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Her Sworn Protector
Marie Ferrarella
Experience the thrill of life on the edge and set your adrenalin pumping! These gripping stories see heroic characters fight for survival and find love in the face of danger.She was the only witness to a murder Hardworking cardiologist Kady Pulaski was dedicated to healing people. Now a patient was dead…and her own life was on the line. One man could keep her safe and Byron Kennedy wasn’t taking any chances. Keeping the beautiful doctor alive was the ex-cop’s first priority.But when the heat between Kady and Byron ignited, neither could ignore the fire. Could Byron follow his heart, no matter where it might lead?


“You’ll protect me from what’s in the dark.”
She smiled up into his face.
Damn, if he took so much as a breath, he’d be brushing up against her. How could one small woman unnerve him like this? She was too close. Much too close.
Much too desirable.
He tried to get a grip. “How about if what’s in the dark is me?”
Her pulse began to accelerate. Things were happening inside her, things she couldn’t stop. It was as if someone had thrown a switch. Or taken off her blinkers.
Her breath backed up into her lungs. The words came out in a whisper. “I don’t need protecting from you.”
Unable to help himself, he ran his thumb along her lower lip. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marie Ferrarella, USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author, has written over one hundred and fifty novels, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

Dear Reader,
This story should have been the third and last instalment of THE DOCTORS PULASKI. But once I began writing about the family, two more sisters appeared. So this book is now only the middle one. You know what they say about the middle of the sandwich – it’s the best part. I will leave that decision up to you, meaning you have to read the next two to compare.
In her own way, Leokadia, Kady for short, is my favourite sister. I named her after my mother (who absolutely hated her name and was appalled when I gave it to my daughter as a middle name). Writing about the Pulaski family is a wonderful treat for me because it brings back my childhood. Many touches from growing up Polish in New York City have found their way onto these pages. Kady is very outgoing. The hero, Byron, her protector-against-his-will, is not. There’s a lot of my husband in him.
I hope this story succeeds in entertaining you. As ever, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.
Marie Ferrarella

Her Sworn Protector
MARIE FERRARELLA

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Bobbie Cimo, with deep affection,
for being so entertaining.
Chapter 1
There were times, like now, as she tried to get comfortable against the soft black leather seat of the limo, that Dr. Leokadia Pulaski felt she might have chosen the wrong field to give her heart and soul to. If she’d been a dermatologist, there would be no midnight calls rousing her out of sleep, forcing her to jolt her mind awake as she haphazardly pulled clothes on her body and tried to retrieve the directions to Patience Memorial Hospital out of her fog-enshrouded brain. To Kady’s knowledge, no one ever placed an emergency call before dawn because a pimple had made a sudden, unscheduled and drastic appearance.
But they did with cardiologists.
Exhausted as she was, feeling as if she’d been run over by two tractor trailers, the thought of changing fields, of leaving cardiology and her heart—no pun intended—was tempting.
Yet there was absolutely nothing in the world like the high she sustained when she managed to save someone’s life. Or the feeling of accomplishment that arose by putting someone on the path that would steer him or her away from that dreaded midnight call and that life-threatening, searing pain.
Kady knew she was exactly what she wanted to be. A cardiologist associated with a top-ranked New York hospital. The same hospital where her two older sisters, Sasha and Natalya, practiced. She was good at what she did and she was proud of it.
Kady hung on to that thought as she sat in the back of the elegant stretch limousine that wove its way like a determined bullet through the just-post-dawn traffic. Its destination—the Plageanos Building where Milos Plageanos, the shipping magnate, had his penthouse apartment.
“Coffee, Doctor?”
The words rumbled out of the mouth of the dark-haired man sitting opposite her. The man who had been sent to bring her back. Tall, close to stone-faced, the black overcoat he had on strained against muscles that were a prerequisite in his line of work. She only knew him by one name. Byron. Whether that was his first or last, she had no idea.
As far as Milos was concerned, Byron’s job was to guard his body and to fetch his cardiologist on those occasions when his breath became short and his chest felt as if it was constricting.
They—she, Milos and Byron—had met in the emergency room two years ago when Byron had rushed in, carrying his employer in his arms. Milos had had a minor TIA, which amounted to a misunderstanding between his veins and his heart. The man had been at a club located two and a half blocks from the hospital. Something one of the ladies in his company had suggested, or possibly done, had resulted in the sudden need for medical attention. Byron had been vague about that when she’d asked.
Kady had been on duty that night, and when the nurse had pointed her out to him, Byron had been quick to commandeer her. She’d assessed the situation and had Milos feeling “good as new—better even” according to his own words within a couple of hours. Grateful and somewhat smitten, Milos had tried to hire her as his personal physician.
She had turned him down gently and found herself besieged with flowers, cards and gifts, all of which she sent back with thanks. As was his hallmark, Milos continued to be persistent. Eventually a compromise was struck.
Like all the physicians of her generation, Kady did not make house calls. Patients who found themselves in sudden need of her services met her in the emergency room of Patience Memorial Hospital. But Milos Plageanos was not the average patient. There had never been anything average about the man. Born to wealth, he had carefully overseen his inheritance until the name Plageanos became synonymous with the top shipping empire in the world. In the past forty years, there had been many challenges for the title. So far, only one had come close, causing a bitter rivalry to rage.
Milos was accustomed to putting a price on everything and was in turn surprised, annoyed and then greatly impressed when she turned down his lucrative offer. But he had not gotten to his present position in life by taking no for an answer. Accepting that she wouldn’t be his personal physician, he still wanted her services whenever he felt he needed them. Since money in her own pocket didn’t sway her, Milos decided to get to her by way of her generous heart. He informed her that he was donating enough money to Patience Memorial Hospital to build a new pediatric-cardiology wing, something he’d learned was dear to her heart. As if that wasn’t enough, he also donated liberally to the free medical clinic where she and her sisters volunteered once a week.
“I am a man no one turns down completely,” he had proudly informed her when she came to thank him for his generosity.
Delivered by anyone else, the words would have made her balk. But aside from being shrewd and canny when it came to investments, when he wanted to, Milos could be very charming.
“A beautiful woman always brings that out in me,” he had confided as he had kissed her hand, sealing their bargain. It was understood that he would continue making donations to the clinic so long as he could count on her to come when he needed her. Because the clinic needed so much in the way of equipment and supplies, she had no choice but to agree.
To his credit, he didn’t abuse their bargain. In two years she’d only been summoned to his bedside twice. This made number three.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the fine china cup that Byron offered. Milos believed in nothing but the best. She had no doubt that the cup was probably worth one week’s pay at the hospital.
Kady took her coffee black, no cream, no sugar. Nothing to detract from the actual purpose of the drink.
Two sips later, Kady felt as if her mind was getting back into focus. She’d spent a good part of the night in the E.R., attending Wanda Kessler.
According to Wanda’s husband, she had taken herself off her medication. Lucky for Mrs. Kessler, the woman had only had a minor heart attack. Just enough to put the fear of mortality into her.
After doing a thorough workup on her, Kady had signed the woman in overnight for further observation. Leaving the hospital, she’d just gotten in and dropped facedown on her bed in the apartment she shared with two of her sisters, Natalya and Tatania—now that Sasha had gotten married—when her cell phone had started to ring. For the space of a minute, she’d had an overwhelming desire to ignore it, but she didn’t. She never did.
