by Cynthia Eden
John slanted a glance at her. She looked small and vulnerable in her robe. And sexy as hell with her tousled hair and her red lips. She looked like a woman who’d just climbed out of bed and—
“Shit,” Blane snarled. “You’re screwing him.”
John lunged forward.
“Stop!” Shelly grabbed him. Held tight. “This is not the way to avoid jail time. You can’t keep attacking the sheriff.”
He stilled, only because she’d asked him to stop. But he didn’t like the furious twist of Blane’s face.
“Shelly!” Blane snapped. “You don’t know this guy! He’s a stranger, and you took him into your bed?”
Her cheeks flushed. John heard the skip of her heartbeat.
She was embarrassed. Immediately, John stepped in front of her. “Watch yourself.” His hands were already fisted as he faced off against the sheriff.
Warily, Blane glanced at John’s hands. After a moment, his gaze rose once more. “Shelly, trusting the wrong man can be a fatal mistake.”
Oh, hell, no. You just—
“Don’t arrest him, Blane. Please.” She was practically begging the guy. Shelly didn’t need to beg anyone for anything. Not on John’s watch. Not on—
“John’s been through a lot, okay? There are things you don’t know about him.” She edged to John’s side. “Things you don’t understand.”
She wasn’t about to tell the sheriff about Lazarus, was she?
“I’m asking you as a friend,” Shelly continued, “don’t do this.”
Blane’s eyes blazed. “Shelly, the man is a threat. How can you not see that?”
John had heard enough. “I’d never be a threat to her.”
“Your ass beat a car back to this cabin. You think that’s normal shit? It’s not. Nothing about you is normal, and I’m taking you in.”
“Blane!” Shelly cried out. “Don’t.”
Blane had cuffs in his hand. “I’m taking him in, Shelly.”
John’s back teeth clenched. “You’d leave her unprotected?” he gritted out the words.
Blane’s face flushed. “Of course, not. I’ve got my deputy on the way out here now. He’ll keep an eye on her for the rest of the night while you get comfortable in a cell at the station.” His lips thinned. “You either faked your death in Miami, or you stole that poor guy’s identity. And you just assaulted an officer. You’re going in.” His gaze cut to Shelly. “Don’t keep looking at me like that. I’m doing this because we’re friends. I want you to be safe.”
While Blane’s cheeks had flushed, Shelly’s had gone pale. “If you do this, you know I’ll just call my family’s lawyer. I’ll have John out by dawn.”
“You do what you have to do.” Blane moved toward John. “And I’ll do what I have to do.”
One punch, and John knew he could knock the guy out. But, then what? Shelly wouldn’t run away with him. Not if he knocked out the sheriff right in front of her. Not if he let his rage out and he attacked.
Shit. Shit. The sheriff had backed him into a corner.
“You gonna fight me?” Blane asked him.
He wanted to but… “You swear you’re gonna keep her safe?”
“You’re the threat. My gut says the shooter is after you, not her. So if I remove you from her life…”
Then the sheriff thought Shelly would be safe. John lifted his hands. He’d play this game, for now. “You’d damn well better make sure a deputy stays with her every moment.”
“I’m coming to the station,” Shelly threw right back. “I’m not going to just stay here while you get tossed in a cell.” Her hand squeezed his arm. “I’ll go get dressed. I’ll be right back just—I’m not going to give up on you.”
She rushed up the stairs. And he watched her, every single step of the way.
“Her heart is too soft,” Blane’s disgusted voice groused. “Always has been. She thinks you need help. She doesn’t see you for what you are.” He grabbed John’s arm and led him to the door.
The snow brushed against John’s face as he stepped outside. He inhaled and…
A bitter, acidic scent burned his nose. Frowning, his head turned toward the sheriff’s vehicle.
“I’m expecting a call from the Miami authorities first thing in the morning. Gonna get some answers. And after your little stunt tonight, there’s no way I’m leaving you out here with her.” Blane pushed John toward the car.
