The Dangerous Protector

by Janet Chapman

  Jane sighed. “No wonder we’re both still single,” she muttered. “I’ll hang around until you call back. You have the number.”

  “Okay, ’bye,” Willow said, closing the phone and turning to Greg. “Thanks again for offering to feed me. Another time?”

  “Sure,” he said, his smile understanding. “You want me to wait and walk you to your car?”

  “No. I have to clean up my office if I don’t want another lecture from Karen in the morning. And I have a few more calls to make.”

  One of which would be to Duncan, she decided.

  Greg gave her a nod and turned and headed toward the front door. Willow watched him stop and talk to the night guard at the front desk, and saw them both look back at her. She gave them a wave and turned toward her office with a smile. Knowing Greg, he’d just asked the guard to keep an eye on her and walk her out to her car when she finally left.

  Greg had joined the AG’s office just three months before Willow had, and being the new kids on the block, they’d quickly become friends. For two years Greg had been hinting at something more than friendship, but Willow had been reluctant to pursue that avenue. She liked Greg, but dating a coworker was a bit outside her comfort zone, considering her history of revolving boyfriends. It would be awkward having to see him every day after they parted company.

  Willow sat down at her desk, behind the mountain of files she’d accumulated, and absently ran her thumb over the keypad of her cell phone. Jane wanted water samples. Well, she could get them this Friday, when she and Duncan visited Thunder Island. She punched a few buttons on her cell phone, calling up the number to Jane’s lab, and pushed SEND. The phone was answered after only two rings.

  “You owe me big-time for this,” Jane said without preamble. “Do you know how hard it is to hide sick lobsters in a lab I’m sharing with three curious colleagues?”

  “Would a long weekend on Monhegan Island put me back in your good graces?” Willow asked, leaning back in her chair and swinging it to face the window. “With five-star cooking and a bedroom with a fireplace and whirlpool?”

  There was a heartbeat of silence, and then, “It might, if a blond-haired, blue-eyed hunk comes with that bedroom, who’s long on muscle but not too brainy. I’ve had it up to my armpits with brainy men.”

  Willow laughed, remembering Jane Huntley’s blatant pursuit of every jock in high school. “But then what would you talk about?” she asked.

  “Talk?” Jane chortled. “If he’s a hunk, why would I want to talk to him? Grunts and groans are enough.”

  “My God, you’re shameless,” Willow growled. “And to think I used to envy you.”

  “You stole Ray Cobb from me,” Jane said without malice. “That wasn’t shameless?”

  “I was a sophomore,” Willow said, figuring that was explanation enough.

  “Is it really true? Patty left Ray?”

  “Not for long, I don’t think,” Willow said, using her foot to rock her chair. “Ray loves her too much to lose her. About those water samples—how do I go about getting them?”

  “Swing by here and I’ll give you some bottles and show you how to take the samples without contaminating them.” Jane hesitated. “Are you sure you want to pursue this on your own, Willy? We have the equipment and manpower to look into this.”

  “I promised Ray, and by default I’ve also promised the other fishermen,” Willow told her. “And I likely will call you guys in once I know the who and the how of what’s happened and I’m ready to go public. Until then, I appreciate the favor you’re doing for me by keeping this quiet. I’ll call just as soon as I know when I can get up there to get the test kits.”

  “Okay,” Jane said. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep researching. You know, there was something similar to this down off Long Island a few summers ago. The lobster industry was all but devastated, and they attributed it to pesticides used for mosquito spraying that washed into the ocean. There’s even a class-action suit by the lobstermen pending.”

  “But this poisoning is contained to only Thunder Island,” Willow pointed out.

  “I know,” Jane agreed. “I’m just relating a similar occurrence. The Long Island Sound lobsters were also listless and millions died.”

  “And that’s why you suspect pesticides? It couldn’t be heavy-metal poisoning or something like that? Or a parasite or a naturally occurring disease?”

  “Not heavy metal. Lead or mercury poisoning is a long-term, cumulative problem. As for a natural disease, I can’t rule that out. That’s why I need those water samples.”

