She hurried into the corridor.
Darius followed, and she could feel his presence like sunshine on a winter day, warm and soothing and wonderful.
“Based on everything that has happened, it’s not a good idea for you to walk around in public without an escort,” he said, falling into step beside her.
“I’m not. You’re here.”
“You should have waited and let me come into the hall first.”
“I don’t think anyone would be foolish enough to try to kill me here.”
“People are murdered in crowds all the time. Are you willing to take unnecessary risks when Eileen needs you so much?”
“I don’t have a death wish if that’s what you’re getting at.” She stopped in front of Eileen’s door.
“So, maybe next time, you’ll wait for me before you run off.”
“I wasn’t running.”
“Sure you were. I don’t know what it is about me that makes you so nervous, but you may as well know that Eileen has asked me to protect you, and I plan to do it, so you’re just going to have to get used to having me around.”
“She asked you to what?” Shocked, Catherine looked straight into Darius’s too-handsome face.
He was serious.
Very serious.
“She wanted to hire me, but I told her I don’t charge neighbors. Besides, I’m on vacation for the next ten days, so whatever help I offer is on my personal time.”
“She wanted to hire you?”
“You sound surprised.” He leaned against the wall, subtly shifting his weight. Catherine was tired. He must be, too, but aside from that subtle shift, he didn’t show it.
“Eileen doesn’t like to ask for help.”
“You two seem to have that in common.”
“Maybe. When she’s feeling better, I’m sure she’ll regret trying to hire you.”
“She’ll regret it later? Or you regret it now?”
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Darius.”
“These are telling me something different.” He ran a finger along her throat. The bruises she hadn’t thought about in hours throbbed in response.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t in danger. I just said I didn’t need a bodyguard.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t plan to be your bodyguard.” He walked into Eileen’s room without another word, cutting off the argument before it should have been finished.
There was more to say.
Catherine was sure of that, because she was sure that Darius had every intention of hanging around and following through. He’d told Eileen he’d look out for her, and he would. No matter what name he put on it, it would be the same. Darius would always be around when she needed him.
In theory, that was a good thing.
In reality, it could only lead to heartache.
She walked across the room, looked into Eileen’s face. Deeply asleep, she didn’t stir as Catherine pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked them around her frail shoulders. For her, she’d do anything. Even risk her heart again.
“I need to go back to Eileen’s place to get a few things,” she said, stopping just short of asking for the escort Darius had said she needed.
“You going home?” Eileen opened her eyes.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“It’s hard to sleep around here. Are you going home?”
“Yes. Unless you want me to stay.”
“No, you go on home.”
“I’m going to bring your housecoat and nightgown. Is there anything else you need?”
“There’s something you need. Just in case. Look in the lockbox under my bed.”
“Eileen, you don’t have a lockbox under your bed.” Concerned, Catherine touched Eileen’s cheek and looked into her eyes.
“Stop looking at me like I’m senile. I do have a lockbox under the bed. There’s a loose floorboard there. Just feel around until you find the one that moves. I keep the box under there. The key is in the teapot on top of the china cabinet.”
“Do you want me to bring it here?”
“What’s in it is yours. I want you to keep it.”
“You’re not going to die today. You can give it to me when you get home.”
“Who’s to say how long any of us have, Catherine? Only God knows, and He’s not told me one way or another whether I’m going to make it through the night.”
“All right. I’ll get it,” she said, her heart heavy. Her entire nursing career had been spent caring for the elderly. Often, they seemed to know when death was closing in. She didn’t want to think that’s what was happening with Eileen, but she couldn’t deny the possibility.
“I won’t be long. Maybe an hour or two.” She kissed Eileen’s crepe-papery cheek, the dry soft flesh so different from what she remembered from childhood that tears burned behind her eyes.
“Don’t look so sad, Kitty-cat. I’ll be around when you come back.” Eileen patted her hand and closed her eyes, but Catherine couldn’t make herself walk away. A hundred memories crowded in her mind, and she wanted to reach back in time, live them all again.
“Ready?” Darius asked quietly, his hand on her shoulder, his fingers warm and strong. The past faded away, and she was in the moment, looking into eyes so vivid and filled with compassion that it hurt to look in them.
She nodded, because she couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, and because she refused to cry. Not now. Not when Eileen might wake and see her, and not with Darius so close, his shoulders so broad and capable. Someone to lean on when she needed it most, and for a moment she wanted that more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time.
His hand slipped from her shoulder to her elbow, and they walked out of the room together.
