by Jodi Henley
Twelve hours in a rubber room? His week couldn’t get much worse, stuck in the middle of hick-nowhere with a bunch of killers and a woman crazy enough to ditch a plum genetic assignment as a billionaire heiress for the fascinating life of a geologist. And she wasn’t mentally unstable? Keegan adjusted his still empty holster. Oh hell yeah.
****
Jen paced back and forth, shivering in the hot, filtered air. Rain drizzled down the window glass, steady and monotonous. Her eyes burned, tears stopped up like her emotions.
We Stallings….
Power to shake the world, and she couldn’t cry to fill a teaspoon. They hadn’t even pretended to look for Terri’s killers. Jen’s protected position as Art Stalling's crazy daughter was the only reason she hadn’t been admitted for observation. Instead they’d confined her to this dinky room while StallingCo tried to fix things.
Chandler rapped sharply on the door, then cleared his throat in that officious way he used when trying to impress someone. The twit.
“Ms. Stalling?” he said. “This is Keegan Dalfrey. He’ll be staying with you for a few days.”
No one she knew, and not from around here, not with that coloring. Keegan’s easy to forget face didn’t fool her for a minute. His eyes gave him away, cold and dark gray. Tawny hair cut tight to his head and thin, arrogant lips.
“Ma’am,” he said. “Your father sent me to negate your current threat situation.”
Jen pulled her jacket tight, fists knotted in the damp yellow fabric. “I’d like to go home.”
“Before we do that,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you and get a grip on the situation—”
“I want to go home.”
“Ma’am. For your own good—”
“Now!” she screamed. “I want to go home...now.” Her chest heaved and she couldn’t breathe—“I want to go home now, damn it! Please....”
Keegan saw Chandler roll his eyes, which was about all he could take. He didn’t play well with others, and “Bobby” Chandler wasn’t just an ass, but a goddamned idiot. Keegan shoved him out into the hall and wedged a chair under the doorknob. He knew they were being recorded, but the window was still a nice touch; giving the illusion of freedom to what was essentially a cell. With the door closed the room looked smaller than it really was. A table and two utility chairs took up most of the space, although Guinevere Stalling was trying her damnedest to shove herself through the opposite wall.
He leaned against the door and eyed her without changing position. “How long have you been in here?”
Not something she’d expected to hear and that was for damned sure. She stopped in mid-scream and blinked warily. “I...don’t know,” she whispered, rough and hesitant. “They fed me.”
“If those eggshells are leftovers, it’s no wonder you want out.” He waited until she got a good look at him before he straightened. “I’m here to help you, Ms. Stalling. I can’t do that with you all crazy on me.”
Her eyes were golden-brown like sunshine through good whiskey and slightly tipped at the corners. “We Stallings are all crazy, Mr. Dalfrey. We breed for it.”
“Ma’am, if you’d call me Keegan, I’d appreciate it. You look like you’re in shock and hungry, but I don’t think you’re crazy.”
That got him another, much harder look. “You don’t belong to my father,” she said, abruptly.
“No, ma’am.”
She brushed the hair out of her eyes and a long black ponytail tumbled out of her jacket, rippling over her shoulders in a fall of black silk. He’d thought her stocky and androgynous, but the stocky bit was dead wrong, and her clothes were the only androgynous things about her.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and finally nodded at him. “My name is Jen.”
He nodded back. “C’mon, Jen. Let’s get you out of here.”
****
Jen didn't think they’d escape so easily. Chandler caught them on the way out, his bland corporate face intent and serious.
He handed Keegan a heavy canvas tote. “You’ll need these,” he said.
Keegan looked inside. “That accident—”
“Is under control,” Chandler said smoothly. “We’re having sporadic personnel issues.”
Jen felt sick. “Security is compromised.”
“We’re working on it,” said Chandler.
“I’ve put years into the geothermal linkage. Its two months from finalizing—”
Keegan grabbed her shoulder, turning her to face him. “It's not worth your life.”
