Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Page 2

  Carter rose as Madelyn walked around her desk to show them out. He’d stood next to her before but had never been so conscious of the difference in their heights. It was a good thing he’d pushed Herman to let her travel undercover. If she dressed to match the publicist’s idea of a bodyguard, the result would be more than embarrassing. It would be ludicrous.

  She led them to the reception area and opened the door. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll see you Thursday morning. If any questions arise before then, I’ll be in touch.”

  In the hallway, Carter turned. “You never know. We might run into each other before Thursday.”

  Madelyn gave him a silky smile and closed the glass door in his face.

  ****

  “Whoo-eee!” Risa, Madelyn’s receptionist and office manager, grinned from behind the front desk and shook her hand as though she’d touched the hot plate on the coffee machine. “I hope he’s the client.”

  Madelyn loved the cheerful goofiness that masked Risa’s sharp intelligence and keen eye for detail, but even after six months, maintaining a professional atmosphere in the office was still a work in progress. “Yes, for better or worse, that was best-selling author Carter Devlin in the flesh.”

  “I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re handling this job yourself.”

  “He asked for me. He’s my neighbor.”

  Risa lifted her brows. “You never told me you had such a delicious neighbor.”

  “He’s not delicious. He’s a client.” When Risa’s auburn brows rose higher, Madelyn shot her a frown of mock disapproval before relenting. “I’ve never actually spoken to him before this afternoon. I still can’t figure out how he got my name or the name of the agency. Although, I suppose if you’re a spy...”

  “A spy? I thought you said he was a writer.”

  “It’s a long story. At any rate, I’ll be accompanying him on a month-long, four-city book tour starting Thursday.”

  “He doesn’t look like he needs protection, except possibly from a mob of hungry women.”

  “Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But his publisher is willing to part with big bucks for our services. You want to pay your rent, don’t you?”

  Risa gazed at the closed door with a wistful smile and batted her eyelashes. “Unless I can find someone to pay it for me.”

  “A girl can always dream.”

  The redhead laughed.

  “Here’s my travel and contact information and a schedule. Make yourself a copy.” Madelyn handed her the folder. “I’ll wait until tomorrow afternoon to check my Glock out of the weapons cupboard.”

  Carrying a gun was her least favorite part of personal protection. She’d proved she was a good shot during firearms training at the FBI Academy, but guns were loud and lacked subtlety. In a tight situation she preferred to use her brain and martial arts training. Unfortunately, sometimes a gun was essential.

  She grabbed a cup of stale coffee from the tiny kitchen and walked back to her office to finish her paperwork. After pulling up a blank client form on her computer, she typed in the name Carter Devlin and paused. Her brain buzzed with questions about the man and the job.

  She’d like to know if the threats against him were genuine, but ultimately it didn’t matter. She was a professional and approached every assignment with equal diligence. Carter’s ability to protect himself wasn’t the issue; his publisher was paying her to do it. Besides, her years in the FBI had taught her that the size and strength of a target had little effect on the determination of an attacker.

  She glanced at the chair where he’d been sitting, and an image of teasing blue eyes appeared above a seductive smile, a set of broad shoulders, and a firmly-muscled chest. Little sizzles of energy zipped through her nerve endings. His size and strength might not bother an assailant, but she’d better shore up her own defenses if she hoped to make it through the next month unscathed. He might not be her type, but you didn’t have to like a man to find yourself in a tangle of trouble.

  By the time she finished her notes from the meeting and started a new file for Normandy Press, she was alone in the office. She collected her black trench coat, turned out the lights, stepped into the main hall, and locked the door. Minutes later, she stood on the sidewalk next to the solid rows of cars, taxis, and buses creeping south on Michigan Avenue.

