The Protector

by Marliss Melton

  “Well, there isn’t any other way!” Cougar exploded without warning into rage. “Carrie’s gonna die and there’s nothing anyone can fucking do about it!”

  “I wasn’t saying—”

  “I know what you were saying. Why don’t you think about someone other than your fucking self, you selfish bastard?”

  Pain whipped through Ike. Cougar wasn’t just talking about their current situation. He was making reference to the incident at Yaqubai. He closed his eyes and brought up a hand to squeeze the back of his neck. “I can’t take her to my place,” he reiterated.

  “Fuck you, LT. You wanna quit? Then you call the Commander yourself and tell him.”

  “Don’t hang up—”

  The click in Ike’s ear sounded like a gun shot. Flinching, he hurled the cheap phone across the length of the barn into a bayberry bush.

  Sonofabitch!

  Scraping his fingers through the silver spikes of his hair, he glared at his Durango and grimaced. Now what? He couldn’t just leave Eryn on the side of a country road. But taking her to his refuge was unthinkable.

  The place was a dump, which was fine for him. He’d wanted seclusion, not some ritzy resort up in the mountains. After three years in Afghanistan, his cabin was a big step up. Blue eyes, on the other hand, had probably never roughed it in her life.

  Damn it, the last thing he needed was some beautiful, untouchable female underfoot. Keep her? What the hell was Stanley thinking?

  Roused by a wet nose, Eryn awoke with a start. The events of the morning came rushing back to her. Her leaping heart subsided as she realized she was still safe in the Durango, only it had been parked by an old barn, set some distance from a country road. The breeze wafting through the cracked window smelled of hay. Winston whined, asking to be let out.

  Where was Ike Calhoun?

  Twisting in her seat, she searched the area frantically. There he was, standing in the shadow of the barn, raking a hand through his hair. Relief morphed into uncertainty as she beheld his rigid stance. Every line of his densely muscled body screamed frustration.

  Why had they stopped here, and why did he look so irate? They’d made it safely out of Silver Spring. They hadn’t been followed as far as she could tell, yet anger seemed to roll off him as he stalked toward the Durango with a menacing scowl.

  Eryn held her breath. He didn’t look much like her savior now. Shrinking against the door, she clutched her dog’s collar as Ike raised the cargo hatch. Seeing her awake, he wiped all expression off his face. “Dog needs a walk,” he said shortly, scooping up the rope still attached to Winston’s collar and giving it a tug.

  “What about me?” Eryn asked, wishing she didn’t sound so scared.

  “You stay put,” he said, slamming the hatch shut behind him.

  Stay put? The dog was being afforded a walk, so why not her?

  Shivering with uncertainty, she waited anxious minutes for them to return. At last, Ike shut Winston into the back again and slid behind the wheel. As he donned his seatbelt, she scrounged up the courage to ask him what was next.

  He gunned the engine, shooting back onto the country road, driving like the hounds of hell had given chase. “Um, where are you taking me?” she called.

  His grip tightened on the steering wheel, but he didn’t answer.

  His silence turned her mouth desert-dry. “You haven’t explained why my father sent you,” she persisted, her breath coming in gasps.

  “Not now,” he growled.

  Talk to me! Her imagination, quick to help out, offered possibilities. Maybe he wasn’t working for her father. Maybe he’d just overheard the story about Lancaster, using it to gain her cooperation, and he was actually in league with the terrorists!

  He could have been the one to mail the bomb to the safe house, forcing her to flee out the back. It made sense, didn’t it? And now he was driving her to some remote spot to cut her head off!

  Oh my God! Eryn peered out the window, noting their speed and measuring her chances for survival if she jumped out.

  “Relax.” Her rescuer/abductor spoke up suddenly. “You’re headed somewhere safe. That’s all you need to know.”

  Oh, really? She glared at the back of his head, relived but furious. Who was he to tell her what she did or didn’t need to know?

  He tipped the rearview mirror. As their gazes clashed, Eryn’s stomach flip-flopped. The memory of how solid, how male he had felt pinning her to the shed sent a shiver of awareness through her. In any kind of physical struggle, she would be helpless against him.

  Edging toward the far side of her seat, away from the trajectory of his gaze, she clutched Winston’s collar and hung on tight. She felt like she’d gone from one scary situation straight to another. What was her father thinking?

  **

  SSA Caine ended his phone call with a satisfied smirk. “The Washington Post says the Brotherhood of Islam just took credit for the bombing.”

  “Just like we expected,” Ringo replied. He had returned from the UPS store with a packing slip, cash in a Ziploc baggie, and a copy of their surveillance tape. Somewhere along the way, he’d produced a new pair of glasses.

  To Jackson, the news still came as a surprise. Targeting McClellan’s daughter was an ambitious step up from detonating C-4 explosives in a trashcan by the Washington Monument, which the Brotherhood had done last year, injuring no one.

