat in Jake's chair and pulled up the dating agency forms on the screen in front of her, then stood up so Kim could take the seat.
"So what I thought-"
Kim cut her off with a wave of her hand. "Just leave it to me. I've got this."
Jess paced the room, hands shoved in her pockets as Kim's fingers flew across the keyboard. What the hell was she writing? Maybe this was a huge mistake. After all, Kim was hardly an expert on the subject of dating. One abusive husband and then Jake-hardly a wealth of experience.
She peered over her shoulder, but Kim waved her away again. "You are such a total fibber," she said.
"Am not." Well maybe just a little. But who'd want her if she told the truth?
"I can't believe you've put cooking down as an interest," Kim muttered.
Jess scowled. "I can make really good coffee. And I thought I'd attract a better class of man if I came across as domesticated."
Kim snorted. "There, done. No don't look. Just see what you get and if you're still bored, then you can change it back."
"Or dump the whole idea." Maybe she'd go speed dating instead. Five minutes with a guy. Even she could manage that.
"Are you all set for Sunday?" Kim asked.
She groaned. She'd been doing her best to forget about Sunday. "How could you let me agree to that? Why didn't you stop me? Or at least stop me drinking before I got to the stage where I said I'd do it. You know I'm terrified of heights."
"It's for a good cause, and it will be fun."
"Of course it will." She pushed Sunday to the back of her mind. She'd agreed to do it, but that didn't mean she had to think about it. "Right, work. I've got to find Dave the most horrible job I can for being such a tattletale."
Half an hour later the phone on the desk rang. It was Jake's assistant. "There's a call for you, a Mr. McCabe."
She hated the little zing of excitement that flashed through her at the name. She swallowed, breathed in, breathed out. "Put him through," she said.
"Jessica?" The zing fizzled to nothing as she recognized the voice. Rory McCabe.
"Yes."
"I'm calling to ask you to reconsider."
She frowned. "There's nothing to reconsider. Your son does not want our protection. There's nothing I can do."
"There's been another attempt on his life."
Shock slammed her in the stomach. She swallowed her fear. "Is he okay?"
"Fine, a few cuts and bruises. It was a letter bomb, sent to his apartment. Something went wrong and it exploded without being opened, early this morning. Destroyed the apartment, but luckily Declan was just arriving home. He was getting out of the elevator when it happened."
And where was Declan coming back from so early in the morning? She took a deep breath. "I still don't see what we can do if he refuses protection."
"He's agreed to meet with you again."
Something unidentifiable squirmed in her belly. "Maybe another company? We can recommend someone almost as good."
"No. He made it clear, it has to be you."
Why? She'd thought they'd said everything there was to say. She'd told him she hated him-got it out of her system. He'd told her she was … nice. What more was there to add? "Give me a moment." She sat back in her seat and gnawed on her lower lip, still tender from Declan's kisses. As she pondered, the door opened and Jake strolled in. He quirked one brow when he saw her on the phone, then picked up his wife and sat down with her on his lap. Jess swiveled her chair so she didn't have to watch.
What if she didn't do this and Declan died? And why was that anything to do with her? It would be his fault. He was the one being an asshole here. There were loads of companies who could guard him. He didn't have to insist on hers.
But she knew that if he was killed, she wouldn't forgive herself. However much she hated him, she didn't want him dead.
"Shit." She took a deep breath. "Where do you want to meet?"
"At the club. One o'clock. We can discuss it over lunch."
How civilized. As she opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comment, she caught Jake's eye across the desk and snapped it closed again. "I'll see you there, Mr. McCabe."
"I'll tell the door to let you in." Rory McCabe sounded amused. Wanker. She slammed the phone down before she could say anything she might regret.
"You have a tattoo?" Jake asked.
"Piss off."
He grinned. "So what's happening?"
"Obviously, I impressed Mr. McCabe with my superb client skills and my super-nice personality. The job is back on." She pushed herself to her feet. "I think I might go order my new desk."
"I'm impressed. From what Dave said I got the idea things didn't go well."
"Well, he was pretty determined that he didn't need protection. Totally deluded-it was obvious he had no chance. So, I went back alone. We talked things through. Clearly I made an impression."
For a few seconds something flickered in Jake's eyes. Suspicion perhaps? Was he doubting her people skills? Probably. He wasn't blind or stupid. She kept her expression bland. Finally, he shrugged. "Good, just keep Declan McCabe happy and alive. Avoid telling him he's an asshole, and you have the job."
Kim sat up straight on his lap. "Declan McCabe?" Her gaze flicked to Jess's bottom and her eyebrows rose.
Time to make a strategic exit. "Okay, gotta go. We'll catch up later."
She had about three hours and she was going to dig up everything she could on Declan and his father. Then she'd have one more meeting and decide whether she really gave a crap if Declan McCabe lived or died.
Chapter Six
Declan rubbed a finger over the cut on his forehead.
Someone had tried to blow him up.
That pissed him off more than the bullet.
He took a deep gulp of scotch, then slammed the glass down on his desk so the liquid sloshed over the sides. If he'd arrived home even moments earlier, he'd be dead, or at the least a little charred. The whole death-threat thing hadn't seemed real, even after the shooting, but now it was sinking in. Someone wanted him dead.
He tried to analyze his feelings. Not fear so much as irritation. Okay, maybe a little fear-truth was he didn't want to die. He closed his eyes and had a flashback to the moment he'd plunged into Jess's hot, tight body yesterday. And knew he would have her again. He just wasn't sure how. She hated him.
Grunt nudged at his knee from under the table, and he reached down and stroked the dog's silky head. Grunt had saved his life-he'd been just getting back from walking the dog when the letter bomb had gone off. The concierge had delivered it the previous evening and it had sat innocently on the sideboard in his apartment hallway overnight. Grunt must have sensed something amiss-as the elevator doors opened, he'd whined, pulled back, then all hell broke loose.