“Don't touch me!” She shrugged away from him, too tired to fight. One hand swept up over her still dry face and snagged on her tightly held lips, pressing the pain back in.
Chandler went very bland. “We’ll talk later. For now, do what Mr. Dalfrey says. StallingCo will handle things on this end.”
Jen stumbled in Keegan’s wake and let him buckle her in. The ride passed in a blur. Just inside her subdivision, Keegan pulled his unmarked StallingCo loaner vehicle off on the side of the road. The engine purred softly. Terri was dead, and God knew who else. Project security was compromised. Jen stared down at her clenched fists. Her fingernails were torn and dirty, and she couldn't remember how they got that way. A watery, gray sunset slanted through the thick undergrowth. The temperature was falling. It was warm in the car, but she couldn’t stop shivering. She rubbed the back of her fists, over and over; down over her thighs, pressing hard as if smearing dirt over her already stained khakis would make the blood go away.
Keegan shrugged out of his jacket and passed it to her. He waited until she took it before loosely curling his hands around the steering wheel. In the light from the console, they were big and raw-boned. All scraped and bruised like he’d hit something.
“I’m no good at this personal protection thing,” he said. He cleared his throat. He had some kind of southern accent, a faint drawl that sounded like he’d spent a lot of time somewhere else. “Can you...put the jacket on? Please? You keep shivering.”
The heavy fabric smelled like him, and even having that little bit of another person inside her personal space made her uncomfortable. Kindness, in her experience, meant people wanted something. What did he want from her?
Her brows drew down. “Why does it bother you?”
“Just put it on, okay?”
She hesitated, then slowly drew the jacket up over her own. The sick feeling in her stomach oozed away and she rolled her head back against the head rest. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
He sighed and put the car in gear. “Not a problem.”
****
Rain crossed the road in visible sheets, silvery-gray for the second it was caught in the headlights and death-black behind them. The bodyguard thing wasn’t going well, but to throw Fallon or Corlis in on an all or nothing contract wasn’t an option.
Jen’s property just outside Volcano Village sprawled over five acres at the end of a dirt access road. The subdivision was sparsely settled, and Keegan left the engine running while he watched the clearing around her house. He cut the engine. The car was safe enough. They’d told him it was armored. Jen’s breathing was still tight and labored, but she’d stopped shivering.
“No surprises, okay? Let me go first.”
She handed him the keys and he got out. A quick search turned up no intruders. He opened the car door and stepped back. “C’mon.”
Jen wobbled from her seat. He’d left the living room light on and it made the greenish cast to her face look like paint. She took two steps and abruptly dropped to her knees, arms locked down over her stomach, shoulders shaking. He pulled her up into his arms and into the shelter of the half-porch, one hand sweeping protectively over her back. Nothing came out, but that didn’t stop her from dry-heaving.
“Don’t touch me,” she croaked. Any other woman would be crying, but Jen's eyes were red-rimmed and absolutely dry.
“I thought about that,” he said, still rubbing, but for a totally different reason now. “I thought mayb
e I should let you fall. Maybe I should just back off. Maybe go inside.” She was pressed to him from head to toe and everywhere in-between, and didn’t it just figure his body would take the opportunity to sit up and beg. This wasn’t the time or place, though, and it sure as hell wasn’t the right person. His hand came to rest on the small of her back and clenched. “But then I thought—honey, I need to touch you. If something happens, I can’t hesitate over your comfort zone.”
Abruptly, she smashed her face to his shoulder, holding him back for the briefest second. Keegan winced through his surprise, and she pulled away, eyes dark.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, hoarsely. “Someone shot you.”
Chapter Two
Jen pulled away as far as she could get, trapped in the circle of his arms. “The bandage,” she muttered. “It’s soaked through.”
“I didn't mean to get blood on your face.”
She refused to look at him. “Blood bothers me.”