  “Why didn’t our asset warn us?” Jackson demanded. Since the C-4 incident, the FBI had kept close tabs on the Brotherhood, recruiting an active member to be their eyes and ears.

  “Mustafa says the bombing was never discussed online,” Caine retorted.

  “If it was never discussed, then how was it coordinated?”

  “If I knew that, Jackson, I’d be arresting someone,” his supervisor answered irritably. Caine looked back at the monitors in front of them. “Damn it, we have to be missing something!”

  Whoever had mailed the bomb had to have stood within 300 meters of the safe house to detonate it. The perp had probably gotten even closer than that in order to assess the building’s security. At some point, his image might have been picked up by their cameras, providing they could tell him apart from neighbors or passersby.

  But nothing from the last forty-eight hours had helped to narrow their search. “Keep going back,” Caine ordered.

  They reviewed seventy two hours of footage. Still, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary, just neighbors going through day-to-day motions; the same stuff they’d been watching live for two weeks. In fact, the only person besides themselves and the UPS man to come within five yards of the safe house was Pedro, the groundskeeper for the condominium complex.

  Jackson remembered watching him live as he spread mulch around each of the buildings. The same question popped into his head now. “Why the baseball cap?”

  Caine lunged toward Jackson’s monitor. He toggled the keys, zooming in on Pedro’s face just as the gardener glanced discreetly at the camera. The hat concealed his eyes, but they could tell right away he wasn’t Pedro.

  “Got you, you sonofabitch!” Caine exclaimed, freezing the man’s image. “Jackson, go see if you can find Pedro in his shed. Bring him here for questioning.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jackson rolled out of his seat, heading swiftly for the exit. He had a pretty good hunch Pedro was history.

  **

  Turning between the pillars that flanked the head of his driveway, Ike went to silence his watch as it signaled their intrusion. A glance over his shoulder revealed that Eryn McClellan had finally succumbed to exhaustion. She lay in an ungainly sprawl across the seat behind him. Her seatbelt looked like it was strangling her.

  Over the last half hour he’d watched her fight the effects of the drug she’d taken. She had obviously wanted to stay awake, just in case he had abducted her himself. While he admired her tenacity, the fact that she’d popped that pill in the first place really worried him.

  It’d be just his luck for Stanley’s d
aughter to have turned into a prescription pill abuser. Given his zero-tolerance for drugs, this was going to make her stay at his cabin a living nightmare. He shuddered at the thought of her going through DT’s. Hell if he would carry her into his house, either. A girl who popped pills wouldn’t think twice before accusing him of something he hadn’t done.

  And who would Stanley believe then?

  Christ, how’d he get into this mess, anyway? He’d holed up on Overlook Mountain for a reason: to keep the rest of the goddamn world away. They would have all been better off just leaving him the hell alone.

  With an impatient tap on the brakes, he switched the old transmission out of two-wheel into four-wheel drive. “Wake up,” he called.

  A backward glance revealed that she was still out cold, her head lolling in a way that guaranteed a crick in the neck. “Hey.” He reached over the seat and lightly shook her knee, keeping a wary eye on the dog, who looked to be part German Shepherd. “Wake up,” he repeated, smoothing the roughness out of his voice.

  She came awake with a frightened gasp followed by a moan as she grabbed her neck. He started forward with a lurch, ignoring a stab of pity for her. “We’re here,” he said, tackling the steep gravel track to his cabin.

  Her pallor and her wide-eyed silence assured him she’d realized by now he wasn’t the knight-in-shining armor she’d first taken him for. He knew he ought to explain what had happened to his original plan with Cougar, except that he didn’t want to discuss it. Didn’t want to contemplate what sharing his space with her would entail.

  He had never agreed to be a babysitter. Hell, he would never have answered Stanley’s call for a favor if he’d known he would have to bring the woman back with him.

  The guys on his team would laugh their asses off.

  His decision to quit the war and abandon his teammates had obviously come full circle. Right now, karma had him by the balls and it wasn’t letting go.

  Eryn looked wildly around them. Having fallen back asleep, she had had no idea where they were, other than the fact that they were obviously in the Blue Ridge Mountains. She’d seen signs to Skyline Drive and to a ski resort earlier, but she couldn’t pin her location on a map to save her life.

  She prayed to God she wouldn’t have to.

  Ike was driving her up a forested mountain on a road that only a four-wheel-drive vehicle could handle. Through the light foliage on her left, she could just make out a clear creek tumbling over a rocky streambed. To her right, a precipitous drop gave way to a vivid green valley dotted with tiny farmsteads and circumscribed by blue-tinged mountains. A view she would certainly have enjoyed under any other circumstances struck her as threatening for its unfamiliarity.

  She had to flex her jaw to clear the pressure building in her ears. Her mouth felt like it had been swabbed with cotton. She needed a bathroom and a glass of water, in that order, but would Ike Calhoun provide her with either?