Bringing the cell phone close to her, she’d mumbled hello only to hear Byron’s deep, authoritative voice rumbling in her ear. She knew what that meant. He was on his way to get her.
Kady barely had time to get off the bed and put her shoes back on before Byron was at the door. She’d stumbled out the door, asking questions about Milos’s condition. He’d responded by saying that was what she was for, to assess the man’s condition. Byron had helped her on with her coat as they made their way to the elevator. She remembered thinking that for a large man, he had a very light touch.
“How is he?” she asked again once the coffee became part of her system.
Byron was a man of few words, most of them noncommittal. Technically, she’d known him for two years and still knew nothing beyond what she saw, which, while very easy on the eyes and very pleasing, didn’t satisfy her need to know.
“He wants to see you,” Byron replied.
She suppressed an annoyed sigh. “That’s not answering my question.”
His wide shoulders rose and fell in a vague movement. Rather than look away, his deep blue eyes met hers. “I’m not the doctor, you are.”
They were playing games, and this morning, she wasn’t in the mood for it. While she appreciated Milos’s generosity, she didn’t like the idea of being regarded as a puppet. He pulled the string; she danced. The image didn’t appeal to her.
“You know, maybe Mr. Plageanos should have a doctor on staff,” she suggested.
Byron looked mildly amused. “He offered you the job but you wouldn’t take it.”
And she still wouldn’t. To her, being a doctor had never been about the money, it had been about the helping. About the good she could do. And about the fact that Mama was very proud of having so many doctors in the family. The last thought made her smile.
“I’m not the only cardiologist in New York.”
Byron regarded her for a long moment. In his experience, she was a rarity. A beautiful woman who didn’t try to use her looks for gain. Most women in her position would have had some kind of arrangement with Plageanos that did more than repair faulty wiring and buy X-ray machines for a Spanish Harlem clinic.
“You know Mr. Plageanos. He wants what he wants and nothing else will do.” His lips moved into a slight smile. It was all she’d ever seen him capable of. “He’s paying you a big compliment.”
She knew that in Milos’s mind, wanting her for his personal doctor was the ultimate compliment. “I appreciate that. But being a one-patient doctor is not the way I see my life going. Mr. Plageanos can afford to have anyone he wants attending him.” She thought of the clinic, of the defensive, frightened faces she came across almost every time she went. There was so much anger there, so much resentment at the world that had coldly passed them by. Charity seemed like just that: charity. “A lot of people can’t even afford to buy aspirin.”
His expression gave nothing away. “Not going to get rich that way, Doc.”
To which she smiled and shook her head. He was wrong there. “There are a lot of definitions of rich, Byron.”
Byron merely nodded his dark head. Crossing his ankle over his thigh, he sat taking quiet measure of her.
She felt as if she was under a microscope. What was he thinking about her? she couldn’t help wondering. She decided to turn the tables on him.
“What about you?” she asked, edging closer on her seat. “Don’t you want to do anything different with your life than be at Mr. Plageanos’s beck and call?”
“I’ve done ‘different,’” he told her, his tone dismissing whatever that “different” entailed. “This suits me fine.”
He paused for a moment, and she had the feeling he was debating saying something more. But whatever it was, she never got to hear it because he didn’t open his mouth.
And then, before she could try to coax anything further from him, they were pulling up before the massive structure that Milos had put his name to when he bought the apartment building.
Each time she saw the building, a monument to the marriage of glass and steel, she was that much more impressed. And that much happier that she’d grown up in her parents’ small two-story house in Queens. The forty-two-story building was a testimony to Milos’s taste and his money. The lobby boasted original paintings from Milos’s private collection. Nonetheless, it felt cold, distant.
They stepped into the elevator, and Byron pressed for the penthouse apartment. Kady swallowed twice, equalizing the pressure in her ears, before they reached their destination.
A white marble floor stretched out before them when the elevator doors finally opened. Waiting for her to get out first, Byron shortened his stride to match hers.
“I’d need a road map just to find my way around,” she murmured, still as overwhelmed by the layout as she had been the first time she’d been brought here.
“You get used to it,” Byron replied with a dismissive shrug.
The way he said it had her wondering. “Do you live on the premises?” Her words mingled with the echo of her heels on the marble floor. It had a mournful sound about it.
Byron looked down at her before answering. “Mr. Plageanos likes his people close by.”
Close was not a word she would have associated with the premises. God only knew how many people could actually live within the structure without once bumping into one another. “Doesn’t your wife mind not having a place of her own?”
She thought she heard a slight sound, something akin to a short laugh, escape his lips. “She might. If I still had one.”
Still. Which meant he’d had one once. Kady pressed her lips together. She’d done it again. Even though she tried to curb it, she had a habit of probing; she always had. Her father had told her more than once that it would get her in trouble one day.
“It is good to having a mind that asks question,” he’d said in his heavily accented voice. “Not always so good to having a mouth that is doing the same thing.”
As usual, her father was right. Kady was about to apologize but didn’t get the chance to follow through. They’d reached Milos’s bedroom and Byron was knocking on the ornate door. The next moment, she heard a faint voice telling them to come in.
The room and the bed dwarfed him. Milos was not a little man in any sense of the word, but he appeared so in the custom-made double-king-size bed placed in a room that looked as if it could comfortably hold the population of a small third-world country. A giant hulk of a man she recognized as Milos’s other bodyguard, Ari, was standing quietly off to one side.
“You should have been here sooner,” Milos told her. A giant paw of a hand was dramatically placed over his heart. He tightened his fingers around it. “I didn’t think I could hold on until you came.”
Kady came forward, smiling at him, aware of the game. “And yet, you did.” Her smile deepened as she assessed his color and the way he drew air into his lungs. Both were favorable. “I’m very glad.”
Milos’s eyes shifted to the man behind her. “That makes two of us. Maybe three, eh, Byron?”
“Yes, Milos,” Byron acknowledged.
“All right.” Kady set her medical bag down on the oversize nightstand and opened it. “Tell me what you feel, Mr. Plageanos.”
Milos sighed, sliding slightly against his black satin sheets as he shifted. “Better now that you are here.”
Taking out her stethoscope, Kady looked at him pointedly. “And before I was here?”
Milos spread his hands wide with a little half shrug. “Not so good.”
Men didn’t like to talk about health. Kady knew that like so many people, Milos had harbored the thought, the dream, that he was immortal. That whatever illnesses had been visited upon his forefathers wouldn’t dare touch him. Finding out that he was wrong did not sit well with him.
She looked at the man, not with pity or sympathy, but with understanding. No one liked to think of their own mortality.
“I need more than that, Mr. Plageanos.” Kady paused to look over her shoulder at both Byron and Ari. The latter lumbered to his feet. “I need you two to wait outside while I examine my patient.”
Ari went out. After a moment’s hesitation, Byron turned to do the same. “I’ll be right back,” he told his employer. “I want to talk to the driver about the car. It was making a weird noise when it turned left.”
Milos nodded. “See why I keep him? Details. He is always thinking about details. A good man to have around.” And then he smiled and winked at Byron as he walked past him. “Maybe this time she’ll have her way with me,” he chuckled.
Kady put the stethoscope around her neck. “I came to prevent a heart attack, Mr. Plageanos, not to give you one.” Tickled, Milos began to laugh, so hard he started coughing. She was quick to place her hand on his chest, as if to steady him. “Easy, Mr. Plageanos, easy.”
