Protecting Her Own (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Margaret Daley

  “How can He sit by and let evil exist?”

  “The evil exists because people chose for it to. We have free will. We can give in to temptation or fight it.” When the light turned green, he pressed on the accelerator. “I gather you have stopped going to church.”

  “It got harder and harder with traveling, and then the things I saw just overwhelmed me. I couldn’t see praying to a God who let those things happen.” She’d become tougher, but over the years her experiences had chipped away at that hard armor that held her emotions in check.

  Connor pulled into a space in the parking lot next to the rehabilitation center wing of Sunny Meadows, turned the engine off, then shifted toward her. His gaze seized hers. “The Lord offers hope that there is a better way, but a person has to want to believe in that hope. He never guaranteed us an easy life, but He did guarantee us He would be with us always, loving us no matter what.”

  Is that what I need? She didn’t know. Confusion had ruled in her ever since her time in Nzadi, Africa. She certainly didn’t have much hope.

  He took her hand on the seat between them and clasped it between both of his. “If you need someone to listen, I’m here. After my first year as a police officer in Richmond, I’d walked away from the Lord. I felt exactly like you. But a fellow officer listened to me and helped me see the destructive path I was starting down.”

  The feel of his hands cocooning hers brought back all the happy times they’d had in the past. For a moment she wished she could go back to that time. But that wasn’t reality. She tugged away and threw open the door.

  He made her think that all she had to do was believe in the Lord and everything would be all right. Life wasn’t like that. She strode toward the building. Or was it? That question niggled her mind as she entered Sunny Meadows and found her father’s room with a young deputy outside the door. The sight of the officer brought relief to her, but she still wanted to find a safe place and bring her father there so she could protect him. Was that Connor’s grandfather’s house?

  When Cara entered her father’s room, he sat in an electric wheelchair, looking out the window. His arms lay listlessly in his lap with his shoulders hunched. The edges of his mouth turned down as though a permanent scowl etched his features. A curl of his jet-black hair contrasted with the pasty white of his face. He’d always loved the outdoors and to see him confined like this was painful. Maybe she could cheer him up. The last time she’d been here two days ago he’d been very agitated and upset as though seeing her brought to the foreground all the things he couldn’t do anymore.

  “Happy birthday, Dad. How are you today?” she asked in a forced tone of cheerfulness.

  He glanced toward her, his gaze straying behind her. His eyes narrowed on Connor coming into the room. She didn’t need to turn around to know that was who stepped through the doorway. A ping of awareness jolted her.

  Her father faced forward, not looking at her, not looking out the window anymore, either. She drew in a fortifying breath and approached him. As she knelt in front of him to capture his attention, she winced at the pain caused by the action. Her sore hip plagued her but she couldn’t give into it. She had too much to do.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday, but there was a lot to take care of after the bomb went off.” He didn’t need to know that she’d been hurt in the blast. When Sean had talked to him last night to explain about the deputy, he had assured her father that she was all right. She pasted a smile on as though her body didn’t ache.

  Agitation deepened the grooves on her dad’s face. He tried to speak, but the words came out unintelligible. He curled his good hand into a fist.

  “I understand that you’re going to write your memoir. Have you started it?” Cara tried again to get some kind of response from her dad other than anger.

  Her father shook his head slightly.

  “I’m going to talk to the doctor about when he’s going to release you. When he does, Mike Fitzgerald has offered to let us stay at his place until the house is restored. We’ll celebrate your sixtieth birthday proper then.” She decided not to say anything about the safe being empty until later. He didn’t need more bad news after the shock of the bombing. He wasn’t the tough man she’d become accustomed to over the years. Instead he was frail. Confused. Not in control.

  A sound out in the corridor drew her and her father’s attention. Connor stepped out of the entrance and pivoted toward the noise. A nurse’s aide emerged with a large male orderly from the room across the hall. The young woman pushed a cart full of what appeared to be someone’s personal belongings.

  Her father groaned and tried to say something, but it came out in a garbled spew. He lifted his left arm, the one not affected as much by the stroke, and plopped it down onto Cara’s shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed at the look of panic in his eyes. Her father never used to panic. He’d always handled things calmly. The stroke had changed a lot for him. Made him feel vulnerable. And now the bombing had only reinforced that feeling.

  Her dad managed to point toward the door with his left hand, but again she couldn’t understand the words coming from his mouth. After a couple of attempts, he clamped his lips together, anger shooting from his eyes.

  Strangely, Cara didn’t feel the anger was directed at her. “Are you upset that the man across the hall died a couple of days ago?”

  He blinked once for yes.

  “Did you know him? Were you two friends?”

  He shook his head, again only slightly. Frustration marked his expression.

  Cara covered his hand in his lap. “I know this isn’t easy for you. You’re used to doing what you want when you want. I’m going to get you out of here as soon as Doc says I can.” Seeing her dad so disturbed by the death of a stranger disconcerted her. His reaction reminded her of his behavior right after her mother had died. Which didn’t really make any sense. He hadn’t known the man across the hall. According to the nurses, her dad rarely left his room, preferring to be alone.

