“She doesn’t look good,” she responded.
“I know, and I’m sorry. My mother died of cancer. It’s difficult to watch someone you love fade away.” He touched her shoulder, standing beside her as Eileen and Ashton disappeared from view. That small, tentative connection burned through Catherine until she wanted to lean into Darius, accept more of his warmth and comfort.
“You were a teenager. It must have been even more difficult for you.” She moved away, because she was too tempted to do what she shouldn’t. Cold air swept over her, but the heat of his fingers remained on her shoulder.
“Age has nothing to do with it, Catherine. It’s all about love, and when you love someone, saying goodbye in bits and pieces is never easy.”
He was right. So right that Catherine’s eyes filled with the tears she’d been refusing since that first day home, that first glimpse of what the next weeks and months would bring.
She shoved them away.
“Do you think they’re done checking the inside of the house?” She changed the subject, because she couldn’t break down. Not in front of Darius and not alone. Eileen needed her to be strong. She needed to be strong, because collapsing into a heap of grief and fear would accomplish nothing.
“Looks like it. Here comes Randal.” He switched gears easily, letting the conversation shift.
“Catherine? I saw Eileen heading to Osborne’s place. Good idea,” Logan said as he approached.
“It wasn’t mine.”
“Still a good idea,” he responded, taking off his hat and running his hand over thick hair. They’d known each other since their first year of high school, and Catherine knew the gesture for what it was. Nervous energy.
“Did the bomb squad find anything else?” she asked.
“Nothing. The evidence team is here. It may be a while before they finish. I’d like to take your statement now. The more information we have, the more likely it is we’ll find our perp. How about we go down to the station? We’ll be more comfortable there.”
“I won’t be.”
“You’ll be safer, though. You’ve been attacked twice in one day, and I don’t want to take a chance of there being a third time. As a matter of fact, I think it would be best if you and Eileen stay with a friend or family member until we figure out what’s going on.”
“I can tell you what’s going on, Logan. Someone is terrorizing me because he thinks I’m a murderer. I may have been exonerated, but to some people, that doesn’t mean a whole lot.”
“Maybe you’re right, but we need evidence. Not conjecture. Come on. I’ll drive you to the station. We can find a safe place for you to stay after I take your statement.”
“Do you know the kind of news coverage that will get?”
“I’m not worried about news coverage. I’m worried about you.”
“And I’m worried about Eileen. She needs to rest. That’s not going to happen with news reporters knocking on the door and calling the house hoping for an interview.”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” Logan sighed, obviously trying to be patient. His patience seemed to be wearing thin, though. He tapped a pen against his thigh and ran a hand down his jaw. Four years ago, Catherine would have given in. Gone along with the plan because it was what she was expected to do.
She’d changed a lot since then.
She’d toughened up and hardened, and she no longer went where other people led.
“I’m not going down to the station.”
“Catherine—”
“Let’s go to my place. Eileen is already there. It’s a safer option than standing out here.” Darius offered a reasonable solution to their impasse, but Catherine was tempted to fight him on it.
Fight for the sake of fighting, because she hadn’t been allowed to do anything but conform for four very long years.
“Sounds good to me. We can go in my cruiser.” Logan walked away, and Catherine followed.
She might want to fight the plan, but she knew it was a good one. Leave the house, put some distance between herself and whatever trouble was stalking her. She needed to stay safe and healthy for Eileen’s sake. Hopefully, she’d be able to convince her grandmother to move out of the house for a while. They could rent a place on the coast far away from the danger. Getting away from Pine Bluff would be a bonus. Eileen could get as good medical care in Seattle or Oregon as she could in downtown Spokane.
It was simply a matter of talking her into it.
If only that were going to be as easy as it sounded.
SIX
Darius hadn’t planned on giving up his solitude, but once he committed to it, he could see the benefits. He’d already decided to keep an eye out for his neighbors. Maybe it wasn’t his business, but he didn’t like the idea of Eileen and Catherine staying at the end of their dead-end road alone. Tonight, he’d been home. He’d heard the car passing his house at two in the morning, and it had been an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.
But what if he hadn’t been there?
The best security system in the world couldn’t keep out someone who was determined to get in, and the ten or fifteen minutes it would take the police to respond to a call for help might be too long.
He needed to get Eileen and Catherine moved to a safer location before his vacation ended. Having them at his place would give him an opportunity to convince them that they shouldn’t return home.
Logan opened the front door of his cruiser, and Catherine climbed in. Shoulders tense, back ramrod-straight, she didn’t spare Darius a glance as she shut the door.
She was tough. He’d give her that. But toughness wouldn’t be enough to keep Catherine and her grandmother safe.
“Hope you don’t mind riding in the back, Osborne,” Logan said.
