Guarding His Witness

Chapter 2

Luther Mills took the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a long moment. He couldn’t have heard what he thought he had. The phone was a drop cell one of the guards had picked up for him. Everybody had a price.

Well, almost everybody.

“What the hell did you say?” he asked his caller to repeat himself.

“Clint Quarters showed up at her apartment first,” the guy replied.

This was a new member of Luther’s crew, someone he’d hired specifically to make sure this trial never took place. But he wasn’t certain he could trust the man. But hell, Javier Mendez had proved to him that he couldn’t trust anyone. And then when he’d put bullets in the kid, Luther had proved that anyone who dared to cross him would die.

Too bad Javier’s stubborn sister hadn’t learned that lesson yet. But she would. It would be the last thing Rosie ever learned.

“And before we could get to her,” the guy continued, “they jumped out a window.”

Clint Quarters.

He was one of those damn people who had no price. Like Rosie...

Maybe his guys had it wrong. Maybe she’d shoved Quarters out the window.

Did it matter? All that mattered to Luther was that she not testify against him. He didn’t care why. And he certainly didn’t care if Clint Quarters had died with her. Actually he would prefer that Clint died.

And not Rosie.

He’d always had a soft spot for her since they’d been kids in grade school together. Rosie had always been so sweet and serious and smart. That soft spot was why he’d waited so long to put out the hit on her. But running his business from jail was getting old. That was why he’d put the plan into motion to eliminate the eyewitness. It was past time that he get out again.

And there was no way in hell he was ever going to prison.

* * *

“What the hell is wrong with you!” Rosie shrieked at the crazy man driving erratically through the streets of River City. Of course, that erratic driving might have had something to do with the wound to his shoulder. Blood streaked down the leather sleeve of his torn jacket. She didn’t know if he’d been shot or if he’d hurt it when he’d hurtled them both through her apartment window.

She couldn’t stop shaking as fear and adrenaline continued to course through her. Her fingers trembled too much for her to even pull the safety belt across her lap. But she needed to—as he careened around a corner and her body slammed against the passenger’s door. “Are you trying to kill us?”

She’d thought for certain that she was going to die when they’d catapulted through that window of her third-floor apartment. But there had been a dumpster beneath it, and somehow Clint had turned so that she fell on top of him. He was the one who’d hit whatever had been in the dumpster. She suspected he’d also hit the edge of the rusted metal bin.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t get killed,” he told her through gritted teeth.

Was he gritting his teeth because he was in pain?

She should have been happy that he was, after all the pain he’d put her through. But instead she felt concern. Maybe that was just because she’d been a nurse for so long. She couldn’t not react to someone who was hurt, no matter who that person was.

She glanced behind them. “Nobody’s following us.” She couldn’t imagine how they could with the way he was driving. “Pull over.”

“I am not letting you out of this vehicle,” he told her—again through gritted teeth.

“What?” She didn’t want out. She didn’t even know where the hell they were. But his telling her that she couldn’t...

Suddenly made her want out very badly.

“Are you kidnapping me?” she asked as even more adrenaline rushed through her.

“I’m protecting you,” he said.

She shook her head. “You’re not a policeman anymore.”

He’d quit—right after Javier’s murder. The detective who’d arrested Luther Mills had told her. She’d been surprised that Clint hadn’t wanted Luther’s arrest for himself since he’d sacrificed her brother to get it. But then she’d refused to give her eyewitness account to him. She’d refused to talk to him at all until he’d had the gall to show up at the funeral. Then she’d said plenty.

“No, I’m not a cop anymore,” Clint admitted. “I’m a bodyguard.”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t hire you to protect me,” she said. Even if she could have afforded private security, she would not have paid for his services.

“The police chief hired the agency I work for now,” he replied. “The Payne Protection Agency.”

“The police chief?” she asked skeptically. He had a whole police force at his disposal. Why would he hire a private security company?