  “Okay, then,” Willow said with a tired sigh, scrubbing her face with her free hand. “I’ll call you in a day or two. And, Jane? Thanks.”

  “Not a problem, Willy. Remember, blue eyes and blond hair.”

  Willow closed the phone with a laugh and leaned back in her chair and thought about blond hair and green eyes. And she also thought she must never introduce Jane Huntley to Duncan Ross.

  Willow snapped her cell phone back in the clip on her belt and picked up her office phone. She opened her day planner to her address book, to the “Ds” for Duncan, and decided she would call the pub before she tried his home.

  Chapter Six

  It was after ten at night when Duncan dragged himself up his porch stairs; the only thing keeping him moving forward was the thought of spending the next hour in a hot sauna and then falling into a soft bed.

  Cold-water diving was hard on a man’s body, and seeing all those dead lobsters and crabs littering the ocean floor around Thunder Island was just as hard on a man’s heart.

  “I knew when I was building that sauna it was the best part of your remodel,” Luke said as he plodded up the stairs beside Duncan. “The Swedes certainly know how to deal with bone-chilling cold.”

  Duncan unlocked the kitchen door and stepped aside for Luke to go in first. “I noticed ya built it bigger than the blueprints called for,” Duncan said. “Perhaps on the misguided notion that I share my toys?”

  “I was still recuperating from my nearly fatal swim in the Gulf of Maine,” Luke said without apology. “I swear that kind of cold stays with a man for months. I was only planning ahead for days like today.”

  “Go turn on the sauna and I’ll get the Scotch,” Duncan suggested, taking off his boots. “The towels are in the—”

  “Duncan!”

  Duncan spun on his socked heels only to quickly open his arms to catch the lithe, feminine body hurtling toward him. “Molly!” was all he got out, the impact of her body against his making her name emerge more as a plea than admonishment.

  “Ewww,” Molly squealed, wiggling free and stepping back. “Ya’re freezing.” She suddenly noticed Luke standing in the hallway, and her smile moved to him. “Hi, Luke,” she said, her cheeks turning a soft pink. “Ya look cold, too.”

  “A hug would warm me up,” Luke said, opening his arms.

  Molly hesitated only the merest of seconds before stepping into Luke’s embrace. But when Duncan realized Luke had no intention of ending the hug anytime soon, he pulled his sister out of his friend’s clutches and turned her to face him. “What are ya doing here, Molly?” he asked. He stiffened and look toward the living room. “Where’s Mother?”

  Molly’s smile disappeared. “Home,” she said succinctly.

  “Ya came by yourself? Does Mother know ya’re here?”

  Molly shook her head. “I’ve run away.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “It’s not considered running away from home when ya’re twenty-six years old.”

  Molly darted an embarrassed glance at Luke, who was watching them with unabashed curiosity, then inched closer to Duncan. “Mother’s being impossible again,” she whispered. “She’s even threatened to call the queen and ask her to lock me in the Tower of London.”

  Duncan ruffled his baby sister’s long, thick mane of strawberry blond hair. “Believe me, squirt,” he said with a chuckle, “if she hadn’t been so worried about saddling Her Highness with ya, she
’d have done that years ago.”

  Molly patted down her mussed hair. “She’s also threatening to disinherit me again.”

  “Now what did ya do?” Duncan asked, running a tired hand over his cold face.

  “I told her I was going to New Zealand to marry Ben.”

  Duncan came completely awake. “Ben who?”

  “Benjamin Zane. He’s a sheep farmer in New Zealand, and I love him and I’m going to marry him.”

  The silence in the kitchen was so suddenly absolute, Duncan could hear the blood rushing to his throbbing temple. He stared into Molly’s challenging green eyes, not knowing whether to curse or roar in frustration.

  “I, ah, think I’ll turn on the sauna,” Luke said, quietly disappearing down the back hall.

  “And just where did you meet this Benjamin Zane, and how long have you known him?” Duncan whispered.

  “I haven’t actually met him. Not in person,” Molly whispered back. “We met on the Internet.”

