Accidental Protector: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  If only she could see. But she just takes a shaky step backward.

  “Mindy...” I have no choice. I have to talk fast. She could bolt. “The man who drugged us, Cesare Lucient, he knows where you live. You aren’t safe here. You aren’t safe anywhere except with me.”

  Her eyes go big, filling with horror. Disbelief.

  “Says who? You? After beating around the bush all evening...after lying to me...again?”

  I close my eyes. She isn't wrong. It hurts like hell, but only because it's true, and because I deserve it.

  “Yeah, Lucky. Me. And it’s the full truth. I swear to you, that's what's really going on. I can't leave you here. Hate me if you want, but fuck, please don't go. Neither of us are safe right now.”

  Her eyes, her eyes, her beautiful, strung-out jade green eyes tell me I'm pushing her off a cliff. I’m not getting through. She’s contemplating what I said, but isn’t moving.

  I’m at a complete loss. That rarely happens. If ever.

  The gun is still in my waistband. It’s my last hope. The only thing I have as a peace offering.

  Growling, I pull it out, twist it around and hold onto the barrel as I stretch my arm across the passenger seat. “Here. Take it. Keep it. Just be careful. It’s loaded. Safety's on. You can have it the whole time you’re with me.”

  “For what?” Her trembling fingers move toward it, but then fly back, her eyes searching mine. Just like she's staring at a madman.

  Maybe she is.

  “Hell if I know.” I shrug. “To shoot me if you're worried. If you still don't believe –”

  “That isn't it,” she says sharply, taking the gun gently, yet when her palm forms around the butt, she holds it like she's done it before. “It's just...I think you're finally telling me the truth, and I don't know what the heck to do about it.”

  I swallow hard as her other hand wraps around the top of the Glock, ready to pull back the slide and jack a bullet into the chamber. No mistaking it now.

  She’s not trembling or wary. She’s confident. The comfort and know-how of someone who's definitely handled a gun before.

  I'm shaking my head when I finally ask, “Where'd you –”

  “Wait. My turn. I'll come home with you, Noah, and let you play bodyguard, on one condition,” she says.

  She still hasn’t pulled the slide back on the gun, but sweat beads on my brow.

  Wicked irony. I faced down a lunatic earlier tonight without sweating, yet this little firecracker suddenly seems more unpredictable than Lucient.

  “Name it,” I bite off.

  “Tell me where you got the bag of money.”

  Shit.

  I let out a long sigh, using all six seconds to try and come up with a believable excuse. “Where do you think? Bounty hunting. That's my pay.”

  “From turning in the man in your kitchen? Harkness?”

  “Yeah.”

  She lowers the gun, but keeps her fingers warily wrapped around it. “Get in.”

  I climb in. So does she.

  “Darlin', whatever you're thinking –”

  “Just drive,” she whispers, her voice almost a hiss.

  I start the truck and shift gears. I’m not sure exactly why I’m taking this, letting her believe she’s in charge, ordering me around with a loaded fucking weapon. One that I gave her.

  Not sure, other than the fact that it's the only thing keeping her on my side, and safe. Long as that's the case, I’ll keep it up.

  “Where is he? The man from your kitchen?” She swallows. “Big cash payments aren't the norm in this business, are they?”

  I shake my head. Busted.

  “Right. I read what I could online today. So, why are you working for a man like Lucient, if he's such bad news? Where did Harkness go?”

  My whole body goes so tense I'm not sure what will break first – the steering wheel in my white-knuckled fingers, or my teeth.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. Truly, I'm not.

  Last time I saw him, he'd gone to meet his maker, blood leaking out of him. Lucient could've left Harkness' body in the desert, buried it, or hauled it off somewhere to dump. “I handed him over. Sooner than I would've liked. Got my money and walked away.”

  That's as close to the truth as I'll get. I can't drop another bomb, tell her I saw a man's brains blown out and it was my fucking fault. Thinking I'd been two steps ahead of a monster who was ten moves ahead of me.