Clint shrugged and a grimace contorted his handsome face. He was definitely hurt. “Luther has information he shouldn’t. He’s gotten to people in the police department and the DA’s office,” he said.

Panic had her gasping. “The police officer who was protecting me?” What the hell was his name? Officer Maynard. She remembered now, because she’d thought Javier would have teased him about his name. And he couldn’t be much older than her brother.

“Maybe,” he said. “I didn’t see who was shooting at us. But even if it was him, he wasn’t the only one shooting. You can’t trust anyone.”

No. She couldn’t. But she couldn’t wrap her mind around that young officer trying to kill her.

“But he could have taken me out any time.” A chill chased down her spine, making her tremble even more than she had been. “Why...”

“Luther gave the order that it was to happen tonight,” he said.

That was why Clint had shown up at her door when he had. She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand?” he asked. “He doesn’t want you to testify.”

“But if he has me killed, he’ll do time for my murder,” she pointed out. “Either way, he winds up in prison.”

Clint shook his head now. “He’s smarter than that. He’s been careful with what he’s said. Nothing would be admissible in court.”

“Then how can you be sure?” she asked.

He took his gaze from the street to stare at her for a moment. “After the shooting, how can you ask that?”

“Maybe they were shooting at you,” she suggested. “I’m sure you have more enemies than I do.”

“Nope,” he said. “Just you.”

She glared at him, but he was focused on the road again and probably missed it. “I highly doubt that.” He had to have made a lot of arrests in his years as a vice cop. “Luther could have ordered a hit on you.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t be upset if I got hit in the cross fire,” Clint agreed.

“Were you?” she asked. “You need to pull over, so I can look at your shoulder.”

He glanced down at it as if he hadn’t realized he was bleeding. “We’re almost there.”

“Where?” she asked. “Where are you taking me?”

“To the Payne Protection Agency,” he said.

She shook her head. “I don’t want a bodyguard,” she said.

“You need one.”

After the shooting, she really couldn’t argue with him, especially if the officer really had been one of the people shooting at her. But there was one thing she could refuse. “I don’t want you.”

* * *

I don’t want you.

Clint wasn’t surprised. He knew she hated him—that she blamed him for her brother’s death. She wasn’t the only one who held him responsible. He did, too.

I don’t want you.

Those words hung in the air between them in the SUV. She didn’t want him, but he wanted her. He had since the first moment he’d seen her. She was beautiful in a way that went deeper than her golden skin. But even back then, when they’d first met, she hadn’t liked him. She’d known—before Javier died—that working with Clint would get him killed.

Regret and remorse hung heavy on his shoulders, hurting more than the wound he hadn’t noticed until she’d mentioned it. He was surprised she wanted to check it. But true to her word, once he pulled the SUV into the parking lot of Payne Protection, she was reaching over the console.

But when she peeled away the edges of the torn jacket and shirt, he flinched, and a curse slipped out between his gritted teeth. “Pouring salt in it?” he asked.

Her full lips curved slightly. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any with me.”

She touched it again, and pain radiated down his arm. He asked, “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t have time to grab the shaker before you tossed me out the window,” she reminded him. “The blood is starting to clot. But you’re going to need some stitches so you don’t have a jagged scar. And some antibiotics. You must have hit it on the edge of the dumpster, because I don’t see a bullet.”

“Bullet probably would have hurt less.” The minute the words left his lips, he regretted it—especially when he saw the smile slide away from her lips, turning them down into a grimace.

She pulled her hand away from his shoulder. “Javier probably wouldn’t agree with you—if he had survived.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. But he knew the apology, which he’d uttered many times, would never be enough for her. It wouldn’t bring back her little brother, and that was the only way she would ever forgive him.

But even if he couldn’t gain her forgiveness, he needed her trust. “We’re here,” he said, and gestured toward the building. Lights glowed through the windows in the brick walls.

