The role seemed to be handed down … one generation to the next. But to whom? Was it a family thing or … or something else?
She narrowed her eyes on the screen as she hit the print key and waited for the final piece to be printed out. "And I don't believe in immortality, so it's obviously got to be the latter." She scooped the completed copies into a neat stack, tucked them into a file folder and stuffed them into her briefcase. Lunch hour was over. She'd be late getting back to work, but she didn't think anyone would question her. She worked through so many lunch hours that Lone Star owed her a year's worth. She was supposed to be working on a story.
Her journalist's blood flowed a little faster. Maybe she was. No. No, she couldn't…
But think of the headline. Texas Reporter Succeeds Where All Others Fail! Identity Of The Guardian Revealed! Hell, it would go national. She'd probably end up entertaining offers from…
"Knock it off, Casey!"
She spoke harshly and aloud, drawing odd looks from the few other people in the room. A librarian and a pair of geeks. She shook her head and kept walking. The Guardian was helping her, helping Laura. And he'd refused to take any money for doing so. No, she wasn't going to repay that by plastering his precious secrets all over the front page.
What she learned would satisfy her own curiosity. Nothing more. Besides, she'd wasted an entire lunch hour digging up dirt on the Guardian instead of trying to find out more about her own sister's problems.
But there was the rub. She'd dug as deeply as she could into Laura's past, and she'd run into a brick wall. Solid brick. She'd tried every trick in the book and even called in some favors to get past it, but she'd gotten nowhere.
She'd researched mob bosses and secret service agents and had more success. It was damned weird.
Maybe he would have better luck.
She walked up the dark, echoing stairs into the main floor of the library, loving the musty-paper smell that filled the place. She thought back to the night before. To touching him and feeling the power of his reaction. Her stomach tightened, and a ball of longing formed there.
She ought to be ashamed of herself for feeling what she was rapidly believing to be desire—intense desire—for a stranger. But she wasn't. It seemed to Casey that she'd never had much choice in the matter. He was the one making her feel this way … somehow. It wasn't her fault.
She hated that he could be capable of making her want him while part of her was still afraid of him. And who wouldn't be? Shadowy figure, living in the darkness, never revealing himself to anyone. He was scary. She wasn't even altogether sure he was real.
But he felt real. Oh, damn, he felt so real.
Her face heated, and she had to brace her hand on the door frame, rest a minute, catch her breath. Like a hot flash, it rushed through her—a wave of this stuff she'd been feeling. It left her weak. Breathless. Dizzy.
Damn. "The man's like food poisoning," she muttered. Then she shook herself and went on her way.
The day dragged by. She worried about Laura, just as she did every single day. But Laura was safe. No matter how insane he might be, no stalker would make a move during broad daylight at an elementary school. First, this wasn't a small town. There were metal detectors and security guards at all the entrances. Second, you had to state your name, show ID and explain your reasons for visiting before they'd even let you inside that school. It was one of the safest in the state. And it was where Laura had been teaching kindergarten for the past five years.
So she was safe.
She was probably safe.
Casey reached for the phone on her desk and called her sister at work just to make sure.
The house was like some young girl's daydream. A simple two-story Cape Cod, white with black shutters. Picket fence. Flower boxes full of purple pansies. A neat sidewalk curving from the paved driveway to the front door, lined on both sides with marigolds.
He'd already been there for hours by the time the two women arrived home. He'd had preparations to make. The sensor at the back door that would let him know if anyone opened it. That had been easy, fast. A temporary fix. He'd gone inside, looked around. A lot more needed to be done. He'd have to talk to Casey…
The blue compact pulled into the driveway, and the two women got out. Marcus glimpsed the younger one, Laura, and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't have said why. But Casey had been right. One look at her would have convinced him to take this case, even if he'd been determined not to. There was something about her…
Not the same kind of thing that attacked without warning when he looked Casey's way. Not that wild thing that had taken over last night and made him kiss her. This was far different. But just as powerful.
Laura looked like one of those sad child paintings he'd seen once. Huge dark eyes, welling with secrets. Jet black hair that was childishly unruly. Lips like a little girl's, full and bow-shaped. She was smiling, saying something to her sister as she got out and walked toward the house, but Marcus didn't miss the slight hesitation. The way she looked around her before opening the front door, glancing over her shoulder. Casey was right. There was fear in her eyes. And the look made him want to protect her. To make sure she was safe.
Some women seemed to elicit that kind of response in a man, he realized. But in this case, he didn't think it was that. He thought there was more to it. More, maybe, than he knew himself just yet.
He looked away from Laura as she entered the house, focusing on Casey instead. She got out of the car, locked it and then paused in the driveway, turning in a slow circle, eyes scanning everything around her. But when Casey looked around, it wasn't in fear. She was looking for him, he realized, and caught himself shrinking backward into the trees along the roadside where he stood. It didn't matter if she spotted him. Why was he acting this way?
With Casey, he didn't get hit by an urge to protect her. It was more like an instinct that he'd best protect himself.
