Gold Rush (Blackwood Security #4) - Elise Noble Page 0,35

glared at her. “How do you know?”

“Because I know Nick.” She took a step back. “I don’t suppose that’s much consolation, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. I was terrified! Do you have any idea what it’s like having a gun aimed at your head?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

That was an answer I hadn’t expected. Little Miss Perfect had actually been threatened? Why? Mind you, if she was always this persistent, I could understand it.

“Really?”

“More times than I care to think about. Anyhow, I’ve come to take you out to lunch so you can meet Nick in a slightly more civilised manner. He needs to apologise as well.”

“Hold on—I quit.”

“No, you didn’t. You just left without a word.”

“Well, I quit now.”

“Resignation not accepted.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Just did. Come on, the car’s downstairs.”

“I can’t go back. I heard Mr. Goldman say on the phone he didn’t want a housekeeper.”

“No, he didn’t know he wanted a housekeeper. That’s a completely different thing. We’ve had a little chat, and now he understands the benefits. He said your lasagne was delicious, by the way. Oh, and you don’t need to call him Mr. Goldman. He’s Nick.”

Emmy wasn’t going to leave, was she? She clearly wasn’t a woman used to ever being told no. Her air of authority made me want to nod in agreement even as my brain screamed not to.

“Fine, he can apologise if it makes him feel better.” And after that, I could tell him it simply wasn’t acceptable to go around pointing guns at people.

Her lips quirked up. “He can’t wait.”

“But I still quit, and I’m not going out for lunch. I’ve got things to do this afternoon.”

Important things, like eating a whole pint of chocolate ice cream. Perhaps two.

“We’ll see.”

CHAPTER 14

LIKE IN BAYSVILLE, I didn’t live in the best area, and as Emmy jogged past a vagrant sleeping in the stairwell, I wanted to sink into the floor. What must she think of me? She didn’t give any clues as she hustled to her Corvette, which she’d parked in a tow-away zone. Oh, crap. Two men were hanging around next to it, wearing the light blue do-rags Sylvia told me signified membership of a local gang. Was my week going to get even worse?

Emmy paused, fishing through her purse until she came up with her car keys.

“What about those guys?” I hissed.

They wore their pants hanging low, almost at mid-thigh. Maybe if we ran away, they’d trip over them?

“Tyrone’s watching the car for me.”

She walked up to the larger man and bumped fists with him before climbing into the driver’s seat.

I wrenched open the passenger door and leapt in after her. “You know them?”

“Sure.”

Who was this woman? She looked like a princess but hung out with gang members?

I didn’t have time to consider the question further before the car shot forward. On the plus side, riding with her was faster than taking the bus, but I did run the risk of having a heart attack before we arrived at our destination. She made a dubious call at a traffic light, and I closed my eyes and sucked in air.

“Don’t worry, I won’t crash,” she said, glancing my way.

Look at the road! I forced a laugh, trying not to show fear, and attempted a joke. “So this is what they mean when they say ‘drive it like you stole it,’ huh?”

“Oh, no. If I’d stolen it, I’d be sticking to the speed limit,” she replied in complete seriousness. “Less chance of getting pulled over.”

That was it. Next time, I’d walk.

No. No! There wasn’t going to be a next time.

Twenty minutes later, she smoked out the tyres as she pulled up outside Franco’s Italian. Before my heart rate had dropped back into double figures, Emmy hopped out of the car and beckoned me to follow her. Legs shaking, I trailed her through the near-empty restaurant to a small room at the rear where a table was set for lunch. A man already occupied one of the seats, his broad back to us as we walked through the door. Emphasis on broad. As Emmy’s heels clicked on the wooden floor, he rose and turned.

See, now here’s the thing. When I first saw Nick, it was in the dim glow of the little lamp on the side table in his living room. Also I was, understandably I think, concentrating on the gun in his hand rather than his face. Or his body.

Which was why I’d somehow missed that he was the genetically blessed offspring of a Greek god and

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