  “And you’ve fallen in love over email, and are moving halfway around the world to marry a man you haven’t actually met,” Duncan said even more softly. “And you’ve run away from home because Mother won’t go along with your plans. Have I got it right so far?”

  A dull flush colored Molly’s cheeks as she nodded, her huge green eyes—now more uncertain than defiant—locked on his. “I love him,” she said so softly Duncan barely heard her. “And I need yar support.”

  Duncan involuntarily shivered, not from the cold but from the image of his baby sister being lured to New Zealand by Ben the sheep farmer—if that’s what he really was.

  “So, will ya help me with Mother?” Molly asked.

  “No.”

  “Duncan!”

  He pulled in a calming breath. “Not tonight, Molly,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and smiling warmly down at her. “Ya can’t hit me with this kind of news and expect me to rush to your rescue. We’ll talk tomorrow. How did ya get here from the airport?” he asked, not having seen a car in the driveway.

  “I took a taxi.”

  “From Bangor?”

  Molly wrinkled her delicate, freckled nose. “I hate driving on the wrong side of the road. The taxi might cost a fortune but at least I made it here alive.” Her feminine brows lowered in a frown. “And how come ya don’t leave a key under the mat? I had ta crawl in through the mudroom window.”

  “For the same reason I lock the door,” he said, turning to the cupboards and taking down a new bottle of twelve-year-old Rosach Scotch. “To keep the honest people out. Does Camden know you’re here, at least?” he asked, reaching into another cupboard for glasses.

  “Nay,” Molly said, climbing onto a stool at the island. “I stole away like a thief in the night.”

  Duncan pointed at the phone on the wall. “Call them.”

  “If I do, Mother will be standing in this kitchen by noon tomorrow,” Molly warned, her eyes bright with renewed challenge. “Are ya that anxious ta see her?”

  “Dammit, Molly,” Duncan snapped, setting the glasses down with a thunk. He opened the Scotch with a violent twist. “I swear you’d try the patience of a saint.”

  “I love ya, too, big brother.”

  It took all of his willpower not to drink straight from the bottle, but Duncan carefully poured the Scotch into the three glasses, slid one toward Molly, and picked up another. “To family dynamics,” he said, tapping his glass to hers, then downing the Scotch in one swallow.

  Molly slowly sipped hers.

  Duncan refilled his glass, then slid Luke’s toward him when he came back and sat at the island.

  “Oh, I answered yar phone earlier,” Molly said. “About twenty minutes ago.” Her eyes brightened again and her mouth curved into a huge smile. “She said her name was Willow.”

  Duncan downed his second glass of Scotch in one gulp.

  Molly canted her head. “She seemed a bit surprised when I answered. Is she a girlfriend? Or should I say, was she a girlfriend?”

  Duncan closed his eyes, again undecided whether to curse or roar. “I don’t suppose ya told her you’re my sister?”

  “Now what fun is there in that?” Molly asked with a laugh. “I only told her I expected ya home soon.” She folded her hands on the counter and stared innocently up at him. “I asked if she wanted ya to ring her up when ya got in, but she only said ta tell ya ta crawl back in yar cave.”

  Luke choked on his drink.

  Molly’s eyes danced. “I swear I heard her mutter something about a troglodyte as she was hanging up the phone.”

  “Ya’re reckless for someone wanting my help,” Duncan growled, spinning away from the island and walking to the door. “Luke, you can sleep downstairs in my bed,” he said, bending over and putting his boots back on. He straightened and gave him a threatening glare. “And I’m trusting ya to be in it alone.”

  Luke snorted. “It’d be kind of crowded with me and Molly and the sheep farmer,” he muttered, downing the rest of his own drink, shuddering when the warmth hit his belly.

  “Luke doesn’t have ta stay. I don’t need a babysitter,” Molly said, her defiant eyes moving from Duncan to Luke, then back to Duncan. “And anyway, where are ya going? Ya just got home.”

  “To straighten out the mess ya’ve made of my love life,” Duncan said, grabbing his jacket and pointing it at her. “I’ll be back by noon tomorrow, so don’t even think of running off to New Zealand.” He took a warning step closer. “Because if I have to chase after ya, you’ll be begging to be locked in the Tower of London.”

