“Cara?”

Connor’s deep, husky voice intruded into her thoughts.

“Are you all right?”

She tried to shrug away the emotions drenching her. “I’m fine.” She marched over to the safe covered by a portrait of her mother. “I don’t understand why he kept this in here. He didn’t love her.” When she opened the safe, its emptiness surprised her. “This doesn’t bode well.”

“So someone could have come in here and broken into the safe?”

She turned at the same time Connor stepped closer. She collided into him. He steadied her, his hands on her arms branding her. His gaze captured hers and held it for a long moment, the thundering of her heart drowning out all common sense.

Why else would she wonder if he still kissed as good as he did when they were dating?

MARGARET DALEY

feels she has been blessed. She has been married more than thirty years to her husband, Mike, whom she met in college. He is a terrific support and her best friend. They have one son, Shaun. Margaret has been writing for many years and loves to tell a story. When she was a little girl, she would play with her dolls and make up stories about their lives. Now she writes these stories down. She especially enjoys weaving stories about families and how faith in God can sustain a person when things get tough. When she isn’t writing, she is fortunate to be a teacher for students with special needs. Margaret has taught for more than twenty years and loves working with her students. She has also been a Special Olympics coach and has participated in many sports with her students.

Protecting Her Own
Margaret Daley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

God is our refuge and strength,

a very present help in trouble.

—Psalm 46:1

To Jan for all her help and

brainstorming with this story—thank you, Jan.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

“I thought that was taken care of.” Cara Madison gripped her cell to her ear so tightly her hand ached as she hurried toward the foyer of her childhood home to answer the door. Exhaustion clung to her as though woven into every fiber of her being.

The bell chimed again.

“No, the State Department still has some questions,” Kyra Morgan, her employer at Guardians, Inc., said.

“Hold it a sec. Someone’s at the door.”

She peered through the peephole, noting a deliveryman with a package and clipboard, dressed in a blue ball cap, blue shorts and white T-shirt. Probably another birthday present from one of Dad’s friends. She thrust open the door and cradled the cell against her shoulder to keep it in place.

“So I have to make a trip into Washington, D.C., to see Mr. Richards at the State Department?” Cara asked her boss while she scribbled her name on the sheet of paper then took the box.

Stepping back into the house, Cara shut the door with a nudge of her hip and carried the package to the round table in the center of the dining room to put it with the multitude of others—all presents from people around the world whom her father knew.

“Cara, I’m sorry you need to go at this time. I know that last assignment was rough and now with bringing your dad home from the rehabilitation center, you don’t need this complication. Mr. Richards assured me it’s just a debriefing about the riots occurring in Nzadi.”

She wished she could say that wasn’t her fault, but what she did had set the protests off. Guilt swamped her. In protecting her client, a revered humanitarian in Nzadi was killed instead. “Don’t worry. I’m tough. I’ll survive. I’ll call the man and set up an appointment after I get Dad home and settled.”

For a few seconds she studied the plain brown box from Global Magazine with C. Madison on the label before peeling back the top flap on the carton. The sound of the tape ripping the cardboard reverberated in the stillness, exposing the top of a gift wrapped in black paper. Black? True, her father was turning sixty tomorrow, but wasn’t black wrapping a little too macabre after he suffered a stroke eight weeks ago?

“I’m sure it’s only a formality.” Her boss’s assurance drew Cara’s thoughts away from the gift. “My impression from the State Department was you won’t have to go back to answer any more questions from the Nzadi government.” The word Nzadi shivered down her length, leaving a track of chills even though it was summer. “I’ll call you after I talk to Mr. Richards. Bye.” Cara clicked off and stared down at the open box that nestled the new present, wrapped in black paper. Black like people wore to funerals. Black as the dress of the beloved lady who had been killed in the café. Cara shivered again. She wanted to forget Nzadi, but she didn’t think she ever would.

The image of the beautiful woman, bleeding out on the floor of the café, nudged those last days in the African country to the foreground. She’d managed to push the trophy wife she was protecting out of the way of the assassin’s bullet, only to have it lodge in the woman across from them. Again she heard the angry shouts from the crowd as she’d been driven to the Nzadian airport. The people’s grief over the death of Obioma Dia had evolved into fury at Cara and the woman she’d been assigned to protect.

A shrill whistle pierced the air.

Shaking the image and the shouts from her mind, she glanced toward the kitchen. The water she was heating for her tea. The noise insisted on her immediate attention and grated her frazzled nerves. But the sound was a welcome reprieve from the thoughts never far away.

She quickly headed toward the kitchen and a soothing cup of tea along with a moment to rest and think about her father’s situation—the reason she was in Clear Branch. She craved peace after the past couple of hectic days—after her last disastrous bodyguard assignment in a country that fell apart around her. Nzadi was still suffering the worst unrest in decades.

Just inside the kitchen she pocketed her phone, wishing she could silence it like she could the teakettle’s racket. But her cell was her lifeline, especially when she was on a job. And now also because her dad’s homecoming celebration was cancelled because of a reaction to a new medication that made the doctor decide at the last minute to keep him a few more days. She’d planned a small birthday party for tomorrow and would need to finish calling his friends to tell them she’d have to postpone the festivity.