She should be alone on a beach somewhere, making plans for a fresh start and a bright future. She should not be walking away from Eileen, wondering how many more hours or days or weeks they would have together. She certainly shouldn’t be walking away with Darius, but he kept his hand on her arm as they got on the elevator, and she didn’t pull away. She didn’t even pretend she wanted to.
TEN
A lockbox under a loose floorboard sounded intriguing to Darius, but Catherine didn’t mention it as he drove her home and escorted her inside. Tense and pensive, she walked through the silent house, letting him check each room and closet, window and door. The place was locked up tight, the security system working.
“Everything looks good. You can go ahead and grab what you need. Take a shower if you want. I’d like to go to my place and do the same when we’re finished here.”
She nodded and retreated up the stairs.
He thought about following, but she needed space and he needed to sit. His leg throbbed insistently, the endless ache making him long for his recliner and an ice pack. He dropped into a rocking chair in the sparsely furnished living room, rubbing his thigh until the muscles eased.
Water ran somewhere in the house, the hushed sound strangely homey. Darius had been on his own since he’d run away from his last foster home at seventeen. He’d lived with a few housemates, done the communal living thing in the military. Since then, he’d lived alone. That worked for him. His job put high demands on his time, and he kept odd hours. Living alone meant doing his thing without fear of disturbing a housemate. There were times, though, when he craved company and noise, times when the demons of the past would have been more easily fought with someone else
.
A floorboard creaked on the stairs, Catherine’s soft footfall announcing her return. She walked past the living room, retreating down the hall. He followed, watching as she stretched to reach a teapot sitting on top of a worn china cabinet. Her black T-shirt rode up, revealing creamy white skin above her faded jeans. A faint purple scar snaked from her back down toward her hipbone. She teetered on her tiptoes, grasping the handle of the pot, but not quite getting it over the wooden edge of the cabinet.
“Let me.” He put a hand on her waist, holding her steady as he reached over her head and grabbed the pot. It felt heavy and full, nothing rattling as he put the chipped blue-and-white kettle into Catherine’s hands.
“Thanks.” She nearly pivoted into his chest, her damp hair brushing his chin, the scent of apples-and-spring rain drifting around her. His hand lay against warm, bare skin, his fingers curved over the scar.
“You’ve got quite a scar here.”
“I had kidney cancer when I was four. Fortunately, the tumor was contained. I haven’t had a problem since.”
“Glad to hear it,” he responded, tugging her closer. It seemed completely natural to trail his hand along her side, exploring the curve of her waist.
She froze, her muscles taut, her eyes deep blue and wary.
“Relax, Kitty-cat. I don’t bite.” He let her go reluctantly, smiling as fire replaced the wariness in her eyes.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Eileen does.”
“She used to. When I was in elementary school.”
“She did today, too,” he pointed out.
“I know. I hope...”
“What?”
“That it doesn’t mean anything.” She walked into the kitchen and placed the kettle on the small table, lifting the lid and looking inside.
“Wow,” she breathed, pulling out a roll of cash.
“She’s been saving for a rainy day.”
“I guess so.” She set the money on the table, then turned the kettle upside down. A key and a necklace dropped out. She lifted the delicate gold chain, studied the small ivory rose that hung from it.
“I guess that means something special to her.”
“I’ve never seen her wear it. Eileen isn’t a jewelry kind of woman.” She dropped it into the kettle and grabbed the key.
“Did you think she was a lockbox-under-the-bed kind of woman?” he asked.
“No. Eileen has always been an open book. She says what she thinks and doesn’t hold her punches. I didn’t think she had any secrets, but I guess I was wrong.” She shoved the money into the kettle, the bills barely fitting through the opening.
“You’re not going to count it?”
“Why would I? I’m not going to spend any of it. It’s Eileen’s.”
“Curiosity?” He’d have counted it. Then again, he’d have taken the necklace to the hospital and asked Eileen about it.
“I’m curious, but I respect my grandmother’s privacy. Obviously, she put this here for a reason, and I’m not going to count it or think of ways we could use it.” She tried to replace the kettle, going up on tiptoes again, her deep red hair brushing her collar as she stretched up on bare toes.
He took it from her hands again, setting it back in place, and doing his very best not to notice the warmth of Catherine’s body as he leaned over her. Trying not to inhale deeply as the scent of apples-and-rain filled his nose.
“Thanks. Again.” She walked out of the room, and he knew he shouldn’t follow. This was her gig, her grandmother, their secrets that were about to be uncovered.
He followed anyway, walking up the stairs and into a small bedroom that looked out over the backyard. Sunlight splashed across the wide-planked wood floor, dust drifting lazily in its beams. The place looked abandoned, the lone bed covered with a single sheet. No pillow. No curtains. Nothing that would indicate that anyone ever used the room.