As the laughter died and the door to the bedroom was eased shut, Kady unbuttoned the top of Milos’s silk pajamas and placed the stethoscope to his chest.
He yelped. “That’s cold!” he cried as he shivered.
She pulled it back immediately. “Sorry.” Kady blew on the silver surface, rubbing it against her palm to warm it up. After a beat she tried again. This time he didn’t jerk back. “Better?”
He nodded, never taking his eyes off her face. “Better.”
She frowned slightly. “Your heart’s still jumping around.” How long had that been going on? she wondered.
The exam was thorough but swift. Milos had even bought his own personal EKG machine so that he didn’t have to go into her office to have his heart monitored. And during the exam, Kady asked a few pertinent questions in between dodging blatant invitations they both knew he would never act on and neither would she. Her questions encompassed his lifestyle, what he’d been eating lately, what he’d been doing. His diet remained relatively unchanged. His activity, however, had heightened.
She listened and watched his face as Milos told her about the other company, Skourous Shipping, the one that was breathing down his neck and had been for quite some time now. Alexander Skourous and his grandson, Nicholas, were trying to steal his customers any way they could, he told her, the veins in his neck thickening as he spoke.
The rivalry between Milos Plageanos and Alexander Skourous, whose families had both originated from the same small fishing village in the south of Greece, had been steadily heating up over the past twenty-five years. In the last five, it had gotten especially ugly. Matters were not helped by the fact that Milos’s second wife had eloped with him a week before she was set to marry Alexander.
“This is not over the woman,” Milos assured her. “For that, Alexander should have sent me a thank-you note because I saved him from a terrible shrew. But he is trying to steal my oldest customer from me. My very first one,” he emphasized. “Theo is gone now, but his grandson…”
He waved his hand, unable to finish his sentence because the words he wanted to use to describe what he thought of his old friend’s grandson weren’t fit for her ears. In some ways, Milos was very much a courtly gentleman and she appreciated it.
Milos sat up, buttoning his pajama top as she put her stethoscope away. “I am a sentimental man—”
“Not to mention a superstitious one,” Kady pointed out, pausing to write something down on her prescription pad.
“Superstition is healthy.” Leaning back against his pillows again, he eyed the pad suspiciously. “It tells us where our place is.”
“I want you to stop thinking about the business so much and start thinking about you.”
“I am the business and the business is me,” he said with finality, then he nodded toward the pad. “What is that you are writing?”
“A prescription.” She tore off the top page and held it out to him.
He made no effort to take it from her. “I have no time to go to the hospital.”
“Good.” Opening his hand, she placed the paper in it, then pushed his fingers closed again. “Because you’re not going.”
The pain had been real. And frightening. It was clear he didn’t believe himself out of the woods yet. “I’m dying?”
She laughed warmly, placing her hand on top of his and patting it reassuringly. “You’ll outlive me, Mr. Plageanos.”
He frowned, shaking his head. “I have no wish to live in a world without beauty.”
The man would be a player on his deathbed, she thought. Kady rolled her eyes. “I have to be getting back.” She nodded at the paper in his hand. “Have one of your people fill that.”
He looked at it, but without his glasses all he saw were wavy lines on a page. “What is this?”
She told him the name of the medication, then explained. “It’s for your anxiety attack—the next time you have one.”
An indignant expression came over his face. “I was not attacked by anxiety.” Making a fist, he brought it in contact with his chest. “My heart attacked me.”
She knew what the problem was. Men like Milos associated anxiety with weakness. They didn’t understand that at times, the mind and body had wills of their own that had nothing to do with what a person might want or expect.
“Not this time. What you had was an anxiety attack—with a touch of heartburn.” Lowering her voice, she leaned over his bed. “Stop eating all these rich Greek dishes, Mr. Plageanos. And cut down on the pastries.” She indicated the plate of half-finished confection that was on his other nightstand.
“Stop eating baklava?” The instruction brought a look of mock distress to his face. “But eating baklava is like going to heaven.”
“You’ll be booking passage to there permanently if you’re not careful.” Closing her medical bag, she picked it up. “You have the constitution of a man half your age, but you have to take care of yourself—otherwise all this—” she waved around the huge room “—gets wasted.”
He looked at the paper in his hand, his expression dubious. “Anxiety?”
“Anxiety,” she affirmed.
Folding the paper again, he drew in his breath, resigned. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“No,” she agreed, not knowing if he was ordering her or requesting it of her. In any event, she had her ethics. “I can’t. I’m your doctor. This is just between you and me, remember? Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to wash up before I leave.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door. With Byron gone, she had no way of knowing which way to turn. “Where can I—?”
“No need to go anywhere, use mine.” He gestured toward the sumptuous bathroom at the far end of the room. The door stood open, and from where she stood, Kady could just about make out the black onyx tiles. The man certainly did like black, she mused.
Nodding, she started across the room.
Chapter 2
The master bathroom was larger than her bedroom back at the apartment. As a matter of fact, Kady thought, taking a long look around, this bathroom looked larger than her living room. Not to mention that the gold sink and tub fixtures probably cost more than a year’s rent.
She shook her head as she turned the handles and proceeded to wash her hands. What did a man need with a gold swan spouting out an arc of water into a black onyx tub? She dried her hands on towels that felt softer than whipped cream.
Moving over to the tub, Kady paused to look at it more closely. A huge stained-glass window directly behind it cast beams of blue and gold into the room. The tub itself was round and roomy enough for three wide-hipped people to sit comfortably without touching.
Opulence run amok, she couldn’t help thinking.
It seemed like such a waste. The money that all this had cost would have been put to better use funding another clinic or helping to get people off the streets and on their feet again.
Kady straightened the towel she’d used and backed away. It was Milos’s money, she told herself, and she had no right to impose her own set of values on him. The man should be free to enjoy it. Heaven knew he seemed to enjoy very little these days, focusing exclusively on his company and obsessing about it the way he did. It wasn’t healthy. At his age, a man as well off as Milos should have no reason to stress himself out to the point of having an anxiety attack. He should be into the coasting part of his life.
And then she smiled. She sincerely doubted if she’d be willing to just coast at seventy. She’d still want to work, still want to make a difference. She supposed that was what kept the man going, a sense of purpose. Work, if you didn’t hate it, was what kept you young. And Milos just told her that he considered the business his life and—
About to go back into the bedroom, her hand on the doorknob, Kady paused, cocking her head. Trying to make out a sound. She could have sworn she heard a series of popping noises coming from somewhere within the bedroom. If she didn’t know better, she would have said they sounded like firecrackers.
Kady frowned slightly. All right, what was Milos trying to pull now? She knew he thought himself invincible, but she wanted him to spend the rest of the day in bed. Anxiety attacks were not heart attacks, but they could certainly feel that way to the body, and after that kind of an ordeal, Milos’s body deserved to rest.
Now that she’d told Milos that the situation wasn’t actually dangerous, he was probably champing at the bit to get back into the game of besting Skourous and his company, making sure the other man had no opportunity to get the better of him.
She sighed, shaking her head.
With a reprimand on her tongue, all set for release, Kady opened the bathroom door.
And stopped dead.
There was someone else in the room. Someone dressed all in black, right down to the gloves on his hands and the shoes on his feet.