As steam shot out of the spout on the white pot, she snatched it off the burner and set it on a cool spot on the stove. Finally the loud, annoying sound quieted. She turned toward the cabinet behind her to get a mug.

Blissful silence—no angry people in Nzadi yelling words that still curdled her blood, no rehabilitation center—

A boom rocked the foundation beneath her feet. She flew back and slammed against the edge of the counter so hard the air rushed from her lungs. Her momentum then spun her to the side, her hip clipping the corner. Her head swung back against the freezer handle then forward. Darkness swirled before her eyes as bits of wood and plaster rained down upon her, stinging her skin. Her ears rang, drowning out any sound except the thundering of her heartbeat vying for dominance.

She fumbled at her waist for the gun she wore on the job. Nothing. An urgency hammered her. Then scanning her surroundings, she realized it was on her nightstand in her bedroom. She looked toward what used to be the door from the dining room, trying to clear the haze in her mind. To figure out what to do.

Assess the situation.

Part of the wall was gone and gray smoke bellowed through the opening, carrying dust, wood chips and black bits. The wrapping paper? The stench of black powder assaulted her nostrils. She coughed, squinting to see through the ominous cloud invading every corner of the kitchen. She swiped at her gritty eyes but stopped in midaction, afraid to rub them anymore for fear of damaging them.

Need some kind of weapon.

She started toward the drawer a few feet away from her. Her legs gave out. Crumpling down the refrigerator to the tile floor, she grabbed at the dish towel hanging over the edge of the counter nearby and covered her mouth and nose with it. The room continued to rotate as though gravity were playing some kind of cruel joke on her. With a gong clanging against her skull from the concussion of the blast, she rolled over onto her knees and pushed up. The room swayed and she fell back.

She groped for her cell in her pocket and managed to slip it out, but her hand trembled so much she dropped it on the debris-covered tile.

Got to pull myself together. I’ve been in tough situations before.

To still the thundering of her heartbeat, she took a moment and inhaled steadying breaths through the filtering material of the towel. More coughs racked her.

Stay calm. Call 911.

She flipped the phone open while it still rested on the floor and began punching in the numbers. Drawing in another deep breath, she lifted it to her ear. The shrill ringing in her ears persisted. She doubted she could hear the 911 operator, but she needed help even getting up.

She waited a few seconds, hoping the 911 operator had answered, then said into the cell, “I can’t hear you. I need help. Cara—Madison.” Panic began to worm its way into her mind. With her hand holding the phone quivering, she quickly finished, “Explosion. 218 North Pine. Hurry.”

Did I get through?

The cell slipped from her nerveless fingers. Still connected to 911, she hoped, she left the phone next to her while she clutched the dish towel against her face. All she wanted to do now was collapse to the cold, dirty tiles and close her eyes to still the spinning. And wait to be rescued. Dust and debris from the dining room coated the floor, a reminder of what just happened. A thought nagged her.

As a bodyguard for the past four years, she’d had one assignment where an explosion had been involved. She tried to remember back to that job her first year, but her thoughts swirled like the gray smoke earlier. What if the blast wasn’t the only one? What if it ignited a fire?

Trained to remain calm in chaotic situations, she shoved her rising panic down and crawled toward the back door. A stab of pain emanated from her hip that had hit the counter, making her progress laborious. The dizziness from her movement threatened to swallow her. She had to slow down her pace even more. The scent of sulfur hung in the hazy, smoked-filled kitchen. Another spasm of coughing assailed her. Every muscle tensed as the minutes ticked by, and yet she was still only halfway to her escape. A chunk of Sheetrock crashed to the floor near her, dust mushrooming into the air. Glancing up, she spied cracks in the ceiling. Her heart jammed into her throat.

“Well, as I live and breathe, Connor Fitzgerald here in my station.” Sheriff Taylor pumped Connor’s arm as he shook his hand. “What brings you down here?”

“Can’t an old friend visit?” Connor grinned at the taller man, several years older than his own age of thirty-four.

“Come in and tell me how it’s going.” Sean Taylor waved his hand toward one of two chairs in front of his desk. “How’s it going at Virginia’s Criminal Intelligence Division?”

“Work’s good. Busy.” Connor folded his long length into the chair, resting his elbows on the padded arms. “I’m here for a week to spend some time with Gramps rather than my usual one or two days. He gets lonely. He claims all his contemporaries are dying off.”

“Your grandfather continues to surprise me. He’s eighty and still going strong.”

“Yup, that’s him.”

“At least you aren’t too far away in Richmond.”

The door opened and a deputy stuck his head into the room. “Sheriff, there’s been a 911 call from Cara Madison at her dad’s. She reported an explosion at the house. I dispatched two deputies and called Doc Sims.”

Cara’s here? She’s hurt? Connor sat up straight, his gut tightening. “Who’s injured?”

“Don’t know. All she said was there was an explosion and that she couldn’t hear well. The 911 operator tried to get more information from her but couldn’t.”

Sean snatched up his keys. “Thanks.” Turning toward Connor, he continued, “Want to come? I know you and Cara go way back.”

Connor nodded and rose. He hadn’t seen her in years, and the last time they hadn’t parted on good terms. He’d wanted her to stay in Clear Branch and marry him. She’d wanted to see the world. She’d left the next day.