She glanced at the building. “Good.” When she reached for the door handle, Clint caught her shoulder to hold her back.

“You can’t get out yet.”

She turned toward him with her dark eyes narrowed. “You can’t keep me—”

He already knew that. “I have to make sure it’s safe,” he explained.

“Nobody could have followed us here,” she said, “not with the crazy way you were driving.”

He glanced around the parking lot, which was brightly lit with streetlamps. “Not followed,” he agreed. “But they could be here.”

“How?”

“You don’t think any of Luther’s shooters would recognize me?” he asked. He’d worked vice so long that most of them had to know who he was. “You don’t think Luther knows where I work now?”

She shivered as she looked out the windows, too. “Then you shouldn’t have brought me here, either.”

He sighed because he couldn’t argue with her. “I probably shouldn’t have. But the chief is here. He wants to talk to all of you.”

“The chief?”

“Police Chief Woodrow Lynch.”

“The former FBI guy.” She shivered again.

Lynch was intimidating, which was probably one reason why Parker hadn’t refused the assignment. Another was that Parker felt like Clint did—like they all did—about Luther Mills. He had to be stopped.

“And who is all of us?”

“Everybody Luther threatened in those phone calls. The CSI tech, the prosecutor, the judge’s daughter, the arresting officer...” All of Luther’s victims in one place.

It had been stupid to bring her here, to bring any of them here. A wave of nausea washed over him at the thought that he might have put her in more danger.

“Are you okay?” Rosie asked as she turned fully toward him again. She reached out and pressed her hand to his face.

Clint braced himself, but her touch affected him, making his pulse quicken and his breath catch in his lungs.

“You’re really warm,” she said. “Have you had a tetanus shot lately? You could be getting an infection from the metal that cut your shoulder.”

He was getting hot, but that was more from her touch than anything else. Her hand was cool against his face, but her soft skin made his tingle.

“When was your last tetanus shot?” she persisted.

From Javier singing her praises and from what Clint himself heard around the hospital about her, he already knew that she was a good nurse. But now he knew how good, that she could put aside her hatred of him for concern for his health.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“We need to get you to the ER,” she said. “You need stitches and a tetanus shot.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

He wasn’t worried about himself. He was worried about her, that he might have put her in more danger by bringing her here. He’d made a promise to her brother, and this one he would not break.

But when he noticed shadows near the building, he realized that the choice might not be left up to him. There were people out there moving within those shadows.

He had made damn certain the shooters from her apartment hadn’t followed them. But they wouldn’t have had to follow them. They could have followed any one of the other bodyguards back here from collecting the person he or she had been assigned to protect. Other Payne Protection SUVs were already parked in the lot.

Luther hadn’t ordered a hit on everyone for tonight. Just Rosie.

But Luther was such a control freak that he would probably have some of his people watching his other potential victims, so he would know where they were when he was ready to take them out. And if Luther had learned the Payne Protection Agency was guarding them, he could have figured out where they would all meet up.

And if he had figured it out, he had to be laughing his ass off that they’d made it so easy for him to take out all his victims in one place.

Maybe he was just being paranoid and giving Luther way too much credit. But he knew the drug dealer too well to ever underestimate him again. Luther Mills was always at least one step ahead of everyone else. Usually more. That was how he had avoided prosecution for so many years.

No. Clint would not make the mistake of underestimating him ever again. The last time he had, someone had died. Rosie’s brother.

A curse slipped out, and Clint reached for the keys still dangling from the ignition.

“What?” Rosie asked, her eyes widening with fear. “What’s wrong?”

Just as Clint started up the SUV again, those shadows moved away from the building toward his vehicle. He could drive over one or two of them—but not all of them.

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he reached for his weapon as he pushed Rosie below the windows. “Get down!” he told her.

He would do his best to protect her. But the guilt that always weighed on his shoulders now reminded him that his best had not been good enough for Javier.

