clanging of steel beams grated along her nerves; the smell—a brew of garbage and fish—had her taking shallow breaths through her mouth.
Scout remained where she was and hoped the men didn’t spot her. The grumbling and muttering coming from them told her they were fully occupied with their task and not at all concerned with her.
Still, she didn’t like the vibe she was getting. An anonymous call that Leonard Crane would be at a certain dock receiving a payoff was too good to pass up.
The docks were controlled by the mob. Organized crime had its hand in everything that passed in and out of Savannah’s port, one of the busiest in the United States. No one moved anything without it being approved by the mob bosses.
City fathers made noises about cleaning up the docks and surrounding area. Speeches were given. Raids were staged. And nothing changed. Those in charge maintained that they had done everything possible to end the corruption. And those who had their nose to the street, as Scout did, knew differently. The mob had infiltrated every area of government, from the mayor’s office to the police, making any effort to wipe out the corruption impossible.
Crane didn’t arrive at the time she’d been given. She wasn’t surprised. If he was connected to the murders, he’d be understandably cautious. The pep talk delivered, she should have felt better, but the uneasiness persisted.
The hair at the nape of her neck hackled. Warily, she looked about but didn’t see anything to cause the sensation. Despite that, she couldn’t shake the inkling of danger. Over the years, she’d learned to pay attention to such impressions.
The clank of metal against metal ratcheted up the tension building inside her as though she had a crank attached to her, tightening every nerve notch by notch.
Crane and another man showed up at that moment. From their angry gestures, they appeared to be arguing.
Abruptly, the men stopped talking and now seemed to be waiting. If she could only get closer...but she didn’t want to give away her location. A big part of a reporter’s work involved waiting and watching. In many ways, it was like a cop’s job. She had friends on the force who reported that boredom was often more deadly than any threat of gunfire.
A rumbling sound alerted her. Before she could move, muscular arms pushed her aside, and a large body fell on top of her, shielding her.
The scaffolding she’d noted earlier tumbled to the ground. If she’d been where she was only a moment ago, she’d have been crushed beneath its weight. Shock rendered her unable to function. Her mouth went dry, her limbs stiff. She couldn’t make her legs work.
Strong hands reached down to pull her to her feet. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Nicco Santonni. “You saved my life. Again.”
Nicco called the police and asked for Wagner, though he didn’t expect the detective to find anything more than he had.
Within ten minutes, Wagner showed up. After examining the scene, he shook his head. “You were right. Nothing to indicate it was anything but an accident. But you don’t think so.” He didn’t make it a question, and Nicco didn’t treat it as such.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said. “First, she’s targeted last night, then a pile of scaffolding barely misses her today. You do the math.”
“I get what you’re saying, but there’s no proof that today was anything more than an accident.” Wagner held up a hand to forestall Nicco’s objections. He turned to Scout. “What do you have to say about it, Ms. McAdams?”
“I...I don’t know.” Her eyes remained cool, her expression neutral, but Nicco noted the clenching and unclenching of her hands. Fear always found an outlet, as did adrenaline.
He felt it coursing through his bloodstream as well, his heartbeat at double-time as he processed the near miss.
“What were you doing here?” Wagner asked.
“I received a tip.”
“Care to share?”
She shook her head. “Reporter’s privilege.”
Wagner scowled but didn’t press the matter. “If you—either of you—think of anything, you know where to find me.” After slanting one last glance at Scout, he took off.
Nicco was more concerned about Scout than he’d let on. Though the day was unseasonably hot, even for a Georgia summer, she shivered. Reaction. The lady had nearly been reduced to a bug-splat on the ground beneath thousands of pounds of processed wood and metal. That came on the heels of last night’s shooting. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She brushed herself off. He watched as she pulled herself together, her shoulders squaring as though bracing for another blow. “Did you tail me here?”
He raised a brow. “What? No thank-you?”
“Sorry. My manners tend to go MIA when I’m almost killed for the second time in two days.”
He gave her kudos for a quick recovery. A lot of people would have gone into hysterics after what she’d barely escaped. “I get that.”
“Thank you.” The words weren’t fancy, but he heard the sincerity behind them. “Thank you for showing up when you did.”
Scout looked about, visibly shuddering when her gaze landed on the scaffolding, now scattered like giant pickup sticks over the ground.
Nicco took her arm and tucked her against him, her softer build fitting into the harder planes of his own. “Let’s get out of here.” They’d come back for her car when she was no longer suffering from shock.
“You don’t have to ask twice.”
He steered her to his truck. Halfway there, she shrugged off the supporting arm he’d kept around her and marched forward, as though keeping moving was the secret to maintaining control.
He gave her a boost into the truck. “You’re no bigger than a minute.”
“You know the saying. ‘Good things come in small packages.’”
“I know of a little place not far from here. I don’t know if you’re hungry, but rescuing damsels in distress tends to make me work up an appetite.”
She grinned. “I’m hungry enough to forgive that ‘damsel in distress’ remark, so you’re on.”
He shut the door and rounded the truck. After getting in and buckling his seat belt, he turned to her. “Ordinarily, I’d canvass the area, see if anybody saw anything. But this was a setup through and through. I don’t think we’re going to learn anything. Not here. Not now.”
She gave another shiver. “Frankly, the sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“You got it.”
* * *
The restaurant, barely more than an abbreviated alley in size, was packed. Diners crowded at the counter. Nicco apparently knew the owner, for a large man in an apron that might once have been white greeted them with a smile and a “Hiya, Nicco.”
“Same to you, Phil. You got room for us?”
“For you, Nicco, anything.”
He showed them to a booth. The red vinyl seats and gray Formica counter appeared to be circa 1960s.
Scout didn’t have to think about what she wanted. “A double cheeseburger. Extra-large fries. Chocolate shake. And three chocolate chip cookies.”
“And a heart-attack chaser on the side,” Nicco added with a wry smile.
“You have a problem with my order?”
“No