The Protector

by Marliss Melton

  “Let’s just go,” she said. “Maybe the water will be warmer in the afternoon. I’ll shower then.”

  He wanted to shrug off his pity for her, but it wouldn’t leave him. Princesses didn’t do cold showers, obviously. They shouldn’t have to.

  God damn it. “Wait here,” he said.

  Going outside he found the big tin cauldron he used for his trainees to dunk their canteens in. Carrying it inside, he set it on the woodstove, went outside for the hose, cranked it on, and dragged it through the house to fill the cauldron, kinking the line so water wouldn’t dribble across the hardwood floor.

  The tremulous smile Eryn sent him eased his irritation.

  But thirty minutes later, as she dawdled in the bathtub, he regretted warming her bathwater because now he was sitting on the couch getting hot and bothered as he pictured her lolling in his tub. The scent of his soap stole out from under the closed door. The haunting tune she hummed reminded him of a mermaid’s enchantment, luring sailors foolish enough to listen to their deaths.

  Shaking off his trance, Ike ordered himself to get up and walk the dog.

  Half way to the door, he heard Eryn pull the plug. The mental image of her rising from the water, her nymph-like body wet and gleaming, assailed him. She’d be reaching for the extra towel he’d located, nipples hardening in the colder air, goose bumps playing tag across her thighs and ass.

  “Winston, come,” he called. She’d awakened his dormant desires the minute he’d laid eyes on her. So what? There were lots of things Ike craved that he did fine without—aged whiskey, a hot tub, a big old horse to ride. Eryn would be just one more thing that he denied himself.

  **

  Jackson balanced the file he was perusing on his left arm so he could reach for his buzzing phone with his right. “Maddox,” he answered, recognizing his supervisor’s number.

  “She’s moving,” said Caine, who got to enjoy breakfast at a local bakery while Jackson and Ringo searched the records at Town Hall. “Finish up over there and come get me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jackson put his phone away and closed the file. “Ringo,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “Ma’am, we’ll need to borrow these.” Tucking the files under his arms he started walking briskly past the secretary.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” She jumped up and wrestled the files from him. “These originals don’t go anywhere,” she exclaimed. “If you’ll just sit tight, I’ll make you some copies.”

  With a rueful smile, Jackson nodded and motioned Ringo to wait. Even in the civilian sector, there were hoops to jump through.

  **

  “Thank you,” Eryn said, as Ike reversed direction and pointed the Durango down the mountain. Winston strained against the back seat, content and quiet whereas, moments before, he’d set up such a ruckus that she had begged Ike to bring him along. Ike might be armed with a pistol under his denim jacket and a rifle on the floor behind his seat, but the dog was her security blanket.

  “Welcome,” he muttered, negotiating the sharp turn that put them on the steeply descending driveway.

  The lofty view, even more impressive when viewed from the front seat, made up for his less-than-friendly tone. The valley below boasted tiny toy houses, barns, and pastel-colored fruit trees. Nothing bad could possibly happen out there, she told herself.

  Ike’s set profile told her otherwise.

  Her gaze slid to his competent grip on the steering wheel, and her stomach flip-flopped as she imagined how it would feel to have those large, dexterous-looking hands touching her. Were hands that ruthless-looking capable of giving pleasure? Something told her yes, absolutely. He’d warmed her bathwater for her, hadn’t he? Obviously, he knew how to show consideration.

  “Are you originally from here?” she asked, letting her curiosity show.

  “No,” he said. “Ohio.”

  “What made you settle in Virginia?”

  He shrugged, kept his eyes straight ahead, said nothing.

  As the silence thickened, she heaved an inner sigh. She was going to have to stay here with him for how long? The man’s communication skills were one step above Winston’s.

  Just as she’d reconciled herself to silence, he asked her, “Who is Lancaster?”

  “A bear.” She shot him a smile.

  His expression turned quizzical.

  “My favorite stuffed animal,” she clarified. “I got him when I was a kid, back when we toured England, while we were living in Germany. Of course, only Dad would know that, which was why he chose it as the safe word. Now you do, too,” she pointed out.

  Ike nodded and went back into his shell. He maneuvered around a pothole, slowed where rainwater had eroded away the gravel. “You’re dad’s a good man,” he said as they bounced across the chasm.

  Eryn’s eyes flooded with tears, making her realize how much she’d missed talking to her father. “Can I call him?” she begged. “We always talk on Sundays.”

  “No.” Ike shook his head. “NSA is monitoring his phone calls. He doesn’t want anyone knowing where you are. Sorry,” he added, glancing her way and seeing her pained expression.

  She turned her head to hide her disappointment. The creek raced alongside them, colorful quartzite glimmering under the rush of clear water. Once she’d collected herself, she looked back at Ike and was struck by the isolation that seemed to encase him. “Do you have family?” she asked him. “In Ohio, maybe?”

  “Far as I know.”