  Her father tried to talk again. She still couldn’t understand him. It was as if he conversed in a foreign language.

  “Dad, do you want me to get some paper and pencil and see if you can write better today?”

  He gave her a yes.

  She retrieved the pad from the nightstand, her gaze catching Connor’s. Concern for her dad cloaked Connor’s features, and yet her father had done nothing to deserve that. In fact, he had loudly disapproved of Connor when she was dating him. A warmth around her heart spread outward for Connor. She shouldn’t let it grow and take over because they were worlds apart now.

  As she gave her father the paper and pencil, even helping to place the writing instrument correctly in his hand, the orderly came back wheeling a gray-haired woman slumped in her chair, her chin nearly touching her chest. They went into the room across the hall.

  “It looks like you’ll have a new neighbor,” she said, hoping to lift her father’s spirits.

  He gripped the pencil and painstakingly tried to write something. But since he was right-handed, the scrawl ended up in a jumbled mess. The only letters legible were ger at the end of what he wrote. In frustration, her father knocked the pencil to the floor.

  “You didn’t have to walk me to my room. The hotel is full of people and there are security cameras all over the place. I don’t think anything is going to happen to me. Did you see the crowd in the lobby?” Cara stopped at her hotel room door.

  “Don’t play naive with me. You know good and well anything can happen in a crowd, including murder.”

  After the long, tiring day at the rehabilitation center then at the sheriff’s and a contractor’s, she hadn’t wanted to argue with Connor. She wasn’t even sure she could string a series of coherent sentences together to form an intelligent conversation. All through dinner at a diner, she’d hardly said anything. But then, neither had Connor.

  “I know today wasn’t easy for you. The C. J. Madison I knew wasn’t li
ke that man at Sunny Meadows. I figure he wasn’t too happy for me to witness his lack of ability to communicate.”

  Not even an impromptu birthday celebration at the center with cake had brought a smile to her father’s face. Birthdays had always been a big deal to him. “I think that may be the problem with me being there, too. He always seemed so powerful, in control, and to see him like this pains me. But I suspect it pains him more. Every time he has seen me he’s been agitated. When I first visited him in the hospital right after the stroke, he wasn’t very responsive and not really aware of too much. But now that he is, he’s so angry, which is understandable, but hard to deal with.” She expelled a long breath. “I understand from the speech therapist he won’t recover his speech quickly and may always have some trouble communicating his thoughts, since the stroke affected the left side of his brain.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow before you go to see your father, and we can go over what we have so far. I’m hoping some of the results will come back from the lab soon.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe there’s a fingerprint somewhere on one of the fragments from the pipe bomb. Also, there might be something on one of the pipe pieces that would identify the manufacturer.” He stepped closer, touching her arm. “Cara, get some rest. You’re father is safe right now. We’ll figure this out together.”

  His words soothed her and gave her hope for the first time in days. “I’m hoping so. My dad’s life may depend on it.”

  A fleeting emotion glittered in and out of his gaze so fast she couldn’t read it. He moved in even closer, lifting his hand to cup her face. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your dad. That’s a promise, Cara.”

  Her pulse pounded a quick rhythm. A few inches separated them. His scent swirled around her, binding her to him as though thirteen years hadn’t passed.

  But it had. She pulled back before she lost her heart to him again. In those years they had gone down different paths—miles apart. His faith had strengthened; hers had weakened until the threads threatened to sever completely.

  “Tonight I’m going to get some sleep.” She attempted a smile that failed. “At least I hope so.” Cara slipped her keycard into the lock and opened her door. “Thanks for walking me to my room.”

  When she was inside, his words stopped her. “Let me check everything out.”

  She patted her gun in her holster at her side, saying, “I can do that.” She held the door open wide so Connor could peek inside.

  He stood in the entrance and made a visual survey of the area, then returned his full attention to Cara. “I know you can take care of yourself. You have been doing that for quite some time. But it’s all right to let others help.”

  She shrugged, taking her suitcase from him. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  “Exactly, and the past is hard to run from. I’m discovering that. Good night. See you tomorrow at eight.”

  She closed the door and leaned back against it. Her eyes slid shut. Connor’s image crowded her mind, his words replaying in her thoughts. The past is hard to run from. How well she knew that. She’d been running for thirteen years, and now the past was demanding she halt and face it. She needed to come to terms with Connor, but also with her mother’s suicide and her relationship with her father. She needed to forgive her father for causing her mother to kill herself. He might as well have given her the alcohol and sleeping pills. She took them because he was never around. And when Cara went away to college that first year, she’d no longer been around for her mother, either.

  Pushing herself upright, she dragged herself toward her bed, so exhausted all she removed was her jacket, dropping it on the floor along with her suitcase. After taking her holster and gun off and placing them on the nightstand, she collapsed onto the soft mattress, intending to regroup then change into her pajamas. The events of the past thirty-six hours crashed down on her, and she fell asleep as her head touched the pillow….