The collar of the turtleneck pullover was raised up high, covering his mouth and his nose. Even his eyes seemed to be coal black. The only thing of vague color was the gun in his hand. Gray. The gun’s barrel appeared strangely disproportioned.
And then she recognized it for what it was. A silencer. The intruder had a silencer at the end of the gun barrel.
He’d come to kill someone.
He had killed someone, she realized in the next moment. That was what the noise had been. Bullets fired through a silencer.
Milos was lying in bed the way she’d left him, except that now there was a pool of blood on his wide chest. The sight of another figure, crumpled on the floor, registered less than a beat later.
Byron?
No, whoever it was was built smaller than the man who had accompanied her to the penthouse.
And then her heart felt as if it was constricting into a hot ball within her chest.
Ari.
Ari was lying there at the foot of Milos’s bed. The other bodyguard must have rushed in when he heard the “pop” and had died trying to protect Milos.
Where was Byron? Was he lying somewhere, hurt? Dying? Dead? Kady felt her throat tightening more and more.
All these thoughts flew through her brain a beat before she pulled back into the bathroom, afraid that the killer would see her, too.
Her heart racing, Kady resisted the temptation to close the door again. Any unnecessary movement or sound might catch the killer’s attention, make him come closer to investigate.
But she couldn’t just stand here, frozen. Not knowing. What if he came after her?
With her heart racing faster than she thought humanly possible, Kady angled one of the three adjacent medicine cabinet mirrors to see what the killer was doing. To her surprise, he unscrewed the silencer from the gun barrel, tucking the former into his pocket and the latter into the back of the waistband of his slacks and then smoothed down his collar. As if appearance counted.
When he turned toward the door, she caught a clear glimpse of him, his image reversed in the mirror. Tall, his slight build appearing thinner because of the black clothing he wore, the killer looked young. Maybe twenty-eight, maybe less. He had a mop of curly black hair that looked as if a comb could get lost there.
She had no idea who he was. And then she saw his eyes. They weren’t looking at her, but even at this distance, she’d never seen eyes so dead before.
She had to struggle to keep from shivering, from making a sound.
The killer paused at the door, listening. Kady held her breath. Had he heard her? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t tell. Very carefully, she shrank back in the bathroom, making sure that her image wasn’t thrown back at him in the mirrors.
In the recesses of the bathroom, she could no longer see what was happening. Her insides felt like jelly. She counted off seconds in her head, waiting. Mentally reciting a fragment of a prayer the sisters at St. Catherine’s had taught her.
Finally the door opened and then closed again. As she eased back into range in the bathroom, her eyes were glued to the mirror. The outer door remained closed. It looked as if the shooter was gone.
Only then did she let out the breath she’d been holding. The next moment Kady shot out of the bathroom and rushed first to check the man on the floor. One look told her that Ari had been shot where he stood. She would have expected him to be disposed of the moment he’d entered the room. What was he doing clear across here, on the other side of Milos’s bed?
Probably following the killer’s orders, hoping to stay alive, she thought. Just like her.
Ari was dead. Had probably been dead even before he’d hit the floor. There was a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
She didn’t remember crossing to the bed. The next thing she knew she was bending over Milos, searching for a pulse. Willing him to live. At first she couldn’t find any evidence of a pulse, but then, squeezing her fingers hard over the man’s thick wrist, she thought she detected the faintest hint of erratic rhythm.
He was alive.
She needed to keep him that way.
Her bag was still in the bathroom where she’d taken it, but she didn’t want to leave Milos’s side.
Her heart froze in midbeat as she saw his electric-blue eyes flutter open. Milos’s lips moved, but she couldn’t hear anything. Leaning in closer, she felt the faint brush of his breath against her cheek and thought she heard him say, “Skourous,” but she couldn’t have sworn to it.
“Don’t talk,” she ordered. “We’ll get you to the hospital. You’re going to be all right, Milos,” she promised hoarsely. “You’re going to be all right.”
Kady wasn’t even aware that she was crying, or that her tears were falling on the old man’s face. She saw his lips move again, forming one word. “Liar.”
And then his eyes fluttered shut.
Horror filled her. The next moment she’d gone on autopilot. She began applying CPR in a last-ditch effort to get Milos’s heart beating again, however faintly. She wasn’t about to let him die right in front of her.
Coming back from downstairs, Byron didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t see Ari standing guard outside Milos’s bedroom. He’d just assumed that the examination was over and the man he shared bodyguard duties with had gone back into the room.
But when he knocked and heard Kady scream for him, his entire body immediately became alert. Throwing the doors open, he pulled out the weapon he wore holstered beneath his jacket.
A swift visual sweep of the room told him that there was no one else there. Only Ari on the floor, dead from the looks of it, and his employer in the bed, with the doctor frantically working over him.
Frantically trying to tug Milos away from the jaws of death.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded, crossing to her.
Her hair was falling into her face. Kady shook her head, trying to get it out of her eyes. She didn’t look in his direction as the sound of his voice registered. She just kept going. Fighting.
“I don’t know. Someone got in here. When I opened the bathroom door, he’d already shot both of them.”
With amazing speed, Byron checked all the corners, making sure that there was no one else hiding in the recesses. He went back to her.
“Who?” he demanded.
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked as she kept on pushing at the chest that made no movement on its own, kept blowing into a mouth that was already beginning to feel cool beneath hers.
Distancing himself, Byron processed the scene. Her efforts were futile. There was too much blood. The bullet had been straight to Milos’ chest. Straight to his heart, he guessed. The old man never stood a chance.
He cursed silently that he hadn’t been here. That he’d been downstairs, talking to the mechanic Milos kept on the payroll to care for his twelve automobiles, instead of guarding Milos.
“He’s dead, Doctor.”
The low, calm voice seemed to rumble at her from some faraway place. She shook her head adamantly, never looking up, never stopping.
“No. No, he’s not.” She’d found a pulse. He’d tried to speak. She couldn’t just let Milos slip away.
And then she felt strong, firm hands on either side of her shoulders, lifting her up, drawing her away from the bed. From the man she couldn’t save.
Kady wanted to push the bodyguard away, wanted to go back and fight a fight she knew in her heart she’d already lost. But Byron was too strong for her. His grip was gentle but firm, holding her in place.
Suddenly, as if all the air had gone out of her, Kady felt weak, dizzy. The room began to spin. For a second it threatened to pull itself into darkness, leaving her on the outside to fend for herself. It was through sheer grit that she fought her way back from the blurred boundaries, fought back the nausea.
Trying to get a grip, Kady drew a deep breath into her lungs before she looked up at the man holding her. She saw concern in his eyes. Or maybe she just imagined it.
Either way, she felt like an idiot. She was made of sterner stuff than this. “Sorry. I don’t usually fall apart like this.”
“I don’t see any pieces,” he replied crisply. She felt fragile, like the scent of cherry blossoms. He hesitated backing off. “If I let you go, do you think you can stand?”
She raised her chin and tried to sound confident. Inside, the jelly had yet to solidify. “Yes.”
He let her go by degrees, holding her a moment longer, then drawing his hands away slowly. All the while, he watched her face for any telltale signs that she would collapse or faint once he took his support away. There wasn’t anything he could do for Milos, or Ari. But there was something he could do for her. He could keep her together.
