High-Risk Investigation. Jane M. Choate

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       THREE

      Nicco called the police and asked for Wagner, though he didn’t expect the detective to find anything more than he had.

      Within ten minutes, Wagner showed up. After examining the scene, he shook his head. “You were right. Nothing to indicate it was anything but an accident. But you don’t think so.” He didn’t make it a question, and Nicco didn’t treat it as such.

      “I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said. “First, she’s targeted last night, then a pile of scaffolding barely misses her today. You do the math.”

      “I get what you’re saying, but there’s no proof that today was anything more than an accident.” Wagner held up a hand to forestall Nicco’s objections. He turned to Scout. “What do you have to say about it, Ms. McAdams?”

      “I...I don’t know.” Her eyes remained cool, her expression neutral, but Nicco noted the clenching and unclenching of her hands. Fear always found an outlet, as did adrenaline.

      He felt it coursing through his bloodstream as well, his heartbeat at double-time as he processed the near miss.

      “What were you doing here?” Wagner asked.

      “I received a tip.”

      “Care to share?”

      She shook her head. “Reporter’s privilege.”

      Wagner scowled but didn’t press the matter. “If you—either of you—think of anything, you know where to find me.” After slanting one last glance at Scout, he took off.

      Nicco was more concerned about Scout than he’d let on. Though the day was unseasonably hot, even for a Georgia summer, she shivered. Reaction. The lady had nearly been reduced to a bug-splat on the ground beneath thousands of pounds of processed wood and metal. That came on the heels of last night’s shooting. “You okay?”

      “Yeah.” She brushed herself off. He watched as she pulled herself together, her shoulders squaring as though bracing for another blow. “Did you tail me here?”

      He raised a brow. “What? No thank-you?”

      “Sorry. My manners tend to go MIA when I’m almost killed for the second time in two days.”

      He gave her kudos for a quick recovery. A lot of people would have gone into hysterics after what she’d barely escaped. “I get that.”

      “Thank you.” The words weren’t fancy, but he heard the sincerity behind them. “Thank you for showing up when you did.”

      Scout looked about, visibly shuddering when her gaze landed on the scaffolding, now scattered like giant pickup sticks over the ground.

      Nicco took her arm and tucked her against him, her softer build fitting into the harder planes of his own. “Let’s get out of here.” They’d come back for her car when she was no longer suffering from shock.

      “You don’t have to ask twice.”

      He steered her to his truck. Halfway there, she shrugged off the supporting arm he’d kept around her and marched forward, as though keeping moving was the secret to maintaining control.

      He gave her a boost into the truck. “You’re no bigger than a minute.”

      “You know the saying. ‘Good things come in small packages.’”

      “I know of a little place not far from here. I don’t know if you’re hungry, but rescuing damsels in distress tends to make me work up an appetite.”

      She grinned. “I’m hungry enough to forgive that ‘damsel in distress’ remark, so you’re on.”

      He shut the door and rounded the truck. After getting in and buckling his seat belt, he turned to her. “Ordinarily, I’d canvass the area, see if anybody saw anything. But this was a setup through and through. I don’t think we’re going to learn anything. Not here. Not now.”

      She gave another shiver. “Frankly, the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

      “You got it.”

      * * *

      The restaurant, barely more than an abbreviated alley in size, was packed. Diners crowded at the counter. Nicco apparently knew the owner, for a large man in an apron that might once have been white greeted them with a smile and a “Hiya, Nicco.”

      “Same to you, Phil. You got room for us?”

      “For you, Nicco, anything.”

      He showed them to a booth. The red vinyl seats and gray Formica counter appeared to be circa 1960s.

      Scout didn’t have to think about what she wanted. “A double cheeseburger. Extra-large fries. Chocolate shake. And three chocolate chip cookies.”

      “And a heart-attack chaser on the side,” Nicco added with a wry smile.

      “You have a problem with my order?”

      “No problem. I’m just wondering how someone your size puts away all that food.” His eyebrow hiked. “Or maybe it’s just for show.”

      She made a face at him. “Give me twenty minutes and then be prepared to eat your words.”

      A fresh-faced waitress, who must have been all of seventeen, showed up to take their order. She never took her eyes from Nicco.

      He gave their order to the girl, who giggled and batted her eyelashes at him.

      When she left, Scout lifted a brow. “The famous Santonni charm. It’s an education to see it in action.” She was talking too much. Too fast. A cover for the nerves that skimmed just below the surface.

      The banter felt good, a reminder that she was alive. If not for Nicco Santonni, things could have turned out differently.

      She owed him. Again. “You’ve saved my life. Twice.”

      Nicco didn’t say anything, only waited.

      The pieces clicked into place. Scout had confided in her best friend Olivia Hammond Santonni about the threatening letters she’d been receiving. Olivia had hired Nicco, her brother-in-law, to protect Scout. It wasn’t a coincidence that Nicco had been at the right place at the right time both last night and today.

      “Olivia.” There was both affection and resignation in the four syllables. Olivia was a great friend, but she fretted over Scout like a mother hen over her chicks.

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