John went forward, but only because he wanted to get closer to that vehicle. And with every step, the acidic odor grew stronger. “Someone messed with your brakes, too.”
“What?”
John lifted his bound hands. “I can smell brake fluid. Bend down, get beneath your car, and you’ll smell it, too. You’ve got brake fluid leaking out.” The same trick that had been used on Shelly. “Bet you wouldn’t make it down to the station before you lost control.”
“You’re talking bullshit!” But John saw that Blane’s nose was twitching. The guy grabbed a flashlight from his vehicle. He shined the light in John’s eyes. “Step your ass back, got it?”
John took a step back.
Blane crouched on the ground, shining the light under the car. “What. The. Fuck?” Not so much a question as an exclamation of fury. Blane jumped back to his feet. The light hit John once more. “How the hell did you know that?”
“I’ve got a good sense of smell.” He paused. “You saw the brake fluid, didn’t you? Spilling out all over the place.”
“The brakes were a little funny on the way to the cabin,” Blane muttered. “I didn’t even think…” He jerked his hand through his hair. “No way is that a coincidence. Shelly’s vehicle and mine?”
Shelly’s feet rushed over the porch. “I don’t want you taking him, Blane!”
John glanced back at her. She’d dressed in jeans and boots, and a big, black sweater.
“Don’t worry.” Blane’s hands were on his hips as he glared at his car. “None of us are leaving in that ride.”
She staggered to a stop at John’s side.
Blane glared at John. “Did you just save my ass?”
John held up the cuffs, and with one hard tug, he broke them apart. “You’re welcome.”
Chapter Eight
“I can’t stay in this cabin forever.” Shelly paced in front of the fireplace. “I’m going stir-crazy. We’ve been inside all day long.”
John sprawled on the couch. She could feel his eyes on her. It had been close to three a.m. before Blane and his deputies left her property. After he’d left, she hadn’t exactly gotten a lot of sleep. She’d tossed and turned for hours, finally drifting off just before dawn. Nightmares had haunted the brief sleep she’d gotten.
Blane had told her that she needed to stay out of sight while his men kept patrolling the area. She kept waiting to get the all-clear from him, but so far, no such call had come. The day was nearly gone now, with deep shadows sliding across the mountain as sunset crept closer.
“What do you want to do?”
John’s voice was so low and deep, and it cut right through her. They hadn’t talked about the sex. The incredible, mind-numbing sex. They’d been too distracted by John’s near arrest and the fact that someone had sabotaged Blane’s brakes. She’d been nervous around John all day long, too jumpy. So when he asked her what she wanted to do…in that voice that was pure sex appeal…
You. I’d like to do you.
“Your heart rate just kicked up,” John noted quietly.
She put her hand over her heart. “What?”
His head tilted as he stared at her. “I can hear it. It’s beating so much faster now. Are you scared?”
No, not scared. Or at least, she hadn’t been, not until he’d said he could hear her heart beating.
“And your breathing is faster.” He rose from the couch. Stalked toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“S-someone is playing dangerous games,” she stumbled over her words. “And I’m trapped here with a super soldier who can hear my heart beating. I think
I might be entitled to a little freak out, don’t you?”
His lips thinned. “I brought danger to you.”
“No, you saved—”
“Blane thinks I’m the target. Not you.”
Blane. Not Sheriff Blane, not anymore. One fist fight, and now they seemed to be besties.
“I’m the one with the screwed-up past. The lab I was in, baby, I only got out because someone blew it to hell and back. I’m an experiment, a freak—”
“Don’t!” She didn’t want him talking that way about himself, not ever.
“Maybe I was supposed to stay dead when that lab exploded. But you know me…” His lips hitched into a humorless smile. “Staying dead isn’t easy for me.”
And she was very glad for that particular fact. She grabbed his shirt-front and held tight. “Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.” There was no humor in his eyes. “I’ve been considering this all day. I think Blane is right. I think I’m the target. I had it in my head that you were in danger. That I had to find you, but all I did was bring the danger to you.”
