FRIEND, LOVER, PROTECTOR

by Sharon Mignerey

  "Your guy was right where Trahern said we'd find him." Callahan grinned. "Damn fine marksmanship, too. Hit the guy high on the shoulder—enough to knock him out without hitting anything vital."

  "That," Dahlia said, "was sheer dumb luck. Jack didn't shoot him—I did."

  Callahan nodded toward the doors leading into the emergency room. "I'm going to go talk to Trahern."

  "Fine," Connor said, turning his attention to Dahlia. "Did the guy tell you what his name was?" He led her toward one of the seats and urged her to sit down.

  "Max," she answered. "No last name."

  Connor sat down next to her. He took a notebook from his hip pocket. "Describe the guy."

  "Wiry build, maybe five-ten or -eleven." Remembering the way he had manhandled her, she added, "In good physical condition. Gray hair and pale-blue eyes." Her gaze strayed toward the double doors and once more she wished she knew what was happening with Jack.

  Connor unfolded a sheet that had several black and white photos on it. He handed her the sheet. "Do you recognize him?"

  She studied the dozen male faces, each similar to the man she had described. And there he was, the fifth one of the group. She laid a finger on the picture. "This man." She glanced at Connor. "I picked your man, didn't I?"

  He nodded. "Max Jamison. I've been chasing him for more years than I care to admit. The odd thing is that he's never before been involved in a kidnapping."

  She managed a short laugh. "He said he didn't like it and that kidnappings were stupid." She looked again at Connor. "What's he done besides this?"

  "Unfortunately, to tell you that would compromise my case—when I have enough evidence to go to trial."

  She studied Connor a moment, seeing in him the same dedication to duty that Jack had. "It's not rocket science to know that it can't be good."

  Connor smiled. "That's a safe bet."

  "So, he's in custody."

  "He is."

  "It's over." All the tension and fear that she had been living with during the past week swept through her. It was over, and with it, Jack's reason to stay.

  The double doors swung open, and Callahan strode toward them.

  "Trahern's being admitted," he said. "There's his room number. That was a pretty serious blow he took to the head—they're just about finished stitching him up. He'll have a new scar to go with the others." Callahan handed her a sheet of paper. "You should be able to check on him in the next fifteen or twenty minutes."

  Connor stood to leave. "Thanks for your help, Ms. Jensen."

  It was another half hour before the nurse let Dahlia into Jack's room with the warning that he'd been given a painkiller and would probably be groggy. According to the nurse, they just wanted him overnight since the CT scan had confirmed he had a concussion.

  "Hi," she said. His hair and tan looked even darker than usual against the white hospital gown and sheet covering him.

  He opened his eyes and groggily focused on her. "This isn't where I planned to spend the night."

  "Me, neither. I was counting on having you in bed with me."

  His gaze fastened on her for a long moment, then he looked away. Again she had the feeling that he was angry with her, especially when he didn't reply.

  She took one of his hands within both of hers, making sure she didn't touch the IV needle taped to the back of his hand. His fingers felt so warm. She shuddered, reliving those awful moments when she'd thought he was dead.

  "I'm so sorry, Jack," she whispered, tears seeping from beneath her lids.

  "What the hell are you sorry for?" His G.I. Joe glower was back, fierce as ever.

  "For getting you shot."

  He shook his head and removed his hand from hers. "Not your fault."

  "I don't blame you for being mad at me."

  Those brilliant eyes focused on her, more alert now. "I'm not mad at you, Dahlia." He sighed. "Go home. Get some rest."

  She stared at him a long moment, wanting to protest. After all they'd been through, things weren't supposed to be like this. Finally she nodded and turned to go.

  "Dahlia?"

  She stopped at the door without turning around. He went such a long moment without saying anything that she wondered if he was going to. Finally, she turned around.

  His eyes were bleak, but he managed a smile. "You were a good partner out there today."

  She bit back the retort, Yeah, right. Somehow she nodded and walked the rest of the way through the door.

