Never Love a Naked P.I.

bastard.”

“Step one: denial.” Christine shoved the glowering young man toward the office. “Don’t worry, stud bunny, you’ve got four more steps to go through before you accept the fact you were as guilty as the rest of us hot- headedartistes in getting the man hurt. Get word to us as quickly as you can,” she called after a departing Amanda.

Amanda flung a hand over her head in acknowledgment and dashed out the door.

The next hour was chaotic. Fortunately Roosevelt Hospital was only a few blocks away and David was quickly attended to, but it seemed forever before any information on his condition filtered down to the waiting group of students.

Amanda filled out forms with what information could be gleaned from David’s wallet, answered questions characterizing the incident as an unfortunate accident, and called the League to see what information Christine and Nathan had learned about the school’s liability.

“It’s going to be a while, Christine,” she finished the conversation. “Why don’t you and Nathan go on home? Most of the others have left the hospital already. I’ll give you a call when I find out something definite. They’re running tests now, but the E.R. physician’s first impression is it seems to be a minor concussion.”

“We’ll be at my place,” Christine answered. “The kid’s a wreck. Who would have thought the hard-hearted little beast had so much compassion in him- or guilt, hard to say which.”

“I’m so worried about Antonio. There’s no answer on his phone.”

“You know where he lives! Well, well, well. Does Mr. Horn Rims know you’re in tight with a naked, Italian model, too? A damn good-looking, incredibly hot, naked, Italian model if memory serves, who could probably give your horn rimmed stud a run for his money.”

Amanda flushed. “Of course he does. I mean, of course I’m not…” She was rattled.

I hate all this confusing hiding of identities. I hate all this duplicity. Why can’t we just be honest with each other.

It was a childish plaint, an “I-want-my-Mama” resurrected from ancient childhood. And a waste of wishful energy.

When her Mom had died, little Amanda had learned very quickly that I-want-my-Daddy brought little comfort. An alleviation of the problem, perhaps, but little sympathy or empathetic understanding. The man did not hug much.

She knew he cared. But he never learned to show it.

Still doesn’t. He’s a very good man, and he means well, but a “well-meaning parent” is cold comfort when what a little girl needs is to be cuddled.

And the younger brothers were as bereft as she. So Amanda became Mama. To her brothers and to her father.

And sometimes the job got really tough.

Christine’s voice through the receiver cut through her thoughts. “C’mon, tough lady, you sound like you could use some rest yourself. Parkerson’s in good hands. Why don’t you turn it over to the professionals?”

Amanda cut her off. “Christine, I have to go. Mr. Wilde’s shown up with Professor Angeli. Oh, the poor man. I’ll talk to you later.”

The professor was a shambles. Filled with regret and remorse. Self-flagellating to the point that Mr. Wilde threatened a sharp slap to the old artist’s quivering chops.

“Pull yourself together, man. No one’s blaming you any more than we’re all to blame for behaving so beastly. Rather exciting, in a way, to see everyone so excited about something.” A brief moment of shame passed over Wilde’s face remembering the exhilarating rush. “Obviously, the extraordinary artistry of young Antonio was the final catalyst that permitted so much animosity to be unleashed. Rather a sad state of affairs really.”

He leaned closer to Amanda. “I’m afraid I poured too many whiskeys into the professor after I caught up with him wailing and gnashing his teeth in the middle of Columbus Circle. I dragged him by what little hair he has left to the nearest bar. Don’t worry, I’ll see him home. You should pack it in, too, my dear. You’re looking a bit peaked. You’ve done a splendid job of handling things. We’re all in your debt.”

Peaked? More like totally wiped.

Amanda got the latest report from the attending doctor and staggered for a cab. David was probably going to be okay, but that relief only allowed a wave of dreadful premonition to break through her steely control. Thank God the cab ride was harrowing. It kept her alert.

There was no answer to the buzzer at David’s apartment house. She ran her hand up and down the row of buttons and presently someone let her in as an angry voice yelled at her from a high window. David’s front door was closed but on close inspection she could see the lock had been jimmied. It looked familiar. The same as the break-in at her and Cissy’s apartment.

She felt a rush of anger at the large man who was invading all their lives. In a rage she slammed her sneakered foot against the door as Marc had done, bursting it open. Only at the last second did she realize she had no gun with which to make the same dramatic entrance.

She leaped to the side of the doorway, plastering her back against the hallway wall, fully expecting a hail of bullets as a response to her un-thought-out emotional reaction.

Nothing. Was that a groan? She flung herself into the room. “Marc! Marc!”

He wasn’t in the living room or behind the kitchen counter. The place was a mess with a shattered lamp, overturned end table, utensils, pots and pans, smashed dishes scattered around the work island in the kitchen area. There had been a terrible struggle. She caught sight of a splatter of blood beside a large frying pan and let out another scream.

“Marc! Are you here?”

Suddenly she realized there seemed to be splatters of blood everywhere.

A groan from the bedroom. She dashed inside. Marc’s arms and feet were bound to the headboard and footboard of the bed with ripped up sheets. Masking tape circled his head, covering his mouth.

She leapt onto the bed and began to rip the tape from his face. His eyes groggily followed her. He smelled of liquor. What had the wretched man done to him? Fury swelled. She swore silently the beast would pay.

“Well, hi, babe.” His clear blue eyes blinked heavily. “Gee, I’m glada see you. I was jus’ havin’ the greatest dream.” He leered lasciviously as Amanda clawed at his bindings. She dashed into the kitchen and found a knife.

Marc was looking forlorn. “I’m really sloshed. Bastard poured enough Scotch down me to sink a bammleship. Sure sunk me.” He nodded sagely as Amanda sawed at the knotted sheets, blinking through her tears, desperately trying not to carve up his strong ankles.

“Y’wanna know what I was dreaming about?” He sat up in bed grinning foolishly as she freed his limbs. “Us!”

He reached for her and she flung herself at him, knocking him back down onto the bed. She covered his mouth with kisses as the sobs hiccupped out of her. She kissed his eyes, his chin, and drew back in shock at the horrible bruise risen on the side of his head.

But it didn’t seem to bother him and it wasn’t going to stop her. She dragged him upright, blubbering, testing his limbs. He grabbed her tight. His limbs worked fine. She grabbed him back, covering his body with hers as she clutched him desperately.

He lay blissfully back on the bed as she drenched his chest with choking sobs of relief.

“Oh, man, that dream was nothing.”

AMANDA jerked upright. She had fallen asleep.

Marc snoozed contentedly under her, his arms locked safely around her, a benevolent smile of possession on his handsome face.

It could only have been a few minutes. She was just so exhausted- and so relieved. She should let Marc sleep. God knows what he had been through. But he needed to know what had happened. It was his investigation and she should tell him what had happened to David. There may have been something she had missed in the bedlam at school. She needed to get him awake.

She pulled his arms off her and shook him. He frowned mightily and then when he saw it was her, grinned broadly.