  Turning left, she headed uptown. The ground floor of her office building housed a bookstore and a juice bar. The travel agency next door was promoting winter vacations with colorful photos of exotic Caribbean resorts. She sighed. Maybe next year. According to the windows of the hip clothing boutique in the next block, camel was the big color for fall. Adams Street, in front of the Art Institute, was a good place to catch a northbound bus across the Chicago River and up past the glitzy stores on the Magnificent Mile. It wasn’t fast, but it was less stressful than driving. And besides, she had nothing to rush home to.

  A half hour later, she stepped off the bus and walked the remaining two blocks to her condo. When she reached the building, Manuel the doorman stood ready.

  “Good evening, Ms. Li.” He swept the door back.

  “Good evening, Manuel.”

  As far as she was concerned, Manuel was one of the finest assets of the building. He and Rudy alternated shifts and handled everything from hailing cabs in the rain to accepting deliveries. To the residents, they were like family.

  “Nice night.”

  “Yes, it is.” She smiled and walked past him toward the elevators.

  “Mr. Devlin asked about you. He wanted to know what time you get home.”

  She whipped around. “He what?”

  Manuel raised his hand in defense. “I didn’t tell him anything. I promise.”

  A short stab of guilt pricked her conscience. She had no call to take her anxieties out on Manuel. “That’s all right. Mr. Devlin and I have a business relationship.” Some women might be flattered to have Carter Devlin asking questions about them, but Madelyn’s pulse quickened in a different way, as though her privacy had been invaded—even if Manuel hadn’t divulged anything. “Has he ever asked about me before?”

  The doorman grinned. “Yes, but I never told him anything then either.”

  “Thanks. You’re the best.”

  As she rode the elevator to the seventh floor, she wondered how long Carter Devlin had been investigating her. He’d obviously found what he was looking for because he’d showed up at her office today. The thought unsettled her further. When the elevator doors opened, she shot a glance down the hall, half expecting to see him lurking outside her door.

  Lurking. What a melodramatic word.

  She let herself into her apartment and locked the door. It was time for dinner, but she had no appetite. She flipped the switch, and two red ginger jar lamps in the living room lit up. They were the main spots of color in the otherwise neutral décor. A soft, nubby oatmeal-colored rug centered the sleek modern furniture on the dark wood floor. The accessories were Chinese heirlooms handed down from Grandma Li.

  As she set her purse down, the familiar ring tone she’d assigned her grandmother sounded. For an instant, she considered letting the call go to voicemail. She wasn’t in the mood for another of Grandma Li’s lectures on the desirability of matrimony. Then she sighed and reached for the phone. Despite her nagging, her grandmother had been Madelyn’s staunchest supporter from grade school through the FBI Academy. While her professor parents worked, she had spent nearly every weekday afternoon with Grandma Li. And even though she lived half-way across the country, Grandma had stood by her through all the ups and downs of the past year like a fierce, protective dragon.

  Madelyn held the phone to her ear as she shrugged off her coat. “Hi, Grandma. What’s up?”

  “Bernice Yu just beat me at mahjong, that’s what’s up,” Grandma Li grumbled. “What an old biddy.”

  Madelyn chuckled. “Bernice Yu is your oldest friend.”

  “That’s why she should know better than to beat me when my arthritis is act
ing up. It puts me in a bad mood.”

  It was often hard to tell Grandma Li’s bad moods from any other mood. “I’m sorry your arthritis is bothering you.”

  “The doctor says it’s the price of getting old. I say the price is too high.”

  “Nonsense. You’re not old. You’re just hitting your stride.”

  “Well, my stride’s not what it used to be, just like everything else.”

  Madelyn switched the phone to her other shoulder and tugged on her remaining sleeve. “Did you call about anything special, Grandma?”

  “Are you still seeing that nice medical student?”

  Madelyn rolled her eyes, glad her grandmother couldn’t see her. “That was years ago.”

  “Got anybody new?”

  “I’m too busy.”

  “A girl is never too busy to find a husband. What are you waiting for?”