  “So, why'd you really become a bounty hunter instead of a used car salesman?” Her soft, angelic face turns, eyeing me cautiously in the darkness. “Why immerse yourself in danger?”

  “That’s a long story,” I growl. Not one I'm willing to get into, now or ever.

  “Then give me the short version, Noah.”

  “That’s not as simple as it sounds, Lucky.”

  “Didn't think it was. But I still want it.” She twists her wrist, examining the gun against her knee in the ice-cold silence. “I’m not a fan of Glocks. They jam too easy. They're also very particular on the brand of ammo. A Taurus is less expensive, and isn't nearly so finicky. They’ll run just about anything without jamming. Even the cheap stuff. Black market crap. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Amusement tickles my spine as I shoot a quick glance her way. I do know what she’s talking about, and I know she’s not just trying to sound like she knows guns.

  “My dad's a big collector. Always had an entire room in the basement sealed off from the rest of the house with its own temperature controls. He has old guns. New guns. Rifles. Shotguns. Pistols. Muzzle loaders. Silencers. Drums. Antique revolvers. You name it.”

  “My cousin,” I say, shifting the subject. “Jess...”

  “What about your cousin?”

  “She’s the reason I turned to bounty hunting. Why I turned back to it.” I think for an easy way to say it. “She’s missing.”

  “You’re trying to find her?”

  I shake my head. “Close enough. I’m going to make sure the man who hurt her gets his due. Justice.” The concern on her face has me adding, “Not by me, the authorities. After he's finally told me the truth.”

  “What’s her name again? Jess?”

  I nod solemnly.

  She lays the gun in her lap, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  “You’re not trying to find her, you mean? You don’t think she’s alive?”

  My gut clenches. I keep my eyes glued to the road.

  It’s a couple blocks later before she says, “Noah, the truth. Whole truth. From beginning to end. Once we get to your condo. Okay?”

  I don’t answer.

  This shit is getting so real my head feels like a grenade with the pin pulled.

  Have to think. Focus. By the time we get to my place, come up with answers that'll be good enough to keep her there, without unleashing the darkness in my soul.

  I'm an expert at walking the line with words. Being under the gun my whole life does that.

  This is just the first time I'm questioning whether it's good enough, whether I can really keep her in one piece without revealing the nightmare nobody needs.

  She looks out the side window for a moment before turning my way. “Look, Noah, I'm not just doing this to be mean. It isn't a game. I know you want to keep me safe – at least, I think you do. I have my reasons, asking for the truth.”

  “Because you have my gun?”

  “Well, that's one, but it hardly touches on anything else...” She falls silent.

  I wait. It’s a good minute before I ask, “What's your deal, Lucky? Can’t think of more reasons?”

  “No. I’m trying to choose the top two on my list.”

  “List? You have that many?”

  She nods.

  Fuck me.

  I wait again.

  At last, Mindy sighs. “You know that sinking feeling you get when you're a kid, first learning to swim? When you think it's impossible, and you're just sure you'll drown?”

  I shake my head, not at
her question, but from what she’s not saying. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Oh, I don't doubt it.”

  A sense of relief washes over me. “We're clear then. Good.”

  “Is it?”

  “Isn’t it?” I ask. What kind of game that's not a game is this?

  She shrugs. “Is it really, truly good that I know Michael Harkness' name? Or Cesare Lucient’s? Or that I’ve seen a bag of dirty money? Or the dried-out blood splatter on your boots?”

  My throat goes dry.

  I don't even look down in the darkness, doubting her. Because I know in my shocked, worn out state after Lucient, after Harkness, I missed cleaning up. I was in too big a rush to get to her.

  She looks at me squarely, confidently. “Those are just a few good reasons you’ll tell me the truth. The whole truth. As soon as we get inside your condo, you’ll either sink or swim. The choice will be yours.”

  9

  Scrambled (Mindy)

  “Sink or swim,” he echoes, like he can't believe what I've said.

