The screen showed a picture of Noah in one corner. “Noah Page, O’Clery’s estranged father, is founder and CEO of the private military company rumored to have arranged her rescue from Afghanistan, where she was held prisoner for more than two weeks. Page denies any ties to the man hospitalized during the latest attempt on her life. Roaring Creek authorities aren’t commenting whether the attempt on O’Clery’s life is related to her kidnapping in Afghanistan….”
Cullen let go of a vicious curse.
“Some quack tried to off her?” Luc asked, incredulous.
Someone had nearly succeeded in killing Sabine. Noah had told him about her visit to Samuel’s wife and the photos she’d found. He’d worried about Aden showing up at her bookstore, too. Now there was no doubt; Aden knew about the photos. But was Sabine’s finding them enough reason to kill her? He and Noah were missing something. What did Aden have to hide, and who were the men in those photos?
Cullen stormed through the house and went to the guest room, where he found his cell phone. Punching numbers with trembling fingers, he waited until Noah answered.
“What happened?” he said flatly.
“Cullen?”
“Someone tried to kill Sabine.”
“I know. I’ve been trying to reach you but your phone was off. Cullen—”
He couldn’t get a grip on the feelings swarming him. It was such a foreign sensation. “What have you learned about the chopper that fired at us? Has Odie been in touch with you?”
“Your resources are helping, Cullen. It’s just going to take some time.”
Cullen dug his fingers through his hair and stopped trying to hide his unease. He swore and it came from the depths of his soul. He was sick with worry.
“Don’t do anything rash,” Noah warned.
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a too-powerful urge to go to Sabine. To see for himself that she was all right and to keep her that way. All the years he’d worked to get where he was, and he was willing to throw it all away for a woman? He didn’t understand what was happening to him.
“I’ll send more men,” Noah said. “I’ll send twenty if I have to. Cullen, you aren’t responsible for this. Stay away from her.”
Cullen moved across the guest room and didn’t reply for several seconds. When he spoke, he feared it was from his heart and nothing else.
“Don’t send anyone, do you understand? I’ll be there by tomorrow night.”
He disconnected the call and stood staring out the window of the guest room. What was he thinking? If the media was thick around Sabine before, they’d be like ticks on a dog’s ass by now.
He paced the room. Ran his fingers through his hair once again. Sighed hard. Going to Sabine right now was suicide for his career, both with the reserves and his company.
He leaned with his hands against the wall beside the window and shut his eyes, breathing faster than normal. How could he ignore the attempt on her life? How could he go on as though he’d never gone to Afghanistan to free her? As though he’d never made love to her? He couldn’t, that’s how.
No matter what it cost him in the end, no matter how he felt about this unreasonable drive to risk everything for her, he couldn’t stand by and watch the news to find out what happened next.
He had to do something.
* * *
Three days after her attack, Sabine folded a towel and stacked it with the rest on the kitchen table. It was late for doing laundry, but she’d had the dream again and had given up on getting any more sleep for the night.
What sounded like floorboards creaking downstairs made her go still. She listened for a while. The washer had finished its cycle but she hadn’t loaded the dryer yet, so the apartment was quiet. Another creak sent her pulse leaping. Someone was in her bookstore. Again.
Turning, she lifted the handset of the telephone in her kitchen. No dial tone. Her breathing quickened and she fought that too-familiar fear. Yesterday, she’d practiced for several hours with Buddy, shooting her pistol. If the man who’d attacked her had returned, this time she wouldn’t miss.
Putting the phone down, she went to her bedroom for the gun, stepping lightly. She slid in a clip and made sure the gun was ready to fire. With a deep breath to bolster her nerve, she left her room and moved carefully to the door leading to the lower level. The hardwood floor was cold on her feet. Pausing at the door, she heard only silence on the lower level, which only made her more nervous. Silence could be more terrifying than any sound. She didn’t like the memory of that.
Turning off the kitchen light, she slowly turned the doorknob. Opening the door a crack, she looked down the narrow stairs. No one was there. She opened the door a fraction wider, not making a sound, aiming the pistol down the stairs.
Assured she was alone and out of sight for now, Sabine stepped down the stairs on tiptoe, avoiding the areas she knew would creak. At the bottom, she stopped to listen. No sound. Not one.
Around the wall, in the moonlight, she spotted a man standing near the back door of her bookstore. He was dressed all in black, and it frightened her to see he also wore a black mask over his head. He was taller than the man who’d attacked her. Bigger, too. At the moment he was pointing a big gun with a silencer through a narrow opening of the door, his back to her as he appeared to be watching for something outside.
She stepped softly toward him. Holding her pistol with both hands, she stopped and aimed for his head. At this distance, she wouldn’t miss if she fired.
He seemed to sense her presence then. His head turned slightly and he went very still.
“Don’t shoot,” he said without looking at her.
His voice flustered her. There was something familiar about it. He raised his hands and slowly turned.