Quickly, his eyes swept over her torso, checking. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
At least not physically, she thought. But mentally, she knew she was shell-shocked and would be for some time to come. It seemed strange to her that nothing like this had ever happened to her in the clinic where she volunteered. There she would have expected it. Yet here, in an exclusive neighborhood, she’d been a hair’s breadth away from being killed.
Her eyes met his. Her lips felt dry as she spoke. “I don’t think the killer saw me.”
“Was there only one?” he wanted to know.
She couldn’t answer that with certainty. All she could tell Byron was what she knew. “There might have been more, but I only saw one man.”
Kady looked back over her shoulder at the man who’d flirted with her only ten minutes ago. He’d been so vibrant, so full of life then. And now…
This shouldn’t have happened.
She looked back at Byron again. “What kind of security system does this penthouse have?” she demanded angrily. Shouldn’t something have gone off when the killer got in? When he escaped?
“One that was obviously bypassed.” Unlike hers, Byron’s voice was stoic.
Releasing her, he walked over to the intercom located on the wall beside Milos’s bed. There was an intercom in every room of the penthouse. Pressing the button down, Byron said, “This is Byron. I want everyone up here outside Mr. Plageanos’s bedroom. Now.”
Was he planning on interrogating everyone on the staff? That wasn’t how things were done. With a heavy heart, Kady moved back to the bed. To the man she’d come to regard with affection.
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.
Looking up, she saw Byron watching her. Kady braced her shoulders. “You have to call the police.”
He looked at her for a long moment before answering. Was he annoyed because she’d said that? Did he think she was trying to tell him what to do?
“I know procedure.”
The way he said it made her think he’d been through this before. And made her realize that she really knew nothing about this man she’d shared less than a handful of car rides with.
“You’re a cop?”
“Was,” he corrected.
Like her sisters, she possessed more than her share of curiosity. Even in the face of tragedy, she needed to know things.
“What happened?” she heard herself asking.
Byron didn’t answer. Instead, he shook his head. “Too much to talk about now.”
Kady wasn’t completely certain she could assimilate anything he told her now anyway. So she nodded, letting the matter drop. Digging into her pocket, Kady pulled out her cell phone and then flipped it open.
Byron looked at her sharply. “Who are you calling?”
God, but she felt drained. Drained and useless and angry. She felt as if she was going in all directions at once. His tone irritated her more than it should have.
“My brother-in-law. He is a cop,” she told him. “Homicide. Tony Santini.”
The information came in small, square sound bites, dribbling from her lips. Kady clung to the numbness, knowing that once it was gone, what would come in its wake would be overwhelming and devastating.
Crossing back to her, Byron placed his hand over her cell phone and closed it, leaving it in the palm of her hand. Kady looked at him, confused. “We have to call the police,” she insisted.
“And I will. If your brother-in-law is called in to investigate, there might be questions later on.”
She stared at him. “Questions?”
“Mr. Plageanos was a powerful man. Powerful men have enemies—enemies with money who can get to people.”
Her eyes widened and she drew herself up. “Are you saying—”
He shook his head. “I’m not, but someone else might. You were the last person to see him alive. Having your brother-in-law here isn’t the wisest move.”
“Right.”
She wasn’t thinking straight, Kady acknowledged. She just wanted someone to make it right. She wanted someone to catch the killer and avenge Milos and Ari. She wanted the man she’d seen put in prison. Now, before he could do any more harm.
With a sigh Kady dragged a hand through her hair. “You’re right,” she repeated.
She stiffened as she heard a sound in the hall, then realized it was too loud to be the killer. It was the sound of approaching feet. The people Byron had just summoned were here. Right outside the threshold to Milos’s bedroom. Exclamations of distress, of horror, were heard as the scene was suddenly viewed by them. One of the maids fainted. The chauffeur pushed through the doorway as questions flew right and left.
Byron stopped everyone at the threshold, physically blocking their access into the room. Quickly his eyes swept over the group. Kady had a feeling he was trolling for a killer.
Was it one of the staff? A chill passed over her as she looked from face to face. But he wasn’t there. The man who’d been in the room only a few minutes ago wasn’t here.
“It’s a crime scene,” he told the staff in a voice devoid of emotion. “I called you up here because I wanted you to know that someone just killed Mr. Plageanos.” And because, he added silently, he wanted to see their reactions.
“How?”
“Who?”
Surprise and shock mingled with half sentences; expressions of outrage and curses blended into one another. Byron gave it a few minutes, letting grief and disbelief run their initial course before he held up his hand for silence.
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” he promised without fanfare. “Right now I’d say that someone inside let the killer in.” He looked over the sea of faces slowly, seeming to focus on each individually. He was looking for an accomplice. Again, there was no emotion as he said, “Whoever it is will be made to pay so they’d better get their affairs in order.”
Like a second tidal wave, more questions and protests arose, drowning each other out. It was all just dissonance to her.
Kady moved back toward the bathroom, unaware that she was being watched. Once inside, at the sink, she struggled to keep the tears back. The control she was trying to grasp continued to elude her.
She looked down at her hands covered in Milos’s blood. Very slowly, she turned on the faucets and began to wash her hands. Rivulets of pink snaked their way to the drain and beyond. She tried to make her mind a blank until she could deal with it all.
But thoughts insisted on crowding in.
Had she not withdrawn into the bathroom just when she had, she could very well be lying in a pool of blood beside Ari and Milos.
Sensing she wasn’t alone, Kady looked up into the mirror and saw Byron standing behind her in the doorway. Their eyes met.
“I called the police,” he told her quietly. “You’re going to have to give a statement.”
Gripping the faucets, she turned them off simultaneously. She continued holding them for a moment, as if they were all that was keeping her from sinking to the floor. “I know.”
“After that,” he said, sounding as if he was reciting some preauthorized schedule, “I’ll have someone drive you home.”
She turned around to face Byron. “How can you be so calm?” she demanded.
His face was completely unreadable. “Practice.”
Chapter 3
Detective Larry Wilkins of the New York Police Department, Homicide Division, was born worn around the edges, rumpled and suspicious. He operated each of his investigations from the standpoint that everyone was guilty until proven otherwise. At least ten pounds overweight and wearing clothes that hadn’t seen a hanger in over a decade, he had a habit of invading people’s personal space when he spoke to them. He thought of it as a useful technique during an investigation.
Right now, as he questioned her, Kady could all but taste the pizza he’d had for dinner last night. It was apparent to her that the detective was immersed in a love affair with extra garlic. It took all her strength not to turn her head away.
Detective Wilkins looked at her as if he’d already made up his mind that she had either killed Milos Plageanos herself, or masterminded the murder.
Holding on to a much-used notebook, Wilkins looked at her with small brown eyes that could have cut holes through a steel plate.
“And you were in the bathroom the entire time the murders went down?”
She’d already told him that. Twice. Wilkins made it sound as if she’d spent an eternity in the room when it had merely felt that way. In total, she’d been there maybe five minutes, maybe less.
It didn’t take long to end a man’s life, Kady thought.
Wilkins had her isolated in one corner of Milos’s bedroom. She tried desperately to block out the sounds of the forensic team as they went about their business, gathering evidence that attested to the last moments of the billionaire’s life.
“Yes,” she answered again, then couldn’t help adding, “But I don’t think it took too long to shoot two people.”
