"And I suppose you're going to tell me what's important."
"That girl up there. Her sister. And today. What's not important is the past. It's as gone as if it never existed."
"Not to me, it's not."
"Maybe not. Maybe it can't be. But you have to ask yourself if the past is important enough to let it rob you of a future."
"I have a future. As The Guardian."
"It's no future at all."
"It was good enough for Caine."
"And Caine died a lonely, unfulfilled man. All he had, all he ever had in the world was you. For him it was enough. But what if you hadn't come along?"
Frowning, Marcus turned away.
"He'd have had an aging houseman, an empty mansion and a pile of money. Is that going to be enough for you, Marcus? It's something you need to decide now, before it's too late. It wasn't enough for Caine. Nor for the Guardian before him. They both lived to have regrets I hope you'll never have."
The ambulance pulled into the hospital lot, and Graham pulled in, as well. Opening the door, Marcus got out and stood frozen as they wheeled Casey in through the automatic doors.
"Think about it, Marcus," Graham said. Then he leaned over, closed the car door and drove away.
"As if I could do anything but think about it," Marcus said. His throat was dry, his hands damp as he hurried into the hospital.
"Marcus?"
"Right here, Casey. Right here."
A large hand closed around hers as Casey opened her eyes and battled the disoriented confusion swimming in her brain. She'd been sleeping, but felt scared. She'd been aching, but didn't know why.
"Where are we? What's—" Her eyes finally found his, and when they did she went silent. He looked so … stricken. White, with worry lines around his eyes that had never been there before. His lips were tight, thin.
"You're okay." His hand on hers tightened, a reassuring squeeze. "Bruised up pretty well, and there are some burns on your back, but…"
"The car…" She felt her stomach twist as she recalled what had happened. The explosion. The pain. The stranger.
"Looks like it was a bomb," Marcus said softly. "The bastard rigged it to go off when the driver's door was opened and closed again. He probably hoped to take you both out."
She blinked, searching her mind. There was something … she had to tell him. Something she'd told herself not to forget.
"Thank God it didn't work. What the hell were you doing, Casey? I told you to go straight to the suite. Why did you—"
"You know why."
His dark gaze held hers for a long, tense moment. "You were coming to the house. To help me nail the bad guys like some kind of supergirl, right, Casey?"
"If you can be Batman, I can be Wonder Woman," she said softly. "But that's not why I was coming."
He looked at her, lifted his brows. "Why, then?"
"To be with you."
Slowly, he lowered his head. "I already told you—"
"It can't happen. I know. And don't run screaming yet, Marcus. I changed my mind. That's why I didn't get into the car. Instead I slammed the door and turned away, and that's when…" She closed her eyes. "I wasn't going to tell you any of that."
"Must be the pain medication."
She met his gaze once more. "So all I had to do to get you back was get myself blown up, huh? Maybe I should make a note … for future reference."
"I'd rather you try some less traumatic method next time."
"Are you saying there will be a next time, then?"
He looked away.
"I didn't think so." She sighed, tried to sit up, winced a little when the sheets rubbed across a sore spot on her back. "There was something else, something … someone…" She bit her lip, and it came back to her. "He was there. I saw him."
Dark brows drew together until they nearly touched. "The—"
"Yes. Yes, get a pen, Marcus." Closing her eyes, she dragged the reluctant memory to the surface and fought to keep it there. "Silver car… Mercedes, it was a Mercedes. Texas plates. K…S…G. Yes, it was G. Seven-six-nine."
Once it was out, she felt safe to open her eyes again, only to see Marcus scribbling the information down on a pad. When he looked up, there was admiration in his gaze. "How did you possibly—"
"I noticed him there just before … and then when I looked up, he was standing there, just looking at me. I took a long look at that Mercedes before I passed out."
He shook his head slowly, then leaned over and stroked her hair. "You're something else, Casey Jones. Must be one hell of a reporter."
"I am."
He nodded at that. "Are you hurting?"
"Not unbearably."
"They want to keep you overnight. The doctor thought there were internal injuries at first, when your blood pressure started falling like a stone. You scared the hell out of me, Casey."
"Good."
He sent her a quizzical frown, then went on. "Turns out it was only shock. You're okay. And … I can't let you stay the night here."
She thought for a moment, then nodded. "It's exactly where he'd expect to find me, once he realizes I survived the blast."
"Right. And you're far too vulnerable here. I want you home, where I can protect you. You think you're up to that?"
"Gee, I don't know. Let me think on this a minute. I can either spend the night with a bunch of nurses, or I can spend it with my own personal superman. What a decision."
"Casey—"
His voice held a warning tone, and she knew he was about to tell her not to keep hoping, not to keep wanting him, to stop flirting so shamelessly.
She turned her hand in his, linked their fingers and said, "Shut up and take me home, Marcus."
He nodded. "I'll tell them to get your release forms in order. I've been fending off cops all afternoon, by the way, but I think I've finally got them convinced neither of us has a clue why anyone would want to ransack your house or blow you to bits. They'll leave us alone … for a while, at least."