Chapter 3

“Put down the gun!” Parker shouted as he pulled open the driver’s door of the SUV. He was not going to get shot in front of his own damn agency. And definitely not by a member of his team.

“Damn it!” Clint cursed him. “I nearly shot you. Why the hell were you all sneaking up on me?”

Parker was not alone. “You were sitting out here for a while,” he said. And he and some of the other guards—ones he’d borrowed from his brothers’ agencies to secure the perimeter during their meeting—had grown concerned. And maybe with good reason. “We thought something was wrong.”

As Clint slid his weapon back into his holster, a grimace crossed his face with the movement. He was hurt.

“What the hell happened?” Parker asked.

Clint had warned him that he was the last man the witness would want to protect her. Apparently, Parker should have listened to him.

The witness answered before Clint could. “He threw us out a third-story window,” she said.

Maybe Clint was the one Parker should have been worried about. “What?” he asked.

She had to be lying, maybe trying to get her bodyguard in trouble.

“We were being shot at,” Clint explained. “When you all started creeping up on us, I thought the shooters might have followed us here.”

“Not with the way you were driving,” the brunette remarked. From her disparaging tone, it was clear that Clint had not exaggerated how Rosie Mendez felt about him.

“Are you hurt?” Parker asked her.

She shook her head. “No. But he needs stitches and a tetanus shot.” Despite her hostility toward her bodyguard, there was concern in her voice. There was also knowledge; the hospital badge dangling from the pocket of her scrubs identified her as a registered emergency medicine nurse.

“I’m fine,” Clint said, but as he slid out from beneath the steering wheel, he flinched again. He was not fine. But he was clearly focused on protecting the witness regardless of his injury and her resentment of him. He pushed past Parker and the other bodyguards to open the passenger’s door.

“You need to go to the hospital,” she told him, and she stayed seated as if she intended to go with him.

“The chief of the River City Police Department is waiting to talk to you and the others,” Parker said. And he felt a rush of pride that that man was his stepfather. His mother had married a good man this time. “I’ll have someone else take Clint to the ER.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Clint stated albeit through gritted teeth. “I am fine. I can do my job.”

Parker sighed. “I can’t argue that—not after you saved her from getting shot and made sure you weren’t followed getting here.”

Yes. He had chosen his team well. Too well to lose any of them. And one of them was already hurt, no matter how damn fine he swore he was.

He’d known when he’d accepted this assignment from the chief that it would be dangerous. But he’d had no idea that the danger would start almost immediately.

* * *

Heat rushed to Rosie’s face. She must have sounded ungrateful to the bodyguards who’d gathered around the SUV. Clint Quarters had saved her from getting shot, and instead of thanking him, all she’d done was complain.

But it was easier for Rosie to complain about Clint than to be grateful to him. She just couldn’t do it.

Not after what he’d cost her. And no matter how many times he might save her life, he could never bring back the life lost because of him.

Javier...

She had no intention of going along with his being her bodyguard. That was the reason she walked into the Payne Protection Agency with him and the others. She intended to tell the chief of police exactly what he could do with his protection.

Not that she could deny that she needed it. What had happened to that young officer who’d escorted her home? Had Luther really gotten to him? Either paying or threatening him? Or had the shooters taken him out first before Clint came to her rescue?

And he had rescued her. But that didn’t mean he had to be the one to protect her until she testified. It looked as though the Payne Protection Agency had many other bodyguards. Several patrolled the parking lot and the outside of the brick building while many more stood inside the doors.

She should have felt safe seeing all those armed and trained bodyguards. But the danger became even more real than when those shots had rung out. That had been so surreal and Clint had reacted so quickly that she was almost able to believe that it hadn’t happened at all.

But then he stepped around her, and she could see his shoulder in the bright interior light. His jacket and shirt were torn and so was his skin, the edges of the wound ragged and oozing blood yet.

It had definitely happened. They had come under attack and nearly been killed.

“You really need medical attention,” she persisted.

