“Karen, I need a picture! I have Naughty—”
Liza jumped in front of Nate, right in the woman’s face. “Stop it.”
The lady drew back, her lip curling. “Who are you?”
“His bodyguard. Back off.”
“Liza, you don’t have to—”
She shook off Nate’s touch and powered closer to the lady, nose to nose with her. “And I’m armed to the hilt and so are ten other people around him that you don’t even see right now.”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she glanced to the side.
“Get the hell away from him, and if you take your phone out for a picture, I will give the signal to shoot.”
The other woman sputtered, clearly not sure what to make of a five-foot-four woman making death threats. “I just wanted to...”
Nate put his hand on Liza’s shoulder, easing her back. “We’re okay now.”
The lady looked from one to the other, and Liza stood on her tiptoes and gave the closest thing to a snarl she had in her.
Another woman came running up, breathless, a cup of ice cream in her hand. “What are you screaming about, Joanne? I had to pay for my froyo!”
“That’s—”
Liza inched forward. “Don’t even think about it.”
Joanne held up both her hands, then looked at Nate, her face softening. “Sorry to bother you.”
He took Liza’s hand and tried to tug her away, but she stayed rooted in the spot, using what she knew was a soul-flattening look to slice the woman down. Finally, the two ladies took off, the others around them lost interest, and Liza slipped back under Nate’s arm, both of them rushing through the crowded sidewalk.
He was chuckling, though, tucking her tighter against him. “I was right about you.”
“I’m nuts?” She grinned, the rush of adrenaline still pumping through her.
“You’re Wonder Woman.” He looked down at her, his face so close, but all she could see was her own reflection in his sunglasses. Her eyes were shining, her color high, and her lips parted as if she...
Oh, Lord. Now she wanted to kiss him.
“That was sweet and not necessary and maybe a little dangerous. Don’t do it again.”
“But I saved you and your reputation.”
He grazed her cheek with his finger. “You did something else you shouldn’t have,” he said, his voice low and gruff.
“Lied about being armed? Is that illegal or something?”
He laughed softly. “No.”
“Then what did I do?”
For a long moment, he didn’t answer, then he shook his head, refusing to say.
“What?” she urged. “I don’t want to do it again if I did something wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He smiled at her, then dipped his head to plant a soft kiss on her forehead, making the spot burn. “You made me like you even more.”
Her whole body betrayed her with a splash of heat and hope she really did not want to feel.
* * *
She’d turned him on, damn it. That’s what her little spitfire, protective, fearless bodyguard act did. And the next kiss wasn’t going to be by accident.
Why the hell did he have to meet this woman under such stupid, complicated circumstances?
“There’s the restaurant,” she said, pointing to a bright orange sign that promised Red Suns and Hot Buns.
He led them across the street between a break in traffic, slowing down as a horse and carriage full of tourists trotted past. A woman in the back caught a glimpse of Nate. She pointed, then poked her partner, who turned, but the buggy moved too fast, and they darted behind it, into the restaurant.
It was late for lunch and early for dinner, but the outdoor bar was in high gear, with all the stools full and the jukebox wailing some Stevie Nicks. Nate led them to a table near the door, where he pulled out a chair for Liza and took the seat that had him facing inside.
In a few moments, a waitress appeared. A very minimally dressed waitress. She wore cutoff white shorts that revealed a third of her backside and a tight bright red crop top with a sunset emblazoned across her double D’s—fake, in his expert opinion. The words Red Suns rolled over her chest, the tops of the letters covered by the ends of her platinum blond hair.
“Whatchya guys havin’?” she asked, shuffling her pad without really looking at them.
“How long have you worked here?” Liza asked.
That got her attention, right on Liza, which is exactly where he suspected she wanted it. If this one got all gooey-eyed over him, they might not learn anything.
“You lookin’ for a job?” the girl asked, nodding as if she already knew the answer.
