The Protector

by HelenKay Dimon

  “The shoot-out fourteen years ago.” It made her sick that she needed to talk about more than one shooting at Sullivan. This initial one was bad enough. The final one shut the school down and ended in arrests and more body bags.

  “I was about twenty. We were at the shooting range.” Damon shook his head as his eyes became clouded.

  He looked as if he were locked in the memory. She leaned forward thinking to reach out, provide some comfort, but she pulled back at the last sentence. This was the poison that raced through him and colored how he viewed his place in the world.

  “The firing started and I shot back. It’s what I had been trained to do and . . .” He gulped in air. “I didn’t know who was aiming at us. Not at first.”

  Damon stood up then and started pacing. “There was so much noise. All this screaming and someone yelling into a megaphone and issuing orders that I couldn’t make out. It all blurred in my head.” He laughed but there was no amusement in the sound. “My uncle made these illogical leaps all the time, would go into these paranoid ramblings, but here these shooters were, on our land without warning. The government had moved in. It’s where my mind went and all I could think of and there were these innocent kids running around and my mom, who was also at the range.”

  Cate’s heart ached for him. She’d experienced so much loss. It’s what fueled her. She needed to get close enough to the heart of the chaos because she thought if she did she’d find answers. He didn’t get that choice. He was thrown into danger and had to fight his way out.

  Without a sound, he went to the window and pulled the curtain back, staring into the parking lot. “When the shooting stopped my mom was dead. The FBI agent who had been sparring with my uncle via email was also gone . . .” He let the curtain drop. “Because of me.”

  “You were arrested at Sullivan.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, thinking it would help him tell the story, but she really didn’t know if that was true or not.

  He shrugged without looking at her. “I didn’t even know my mom had died from her wounds until my attorney told me.”

  Cate knew the rest of this piece of the story. Politicians stepped in. The school fought back. Higher-ups in the FBI hung the whole thing on a rogue operation by a rogue employee and the ATF was happy to pass the blame. Back then it made sense and no one mentioned Dan. She had to assume Damon’s dad provided cover.

  “I was arrested and locked up for four months before the charges were dropped. But the threats that I could be arrested again lingered and it took years for me to be fully cleared. Uncle Dan spent a few more months than I did in jail that time. The official line was that I was a collateral victim in an unfortunate incident.” He looked at her then. “That’s the actual phrase they used.”

  Just like her sister’s death was called an unfortunate accident. She hated the word unfortunate almost as much as she hated the false impression using the word accident gave off.

  “I got out all pissed off and feeling like I’d been lied to about everything,” Damon said, continuing the explanation.

  “And your dad?”

  “He was lost, in mourning and not much of a help to me. When he did visit—one time in four months—he insisted he didn’t know what Dan was teaching us or how he’d pushed the FBI into the fight.”

  “That really wasn’t even a question in the press.” Not that she remembered reading. “Everyone sided with Sullivan and no one mentioned your uncle being . . . off.”

  Damon sat down next to her. Not right on top of her. Their bodies didn’t touch, but he was there. “I left and spiraled into a pretty big mess. Quint found me when his friend caught me stealing. I broke into this poor guy’s house and by the time I hit the driveway on the way out, Quint was standing there, gun strapped to his side.”

  She really wanted to meet this guy. To thank him. “He saved you.”

  “Yep.” Damon nodded. “He asked me if I wanted to die and when I didn’t immediately answer he dragged me to his car, threw me in and took me to get dinner.”

  “Let me guess. A burger?”

  “Of course.” He shot her one of those sexy little smiles of his. “My first one ever.”

  “I take it Dan got worse from there.”

  “He spun out of control after that, insisting he’d been right about everything. Made more plans. From what I was told later, he picked up the pace on storing weapons and getting everyone out on the range.”

  “I remember my mom talking to Shauna about the news but there was so much support for the school that they figured it was fine. In fact, I think it won some sort of award after the initial shooting.”

  “More than one. Politicians and the police chief publicly apologized to everyone at Sullivan. People at the FBI retired early to get out from under the scandal.” Damon stood up again, as if the energy in his body refused to let him sit still. “The second shoot-out came years later. That time there were weapons and the student body had dwindled and those left there took on Dan’s ideology. I was long gone for that one.”

  “I’ve read the stories about that.”

  “I heard the facts from Wren. You can imagine the file he’s collected on Sullivan.” Damon stuck his hands in his back pockets then pulled them out again, letting them hang loose by his sides. “You know, in case I ever needed it.”

  “He tried to save you, too.”

  Damon nodded. “He did. All five of them and Quint. Later, Garrett.”

  She didn’t understand why he couldn’t see the truth. These things happened to him—things out of his control—and he reacted. A man was dead at Damon’s hands and she didn’t minimize that. It was clear he didn’t either. That kind of horror should stick with a person, change them and maybe make them more grateful or careful, but Damon didn’t actually let it define him even though he thought it did.