  When she arrived home a half hour later, the phone was ringing. Tempted as she was to ignore it, she answered.

  "Dahlia, this is Walter Worth. Certain things have come to my attention, and we need to talk. Can you be at my office at eight tomorrow morning?"

  "Of course," she said. Since she had a class to teach at nine, she had to be there, anyway.

  "Fine. I'll see you then."

  Great, she thought, hanging up the phone. She didn't even want to think about the spin that Doreen had put on this morning's encounter with her. One thing Dahlia knew for sure—she was done putting up with the lies and innuendoes. Any more, and she intended to file a grievance.

  She made sure the door was locked and the alarm system was set before going upstairs. Get some rest, Jack had urged. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to sleep again.

  She undressed and climbed into the shower. She washed, then stood under the spray, trying to get her thoughts to stop circling. Instead of becoming calmer, she felt antsy, as though she might climb right out of her skin. She dried off and rather than get ready for bed, found herself putting her clothes back on. No way could she sleep, not after all that had happened.

  Downstairs she stalked through the house, her thoughts on Jack. Not your fault, he'd said. Who else was there? Even though he had every right to be furious with her, even though he probably was sound asleep, she needed to see him, needed to touch him, if only to hold his hand.

  That thought had her getting into her van and heading back to the hospital. When she walked in, the routine had slowed and hallway lights were dimmed—probably as close as the place came to acknowledging the rhythms of night. The staff at the nursing station didn't notice when she slipped into Jack's dark room.

  He was so still beneath the sheet, his face hidden by the shadows. She sat down next to him and took his hand. Though he was still asleep, his fingers folded around hers as though he recognized her. She sighed and leaned forward, memorizing his features. She had promised herself this man was only for today.

  That was before she realized she was in love with him. She had promised him that what was happening between them wasn't serious. But, oh, how she wanted it to be. Ruthlessly she catalogued everything she knew about him, looking for the proof that he was likely to be another loser. There was none. The only mistake she had made this time was falling for a man who would be gone, now that he'd kept his promise to his friend.

  As she watched him, leaning so close that she could feel his breath, he opened his eyes. Those brilliant, beautiful eyes that she loved so much. His hand tightened around hers. He scooted a little away from her, then patted the sheet next to him.

  "C'mere."

  It was all the invitation she needed. Slipping off her shoes, she climbed onto the narrow bed next to him. He rolled to his side and tucked her against him, spoon-style.

  She was just about to fall asleep when the words in her heart spilled out. "I love you, Jack."

  Jack heard the quiet words, and his heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest. An honorable man would have gently released her and explained that what she was feeling was merely the aftermath of the adrenaline rush they'd been through the past few days. An honorable man would tell her that he had nothing to offer and was in no position to make a commitment. An honorable man … he wasn't. He simply held her and wished it were true—that she loved him.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  "Come in," Walter Worth, the head of the Atmospher
ic Sciences Department said to her the following morning at five minutes before eight. He and Doreen were seated at the small round table off to the side of the desk in his office. The careful staging had Doreen's earmark, and Dahlia immediately understood that she was once again going to be accused of some misdeed. Her temper barely in check, she sat down.

  The night nurse had kicked Dahlia out shortly before five, which had, all in all, allowed her to stay with Jack several hours longer than she had hoped for. He had been sleeping soundly when she left him, a rest that he badly needed. Dahlia had gone home, dressed for work and was at her desk by seven, which gave her an hour to worry about what was on Dr. Worth's mind. Jack, however, was never far from the surface of her thoughts.

  She stared at Doreen, whose gaze met hers only briefly before skittering away. Dr. Worth's fingers were steepled against his lips, and he looked as stern as she had ever seen him.

  Dahlia schooled her expression into a calm that she completely didn't feel. "What's on your mind?"

  "I don't know how to approach this, but to simply get to the facts," he said. "Is it true that you had Wanda Lewis make printouts of all your data yesterday?"