A smirk raised the corners of Wilkins’s mouth. It reminded her of a hyena waiting for lunch. “Timed it, did you?” He took a step in, cutting the space between them. “During the actual occurrence or the dry run?”
“Dry run?” she echoed, stunned. He actually thought she had something to do with it. How dare he? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The smirk deepened. “Sure you do. You and your accomplice probably did a dry run to see how long it would actually take to walk in and shoot the old guy and his bodyguard.”
She stared at him. The man was insane. Completely, utterly insane. “What possible reason would I have to kill Mr. Plageanos?”
Heavyset shoulders rose and fell beneath a houndstooth jacket that looked slept in. “Dunno yet. But I’ll find out.”
Anger came streaking in on a lightning bolt, fueled by exhaustion and powered by exasperation. Her eyes blazed as she looked at this would-be Colombo. He was forgetting one very salient point. “And did I plan his anxiety attack, too?”
It was evident that Wilkins had expected her to be intimidated, cowed, not furious. He glared at his notes. “Thought the old guy had a heart attack.”
He would have gotten that information from someone else, she thought. Kady took offense at the cavalier way he dismissed the late shipping magnate.
“Mr. Plageanos had an anxiety attack, not a heart attack,” she corrected tersely. “And the reason he had the attack was because he was a micromanager who took everything to heart.” She drew herself up to her full five-four stature, wishing it wasn’t against the law to punch out a police detective. “I had no way of knowing that I was even going to be here today. How the hell could I have planned this?” she demanded.
“You planned for the eventuality,” Wilkins countered, but it was obvious that he was losing steam. Some part of him was being won over by the idea that her only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, he wasn’t about to give up all at once. “Maybe disarmed the security system so that your man could come in.”
“And maybe I smuggled ‘my man’ in my medicine bag,” she retorted sarcastically. Struggling, she regained control of her temper. “Look, Detective, I’m a cardiologist, not an electronics technician. The only thing I was doing here today was responding to Mr. Plageanos’s request for medical attention.” Her voice began to rise by increments. “Now why don’t you stop making ridiculous accusations and get me together with a sketch artist so I can describe the man who killed Mr. Plageanos and Ari.”
For a moment the look on Wilkins’s face was triumphant, as if he thought he had her. “You saw the guy’s face. This guy you didn’t know.” Half a foot taller than Kady, he leaned in, bringing his face close to hers for emphasis. “I thought you said you were in the bathroom.”
She was sorely tempted to dig into her purse and hand the man breath mints. “I was,” she said in between clenched teeth.
“Then how did you see his face?”
Instead of answering, Kady let out an angry sigh and turned on her heel.
Stunned, Wilkins called after her. “Hey, we’re not through here. Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded. When she didn’t turn around, he shoved the notebook into his back pocket and hurried after her.
“To show you,” Kady tossed over her shoulder. Walking into the bathroom, she deliberately left the door wide open, the way it had been before. She opened the medicine cabinet and angled the mirrored door so that it reflected the interior of the bedroom. “I saw him like this.”
Wilkins craned his neck, coming over to her side of the room. From where he stood, Milos’s bed was clearly visible. The detective chewed on the inside of his check as he continued to glare at the mirrors. Finally he exhaled rather loudly.
“Smart,” he allowed grudgingly.
It was the first decent thing she’d heard the man say since he’d pounced on her. Vindicated, Kady chose not to comment—just in case it was another verbal trap. To her way of thinking, her action hadn’t been smart so much as desperate.
Wilkins began flipping through the notes he’d jotted down during her recounting of the events. Kady couldn’t help wondering just how much he’d annotated. For the first time in her life, she understood what the term railroaded meant.
Finally Wilkins flipped the cover closed, returned the pad to his back pocket and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll have someone take you in to the station. You can work with a sketch artist.”
“I’ll take her,” Byron volunteered quietly.
The sound of his voice coming up behind her surprised Kady. She thought he was downstairs with the other detective. The bodyguard seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
Had he been there all the time, listening?
Wilkins had blotted out everything with his close proximity, keeping her from being aware of anything else but him. She knew the detective had meant for it to be that way.
Byron had been the first to be questioned, but he had caught Wilkins’s partner instead of Wilkins. Luck of the draw, she supposed.
She saw Wilkins look at Byron for a long moment, then the older man passed a hand over his all but bald pate and snarled, “Okay. You know the way.”
Byron met Wilkins’s scrutiny without flinching. “Yeah, I know the way.”
“Why do you know the way?” Kady asked the bodyguard several minutes later as they left the penthouse.
Just before they left the building, they passed one of the maids. The young woman, not more than twenty-two, was standing off to the side, sobbing. Kady fought the urge to stop and comfort her. But her morning was quickly disappearing and she still had a practice waiting for her. Mercifully, Mondays she went to the office in the afternoon.
Byron made no answer. He led her to a well-cared-for Nissan Z. She knew little about cars, but decided it had to be old since the insignia on the back said Datsun instead of Nissan. He opened the passenger door for her.
Getting in, she looked at Byron. “Or am I not supposed to ask?”
Byron got in on his side and turned the ignition on. The car hummed to life. “You can ask.”
He picked his way through the maze of police cars and the coroner’s van crowding the exit of the underground parking structure. His voice had trailed off even before they hit the street.
“But will you answer?” she probed. And then she made an attempt to fill in the blank herself. “Did you work out of that precinct?” He looked at her sharply just before he made a turn. “You said you were a cop once,” she reminded him.
He nodded. He’d forgotten he told her. Milos’s murder had thrown everything else into the background. He hadn’t deserved to have been cut down that way. If he’d had to die in his bed, it should have been after enjoying himself with a lusty, willing partner. He should have died with a smile on his face, not staring into a gun barrel.
Kady was still waiting for an answer. With a shrug, he gave her one. “I was based in Brooklyn.”
“And they had an exchange program with the detectives in Manhattan?”
It was an absurd thing to say and she knew it, but she was trying to get him to talk, create some distraction from the thoughts of what she’d just left behind and what she’d been a witness to. Besides, she knew nothing about this stoic man beside her. She wanted a few blanks filled in.
He laughed shortly at the display of tenacity. “There was an attempted robbery at the penthouse about six months ago.” He had caught the thief before the man could get away, but he left that part unspoken. “I took Mr. Plageanos in to file a report.”
The details didn’t quite jibe but she couldn’t think of a reason why Byron would lie to her. Something was missing. “And Wilkins was working the Robbery Division at the time?”
“Our paths crossed.”
The answer told her nothing except that he wasn’t willing to talk about it. Frustrated, Kady blew out a breath. It was like trying to get into a conversation with the sphinx.
“Okay, you pick the topic.”
He spared her a glance as he stepped on the gas, making it through the amber light before it turned red. The streets were swollen with cars. “What?”
“Well, you obviously don’t want to answer any questions and I’m not in the mood to sit here beside you in silence until we get to the police station, so talk about anything you want to. Just talk,” Kady added with emphasis.
He made a right at the end of the next block. Kady couldn’t tell if he was amused, or if it was just the angle of his profile that made him look as if his lips were curving.
“It might have escaped you,” he finally said, “but I don’t talk much.”
“No, it hasn’t escaped me.” It wouldn’t have escaped her even if she’d been a single-cell amoeba. “But I thought in light of everything, today might be a good day to start.”