  She stepped up behind him. Debated about doing more than offer support from a distance then took the risk. Her arms slid around his waist and she sighed in relief when he grabbed on and pulled her in closer.

  She kissed his shoulder through the soft T-shirt then rested her cheek there. “A man who is dead inside wouldn’t care that he killed someone who was stalking him.”

  The stiffness of his muscles made her hold on tighter. She kissed the side of his neck, hoping to soothe some of the chaos she felt exploding inside him. “You wear this mistake like a protective blanket.”

  “He’s dead, Cate. He had a son and that son doesn’t have a father.” His hand kept brushing over the back of hers. “That’s on me. No one else.”

  Tension pressed in on them, choking off some of the air in the small room. “You were trying to save yourself and the people around you.”

  “It’s not an excuse.”

  “It actually is.”

  He broke out of her hold then. Went over to the dresser and picked up his keys. “I’m going to go get us some food.”

  She wanted to scream. Not at him this time, at the situation. At all the unfairness. At how broken they both were because of things that happened years ago.

  Even knowing it was a dead end right now, that he couldn’t really hear her, she tried again. She’d expected to come to Sullivan and focus solely on Shauna. She didn’t want to care about the people there or think of them as anything other than a way to collect information.

  Those days were long gone. Shauna still stayed at the forefront of her mind all the time, but she made room for Damon there, too. After a few short days thrown together in this frenetic environment she needed to save him as much as she needed to save herself.

  “You care about Wren and Trevor and Garrett. About all your friends.” The right word was love but he looked ready to bolt, so she kept the words more neutral. “Those are emotions, Damon. Real feelings of a guy with a beating heart.”

  The keys jangled in his hand. “Is a burger okay with you?”

  She’d lost him. More talk, trying to reason with him, none of it would work. She wasn’t an expert on men, but she wa
s starting to understand this one. “With fries. I’m not an onion ring fan.”

  He winked at her. “I’ll get extra so you don’t steal mine.”

  The light tone had returned. He wore a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. She recognized all of it as fake now. This was the Damon mask he wore when the conversation dove too deep. The guy who joked and kept things shallow. Still sexy and funny but just a shell of who he really was.

  “Perfect.” She said the word to his back because he was already at the door. When it closed behind him, she rushed over to it. Lifted up on tiptoes and peeked outside. The blurry image didn’t tell her much except that he stood next to the car with his hand on the roof and the door still shut.

  He could deny it but she knew the truth—Damon Knox or Ryan Michael Sullivan or whatever he wanted to call himself felt everything.

  Hours later, after they’d eaten and watched hours of bad television together, they both headed to bed. Separate beds. No touching. No real conversation that slipped past joking about what was happening on the screen in front of them. No talk of leaving either. Damon didn’t have the energy. Not tonight.

  He flipped from his side to his back for what felt like the tenth time. The sheets started off as soft with the right room temperature. Now he couldn’t find a comfortable position and he flipped from sweating to chilled every few minutes.

  He wanted to blame his father, Sullivan, the weather. He knew this jumpiness rose up from inside of him. He’d struggled with sleeping for more than a decade. He didn’t see that changing any time soon.

  “Damon?” Cate’s soft whisper moved through the quiet room.

  He lifted his head then pushed up until he balanced on his elbows behind him. The curtains had plunged the room into darkness except for the tiny sliver of outside light he couldn’t figure out how to block. It cast her in shadows but he could make out her long legs and shorts.

  “You okay?” Because he wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to run from him. Now that she knew who she’d tied herself to, it had to panic her.

  “May I sleep with you?”

  He must have heard that wrong. “What?”

  “No condom usage, just sharing a bed.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Yeah, I met you and now want to share a bed with you.”

  He meant a nightmare but that answer was so much better. Scary as shit and confusing, but pretty damn great.

  Rather than respond, he lifted the sheet and comforter, inviting her in. Her footsteps thudded against the floor as she practically jogged over to the bed. She slid in, fitting her body close to his. By the time he pulled the covers over them she’d scooted back until her back rested against his front. Her legs curled around his.

  His heartbeat stuttered in reaction. Every muscle sparked to life, all signs of exhaustion and fighting with the sheets gone.

  He inhaled, taking in the scent of her shampoo and the smell of flowers on the back of her neck. He had no idea where that came from but he liked it enough to lean in and take another whiff. But that was as close as he planned to get. Already he was looking at a long hot night. Touching her set off a firestorm inside him and it took all of his energy to tamp it down again.

  She reached back and grabbed his hand, pulling it over her hip and resting it on the subtle curve of her stomach.

  This was going to be pure torture.

  “Cate?” He pressed a soft kiss in her hair. “What exactly are we doing right now?”

  “Cuddling.”

  The laughter came out before he could stop it. “Are you kidding?”

  Her body stayed soft and welcoming. Nothing about his reaction seemed to bother her. “It’s a real thing. Get used to it.”