  Dahlia nodded. "That's a problem?"

  "It is when you hand over the research to another institution," Dr. Worth said.

  "I don't understand."

  "Your 'friend' from Oklahoma State University," Doreen interjected. "He was quite clear about how the scope of your research was complementary to his and how he didn't have your schedule even though you had planned—"

  "We didn't plan anything. As for the printouts, those went to Sam Payton, or did you even bother to ask Wanda what she did with them?"

  "I assumed—"

  "You assumed wrong. Again." Dahlia took a deep breath. "Would you like to know how my week went? I'll tell you." She glanced from Doreen to Dr. Worth. "My sister is in protective custody because she's testifying in a high-profile murder case in California. To keep her from testifying, we've all been targets of threats and kidnapping attempts. The 'friend' Doreen referred to has shot at me, threatened me, tried to kidnap me. And guess what? Yesterday he finally succeeded." She looked back at Doreen. "Thanks to your assumptions, Jack was injured—he's in the hospital if you care to know—and I shot a man."

  An expression of genuine horror crossed Doreen's face. "You killed a man?"

  "There you go with those assumptions again. I said 'shot.'" Dahlia looked back to Dr. Worth. "You refused my request for time off."

  "I was under the impression that your request was of a personal nature, that you have a new man—"

  "Doreen didn't mention the threats against me and the fact that man is my bodyguard. You know … someone who puts his life on the line so you'll be safe?" Her voice quavered. "He could have died yesterday. I could have died yesterday."

  "Surely it wasn't all as serious as that," Doreen said.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Dahlia opened her purse and took out two business cards. "It would absolve you of any responsibility in what happened." She pushed the cards toward Dr. Worth and stabbed at the first one. "If you'd like to have the whole story, call Officer Callahan. He can tell you about the two break-ins at my house." She pointed to the second card. "This one belongs to Special Agent Connor of the FBI. He could also enlighten you with the facts." Shaking, Dahlia stood up.

  Dr. Worth had stood up with Dahlia. "I'll want to talk with you later."

  "I'm sure you will." Her glance fell back to Doreen. "I've had enough of Dr. Layard, sir, and I will be filing a grievance." She glanced at her watch. "Now then, I have a class to teach in a half hour, and I do have some things to do before then."

  Dahlia left the office and swept down the hallway trembling so badly sheer bravado was all that kept her going. She retrieved her notes for her lecture and somehow made it through the hour of class, even managing to answer questions that were asked by her students.

  When the class was over, Dahlia hurried to her office where she called the hospital to check on Jack. The nurse reported that he'd already been released. Surprised, she called the house. Jack picked up on the second ring.

  "You're home. How are you feeling?"

  "Pretty good for a guy who's been hit over the head and shot at."

  "I'm on my way. And you won't believe what happened this morning. I took your advice and finally stood up to Doreen." Dahlia took a breath. "I'm on my way. Do you need me to stop and get you anything."

  "I don't need a thing," he assured her. There was a finality in his voice that she didn't like. But he was at her home. That was the important thing.

  She kept telling herself that on the way home.

  She pulled into the driveway, noticing that her front door had been fixed, frosted glass replacing the etched piece that had been there before. He'd been busy.

  She parked in the driveway and skipped up the steps, taking only a moment to admire the work he'd done on the door. It looked practically brand-new.

  She pushed it open.

  "I'm home," she called. She admitted this was what she wanted. Coming home to him.

  Boo raced from the back of the house, a wide doggy smile on her little cocker spaniel face. Dahlia set her purse and briefcase down in her office and picked up Boo, all the while wondering where Jack was.

  "Jack?"

  "Right here," he said.

  He appeared at the top of the stairs, and in his hand was his duffel bag.

  "Going somewhere?" She set the dog on the floor, hanging on to her composure by a thread. "I'm thirsty. Do you want a soft drink or anything?"

