Under His Protection

by Amy J. Fetzer

  They hugged warmly. “I thought you’d moved,” he said.

  “No.” Laura looked around. “This is home. I needed to be back here.”

  He smiled at Laura, stunned by how good she looked compared with the last time he’d seen her. “You look terrific. How are you doing?”

  “Fine, keeping busy. Steven is a handful.”

  Nash looked down at the little boy, seeing his former partner in the child’s small features. “Hey, pal.”

  “Hello, Officer Nash.” The boy was tugging on his mother’s hand, inching toward the door, clearly eager for an ice-cream cone and uninterested in the adults.

  Nash held the door open. “My treat,” he said, and Laura smiled and walked inside. Half an hour later, full of ice cream and sipping a soda, Nash marveled at the difference in Laura. Last time he’d seen her, a year after David’s death, she’d been emotionally ruined and not getting better. David had left her financially stable for a few years, but that would never replace the loss of the man she loved.

  Nash listened to her tell him what she’d been up to lately, listened to the little boy chatter, and he smiled. Steven was a three-foot package of energy and it hit Nash like a lightning bolt that if his and Lisa’s child had survived, he or she would be about a year younger than Steven. At the same time he understood that Steven had never known his father, since he’d been an infant when David was killed.

  The boy asked about his father, and Nash told him about David’s heroism, about how he liked to fish even if he never caught anything. Nash felt Laura’s smile, wondering if she was hurting still. When they left the shop, Steven skipped on ahead of them.

  “I’m getting married again, Nash,” Laura said.

  His brows rose high. “I’m stunned.”

  “Are you happy for me?”

  “Sure. You deserve it.”

  “I loved David, and I’ll always miss him. Every time I look at Steven I see him. Joshua loves my son and me. He’s been great with Steven.” She stopped and looked up at Nash. “I’ve picked up the pieces and moved on.”

  “It was tough, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. I won’t kid you. I thought I’d never come back from the grief. But I had Steven. He needed me and that pulled me back.” She smiled tenderly at the boy, who was frantically licking at the melting ice cream. “I had some great friends and family, but he made the difference. And there was you, too.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You grieved with me, Nash, and that was enough.” She tipped her head to the side. “So how’s Lisa holding up?”

  “You heard about her?”

  She shook her head, amused. “I had lunch with her a couple of weeks before Peter was killed.”

  Nash’s eyes flared and for a second he just stared at her. “God. I’ve had my head in the dirt, haven’t I?”

  Laura smiled softly. “I don’t know about that, but when David was killed, a lot of the officers’ wives drifted away. Lisa never abandoned me, Nash, even after you two broke up. She brought meals over. She cared for Steven so I could rest. We’ve kept in touch over the past few years.”

  This was news to him. “She never told me.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Why?” He felt the arrow coming before it found the target.

  “She loved you, Nash, but she took a stand because she needed to for her own peace. She would never have told you about the baby because she knew you’d do the right thing and resent her for trapping you. Why should she give you any more of herself now? She already did that once, and you didn’t even fight for her.”

  That arrow hit dead center, piercing his heart and nearly bringing him to his knees. Four years ago, he’d loved Lisa and was too caught up in himself to recognize it till it was too late. A second chance loomed, and this time he was smarter.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Nash stared at the dead body of John Chartres. Slumped in an easy chair, the man looked nothing as he had at the inn. His crisp suit and tie was replaced with jeans and a ratty T-shirt. But it was the trash-filled studio apartment decorated with too much red satin and a half-dozen velvet Elvis portraits that spoke loudly. Nash could almost smile. What a fake, Nash thought. But as Quinn Kilpatrick snapped off the latex gloves and walked toward Nash, all amusement dissolved. Nash was the victim’s only voice.

  “Let me guess. Poisoned?” Nash asked, gesturing to the cup on its side on the floor.

  “Yes, pennyroyal tea. I’m guessing right now.”