  I nod gently. I’ve never felt so alive. So empowered. Or so terrified.

  But this is my chance. Just like he said, even if it wasn't what he meant. It's my turn to prove something, isn't it?

  I can show Noah I’m not a doormat.

  It’s rather amazing I’m not scared speechless.

  Noah, even when he's almost my prisoner, is big and strong and could easily overpower me. Squash me like a bug on concrete, but he won’t.

  Beneath his big, tough exterior there's a heart that's pure. Caring. One that's so damaged it means to do right, even if it doesn't remember how.

  He doesn’t want anyone to know it, of course. Not even me, which means I need to be careful. And I will be because I truly don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I have to stick it out. Have to know if I'm strong enough, bold enough, to truly be on my own.

  And honestly, is there a better teacher than Noah Bernard?

  “What about you?” he asks.

  “What about me?”

  “Will you sink or swim? Knowing everything? You're sure?”

  “I’ll swim,” I say, though a bit of my armor seems to be loosening. That makes me a bit nervous, but I can handle it.

  I don’t have anything to lose. Everyone's already upset with me. There's no place to go. Too many bridges burned.

  Nothing except loud, angry questions if I come anywhere near Phoenix again.

  They claim I just need a little time to come to my senses. They don't get that I already have.

  For once in my life, my mind is made up, and I'm not backing down.

  “You’re sure, Lucky?” he asks me again.

  “Absolutely,” I say. It’s a total lie.

  I’m not sure about anything. Maybe I should've insisted on a red-eye hotel room.

  I do know one thing: when this is all over, I'll find a way to fend for myself. Put my teaching degree to good use. Maybe become a vocal instructor.

  That’s what I used to want. Charlie didn’t approve, wanted to keep me plugged into his neat little family, so all my plans were altered to align with his.

  Why? What about what I wanted?

  What about tonight, where I've backed this snarling tiger of a man into a corner, demanding to peel back the layers, and figure out what he's gotten me into? Before it shoves me into another pit I never asked for.

  “You know, with Charlie, it was supposed to be one date,” I say quietly. “One freaking prom night. I don’t even remember how it got so convoluted.” That’s the truth. I don’t remember. “I kept telling myself I’d call it off, get out, even before we were engaged, but then someone would tell me how sweet we were together. How disappointed they’d be if things didn’t work out between us. 'Meant to be,' they said.” I snort, shaking my head, disgust churning in my stomach.

  Noah sits quietly, staring blankly through the windshield, truck parked.

  “Before I even realized what happened, we'd become the model couple. I remember feeling like a piece on a game board. You know, the boat or the iron, where someone else is rolling the dice and moving you from square to square, without you having any control. I kept waiting for the get out of jail free card, but it was never drawn. Not until that stupid prenup got me hiring a detective who turned up what I'd always suspected. I had to use it. My only chance.”

  I’m not sure why I dump all that.

  I'm supposed to be grinding his dark secrets out. Not mine.

  Maybe I just want him to understand where I’m coming from. So he'll do the same with me. Neither one of us wants to hurt anybody.

  I turn and look at him as he shuts off the truck. The A/C stops and we're left with the warm, dry air of a summer night in Reno.

  We're in an underground parking ramp I hadn't seen my first couple times here, and the bright lights are shining into the cab. “You know what I’m talking about? Don’t you, Noah?”

  He doesn’t nod, or shake his head, just opens his door. “Bed, darlin'. Too damn tired to know anything right about now. We both need shut-eye.”

  The burn in my eyes when I blink tells me he's right, as bad as I don't want to admit it.

  I climb out. By the time I walk around the truck, he’s setting my suitcase on the ground. Tucking the gun in the front of my shorts, I grab the handle. “Don’t forget your duffel bag.”

  There’s a bit of a sneer in the gaze he shoots me.

  I shrug. “Just trying to help. Could be a mighty hard thing to explain if someone finds it.”

  He grabs the bag reluctantly and leads the way to the elevator.

  This really is crazy. I should be scared, or nervous, or second-guessing every step.