  He shook his head and she fled to the kitchen. Taking ice out of the tray and putting it in a glass required only so much concentration, not enough to keep her heart from pounding, not enough to keep her from knowing what the packed bag meant. When she sensed him come into the kitchen, she said, "I finally stood my ground with Doreen this morning." And without ever quite looking at him, she told Jack about her meeting with Dr. Worth and Doreen, ending with, "At least we know how Max—Mr. Pale Eyes—found us."

  Dahlia took a breath and finally looked at him. He was leaning against the counter, his leg in a brace and his arms folded over his chest.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Do you want lunch, or—"

  "No, I don't want lunch. And I feel fine. And, it's time for me to go."

  She wanted to deliberately misunderstand him.

  "You're safe. The three thugs are in jail, and they're going to be there for a long time. Pale Eyes—the Feds have him. Your sister has testified. It all worked out."

  "Yes." Not an easy word to say around the huge lump in her throat. She took a step toward him. "You don't have to go, Jack. Your leave, it's not all used up yet, is it?"

  Jack levered himself away from the counter. "I do have to go. We both know that. You have a life here, and I have…" What the hell did he have? He didn't know anymore. Not the life he'd known as a Ranger, that was for damn sure. He still didn't know what he was going to do for the year until his hitch was up.

  "You have…" Dahlia prompted.

  "A life back at Fort Benning."

  "I love you," she whispered.

  Ah, hell. Who had he been kidding to think that he'd get away from here without things getting sticky and awkward and awful. "Think about this for a minute. I've been here days, Dahlia. We don't know each other well enough to be in love."

  Her smile was sad enough to tear out his heart. "That should be my line, you know. Me, the woman who lives for evidence, who wants all the facts tied up neat and tidy." She placed a hand over her heart. "So, this flies in the face of logic."

  "You've got that part right."

  "And you're leaving."

  He nodded. Maybe he'd get out of here without a meltdown after all. He took a step toward her. Then another. He found himself looking down—way down—at most women. But Dahlia was nearly eye-to-eye.

  "You deserve commitment, and I can't give that to you."

  "Won't
." Her gaze was steady. "And what I deserve…" She swallowed. "Is the truth. You're leaving because you're scared."

  He shook his head.

  "And why wouldn't you be," she plowed on. "I mean look at our track record. We've both been deceived and dumped. You think I'm not scared?"

  "I think you're the bravest person I've ever known." Just thinking about her going after her kidnapper armed with nothing but an old chair still made Jack shake. She'd been so mad and so determined to live and so magnificent. She humbled him.

  "Trust me," she said. "I'm scared." She closed the distance between them. "What we have, Jack, it's good."

  When she would have put her arms around him, he caught her hands and pressed them against her chest.

  "What we have, sugar, is the high that came from being in this situation. That's all. Powerful as it is, that's all it is." He brought one hand, then the other, to his lips. "Trust me. In a week you're going to know I was right and you're going to be glad that I'm gone."

  He allowed himself a hug and did his damnedest to ignore that she was trembling.

  "See ya," he said, letting her go and striding toward the front door. His hand was on the knob when she called his name. "Yeah." He didn't dare turn around.

  "You're a coward. You're scared to love me. After all, what if I turned out to be like your ex-wife. A user. I'm not pregnant, by the way, so you don't have to worry about that."

  He heard the tears clog her voice, but still he didn't turn around.

  "I won't wait forever, Jack, because you're right. I do deserve a commitment. I guess you'll have to decide."

  "Yeah." He held on to the doorknob like it was an anchor. "Goodbye, Dahlia."

  She didn't reply, and he finally looked over his shoulder. And his gaze took in only a hallway empty except for the small blond dog who watched him with sad eyes.

  Jack went through the door and told himself that he was not running. And he kept telling himself that for the next three weeks. He didn't miss her with every breath he took. He didn't want to share the activities of his day with her. He sure as hell didn't want to hold her close during the long hours of the night. He wasn't running, damn it, and he wasn't a coward.