"Thanks. I don't want to deal with them right now. Hell, they'll be questioning every lowlife I ever exposed in print—and half the ones I'm investigating."
"I hadn't even thought of that. Just that they'd get in the way of my catching this bastard." Marcus pulled a phone from his pocket, thumbing the buttons. "Graham, I have a plate I want you to run for me. Ready?"
He read off the plate number, along with the description of the car, and as he did, he paced. When he finished the call and dropped the phone into his pocket, he turned to go. But just then the door opened and a nurse came walking in. Casey was so startled by the intrusion that she emitted a squeak of alarm. And as soon as she did, Marcus's eyes were on her again, concerned.
"Nurse, can you have someone get Ms. Jones's release forms ready and have them brought in here?"
"But she shouldn't be leaving—"
"She's leaving." Marcus came closer, sat down on the edge of the bed. "And until she does, I'm not. So if there's a problem with that, we'd better address it now."
He spoke to the nurse, but his eyes were on Casey. Silently reassuring her that he wasn't going anywhere. That he wouldn't leave her vulnerable to another attempt by this maniac who'd turned all their lives upside down.
It was in that instant that she knew she loved him.
Her breath came a little faster, she felt her pulse rate quicken. Damn, she hadn't meant to fall … not this far, this fast. It was a risk. She wasn't sure if it was a wise risk … or one she was willing to take.
But it didn't really matter, anyway. She no longer had a choice.
"Just so you know, this is against my better judgment." He stood beside the car, holding the passenger door open for her as Casey got out.
"As long as you're sure there's not a bomb waiting for us inside…"
"I doubt it."
"Try not to be so reassuring." She put her feet on the blacktop of her driveway, started to stand, then grimaced.
"Hurts, huh?" He leaned over, pulled one of her arms
around his shoulders and helped her to her feet.
"Getting blown up does that to me." She winced when he started to walk her forward.
Marcus knew he shouldn't—because of his own reactions and, from the look of things, hers, as well—but he did it anyway. Turning toward her, he scooped her into his arms and started up the walk.
Casey sighed softly. Her breath caressed his cheek. "A girl could get used to this kind of thing."
"A girl could dig her keys out of her pocket," he said. Flippant, yes. But safe. Unlike the press of her body to his, or the warmth of it suffusing his own.
She wriggled a little, then shook the keys at him. He held her close enough to the door so she could unlock it, and between the two of them they got it open. Marcus carried her inside, paused just past the door to take a look around. Listened, trying to sense any other presence. Nothing seemed out of place. No sixth sense told him anyone had been here.
"I think it's safe," she said. "If we were going to explode, we'd have done it by now, don't you think?"
"Speak for yourself."
She looked up quickly. "Should I take that as a compliment?"
"Forget I said it." He strode across the living room's carpet and lowered her to the sofa. "How you feeling?"
"The burns hurt a little. Walking around isn't too comfy—I imagine because of the scrapes and bruises on my legs. But as long as I'm sitting still, I'm pretty much okay."
"Then stay sitting still."
She made a face. "Sure. You can wait on me all night."
He sketched an exaggerated bow, then straightened again. "Right after I take a look around."
"Be my guest."
"I'll only be a minute."
She smiled, a sly, secret smile he didn't like, because it sent his blood pressure through the roof. "Good."
Marcus swallowed, but it still felt as if his throat were coated in sand. Rather than try to spar with her verbally—tough when a man was rendered speechless so often—he set off to check out the house. Upstairs and down. Inside and out. At last he'd assured himself that no one had been around or tampered with anything. And he didn't see anyone watching, either. Probably their terrorist needed time to regroup.
Or else he was working on getting to her in the hospital. The staff were deliberately keeping Casey's name quiet, so the creep would have no definite proof of which sister he'd nearly killed today.
He peered in at Casey, just to see that she was okay. She lay still on the sofa, eyes closed, looking like his fondest fantasy with her hair spread around her, lips slightly parted, breasts rising and falling with every gentle breath.
Not a good idea to look at her too long, he decided, and ducked back into the kitchen. He rummaged in the fridge, found the makings for a light dinner and started whipping stuff together. A chicken stir-fry was sizzling in no time.
"What's that heavenly smell?" she called.
He poked his head around. "I thought you were sleeping."
"Resting my eyes. And starving. You never told me you could cook."
"I never told you a lot of things."
"Think you ever will?"
He stood silent in the doorway. She sat up slowly and stared at him over the back of the couch. His throat dry, stomach churning, he shrugged. "Depends. What do you want to know?"
"What do I want to know?" She shrugged, and he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. It scared the hell out of him.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Casey watched him walk into the living room, a plate of food in each hand. He set them down, and she watched him walk out again. She could, she figured, while away a lot of time watching him. He moved like an athlete. Like a dancer. And he probably wasn't even aware of it.
He came back again, bearing drinks this time. Fragrant hot chocolate, steaming and frothy. But her gaze was more interested in the way his hands cupped the mugs, curling around the warm ceramic. Never spilling a drop. He'd asked her what she wanted to know about him. But she thought she knew him well enough by now to realize he wouldn't reveal a bit more than he wanted to.