“No, I’m trying to find out about a friend of mine who used to work here, but it was more than five years ago.”
“Before my time,” she said. “But, hey...” She turned—revealing a matching Hot Buns written across her lukewarm ones—and waved over another server, a dark-haired young woman who looked like she was in her late twenties. “Tracy, c’mere for a sec.”
The other woman pivoted on her sneakers and bounced over, a huge, friendly smile in place. “What up, buttercup?”
“You’ve been here forever, right?”
She rolled brown eyes. “Feels like it. I started in ‘05.” She gave a throaty grunt and dropped her head back. “Why, God? Why can’t I get my life together and not be a waitress?” She grinned at her joke. “Who wants to know?”
“This lady is looking for someone named...”
“Carrie Cassidy,” Liza said. “Did you know her when she worked here?”
The woman shook her head, frowning as she considered the question. “No, no. I didn’t know anybody by that name. When did you say she worked here?”
“About five years ago. I have a picture. Maybe you’d remember her.” Liza got her phone, tapped the screen, and showed it to the waitress. “This is her.”
The woman leaned closer, and their first server poked her head in to look, too.
“No, I don’t...” She squinted and took the phone, staring at it. “Wait, I do know her. She worked here for almost a year. Um...” She snapped her fingers, digging for more. “Bonnie? Brandy? What the hell was her name?”
“Bailey?” Nate suggested.
She looked up, face brightening. “Bailey Banks! Yes. I do remember her.” She looked at the picture again, thinking, then shaking her head. “Where is she now?”
“Well,” Liza said, “I’m sorry to say she died in a car accident.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “No way! Oh my God, I never heard that. She just disappeared after...is that her little boy?” Still holding the phone, she dropped into an empty chair at the table, as if the knowledge that someone she knew had died pressed her down.
“Yes, it is,” Liza said.
“That fucking bastard, excuse my French.”
Nate leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
She glanced at him, then Liza. “Oh, her dickwad, deadbeat baby daddy.”
He saw Liza suck in a breath, clearly unable to speak. So he did it for her. “Who?” he demanded. “You know him?”
“Oh, hell, everyone knows Jeff Munson around this town. He’s been up every skirt in Key West.”
“Jeff Munson, the old line cook?” the first waitress asked. “I know him. Whoa, yeah, total manwhore.”
Tracy jutted her chin to the picture. “She loved the hell out of him, though. She even moved in with him for a while.” Shaking her head, she sighed again. “God, I can’t believe she’s dead. I wonder if he knows.”
So did Nate...what if Liza was all wrong? What if he wasn’t anything but a fall guy?
“Do you know where we could find him?” Liza asked.
The other girl stepped closer. “I know where he lives.” A soft flush bloomed under her makeup. “I’ve been there for, you know, after-work parties. It’s over in Conch Harbor in those apartment buildings off Twelfth Street.”
“Oh, God, no,” Tra
cy said, leaning back and narrowing her eyes at Liza. “Please tell me you are not some HRS person who’s going to give that kid to Jeff Munson, are you? Because I’m here to tell you, he is so not father material. Parties constantly, has a stream of ‘ho bags in and out of his place, and hasn’t had a legit job in his life. Trust me, he doesn’t want a kid to hamper his style.”
Nate swallowed, staying very still. She’d just described him.
“No, no, we’re not from HRS,” Liza assured her. “But it does seem fair to tell him what happened to her.”
The waitress shrugged. “He won’t care unless it involves money. That dude lives for the next get-rich scheme.” She pushed up to get back to work. “Sorry to hear about Bailey. Sweet kid, but maybe not the brightest bulb in the bunch. She was always trying to make him jealous and making up shit about meeting celebrities at work. As if we get Leo DiCaprio in here on a regular basis.”
She started to walk away, but Liza reached out her hand and stopped her. “Did she tell you she met Leo DiCaprio?” she asked.