  She found the statement odd. “As far as you know?”

  He lifted a hand and punched on the radio, cutting their conversation short.

  Her mouth hung open. How rude! Obviously, he didn’t want her knowing anything about him. Fine. She didn’t want to get personal with him, anyway. He was nothing more to her than her protector.

  Then why are your feelings hurt? she asked herself.

  Averting her face, she refused to look at him, refused to even think about it.

  Chapter Six

  Eryn McClellan was giving him the silent treatment, Ike realized, mildly amused. She had managed to go twenty minutes without speaking a word—probably a record for her. In the process, she’d bitten her lower lip so many times it looked liked she’d been thoroughly kissed. Damn it, now he was thinking of kissing her.

  Don’t even look at her, he ordered himself.

  But he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Without a speck of make-up, with her freshly washed hair tied into a damp knot, wearing yesterday’s clothing and a haunted look on her face, Eryn was like no other woman in Elkton, population 2,000.

  She was too damn graceful. Her complexion was too clear, and when she spoke—which she was bound to do soon—she used proper, grammatical English that sounded nothing like the mountain twang from this here part of Virginia.

  And shopping for clothing at Dollar General was clearly an unaccustomed chore for her. “There’s hardly anything my size,” she groused, breaking her silence after sifting unsuccessfully through the racks. At last, she held up a yellow sweater, laid it over her chest to see if it would fit, then lobbed it wordlessly toward the shopping cart.

  And missed.

  Ike’s ribs tickled. Unsettled by the giddy sensation, he moved toward the display window, resigned to wait.

  With one eye on the parking lot and the other on Eryn, he watched her fill her cart with another sweater, a pair of jeans, and a pink, velour sweat suit. He wondered if there was a plan to her selection-choices or if it was all hit or miss. As she moved toward a rack of pastel-colored panties and bras, his pulse quickened. He made himself look the other way, but not before he pictured her wearing what she picked out.

  For Christ’s sake, think of something else.

  As she turned toward the rear of the store for toiletries, he stayed where he was, affording her privacy. Finally, with a look of resignation, she headed for the register.

  He joined her just as she unzipped one of the pockets in her purse. “I’ll pay,” he said, pulling out his wal
let.

  Incredulity shone in her eyes as she raised her head to look at him. “I’ve got it,” she told him.

  “Cash,” he said, reminding her that credit cards could be traced.

  She caught her lip between her teeth and adjusted her hair. “Oh.” She started to retreat with her cart.

  Amused, Ike caught it back and handed the cashier three twenty dollar bills.

  “I’ll repay you,” Eryn muttered, looking flustered and humiliated.

  He walked away without a word. As he approached the exit, he caught sight of a man in overalls petting Winston’s head through the Durango’s rear window.

  Bringing the dog was a big mistake. Luckily, the man wandered off.

  “Is my Dad paying you to keep me?” Eryn’s sharp question drew Ike’s attention to where she stood behind him with her purchases.

  “What? No.” There’d never been any discussion of money. Loyalty wasn’t something a leader had to pay for.

  Grabbing half the bags to lighten her load, Ike herded her out the door, moving toward the grocery store on the opposite end of the strip mall. As he loped along the covered walkway, he suffered the sudden suspicion that they were being watched.

  Who? He searched the broad parking lot for the culprit. His nape prickled. Where?

  Seizing Eryn’s elbow, he drew her between himself and the building and lengthened his stride. Dropping her purchases in a grocery cart, he pushed it briskly through the automatic doors. To his exasperation, Eryn slowed to a stop, just inside the breezeway.

  Ike drew up short, backed up. “What are you doing?” he demanded, when she closed her eyes.

  She hushed him. “Visualizing what we need.”

  He cast an uneasy glance out the windows but still saw no reason for his concern.

  She started forward as suddenly as she had stopped, and he chased after her, fighting to keep his gaze from sliding downward—which it did, anyway.

  Now why did Stanley’s daughter have to have the sweetest, heart-shaped ass imaginable? Fucking karma, he thought.

  For the next half hour, Eryn browsed while Ike’s blood pressure steadily increased. He watched her compare the contents of two boxes of bread crumbs, while he listened to the ticking of his watch, the voices in the store, different kinds of footsteps. The woman could not be rushed, apparently.

  Finally, she placed one box in the shopping cart and put the other back. “Why that one?” He just had to know why so much effort had gone into her decision.

  “Less preservatives. I have to be careful what I eat.”

  “Watching your weight?”

  She cut him an odd look. “Cancer runs in my family,” she said.

  He felt like he’d been slapped awake. This wasn’t the first time his assumptions had been off the mark. Like assuming she’d been addicted to those pills. If she steered clear of preservatives, she probably avoided drugs—duh. Remembering his harshness with her, he cringed inwardly, his face growing hot.

  But then he wondered if the FBI had prescribed the pills to keep her docile, and that kept his mind off his idiocy.

