Killer Headline. Debby Giusti

officer took Violet’s statement while Clay stood to the side, his attention focused on the pretty reporter. Everything he remembered about Violet had been true. She was fresh and young and beautiful and full of life and unaware of the effect she had on him.

      Two years ago, he’d picked her out in the crowd at the Chicago bar and grill and known immediately the low-rent dive wasn’t the place for her dimples and curls and curves and the angora sweater that had hugged her body and made him want to wrap her protectively in his arms.

      He still wanted to protect her. That’s why he’d been on the road for the last forty-eight hours on special assignment from the Chicago FBI.

      Pay Violet Kramer a personal visit so she gets the message to back off, Jackson McGraw had told him. Violet had made too many inquiries into the Chicago mob’s activities. Bottom line, according to Jackson, she needed to stop investigating the Martino crime family and allow law enforcement to do their jobs.

      Clay had tried to make that perfectly clear three nights ago when he’d received her unexpected phone call requesting information about the murdered women in Witness Protection.

      Somehow, Violet had pieced together bits of information about two seemingly random crimes in Montana and deduced the Mafia’s involvement.

      She had beeped a warning on the FBI’s radar, and if they knew about her inquiries, the Mafia did, as well. Wouldn’t take long for organized crime to put a strangle hold on Violet Kramer—literally.

      Clay’s job was to get to her first.

      Finished with his paperwork, Officer O’Reilly handed a business card to Violet. “Keep that laundry-room window locked, and if you remember anything else, give me a call. You heard cars driving up and down the street. Someone’s been casing the neighborhood, but the intruder never expected you to walk in on him tonight.”

      O’Reilly nodded to Clay. “Having you in pursuit probably scared him, as well. Doubtful he’ll hit this house again.”

      Violet and Clay thanked the officer and walked him to the door. Once he drove off in his patrol car, Clay checked his watch. He still had a job to do.

      “I know it’s late, Violet, but we need to go over some security measures you can take to protect yourself.” He pointed to the table lamps. “Leave a light on so you don’t come home from work to a dark house. Install dead bolts on your front and back doors. Lock all windows, even the one in the laundry room.”

      She nodded, her mouth pursed. “I won’t leave it open again.”

      He glanced at the phone on her desk. “Call home before you pull into the garage. If someone’s inside, the sound of the phone might encourage them to flee.”

      She squared her shoulders. “I can take care of myself, Clay.”

      He smiled at her flair of independence. “Seems to me you weren’t quite so confident about an hour ago when the guy was standing in your kitchen. Just as I mentioned earlier, it could have been the mob.”

      “Could have, but wasn’t. The officer agreed with me. It was local riffraff.”

      “In either case, don’t leave your notes on organized crime where someone can read them.” He pointed to the desk where her laptop sat, along with a stack of papers. The notes on top chronicled some of the Martino family’s most recent exploits, which he’d noticed when Violet was occupied with the cop.

      She dropped her hands to her hips. “You have no right to rifle through my papers.”

      Seems she was feeling a bit more confident now.

      Violet cocked her hip. “Don’t tell me you drove over twelve hundred miles just to give me a security briefing.”

      “I had a few days off and planned to take you out to dinner so we could discuss your security face-to-face.” He kept his voice calm. She had been through a lot this evening. He needed to cut her some slack.

      “You’re probably hungry,” Clay said. “We can discuss how you’re going to stop gathering information on the mob over Chinese or Mexican. Maybe Thai?”

      Anger flashed from her eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do, Clay.”

      “For your own safety.”

      “The mob isn’t the problem right now. You are.” Her voice was razor sharp.

      “You’re upset,” he said. “Surely once you’ve eaten—”

      “Leave now or I’ll call Officer O’Reilly and tell him I have another problem.”

      “Violet, you’re acting irrational.”

      He should have weighed his words.

      She pointed to the door. “Goodbye, Clay.”

      Things had certainly taken a turn for the worse. As much as he regretted upsetting her, Violet needed to realize her own vulnerability.

      If a local punk could break and enter, the mob could, as well. Only they would have ensured she got the message to back off loud and clear, and their way of handling problems was usually fatal.

      Hopefully, once Violet had time to process everything that had happened, she’d realize Clay’s advice was sound. He had made his point. One she’d remember. Better to leave while he was ahead.

      “I’ll let myself out.” Clay headed for the kitchen door. The cold night air swirled around him when he stepped outside. A scrap of paper blew along the walkway. Clay bent to retrieve the note he hadn’t noticed earlier.

      He unfolded the paper and read the typed message. Back off!

      Had the man who’d broken into Violet’s house intended to leave the warning? Violet’s scream had frightened him, and the paper had probably fallen from his hand as he ran away.

      The Mafia didn’t usually warn its victims, yet someone in Missoula knew Violet’s curiosity was taking her in a dangerous direction.

      Was the mob using someone local to put the heat on Violet? If so, they wouldn’t let up until she was quieted once and for all.

      Clay glanced at her home. The light from her kitchen window spilled into the darkness. He wouldn’t disturb her again tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

      His first duty was to convince Violet to stop digging around in Mafia business. The second was to learn where and how she got her information. The third was to ensure her safety. If the mob showed up in Missoula, he’d add a fourth bullet to the list.

      Keep Violet alive.

      Violet locked the door behind Clay, feeling relieved to have him out of her home. But when she looked at the spot where the intruder had stood, she wished she hadn’t been so hasty sending Clay away. He offered security and a voice of reason. She regretted her outburst. Of course, she wasn’t thinking clearly.

      Having her home broken into had thrown her usual levelheaded composure into a tailspin. Clay’s insistence on turning her misfortune into a teaching moment had rubbed her already stretched nerves to the point of breaking.

      Peeved as she was at Clay, she knew he was right. Her inquiries about the mob could be her downfall if the Martino family found out. She needed to be careful.

      Violet rechecked her front and back doors to ensure they were locked. As an added precaution, she wedged a straight-back kitchen chair under each doorknob to provide another obstacle should tonight’s mystery guest return or Clay’s warning about the mob prove true.

      What had brought him to Missoula? Something more than her phone call the other night. The big guns in Chicago wouldn’t have sent Clay on a wild goose chase to Missoula if she hadn’t ruffled a few feathers in Illinois or stepped on someone’s toes.

      Her dark mood brightened. A knowing smile slipped across her lips. Score one for the home team.

      Not bad, Vi. Not bad at all.

      Officer