Tracy snorted. “And Ryan Gosling and Adam Levine and, oh my God, that...that billionaire guy, the naughty hottie one from the messy family.”
Nate froze—inside and out. To her credit, Liza didn’t even blink.
“That girl had a fertile imagination and really tried to get Jeff’s pants in a bunch over her ‘celebrity’ encounters, but...” She shrugged. “I just hope she died happy.”
“She did,” Liza said, her throat tightening. “She was really happy.”
“Good, good. ‘Cause, man, life is short.” She gave a remorseful smile. “I better quit this gig and start living it.”
When she walked away, Liza turned to the other waitress. “We’re not going to have anything, sorry.”
“No biggie. Good luck finding Jeff, and sorry about your friend.”
Nate had no idea if she glanced at him, because he looked down at the menu they didn’t need and made sure the bill of his cap covered everything but his chin. After a moment, they were alone, and he looked up at Liza, stunned to see her eyes swimming with tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“She probably made you up,” she whispered.
“Why would that make you cry?”
She bit her lip, hard, then blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “Maybe she made everything up. Her name, her life, her...everything. What if all those years of friendship were just a lie?”
He reached out a hand, no clue how to console her.
“Come on, Nate,” she said, blinking away her emotions. “Let’s go find this Munson guy. That place where he lives matches the address for Carrie’s last address in Key West. I have a really good idea.”
He was starting to know her well enough to know she probably did have an idea, and it probably was good. But something in him, something he really didn’t understand, made him hope that this loser guy wasn’t Dylan’s father. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way.
Out of pity for Dylan if that was the case?
Or maybe he was starting to like the idea of Dylan being his?
Chapter Eight
By the time they reached the complex, Liza had fully composed herself, forcing herself to pay attention to the surroundings, avoiding crowds as they walked briskly across town. She could not afford to get emotional about this yet. Not ever.
“All right, we need a plan of action,” Nate said as they neared the destination.
“I told you, I have a plan for dealing with him.”
“Not alone. Not with some guy who’s been described as a douche-bag.”
“I can handle a douche-bag. My goal hasn’t changed, Nate. I want a signed Termination of Parental Rights so that no one has a claim to Dylan.” But that wasn’t all, and she had to admit that. “I also want the truth about who he is. Someday, I’m going to have to tell Dylan.”
As he nodded, his expression grew darker, maybe realizing just how difficult a conversation that would be, no matter what was said. “That’s why you got so worked up in the restaurant.”
“This whole situation has me worked up,” she confessed. “The sooner I have answers, the better.”
“Then let’s go.” He led her through the open gate to the Conch Harbor apartment complex, both of them pausing to take in the half-dozen white stucco buildings with beaten barrel tile rooftops.
“This is it,” Nate said. “I’ve been here before.”
He was that sure? “Wasn’t it dark that night?”
“Pitch, but I came back the next day, remember? I called the limo driver and had him bring me back, but I couldn’t find her anywhere, and I even looked through all the mailboxes. No Bailey Banks. And before you ask, no, I didn’t go to the apartment manager. I was trying to stay on the down low, but I really did look for her.”
Having walked through town with him, she understood. “She was living with this Munson guy,” Liza said. “Maybe her name wasn’t on the mailboxes.”
“Maybe. I know I tried to find her.”
“Why did you, anyway? You said she wasn’t your type.”
He steered her toward the main building, where there was a bank of outdoor mailboxes for every building. “She took pictures,” he said after a long beat. “Actually, a video.”
Liza almost tripped, stopping cold on the sidewalk to stare at him. “Like of you guys...” She couldn’t help making a face. “You mean a sex tape?”
He looked away. “I wanted to get it from her before she did anything stupid with it, like send it to the media.”
Liza felt her eyes widen. “Did she?”
“The tape never surfaced, and I forgot about it until I saw her picture in that journal. It’s not possible you have it, is it?”
“I doubt it. I got rid of all her stuff, and I don’t remember any cameras in her belongings. She used her phone to take pictures.”