  He was still pondering the FBI’s underhanded tactics when they cashed out minutes later. Adding their groceries and Winston’s dog food to Eryn’s earlier purchases, Ike pushed the cart outside. The instant they stepped into the cool sunshine, he was ambushed by the feeling that someone was watching them again.

  Damn it! Who was it, and where the fuck were they?

  “Wait,” he said, catching Eryn’s arm as she made to rush ahead and greet her dog.

  Aware of the soft delicacy of her wrist, he raked the rooftop behind them for signs of a sniper. Nothing. He was conscious of her wide-eyed scrutiny as she finally took note of his vigilance.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Keep walking.” One by one, he assessed every car in the parking lot, yet he still saw nothing to explain his unease. “I’ll get the bags. You get in.” He unlocked the doors with his remote key. “Sit here,” he said, forcing her into the middle in lieu of the front.

  “Why?” Her voice had climbed an octave.

  “Just do it,” he said, tossing in the groceries after her. At that precise moment, his roaming gaze fell on an all-silver motor coach parked by the bank on the far side of the parking lot, behind a row of blooming Bradford pears. The FBI had monitored their safe house from a motor coach just like it. He hadn’t seen it for himself, but it fit Cougar’s description.

  As he squinted across the distance, sunlight glanced off a reflective surface just inside a tinted window.

  Ike’s adrenaline spiked. He ducked out of sight. Binoculars made that kind of glare. So did an older model rifle scope. Neither was a welcome possibility. Pressure descended like a vise on his chest.

  No fucking way. The FBI had found them? How? He’d been so careful to leave no trace.

  Breaking out in a cold sweat, he slipped into the driver’s seat and reviewed his options. His Dodge Durango had four-wheel drive. The RV, on the other hand, was a big, lumbering mass of metal he could easily outstrip on the open road. He’d outrun them, then. He’d take Eryn back to his cabin and hunker in.

  Stanley didn’t want his daughter in FBI custody and hell if Ike was going to quietly hand her over. It wasn’t Uncle Sam he owed his allegiance to, not anymore.

  **

  “He just saw you,” Jackson announced, turning from the tinted window in disgust. He knew they should have brought the Taurus, which was far less obtrusive than the 40-foot Mobile Command Center.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Caine lowered the binoculars, while flicking him a dismissive look.

  “We’ll follow him,” Ringo offered, springing from the second seat at the computer console.

  “Wait.” Caine watched the Durango barrel toward the exit. “Let him go. He’ll outrun us. Plus he’ll know we’re here.”

  Too late, Jackson thought.

  “Man!” Ringo’s eyes were huge behind the lenses of his back-up glasses. “Who is this guy?”

  “We know who he is,” Caine said, checking the report just faxed over from the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles. “And the license plate confirms it: Isaac Thackery Calhoun. Ringo, run NCIC on him right now. Check with the Sheriff’s Office. Maybe they have a rap sheet on him.”

  Jackson gestured to the disappearing vehicle. “Sir, he already saw us. The man has the instincts of a wild animal. No terrorist’s going to get close to her. Aren’t we happy with that?”

  Caine’s expression turned mulish. “He’s only one man, Maddox,” he retorted. “And if I don’t think he’s the right man, then, by God, we’ll get her back.”

  It was all Jackson could do not to roll his eyes. SSA Caine was going to have to learn this lesson the hard way. Men like Isaac Calhoun were ghosts. In a war, you never heard or saw them coming, but when the sun came up, you sure as hell knew they’d been there.

  **

  Ike exited the parking lot and accelerated swiftly. Don’t fucking follow me, he prayed, one eye glued to the rearview mirror.

  He drove a hundred yards. The RV didn’t move.

  Half a mile. His heart rate slowed. The RV remained in the parking lot, motionless.

  A full mile. Nothing.

  Expelling a long breath, Ike reviewed what he’d seen and felt. Maybe it wasn’t the Feds. Maybe it was just a regular old motor coach, belonging to retirees from New Jersey.

  With the sweat on his palms drying, he veered off the four-lane highway, cutting through the downtown area before turning right on Red Brush Road, where there was nothing but farms and churches and domestic livestock, all back-dropped by looming mountains. Not a single car passed them on the winding, hilly roadway, and that was just the way Ike liked it.

  But what if isolation had wreaked havoc with his instincts? Being alone day after day, month after month, it could have over-sensitized him. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell the FBI could have tracked him down that quickly. Hell, it had taken C
ougar twelve days!

  “Ike?”

  The query drew his gaze to the rearview mirror. The size of Eryn’s blue eyes struck him with remorse. He’d scared the crap out of her with his erratic behavior. “We’re good,” he said.

  “What did you see?” she asked shakily.

  The freckles on the bridge of her nose were more apparent when her face was chalk-white. “Thought I saw something. It was nothing,” he assured her.