“I’ll follow you in my car,” Connor said as he strode with Sean toward the exit.

Cara’s father knew a lot of important people in Virginia as well as Washington, D.C. If someone was after him, the Criminal Investigative Department of the Virginia State Police could be called in to assist with the case. Since Connor was an investigator for the CID, he might as well check on what happened. That was the only reason he was going. Yeah, right, as if you don’t want to make sure Cara’s okay.

In his Jeep Cherokee, Connor pulled out of the parking lot right behind the sheriff’s vehicle. Although his gaze focused on the white car with the flashing lights and siren in front of him, his thought centered on Cara, the only woman who had captured his heart and then crushed it. If Virginia’s CID was called in, that didn’t mean the case had to be his problem. He could probably claim conflict of interest. He didn’t need another problem on his plate. Cara hadn’t been his concern for thirteen years. So why was he going to the Madison house?

He couldn’t shake the question: Was she all right? The last he’d heard anything about her she’d quit her job as an investigative reporter for a major TV network. But that was five years ago. Didn’t Gramps say something about her becoming a bodyguard? Whenever his grandfather tried to talk about Cara, Connor had always changed the subject. Now he wished he’d listened for once.

Then another question popped into his thoughts as he turned onto Pine Street in Clear Branch: Why do I care?

A fire truck and two deputies’ cars were parked in front of a sprawling ranch-style home with a gaping hole where a large picture window in the dining room used to be. Bits of that window and brick around it littered the yard. He’d wanted his detached, professional facade to slip into place, but the sight of the damage the explosion had caused shoved his concern to the foreground. Fear spurred his heartbeat.

Lord, in spite of our history, I don’t want Cara hurt.

Climbing from his Jeep, he surveyed the quiet, well-to-do neighborhood. Several people stood on their lawns observing the commotion. His long strides ate up the distance between him and Sean, who had finished talking to a firefighter and was heading toward the gaping hole in the house.

Check to make sure she’s in one piece. Then leave.

“A gas explosion?” Connor asked, taking a whiff of the air. Nothing hinted at that, but he did smell a faint odor of sulfur as though someone had recently shot off some fireworks. Alarm bells went off in his mind. “Since C.J. had his stroke, is he still working for Global News?”

“You smell it, too, don’tcha?”

“Yup, black powder.”

“He’s still at Sunny Meadows, but if I know C.J., he’ll be back to his old desk as soon as humanly possible. He was supposed to be home today.”

“Where’s Cara?” What if she’d passed out somewhere in the house after she made the 911 call? What if there was another bomb? He quickened his steps toward the front door, which was barely hanging on its hinges.

A hand on his arm halted his progress. “I’ve called the tri-county task force’s bomb squad. Also, ATF. I don’t want anyone inside until they clear it. Even the firefighters will stay back unless a fire breaks out.”

“But Cara?” Lord, she has to be okay.

Sean tossed his head in the direction of the side of the house. “My deputy has her. He found her out back. She’s okay.”

Connor turned and saw one of the deputies and Cara making their way slowly across the lawn. For a few seconds his heartbeat pummeled against his rib cage at the disheveled sight of her—alive but hurt. He forced his emotions concerning her into a box and slammed the lid closed, searching for that professional facade so necessary for him to do his job.

The officer had his arm around Cara and supported most of her weight. The sight of tiny cuts scoring her face constricted Connor’s chest. He forced a stabilizing breath into his lungs, but the band around him contracted even more as the sounds of her coughing competed with the murmurs from the neighbors gathering. Her blue eyes were huge as though she’d been caught at a surprise birthday party. Her short russet hair, which had always been long when he’d known her before, was dusty gray to match the rest of her.

His gaze zeroed in on her full lips, the corners turned down at the moment. He could remember that when she’d smile at him, it would take over her whole expression. The knot in his gut hardened at the pain reflected in her expression.

As he neared her, he noticed the trembling in her arms dangling at her sides, the slight limp as she favored her right leg. Her owlish gaze locked with his, and for a few seconds no recognition dawned in them. Had he changed that much? He hadn’t thought so.

Then a light flickered in the blue depths. Her mouth curved up briefly. “Connor, you’re home,” she said in a raspy voice.

He had thought his stomach couldn’t tighten any more than it had. But it did. Into a ball of steel, burning its way clear up to his heart.

No way! I won’t go to that place ever again. The vow tempered the fiery need to hold her and run his arms over her to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured.

He cocked a grin, stopping a foot from her and the deputy. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

She swallowed hard, tried to smile again and failed. She squinted and focused on his lips, then shook her head and pointed to her ears. “Can’t hear you.” A thread of panic edged her words.

The sheriff wrote on his pad that he’d sent a deputy to Sunny Meadows to stay with her dad and held it up for Cara.

“Thanks.” Relief flittered over her face, only to be replaced by the pain again.

Sean jotted something on his pad then showed Cara.

“Not a gas explosion. House is all electric.” That word ended on a cough.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw a car pull up to the curb behind the fire truck and Doc Sims climb from the vehicle.

The short, portly man leaned in, withdrew a black bag, then hurried around to the other side and opened the back door. “Let’s get her over here so I can check her out.”

“I’m sure you have something to do. I can take her from here,” Connor said to the deputy, a part of himself amazed that he’d volunteered to hold Cara, have her flush up against him.