  That said, and not waiting for a reply from either of them, Duncan slammed out of the house and into the cold night. Damn it to hell. Willow thought he had another woman staying with him. Talk about compounding problems; at the rate things were spiraling out of control he’d be lucky if Willow didn’t shoot him when he showed up on her doorstep tonight.

  Duncan climbed in his truck and headed toward Augusta, then spent the next two hours trying to decide if he should politely knock on Willow’s door—or just quietly pick the lock, let himself in, and crawl into bed with her before she knew what was happening.

  But in the end, Duncan decided knocking might win him more points than scaring the hell out of her. It was long after midnight when he finally walked up the steps to the back apartment of the huge old house in the center of Augusta, softly clapped the brass knocker, and waited with the patience of a man standing on the trap-door of a gallows.

  The distinct sound of metal clanking on metal tickled her subconscious, slowly pulling Willow from the depths of a restless dream. She fluttered her eyes open to peek at the clock on her nightstand, groaned when she saw it was just after one in the morning, then suddenly twisted upright at the realization that someone—and she was pretty sure who—was knocking on her door.

  “I’m coming,” she called, not caring that she sounded testy as she slipped into her robe. She snapped on a lamp when she padded into her living room. “So help me God, you better be on your knees,” she muttered as she threw open the door.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “Troglodytes don’t have families. They crawl out from under rocks,” Willow shot back, sidestepping when he crowded his way inside. She gently closed the door and leaned her back against it, crossing her arms under her breasts.

  Duncan turned in the middle of her huge living room, his hands on his hips and his fierce gaze locked on hers. “She’s my sister,” he repeated, his eyes darkening. “And ya don’t open your door without knowing who’s on the other side. Not in the middle of the night, and not during the day.”

  “I saw your truck through the window.”

  “You’re supposed to close your curtains at night.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be sure to close them from now on.”

  “Molly showed up unannounced,” he said, slipping out of his jacket and letting it fall to his feet. He started unbuttoning his shirt. “She’s a brat with a perverted sense of humor,” he added
, shrugging out of his shirt and letting it fall next to his jacket. “I’ve had a hellish day, my eyelids feel like they’re lined with sandpaper, and I’m so cold I’m numb,” he finished, pulling his navy blue T-shirt over his head and tossing it down on the coffee table. Then he took off his boots and socks, straightened, and started unbuckling his belt.

  Willow could only stand frozen in place and watch, neither appalled nor surprised when he dropped his pants, stepped out of them, and stood facing her wearing only a scowl and navy blue boxers.

  “So you just walked out on your sister?” she asked, fighting to stifle the laughter bubbling inside her.

  Lord, but Duncan appeared right at home standing in the middle of her eclectic assortment of old-world furniture; he was big and solid and weatherworn, quite wonderful to look at, and he definitely held the promise of comfort.

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing?”

  Willow pushed away from the door and headed to her bedroom, taking hold of his hand as she walked by, pausing only long enough to shut off the living room light. “I wouldn’t dream of laughing at you, Dunky,” she said, leading him over to the bed and shrugging out of her robe. “I know a man at the end of his patience when I see one.”

  She slipped into bed, scooted to the far side, and patted the mattress. “Come here and let me warm you up.”

  Her offer appeared to surprise him; he stood rooted in place, staring down at her through the muted shadows. “I need a shower.”

  “You need me more.”

  “I’m dead on my feet, counselor.”

  “Then get off them,” she said, patting the bed again.

  Still he didn’t move.

  Willow ducked her head to hide her smile. “If I promise not to attack you, will you just come to bed and let me cuddle you?”

  “Cuddle,” he repeated, deadpan.

  “Why are you so cold?” she asked, inching her way closer to him. “What were you doing today?”

  “Luke and I went—” She reached out, grabbed the leg of his shorts, and pulled him down into bed—quickly scooting out of the way before he landed on her. “—diving,” he finished with a whoosh, his momentum rolling him over until he had his arms wrapped tightly around her.