  She ran into the rain forest, trying desperately to find a hiding place. Stumbling, she went down on her knees, falling forward. The scent of pine surrounded her. Pine? In a jungle? When she rolled over, a weight pressed down on her chest, making each breath difficult. Her oxygen-starved lungs burned….

  Cara’s eyes bolted open. In the dim light of her hotel room, a looming figure clad in black and wearing a black ski mask pinned her to her bed, straddling her. A leather-gloved hand covered her mouth, trapping her scream inside while he brought the other hand up toward her neck.

  FOUR

  The large, leather-clad hand squeezed around Cara’s neck, cutting off her air supply. For a second or two she froze, her mind blank. A scent—like wet, sickly sweet pine—assailed her nostrils. Until he covered her nose as well as her mouth.

  Then her instinct and training kicked in. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. With her free arm, she plummeled at his back as she tried to twist from side to side. Anything to loosen his hold on her.

  Bucking him, she managed to free her pinned arm and fumbled toward the nightstand. Searching for her gun. Desperation kicked her heartbeat up to a maddeningly fast tempo. Her mind spun from lack of oxygen. His dark form hovered.

  Her fingers seized the alarm clock, and she quickly brought it down on his head. Over and over. His hand eased its tight grip as he shifted to grab her arm.

  When he lifted up slightly, she rolled to the side, away from him, throwing him off balance. Again she brought the sturdy, heavy-duty clock down on him, this time smashing it into his face. A bellow of pain spewed from him; his hand slid from her mouth.

  She screamed, but only a low choking sound came forth. Her throat burned. Gulping in several deep breaths, she yelled “Help!” as loud as she could.

  With a shove, she pushed him from her and clobbered him again with the clock before scrambling from the bed. She had to get to her gun on the nightstand on the other side. Halfway there, the light from the window illuminated the room enough that she could see the dark outline of her holster with the gun in it. But then he tackled her, sending her flying into the desk chair. A moan spilled from her as she kicked and hammered at him.

  When her punch struck his Adam’s apple, she found her chance to scoot across the carpet and reach up toward her gun. Inches away. Her fingers clutched the edge of the nightstand.

  In a low, raspy voice, he said, “You’ll pay for that.”

  Another scream came from deep inside her, so piercing she hoped the whole floor heard her.

  Someone pounded on the door and rattled the handle. Her assailant jerked his head toward it. He leaped off her, raced toward the opened window and dove through it at the same time the door flew open. Light from the hallway poured into the room. Cara clambered to her feet as the man in the entrance flipped on the light.

  She gasped. “Connor!”

  With his gun drawn, Connor spied the open window and rushed to it, saying, “Are you okay?”

  Cara barely got out the word yes before he plunged through the opening, the hot night air enveloping him. He heard the intruder clamor down the metal fire escape right outside Cara’s room and descended it in pursuit.

  When he neared the ground, he hopped the last four feet and hit the pavement running toward where he saw the man disappear around the corner of the hotel. Coming out of the alley into the back parking lot with security lamps providing illumination, Connor paused to scour the area for any sign of Cara’s assailant.

  Suddenly to the left, a car started and pulled out of a space. It was heading right toward him with its bright lights blinding him. He flung himself to the side, his body crashing into the hard asphalt. He scampered to his feet, ignoring the pain radiating from his palms, and stared at the vanishing vehicle. A white Ford Taurus with no license plate. Great.

  His surge of adrenaline began to abate as he holstered his weapon and turned back to the fire escape. On his climb to Cara’s room, he checked the area to see if the man had left anything,
but the shadows of night obscured his search. Tomorrow he’d be back to investigate further.

  Right now he needed to make sure Cara was all right. The sight of her on the floor near her bed, the clothing she wore that day still on but crumpled, a button torn off her shirt, increased his pace back to the fire escape. All his protective instincts came to the foreground, demanding he do something whether Cara liked it or not.

  Memories of her trying to prove her worth to her father time and time again permeated his thoughts as he climbed to the second floor. She was going to accept his invitation if he had to hog-tie her and bring her to Gramps’s house, protesting the whole way. And somehow he would make it work—seeing her every day until he could catch the person after her.

  Stepping back through the open window, he panned the room for her. She wasn’t there. A spike of fear pierced through his gut. Then he saw her coming out of the bathroom, her hair combed, her clothes straightened, her expression composed as though nothing had just happened in here only minutes before. But the red imprint of fingers around her neck proclaimed otherwise.

  “Pack your things. You’re coming home with me,” he said in his gruff-sounding voice and immediately realized his mistake.

  She drew herself up tall, her arms ramrods at her sides. One brow lifted. “I am?”

  Sucking in a deep, calming breath, he tried to relax his tensed muscles but didn’t succeed. Fear and anger still gripped him. “Yes.” He waved his hand around the mess the fight with her assailant had caused. “You’re many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. It seems the man is after you, not your father. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but as I told you earlier, it’s okay to accept help.” He tempered his voice to a soothing level, hoping that would mollify her enough to come with him to his grandfather’s house.