All she saw of him beneath his cover of black was the glitter of his eyes. They were light in color but she couldn’t tell what shade. He was very tall. As tall as...
“Drop the gun,” she said, without finishing the thought, afraid it would distract her too much.
He didn’t move, which gave her time to notice more about him. His tactical canvas pants with cargo pockets fit close to his hips and legs without being tight. His shirt was made of the same durable material but molded to his muscular upper body and still managed to appear flexible.
She adjusted the aim of her gun. “Drop it. Now. Or I’ll pull this trigger.”
She watched him blink before he slowly lowered the gun to the floor, bending, then straightening.
“Don’t shoot,” he said again, standing with his hands spread wide so she could see they were empty.
That voice...
He took a step toward her, sending her heart skittering. “Don’t move!” A tremble shook her hands.
“Sabine—”
That rasp... She knew that voice.
He knew her name.
While she struggled with what this information meant, he sprang into action. He moved so fast she didn’t see what he’d actually done until she felt a sting on her wrists and her pistol went flying. The same instant she realized she was no longer armed, she felt her feet swept out from under her and found herself on her butt. Dazed, she watched as the man crouched for his weapon smooth as a cat.
“Stay here,” he said, then ran out the door.
“What—” Sabine gave herself a mental shake and jumped to her feet.
Grabbing her pistol, she ran through the door after him. She stopped and looked left and right, seeing nothing through the darkness. A sound brought her head whipping back to her left. She ran with her gun pointed to the ground, holding it with both hands. She ignored her cold feet and bare arms as she reached the corner of the building. Leaning forward, she peered around the corner. There was only a field to the west of her bookstore, which was located on the west edge of town
, but a streetlight to the south illuminated the man dressed in black chasing another figure into the street.
Sabine ran after them. What was happening? Why were two men sneaking around her bookstore in the middle of the night—again?
She watched the man in black catch the second figure, a lean man who was not as tall. Tripped by quick and agile feet, the shorter man fell in the street. Before he could regain his balance, the man in black struck him with his gun. The shorter man went limp.
Was he dead?
The man in black hefted the shorter man up and over his shoulder then turned to look back. Sabine felt goose bumps from more than cold raise the flesh on her arms. But instead of coming toward her, he walked the opposite direction across the street.
He might as well have been carrying a sack of grain for all the trouble it took him to step up the curb and open the front door of the vacant building across the street...directly across from her bookstore and apartment. He left the front door open as he disappeared inside, as though beckoning her to follow.
Wary of the familiarity she felt toward him, she did. Somewhere in the depths of her mind she knew who he was. But the implications of his being here, in Roaring Creek, with an unconscious man in a vacant building, were too much for her to accept all at once.
Shivering from cold and apprehension, she put her hand against the door frame and tried to see through the darkness inside the building. A light snapped on, illuminating a stairway leading to a lower level, a basement.
She didn’t want to go down there, but curiosity moved her feet for her. She paused halfway when she heard the clatter of something metal. Taking several deep breaths, she stepped the rest of the way down the stairs.
The basement was small. A single bulb lit the open space, deep shadows swallowing the far wall. A modern furnace looked out of place surrounded by the old wood-and-stone frame of the house. The man in black stood with his arms at his sides, pistol hanging from his right hand. Sabine felt him looking at her through the twin holes of his mask.
Next to him, the figure from the street was on his knees, and his hands were tied by a chain that slung him from a pipe running across the ceiling, the metal clatter she’d heard. It was the man who’d attacked her in her bookstore. She stared at the man in black. How had he known? A riot of emotions warred in her, resistance against what a deeper part of her already knew.
Sliding his pistol into the waist of his black pants, the man in black moved toward her. His head barely fit under the low ceiling. His power lurked in the play of sinewy muscles beneath his dark covering, in the sheer size of him, long thighs, big shoulders and arms. She would have taken an instinctive step back if she hadn’t been so frozen with disbelief.
The closer he came, the clearer she saw his eyes. When he stopped before her, she could no longer cling to doubt. Those eyes had looked into hers with naked, intimate heat.
When he reached to pull off the mask, she stopped breathing. Black hair fell in disarray around his head, and the full impact of his gray eyes was just as intense as she remembered, but tinged with a familiar energy. Focused and ready for combat. His gaze lowered down the front of her, unhurried, remembering, as she was. Dressed only in her thin white cotton top and matching pajama pants, she felt stripped by that look.
“Cullen,” she whispered.
He lifted one gloved hand and traced the bruise on her neck. The trail of his finger left a tingle on her skin. She stood still while he told her without words what had drawn him here. His gaze shifted and met hers, burning hotter with the promise of vengeance.
She stepped back, out of his reach, not at all trusting herself with the way he made her feel. Her gaze passed over the man secured by the chain and then around the dark basement.
“We have to call the sheriff.” She started to turn.
Cullen took hold of her arm just above her elbow and pulled her back to face him. “No sheriff.”
She curled her hand over his biceps, meaning to push him away. Instead fiery awareness of the iron-hard muscle shot through her.