  Negotiating a hairpin turn that threatened to send them careening over the precipice, he sped them onto a bit of level land, where they came to a stop.

  There in front of them stood a rustic cabin under the shade of a mammoth oak tree. A log pile and a rusty tin bucket littered the yard. Blooming forsythia and cherry blossoms added color to the otherwise depressing setting. This is it?

  As he killed the engine and went to let the dog out, she pushed out of the rear seat and discovered that her legs refused to hold her. Clinging to the door, she waited for the unexpected weakness to pass.

  Winston bounded into the yard, found a patch of buttercups and started rolling in it. As far as he was concerned, they’d arrived in heaven.

  “You coming?” Ike called, heading for the house.

  Eryn hiked her purse higher. Shutting the truck door, she willed her legs to carry her toward the listing front porch. Please, God, let this place have indoor plumbing.

  Ike stood at the open screen door, watching her progress through narrowed eyes. Unlocking the inner door, he shoved it open. “I never expected company,” he admitted.

  She clutched the porch rail for support. “Then why am I here?” Not to knock her father’s choice for a champion, but Ike was about as welcoming as a hangman, and this place was just a bit remote for her taste.

  “Been asking myself the same question,” he gritted, telling her nothing. With a jerk of his head, he gestured for her to enter.

  Eryn called her dog for protection before venturing into the shadowy interior.

  The dwelling was woefully primitive, without a hint of the rustic charm for which it had the potential. Its furnishings belonged to a past era. A brown sofa set, crude coffee table, and a woodstove took up most of the large room. A field-table stood adjacent to the front window, flanked by ladder-back chairs. Drab cabinets and ancient appliances lined the far wall, creating what was meant to be a kitchen.

  Welcome to the mountains.

  On the other hand, the place couldn’t be cleaner, she had to admit. Every surface was free of clutter, not a speck of dust in sight. Even the worn hardwood floor shone with a dull luster. She felt secure enough to release her dog.

  “You’ll sleep upstairs,” Ike said, inferring that the tightly shut door behind him led to his bedroom. “Bathroom’s under the stairs over there.”

  Glimpsing white-washed paneling behind a half-closed door, Eryn started toward it. Thank you!

  “There’s no TV,” he continued, stalling her progress. “No radio, nothing but books. So if you’re expecting entertainment, you came to the wrong place,” he added, unnecessarily.

  Going rigid, she glared back at him. Wow. Two whole sentences this time. “I didn’t come here,” she reminded him. “You brought me, remember?”

  With a hard look, he headed up the flight of stairs in front of them, taking two steps at a time. She guessed she was supposed to follow. Darn it!

  Putting off her bladder, Eryn chased him to the low door at the height of the stairs and stepped into a child-sized room with a slanted ceiling and a dormered window. The flaking paint was vaguely yellow in hue. The mattress on the antique frame looked like it had been in use for decades. The single dresser was missing two drawers.

  “It’s pretty basic.” The chagrin in Ike’s voice made him seem less heartless.

  “It’s fine,” she assured him. She’d seen worse while living overseas.

  “I’ll help you make the bed,” he offered, pulling open the remaining dresser drawers to produce sheets and a blanket.

  They worked in silence to dress the bed together. Ike made quick work of the job, tugging and tucking with the same ruthless efficiency he’d demonstrated while snatching her from the FBI.

  Eryn sheathed her pillow and set it at the head of the bed. “I, uh, I need to use the restroom,” she added, hurrying for the stairs.

  The absence of a railing made her wary. So did the weakness in her legs. She’d made it halfway down the steps when her knees abruptly folded, causing her to ride the remainder of the treads on her bottom, just like at the safe house—only Ike’s wooden steps were more slippery. And harder.

  By the time she caught herself near the last step, her purse had fallen off her shoulder, spilling its contents all along the steps, including her pill bottle, which rolled clear to the door.

  With a whimper of humility, Eryn checked to see if her tailbone was broken. Miraculously, she hadn’t peed in her pants. She was conscious of Ike stepping gingerly around her. He dropped into a crouch at her feet and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

  “You hurt?” he demanded, angling her head so he could see her face.

  His touch made her nerves jangle. “No.” She jerked her chin from his warm grasp. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she rose under her own steam and swept all her stuff back into her purse, including a tampon with a worn wrapper. Pushing wordlessly past her host, she fled, red-faced, to the bathroom.

  Chapter Four

  Eryn had to flip the light switch to confirm what her fingers were tell
ing her. No, the door did not have a lock. With a strangled moan, she turned to eye the bare facilities.

  The sink and tub were stained by mineral deposits that told her the water came from a well. The room was as stark as the rest of the house, with the exception of the claw-footed bathtub, adding a hint of vintage charm. But as basic as the amenities were, at least they worked.

  She went to wash her hands at the sink and realized there was just one spigot. Cold water. The only towel was government-issued, with the name CALHOUN printed on it. Heck if she would touch that. Maybe there were more towels in the closet?