  They’d had this conversation dozens of times. Madelyn grimaced and gave her standard answer. “Mr. Right. I’m waiting for Mr. Right, Grandma.”

  “Well, don’t wait too long. One day you’ll be old and have arthritis like me.”

  “Then he can push me around in a wheelchair.”

  “Don’t joke about a thing like that.”

  “Was there anything else, Grandma? I’ve got to go. I’ve got things to do.”

  “Always so busy.” Madelyn could picture the old woman shaking her head. “No time to find a husband. No time for your grandmother.”

  “I’ll call you soon, when I have more time to talk. I promise.” She ended the call quickly before Grandma Li could lay the guilt on any thicker. Chinese grandmothers took a back seat to no one in the guilt department.

  She hung her coat in the closet and went to her bedroom to change. Grandma Li’s call had done nothing to help her relax. Maybe she would feel more like eating if she burned off some tension. She slipped into a snug black tank top and a pair of cropped yoga pants then stepped into the bathroom to run a brush through her hair before snaring it into a ponytail with an elastic binder.

  Ready for action, she padded barefoot to the second bedroom, where she practiced yoga and Hsing I Chuan, an ancient Chinese martial art she likened to Tai Chi on steroids. She was bent backward in the King Pigeon pose with her chin resting on her feet when the doorbell rang. Expelling her breath in a startled huff, she collapsed on the padded floor.

  Her doorbell never rang unless Manuel or Rudy called up first. That was one of the great things about this building—no unwanted visitors. It must be someone from the building. Her stomach did a funny little jig.

  When she opened the door there he was, lounging against the frame with a measuring cup dangling from his right forefinger.

  “I don’t suppose you could lend a neighbor a cup of sugar.”

  She didn’t budge. “Are you a famous baker as well as a millionaire author?”

  Carter straightened. “That might be stretching it a bit far. You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

  “As soon as the bell rang, I had a feeling.”

  “A good feeling, I hope.” He waggled his brows.

  She frowned. “You’re my client.”

  “So what? That doesn’t mean we can’t be neighborly.”

  The job hadn’t even officially started, and he was already pushing her buttons. If she didn’t stand her ground now, she was in for one big headache. “We have a business relationship. It needs to remain professional at all times.”

  “I thought you might say that.” He compressed his lips. “You Feebs are so uptight.”

  “How did you know I was in the FBI?”

  “I’m a spy, remember?”

  “So I heard.”

  His lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile. “It’s in your bio on the Phoenix, Ltd. website.”

  Of course. But that still didn’t explain how he’d made the connection. “How did you learn my name?”

  “Superior powers of observation.”

  Oh, brother.

  His smile widened, and her stomach did a nosedive. He really did have a very charming smile. Unfortunately, he also appeared to be well aware of it.

  “I saw your name on your mailbox,” he explained.

  “I didn’t use my first name. I can’t be the only M. Li in Chicago.”

  “You’re not. Believe me. But I don’t give up easily, and it’s not like you’re trying to hide.”

  That was true, and she reminded herself she needed all the business she could get. However he’d found her, she should be grateful for the job.

  She puffed an errant wisp of hair away from her nose and silently cursed mingyun, as Grandma Li referred to fate. Why did her new client have to be stereotypically tall, dark, and handsome? This assignment would be so much easier if only he were an elderly hunchback.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I’ve got an inside connection.”

  Chapter Two

  Adrenaline revved Madelyn’s pulse. “What connection?”

  “Pat Lynch.”

  “As in Patrick Lynch, Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago field office of the FBI? My former boss?”

  “That’s the one. We’ve been friends since grade school.” Carter peered over her shoulder into the apartment. “Are you going to keep me standing out here, or can I come in?”

  She regarded him through narrowed eyes. After his revelation, she wanted answers before they went any further. She’d hate to cancel the job now, but she would if it wasn’t on the up-and-up. Money might be tight, but she hadn’t stooped to taking charity.

  She stepped back. “You’d better come in.”