His arm coiled about her. The fragrance of lilacs, mingling with the odors of sulfur and dust, wafted to him. The flowery scent teased his memories of days gone by and vied with another—the apple-scented shampoo she’d always used. Some things hadn’t changed. These smells brought up memories of the past when he’d loved her.

But she’d killed that feeling the day she’d left town without even saying goodbye. She’d disappeared from his life only to reappear several years later reporting the news from a Southeast Asian country in the midst of a rebellion. Chaos had ruled the scene behind her. And yet she’d been calm, totally charged with the action occurring around her. So much like her father when he’d been reporting about a volatile situation.

That had been his Cara. A thrill seeker. Restless. Needing something she couldn’t find in Clear Branch.

But it felt right with her in his arms again.

His thoughts prodded his steps faster until she halted, making him stop, too. She blinked as though trying to orient herself to her surroundings.

“Slow down,” she said in a voice that had been heard around the world for years until she suddenly dropped out of sight five years ago. “Dizzy.”

He’d let her get to him. Angry with himself, he clenched his jaws and nodded. At a much slower pace he covered the distance to Doc Sims and eased Cara onto the backseat. The doctor whipped out a blanket and draped it over Cara’s shoulders, sending up a cloud of dust that aggravated her coughing. Connor stepped away as the doctor began examining her.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” Doc Sims asked.

Her face crunched up into a frown and she started to say something when Connor replied, “She can’t hear. The blast.”

“I was hoping she hadn’t been that close to the explosion.” Doc looked from her to Connor. “I’ll take it from here.” A smile accompanied the dismissal.

Connor backpedaled for a few paces then swung around and went in search of the sheriff. Nothing would be discovered until the bomb squad arrived, but he was itching to do a walk-through. This wasn’t his area of expertise, though, and he would have to wait.

Was the bomb meant for Cara or her dad? Most likely her dad. But if Cara was still working as a bodyguard, it was possible she had angered someone.

The sheriff rounded the corner from the side and strode to Connor. “I got a call that the bomb squad should be here shortly. I didn’t find anything suspicious in the backyard. I looked in the kitchen window and saw part of the ceiling on the floor. Cara’s lucky she got out okay. Is Doc going to call for the ambulance in Silver Creek or take her to his clinic?”

Since Clear Branch was small with a population of four thousand, the ambulance would have to come from the larger town twenty minutes away. “I don’t know. He dismissed me.”

“That’s our doc.”

“Do you think the bomb was meant for C.J.?”

“For over thirty years he was in the middle of any important newsworthy situation in the world working for Global News Organization. His exposé on the Mafia alone would have ruffled people’s feathers. Not to mention he’d decided to write his memoir. Planned on naming names and exposing corruption in high places. People that may have escaped prosecution but not the power of the pen—his words, not mine. So, yeah, I think someone could have a grudge against him.”

“Maybe the memoir is the key, and that sparked this attack now.”

Sean rubbed his hand through his hair. “Maybe, but he hadn’t started it yet. Cara has done her fair share of things that would make enemies.”

“As a bodyguard?”

“She’s worked a couple of high-profile assignments.”

“So you think she could be in danger?”

“Maybe. But if I had to pick one I would pick C.J. He’s got the manners of a pit bull and a rattlesnake all rolled up in one, especially when he’s on a hot story.”

As much as he wished he didn’t, he still held feelings for Cara. Connor’s own relief, though, that C.J. was probably the target rather than Cara eased the tautness from his muscles. There was no love lost between her dad and him. “Where’s she living now?” Why was he asking? Stay away.

“Dallas, when she isn’t traveling for Guardians, Inc.”

He’d heard of the group of all female bodyguards. Its reputation was top-notch. Connor looked toward where Doc was still checking Cara out. Lord, I wasn’t prepared to see her again. “Do you think she’ll go back to Dallas soon?”

“I don’t know if she’s going back just yet. She’s trying to get something set up so her father can live at home and receive the therapy he needs for his recovery. He’s been getting better. I was surprised this morning when she called to tell me the birthday party she’d planned for tomorrow at the house was canceled because her dad would be at Sunny Meadows a few more days.”

“She doesn’t have anywhere to stay now,” Connor murmured, looking at the bombed-out front of the house. If he’d realized Cara was back in town, he wouldn’t have come home. Gramps had failed to mention that when he’d talked to him last night before coming from Richmond.

“There’s always the hotel on Main Street since the lodge by the lake is full with Labor Day approaching. But I’m figuring she needs someone to watch over her until we can piece together what’s going on. Who the target is.”

Connor chuckled. “I don’t envy you that job.”

“I don’t have the manpower to watch over her adequately and C.J. at the center as well as try to solve this case. But you could protect Cara.”

“Oh, no.” Connor shook his head, stepping away from his friend to emphasize he didn’t want anything to do with Cara Madison. “I’d rather be in a pit full of rattlesnakes,” he said in all seriousness, thinking about the sheriff’s reference to a rattlesnake earlier.

Sean burst out laughing. “I hear where she lives they have rattlesnake roundups. Maybe you could visit her and go to one.” A serious expression descended. “I need someone I trust. Your grandfather lives on the outskirts of town on a few acres. Quiet. Between you and your grandfather, she ought to be safe just in case we’re wrong and she’s the target.”