“Let’s hope that camera and what was on it is long destroyed,” he said when they reached the mailboxes.
As they started to peruse the residents’ names, Liza gathered up the courage to make a simple request. “Listen, if we find him, I have to talk to him alone.”
Nate looked up from a row of boxes, frowning. “Why?”
“Because if he sees you, it’ll change everything. Who knows how he’ll react to you? He won’t know me, but he’ll know you. I want the truth, and I have the best shot of getting it if I’m alone.”
He didn’t answer but turned back to the mailboxes. In a few moments, he tapped one. “Got it. J. Munson, unit 335. That’s probably building three, third floor, unit five.”
“Okay. Wait here for me.” She started off, but he snagged her elbow.
“Liza.” He turned her. “What’s your plan?”
“Besides brilliant?” She gave him her most dazzling smile. “I’m going to dangle money in front of him.”
He slid his sunglasses off, his look stern. “Let me assure you from personal experience, that is not a smart thing to do. A blackmailer never goes away, ever. They get their teeth in you and will suck you dry.”
“Blackmail?” She laughed softly. “I’m so much more creative than that.” She tried to ease her arm out of his grasp, but he held tight. “What is it, Nate?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But...” He swallowed and took a slow breath. “I guess I was starting to get used to the idea.”
“Of Dylan? You’d be disappointed if Dylan wasn’t yours?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “I’d think you’d jump for joy.”
A little war waged behind his eyes, tawny brown darkening to something deeper and quite powerful. “I don’t like the idea of you going up to this guy’s apartment alone.”
But that wasn’t what was bothering him, was it? She didn’t want to argue, though. “Then stay close by but out of sight. I’ll text you if I’m in trouble.” She managed to slip out of his grasp, but he got her other shoulder and pulled her close.
For a moment, she was certain he was going
to kiss her. She stayed still, looking at him, waiting for it, but he just shook his head. “Be careful.”
“I will be.” She stepped away and darted toward building three, not turning but knowing Nate wasn’t far behind. Up the open stairs that led to each floor, Liza tried to forget him and remember the plan she’d hatched when they were talking with the waitress. She’d gotten enough clues about this guy to feel certain this would work.
At the top landing, a sign pointed left to units four and five, so she turned the corner, following the wall on her left and the railing open to the courtyard below on her right. She rounded the bend, smacking right into a man hustling the other way.
“Oh, shit, damn.” Papers—mail, it looked like—went flying, along with more curses.
“I’m so sorry,” Liza said, as the man bent over to grab some envelopes. “Really, sorry.”
She helped, glancing at the return address as she scooped up what had fluttered away. J.B. Munson. Bingo. And with a middle initial to add credibility, too.
Glancing at him from behind a lock of hair that covered her eyes, she got an eyeful of hair and tattoos and faded khakis hanging off sun-weathered skin.
“My bad, sir,” she said, straightening and smiling innocently.
He nodded, finally seeing her. And giving her a chance to see his face and any resemblance to Dylan. Brown eyes, yes, and maybe the mouth, but...
She realized he was checking her out, too. “We forgive pretty girls around here. Apartment policy.”
“Thanks and, um, listen, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a Mr. Jeffrey B. Munson, do you?”
He frowned slightly, shaking back some long, streaked hair. “You’re looking at him. Why?”
“Really? That’s fortunate.” She slipped her hand into the side pocket of her purse where she kept her business cards and handed him one. “My name is Liza Lemanski, and I work for the County Clerk in Collier County as head of the public records department, and we’ve been looking for you.”
“County Clerk. Shit.” He refused the card, all friendliness gone. “Parking ticket? Moving violation? Don’t tell me I owe freaking back taxes, lady. Call my lawyer.”
“None of the above, sir. A deceased citizen of Collier County has named you a beneficiary in her will, and we have to complete some paperwork and identification in order to expedite the payment.”