And what was up with those clothes?
She wore jeans that looked way too good, and a cropped T-shirt that didn't quite meet them. So that her tanned waist played peekaboo with him every time she moved. He caught a glimpse of her belly button and then realized he was craning his neck.
He settled down and told himself to relax. To treat this like any other case. To forget the way her mouth had tasted, the way her body had looked in that bathing suit. The way she'd looked, like something exotic and supernatural, standing there staring at him in surprise, surrounded by ethereal steam and unearthly bubbles.
Oh, hell. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
He was out there. She knew he was. He'd said he would be talking to her today, but he hadn't. He'd also made it very clear she would not be seeing him again. But she was going to. Her curiosity wouldn't ease. She couldn't let this thing go. She couldn't.
Nothing unusual went on in the house that night except that Laura's nerves seemed raw. She jumped at every sound. Casey almost wished she could tell her sister not to worry, that there was a phantom crusader out there in the darkness, standing guard. But that would only freak out her kid sister even more. Laura didn't want Casey involved. Didn't want her to know what was going on, much less drag some stranger into her private hell.
Of all the criminals she'd interviewed or written about over the years, Casey had never come across anyone as secretive as her sister.
Or she hadn't … until she'd met the Guardian.
She sighed. Secrets were dangerous. Why was she the only one who could see that so clearly?
Eventually, Laura went up to bed, though it was hours before Casey stopped listening to the soft sounds of her pacing. She crept upstairs and peered into her sister's room, only to see her sound asleep, with the lights on.
Good. It was time, then. Time to talk to this Guardian. He could protect Laura just as well from here as he could from—she parted a curtain and peered into the night—from wherever he was.<
br />
She walked from room to room, flicking off all the lights. Then she paused at the front door and extinguished the outdoor light, as well. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped outside. She walked a few steps along the sidewalk until she was certain he could see her. And then she just stood there. Waiting.
What the hell was she doing?
She stood there, hands thrust into the pockets of her faded jeans. The night wind played in her hair moving it this way and that like a set of adoring fingers. Marcus let his eyes travel lower. She was barefoot. Standing barefoot on the blacktopped driveway and waiting.
Waiting, he realized, for him.
No way. Bad idea.
But she wasn't moving. And if there was someone around here, someone dangerous, she wasn't safe just standing there in the open. She might as well hold up a sign. Drive-by Shooting Target: Aim Here.
He sighed. She'd leave soon. She'd have to.
"La-da-da-dee-dee." She hummed a tuneless melody, then added words. "I can stand here … all night."
"Oh, hell," Marcus muttered. She would do it, too. She'd stand there until he went to her. Stubborn little… Well, he couldn't just walk out there to her. Then the bad guys would know she'd found herself some help, and Marcus didn't want them forewarned. He slipped out of the bushes, crept through the brush all the way to the back lawn, then hugged the edge of the house, keeping to the shadows. He ducked into the narrow space between the house and the garage and crept along it until he reached the driveway. When he was a few feet from her, he stood watching her.
She yawned. When she did, she arched, lifting her arms slowly above her head and stretching. Her cropped T-shirt rose higher, revealing the curve of her spine, the tuck of her waist, her rib cage. Hell, any higher and…
He closed his eyes. "Casey," he whispered.
She went still, then slowly brought her arms back down again. "Where are you?"
"Back here," he told her. "Keep your voice down. And act casual."
She nodded once, careful not to look his way. Then she wandered a few steps away from him, kicked a pebble off the blacktop, turned and wandered as if without direction. She did the aimless amble very well. Eventually she stepped into the shadowy stretch of grass between the house and the garage. Too pretty to be called an alley. She had shade-loving shrubs growing here, and some night-blooming flowers that were already open and spreading their heady fragrance. The space left was only a couple of feet.
She came right up to him, stood toe to toe and tipped her chin up. Then her hand rose slowly so her fingertips could trace the brim of his hat. "You could have left the hat behind, you know. I can't see my own hand in front of my face out here."
"Good."
"So can I take it off for you?"
"I'll keep it, thanks." He covered her hand with his to move it away from the hat, but that was a mistake. The contact jolted him. He wanted to touch her everywhere.
She shivered when he held her hand, sighed when he released it, tried to hide her reactions by keeping a cool tone to her voice.
"I'll bet you're really ugly, aren't you?" she said. "Do you have an extra eye or warts or something? Is that it?"
She amused him. He liked her teasing, though he wasn't going to let her know it. Still, he smiled. She wouldn't know. She couldn't see him. Keeping any hint of humor from his voice, he said, "Did you feel any warts when you touched me last night?"
"No. But maybe I missed something … not that it would matter."
"Wouldn't it?"
She moved her head slowly from side to side. "I put very little stock in physical beauty, Guardian."
"And this should matter to me because…?"
"It does matter to you. And you know it."
"Do I?"
She nodded. "I don't care what you look like," she told him. Then she shrugged, lowered her head, dug her toe into the grass.
