Damien watched her closely as she staggered then caught herself on the counter. He raked his gaze over her, lingering on her split, swollen lips. He'd have to treat that when she calmed down. When she opened her eyes again, that helpless confused look shot right through him. Her tears touched a chord deep within him. His combat hardened heart cracked a little but none of his carefully honed instincts told him what to do. He did the only thing that came to mind. He went to her and pulled her roughly into his arms.
* * * *
Laurie felt his arms slide around her and sagged against him. She gasped for breath, sniffling between sobs, and leaned on his broad chest. Listening to his heartbeat, she allowed the strong rhythm to steady her until her knees stopped wobbling. She lingered for a moment, wrapped in his strong arms, and drew a deep, slow breath. The aroma of strong black coffee mingled with the sheer masculine scent that proclaimed him man. Something indefinable shimmered inside her, something that resembled desire.
With a deliberate shake of her head, denying the brief sensation, she backed out of his embrace and stared up at him. The glimmer of concern in his eyes disconcerted her. He awkwardly brushed away the last trace of her tears with his finger. Such tenderness seemed out of place for him. His flustered, uncertain expression touched her and she almost smiled.
His finger lingered, gently tracing her lips. Sharp pain shot through the soft tissue, made her rudely aware of the damage and the fierce throb under the swelling. She winced and took another step back from him. He dropped his hand, lifted his gaze to hers.
"Some ice might help,” he murmured.
She shrugged. “Later."
She bent over to pick up the remains of her mug and wipe up spilled coffee. It was time to put things back in perspective.
"All right,” she said as she dropped the rag into the sink. “Tell me what is going on here, Lt. McAllister. Who were those men and why were they in my house?"
She poured herself another cup of coffee with still trembling hands and sat at the table. Watching him intently, she waited until he was seated again. Her stomach churned, anticipating only bad news.
"What do you know about your father?” he countered curtly.
She shot him a sharp glare and shook her head, refusing to tell him anything about her family.
He sighed, sipped his coffee, and peered into her eyes. “You're not going to like it."
She let out a frustrated breath. “I already don't like it. Spill it."
"All right.” The dangerous gleam in his eyes unnerved her despite the matter of fact tone of his voice. “Your father is working with terrorists. He's smuggling weapons and technology out of the country. We don't know if he joined them willingly or if he is being forced. If that is the case, you and your daughter could be part of a plan to keep him in line."
Laurie shook her head in automatic denial. “Not my father. He died before I was born."
"Are you sure?” he persisted. “Maybe he simply left and your mother lied to you."
"No!” she argued, rattled by his persistence. “He's dead. If he had simply left, Mother would have found him and forced him to pay child support and alimony. She always hated that he died and left her nothing but me."
Laurie looked away from him, stared at her own hand clenched around the cup. In the last twenty-nine years, Marjorie Crawford had never failed to remind her daughter of how she had done everything for Laurie with no help from anyone, especially her husband.
"Are you close to your mother?"
Laurie stiffened at his insensitive question but lowered her head. Marjorie wanted very little to do with the daughter she heartily disapproved of so Laurie had stopped trying to bridge the distance.
"She says I'm too much like my father,” she finally said, her voice full of regrets she could not banish.
"Whether or not this man is your father, your life and your daughter's are in danger. Someone believes you are related to Nathaniel Crawford."
Her head snapped up again and she stared at him. “That doesn't make sense,” she stated skeptically and rubbed her hand wearily across the back of her neck. “Why? I don't have anything that would interest terrorists.” She blinked and rubbed her neck again. “I'm too tired to think straight."
"It's crystal clear.” Conviction rang in his voice. “The terrorists believe you to be related. If Crawford is giving them a hard time, then by threatening to harm or even kill you, they can force him back in line. They would have had you tonight if we had not stopped them."
Laurie cocked her head, puzzled. “How did you know?” She fiddled with the cup in her hand but did not want any more coffee. Her nerves were already jangled and wired for sound.