  So, why aren’t I? Maybe because deep down, it's exactly what I’ve craved my entire life.

  Adventure.

  I always thought I'd just take a nice vacation to the mountains or the ocean for that. But no, it had to happen like this.

  Call it fate. Will of the universe, hitting me square in the face.

  I’d never have taken on a challenge like this on my own. A way to prove to everyone, including myself – especially myself – that this is my life. I can make it what I want it to be, no matter how strange or weird or frightening it gets.

  I step into the elevator, and the sudden jerk of the suitcase wheels catching on the metal threshold makes me stumble into Noah. My heart skips a beat as his hands grab my arms.

  There's that unholy tension again.

  Our eyes lock for a split second. In the moment, the chasm between heartbeats, I wonder if I should be scared.

  Not by him, or even of him, but for myself. Of the things I find myself wanting, even now.

  His huge wall of muscle could tear me apart. Or shelter me from the entire world trying to do the same. It's the most brutal, puzzling paradox I've ever seen.

  “I got it,” he says, grabbing my luggage handle and lifting it over the threshold.

  Swallowing, I try to calm the blood racing through my system as the door closes. I’ve never felt this alive.

  Purposefully, I keep my eyes on the flashing numbers above the door as the elevator sweeps upward. He doesn’t say a word, and I’m grateful.

  Do I truly know what I’ve gotten myself into? Do I really want to know the whole truth I keep beating him over the head with? Or do I just want him? The exact opposite of everything I’ve ever known?

  When the door opens, I wait until he maneuvers the suitcase into the hall, then grasp the handle and follow him to his door.

  Once inside, I let out a sigh of relief. The large space gives me breathing room.

  “You can take the bedroom,” he says. “I’ll have the couch tonight.”

  I nod and head for the bedroom, telling myself not to feel guilty. It's a very spacious living space, even if it's only one bedroom. Hell, I think his entire den is bigger than Martha's little nest, and I know I spied a library or office.

  A
s soon as I see the bed, exhaustion hits hard. Mental and physical. I need some down time to recuperate.

  I close the door, roll the suitcase to the corner, drop my purse on top of it, and plop onto the bed. Remembering the gun, I pull it out and tuck it under the pillow, safety still on, before I close my eyes.

  I tell myself not to think. Not to listen. To just be.

  * * *

  A sense of déjà vu strikes a few hours later the instant my eyes fly open.

  This time, my memory returns in full as I open my eyes. I lay there, staring at the stark white walls and the bright light shining through the sheer curtains.

  Sometime while I'm waking up, I recognize how hard I’d slept. How soundly.

  I also realize I need a plan of action. I can't hide in here forever, and no surprise, I've overslept.

  The shower is running. My heart kicks into a frantic pace. The bathroom is off the bedroom hall and I’m not quite ready to face Noah with either of us being undressed.

  Last night, in the midst of everything, was one thing. Now, in the light of day, it's another.

  I climb off the bed, noting the clock says it’s after ten. Moving quickly, quietly, I finger-comb my hair on the way to the kitchen. There, after opening cupboard after cupboard, I find a cup and then the pods and fill the machine to brew coffee.

  Once the cup is full of dark steamy goodness, I carry it into the living room, slowly making my way toward the bedroom. The shower isn't running anymore, and not wanting to be caught listening at the door, I turn around and head for the kitchen again.

  The living room is expansive, sleek, modern. Plush with thick carpet and dark, rich-leather furniture. A wide and long couch sits anchored in the center, with a matching oversized chair next to it. There’s a desk in the corner, beside the sliding glass door, and a coffee table as well as a side table with lamp. A large TV hangs on the far wall, above a massive fireplace, just opposite the wall that hosts the wide opening leading to the kitchen.

  It’s almost hotel-like. Not very lived in. The walls are white and blank for the most part. The only decorations are a few pictures lining the mantle of the rock fireplace. I stop to take longer looks at each frame. I half-expected stock photos.