“Whatever gets us there.” He slid into the backseat, the scent of leather and sweat filling his nose as Logan pulled away.
Darius shifted uncomfortably, his leg throbbing in time with his heartbeat, the steady pain more of an annoyance than anything. He had good days and bad days. Yesterday had been better than some and worse than others. Aside from losing his lower leg, he’d also broken his femur and his back in the explosion. Both had healed. Sometimes, though, pain drove him from bed in the middle of the night, left him sweaty and cold and wishing for more than Tylenol. He never took anything more. With a job like his, he couldn’t afford to. That had worked out well for Catherine and Eileen.
Lights spilled out from the living room window as they pulled into Darius’s driveway. Small and well-built, the farmhouse had seen better days, the peeling paint on the wood siding and the sagging front porch just two of the projects that Darius planned to work on during his vacation. He could have afforded a nice house in town, but the idea of land had appealed to him, and twenty acres had been something he couldn’t resist. He’d bought the property on a whim, but had spent little time there. Maybe one day his workload would lighten up, and he’d make the little house into the home he’d been craving for years.
Catherine hopped out of the cruiser before Randal put it in Park, racing up the porch stairs as Darius got out of the cruiser.
“She’s in a hurry,” Randal said.
“I don’t think riding in a police car fills her with warm fuzzy feelings,” Darius responded.
“Neither does anything that has do with the sheriff’s department. I can’t say I blame her, but it’s going to be hard to help someone who has built walls as high as hers.”
/>
“She’ll do anything for Eileen. That’s the angle we need to play.”
“You’ve got a point, but I hate to play anything. Both women have been through enough. This newest trouble doesn’t seem fair.”
“Life isn’t, is it?” Darius responded as they followed Catherine into the house, but he couldn’t help thinking that Logan was right. The two women had been through enough. They deserved a little peace, and he was going to do his best to help them find it.
Ashton stood in the small foyer, his shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. One of the newest members of the Personal Securities team, he’d worked in counterintelligence before he’d become a security specialist. Aside from that and the fact that he was excellent at his job, Darius knew little about him.
“That took a lot less time than I thought it would. Do you still need me here?” His voice had just a hint of an accent that might have been British or French or something else entirely.
“I think we’re good. Are you free if I need backup on this case during the next couple of weeks?”
“I’m never free, Osborne, but for a price, I can help.” The mercenary comment didn’t surprise Darius. Ashton commanded a high price for the jobs he did.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for coming out on short notice.”
“Like I said, for a price, I’ll do just about anything. The client is in the back bedroom. For the record, she didn’t do any snooping. Just asked for a bed.”
“That’s not like Eileen. I’d better check on her. Where is she?” Catherine’s pale face looked even paler in the overhead light, freckles dancing across her nose and cheeks, her red hair bright and silky-looking.
Darius knew her skin would be velvety to the touch, knew her shoulders were warm flesh over taut muscle.
Knew that he needed to be very, very careful when he was around her, because his fingers itched to slide over silken skin, sink into soft hair.
“Down the hall and to the right,” Ashton responded. “If you don’t need anything else, Osborne, I’m going to take off.”
“No problem. You want to wait here, Logan? I’ll go with Catherine.” He didn’t give Randal a choice, just followed Catherine down the narrow hall and into the guest room.
Catherine shuffled forward to avoid tripping over anything in the dark room. She could hear Eileen’s labored breathing, and it hurt her heart. It wouldn’t be long before Eileen needed oxygen to get through the night. The doctors had warned that she was heading in that direction, and Catherine knew they were closer to it than either she or her grandmother wanted to admit.
Closer to the end than either of them wanted to admit.
It hurt to think about, hurt to acknowledge, and Catherine would have liked to pretend that the signs weren’t there. Her nurse’s training refused to let her. She might have spent four years in prison, but she hadn’t forgotten what she’d learned in school or what she’d learned in the five years she’d worked at Good Samaritan Convalescent Center—three as a nursing assistant and two as a registered nurse. She’d seen death in patients’ eyes, heard it in their breathing and in their voices. She knew which patients were nearing the end of their lives, which were accepting that and which ones were fighting it.
Eileen was fighting, but there would be a time when she couldn’t.
“Eileen?” she whispered, feeling the cool, lined skin of her grandmother’s forehead. Eileen didn’t respond, and Catherine touched the pulse point in her neck as she peered through the darkness and into Eileen’s pale face.
Please, God.
She tried to pray, but the words felt old and rusty, her faith used up during those days when she’d begged and begged for God to step in and keep her from going to prison.
He hadn’t answered then.
Would He now?
Please.
