To the Edge (25 page)

"Headache?"

Great. Concern.

She shook her head.

Whenever he expressed it—which, granted, wasn't often—it surprised her. It surprised him, too, if she read his scowl right. He didn't want to feel anything for her-other than that perfect bodyguard stoicism.

It all served to further convolute things because she still thought he was a sonofabitch. But he was a great-looking sonofabitch, and at times he showed amazing intuitive powers, compassion, and, like now, concern. Even though he didn't want to. Which, for some reason, only endeared him to her a little more.

Endeared? God. That soaked it. She
was
scared stupid.

Beside her, Garret had fallen into silence, too, and she wondered if he was messing with the same thoughts she was. At Palm Beach Lakes Boulevard, he made a left, then pulled into a large high-rise office complex known as the Forum, where E.D.E.N. Security, Inc., kept a suite of offices.

While she'd groused about taking time out of her day to come here, secretly she'd been looking forward to meeting the other Garretts. She'd done her research. The whole lot were overachievers, it seemed.

"Well, if it isn't the prodigal." A pretty, diminutive blonde with a huge smile and big blue eyes met them when they walked in the door.

"Hello, little brother," she went on before turning eyes the same color blue as Nolan's on Jillian. "And you're Ms. Kincaid. I'm Eve, Nolan's sister. I've seen your newscasts, you're fabulous. Great suit," she added, admiring Jillian's form-fitting two-piece mauve silk pantsuit.

Jillian returned her warm smile and firm handshake. "It's Jillian, please. And thanks."

According to the article, Eve was the doer of the group. Her background was in the Secret Service, and prior to protection duty she specialized in money-laundering and computer-programming issues and lent the firm the ability to offer corporate crime investigations. Again, according to the article, she was very career oriented.

"So, how's the bully treating you?" Eve asked even as she threw her arms around the bully's neck and planted a big wet one on his cheek.

Jillian was as charmed by Eve's uninhibited show of affection as she was by the show Nolan made of tolerating it. He rolled his eyes and glowered, although she noticed his arms had folded around his sister and squeezed her tight.

"Get away from me, brat," he sputtered, peeling her away from him, but there was a smile in his voice even if his mouth remained hard and firm. "You'll get makeup on my shirt."

"You could use a little brightening up," Eve tossed back, and winked at Jillian. "Don't you agree?"

Actually, Jillian thought black suited him just fine, but she nodded just to get a rise out of him.

"I did not come here for a fashion consult or to be abused by you," he grumbled. "You have some info for me?"

"Gave it to Ethan. Come on. We were about to have a quick conference. Jillian can meet the rest of the E.D.E.N. brain trust." Eve headed down the hall and they fell in step behind her.

"Did I mention that my sister has a smart mouth?"

"I heard that," Eve said over her shoulder.

"You were supposed to."

As they entered the conference room Jillian was met by another pair of blue eyes set in a dark masculine face that so resembled Nolan's she had to smile and take a guess as to which brother she was facing. "Ethan?"

"Dallas," he corrected, and extended his hand. "And you would be Jillian Kincaid."

Dallas, at thirty-three, was considered the negotiator, according to the article. A former Force Recon team leader— he'd bucked the family's army tradition and opted for the marines—Dallas had been described as open, friendly, and preppie and was primed in his usual uniform of trendy chinos and a knit shirt. His sister was quoted as saying Dallas liked his life neat and orderly.

"
I
would be Ethan." Nolan's oldest brother—he was thirty-five if she remembered right—rose from a chair at the head of a meeting table.

Ethan was a former Green Beret. His siblings affectionately regarded him as the brooder of the group. All work, no sense of humor, he was rarely seen without his trademark suit and tie or roll of cherry lifesavers. Today was no exception. He was also very private about his personal life and his marriage that had ended five years ago.

The photograph accompanying the article certainly hadn't lied. And the family genes ran strong and true, Jillian noted as this other devastatingly handsome Garrett walked around the table and extended his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Kincaid."

"All right, all right, enough with the glad-handing," Nolan broke in. "We're not here on a social call."

"Or a fashion consult," Eve added with an ornery grin.

The three brothers, evidently used to Eve's sense of humor, exchanged knowing looks.

"The files you asked for are in my office," Ethan said with a nod toward Nolan. "Blue folder, right corner, top of the desk. Go ahead. We'll entertain Ms. Kincaid until you get back."

Nolan seemed to consider the wisdom of leaving her with them, but in the end he shot his sister a warning glare, then left the conference room. Jillian couldn't swear to it, but she sensed a collective concern on the faces of all three Garrett siblings as they watched their brother walk away.

"Does that Terminator look he's got going on work on you?" Eve asked, breaking the tension. "Because if it does, we definitely need to talk."

"How are you holding up?" Ethan asked soberly as he eased a hip onto a corner of the conference table and popped a lifesaver out of the roll.

"I'm
doing fine," Jillian said automatically. And if you didn't count the sporadic moments when the reality of her situation caught up with her and her heart clogged her throat, she
was
doing fine.

"We're all over this," Dallas added, his blue eyes seeking and holding hers as he sat down in a chair. Propping his elbows on the arms, he folded his hands, prayerlike, in front of him. "We've been working with the West Palm PD, feeding them every piece of intel we uncover that might be pertinent."

"And we'll get a handle on whoever is doing this to you soon," Eve assured her. "In the meantime, he may be hell to live with, but Nolan won't let anything happen to you."

"I know," Jillian said, and realized for the first time just how deeply she believed it.

They were en route back to the TV studio when Jillian's cell phone rang.

