Sweet Caroline's Keeper

by Beverly Barton

  "What's wrong?" she asked. "Why can't we make love?"

  Although he calculated the hit wouldn't come until the middle of the night, he had to stay alert. There was always the off chance that he had misjudged his unknown opponent and something would go wrong.

  Instead of replying to her question, he removed his glasses, tossed them on the nearby bed and then urged her closer, until her body aligned with his. He lowered his head and kissed her. She responded immediately, kissing him back with equal fervor. Her hands lifted, gripped his biceps and held on tightly. His lips moved to her throat. She tossed back her head and flung her arms around his wide shoulders. He grabbed the fabric of her green cotton skirt and, inch by inch, bunched the fabric in his hand as he lifted the shirt higher and higher.

  He was going to have her here and now. Not in the hot tub. Not in one of the beds in the many bedrooms. He didn't dare risk the time it would take or the vulnerable position they would both be in for the sweet, unhurried loving they both wanted.

  "How badly do you want it?" He mouthed the words against her throat as his hand snaked beneath her skirt and cupped her hip. "Badly enough to take it raw?"

  "Yes." Her hands went to his zipper and her fingers quickly undid his pants.

  He slid her panties down her hips and when they fell to her ankles, she stepped out of them. He walked her back­ward, straight to the wall, then lifted her enough so that when he reached inside his briefs, she was positioned to take him into her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips as he began thrusting and retreating, bumping her hips against the wall, the frenzy inside them building fast.

  They mated hurriedly, stealing kisses between each un­dulating movement of their bodies. He kept up a steady rhythm, making sure pressure was applied to the right spot. She tightened around him, her body milking his, bringing them both closer to fulfillment. His release came first, then hers. Shuddering, gasping, they clung to each other and Wolfe covered her mouth with a kiss that claimed her body and soul.

  While the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, he held her for just one more minute, then slid her down over his body until her feet touched the floor. Reluctantly he released her and stepped away, never taking his eyes off her as he readjusted his underwear and zipped his pants.

  "Go wash up." He nodded toward the bathroom. "Then put your panties on and—"

  "What's wrong?" She looked at him questioningly. "Why the rush?"

  "Nothing's wrong, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better know­ing that if for any reason we have to run out of here during the night, we'd both be fully dressed."

  "And do you think we might have to run out of here during the night?"

  He hated that worried look in her eyes, the tension on her face. He grabbed her by the shoulders, then kissed her fore­head. "I'm a cautious man. Humor me. We're out in the middle of nowhere in an area I'm not familiar with, so on the off chance something were to happen, I don't want to be caught with my pants down."

  She didn't question him further, but immediately did as he had asked. When she returned from the bathroom she found him placing his glasses and his 9 mm on the bedside table.

  "We might as well see if we can get some sleep." He lay down on top of the bedspread, lifted his arms and crossed them behind his head.

  "You're expecting an attack, aren't you?" She stood over him, her gaze riveted to his face. "You think they're going to come after me tonight."

  "We told Oliver and Fletcher we'd stay overnight," David said.''That means they'll strike either tonight or in the morn­ing."

  "You brought me up here knowing. . . Are you telling me that you think Oliver or Fletcher—"

  "Don't jump to conclusions. I'm not accusing either of them. They could easily have been used by someone else and be totally unaware of the fact."

  She slumped down onto the edge of the bed. "So, what do we do, wait?"

  "Yeah, we wait until I get a signal. My cell phone will ring as a warning that someone is approaching the cabin."

  "Then you have Dundee agents posted as watchdogs, don't you?"

  "Jack and Matt and a third agent they brought with them. A guy named Domingo Shea."

  Caroline lay down beside David, at his side, but not close enough to touch. "Why didn't you explain all of this to me before we left Baltimore?"

  "I put it off to save you the worry."

  "Gee, thanks."

  "Try to get some rest, even if you don't think you can sleep."

  Minutes ticked by, endless, silent minutes. He turned off the lamp, pitching the room into darkness. Light from the three-quarter moon filtered through the closed wooden blinds, shooting thin ribbons of illumination across the wooden floor. He lay there and listened to her breathing. Slow and steady. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he turned to her and drew her into his arms. She resisted at first, as he had known she would, but when he whispered her name, she cuddled close and buried her face against his shoulder.