He didn’t follow her logic, but then, she was a woman and he found that he’d never been able to tune in to the way they thought, a by-product of being raised by just his father. “Why?”
Ordinarily she didn’t like to showcase a weakness. She prided herself on being strong. But today someone had thrown out the rule book.
“Because I don’t want to cry, and right now I’m about this far away from it.” Kady held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart almost directly in front of him.
He moved her hand aside so that he could see the road more clearly. “Didn’t sound like you were going to cry when Wilkins was questioning you.” Again, that odd little half smile took possession of his mouth. “I thought I might be called in to restrain you.”
He was amused, she thought. “You heard?”
He inclined his head in an abbreviated nod. “Got a temper on you,” he observed, then glanced at her as they came to a red light. “Wouldn’t think it to look at you.”
As far as she was concerned, she had good reason to be angry. “Wilkins was accusing me of being involved in Mr. Plageanos’s murder.”
“Wilkins accuses everyone. It’s what he does. Or did,” he added. The last part was under his breath. “It levels the playing field for him.”
She’d thought that some sort of recognition had passed between the two men. “Then you do know him.”
He wouldn’t exactly say that. He doubted that anyone really knew Wilkins. He knew that no one really knew him. He didn’t let people in. Not anymore. “I told you, our paths have crossed.”
Kady read between the lines. “Not over the burglary,” she surmised.
Annoyed, Byron blew out a breath. The woman just didn’t back off. He looked at her. “You’re like a junkyard dog, you know that?”
“No,” she contradicted with a smile, denying the comparison. “I’m Polish.”
Eyebrows as dark as night drew together over the bridge of his nose. “What the hell does that have to do with it?”
She’d learned a long time ago that beyond demeaning ethnic jokes, most people have a very limited knowledge of anything Polish. She set about educating him. “Polish women are known for their stubbornness.”
He didn’t know about Polish women being stubborn, but she damn well was. “I didn’t know.”
“Now you do.” She paused, waiting. Byron made no effort to continue. Biting back a sigh, she prodded him again. “You were about to tell me about crossing paths with Wilkins.”
For a moment Byron debated telling her to back off, then decided that it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Not since Bobby died. “Wilkins used to be with IAB.”
“The Internal Affairs Bureau?” she cut in. Now that she thought of it, the man was perfect for it. He was relentless and intimidating and, she had no doubt, probably ruthless as well, given half a chance. He’d probably loved his job.
Byron looked at her, mildly impressed. “You know about IAB?”
“Sure.” And for the first time since she’d gone in to wash her hands after examining Milos, she grinned. “I watch TV like everyone else.” But because the subject was serious, she sobered again before asking, “What was it that Wilkins investigated?”
The moment the question was out of her mouth, she knew.
“You?” She saw his jaw harden. She didn’t think of herself as the world’s best judge of character, but she was pretty high up there, she reasoned. IAB investigated cops who were crooked. Her gut told her that Byron was as honest as they came. “Why?”
“Every time a detective discharges his weapon, there’s an investigation.” He stared straight ahead, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He was beginning to regret his offer to bring her down here.
“And did you? Kill someone?” she prompted when silence was the only answer that greeted her.
“Yeah.” He slanted a look in her direction. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
By the way Byron asked the question, she knew he wasn’t referring to anything recent, nor was he referring to the time he’d brought his employer into the E.R. But instinct told her it had to have had something to do with the E.R. That would explain why, the first time she recalled meeting him, she’d had this nagging feeling that she’d seen him before. At the time she’d chalked it up to someone looking like him. So many faces came and went in the E.R., it was hard to remember them all.
“Not specifically,” she admitted. “Although I’ve had this feeling that I’ve seen you before you walked into the E.R. with Mr. Plageanos.”
He nodded, hardly hearing. “I came in the ambulance with this rookie cop.” His voice was completely dead, as if he was reading lines from a teleprompter. “He was off duty and he’d walked into this mom and pop deli to pick up some provolone for his brother.”
This was hard for him, Kady thought, watching as each word labored its way past his lips. She kept her peace, waiting for him to go on.
“There was a robbery going on. The rookie tried to stop it.”
His voice died away. He couldn’t just leave her dangling here. “How did you figure into it?” she finally asked quietly.
He took his time replying. She could have sworn that he was physically erecting a wall around himself. A wall between him and the pain the words caused.
“I was in the car, waiting.”
She made the natural assumption. “You were the brother?”
He nodded so slowly she thought his head hadn’t moved. “I was the brother.” And then his voice hardened. “I should have been the one who went in, not him, but there was a news bulletin on the radio and I wanted to hear the end of it. So Bobby hopped out of the car and went into the deli. The next thing I knew, there were gunshots and then this tall, skinny guy, still holding a piece, came running out. It was as if I saw the whole thing that had happened inside in slow motion. I yelled out that I was a cop, told the guy to stop. When he didn’t, I shot him.” He didn’t add that he’d looked into the store and saw Bobby on the ground in a pool of his own blood, or that the robber had turned his weapon on him and was about to fire when he killed him.
“It was a clean shoot.”
She said it with such confidence, he had to look at her. He would have said she was pandering, but there was nothing to gain. So he shrugged it off. “Wilkins didn’t see it that way.”
Wilkins, she decided, was a man that people could easily hate. “They brought you up on charges?” she asked incredulously.
“No, I was cleared.” But it had been close for a while. IAB had everyone afraid of coming forward. It was as if, to prove everyone was vigilant, a scapegoat had to be sacrificed. “And then I quit.”
If there were no charges, he should have remained to work toward his pension. To leave seemed foolish. “But why?”
He’d thought of the police force as his family. The family—except for Bobby—that he had never actually had. When Bobby died, and everyone on the force backed away while the investigation was ongoing, he felt as if he’d lost everything. His marriage, such as it was, fell apart. So, he’d shut down and backed away himself.
“Didn’t seem to be any purpose to staying on a force that turns against you just when you need support.” And then his own words played themselves back to him. His expression hardened as he turned to her. He looked formidable. “Why are you asking all these questions?”
“Because I want to know,” she replied simply.
That still didn’t tell him anything. “Why? We’re strangers.”
Her answer surprised him. “Only because you want it that way.” When he looked at her quizzically, she added, “Me, I make friends with everyone.”
She was making assumptions. “Maybe I don’t want any friends.”
“Everyone wants friends,” Kady countered quietly. “You just might not know it.”
“Same thing,” he insisted.
“No,” she replied, her voice as firm as her belief, “it’s not.”
“We’re here,” he told her, pulling up into the parking lot.
And none too soon, he added silently.
Chapter 4
It was only after Kady had gotten together with the sketch artist, bringing to life the man she’d seen murder two innocent people, that she remembered. Remembered that the rookie policeman that she’d worked over in the E. R. that night Byron had recreated for her had died shortly after he’d been brought in. Died despite all her best efforts to save him. The damage had been too extensive.
Numbed, she looked around to see if she could glimpse Byron, but he was nowhere to be seen. Kady sighed inwardly. She’d been so involved in trying to secure bits and pieces of information from Byron, she’d missed the elephant in the living room.
“Something doesn’t look right to you?” the technician asked, ready to hit another set of keys.
“No.” She forced herself to focus on the image that was coming together on the screen. This needed to be out of the way first. “You’re getting it.”
