Protector

by Catherine Mann

  A much-needed laugh bubbled up inside her, rising until she couldn’t contain herself. She held her aching side and let loose, tension flowing from her muscles. Giggles swept through her like a summer rain shower, cleansing away the tension of the past twenty-four hours. After the terror and disillusionment of the prior day, laughter felt good. She kept right on laughing until the sting of tears behind her eyes let her know how close she was to losing control.

  Chuck scowled at his bare toes in the plastic aqua bargain-basement sandals.

  Another laugh slipped free. “Ow!”

  She touched her tender side.

  “Serves you right,” he snapped, although he couldn’t hide the obvious concern in his eyes despite the words.

  “Oh, it’s worth it, down to the last chuckle. Chuckle… Chuck, chuckles, like your pal said when you thought I was asleep.”

  His head whipped around, his eyes narrowed.

  Her laughter faded.

  Reality crept over her. Or maybe it had something to do with the somber expressions plastered on the two men’s faces. This was big-time, serious stuff. Life-and-death stakes for them from here on out.

  Yesterday, too, for that matter.

  Chuck snatched the plastic bag dangling from the doorknob. “Wait until you see what Nuñez brought for you. He’s already grinning like the Cheshire cat so I imagine it’s going to be a winner.”

  “Thanks,” she said curtly, sifting through the sack. “Wow, they’ve even included matching flip-flops. Your boss is some kind of big spender.”

  Digging farther, Jolynn nibbled her bottom lip. Nuñez was obviously out to cause trouble. Jolynn eased free a tiny wisp of floral cotton.

  “Good thinking, Nuñez,” he gloated. “She’ll need a scarf to cover her hair.”

  Mike smiled. “Oh, that’s not a scarf. It’s her shirt.”

  “Shirt?” Chuck’s smile flattened.

  “A bandeau to match her sarong. I believe I have the terminology right for the garb. That’s what my Anya calls them.”

  Jolynn sifted through the bag and pulled out another scrap of clothing not much larger than the first.

  Chuck tugged the silky fabric from her hands. “Won’t her bruised ribs show? And what the hell happened to keeping a low profile? There’s no way she can fade into a crowd in this.”

  He held up the floral outfit, a piece in each hand.

  Uh-oh. He did have a point. Ready to demand differ ent clothes, she glanced at the silky wisps again and reconsidered. Perhaps resurrecting a bit of her Venus de Milo facade might not be such a bad idea.

  She wanted him. He wanted her. If they spent more than a couple of days cooped up here, the attraction could easily fire out of control. So why not take a gamble where she would be the one in charge? She’d never wanted a man the way she wanted him, and with a ready-made time limit on the relationship, she wouldn’t let it spiral out of control.

  Nuñez waved aside Chuck’s scowl. “Calm down. If we have to move you, the two of you will look like the rest of the tourists blowing through town. Throw a camera around your neck, wear a hat, have her put on big diva sunglasses, and play around with your accent. You’ll be fine. I will make sure of it.”

  Clutching the clothes to her chest, she backed toward the bathroom. “Mike, if this is the way you treat your friends, remind me to stay on your good side.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, something dark replacing the warm and fuzzy guy who’d been chatting her up earlier. She saw the undercover facade peel away. She saw the kind of man Chuck worked with. The kind of people sent to take down her father.

  Nuñez blinked and just that fast he was a regular fisherman again. “Just immerse yourself in the character you’re playing. The rest will come.”

  Chuck quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve already made it rather difficult to fade into the background.”

  “Okay”—Nuñez shrugged—“these were the best I could do on short notice. Later this evening, I’ll have something more practical to cover the body armor when we transfer you. Meanwhile, this will get you through the day in case you have to leave here and anyone sees you. Now, chill.”

  She forced a ragged breath to steady her pounding heart. Chuck had saved her out there on the water. She needed to remember that and hold on tight. Even if she resented needing his protection, she was dependant on him until… Hell, she wasn’t sure when. The ship might not be safe. And Texas was a long way away.