She didn’t like the hard note in his voice. Or the way that his expression seemed so cold. “John?”
“I thought by staying that I’d keep you safe. But I’m wondering if you would be far better without me. If I leave, I can lure the attacker away, I can stop him, I can—”
“Put a big, giant target on your back? No, dammit, no.”
“The shooter is after me.”
She shook her head, hard. “You don’t know that. My family…my dad, he was really wealthy, okay? Very, very wealthy. He invented all kinds of things and made a million-dollar business. When he died, the money went to me and my brother.” Her words were tumbling out. “But my brother was killed this year. Stabbed in his house. And now there’s just me. What if…what if I am the target? I swear…” Now she walked away from him. Stood in front of the fire. Stared at the flames as her arms wrapped around her stomach. “I used to think someone was watching me,” she whispered.
“Shelly…”
“Back in Miami. I promise, I could almost feel him.” She licked dry lips. “I told my brother about it, and he confessed that we had enemies. Said he’d done a few deals that he shouldn’t have taken. But he told me, Charles promised me that he’d take care of things. That he’d eliminate any threats.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Two days later, Charles was dead. I was alone, and my whole life felt wrecked.”
The floor creaked behind her. “What kind of deals did your brother take?”
She rocked forward onto the balls of her feet. “I don’t even know. I wasn’t involved in the business. I never wanted to be. My dad and Charles loved the work. The pressure. I didn’t want to be involved in that world.” She stared into the fire. “I—”
“You paint. You sketch. You spend hours getting lost with your work.”
Yes, she did. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I didn’t realize you’d gone down to my studio.” Her studio was on the basement level of the house, and she hadn’t gone in it, hadn’t been able to open the door because since her brother’s death, she’d felt so dead inside, too. Charles had been her confidant. Her constant. Without him, she’d lost so much of her joy in life.
Her main studio was in Miami, but Charles had put one in the cabin for her, too. She’d often become inspired in the mountains. She’d get lost with her work. No, I used to get lost.
John’s brow furrowed. “Your studio?”
“The one downstairs. I—”
“I haven’t been in your studio. The first night, you told me not to go down to the next level of the cabin, and I haven’t.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms.
“I’ve…seen you paint.” His words were halting. “Seen you in a room with soft blue walls, with easels spread all around you. Your hair is in a ponytail and you wear paint-stained jeans.”
Her goosebumps got worse.
“You paint late into the night, and when you leave the little studio, you aren’t safe enough. You go out onto the street, not even looking around you as you hurry to find a cab.”
Silence. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. The studio he was describing—it was her place in Miami. She’d painted the walls blue to match the ocean.
“I’ve scared you.”
Yes, he had. “Is my heart racing too fast again?”
“I can see the fear on your face.” His words held no emotion. “I think…I think I was hired to watch you.”
Now she turned to fully face him. “Run that by me again.”
He scraped a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I had a memory. At least, I think that’s what it was. While you were sleeping last night, when we were in bed together, this vision slipped into my head. I was in an office, some guy in a suit was hiring me, telling me to watch you. He gave me your picture.”
Her heart wasn’t just racing. It was about to burst right out of her chest. “Describe the man to me.”
“About my height. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Nose was a little hawkish, looked like it might have been broken once before. He had a cleft in his chin—”
Her eyes closed and things started to make a whole lot more sense to her. “His nose was broken because he got into a fight when he was fifteen. Some jerks were making fun of his little sister, so he challenged them all after school. Took on four boys for her.” She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.
“Shelly?”
She didn’t speak as she turned away from him. When she’d called and asked Sammy to get the cabin ready for her, she’d given him a few special instructions. The very first thing she’d asked him to do was remove all the family photos. She just hadn’t been up to looking at them. Not ready to see what she’d lost. So she’d had Sammy put those photos in her studio. She’d known she wasn’t ready to paint. So the studio had seemed like a safe place.