  Lisa had told Nash that pennyroyal was often mistaken for a mint and was toxic. “So don’t quote you?” Nash said.

  “Yes, I’d bet there was more in that cup than herbs. Smells like arsenic.”

  Good God. “Someone’s eliminating the suspects,” Nash said aloud, and as he did, panic gripped him. If suspects were dying, then Lisa was in trouble. And when Nash left the scene he hoped he could get to her in time.

  LISA STROLLED barefoot through her garden, locking the back gate for the night. Last evening she and Hope had progressed from ice cream to wine and ended with both of them falling asleep and wishing they hadn’t partied quite so enthusiastically. Lisa woke to a funny note from Hope and the place cleaned up, but her day didn’t get any better.

  If she wanted Nash, would she have to go after him? Would she be the one fighting for more and finding nothing? Hope’s advice sounded logical after a couple glasses of chardonnay, but now, well, it made Lisa fear she’d come across as pitiful and needy. And she wasn’t. She’d managed just fine for a long time without Nash.

  Have you really? a voice in her head asked, much to her annoyance. She knew Nash was wondering why she really married Peter and didn’t believe the pat, “I loved him and he loved me there for a while” answer. The truth was, she’d gone to Peter because she’d waited for Nash to come to her, and when he hadn’t, she’d given up. It was the hardest thing in the world to do, giving up, and when she’d mistakenly called Peter by Nash’s name a couple of times, it only showed that her subconscious was working against her. And Peter never let her forget those slips, either.

  Lisa strolled the stone path back toward the house, pausing to gaze at her shop and home and feel the warmth of pride. Tension melted from her at the sight of it all, softly lit, Spanish moss swaying like lace in the dark. Most people would think that looked creepy, but the gnarled, spreading oaks and moss reminded her she was home, even if her parents were living the retired life in Florida.

  She mounted the steps to the shop section on the west side of the house and locked up behind herself before stepping into the mudroom that connected the business to her home. Suddenly unable to recall if she’d secured the shop’s front door after Kate and Chris had left, Lisa backtracked through the shop. She hadn’t locked it, so she did now, noticing the patrol car sitting across the street. Nash’s extra pair of eyes, she thought, and the image of the butcher knife plunged into her nightgown made her shiver. She didn’t know who hated her that much. Catherine Delan had Peter in more ways than in his bed. What would she gain from hurting Lisa now?

  Walking back into the house, intent on setting the electronic alarm once she was inside, she’d just stepped into the mudroom when the outside lights went off.

  “Damn.” She moved to the switchplate in the back of the shop, instinctively shifting around pots and display crates. Then a creak split the silence. She stilled and scanned the darkened area. “Who’s there?”

  Chris and Kate had gone home more than two hours ago. Really ticked off that she was scared in her own home, Lisa marched toward the back of the shop where clay and ceramic pots lined a display shelf with seed packets and small gardening tools. She’d reached the end of the shelf where the breaker switches were when someone grabbed her by the throat and yanked.

  NASH CALLED IN for backup as he turned into Lisa’s driveway. Rushing to the front door, he found it locked, the floodlights out. He raced to the side of the house where the shop was located, heard sc
uffling, and as sirens blasted the night behind him, Nash called out to Lisa, shoving his shoulder against the door.

  The lock fractured, the door slapping back against the wall. He saw Lisa on her knees, gasping for breath.

  “Oh, God.” He reached for her.

  She smacked away his hands. “They went out the side. Damn them, they broke my greenhouse door.”

  Nash raced to the west side and out the door, then jumped over the three steps down before thrashing through the yard toward the back gate in time to catch the vibrating of the back fence. Someone had jumped it, he thought, and in the pitch-black, he threw himself over the wood rail and dropped to the ground. Weapon out, Nash scanned the area, listening, then he heard it. Footsteps, a steady thump. He ran, radioing in his location. Officers arrived and spread out, a car moving down the next street. Mounted search lamps swept the area, smooth against the flashing blue cruiser lights.