  She didn’t want to fall victim to her father’s business like her uncle had. She was here now, with Chuck, and while he might not be the Charles of her dreams, he was what she needed to keep her safe.

  And on a deeper, more physical level as well.

  She clutched her “tourist” garb to her chest. “I should go change.”

  “That’s my cue.” Nuñez adjusted his leather hat on the way to the door, his expression changing until he looked ten years older. He stopped half in, half out of the door. “Whatever will the two of you do alone in this room all day?”

  * * *

  By midafternoon, Jolynn stared down Chuck in an intense battle of wills. His expression gave no quarter as he sat a mere hand’s reach away. Tension snapped between them so hot and tangible she could almost hear it crackle along the air.

  Jolynn tilted her head back, her nostrils thinning as she weighed her options. Take him on? Or retreat, end it. God, how she hated to simply quit. Too many times in her life she’d simply folded to pressure, afraid to press her luck. She was just about to lose her nerve when… she saw the droplets of sweat bead on his forehead.

  Her mouth curved in a smile of victory. “Hit me.”

  Chuck sailed the card across the scratched pine table. A nine. Damn.

  “Busted.” Jolynn scribbled the latest score on the notepad. Perspiration trickled down her spine.

  “That’s supposed to be the dealer’s line.” Chuck spread the cards facedown and mixed them around in a smooth card washing before gathering them up for a normal shuffle. He swiped a muscular forearm over his brow. “I wonder how much longer we’ll have to wait for the air conditioner repairman?” He directed his voice to the bugged Van Gogh reproduction. “Did you catch that? We’re melting in here.”

  The day spent with Chuck, both of them wearing next to no clothes, hadn’t done much to improve her already irritable mood. When Chuck had suggested cards, putting a table between them had seemed like an inspired idea. Except it wasn’t a very big table. Of course, a picnic table wouldn’t be large enough. Jolynn brushed her fingers over her brow, the moisture caused by more than a broken air conditioner. Opening a window put them at risk, so they were stuck with a rickety old fan.

  “Get ready for the next hand.” Chuck resumed shuffling, although the cards, clammy with humidity, proved more sluggish than his normal handling. “Aw, to hell with it.”

  Chuck smacked down the deck. He whipped the cabana shirt over his head, muffling his voice until the shirt cleared his face. Was it her imagination, or had the table just shrunk?

  She couldn’t seem to look away from his sculpted chest. The man was totally ripped. As he tossed aside his shirt, each muscle flexed and moved. Sweat glistened on his skin, adding a sheen to an already smoking-hot, touch-me body.

  The gun strapped to his waist cast a dark slash across his washboard abs. Her belly knotted. Then she realized how long she’d been staring. She glanced up quickly.

  Chuck stared back. His chest rose and fell faster, his brown eyes turning smoky with an answering desire. She’d wanted to make the most of her time with him, and it appeared the time might have come. Still, making that first move was always a risk.

  With a will of its own, her trembling hand reached across the small table. Her fingertips trailed a light path over his chest, snagging on the end of his silver chain before continuing downward. His muscles tensed in response, and she smiled, the age-old feeling of a primitive feminine power coursing through her.

  The listening device offered her a degr
ee of security in the exploration. Nothing further would happen between them with his NSA buddy in earshot and a guard in the hall.

  Skimming her knuckles down the middle of his chest, she savored the texture of his damp, bristly hair. His heat simmered into her, bringing an answering flame that rivaled the sweltering room. She swirled small circles along his skin, lower and lower still until the table stopped her path. Leaning back, she brought her hand to her mouth, lightly tasting the salty flavor of him lingering on the pad of her finger.

  His arm snaked across, gently imprisoning her wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss against her palm and replaced her hand on top of her cards. She couldn’t move.

  She didn’t understand him. She certainly didn’t need a man she couldn’t trust. But after the past twenty-four hours had flayed her emotions raw, her body simply wouldn’t listen to her head.

  Chuck stared at their joined hands, his brow furrowing. What rattled around inside his mind beneath his lushly thick hair?