"Intelligence,” was the terse response. “The government has been looking for this group for years. They've been elusive until now. When we had a name, we looked for possible connections and strike points. You were at the top of the list."
Exhausted, Laurie smothered a yawn. “What happens next? I assume there'll be more trouble.” She propped her chin on her hand and struggled to keep her eyes open and her mind focused. “They won't just give up."
"That's why I'm here,” he said. “I'm staying to protect both of you."
She snapped to abrupt attention at that declaration. “Just how do you intend to do that? I don't want the Army camped on my doorstep."
He snorted with derision. “Not Army. I'm a Navy SEAL."
"A psycho,” she muttered under her breath. “That's all I need.” Of course she had heard of the Navy SEALs—the Navy's fiercest, best trained soldiers. They were an elite group, the best commandos in the world. They thrived on danger and risk.
If McAllister heard her muttering, he gave no indication. She sighed in resignation. She could not ask for a better bodyguard but she did not have to like it.
"You'd better get some sleep,” he suggested, staring into his coffee cup. “We're leaving in the morning."
Just a few hours later, morning dawned bright and clear but the morning air carried a distinct October chill. Laurie stretched wearily under the thick blue comforter and shut off the annoying buzz of her alarm clock. Resisting the urge to roll over and go back to sleep, she slid out of bed to stand barefoot on the plush gray carpet. Bleary-eyed, she wondered why she felt as though she had not slept long enough. She had gone to bed at her usual time. She frowned, brief images of gun fights, terrorists, and soldiers flitting through her mind.
"What a weird dream.” She yawned and stretched away the lingering effects of sleep but could not chase the weariness. After Stacy left for school, she would catch a nap.
She dressed quickly in a gray sweatshirt and faded jeans as she shrugged off the vague memories of the odd dream. But she could not forget those compelling dark brown eyes. Just the memory of him looking at her, of that gentle finger on her face, his strong arms around her, sent pleasant tingles along her spine.
"Too bad he was just a dream,” she murmured as she tugged on socks and shoes. “A product of your vivid imagination."
She dragged a brush through her hair, twisted the length into a ponytail, and dashed down the stairs. Stacy would be up soon wanting breakfast. Her foot hit the bottom step. Her casual glance swept the living room, and then jerked back and she stumbled to a halt.
The room was a disaster, the picture window and furnishings destroyed. Various holes yawned in the walls. Laurie clutched the corner of the wall and gaped at the destruction. Every vivid detail of the night before rushed back into her head. Her heart pounded in her throat and she swallowed hard.
"Shit,” she groaned, devastated, and looked around the room.
Her glance landed on a framed eight-by-ten picture that had fallen off the wall. Dazed, she deftly picked her way through the rubble to retrieve the photograph of her and Stacy on Stacy's fifth birthday. Holding it in trembling hands, she gently blew off dust and glass fragments. Why? Who?
She knew. McAllister had told her. She did not want to believe it. Ordinary people in ordi
nary places did not have to deal with terrorists. The situation had all the earmarks of a movie-of-the-week. But it was real, and it was happening to her. Laurie frowned and, illogically, hung the picture on the wall and turned away. Damien McAllister stood in the living room entrance.
"It wasn't just a dream,” she murmured, breathless, referring to the soldier as well as the destruction.
He said nothing, his gaze locked with hers. His eyes were as dark, as compelling, as she remembered. Her nerves tingled, sizzled. He made her very aware of being a woman as she took a step toward him. Glass crunched under her foot, snapped her back to reality. She stepped over what used to be a glass-topped coffee table and all but ran past him to the kitchen.
"Want some coffee?” she offered, keeping her voice carefully neutral as she passed him. “I need some."
McAllister stepped aside, not touching her. But her stomach fluttered in sensual awareness. His piercing stare seemed to bore into her skull as he followed her. He seated himself in the same chair he had used a few hours earlier, facing the kitchen and back doors. Of course, she realized. He wanted advance warning of intruders. A steaming cup of coffee sat in front of him.