“This was her room before she got too weak to walk up and down the stairs. When I realized how ill she was, I set things up downstairs to make life a little easier on her,” Catherine said as if she thought he might need an explanation.
She didn’t ask him why he’d followed, and she didn’t demand that he leave. Maybe he was making progress, though he wasn’t quite sure what kind of progress he wanted to make.
Catherine intrigued him. That was for sure.
“I guess I’d better get the box.” She dropped onto her hands and knees, scooted under the bed until only her legs were showing. Good thing she was so small. There wasn’t much space between the box spring and the floor. She rustled around for a moment, and something knocked against the bed. Her head? The board?
Finally, she scooted back out, dust coating her hair and smudge on her cheeks. “I think I’m going to have to move the bed. I found the board, but there’s not enough space to lift it.”
She didn’t ask for help, and she didn’t wait for him to offer. She grabbed the heavy headboard and dragged the bed, the muscles in her slender arms popping with the effort.
“Want some help?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“I can manage.”
“There are a lot of things that you can manage, Catherine. That doesn’t mean you should. Especially not when you’re in a hurry and managing on your own means taking extra time.” He grabbed the footboard and pulled with her, the bed moving easily with their combined strength.
“Thanks. These old beds were built solid.” She knelt, touching one floorboard and then another. “This is the one.” She wiggled the loose board, managed to get her fingers between it and the one beside it, then flipped it, revealing a thick floor joist with spaces on either side.
“Is it there?” He crouched beside her, spotting the rusted lockbox before she responded.
“It looks old. Of course, everything in the house is old.” She lifted it, set it on the floor. Small and rectangular, made of painted metal, it didn’t look like it could keep anyone out.
“I can see why she hid it. It wouldn’t take much to open it. Key or no key.”
“I can’t believe she had anything worth hiding.” Catherine lifted the box, studying the rusted top, turning it over to look at the bottom. She didn’t seem in any hurry to open it.
“Want me to unlock it for you?”
“No need to be impatient, Darius,” she responded lightly, turning the box again.
“I’m not impatient. I’m curious.”
Catherine was curious, too. She was also terrified. Eileen didn’t keep secrets. She’d always said that she didn’t believe in them.
Hiding things from people only leads to trouble.
Eileen had said that more times than Catherine could count, but she’d been hiding a locked box under her bed. Based on the layer of dust coating it, she’d been hiding it for a long time.
Catherine wiped the dust away, studying the grime on her finger because it was easier than opening the box and learning Eileen’s secrets.
“You okay?” Darius touched her wrist, his fingers broad and tan and warm. If she told him to leave, he would. She was sure of that, but she didn’t want to be alone any more than she wanted to open the box.
Fear beat a hollow rhythm in her chest, the aching pressure of it stealing her breath. Not fear of the box or the secrets, fear for Eileen. Fear for what she’d said and what that might mean. Fear that today or tomorrow or the next day might be Eileen’s last.
“What will I do when she dies?” she said out loud,
her hand shaking as she shoved the key into the lock and turned it.
“You’ll miss her, but you’ll go on.” His hand settled on the small of her back. Reassuring and light, not demanding anything.
“I had all these dreams when I heard I was going to be released from prison. I thought I’d come back and fix up the house for Eileen. I’d move to a little cottage on the beach, and Eileen would visit me there, and I’d visit her here. When she was too old to keep up with the house, she’d come stay with me. I had it all planned out, but nothing is like I thought it would be.” The box top sprang open, and she stared at the papers inside. Lifted them slowly. Not sure she wanted to read what they said.
A will, maybe?
Eileen didn’t have much to leave to anyone.
Or, at least, Catherine didn’t think she had much.
They’d always struggled, always just managed to make it through the week, the month, the years. There’d been no extra for lessons or fancy clothes or new cars. As far as Catherine had known, Eileen’s waitressing job had been just enough to get by.
Of course, as far as Catherine had known, there was no lockbox, no hidden cash, no necklace made of gold and ivory.
The heaviness in her chest intensified a she lifted the papers and set them on the dusty floor. Five one-hundred-dollar bills lay in the bottom of the box along with two wedding bands. A tiny thin one and a thicker one, both of them silver. Neither was engraved, and she could only guess that they had belonged to her parents. A gold charm bracelet lay in the corner of the box. Baby booties and a flower and a graduation cap. Eileen’s? Catherine’s mother’s?
She didn’t know, and that frustrated her more than she wanted to admit.
“Family treasures?” Darius asked as she set the box down and lifted the stack of papers.
“I guess so. I don’t remember ever seeing any of them before. The rings might have belonged to my parents.”
Navy SEAL Rescuer Page 10