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, then grabbed the pencil. After scratching a few words across the page, he pushed the pad across with one finger.

  I never meant for you to get hurt.

  He had heard her words the night before after all. She wanted to cry. If she looked at him, she knew she would.

  Chuck retrieved the pad for another note, then passed it back. What else would he have to say? How much more could she take?

  I’m sorry.

  The words immobilized her in a way no lengthy speech could have. No one had apologized to her, ever. Not in any meaningful way. Even her father had sent her away without a word of explanation, much less apology.

  Jolynn squeezed her eyes shut against the tears threatening to spill free. Eventually, the roaring in her ears dwindled, and she heard the rhythmic click of Chuck dealing the next round.

  He dealt the hand with lightning speed in spite of the sticky cards, his gaze carefully avoiding hers. She reached for the pencil, and he nudged it just out of reach. She found his action almost more telling than words. He wasn’t comfortable with emotional diatribes. That made his apology all the more touching.

  “You’re really good at that.” Slightly breathless, she stumbled over her words. What happened now? She wasn’t sure she could handle another night with so much need churning in their small room.

  He tipped his cards by the corner for a peek. “Are you going to talk or play?”

  Still a man of few words. Somehow understanding the bit of his personality that transcended any cover story reassured her. “Did they teach you about casinos in basic training or super spy school?”

  Chuck paused, thumbing his cards.

  Jolynn rested her chin on her palm, ignoring her hand on the table. “Is there some rule against you talking to me?”

  He tapped the deck, his eyes growing pensive. “I picked up some tips here and there. My mom dated a blackjack dealer before she died. Not many kids get to play Go Fish with a professional cardsharp. And later on, the nuns at the orphanage enjoyed some poker to break up the monotony of too much Bingo.” Suddenly, he bolted from his chair. “They really need to do something about the air conditioner.”

  Sweeping a broad path around Jolynn, Chuck crossed to the bedside table. He snatched the phone off the receiver, listened, then tapped the base.

  His silence held a new air, a tension she might have missed days prior but understood all too well now.

  “What—”

  Chuck stopped beside Jolynn, pressing a finger to her lips for silence. He yanked his shirt back over his head. “Why don’t you deal the next one,” he said in a voice a touch louder than normal. “I need to make a quick trip to the head.”

  Chuck transformed back into the man by the river, the professional at the safe house. Every inch of him hummed with restrained energy, leashed power.

  He wrapped his fingers around the grip of his gun and nudged the door open. Chuck pivoted to the doorway, body tight as if poised for a second confrontation. Peering out, he tensed.

  Where was the guard? Jolynn hunched down in her seat.

  Chuck crooked his elbow, pulling his gun up and ready. He took a deep breath and spun into the hall. His arm dropped to his side, and he stepped back into the room.

  Jolynn relaxed, already growing weary with his cops and robbers drama. “Where’ s—”

  Chuck shook his head. Jolynn frowned, looking past him.

  Two pops echoed down the corridor. With a knowledge Jolynn wished she didn’t possess, she recognized the sound from the shooting by the river. Another gunshot, closer. A scream. A shout of pain.

  In a snap, Chuck locked the door and shoved a dresser in front. He spun back to her fast, dropped the floppy hat onto her head, and shoved her purse into her arms.

  He held out his hand, brown eyes cold as stony onyx. “We’re going out the window. Now.”

  Jolynn knew she only had a second to decide what to do. And the decision wasn’t even tough. Someone had tried to break into her room. She’d been shot at on the beach. Her dad ran with a dangerous crowd. All that combined was more than enough reason for her to have some serious concerns for her safety.

  She looked at the pad of paper still resting on the table. I’m sorry. The choice of who to stick with was a no-brainer.

  Jolynn reached for Chuck, prepared to follow him out a second-story window.

  ELEVEN

  Focus narrowed, Chuck let training and instincts take over. He raced to the window to look out at the street below. The balcony was only one story up. Provided there weren’t more goons waiting for them below, he could lower Jolynn down and jump.