Laurie poured herself a cup from the pot he had already made, lit a cigarette, and joined him at the table. Glancing at her ‘bodyguard', she wondered idly if he had bothered to sleep at hall. He needed a shave and a shower, though the dark stubble made him sexy rather than scruffy. Unruly black hair was tousled around his head in a mass of waves her fingers itched to slide through. He still wore the same rumpled uniform but her mouth watered at the sight of him. Dark circles under his eyes proclaimed fatigue but those dark eyes glittered with steely determination. His presence seemed to fill her kitchen, overwhelming her. She forced herself to look at the tabletop, lifted her cup to her lips.
"How soon can you be ready to leave?” he demanded suddenly.
Startled, she glanced at him in surprise. “Why do we have to leave?” She forced herself not to clatter the cup as she set it down.
"The terrorists know where you are,” he replied succinctly. “It makes sense not to be here when more of them arrive."
She drummed her fingers on the table. “But with you here they can't get in."
He flashed a brief but weary grin. “I'm good at my job but I'm not superhuman or bulletproof. We can't take such a dangerous chance."
Hearing Stacy move around upstairs, Laurie peered at him. “Where would we go?"
"A place only I know about."
"Stacy will be absolutely safe?” Laurie demanded anxiously. Her voice shook with love and fear. “I couldn't stand it if anything happened to her."
He nodded slowly, lifted his cup. His stare locked with hers over the rim of the cup, promising safety.
In a subdued tone, she told him, “Give me an hour. We'll be ready."
* * * *
Damien loaded Laurie and Stacy's two suitcases and his duffel bag into the back of a rented four-wheel-drive pickup truck then climbed in behind the steering wheel. Laurie buckled Stacy into the middle of the bench seat and fastened her own safety belt. Worried, she looked at Damien over her daughter's head. She clamped her teeth on her lower lip. Damien glanced at her and reached under the seat. He pulled out a holstered handgun and peered at her.
"Do you know how to use a gun?” he demanded stonily as he removed the weapon from the holster and checked the load.
She shook her head, staring at him. She twisted her fingers together to stop the nervous tremors. She had no experience with guns. She did not want to touch it.
With a grim expression, he slid the gun back into the holster and handed it to her. She barely managed not to flinch at handling the deadly object.
"It's ready to fire,” he advised curtly. “Just don't point it at anyone unless you intend to use it."
Uncertain, Laurie stared at the gun, tempted to hand it right back to him. Her glance moved to her daughter's head and she let out a slow breath as she tightened her grip on the gun.
"Just point and pull the trigger?” She cursed the fear in her voice.
He nodded, held her gaze for a moment, then started the engine and backed out of the driveway. Laurie cast a last lingering glance at her home and wondered how soon she might return.
Chapter Two
Several hours later they had left the city of Wilcox behind. Damien drove deeper into the mountains but Laurie wanted to stop soon. She barely refrained from asking ‘how much longer', like a small child. Her lips twitched at the notion. She glanced down at Stacy snuggled beside her. She was sound asleep.
Laurie smothered a yawn and blinked at the fatigue pulling at her. She lifted her weary gaze to Damien as he kept his attention focused on the road. His grim expression testified to intense concentration. Long lean fingers gripped the steering wheel as he turned it, forcing the truck off the asphalt onto a narrow dirt road.
As she packed he had showered and changed into street clothes. Wearing faded jeans and a white sweatshirt under a black vest full of pockets, Damien appeared very much an outdoorsman. Rugged, strong, he handled the truck expertly on the rough road. He drove slowly. Her gaze lingered on his hands. She imagined those same hands on her, gliding smoothly over her bare skin. Her breath caught and she nearly choked. Her vivid imagination burned the tantalizing images into her mind.
She yanked her gaze from his hands and stared out the window. The road, little more than a dirt trail, twisted through the dense wilderness. In the gathering dusk, huge gnarled trees crept past. Glimpses of a steep drop on the right kept Laurie peering out the window.