“And just how do you think I can keep her at Gramps’s house?”

“I know that will be impossible, but when she comes into town, you can be with her. Your place is defensible, better than a hotel. Your grandfather has an alarm system. The terrain around his place is open, and the area is a quiet neighborhood without a lot of people.”

“You make it sound like I should be planning for a war.”

“Well, not exactly. Just pointing out why your grandfather’s house is perfect, and I’ll sleep a whole lot better knowing she’s being taken care of.”

“And I should care why?” The tension in Connor’s neck spread down his spine and radiated across his shoulders.

“Because when I get a good night’s sleep, I can actually function pretty good and might just be able to find out who’s trying to kill one of the Madisons.”

But I won’t get a bit of sleep, Connor wanted to shout at his friend.

“It shouldn’t be more than a week at most, and you know your grandfather has a soft spot for Cara. I wouldn’t be surprised if when he hears about the situation, he won’t insist she come stay with you guys. And her dad, too, when he’s discharged from Sunny Meadows.”

The thought of being in the same house as C.J. increased the pain gripping his shoulders. Connor leaned toward Sean and lowered his voice. “I won’t tell Gramps.”

“But every busybody in this town will. So cut your losses and just agree now. He probably already knows.”

There was a part of him that really meant what he’d said about her not staying with him and Gramps, but there was a part that knew if he looked deep down, every one of those words was a lie. As angry as he was at Cara, he never wanted anything bad to happen to her or her father, and there was no way he could walk away without helping to keep her safe.

His gaze strayed to Cara, still pale with a fine layer of dust covering her, her hand not quite steady as she held out her palm for a pill from Doc Sims. A wet streak down her face stirred feelings in Connor he’d kept locked away for thirteen years. Cara never cried. Living with her iron-willed father had made her tough. The sight pricked his conscious. He couldn’t turn his back on her, and all the protests in the world weren’t going to change that.

“Okay, I know when to admit I’m defeated. She can stay at Gramps’s.” He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat and muttered through clenched teeth, “And so can C.J.”

Sean slapped him on the back. “That’s great. Then we’re set.”

“Are we? You’ve forgotten one important piece in all of this.” At his friend’s raised eyebrow, Connor continued, “You have to get Cara to agree to stay there.”

TWO

The softness beneath her cheek tempted Cara to surrender again to the dark void of sleep. She shifted, aches protesting the move. Slowly she raised one eyelid and stared at an unfamiliar chest of drawers.

Where am I?

The last thing she remembered was Connor coming into the clinic to check on her. At least that was what she thought. Or was it a dream? When she tried to think about the morning, everything blurred, as though she were looking through sheers into a room and not quite seeing it clearly.

Her head throbbing where she’d struck the refrigerator, she cautiously rolled over, opening both eyes to stare at a white ceiling. She searched the dimly lit room. The beige blinds were closed. Little gave away where she was. A hotel room? Still at Doc Sims’s clinic?

She eased up on her elbows to get a better look, conscious of not moving too fast. The room didn’t spin. Her world was stable. Then she zoomed in on a sound coming from her left. A rhythmic ticking. She glanced at the nightstand, which had only a lamp and a clock on it.

7:00? She glanced toward the window, muted light leaking through the slats in the blinds.

What happened to the past eight hours? Is Dad all right?

She jerked up straight in bed and immediately regretted that sudden movement. After the dizziness passed, she swung her legs to the floor and rose slowly, glad she was still dressed in her dust-covered jeans and a University of Virginia T-shirt that Doc had at his clinic. The room held nothing personal in it, only the bed, two nightstands on either side of it, a chest of drawers and a comfortable-looking maroon chair near the one window with a little round table next to it.

The room is void of any feeling—like my life of late.

Cara pushed that thought away. She had more important concerns than piecing her life back together. She needed to discover who wanted her dad dead. And that meant getting answers from the sheriff.

But first, is Dad okay at Sunny Meadows? She looked around for a phone since she’d left her cell back on her father’s kitchen floor. No phone.

Needing to find out where she was and call the rehabilitation center, she limped toward the door, the pain in her hip and head a nagging reminder of what had happened earlier. Out in a hallway of what appeared to be a house, vague memories of the past tugged at her. Seeing a bathroom door open, she slipped inside and washed off what grime was left on her face and neck then finger-combed her hair into a semblance of order. Cuts on her skin emphasized the ordeal she’d gone through.

She heard voices coming from her right. Heading that way, she soon entered a kitchen she had known all too well as a young woman and came to a halt when her gaze fell upon Connor Fitzgerald. So she hadn’t dreamed him. He had been at her dad’s house earlier, and she was at his grandfather’s now.

Connor fastened his hard, slate-gray eyes on her. The chill from that look went straight to her bones.

“I was getting worried about you, child.”

Cara shifted her attention to the wiry, old man with bright alert eyes. Mike Fitzgerald sat opposite his grandson. A warm welcome spread across his features as his assessing survey took her in. He rose, still thin with a fit body for his age and a full head of stark white hair. He moved a little slower than she remembered, but with the assurance she’d known, and enveloped her in a bear hug. She winced at the welcoming embrace.

“I’m so glad you’re okay and staying here. Me and Connor can keep you safe.”