  Walking out the door didn’t sound appealing. A look had shown him the guard lay slumped on the floor beside his chair. His eyes stared wide, unblinking, dead, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. God only knew what had happened to Nuñez and the OSI agent downstairs. A howling sense of fury raged through him along with a flashback to his time in captivity. For days, he’d sat beaten and half-conscious in his cell, listening to the screams of someone else a wall away, the captors shouting questions. It was almost worse when the noise stopped and he realized that faceless prisoner, a brother-in-arms he would never meet, was likely dead.

  Cold sweat popped along his back. He couldn’t think about those voices then or his friends downstairs now. He would call in the crisis as soon as he had Jolynn out.

  A thump rattled the door. A boot most likely. He yanked Jolynn to the side because undoubtedly soon—

  Bullets tore through the wood frame.

  He threw back the shutters and yanked open the window. Fingers linked with hers, Chuck shoved her out onto the small Juliet balcony. “I’m right behind you. If we get separated, call the number inside the waistband of your skirt and ask for Rex.”

  The colonel would take care of her if worse came to worst. Chuck kept his 9 mm aimed at the door. The frame loosened, the dresser inching with every shove.

  He turned to help Jolynn only to find she’d already swung a leg over the rail. Before he could so much as clasp her wrist, she launched herself toward the sidewalk.

  Atta girl. Admiration for her spunk kicked through him as he grasped the rail. Up and over, he landed sure-footed beside her. Above, he heard the bedroom door crash in.

  Hooking an arm around her waist, he hauled her through the walled courtyard and out onto the street. He snagged Jolynn’s hat from her tight grip and clamped it over her bold red hair.

  He eased his gun into the holster just before they rushed into a cluster of tourists scurrying away with wide eyes.

  “Focus forward,” he ducked toward her ear to whisper, pointing to a historic church with the pretended interest of a normal sightseer. “Don’t look back and keep smiling like you’re having fun.”

  Men in cop uniforms and dark suits flocked from three different side streets, rushing past toward the house.

  She tugged his hand. “Shouldn’t we talk to the cops?”

  “Can’t afford to
trust them. We’re on our own for now.” He didn’t know who’d compromised their locale and wasn’t sure how far he could trust the other safe houses.

  He weighed the option of stealing a car, which would then have cops everywhere on the lookout for that particular vehicle. Or he could risk retrieving the Fiat parked two more blocks away, tucked out of sight for just such an emergency. Hopefully, he would get a better sense when he scoured the area along the way.

  But that would also necessitate leaving the safety of the crowd, making them easier to track.

  He tugged her purse from her shoulder. “I need this for a second.”

  “Okay”—she passed it over—“but why?”

  “Shhh, not now.” He fished inside the bottomless pit, pushing aside her wallet, lip gloss, even a thumb drive for crying out loud before he finally found… the casino coin he’d given her the night they’d met. He surreptitiously dropped it in a fruit vendor’s cart.

  Her eyes went wide with realization, then disillusioned acceptance. Her eyes squeezed tight for a second with her sigh.

  He tugged her along. “We don’t have time for that now. Come on.”

  Gasping alongside him, Jolynn stumbled on a crack in the pavement. “Where are we going?”

  Chuck lowered his mouth to hers. “Not now.” He brushed his lips against hers before pulling back to flash a smile at a tourist next to them. “Newlyweds,” Chuck said, putting on a thick Jersey accent. “Come on, babe.”

  “I’m right witcha, lover boy.” Her Northern accent surprised him.

  Her quick kiss scorched him.

  He slipped an arm around Jolynn’s shoulders, pulling her close to his side as he peeled away from the group and ducked into a side street. At the end of the road, the Fiat sat safe and sound under a portico covered in vines. He scanned the alleyway. Not deserted. Just everyday traffic. A lady hanging out her laundry. A man taking out trash who made him think of Nuñez. But he couldn’t afford to let concerns distract him. Keeping Jolynn alive had to be his primary goal, double down, just as Nuñez would do if their positions were reversed.