  This woman was meant to be his, ordained by the forces that be, long before their paths had crossed. But an evil trick of fate had placed him in the role of her enemy. And then he had anointed himself her keeper, her phantom benefactor, her secretive and elusive David. But suddenly fate had stepped in again and given him a once-in-a-lifetime oppor­tunity—to meet her, to get to know her, to become her pro­tector when she needed him most. And he had been unable to resist claiming her, making her his.

  She lifted her hand and caressed his cheek. "You had to do this, didn't you? By bringing me here, by walking into their trap, you have the advantage because you knew in ad­vance it was a trap."

  "You got it." He grabbed her hand, brought her open palm to his lips and kissed it. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise."

  Time passed slowly, each minute seeming like an hour. Every sound tensed his nerves. He had been in situations like this before. Waiting. Adrenaline pumping. Mind whirling. Dozens of other jobs, with countless lives at stake. But never someone he personally cared for the way he cared for Car­oline. He was prepared to do anything, risk anything to keep her safe.

  "You haven't been able to sleep, have you?" she asked.

  "I don't sleep a lot," he said. "Goes with the territory?"

  "Yeah, a bodyguard learns to get by on less sleep."

  "That's one more thing I've learned about you. It isn't fair that you know everything about me," she said, her voice warm and soft. "You have a file that tells you my entire history." She paused. "I don't know anything about you. Only the most superficial things."

  "What do you want to know?" he asked.

  "Have you ever been married?"

  "No."

  "Ever been in love?" "No."

  She laid her hand on his chest, then fingered his scars. "How did this happen?"

  "A bomb exploded. I didn't get out of the way fast enough."

  "Oh, Wolfe."

  "A hazard of my old job."

  "With the CIA?"

  "Hmm-mmm."

  She threaded his chest hair around her fingers. "Where were you born? Where did you grow up? What were your parents like? Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

  He sucked in a deep breath, then released it slowly. "I was born in the hills of Tennessee. My mother's family had lived there forever. She was part Cherokee. My father was a drunk. He liked using my mother as a punching bag, and after we were born, he started beating the hell out of me and my little brother on a regular basis. But he seemed to get a special pleasure out of tormenting my brother."

  Caroline wrapped her arms around David and held him. "Oh, Wolfe, I'm so sorry. So very sorry. Your childhood must have been a nightmare."

  "Yeah," he said. "But then so was yours, wasn't it, sweetheart?"

  "You know it was."

  Why he was baring his soul this way, he wasn't quite sure. He'd never talked about his childhood to anyone. But this wasn't just anyone. This was Caroline. His sweet Caroline, with the loving heart and generous soul, w
ho had survived her own tormented childhood. Once he'd begun, he couldn't seem to stop pouring out the truth about Aidan Colbert's tragic young life.

  He pulled away from Caroline and sat upright in bed. "There's something you should know. . .something I should have told you before. . .."

  "What is it?" she asked, lifting herself into a sitting po­sition beside him. "You can tell me anything and I'll under­stand."

  Oh, God, if only that were true. If only he could truly bare his soul to this special woman. His woman. "When I was thirteen, I killed my father."

  Caroline gasped. Wolfe got out of bed. He stood in the center of the room, rigid as a statue, his breathing stilled for a minute. Even though she moved quietly, he knew when she climbed out of bed and walked toward him. He waited. Not breathing. Not thinking. Not daring to hope. Just waiting and praying.

  She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

  Not moving a muscle, not glancing back at her, he stood there and let her hold him, feeling inexplicably secure and unafraid. Could he explain to this gentle woman about a vi­olent act for which he had never been able to forgive himself?

  "I was just a scared kid." When he spoke, the words came slowly, painfully and quietly. "I knew what he was capable of doing. What he'd done to all of us countless times. But things had been getting worse. I knew that sooner or later he'd kill one of us, probably Brendan because he was so little and weak.