He shrugged off her concern. “I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn,” she said with frustration, that he wouldn’t listen to her. He might know about being a cop and a bodyguard. But she, as an ER nurse, knew about injuries like his.

It couldn’t go untreated.

“You have no idea,” another man murmured. It was the one who’d pulled open Clint’s door. He was tall with dark hair and blue eyes. “I’m Parker Payne,” he introduced himself.

And she realized he was the boss.

He led her toward another room, a conference room, and when that door opened, she saw who was really running the show. At least this show...

Chief Woodrow Lynch. She’d met him before. He’d come to Javier’s funeral to express his condolences. Unlike Clint, he hadn’t been thrown out. He’d seemed sincere and determined to make certain that her brother’s killer was finally brought to justice.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Ms. Mendez,” he greeted her. “We were getting worried about you.”

“You weren’t the only one,” she murmured.

“Clint thwarted an attempt on her life,” Parker said.

Jocelyn Gerber, the assistant district attorney, jumped up from her chair. She was tall and thin with pin-straight black hair.

Rosie envied all of that—the height, the weight and the straight hair. Rosie wasn’t much over five feet tall. And if not for her busy schedule at the hospital, she would probably be carrying more than a few extra pounds. And even a straightener couldn’t get rid of her stubborn curls.

“Are you all right?” Ms. Gerber asked.

Rosie wasn’t certain if the woman was concerned about her or just about her case against Luther Mills. The young ADA was blatantly ambitious.

Rosie nodded but turned back toward the chief. “What about your officer?” she asked. “The one you had protecting me?”

The chief looked over her head at Clint. “There was no one at her door when I arrived at her apartment,” Clint informed him. “I’m not sure what happened to the officer.”

“I’ll find out,” someone said before the chief could. The detective who’d arrested Luther made the offer as he jumped up from his chair at the long conference table.

Rosie felt sick with concern that the officer could have been hurt because of her.

Like Clint had been hurt...

“You’re not going anywhere,” the chief told Detective Dubridge.

“But you heard them—there’s been a shooting,” he said. “I need to investigate.”

“Someone else is taking that case. You’re not the only detective with River City PD. But you are the only one with a hit out on you. You need to sit back down,” the chief said, and his tone brooked no argument.

The detective must have sensed that as well because the tall, dark-haired man sat back down next to a small blonde woman.

The chief turned back to Rosie. “Please, take a seat as well,” he directed her. He didn’t wait for her to comply before he stepped back from the conference table, took his cell from his pocket and made a call.

Despite his injured shoulder, Clint pulled out a chair for her. Her knees shaking suddenly, she sank onto it and glanced around the long table.

Jocelyn Gerber and Detective Dubridge were not the only people Rosie recognized. Judge Holmes sat at the table, too. He looked a lot like the chief, with iron-gray hair and an expressionless face. She couldn’t imagine anyone threatening that intimidating man. But then she remembered that Clint had said the person in danger was his daughter. She must have been the girl sitting between him and a burly bearded man. Despite the late hour, the young blonde looked as though she’d just stepped off the runway of a fashion show. In a sparkling evening gown, she was supermodel-status glamorous.

Which made Rosie feel tired and dirty in the scrubs she’d worn for a double shift. They hadn’t been very clean even before she’d wound up in the dumpster.

At least one of the other women around the table was dressed as if she’d already been in bed for the night—and alone, as Rosie had intended to be. She wore loose yoga pants and an oversize T-shirt. Her short red hair was tousled around a face devoid of makeup—of any color at all but for a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was still prettier than Rosie felt, though.

Not that she had anyone she wanted to impress. But for some reason, as that thought entered her mind, she glanced over at Clint, who’d taken the chair next to her. She wasn’t concerned about his opinion of her. But unfortunately, she was concerned about him. His handsome face contorted with another grimace and it was clear to see he was in pain. That might have had something to do with his boss, who touched his shoulder.