"Why did you make me come over here, Casey? Is there something wrong?"
She sighed. "Not one particular thing," she said, speaking slowly, giving him the distinct feeling she was making all this up as she went along. "It's … well, I couldn't see you. I needed to make sure you were really here."
"I'm here."
"But will you stay?"
"I'll stay."
"How will I know? You could leave at any time, and I'd never know it. And my guard would be down, because I'd think you were still out here. Someone could come in and—"
"I'll stay, Casey."
She lowered her head again. "I keep … hearing noises."
He narrowed his eyes on her. "And you're scared?"
"Yes."
"Liar." Her head came up fast. "You're not scared of anything, Casey Jones. So what's with this damsel-in-distress routine?"
She kept her chin up, and he imagined if she could have seen him, she'd have been meeting his gaze without even blinking. "I am scared of some things. Of losing my sister, mainly. I can't go to sleep because I'm afraid if I close my eyes something will happen to her. And if I do manage to doze off, I have nightmares about losing her forever. I can't…" She broke off, turning away. "I don't expect you to understand."
Impulsively, he put his hands on her shoulders. "I do understand, Casey. Better than you could possibly imagine."
"Then come inside."
He said nothing, went to move his hands away, but paused when one of hers came up to settle atop his larger hand where it rested on her shoulder.
"Don't let go," she whispered.
"Casey—"
"It's true, what I said. I am scared. I will feel better having you close by. But it's more than that, too, and I think you know it. I want you close to me."
"All the more reason I shouldn't—"
"You want it, too." She lowered her head, sighed softly. "I've turned off all the lights. Laura's sound asleep. You could guard us better from in there than from out here, anyway."
"Out here my mind is on what I'm doing."
"And in there it wouldn't be?"
"You know damned well it wouldn't be."
She turned slowly, rubbing her cheek over his hand as she did, and finally faced him again. "Come inside," she whispered.
"It's not a good idea."
"I can't sleep. I need to know you're there … close."
"Casey…"
"What if I promise you that nothing will happen between us tonight?"
He turned his palm so that it cupped her face, caressed her soft cheek. "If you let me in that house, Casey, it's anyone's guess what will happen."
She turned her lips into his palm, kissed him there. He sucked in a sharp, painful breath. Then, impulsively, he pulled her close to him. She gasped but didn't object, didn't pull away. He slid his hands underneath her T-shirt, running his palms along the warm, tight skin of her waist, her back, sliding around to the front and rubbing across her breasts while she cried out very softly.
"I've never wanted like this," she whispered, and the words were like gasoline on an open flame. "I don't even know you, can't even see your face, and yet I want … I want…"
"What?" He held her closer, and when her hips arched tight against him, he knew. He bent her backward, leaned over her, clasping her body tight to his, and kissed her. She opened her lips to let him in. Invited, begged silently for his tongue. He couldn't refuse, wanted to taste her as badly as she wanted to be tasted. So he probed, dipping his tongue deeply, stroking the inside of her mouth while his hands kneaded her backside. She trembled all over, and he did, as well.
And then a dog barked in the distance, jarring him back to reality. He straightened, still holding her, letting her get her balance. "This is exactly what I'm afraid of," he told her. "Losing control. Forgetting the job I'm here to do. You could distract a man, Casey."
She lowered her head. "I'm sorry. This isn't the way I normally behave."
"I know that."
"How could you?"
He said nothing. Casey shrugged, sighing heavily. "It won't happen again," she told h
im. "This is my sister's life we're talking about. I'm not going to risk it for the sake of some fleeting chemical reaction to a man I barely know."
He stared down at her, at the sincerity on her face. "Is that what this is? A chemical reaction?"
She took her time in answering him. "Don't … don't you think it must be?"
"I don't know. I haven't had much experience with this kind of thing."
"Hey, I'm not exactly the happy hooker myself, you know!"
"If you were, I'd know how to deal with all of this."
She made a face at him, shook her head. "At least I know it's not just in my head."
"It's not. But, Casey—"
"Nothing can come of it. I know. I mean, how can I not know? You won't even tell me your name."
"It's for the best," he said, but his voice was coming out oddly soft.
"Understood. It's all understood, Guardian. And now that it is, now that it's out in the open and we know where we stand, will you just come inside? I'll make coffee. We'll talk … just talk."
"All right. But only for a while."
"Only for a while."
She walked beside him to the back door, because it was more secluded from the view of any curious—or diabolical—onlookers.
"Wait," he said, and took something from his pocket, a miniature remote control. He thumbed a button. "Okay, go ahead."
She was impressed. "Seems like you've thought of everything," she said. And then she opened the door and stepped inside.
He came right behind her.
The kitchen was pitch-dark, darker even than it had been outside. She was blind. Totally blind. And she shouldn't have stumbled, but she did.
He was quick to grab her hand. "Let me help you," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I can still see."
THAT MYSTERIOUS TEXAS BRAND MAN Page 6