  “Somebody talk to me,” he growled into the radio as he ran. He cleared a chain-link fence, then rounded a house, following the sounds of the footsteps for two blocks.

  “Pond Road is clear. Nothing here, sir,” came back over the radio, and two other officers broke in to tell him they’d found nothing and where they were headed next.

  Nash kept running, sliding into a rain ditch, then sprinting into the street again. “I’m east, on Magnolia.”

  Nothing. The street was empty and half the streetlights were out. Nash cursed, moving forward still, his gaze shifting over the ground, the fences. Houses lined the streets and doors were closed. A couple of citizens peered out into the dark, and Nash knew that none of them could see clearly. These homes were old, mostly without garages. There were few places to hide.

  Though he knew it was probably useless, he called in for officers to canvas the next three streets in all directions and block the area off.

  “Do we have a description of the suspect?” an officer asked.

  “No, we don’t.” But maybe Lisa had seen something.

  Nash hadn’t seen more than a shadow in the darkness. The lights around Lisa’s place had been out. Cursing under his breath, he headed back to the house.

  She was in her living room, a half-dozen cops in her shop and house. Sitting on the sofa, her arms wrapped across her middle, she rocked.

  Nash knelt in front of her. “Lisa?”

  She looked up. Her eyes were blazing with fury. “You find this person, Nash, before I do something really mean like keep a gun.”

  “Calm down, honey.” Hell, he wanted to find whoever had done this and beat the hell out of him. Or her. But Nash had to keep Lisa calm so she could think clearly and just maybe give him enough to catch whoever had hurt her.

  She stood, glaring at him as he rose to his full height. “Calm? This is my house! My home! They broke in and tried to kill me!”

  Her voice was hoarse and his gaze lowered to the red marks on her throat. Ignoring her fury, he touched the marks. “I know, I know. How do you feel?”

  She pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “Hey,” she snapped at an officer. “Wipe your feet before you step on that rug.”

  Nash smothered a smile and sent the officers outside. A team was already dusting for prints.

  “Don’t bother, they were wearing gloves,” Lisa said to them.

  “You keep saying ‘they.’ Was there more than one person?” Nash asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything. They came from behind, again!” Her voice rang with disgust and just a trace of the fear that must still be crawling through her. “I hit whoever it was in the stomach with my elbow, but that didn’t do much.”

  “It was enough to get away.”

  She met his gaze, not seeing her advantage right now. “No, they were going to town on my throat when you drove up. They just let go and ran.” Lisa pushed her way between uniformed cops and into her shop. She groaned miserably. Though the outside greenhouse door was shattered, the door leading from there into the house was intact. But the lock was gone, taken right out. She started searching for it, without any luck.

  “The connections to the lights were cut, sir,” an officer said, coming inside. “The register is untouched.”

  Nash looked at Lisa and ran his hand over her arm. The action was soothing, like a tranquilizer to her raw nerve endings. “Did you set the alarms?”

  “I hadn’t had the chance,” she said, scooping one hand back through her hair in a tired gesture. “I was just locking up and shutting off the water system.”

  “Was the greenhouse locked?”

  “Always. Both doors. Customers have a tendency to wander in there if I don’t.”

  “Who has a key?” Nash asked.

  “What does it matter? They didn’t use it!”

  “Lisa.”

  “Me. Only I have one.”

  “Not your employees?”

  “No. It’s my sanctuary and I don’t let too many people in there.”

  His lips curved a fraction and his gaze warmed her. Lisa wanted badly to fall into his arms and let his strength smooth the ruffles between them. But just the same, she was angry that it had taken a killer to bring him to her.

  “The inside alarm is intact, but not the one in the shop,” an officer said.

  Lisa looked around, her expression crushed.

  “I can board up the doors till tomorrow,” Nash offered, dialing his brother’s number. “But you should empty the shop of anything you can’t replace.”