“Then it must have bothered the hell out of you when your friend went splat.”
“Yes,” she said tightly. Ice spread out like a cancer, freezing her in place. “It did.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
He hesitated. “Want me to stop talking?" He used his shirt tail to wipe her face. “I’m not good at talking. I can do orders, but talking?”
He brushed at her lips and her eyelids lowered, lips parting. How could a man with such big hands be so gentle? Rain spattered the stoop and jolted her to life. She didn’t want to die, and in that one thing she was her father’s daughter. As much as she hated to admit it, Keegan was right. Hesitation was fatal.
“I don't mind talking to you.”
Whatever he saw in her eyes made him nod. “I’ll work on it,” he said quietly.
He opened the door for her and followed her up the stairs. The space-heaters weren't on. She was cold right down to her bones. Jen pulled the bundled jackets up tight around her throat as they entered her living room.
Keegan left his boots on. She’d almost puked on him. Thank God he wasn't going to mention it. Her father said she had a weak stomach. Maybe she did or maybe it was just fear exploding upward in a tangible rush.
“That chair is good,” he said, pointing to her favorite recliner. “Back it up to the wall and stay away from the window.”
He pulled a gun from a holster behind his hip, and disappeared down the short hallway that led to the rest of the house.
Jen pushed the chair into position and sat. She must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, Keegan was back.
“I put your stuff in the bathroom,” he said.
“My stuff?”
“I started a bath and laid out your clothes.”
“You went through my things?”
“Anyone else would be grateful.”
She stared at him. “I’m a Stalling,” she told him. “That’s as grateful as I get.”
He held the door for her. She stepped inside and leaned against the wall, covering her face with her hands. He must have thrown some bath salts in the tub because the tiny room smelled like roses. She was so tired, if she could just sit down in the warm water and not get up again. He helped her out of the jacket and did the same with her windbreaker.
The room got smaller as he pulled at her shirt; fingers paused on the thin cotton, clearly asking her permission to take it off. She knew what she looked like and wondered why he didn't ignore her and continue with the business of undressing her, but obviously he had some vestige of decency. She held her arms out and he pulled the shirt up and over her head.
He was close, right up against her as he dropped to his knees and undid her button. The slow rasp of her zipper made her shudder and she stopped him, one hand tightly curled around his wrist. Her pants sagged down on one hip.
“I'll get the rest,” she said, all too aware of everything about him. His size, his scent, his very presence in her home. She could feel his heart pounding under her fingers and his breath on the sensitive flesh of her stomach. She released him quickly. “I have bandages in my medicine cabinet. Antibiotics. My cousin is a doctor. I could call him—”
Keegan stood, rubbing the back of his wrist. His eyes were dark and lingered on her slowly slipping khakis. “It’s a gunshot wound. He’d have to report it and I don’t need complications right now.”
Her entire life was a complication. What was one more? She didn't realize she said it out-loud until Keegan gave her a sharp look.
“Whoever killed your friend is trying to create buy-in for a series of accidents. Killing you now would be a bad move on their part. Take your time. We’ll move when you’re ready.”
****
Keegan rubbed at his eyes, too tired to do more than stand in one place and sway.
Jen had curled up against the living room’s central wall, using the cushions he’d arranged for her. Apparently houses in Hawaii didn’t come with central heat. He’d asked her where the controls were and she’d pointed out a space heater doing the usual crappy space-heater job before going belly down on the cushions, one arm up over her head.
He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. She was exhausted and he was out of time. Things were starting to strobe.
DalCon Security was a small firm with less than thirty operatives and support staff, but their rescue ops were the stuff of legend. They’d dealt with the Samoy before, knew what to expect. The People’s Army of the Samoy Independent States called it protective custody, but Keegan knew it for a hostage situation. The Samoy wanted two million in ten days. Less than half the time they’d allotted Sung Kai for the return of his boy. It was a nuisance fee and Keegan was expected to swallow it, because if he didn’t they would all die, beginning with Connor, and ending with the rest of them when Keegan went crazy and tried to take out the Samoy stronghold.