  That sobered him up. “You think we’re going to sleep like this often?”

  “I’m not sleeping alone at the commune or cult or whatever we’re calling it.”

  The sigh escaped him right behind the laugh. “We’re supposed to be dating, which includes sleeping together.”

  “I need answers. You need to deal with your father and his legacy and everything that happened to you back then.”

  “I already have.”

  She snorted. “For a smart man, you’re talking silly.”

  “Most people think I’m pretty solid.”

  “Rock solid.” She slipped her fingers through his. “But also a bit of a mess, but a cute mess.”

  “Thanks . . . I think.”

  “Take it as a compliment because what I said makes you flawed but very human.” She settled all of her weight against him now. “And don’t think I forgot that I owe you a huge fight with lots of yelling.”

  He smiled because she was not wrong. “I was hoping you were ignoring that. Maybe giving me a freebie.”

  That earned him a second snort. “Hardly.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about my family sooner.” He wasn’t sure when would have been the right time but he never meant to hurt her, so he did feel like shit about it.

  “You’re going to make it up to me by packing up tomorrow and relocating to the school with me without whining or giving me the silent treatment. I’m not a fan of either of those, by the way.”

  Since he knew that was coming he didn’t fight it. “You’re taking away all of my best guy moves.”

  “I have faith you’ll come up with others.”

  “If I do all these things I’m forgiven?”

  She lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of his. “Until you do something else that ticks me off.”

  “You sound pretty sure I will.”

  She returned their hands to her stomach. “I know you think you’re all broody and complex and hard to read, but you’re really not.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about your ability to read me.” It felt kind of good and that made him a bit shaky.

  “Get used to that, too.”

  Chapter 13

  Cate didn’t know where they were emotionally but it felt like they had scaled a huge mountain and managed to survive it. That gave her hope they’d find some answers at Sullivan. Since they’d been invited, at least they might not get attacked again. That would be a nice change.

  But before the packing and the anxiety about whether they were making the right decision and getting through what she assumed would be some of the worst father-son reconnecting moments ever, she needed something else. Damon.

  She stood next to the dresser in her pajama shorts and matching T-shirt. They were pink-and-white checked and her favorites . . . and she was ready to take them off. Better yet, have him take them off.

  She needed touching and closeness. They’d spent all night wrapped around each other, with his face pressed into her neck. The rhythmic sound of his soft breathing lulled her to sleep. The heat rolling off his body woke her up twice, but she’d just snuggled in closer and held on.

  It was sweet and intimate and a total surprise, but now she wanted more. She needed to feel something other than frustration and sadness over her sister. They’d shared so many feelings and secrets from the past, but a part of her was desperate to know if he could connect with her on a deeper physical level. She had no idea why it mattered so much—maybe she needed that test to clear some hurdle she’d set up in her mind—but it did.

  She’d gotten up ten minutes before. All the shifting on the mattress seemed to wake him because when she came out of the bathroom, he went in. Now she waited, looking at the closed door as a tiny bit of light filtered through the dark curtains. Not a lot, but enough to brighten the room and signal morning.

  On cue, the bathroom door opened with a click. His gaze went to the empty bed then zoomed around the room. A smile lit up his face as he spied her. Then he yawned and started frowning.

  “Why are you up at . . .” He squinted at the alarm clock next to the bed before he fell back into it. “Is it really only six in the morning?”

  He sounded appalled by that realization. He sent her a have-you-los
t-your-mind look before grumbling about women messing with his sleep.

  “It’s actually six-o-three.” But who was counting?

  “You were moving around, so I got up thinking it was later in the day. Even brushed my teeth.” He closed his eyes as his arm fell over his head on his pillow. “What a waste of toothpaste.”

  The poor thing. “I think we can put all your hard work to good use.”

  He opened one eye and peeked at her. “Tricking a man with the wrong time of the morning is not okay.”

  He certainly liked to complain about weird things. If he’d stop talking for a few seconds, she was pretty sure she could turn his mood around.

  Deciding that standing a few feet away from him wouldn’t get the job done, she went to the bed. Crawled right up there and straddled his hips with a leg on either side of him. “I’m betting I can make it up to you.”

  Both eyes opened now. “I’m listening.”

  She saw the spark, the moment it hit him that he was getting a special kind of wake-up call. “Good.”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “That tone sounds dangerous.”

  “It is. Risky, dangerous and maybe a little stupid.” She rested a hand on his chest, learning the sharp lines of his muscles through his thin T-shirt.

  “It’s like you’re describing my personality.”

  She lifted her lower half a bit then settled back down against him again. “No arguments there.”

  A strangled sound rose up from inside him. “So, tell me what’s happening right now.”

  But he knew. How could he not know? She was practically riding him. “We have one thing to do before we relocate.”

  “Eat?”

  She reached into the elastic waistband of her shorts and took out the condom she’d pocketed a few minutes earlier. Held it up with two fingers, daring him to act confused now. “This.”