  “Thanks.” He strolled through the foyer into the living room. “You have a nice place. Peaceful. It suits you.”

  “Thank you.” She motioned to the sleek, black leather sofa. “Please sit down.”

  Choosing one of the cream silk chairs opposite the sofa, she sat back and crossed her legs then frowned at her strong, muscular feet with their plain, unadorned nails. They weren’t as battered as a ballet dancer’s, but fifteen years of martial arts training had taken a definite toll. Why hadn’t she slipped on a pair of shoes on her way to the door?

  She shoved aside a sudden impulse to tuck her feet underneath her. Why should she hide them? After all, how many bodyguards sported a perfect pedicure? If Carter Devlin didn’t like her feet, he could march himself straight back to his own apartment. She lifted her chin and bounced her raised foot in a gesture of defiance. “Did Patrick send you?”

  “I think I’m big enough to walk next door on my own.”

  He gave her the slow smile she was quickly coming to recognize, but she refused to play his game.

  “You know what I meant. Did he send you to my office? Did he ask you to check on me? Is that why you recommended my company to your publisher?”

  “No, no, and no. Pat had nothing to do with it. I checked you out on my own. Although I might have mentioned a certain attractive neighbor to him. Imagine my surprise when he told me you used to work for him.”

  She crossed her arms. “Innocence doesn’t become you.”

  “I was trying to be suave.”

  “I’m sure it works for some people.”

  He shook his head and tried the smile again. “You don’t cut a guy any slack, do you?”

  “Never.”

  His smile disappeared, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “All right. I asked him a few questions about you.”

  “And what did he tell you?”

  “Enough.”

  She searched his eyes for hints of pity or concern but found none. Patrick couldn’t have said much. He was a consummate professional. Even with an old buddy, the Patrick Lynch she knew would never have shared personal information about one of his agents. “Did Patrick tell you about Phoenix, Ltd.?”

  Carter studied her. “No. As it happens, I told him. I mentioned you to Pat, and he jumped all over me for details. Did you look all right? Did I know what you were doing? Everybody in the
office was surprised and worried when you resigned so abruptly and left town.”

  A couple of people might have been worried, but no one should have been surprised. They all knew the reason for her departure. Especially Patrick. The Bureau therapist had tried to convince her otherwise, but Madelyn knew she’d let the team down when she’d allowed herself to be taken hostage, forcing Patrick to put himself at risk to rescue her. Even though she’d sworn never to make that mistake again, how could she expect fellow agents to trust her? Since starting Phoenix, Ltd. her confidence had increased. Leaving the Bureau had been the right decision.

  She rose and crossed to the window that overlooked the alley between her building and the one next door. It wasn’t much of a view, but it made the unit affordable. “I went home to San Francisco to see my family.”

  “Pat said you disappeared.”

  “I did what I needed to do.”

  He joined her at the window, standing close enough to nearly touch her shoulder, but not quite. “He seemed surprised you’d left the FBI.”

  “It was time to move on.”

  “You could have kept in touch with your friends.”

  Friends? Most had been merely co-workers, and she didn’t need their brand of concern. Although, to be fair, she couldn’t put Patrick Lynch in that category. He’d always been supportive of her career. If she’d discussed it with him, he might have understood her decision to leave the Bureau.

  When Carter remained silent, she crossed her arms and rubbed her biceps, feeling suddenly chilled in spite of the heat rising from the radiator. She hadn’t revealed anything, but he was a client and his connection with her former boss unsettled her. It was time to change the subject.

  “Can I get you something, a cup of tea? Or maybe you’d just like sugar.” She motioned to the cup dangling from his fingers.

  He regarded it as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Tea would be fine. This was pretty lame, wasn’t it?”

  “Afraid so.” She walked around the black granite breakfast bar into the kitchen, which opened to the living room, and filled a tea kettle. She might be only half Chinese, but that half refused to drink tea from the microwave.