  Lisa shook her head. “It’s all insured. I’ll put the register inside, though. I’m going to make some coffee,” she said glumly, heading for the kitchen.

  Nash watched her go, tamping down his rage over this and then speaking hurriedly with his brother.

  By the time Lisa came back with a carafe of coffee and a fistful of mugs, Temple had arrived. And looking too good for his own self this late at night, Lisa thought, doling out mugs of coffee. With help from a couple of officers they boarded the broken door.

  “Ma’am,” an officer said, tipping his hat as they collected up her tools and replaced them in the box.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said to Nash.

  “Yeah, I did,” Nash said, putting the toolbox back in the storeroom. “Temple,” Nash said, and his sibling moved up beside Lisa. The brothers exchanged a look she couldn’t decipher.

  “Lisa, I want you to come with me for the night,” Nash said quietly, his gaze locking with hers.

  The thought of being anywhere alone with Nash right now sounded at once comforting and scary. “Where? Your place?” She frowned at the two men.

  “Indigo Run,” Nash said.

  “Don’t fight us on this, Lisa,” Temple added. “We can protect you there.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessar—”

  “John Chartres is dead,” Nash told Lisa. “Poisoned.”

  Lisa swallowed hard and nodded. “Let me get a few things together.”

  AS NASH DROVE UP the long, oak-lined drive, it was as if Lisa had stepped back three centuries. Indigo Run Plantation took her breath away, each tree along the drive silhouetted against the darkness with lights at the base. The house alone was enough to make any woman’s mouth water. All that space. With double balconies facing the drive and wrapping the lower floor, the house was rambling and white with a carriage house and outer buildings. The Charleston green shutters looked black in the darkness.

  As they stopped before the house, a tall man stepped out onto the porch, the polished oak door gleaming behind him and reflecting light from inside.

  Nash opened the car door for her, and Lisa stepped out, her gaze shifting around the area. “I bet it’s terrific in the daylight,” she said, her voice gravelly.

  Nash’s fist tightened on the car doorframe and he tried to shrug. But inside he was ashamed of himself for not letting her into this part of his life before. “It’s home.”

  She m
et his gaze. “It’s your home.”

  “No, Lisa—” he moved closer “—this is where I grew up. I live downtown. You know that.”

  Was he trying to apologize for not bringing her here? Well, she’d rather he didn’t. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Nash, stop splitting hairs,” she said, and walked up the wide Federal steps.

  Nash shook his head and took her bag from the trunk.

  “Hello, Logan.”

  “Miss Lisa Bracket,” he said, his voice deep and holding a wealth of emotion. “It’s about time my brother smartened up.”

  “He didn’t,” she threw back. “Someone tried to kill me tonight.”

  Logan’s body went perfectly still, his dark gaze snapping to his younger brother. “Is this true? Temple said there was trouble, not attempted murder.”

  “Yes, its true. And I’m getting smarter,” Nash groused from behind her. “Come on, let’s get inside before the gnats eat me alive.”

  Lisa walked inside with Logan, ignoring Nash, and stopped in the foyer.

  “My, my,” was all she could say. Deep pecan wooden walls shone with three hundred years of tender care, the foyer and hall were peppered with antiques and paintings and the biggest curved staircase she’d ever seen twisted up to the next floor. She was in awe that this place was still standing and imagined all the Couviyons who’d come before.

  Logan moved close and said softly, “You’re most welcome here, Lisa. Make yourself at home, you hear?”

  She smiled up at the oldest Couviyon brother. “Thank you, Logan.”

  One brother was missing, Hunter, a CIA agent off protecting the country.

  A woman, reed slim and gray-haired, emerged from the far end of the hall, moving quickly toward her. “I’m MaryGrace.” She held out her hand. “And though Mr. Logan likes to think hisself in charge, I really am.” Logan rocked on his heels and barely smiled. “So if you want anything a’tall, you just holler. Wait around for a man to get a clue and you’ll likely grow cobwebs.”

  Lisa smiled.