She hurried down the stairs that would take her to the basement level of the cabin. The key to the studio hung on a blue ribbon next to the shut door. She took that ribbon even as she heard John following behind her. She slid the key into the lock and swung the door open.
Easels filled the room. Paint stained the floor. Huge windows looked out at the mountains. Because the cabin had been built on the edge of the mountain, the basement level still had a killer view. She loved that view—being able to stare straight into the sunset. But she wasn’t looking at the view right then. Instead, she headed for the big, old fashioned trunk that sat near the back wall. She opened the trunk and saw the framed photos inside.
The very top photo was of her and her brother. They were surrounded by snow. Last Christmas. They’d come to the cabin. Even made a snowman as they laughed and just enjoyed being away from everyone and everything else. Her heart ached at the sight of the photo. Charles had such a big grin on his face. His cheeks were red from the cold and the photographer—Blane—had caught him mid-laugh.
“Is this the man…the man in your vision who hired you?” She turned the photo toward a quiet John.
His fingers brushed over hers as he took the frame. “Yes.”
The ache in her chest just got worse. “My brother—he hired you.” Puzzle pieces slipped into place for her. “He was worried about some business deals. Always so overprotective.” A tear slid down her cheek. “He must have gotten you to be my bodyguard. He tried to tell me a few times that I needed one, but I just blew him off.” A weak laugh spilled from her. “Big brother to the rescue again. He hired you and didn’t tell me, and that’s why you have memories of me. I must have been your last big case in Miami before—before…”
“Before I was stabbed and left to die?”
Her breath rushed out. “My brother was stabbed, too.” Her gaze met John’s. “You were working for him. It seems like a pretty big coincidence that you both were attacked that way.”
His head inclined. “Yes, it does.”
“The day you died…” Her eyes widened because she remembered
that date. Remembered skimming the obituary for John Smith. Remembered the pang she’d felt. She hadn’t said anything at the time because she’d wanted to focus on him, not her past. Not her pain. “Oh, my God. It was the day after my brother was killed.”
“Shelly…”
“It has to be related.” Everything was related. Everything was sliding into place. “That’s probably even how you knew to come to Discovery in order to find me.” Her gaze searched his. “Somewhere in your mind, you must have remembered this cabin. Charles probably told you about it. That’s how you wound up in Discovery.”
His expression had shut down.
“The attacks here…my God, maybe they are aimed at you.” Her words were spilling out far too fast. “Because maybe…maybe you saw something down in Miami.” Hope had her rising onto her toes. “Maybe you saw the man who killed my brother.”
He put the photo down on a nearby table. He stared at it a moment, then his gaze slanted back to her. “You think the man who killed your brother is after me now.”
She tried to choose her words carefully. “My brother was stabbed. You were stabbed a day later.” Her voice was too high. “What if the same man attacked you both in Miami? And that same guy is after you now?”
His gaze hardened. “I don’t remember anything about that attack.”
“Not yet, but you said you just remembered the meeting with my brother, right?” She caught his hands and held tight. “It’s possible more memories will return for you. You might remember who stabbed you that night in Miami. And even if you don’t, he doesn’t know that.” He—the killer.
But John didn’t look convinced. “Shelly…”
“Please, help me.” She was not above begging. “I tried to find out who killed my brother in Miami, I worked with his partner for weeks, but we couldn’t turn over anything. If you know, if that man is here, then we can stop him. We can do this.”
His eyelashes flickered. “His partner?”
“After my dad died, Charles brought in a partner to help revamp the business. Devin Donley.” And a wide smile split her face. “Of course! If you were working as a bodyguard, then Devin would know about it! I can call him, and he can come meet you. He’s in Atlanta now for the holidays. It won’t take him long to get here.” She squeezed John’s hands tighter. “Devin and Charles didn’t have secrets. He’ll know you. He’ll know about your past.”