The truck's headlights lit the road, pushing back the encroaching gloom to show the trail more clearly. The trail twisted sharply, dangerously, as it climbed and curved through the trees. Darkness fell quickly, leaving only a few stars to peek through the treetops. A log cabin came into view and Damien slowed the truck to a stop. He shut off the engine and quietly opened the door.
"Stay here,” he ordered tersely. “I'll be back in a few minutes."
Laurie shivered in the cool mountain air and pulled Stacy, still sleeping, into her lap. Damien disappeared around the side of the cabin. Her gaze wandered but Laurie saw very little in the moonlight filtering into the small clearing. The front wall and door of the cabin stood stark and plain, distinctly unwelcoming in the dark. The two windows were dark. The forest surrounded the overgrown clearing and the cabin. No one who did not know exactly where the cabin was would ever find it.
Minutes later, movement snagged her attention. Damien emerged from the darkness on the other side of the cabin and went to the front door. Actually, she thought, watching him duck under the window, he sneaked up on the door. He braced himself, gun drawn, and feet shoulder-width apart. He pointed the gun skyward, reached forward, and grasped the doorknob.
He pushed open the door, ducked around the doorjamb, and slipped inside. Seconds later, the lights blazed in the two front windows and spilled out the open door, a welcome sight to Laurie's tired eyes. Relieved that no danger awaited them, she opened the truck door and climbed out. Stacy slept in her arms. Looking very dark and dangerous, Damien strode past her, gun on his hip, to retrieve their supplies.
Laurie shivered again, cold, as she followed him inside. A cold wind blew around them, whistling morosely through the trees. She kicked the door shut behind her. Stacy stirred in her arms, opened her eyes, and Laurie set her on the floor.
While Damien built a fire in the wood-burning stove, Laurie looked around what was essentially a one room cabin with a loft at the far end. A sofa bed, already pulled out and made up, stood under the loft. A large table and six wooden chairs stood in the middle of the room. The stove threw out plenty of heat now that Damien had a fire roaring in it. Laurie moved closer and the fire chased the cold from her body. Enveloped in warmth, she stood by the fire and took in the rustic design as she listened to Damien putting things away in the kitchen area along one wall.
"Mommy,” Stacy whined beside her. �
��I'm hungry."
And tired, Laurie thought in the midst of her own exhaustion. She glanced at Damien rummaging through the cabinets then looked at her watch, surprised to find it was only a little after seven in the evening. The lack of sleep caught up with her and she stifled a yawn as she put Stacy in a chair at the table then sat beside her. Damien poked around in the refrigerator. Laurie eyed him curiously.
"How do you get power here?"
He grinned wearily. “Generator. It uses gasoline."
"Need help?” she offered though she really did not want to move.
"Nope.” He lit two stove burners, set a saucepan on one and a skillet on the other. He moved around the kitchen as easily and knowledgably as she imagined he roamed a battlefield.
Dinner was a silent affair of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Laurie and Damien eyed each other but said nothing as they ate. Her serene routine life had been turned upside down and she did not like it one bit. She had no doubt her face and the events of the previous night were plastered all over the media. I can do without this upheaval, she thought bitterly. What effect would it have on Stacy? Laurie expelled a ragged breath and lifted her gaze straight in Damien's penetrating stare.
Dark, dangerous, and strangely compelling, he drew her in and had her contemplating urges she had buried long ago. Her earlier fantasy of his hands roaming over her bare skin streaked through her mind. She lowered her lashes but peered at him surreptitiously. Her gaze lingered on his full, sculpted lips. Would they be firm on hers? Or would they be soft, supple, and mobile?
The slight rustle beside her interrupted her thoughts. Hoping her face was not fiery red at the direction her thoughts had taken, she dragged her gaze from Damien. Stacy had almost fallen asleep after barely touching her dinner. Laurie quickly finished eating, then carried her daughter up the stairs to the loft. Stacy groggily changed into warm fuzzy pajamas and crawled into bed with a wide yawn. Laurie pulled the covers over her, tucking her in with a gentle good night kiss.
Always a Warrior Page 2