Jen rolled over and hit the wall with a soft grunt. Long black hair spilled out over her shoulders and puddled at his feet. Keegan re-adjusted her blanket and found himself holding the plaid fabric while his world spun out of control. He couldn’t crash yet. The blanket’s orange and black pattern reminded him of Halloween. A sliver of pale green silk peeked up over the waist of her pajama bottoms. She was so pretty and he didn’t want any pumpkins.
“Padraic! Catch him, quick—”
A blur of motion and camouflage, hard arms dragging him away from Jen and pushing him over on the floor. Keegan flopped on his back, arms outstretched.
Plain black sneakers stopped next to his head and tapped impatiently. “How do you feel?”
“Shoulder,” he muttered.
Corlis checked his dressing with long cool fingers. “Minimal damage. You can change it later. We have a problem.”
Fallon dropped beside her and jerked a pair of night vision goggles down around his throat. He didn’t look any better than Keegan felt, but he was mobile, which put him in the one up position.
Corlis sat and circled her knees with one arm. “Abort. Bunch of whack-job Greens called the Aina say the girl is a material witness—and, big surprise—they don’t like it.”
Keegan frowned, thoughts circling his rapidly crumbling fort. “Eco-terrorists? That shit went out with the nineties. Why didn't Stalling call the cops?”
Corlis tipped her head to the side. “Think about it—a Stalling on the open market? His indifference is the only thing keeping her safe. Anything he does for her has got to be internal, and apparently his security is shot to hell. If he cares for her at all it’s got to be driving him insane.”
“Terrorists, potential kidnappers, everyone and their uncle want this woman. How the hell has she managed to stay out of the family compound this long?”
“She never left,” said Corlis. “Stalling backs the Project in a major way. Apparently her job has the potential to go high-profile and her dad is obsessive-compulsive.”
The room was silent for a minute.
“She’s a heavy sleeper,” Corlis said.
Fallon laughed sharply. “Maybe she’s dead.”
Corlis got up and paced out the perimeter, going around and round, wound up tight, sneakers silent on the hardwood floor.
“She’s been multitasking for months. Part of the final team. Once those deep water cables are laid, the Pele Project will become the biggest geothermal power plant in the world—large enough to take Hawaii from tourist trap to major player overnight.”
Keegan rolled up on one hand and got to his feet. “And the Aina want to snap a cover down on it, shit—we need this contract.”
Corlis stopped, balanced on the balls of her feet. “The contract is a joke. Connor’s window is too small. Call Nick. Get the teams in. We’ll—”
“No games.” Keegan shook off the all too familiar rush of guilt. “I want an ironclad guarantee they won’t kill Connor the second we insert.”
“You’re getting too involved with the problem,” said Fallon.
“The problem?” Keegan rubbed a hand over his face. “Which problem? The one where the Samoy kill Connor or the one where the Aina kill Jen?”
Fallon went dead silent and finally said, “The minute we bail there'll be a goddamned army in here. Everyone knows the Stallings take care of their own.”
Keegan pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders. “We don’t bail.”
Fallon pushed the blanket down and took a good look. “C’mon, K—we’re one hell of a team, but we can’t fix this.”
“I think we can.”
“Yeah, when you thought it was an easily defined threat, not a bunch of asshole terrorist wannabes. One call to StallingCo Security and this op is history.”
Corlis wound her fist in Fallon’s sleeve and pulled him back, her voice hushed and urgent. “Let it go.”
“Look at his face. He wants to nail her.”
“And your point?”
“Jesus God Almighty, you don’t fuck the client!”
Corlis gave Keegan a considering look. “Think it’ll control her?”
The expression on Fallon’s face crossed the line from furious to ugly. “If it didn’t control you, what makes you think it’ll control her?”