  "I warned him that if he ever hit Brendan or Mama again, I'd kill him." He shuddered as the memory of that day came back to him, as vivid and real as if it had happened yesterday. "I was coming in from school that day. Brendan had been sick with a cold and Mama had kept him home. I heard them before I even reached the porch. Him hollering and Mama begging. And then Brendan screaming."

  "You don't have to tell me the rest of it." She hugged him fiercely.

  He felt the moisture of her tears as they seeped through his shirt and onto his back. "I ran around the side of the house and came in through the kitchen door. Then I went straight to my bedroom, got my hunting rifle and went out to the living room. Brendan was lying on the floor, staring up at my old man, who was slapping my mama around. I warned him. I told him if he didn't stop, I'd kill him.

  "He dared me to do it. Told me I didn't have the guts to kill him. Then he kicked Brendan. And when he raised his foot to kick him again, I shot him. Twice." Wolfe knotted his hands into tight fists. "Once in the heart. And once in the head. I was a crack shot, even then."

  Holding on to him, she eased around his hard, tense body until she could gaze up into his face. He couldn't bear to look into her eyes. She released him, then reached up and framed his face with her hands.

  "Forgive yourself," she said. "You were forced to make a terrible decision and you did the only thing you could have done. You protected the innocent, the helpless. You saved your mother and your brother."

  He looked at her then, but could barely see her through the fine mist coating his eyes. "That's just it I didn't save them. Brendan died from his injuries that night. And Mama never recovered from the trauma of her baby boy dying and her older son killing his own daddy."

  Standing on tiptoe Caroline kissed him. With care and sympathy. With understanding and compassion. And with love. Her love encompassed him, wrapping around his wounded soul like a soothing balm. Taking him by the hand, she led him to an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room. She urged him down, then sat on his lap, laid her head on his shoulder and put her arms around him once again.

  She fell asleep that way, nestled in his lap, with him soak­ing up her sweet, precious understanding and forgiveness. He drifted off into a light sleep. Visions of his mother and Bren­dan wafted through his mind, followed by images of Caro­line. The only three people who had ever been important to him, the only ones he would have willingly died to protect. But he had not been able to save Mama or Brendan. . ..

  Wolfe woke with a start. The telephone had awakened him, but the sound of a loud crash had roused him. What the hell? He realized Caroline was in his lap and he was still sitting in the chair. Their gazes collided.

  "What was that?" she asked.

  "My cell phone," he said. "A signal to alert me of dan-ger.

  He shoved her up and onto her feet, then jumped up and hurried to the bedside table to remove his Sig Sauer from the holster. Suddenly another crash and then a third followed in quick succession. He grabbed Caroline's hand and flung open the door into the living room. Flames shot up to the ceiling and spread in every direction. Firebombs! Firebombs tossed through the windows. Dammit to hell and back.

  "We've got to get out of here," he told her. "Looks like their plan is to smoke us out and be waiting for us when we come outside. They intend to shoot us like sitting ducks."

  Chapter 17

  Smoke quickly filled the house, folding in on them from every direction. Black, hot and heavy. Like a thick, smoth­ering fog. Wolfe figured he didn't have much choice. The back door was not accessible because of the fire blazing in the kitchen area. Their only escape route was through the front door. Not that it mattered much one way or the other. There was bound to be a man posted at the rear as well as the front. He had no way of knowing how many there were, but his guess would be no more than three or four. And with three Dundee agents in place, the odds were better than even—in his favor. Tugging on Caroline's arm, he led her toward the front door. As they made their way through the smoke-clogged foyer, Caroline began coughing.

  "When I open the door, we're going to drop and roll off the porch," he said. "They'll be wearing night-vision gog­gles and be able to see us, so they're going to start shooting the minute we come out. Don't panic. Don't think. Just move." He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a forceful shake. "I'm going to be right there with you every minute and my guys will be responsible for half the gunfire you hear."

  He felt her trembling and wished he could take longer to reassure her, but time was of the essence. This old cabin was quickly burning down around them. If the smoke didn't get them soon, the ceiling would cave in on them.

