LITMIR.BIZ

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says no, but that doesn’t necessarily mean no. I’ve been a cop a long time. I know when I’m being given the business. And, honestly, it could be just about anybody walking. Allen’s a real barn burner and doesn’t exactly tread lightly.”

      Two women jogged by. Ben’s eyes followed them coming and going until they were well out of sight.

      “So, you’re going to look into it?” I asked. “Officially?”

      “Nope. I’m to stay close. That’s it. Allen has less than politely declined my advice to involve the department, and I sure as hell can’t force her. So, my job is to just stand there, looking big and tough, and hope Mr. Poison Pen runs out of ink and steps off.”

      “So where do I fit in?”

      Ben pressed his lips to the rim of his cup, found the brew cold, and chucked the liquid over his shoulder onto the grass. The cup, he crushed in a beefy palm as he looked around for a can to toss it in. The can sat next to the water fountain across the way, but it didn’t look like Ben wanted to make a go for that, either. “I’m figuring it might be good to double up on this one.”

      “Since when do you need a co-babysitter?”

      “I don’t. But you’re a woman, and she’s a woman. You’re black. She’s black. See where I’m going with this? Thought you might be able to get something out of her I can’t.”

      I slanted him a look. “Oh, you did, did you?”

      “She’s got a lot at stake presently. There’s talk she’s closing in on a deal for her own talk show, and she’s got a memoir coming out next week. There’s going to be some fancy wine-and-cheese things happening, a couple book signings, some talk or other over at the Harold Washington Library. That’s a lot of flesh-pressing, a lot of opportunities for some nut to take a shot. I’m figuring a good look at some high-profile security and he’ll wisely find some other way to get his jollies.”

      “What about your day job?”

      Ben tossed his crushed cup into the air and caught it. “Three-week furlough started the minute I clocked out this morning.”

      I frowned. “Two bodyguards for a few crank letters? Sounds a little heavy handed.”

      Ben leaned back and crossed his arms against his wide chest. “Maybe. But who am I to tell the not-so-idle rich how to spend her money?”

      I drained my water bottle, but my throat was still dry. I sighed, knowing I was going to have to make a move for the fountain. “You say she’s difficult.”

      “Oh, she’s difficult, all right.”

      “Bodyguard for a bitchy magazine peddler . . . ,” I muttered. “You run out of cop friends looking for an easy side job?”

      “No, but besides the female and black thing, I’d like somebody on this who can’t get busted down for telling Allen where to stick her inserts. That wouldn’t be a problem with you.”

      I let a beat pass while I thought it over. “I don’t do big and tough, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

      “So, you’ll be lean and mean. All she’s looking for is a competent buffer.”

      “I’m not mean.”

      “You’re opinionated and not the least bit bashful. And cocky as the day is long. Also, a little standoffish.”

      I glared at him.

      Ben took a long look at my face. “And you’re thorny . . . but sweet on the inside. Like a pineapple. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your uniqueness. Just letting you know I see you.”

      Thorny? What? “Bottom line her for me.”

      “For one thing, she’s as aggressive as a feral pit bull. She likes head games—prying, digging, seeing how much she can get away with. All the while she’s got zero tolerance for the same kind of treatment. You wouldn’t believe the turnover rate in her office.” Ben let out an impressive whistle. “I’d say money seems real important to her—who has it, what she has to yank to get at it—and she does all her wheeling and dealing with the sincerest look of insincerity on her face. It’s bone chilling, really. I can’t completely rule out demonic possession.”

      I said, “Might explain the ‘Dear Bitch.’ ”

      Ben chuckled. “Might at that.”

      We sat enjoying the breeze, watching the joggers, the lake, the trees. No rush. Ben and I’d ridden in a cop car without killing each other; we could certainly share a bench on a slow Sunday morning without it getting awkward.

      “This gig sounds like a real pain.”

      “Pays five thousand for the week, to start. Open to re-upping, if necessary.” Ben nodded at the bike. “More than enough to buy a pretty pink basket for that rolling investment of yours.” He stared at me and shook his head. “You know you could look a little impressed. You heard me when I said five Gs?”

      “I heard.”

      You have got to be the only person I know who doesn’t jump at the chance to put five grand away just for standing around.”

      “Seems kind of high.”

      “Why are you so suspicious? Next time I’m adding suspicious.”

      I turned to face him. “Why’s it so high?”

      He cleared his throat. “Well, for one thing, there’s her personality, which means she’s not easy to work for, and then there are the constraints.”

      “What kind of constraints?”

      “You’ll have to sign an NDA and take her secrets to the grave.”

      My brows lifted. “Say what?”

      “Nothing gets out of the office. From the kind of shoes she wears, who visits her, to who, or what, she may or may not be sleeping with. She’s paying for tight lips, which shouldn’t be a problem for you. Never seen anyone hold on to a confidence as tightly as you. You up for it?”

      “A week could be a long time.”

      “Oh, it’s going to feel a lot longer than a week. I won’t paint you a rosy picture.”

      “You could try.”

      “Nope. I’ve got my pride.”

      I snapped on my helmet, slipped back into my shoes, eased my fingers back into my gloves, then tucked my towel back in the bag. I reached for Ben’s empty cup and took it with me as I trotted, at last, across the path for water. I ditched the cup in the trash can, filled my bottle, took a long drag, and then trotted back.

      “One week,” I said. “And only because it’s you asking. But why do I get the feeling you’re luring me into a viper’s nest?”

      Ben glanced up at me, smiled. “Because you’re a suspicious pineapple. Now git along, little dogie. Word of advice? Stop pedaling when you hit the Des Plaines River.”

      Chapter 2

      Vonda Allen held sway from a pricey office suite in the John Hancock building, a sleek, tapered one-hundred-story behemoth sitting smack-dab in the center of the Mag Mile, right next to high-end retail shops that charged forty dollars for a pair of socks and to review-worthy restaurants with too-cool-for-school decor and clientele.

      I’d dressed for business in a single-breasted navy suit, the hem of my skirt hitting my leg mid-thigh, a silk tee, nylons, and Italian sling-backs. Ben rose from the couch in Allen’s reception area when I walked in, and if his shirt and pants weren’t a different color, I’d swear he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday.

      My introduction to Allen was scheduled for ten, and I was early. I was always early. I liked getting a feel for a place. I glanced around at the glass and chrome and high-end paintings,

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