Staying at Connor’s grandfather’s house? Did she forget something from the morning? All she could remember was lying on Doc’s examination table after he took some X-rays. Totally exhausted and hurting, she’d taken something to help her rest. Then Connor had come in and talked with Doc. When she’d closed her eyes, weariness pulling her down toward the dark, another voice, deep and gruff, joined the two men’s. Mike’s? He’d asked her something and she’d answered. Then she’d drifted off to sleep to the sound of their murmured voices, too tired to care.

What had been Mike’s question and my answer?

The scent of coffee floated on the air. She needed caffeine and her brain functioning at one hundred percent before she tackled the man across from Mike Fitzgerald.

“May I have some coffee? Actually, a whole pot full?”

“Sure, child. Anything I have is yours. You know that.” Mike wrapped his calloused hand around hers and guided her toward the table and a seat next to his grandson.

Connor’s coldness continued to flow from him and drape her in a blanket of ice. Mike set a big mug of black coffee, the way she took hers, in front of her. She cradled it between her hands to heat her fingers while she waited for it to cool down enough to drink.

“Well, I’ll leave you two younguns alone. I imagine you have some catching up to do.” Mike hurried toward the hallway as though he knew he needed to escape or risk getting caught in the cross fire.

She itched to drag Connor’s grandfather back into the chair on the other side of her, but he could move surprisingly fast when he wanted. Taking a sip of her coffee, she stabbed Connor with what she hoped was a piercing look. “Why am I here?”

“You heard Gramps. Until the person who sent the bomb is caught, you’re in danger. The sheriff asked me to watch out for you. Gramps and I brought you here after Doc gave his okay, so long as we kept an eye on you and let him know if there’s a problem.”

“His okay! How about mine?” Her voice rose as her temper did. “Maybe I’d rather stay somewhere else. Did you think to ask?”

“My grandfather did. You can’t stay at your dad’s house. The damage is extensive in the dining room, foyer and kitchen where part of the doorway and wall blew out.”

“You’ve been inside and seen it?”

He nodded and delved into his pocket, then presented her cell phone to her. “After the bomb squad okayed the premises, I accompanied the sheriff and ATF agents. I found that on the floor and saw it was yours.”

“What did they find?” She chanced a sip of the still hot coffee because she needed something to drive the fuzz from her brain. To deal with Connor she had to be clear-headed.

“It looks like a pipe bomb, and from the damages a large one. The ATF guys gathered evidence to analyze and will get back to Sean when they have anything to report.”

A large pipe bomb. Low-tech but it definitely could have killed her or her dad if they had been closer to it. Interesting, the logical, investigative part of her mind reasoned while the other wanted to shut down.

“Cara, who is trying to kill your dad—or you?”

“Me?” She didn’t want Connor involved in her life and certainly not protecting her. His nearness brought to the foreground everything she had run away from thirteen years ago. He’d wanted to smother her, do everything for her then. And in the short time they had been reunited, he was doing it again.

“Sean told me what you’ve been doing these past few years. We can’t totally rule you out as a possible target. I mean to find out what’s going on.”

She locked gazes with Connor and automatically her adrenaline spiked at the challenge—could she put their past aside to let him do his job—that she glimpsed in his depths. “Why? Because of our past?”

Connor rose and crossed to the stove to refill his mug. “Sean has asked for my help and I’m giving it. The origin of the bomb was in the dining room—the table. Do you know what the pipe bomb might have been in?”

Although she’d been forced to leave Nzadi under less than ideal conditions, she didn’t think anyone would have followed her to the United States to try and kill her—she hoped. “I don’t think I’m the target. My dad had been receiving birthday gifts from friends. The neighbor who had been collecting the mail brought them over yesterday morning. I had a stack of them on the dining room table from people around the world. He’ll be sixty tomorrow.” If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the Nzadi affair on the phone with Kyra, she might have been more suspicious about the black-wrapped gift. Although black wrapping paper was often used as a joke for a milestone birthday, anyone knowing her father wouldn’t have sent a gift wrapped in black paper. He wouldn’t be amused.

“Nothing seemed suspicious to you? Your dad wasn’t even home—hadn’t been for eight weeks.”

“But he had been due home this morning right before the last package, a medium-size box wrapped in black paper, was delivered.”

“Who knew about that?”

She shrugged, wishing she felt nonchalant. “Everyone in town.”

“But he didn’t come home.”

“It was a last-minute decision by his doctor at Sunny Meadows. He had a reaction to some new medication, and the doctor wanted him to stay there another day or so to keep an eye on him. I’d only been able to tell a few people I needed to cancel his birthday party. Sean was one of them.” She narrowed her eyes on him as he sat. “I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

“I do work for the Virginia CID.” He lifted his mug to his lips and took a long sip.

For a few seconds she watched that action, remembering a time when those lips had kissed hers. She looked down at her drink and tried to bring some kind of order to her chaotic thoughts. “You have no right to bring me here without my permission. I’m sure I didn’t give it.” She wouldn’t have because that meant she would be near Connor. There was no way she could deal with him on top of everything else. “The last thing I recall is lying on Doc’s examination table. He gave me another pill and that’s all. Did he drug me?”

“He gave you pain medication. You went to sleep all on your own.”