  "Ready?" He squeezed her shoulders, then released her and retrieved his Sig Sauer from his hip holster.

  "Ready," she said, her voice shaky.

  He flung open the door. Gunfire erupted all around them. They dropped to the porch floor. Bullets flew over then-heads, splintering wood and sending chips flying, some pep­pering their skin as they rolled. A barrage of gunfire fol­lowed, tearing up the floor behind them. Son of a bitch! The Dundee agents would be moving in to strike their attackers at any moment. All he had to do was get Caroline out of the way, keep her safe and wait.

  He shoved Caroline off the end of the porch and came down over her on the rock-strewn ground behind the Mer­cedes. The earth exploded nearby, too close for comfort Grass and dirt and gravel danced into the air. Without giving her a chance to catch her breath, David tumbled Caroline past the car, over the driveway and into the ditch. Not a deep ditch, but hollowed out enough to give them some protection. He lifted himself off her just enough to allow her to breathe, but placed his hand down on her head as a warning for her to stay put. With the pistol in his hand, he scanned the area behind them, black as pitch, except for the moonlight that barely made its way through the trees. Toward the lake, the view was brighter because the trees were sparse. And in front of them the blaze from the burning cabin lit up the night sky.

  An unnatural silence fell. He could hear Caroline breathing as well as the thumping of his own heartbeat. The usual noc­turnal noises had ceased, as if every living thing around them had fallen prey to their assailants' attack. Wolfe sensed Car­oline's fear, could smell her terror. His own fear ate away at his gut like deadly acid. He was afraid—not for himself, but for Caroline.

  The sounds were faint, almost inaudible. But he heard them. Since boyhood, when he'd been raised to hunt wild game in the hills, he had relied on his acute sense of hearing. Without seeing them, he k
new there were two shooters clos­ing in on them, from opposite directions. He sensed no more than two men, so where were the others?

  Suddenly a single shot rang out, coming from behind the cabin. About damn time, Wolfe thought. He'd begun to won­der if the Dundee agents were ever going to make their move. As he had suspected, a third man had been posted at the back door, just in case he and Caroline had made their escape by that route. But the guy out back wouldn't be helping his buddies. Not now. One of Dundee's best had eliminated him. The approaching footsteps stopped. Their attackers now had to realize Wolfe wasn't alone, which meant they were aware that they, not Wolfe and Caroline, had walked into a trap.

  He wanted just one of them to live. Just one. Whichever man survived was going to do some talking. Whoever or­dered the hit on Caroline wouldn't have done his own dirty work, but for a mission this important, he would have sent the best snipers. Please, God, let one of them still be alive. And give me five minutes alone with him. That's all I need. Five minutes.

  Caroline tugged on Wolfe's shirttail, which partially hung out of his pants. "What's happening?" she whispered. "Why is it so quiet? And who—"

  He clamped his hand over her mouth. Be quiet, sweet Car­oline. For just a little longer. He could hear movement again. Heavier. Deliberate. The men moving around now weren't trying to disguise their footsteps. They had the advantage. The Dundee agents were coming in for the kill. That probably meant there had been only three attackers and one had al­ready been eliminated.

  Gunfire erupted again. Close enough for Wolfe to see shadows and hear grunts. A battle that ended almost before it began. Wolfe waited. He eased his hand from Caroline's mouth and down her throat. She trembled.

  "All clear," Jack Parker shouted. "There were only three of them and they've been contained."

  Caroline wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but her chest hurt too much to do more than whimper. And a burning ache ripped through her side when she moved. Wolfe grabbed her hands and lifted her up and out of the ditch. Moaning, she fell against him, her legs too weak to hold her. Dammit, don't pass out now, she told herself. You're alive. Wolfe's alive. The bad guys are. . .contained. As if from out of nowhere three large dark figures appeared and surrounded them. For a split second her heart stopped, but when one of the men removed his night-vision goggles and grinned, she recog­nized his grimy face. Jack Parker, looking for all intents and purposes like a commando. Oh, God, that's what he was, she realized. That's what they all were, including David Wolfe. Men trained for deadly missions, capable of subduing an en­emy with superior efficiency.