“That’s the second time that man tried to attack me,” she spat. “We have to report it.”
“No police. No reporters. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here.”
“Then why did you come? I don’t need your help anymore.”
His eyes indicated the bruises on her neck. “Go home, Sabine. You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you again. I’ll make sure you’re safe from now on.”
“Go home?” She tugged her arm and he let her go. “And what? Forget you’re here? That you have a man tied by a chain in the basement of what I thought was a vacant building that happens to be right across the street from my bookstore?” She couldn’t help looking at Cullen’s body again, so huge and ominous dressed in black. Disturbed by the warming reaction the sight gave her, she turned and climbed the stairs.
On the first level, she stood in the middle of the empty room, uncertain what to do. The house didn’t appear lived-in. Something caught her eye. Near the windowsill on an upside-down cardboard box, silhouetted by the streetlight, was a pair of binoculars. She went there, staring at the binoculars a moment before looking out the window. Her bookstore was in clear view.
A sound made Sabine turn. Cullen stood at the top of the basement stairs, gun still tucked into the black pants, watching her. Next to him, stairs led to a second level. She engaged the safety on her pistol and headed there. Climbing the stairs, she heard him follow.
Straight ahead at the top of the stairs, a hall led to three dark rooms. Sabine’s hand trailed along the round ball at the end of the railing as she stepped into a room to her right. An unmade and otherwise unadorned mattress was the only piece of furniture other than a card table, where a black briefcase was open. A cord trailed from the briefcase to a plug in the wall. Inside the briefcase was a small monitor surrounded by other electronics. The monitor blinked a red “Camera 2” along with an unobtrusive beeping sound.
Cullen had been spying on her.
“It’s infrared.”
She turned to see him standing at the top of the stairs.
“For motion detection,” he added.
She barely heard him. He’d come for her. He’d come, despite the risk of exposure. Why? A warm rush of hope threatened her resolve to keep him out of her heart.
He moved toward her, those eyes glowing with answering heat. “It isn’t over, Sabine.”
It took her a few seconds to realize he wasn’t referring to the two of them. Just when she was beginning to feel strong again, he had to show up and knock her off balance. He was like one of her misguided achievements. She’d have to sacrifice too much of herself to have him, even for a little while.
“Did my father send you?” she asked.
He stopped too close. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“He didn’t want me to come.”
His eyes lowered and she felt his gaze like a physical touch, lingering on her chest. Then all that energy captured her with an unspoken message. She couldn’t look away. Her pulse warmed with the shift of his gaze into hers. She flinched when he touched her hand, but his fingers only took hold of the gun. Letting him have it, she rubbed her arms and watched him tuck it in the back of his pants.
“I’ll take you home.”
From downstairs, the sound of something clanging to the floor ended the argument. Cullen ran down the stairs and Sabine followed. She heard glass shattering. At the bottom of the basement steps, she saw Cullen standing with his gun aimed out the basement window. It was broken, and the man who’d been hanging by the chain was gone.
Chapter 8
“While you’re wearing the stain off my wood floor, I’ll be downstairs stocking my shelves.” Holding a fresh container of sun tea in one hand and a small cooler of ice in th
e other, she waited for Cullen to stop pacing in the middle of the living room to look at her. He’d seen her safely home in the wee hours of morning, just before Minivan Man arrived for his shift. Early. Now Cullen was trapped here, although he’d cracked a smile at her name for the reporter.
He didn’t respond, but his impatience etched stern lines on his face. It was almost comical. “You don’t do well with nothing to keep you occupied, do you?”
His brow put a deeper crease above his nose.
Smiling, she opened the door leading to the stairs and quipped, “I’ll send you a bill for the floor.”
Stepping onto the first stair, she closed the door on his slightly less brooding face. Downstairs, the blinds were open in her bookstore. The sun was shining this morning, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It perked up her mood. She put the jug of tea on the checkout counter. She’d keep the Closed sign up and front door locked just in case Minivan Man decided to try to corner her.
Finding a plastic cup on one of the shelves behind the checkout counter, she put ice in it and filled it with tea. The sound of boots thudding a slow tread made her look toward the row of shelves that blocked her view of the office. Cullen appeared in one of the aisles. She’d known he wouldn’t be able to stay upstairs with nothing to do. Pulling out another cup, she poured him a glass of tea. He stopped and lifted it from the counter when she finished.
“Thanks.”
Sipping, he eyed the windows at the front of the store and started to go there.
“I want the blinds open,” she warned him.
He didn’t stop.
“I like the sunlight,” she raised her voice.
He reached for the string hanging from the blinds nearest the door, heedless of the demand in her tone. Pulling, he lowered the blinds over the window.
“Leave the damn blinds open!”
Paying her no heed, he moved to the second set and shut them, plunging the bookstore into gloomy light.
Seducing the Colonel's Daughter: Seducing the Colonel's DaughterThe Secret Soldier Page 31