Which really didn’t surprise her. She had been functioning on only a few hours of sleep for the past four days, reporting to Kyra about her last assignment after escaping Nzadi then turning right around and coming to Clear Branch at midnight two days ago. Although she’d been to the rehabilitation center/nursing home to make plans to move her father to his house, she’d thought she could rest before having to deal with his situation.

But ever since she stepped through the doorway into her childhood home, memories had bombarded her from all sides. She’d spent most of the past two nights prowling the house, trying not to dredge up memories from the last time she’d been there and the fight she and her dad had had. That memory had kept her away for thirteen years.

“And I’ve been here for how long?”

“Since before noon. As I said, Gramps did ask you about coming here.”

“And I answered?” Memories of earlier began to leak back into her mind. She remembered the deep, gruff voice saying something to her. Then, because her ears were still ringing, Mike had written something on a piece of paper. The blast must have affected her more than she thought if she’d agreed to come here.

“Yes. Gramps and I brought you here.”

“How?”

“I carried you to the car and then to the house.”

That was what she’d been afraid of. Her heartbeat sped at the thought of being in Connor’s arms, cradled against him—twice in one day. Another memory of being in his arms cloaked her. Of him kissing her. A lifetime ago. “I don’t need to be protected. I didn’t thirteen years ago, and I don’t now. I’m not the one in danger.” At least she didn’t think so, and she would do her own checking into that. “My dad must be. I need to call the center to see how he is.”

She flipped open her cell and punched in the stored number of Sunny Meadows, then asked to speak to the nurse on duty. When she came on the line, Cara asked, “How’s C. J. Madison doing? This is his daughter.”

“Cara, this is Kathy. Your dad is fine, but the doctor wants to keep him at least through tomorrow.”

“Is the deputy sheriff with him?” she asked, vaguely recalling Sean writing something to that effect on a piece of paper.

“Yes. In fact, after the sheriff came a while ago and told your father what happened, he got quite upset at the news. It took us a while to get him settled down. Doc had us give him his sleeping pill early tonight. I think he’s down for the night. Are you all right? Everyone heard what happened at the house.”

Cara had known Kathy in high school and was glad she was one of the nurses looking after her father. “I’m fine. So you don’t think I should come see him tonight?”

“No. Get a good night’s sleep and come tomorrow morning.”

Cara snagged Connor’s gaze while she said goodbye to Kathy. “I may have agreed to come here because Mike asked, but I’m not staying here, Connor.”

He surged to his feet and strode to the sink to pitch the rest of his coffee. “I tried to tell Gramps and the sheriff you wouldn’t want this, but they were sure you would see the wisdom in being here in an environment a little bit easier to control than a hotel. They just don’t remember how pig-headed you are.”

“Well, then I’ll have to tell them after you take me to the house.”

“No can do.”

“What do you mean? I need some clean clothes. You can’t keep me here against my will. I’m not in any danger. Besides, I know how to take care of myself.” Her training and survival instinct had gotten her out of the kitchen before more of the ceiling had come down on top of her.

His smile tilted up the corners of his mouth, but that was all it did, as though he was trying valiantly to be patient. “It’ll be dark before we can get to your house, and there’s no electricity. It’s not safe at night.”

Again he was making decisions for her. “Haven’t you heard of flashlights?” Standing, she gripped the edge of the table with both hands then leaned into it.

“Haven’t you heard of patience? Oh, I forgot that was never one of your strong suits. You always wanted things right then and there.”

“Because I left Clear Branch? I didn’t want to stay here and settle down. There were things I wanted to do before I married.” If she ever married. After seeing her parents’ marriage, she wasn’t sure that was something she should do. That opinion hadn’t changed in thirteen years.

For a few seconds something flickered in and out of his gaze. Hurt? It was gone so fast and quickly replaced by anger that Cara couldn’t tell.

Connor’s jaw set in a hard line. “You can rummage around in the house tomorrow at first light if you want. I’ll even take you now that I’m working the case. The crime scene guys have processed the scene.”

Dread rose in her. “Why do you want to work the case? Aren’t you here for a visit like I am?”

“Yes, but I’m going to because Sean asked me to help and I’ve already cleared it with headquarters. So sit and get comfy.” He waved his hand toward the chair behind her. “I have some questions for you. Then if you want, I’ll take you to the hotel. The house isn’t an option for tonight. Personally, I didn’t want you here, but Gramps and Sean just might have a point. We don’t really know what’s going on. Who the target is.”

His words hurt, and she tried not to feel that. She didn’t love him anymore. She was a totally different person from that twenty-one-year-old who’d left Clear Branch to travel, try her hand at reporting like her father. She’d seen the world, and it had chewed her up and spit her out. Few people knew what had really happened in Nzadi near the Congo River in Africa—only what was splashed all over the news for a day and minus her name connected to it—but she did and she had to live with it.

“I’ll try not to trouble you for too long.” Cara sank onto the seat, exhaustion deluging her. She needed at least another twenty-four hours of sleep.

He remained at the sink, lounging back against the counter. “So as I asked before, in case you’re the target, who would want to kill you?”

“I’ve irritated a few people through the years.” Riding to the airport after the attempt on client’s life had been the longest thirty minutes of Cara’s life. All the crowd gathered at the airport had known was that the woman who should have died was alive in the limousine and Obioma Dia, who they revered, was dead in her place.