She sat up a little straighter on the sofa, making room for him to sit beside her, then leaned forward and inhaled the delicious aromas. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"
"Graham. He's rather a jack-of-all-trades."
"Is he?" She tasted a bite of the chicken and vegetables, closed her eyes in pleasure. "How long have you two known each other?"
"Most of my life. You like the chicken?"
She tilted her head to one side. "The chicken is fabulous. Are my questions making you uncomfortable?"
His lips quirked slightly at the corners. "You're too perceptive for your own good."
"I thought so. I was trying not to ask anything too personal."
"And skating around what you really want to know."
"You'd rather I come straight to the point?"
He nodded but didn't look her in the eyes. "I'm not sure you have to. I can guess what you really want to ask about."
"And if I did ask you about that night … the night that's still giving you bad dreams … would you tell me?"
He shrugged. "For a long time I could barely remember it. It's funny. Since I've been here, it's been … coming back to me."
She set her plate aside. "Do you have any idea why?"
He only shook his head, pushed his food around a little, then set the fork down.
"I made you lose your appetite."
"No, not you. The memories. It's not a pretty story, Casey. You sure you want to hear it?"
"I'm sure."
He nodded, licked his lips, lowered his eyes. "It was three days before Christmas. But I didn't celebrate Christmas that year. I haven't since."
"Maybe you should."
He shook his head. "My father was an accountant, but he was never happy doing taxes and books for a few dollars here and there. He was always looking for a fast buck, always coming up with one easy money scheme or another. You know the type."
When he looked at her, Casey nodded. But she didn't speak, half-afraid that if she interrupted him now, he'd stop. This was obviously difficult for him.
"He got involved with some of the lowest life-forms on the planet."
"Criminals?"
He met her eyes, nodded once. "Money laundering. I didn't know it at the time, but I'm sure that's what it was. He got greedy, started skimming from the clients. One of them caught on."
Casey closed her eyes slowly.
"Dad came home early that day, and he was scared. I could see it in his face, plain as day." Marcus's jaw was tight, his face pinched, tormented. "He told Mom to go find Sara. She was playing her favorite game of hide-and-seek. She loved that game…" Lifting his head, he swallowed hard.
Casey put a hand on his cheek. "You loved her a lot, didn't you."
"I adored the kid."
Tears burned in the back of her eyes, but she didn't dare let them spill over.
"Dad said we had to leave right away. He sent me to the basement for the suitcases. While I was down there, someone kicked in the door. Then there was gunfire."
"Oh, God," Casey whispered.
Marcus's hands clasped tight between his knees, and his head hung low. "I couldn't move. I just froze there, paralyzed. My mother screamed … a name, I think, but I've never been able to remember what it was." He drew a shuddering breath. "After a while there was no more noise. Nothing, just this deathly silence. Not a normal kind of quiet, you know. It was heavy. Different. You could feel it, weighing down on you, smothering you."
She stroked his hair, wishing she could stroke the pain away. Knowing she couldn't.
"When I finally went back up there … they were gone."
"All of them?"
He nodded. "Even at ten, I knew they were dead. The place was ripped apart from the gunfire. There was … blood. Everywhere."
Pressing her hands to her mouth, she stifled a sob, but he heard it, looked up at
her. "Don't cry for me, Casey. It was a long time ago."
"That doesn't make it any less heartbreaking." She slid closer to him, put her arms around his waist and lowered her head to his shoulder. "What did you do, Marcus? How did you survive?"
He didn't pull away from her. She heard his sigh. "A man found me wandering around in shock. He took me in, raised me as his own."
She lifted her head to stare into his eyes. "The authorities let him adopt you?"
"As far as the authorities were concerned, I was dead, along with the rest of my family."
"But—"
"If the killer had known where to find me, Casey, he'd have come after me, too. He wouldn't have left any witnesses if he'd had a choice. I figure the only reason he left when he did was because he knew the police were on the way. Otherwise he'd have searched the house. He'd have found me."
"Thank God he didn't." She squeezed him tighter.
Marcus extracted himself very gently. "That man, the one who took me in, was the Guardian. He trained me all my life to take up the role when he could no longer fill it. And when he died, that's what I did."
Casey nodded slowly. "Was he … the first?"
Marcus shook his head. "No, there was another before him. Lately, I've been suspecting the first Guardian might have been someone I know very well." Casey tilted her head, but he said no more on that subject. "There's a reason I'm telling you all of this."
Blinking slowly to dry her eyes, she nodded. "I figured there probably was."
"It's so you'll understand, Casey. So you'll know. All the love I had to give died with my family. The only love left is love for what I do. It's all I have—all I need."
She swallowed hard. So he had finally confided in her just to drive his point home. To make her give up any hope of having something with him. "You only wish that were true. But it isn't, Marcus."
"Isn't it?"
She shook her head. "You still love them, don't you?"
The pain that welled up in his dark eyes almost did her in. He averted them, got up and began clearing the plates away. "You should get some sleep," he told her.
"I'll never sleep tonight."
"Try. You've had a hell of a day."
"So have you."
THAT MYSTERIOUS TEXAS BRAND MAN Page 15