“Good, now about his hair…”
As soon as the sketch artist completed the composite, Byron materialized at her elbow, almost as if he’d been standing behind some invisible curtain. One moment he wasn’t there, the next, he was. It took everything she had not to jump. But inside, she could feel her adrenaline launch into high gear.
“How do you do that?” she wanted to know, turning to face Byron. “How do you suddenly just appear out of nowhere like that?”
The slightest hint of a smile whispered along his lips. She couldn’t decide if he was patronizing her. “I don’t. You just didn’t notice me because you were distracted.”
“I’d have to be dead not to notice you,” she told him matter-of-factly.
Kady wasn’t flirting with him, although God knew she’d done more than her share in med school, partying to shake off the stress of having to study all but nonstop for days on end. What she’d said had been a simple observation. She’d come to realize that Byron didn’t say much verbally, but his presence certainly did. He had a commanding aura about him that turned all eyes in his direction. He was what her younger sister, Tania, would have referred to as drop-dead gorgeous.
Noting the way he handled himself, and because he’d once been a cop, Kady couldn’t help wondering just how many people had dropped dead because of him.
There was an air of danger about Byron, and yet, for some reason, he made her feel safe.
Byron pretended that he hadn’t heard her comment. Instead he asked, “Ready to go?” directing the question more to the man sitting at the computer than to her.
The computer technician nodded, then pushed up the glasses that had slid down his nose. “We’re finished. Unless there’s something else?” he added, looking at Kady.
“No, that’s him,” Kady said, taking one last look. “That’s the man I saw leaving Mr. Plageanos’s bedroom.”
“Then she’s all yours,” the tech told Byron.
After thanking the technician, she rose and hurried after Byron, already headed for the door. Catching up, she pressed her lips together. She had no idea how to start. Full speed ahead was ordinarily her style, but it didn’t seem to quite fit here. Part of her just wanted to let it go.
Still, she didn’t want Byron to think that she was crass or insensitive. She wanted him to know that although she did deal with death on occasion, it wasn’t just something she shrugged off without a backward glance. His brother had lost too much blood by the time she’d gotten to him. It wasn’t a matter of her being in above her head, or not having enough expertise to save him. The man had been beyond anyone’s ability to save. He’d needed a miracle and the hospital and she were fresh out of miracles that night.
That didn’t make it any less of a loss. Not to her. Not to Byron.
Lost in thought, she’d managed to fall a little behind. “I’m sorry about your brother,” she said to his back.
Leading the way out of the precinct to his vehicle, Byron looked over his shoulder at her. “What?”
“Your brother. Bobby.” She’d remembered his name the moment the circumstances had come back to her. Almost skipping to cut the distance, she caught up to Byron, then continued to take long strides to match his pace. “He died that night. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”
He’d spent some time hating her, hating the hospital, the ambulance drivers, everyone. And then he’d turned that hate on himself. It never got him anywhere, but that was just the way things were. He was over it, mostly. He just hadn’t forgiven himself yet.
Byron pulled open the passenger door for her, then rounded the hood and got in on his side. She’d already buckled her belt by the time he got in.
“Wasn’t your fault.” The words were short, staccato, as if they were being fired out rapidly. “It was mine.”
The wealth of guilt she heard in his voice was staggering. Had he been carrying that around all this time? It was a miracle that he hadn’t self-destructed.
Byron pulled out of the lot, his profile rigid. A lesser woman would have backed away. But she had started this; she was going to see it through.
“You had no way of knowing what would happen to him,” she said gently.
Knowing or not, that didn’t change what he should have done. “I should have gone in and gotten my own damn cheese.”
Her heart went out to him. He couldn’t continue to carry this burden, couldn’t continue beating himself up about it. “Things happen for a reason. Maybe you were supposed to stay alive.”
He looked at her sharply. She would have drawn back if she hadn’t been belted in. “And Bobby wasn’t?”
That wasn’t what she’d meant. Kady sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a hard man to cheer up, Byron.”
“There’s a solution for that,” he replied crisply. “Don’t try.”
Too late, she thought. It was obvious that Byron wanted her to stop talking, to slip into silence and pretend that nothing had been said. She was willing to drop the subject of his brother, but not to spend the rest of this trip in silence. What she’d witnessed was still too much with her, too raw. For now, she needed to be distracted and he was her only resource.
“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.
Caught off guard, Byron looked at her as if she’d lapsed into baby talk. “Did that gunman hit you in the head?”
“No, he never even saw me,” she reminded him, incredibly grateful for that.
He frowned to himself as he went down a one-way street four miles over the posted speed limit. “Then why are you asking me what my name is? You know what it is. It’s Byron.”
She shifted in her seat, the belt digging into her hip as she turned to look at him. “Yes, I know, but is Byron your first name? Your last? Is it some nickname they pinned to you in elementary school?”
Maybe that getting-hit-in-the-head theory wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded. The woman was babbling, he thought. “What kind of nickname is Byron?”
She shrugged. It was possible. “Maybe your mother liked the romantic poets and saw a little of Lord Byron in you.” Because, she added silently, if Byron had been taller and believed in working out, she would have said that the man beside her was a dead ringer for the tragic poet.
“Never knew my mother,” Byron answered curtly, hoping this would be the end of it. “She died after Bobby was born.”
It seemed as if she couldn’t win for losing. She hadn’t meant to open any more old wounds. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Byron made no comment. Instead he continued to stare straight ahead at the road, his hands wrapped around the wheel.
Finally, after several minutes had passed, he shrugged. “It happens.”
More often than he probably realized, she thought. That didn’t take the sting away. “But it’s still rough, growing up without a parent.”
He slanted a look at her. Was she about to build on some common thread? “You?”
She felt almost guilty at having had the kind of childhood she’d had. Loving parents and sisters who would have done anything for her, would always be there for her if she needed them.
“No,” she replied quietly. “Both of mine are still alive.”
And probably doted on her, Byron guessed. She had that look about her. Hardest thing she probably had to deal with is finding a pair of shoes that went with the outfit she’d chosen.
“Then how would you know?” It almost sounded like an accusation.
The smile on her lips unsettled him. It was completely disarming. “I have a vivid imagination.”
Byron laughed shortly. “I can believe that.”
“So?” she asked, her tone light again as she attempted to get back to her original question.
Byron’s eyebrows drew together, knotting in totally confusion as he glanced at her before switching lanes. “‘So’ what?”
Kady sighed. The man could bob and weave with the best of them. She wondered if he’d been a handful, growing up. And if he’d missed his mother, or at least the idea of a mother. Her heart ached a little, knowing how she would have felt without hers. Completely lost.
“Is Byron your first or last name?” she pressed.
It really was like dealing with a junkyard dog. “First,” he ground out grudgingly.
Talk about baby steps. The man was not willing to meet her halfway, or even a quarter of the way. “Do you have a last name?” she finally asked when he volunteered nothing beyond the single word.
“Yeah.”
Okay, he was doing this on purpose, she decided. “And is it a government secret?”
His voice was mild. If he didn’t know better, he would have said he was even enjoying himself. “Not that I know of.”
Byron paused, playing the moment out for his own amusement. He had no idea why the doctor’s questioning amused more than annoyed him. Maybe it was because this pint-size doctor stood out from the rest of all the people he’d encountered since he’d come to work for the late shipping magnate. In a sea of interchangeable people, she was unique, like the color red in a box of beige crayons.

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