"You're kidding," Nolan heard her say as she wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear, then scrambled to open her purse.

She pulled out a pen and a notebook and started scribbling. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got it. We can be there in," she checked her wristwatch, "ten minutes. Fifteen if traffic holds us up.... Yes, tell Jake and Ramon to hoist a red flag or something. I'll find them.... Right. Did he say what it's about?"

Nolan cast a glance her way. Her eyes were bright with excitement, her mouth tight with concentration, as she disconnected, looked up, and got a fix on where they were. "OK—we need to get downtown
wiki wiki."

He snorted.
"Wiki wiki?
Is that like a technical term?"

"Just take the first exit. I know a shortcut to the West Palm police station."

"What's up?"

"Diane got a call from the police chief's office. They've announced that he's holding a press conference at four-thirty—that's fifteen minutes from now. And to answer your next question, no, I don't know what it's about."

"But you have an idea."

"My money's on the Colburn murder. Could be they've got a lead."

Oh yeah. He'd heard about that case. If he remembered right, the story had broken a few weeks ago. The papers and even national television had given a lot of coverage to the unsolved murder of the prominent hotelier. Arthur Colburn had been found beaten to death in his suite of rooms. It was a juicy story that hinted heavily of a love triangle involving a rising male supermodel, a local female ingenue, aid whispers of bisexuality. In short, it was a journalist's wet dream.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to cover this," he growled.

She whipped her head around to glare at him. "It's my job."

"You're the only reporter at the studio who can handle it?"

"I'm the closest reporter. It's all about proximity. Besides, I want this story."

Yeah, he was sure she did.

"All right. But stay close."

"Like Lycra," she said with a smart-ass grin.

Nolan swore when, twelve minutes later, he pulled into a parking spot at 600 Banyan where space had been roped off for media vehicles. The grounds around the police station were crawling with people. Everywhere he looked there were reporters, cops, cameras, microphones, and about a million miles of cable.

"I take it you didn't get an exclusive," he grumbled as he hustled out of his car and sprinted to catch up with her. "I said stay close."

"Then keep up."

She never broke stride, and once he snagged her elbow he never let go while she dodged bodies and gave an occasional hello wave to a colleague as she plowed a course toward, believe it or not, a red flag waving high above the throng outside the station.

"Hey, guys," she said a little breathlessly when she reached her crew, who had set up shop on the sidewalk to the left of the front door, where a podium loaded with microphones had been hastily erected. "Anything yet?"

"Not yet." Ramon was all business, messing with his gear, setting up a tripod. He was, according to Nolan's notes, of Cuban descent, twenty-six years old, and a three-year employee of KGLO. Nolan didn't need any notes to tell him that Ramon with his pumped-up pecs, long black hair, and
hey, baby
eyes was also a ladies' man. His smile was quick and warm. A little too warm for Nolan's liking when Ramon flashed it Jillian's way, but he'd been professional to a fault at John Smith's interview yesterday.

Jake was a fifty-something Caucasian with a potbelly, receding hairline, and long salt-and-pepper ponytail. He constantly talked about his kids and a new grandchild on the way, all the while tending to business. Nolan figured he could count on either one of them if push came to shove and something went down here.

Speaking of pushes, someone bumped him from behind. mumbled an apology, and shoved on through the crowd. It was to become a common occurrence before the day was over.

An hour after they'd arrived, there was still no sign of Albert Fielding, the chief of police.

"And we rushed over here because...?" Nolan angled Jillian a dark look.

She looked up at him and grinned. "You'd never make a good reporter," she said, and went back to checking her hair and lipstick in a slim black compact. "Nine times out of ten, it's a hurry-up-and-wait game."

He glanced over her head, scanned the crowd. "I don't like it that you're so exposed here."

"Noted. Now relax. We may be here a while yet."

A while
turned out to be an understatement. Another hour passed and there was still no sign of Fielding.

"Can't you call in sick or something?"

She threw him a droll look. He took it as a no.

The scene had turned into a sideshow. Besides reporters from the Palm Beach and Miami papers milling around and all the TV crews set up practically on top of one another, the delayed press conference had attracted far too many curiosity seekers to make Nolan comfortable. Hell. Some guy had even shown up with a vending cart, hawking tacos and fajitas.

"I could use something to eat." Jake dug into his hip pocket for his wallet "Anyone else?"

"Taco. Soft-shell," Jillian said, and started fishing around in her purse for cash. "And an iced tea, please. No sugar."

"It's on me." Jake waved away her money. "I'll expense it out."

"In that case, get me a chicken fajita," Ramon added with a grin. "Lots of onions."

Jake cocked a brow. "Garrett?"

Gezus. They were turning it into a damn picnic. "Yeah, sure, why not? Whatever they've got."

"And get him a root beer."

Surprised, Nolan glanced at Jillian. She ducked her head back into her purse, like something at the bottom had captured her full attention.

Well hell. Next thing he knew she'd be wiping refried beans off his chin. How domestic.

He'd been doing his damnedest to forget about that little scene at her dining room table. Now this latest gesture had managed to remind him that there could be a lot more than a client relationship between them, and he wasn't talking just friends.

He'd also been trying his damnedest to ignore the easy camaraderie she enjoyed with her crew as well as her rivals and colleagues. She was professional, tenacious, respectful, and empathetic to the media and police. And it was apparent they regarded her as one of them. When one of the uniformed officers made his way over and started shooting the breeze with her, Nolan saw yet another side of the woman he'd once thought of as a prima donna.

She joked with the young officer who was obviously smitten with her and somehow managed to pump him up without letting him down when his friendliness turned to flirting.