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“It wasn’t my preferred plan of action.”
Eleanor frowned. “But you were going to do it anyway, because that’s the way she wanted it done?”
“There isn’t time to explain everything, I just—”
“There’s no need to explain. I understand.” She did understand and she felt like the biggest fool in the world. How could she have opened herself up to a man who was on her stepdaughter’s payroll? It was more than foolish; it was downright dangerous.
Cindy had proven time and again that she had nothing but contempt for Eleanor. Maybe ruining her reputation wasn’t enough any more, maybe she was after what was left of her life. There was still a chance that Frank wasn’t what he seemed.
What if he had been hired to make sure no one interrupted while the psycho who wanted to kill Eleanor went about his work? What if he were in charge of disposing
of her body, and ascertaining there would be no witnesses? What if—
“Calm down, don’t let your thoughts start going to that place again.” Frank, the apparent mind reader, placed his comforting I’ll-take-care-of-everything hands on her shoulders. “You can trust me, I think I proved that a few minutes ago.”
A sizzle of arousal hummed through her, relaxing all of her muscles except the few still pulsing hungrily between her legs.
“I’m here to help you,” Frank continued. “I won’t let him hurt you. I promise.”
He took the cattle prod gently from her hand and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Eleanor’s eyes closed, her lips parted, and her entire body cried out for her to fall into his arms and never let him go.
But she forced herself to stand still, struggling to revive all those self-preservation instincts that she had once thought she possessed in abundance.
Psycho killer or savior, Frank was beyond her reach. They had shared a moment of passion, and that was all they would ever share. It was time to focus on the job at hand and forget that she had looked into his eyes and thought that she might get another chance at something she hadn’t had the courage to wish for.
“I’m going to the east dressing room,” Frank said. “My guy in the lobby is going to send the suspect to the west dressing room—”
“You have a guy in the lobby?” Her belly churned as she realized this was really going to happen. “But all of my staff are female, even security. It’s the Wicked Stepmother and her Stepsisters S&M Parlor. Everyone who comes here knows that. It’s part of the draw. Don’t you think the guy is going to be suspicious?”
“According to our research, the suspect has never been here before. We’ve been tailing him for about a week. We haven’t gotten a clear look at his face, but he doesn’t match up with any of the photos of your clients.”
“You’ve been taking pictures of my clients?” Eleanor’s mind raced as she realized how hard the shit would hit the fan if her clientele realized their privacy has been violated. Privacy was everything to her breed of customers. She was as good as finished when this news leaked. She might as well let her stalker slash her throat and be done with it.
“And I’d do it again,” Frank said. “I was trying to save your life.”
“What life am I going to have left when I can’t support myself?”
“I don’t have time to argue right now. Are you ready to handle this or do I need to remove you and deal with the man myself?” Frank asked in that voice that made her feel about ten years old.
She hated that voice—hated it and loved it, but mostly hated it.
“I’m fine, go ahead.” Finally, she sounded as cold and collected as she should have sounded from the second he walked in the door.
“I’ll be watching. I’m right behind that door if you need me.”
“I won’t need you. I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.” She met his hard look with a hard look of her own. This time, he broke first, turning toward the east dressing room with a frustrated sigh that, for some reason, gave her quite a bit of pleasure.
As Frank crossed the room, his hand reached down the back of his loincloth to pull out a small but deadly looking pistol.
“Shit,” she blurted out. “You did have a gun in your diaper.”
“My other gun is more impressive,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll get a look at it if you’re good.”
“Cocky bastard,” Eleanor muttered.
“I heard that,” he said, not turning to look at her before he disappeared into the dressing room.
Cocky bastard with excellent hearing, Eleanor thought, ignoring the little thrill that the thought of his “gun” inspired.