“Go away. I’m tryin’ to rest,” Eileen mumbled, her words slurred but strong.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said, relief flooding through her, making her weak-kneed and tired. This wasn’t supposed to be how things worked out. She wanted a redo, a rewind. Wanted a chance to go back four years and try to change things.
“Right as rain. Love you, girl,” Eileen said, without opening her eyes, and Catherine kissed her cheek, the leathery coolness making her eyes fill with tears.
One day soon, Eileen would be gone. Memories would be all Catherine had left. She wanted to make good ones. Had been trying to make good ones since the day she’d left prison.
It seemed like all she was making was more of a mess.
“I’m so sorry about all this, Eileen,” she whispered, feeling Darius behind her, his presence as compelling as warm fire on a cold day.
“Not your fault. Now, go away and let me sleep.”
She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stand where she was, watching over Eileen for the rest of the night, the rest of the next day, the rest of the time they had left together.
“Come on. She needs some rest, and Logan is waiting. She’ll be okay alone for a little bit.” Darius touched her back, his palm burning through her tank top, heat flooding through her.
She wanted to turn into him, bury her head against his chest, tell him the truth. That she was scared to death of leaving the room and coming back to find Eileen gone.
The weakness surprised her.
She hadn’t leaned on anyone since the first days of her trial when she’d poured her heart out to Peter. Her fiancé, her best friend, the man she’d thought she’d build a future with.
She shifted away from Darius’s hand and walked out of the room, following the scent of coffee into a cozy kitchen. Stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops gleamed in the warm overhead light. The walls had been painted light sand, and a bright white chair rail edged matching wainscoting. She wanted the kitchen to be cold and impersonal, but it had warmth and personality, the antique breadbox and huge 1940s stove making it more than just a cookie-cutter kitchen.
Not surprising.
Darius was more than a cookie-cutter guy.
That was the problem.
He didn’t fit the mold of tough bodyguard. His compassion shone from his soft green eyes, flowed through the warmth of his touch.
“Coffee?” Darius handed her a cup, and she took a sip, trying to focus on Logan, on the room, on anything but the man who seemed to demand every bit of her attention.
“Why don’t we have a seat, Catherine? I have a few questions to ask, and then I’ll let you get some sleep. It’s been a tough day.” Logan pulled out a chair, and Catherine dropped into it, her stomach churning with anxiety, her chest tight with it.
“What kind of questions?” she asked, annoyed by the tremor in her voice. She’d been dreading the moment she’d have to sit across from Logan, look into his eyes while he asked dozens of questions.
It had all happened before. Different deputy, of course, but the same scenario. Catherine thinking that she was being questioned as a witness and slowly realizing that she was a suspect.
A cold chill raced up her spine as she looked into Logan’s face. Surely no one would believe that she’d planted a bomb on her grandmother’s property. Then again, she hadn’t thought anyone would believe her to be a murderer.
“Just routine questions that we’d ask anyone in a situation like this.”
“Fine. Only this isn’t a routine situation, Logan, and you know it.” Her throat tightened, her brea
th coming too quickly, panic filling her.
“Relax.” Darius’s hands cupped her shoulders, kneading her tight muscles. Her body obeyed the command even as her heart shouted “danger.”
“He’s right. You need to relax. There’s no need to be nervous, Catherine. You’re the victim here, and we’re going to do everything we can to find the perpetrator.” Logan smiled kindly, but Catherine had seen plenty of smiles in the first days after she’d reported her suspicions about the deaths at the convalescent center. Eleven patients who hadn’t been sick and shouldn’t have died, suddenly gone. Heart attacks, every single one of them, and Catherine hadn’t been able to ignore the implications of that.
“Okay. Let’s get this over with. What do you want to ask?”
“Did you see the guy who set the bomb?”
“I saw him, but I didn’t see what he looked like.” He’d been nothing more than a shadow moving away from the car and then back to it.
“Can you give me an idea of his height and weight?” Logan pressed.
“Maybe six feet. Two hundred pounds.”
“A big guy, then?”
“Muscular. He looked very fit. Just like...”
“What?” Logan pressed.
“The guy who attacked me this morning.” She shivered, and Darius’s hands smoothed down her shoulders and arms, drifted back up again.
“Do you think they were the same guy?”
“Just based on size, they could have been.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded thick, her body so relaxed, so soft with the feel of Darius’s hands, that she thought she might never move again.
“What did the car look like?”
“Dark.”
“Do you want to expand on that?”
“That’s all I noticed. Dark and small.”
“It was a new Toyota. No license plate that I was able to see.” Darius dropped into the chair beside Catherine, his long legs splayed out beneath the table, his knee bumping Catherine’s as he shifted. Touching. Constantly touching. That was going to be a problem if she let it.
Navy SEAL Rescuer Page 6