“I’m not surprised.” He chuckled.

The sound, a familiar one from her past, eased the tension that left a trail of knotted muscles along her shoulders and neck. “Where should I begin?”

“Just how many do you think there are?”

“We could start with the president of Nzadi. Although he would deny it, he was the one who had me kicked out of his country.” Along with the businessman and his wife.

“Yeah, I’ve read about the riots in Nzadi. All Americans were asked to leave. Let’s start closer to home. Who have you ticked off in the U.S.?”

“Besides you?”

An eyebrow arched. “Yeah.”

“I’ve been responsible for putting some people behind bars. I may not be a law enforcement officer like you, but I’m good at my job. I’ve prevented several people from being hurt and apprehended the person behind the threat. Someone could be upset with me over that.” She tilted her chin up a notch. “If you want my cooperation, it will be a joint investigation.”

Ignoring her statement, he scowled and said, “I’ll need a list of those people you helped put behind bars.” His hands flat on the table, he leaned across it. “Why are you visiting now? I know there isn’t any love lost between you and your dad unless things have changed since I last saw you.”

They hadn’t, and in fact they had gotten worse between her and her father, ever since she quit being an investigative reporter. But the unfounded accusation in Connor’s voice caused her to straighten her shoulders and stiffen her spine. “There might not be any love lost between my father and me, but I will protect my own. Contrary to what you think, I’m not heartless.” The trouble was her heart was filled with too many emotions, laid shattered by all that she’d seen around the world while doing her job, first as an investigative reporter, and then as a bodyguard. The incident in Nzadi sent her home to the States to piece together what little was left of her life. She couldn’t keep running away from what was really eating at her: the failure to stop her mother from killing herself when Cara was nineteen years old.

He sighed. His vehement expression evened out into a neutral one. “I never said that, Cara. I know too well what you and your dad were going through right before you left. Remember I had wanted to help.”

“Your help only riled Dad more. I told you then I fight my own battles. I don’t need a protector.”

“It’s okay to accept help, and whether you want it now or not, I’ll be helping you. This is my case, my problem.”

“I know. So where do we start?”

“We! There is no we in this. You’re the victim, not the investigator.”

“But—”

“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

His gaze zoomed in on her. “Are you hiding anything from me?”

“I promise you, no. I’ve told you all I know. I’ll get you that list of people.” But I won’t tell you about the woman in Nzadi. That had been the last straw for her. It was too painful to talk about, especially with Connor. She would not bear her heart to him. Nor with all that had happened between them in the past. “I won’t sit quietly by and not do anything. You know me. Won’t it be better if I help you, rather than go off on my own? That way you can ‘protect me.’”

A laugh escaped his lips, a half grin curling one corner of his mouth. “I was going to leave you here under Gramps’s watchful eye.”

“Since I’m not staying here, that won’t work. Besides, how are you going to protect me if you’re out investigating?”

He raked his fingers through his short, dark brown hair. “You are good with twisting things around to suit you.”

“That’s part of my charm.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. I should just hand the case over to someone else.”

“You won’t. I know you. Besides, I don’t want you to.”

Both eyebrows rose, wrinkling his forehead in puzzlement. “You want me to work on this?”

“I trust you’ll do a good job.”

“You don’t know anything about me now.”

“I know the man you were, and I doubt seriously that core of integrity and dedication to whatever you set your mind to has changed. Are you telling me it has?” She pushed to her feet, no longer wanting him to have a height advantage—or rather less of one since he was half a foot taller than her five-nine.

“No, that hasn’t, but I’m not that same man. I’m no longer naive and love struck. You pretty well cured that thirteen years ago.”

“If this is gonna work, we have to agree to let the past go. I’m not the same. You aren’t, either.” She stuck her hand out. “Truce? Can we put it behind us at least for the time we’re together? Start fresh as though we’re strangers?”

He stared at her outstretched arm, then slowly closed his hand around hers and shook it. “Deal. We don’t need to fight each other and the person who sent that little present today.”

“Can you at least take me to pick up my car at the house? I want to drive it to the hotel on Main Street. I’ll get a room there. I won’t try to go inside the house until tomorrow, but I do need a change of clothing and I have a spare bag in the trunk. I was going to go work out after seeing Dad today.”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later Connor pulled up in front of her childhood home. The almost full moon highlighted the large dark cavity with a heavy plastic sheet over it where the picture window in the dining room had been. She caught glimpses of the boards nailed over the opening. The realization of what had happened that morning slammed into her again. She’d thought coming back to Virginia would give her the sense of stability and normalcy she needed in her life while she tried to figure out what she wanted to do—continue working as a bodyguard or try something else. It hadn’t, and when she returned to Dallas she’d need to deal with that.

But right now she just wanted to stay alive and keep her father alive.

“Thanks for the ride. What time should I meet you back here tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll come by the hotel and pick you up at eight.”

“But I have my own car.”

“Together. Remember, Cara?”

“Fine. I’ll be in the lobby at eight.”

She hurried to her car. Behind her Connor followed. At the driver’s door she whirled to face him. “You don’t have to—”

“Before you get in, I want to check to make sure there isn’t another bomb attached to the car.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.