She cocked her little pink head to the side. “Who’s Cal?”
“My bodyguard.” I grabbed a towel from the kitchen, quickly pressing it to Cal’s nose, which was oozing red stuff all over the linoleum. Not good.
“Are you okay?”
“I think she broke it,” he said, sounding like he had a cold.
“Why do you need a bodyguard?” Aunt Sue asked.
I snatched the frying pan from her hand. “Because someone’s been threatening me. Do you need to sit down?” I asked Cal.
He shook his head. “Ice.”
I picked my way over the broken debris on the floor, filling another towel with cubes from the icemaker.
“Who’d want to threaten you?” Aunt Sue asked, her wary gaze still ping-ponging between the frying pan and Cal.
“Someone who doesn’t like my column. Here.” I handed Cal the icy towel. As he switched them out, I got a good look at his nose. Yikes. Marcia Brady had nothing on this guy. He was right. I think she broke it.
Cal winced as the cold hit him.
“Thanks.” “Sorry,” I said. Then nudged Aunt Sue in the ribs.
“Sorry,” she echoed.
Cal looked from Aunt Sue to me, to the frying pan. “That’s it. I’m charging Felix double.”
Three hours later we’d eaten pizza for the second night in a row-much to Aunt Sue’s delight-managed to clean most of the broken glass off the floor, and I’d explained as best I could to Aunt Sue what was going on with my creepy caller turned vandal. Not that I was entirely convinced she’d remember by tomorrow.
After promising that I’d call a locksmith to fix the front door, I tucked her into bed with Tom Brokaw in the background to lull her to sleep.
I came back out into the living room to find an open bottle of wine, two full glasses, and Cal trying to shove the stuffing back inside the sofa cushions.
“It may be time for a new couch,” he said.
“Ya think?” I sank down onto the only unmolested cushion, leaning my head back against the wall. If this day had been any longer, it would qualify for Guinness.
“Thought maybe you could use a drink,” he said, handing me a glass.
Oh, mama, could I. Gratefully, I sipped at it. “Thanks.”
“You okay?” Cal asked, righting the coffee table in front of me. I put my feet up on it.
“I will be.”
“Nothing’s missing. No one was hurt. Chances are whoever did this just wanted to scare you.”
I nodded. Though I hated to admit just what an effective job they’d done. While my heart rate had slowed, my hands were still shaky enough that my merlot was bouncing in its glass.
“I’ll be fine,” I repeated. Hoping I’d believe that at some point.
“Right,” he said. “But, just as a precaution, I’d feel better if your aunt wasn’t here alone tomorrow.”
I nodded. “I’m sure I can find someone to sit with her.”
“Good.” He paused, picking up a bent picture frame from the rug. He looked down at the image inside, his lips curling into a lopsided smile. “This you?”
He held it up. A little girl with dark hair and pigtails sat on a pink Big Wheel. Wearing a tutu, cowboy boots, and a plastic Viking hat.
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Cute.” He placed it on the coffee table. “Even then you had your own style, didn’t you?”
I looked down at my funky T-shirt. Was he making fun of the way I dressed? “So sue me if I’m not an Abercrombie zombie.”
Cal put both hands up in a surrender gesture. “Take it easy, Bender. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
I bit my lip. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little on edge.”
“Apology accepted. And I’m glad you’re on edge.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t. When you’re on edge, you’ll be careful.”
I nodded. “Right,” I croaked out, my throat suddenly clogged with emotion at how real this whole situation had become. Annoying phone calls and emails were one thing, but this guy had actually broken into my home. What would he have done if he’d found me, or worse yet, Aunt Sue?
“The guy your father?” Cal pointed to another photo, this one of my pigtailed self and a dark-haired man in khakis beside a palm tree.
Grateful for the change of subject, I cleared the thickness from my throat. “Yeah. He and my mom are both archeologists. When I was little, I used to travel all over with them.”
“Must have been fun.” He sat down on the sofa next to me.
“It was. Most of the time.”
“Only most of the time?” He shifted to face me, the movement causing his thigh to rub against mine. Making me acutely aware of just how close he was sitting. It stirred a feeling in my stomach that was somewhere between incredibly uncomfortable and kinda excited. I tried to shrug it off.
“Well, it was cool being the only kid in third grade who’d been in an actual Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb. But the traveling meant I didn’t exactly have an ordinary childhood.”
He cocked his head, his eyes assessing.
It was kind of unnerving, and I felt myself fighting the urge to fidget. I took another sip of wine.
Finally he said, “An ordinary childhood would have bored the shit out of you.”
I laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
He gave the picture one more glance before reaching across me to set it back on the end table…and I felt his arm brush against my chest. I bit the inside of my cheek against the not-completely-unpleasant feeling. How sad was it that was the most action I’d gotten in months?
“Tell me more,” he prompted, completely unaware of my body’s alarms going off beside him. He leaned casually back into the sofa cushions.
“Uh, more?” I cleared my throat, my voice suddenly husky. Jesus, who was I, Lauren Bacall? It was an accidental touch. I needed to get a grip.
“About your childhood. You spent time in Egypt. Where else?”
“Oh. Um…well, there were the catacombs in France. That was a fun summer. Then the year we spent in Peru excavating Incan ruins.”
“Your parents had eclectic tastes.”
“They’re both forensic anthropologists. They specialize in figuring out how people died. Everywhere you find ruins, there are dead people.”
“Kind of morbid.”
I shook my head. “Not at all. It was fascinating. Learning about how they lived, how they worked, how they died. It was all connected. It was like a private glimpse into their lives.”
“Hence your fascination with other people’s lives.”
I grinned. “I guess I’ve always been interested in gossip, huh?”
“What about your life?” Cal asked, cocking his head at me.
“What about it?”
“There don’t seem to be any photos past the age of pigtails. For all your fascination with other people’s lives, I don’t see evidence of much of a life of your own.”
“Ouch.”
He grinned. “I didn’t mean it that way. What do you like to do?”
“Work, I guess.”
“What do you do on the weekends?”
“I don’t know.” I shifted in my seat, the sudden Dr. Phil analysis unnerving me. I wasn’t sure I really liked looking that deeply into myself. Let alone letting someone like Cal look. “Ordinary stuff.”
He leaned in close, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his chest, smell the faint scent of wine on his lips. His eyes went dark, intense, like he could, in fact, see right into my psyche. Then his voice went low and
