Broken Trust

by Tanya Jean Russell

  “An hour?” She shifted forward, as though to get up again. “Anything could have happened to them in an hour. I have to go now.”

  Chase’s irritation started to rise. He'd risked life and limb to get her to safety and she wanted to dash straight back into danger. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn't even stand upright, never mind protect herself against whatever threat was out there.

  “Miss Worthington, you cannot leave this house. Protocol dictates that we wait a period of six hours after an emergency extraction before making contact with your security liaison. I’m sure your sister and her guests are being taken care of.” He worked hard to keep his tone even, but her genuine concern for her family and the way her startled eyes looked into his made it difficult.

  Chapter Three

  Beth jolted when the man leaning over her had addressed her by name. Publicly she was Miss Elizabeth Worthington, but her family all called her Beth. It was strange to be addressed so formally when she was laid out on a couch in someone’s lounge. Looking around, she took in the starkly decorated room, magnolia walls with an almost new black suite. Mahogany nested tables had the sheen of an artificial wood finish. With no soft touches, the place felt sterile. The only seemingly luxury items were a bank of screens to one side of the room above a desk and office chair. She had never been in a safe house before, but this was exactly how she would have imagined one.

  Frustration and fear welled up. She needed to see her family, needed to know they were safe. The crack she'd heard before seeing Anne fall had to have been a gunshot. Everything inside her recoiled at the thought of her darling sister being hurt. She'd only had some fruit before the wedding, but even that roiled in her stomach as she remembered hearing screams and other shots before being knocked out. Who else had been hurt? Her whole family had been there. She needed to know if they were okay, but she also understood that the protocol was there for everyone else's safety as much as her own.

  “Okay, think, Beth, think,” she muttered to herself, looking at the bank of screens in the room with consideration. She had to approach this logically or she would lose it completely.

  “Can we get TV through those?” she asked, gesturing at the screens.

  “No,” Chase replied, his expression shuttered. “Why?”

  “I was hoping to see the news. To see if I could find out how everyone was.”

  He stared at her, thoughts impenetrable as the silence between them rolled on.

  “Hang on. I have an idea,” he said, turning from her to fiddle with the equipment hooked up to the screens.

  “There you go,” he said, turning to her. “Twenty-four hour news via the Internet.”

  He pulled the desk chair out and crossed the room to help her. Gently cradling her elbow with his large hand, he eased her into the seat. Relying on his help rankled, but the side effects of being knocked out meant she knew she couldn’t do it by herself, especially when simply taking half a dozen steps across a room left her shaking and weak.

  The ticker tape crossing the bottom of the screen repeatedly stated that there had been gunfire at the wedding of Anne Worthington and her husband-to-be Jonathan Chambers. Several members of the Worthington family, including Lord William Worthington, hereditary Baron of the Worthington estate, had been rushed off to hospital. They seemed to be reveling in reminding people of the family connection to the air crash that had killed everyone on board just eighteen months ago.

  “Come on, come on,” Beth pleaded. “Tell me how they are, for goodness’ sake!”

  But the reporter standing outside the hospital had nothing to add, simply repeating the speculation. Banging her fist on the desk, she stared unblinkingly at the screen for what felt like eternity at the reporters just talking and talking without saying anything. Not knowing how her family were was intolerable. The only saving grace was that it was clear none of the other guests had been harmed. At least she knew everyone else was okay. She’d dragged Bree and Simon into this crazy life of hers, and she could never have forgiven herself if anything happened to them.

  Cringing, Beth listened to them rehash every bit of information they had about her sister, Jonathan, and the air crash. The fact that neither of them had any involvement with the airline was obviously irrelevant to the press. Seriously, how could they drag out so little for so long? Was this what the news was like all the time? Endless repetition and speculation were seriously unhelpful. Unconsciously, she pulled at her hair, creating a nest around her head as she slowly removed it from the elaborate chignon it had been sculpted into for the wedding.

  Unable to take the waiting, she stood and started pacing the room while the imposing man sat silently in the corner. With a start she realized he was the groomsman she'd been trying very hard not to ogle in the church. His eyes, a deep shade of grey, were beyond anything she'd imagined even as he eyed her with apprehension. With his chiseled cheekbones and square jaw, he had a masculine aura that was far more arresting than the pretty boy looks of the suitors her father paraded in front of her.

  Goodness, she thought. What was wrong with her? Her family’s lives could be hanging in the balance and she was admiring some random stranger. She abruptly stopped pacing as realization suddenly hit. She was in a strange place with a man she didn’t know, and who was clearly dangerous.

  Eyeing him carefully, Beth fought to keep her tone even and calm.

  “Who are you?”

  “Trooper Maddox, 22nd SAS, Miss Worthington,” he replied formally.

  Okay, she thought, so he knows the ranks. That doesn’t make him the real deal. “Why are we here?”

  “Ma’am?” he asked, clearly confused.

  “Why are we here? You have taken me away from my family. Why did you not take me to the hospital? How did we get here?”

  Despite her nerves Beth was trained well and was accustomed to people answering her. Channeling her best future CEO impression, she focused her laser gaze on him, daring him to lie to her.

  Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Trooper Maddox, if that was his real name, took a deep breath.

  “Shots were being fired and you ran from safety into the center of the threat. As the closest security officer I extracted you from the situation and following protocol brought you to the designated safe house.”

  “It was you who tackled me and knocked me out!”

  It wasn't a question, but Trooper Maddox answered anyway.

  “Yes, ma’am. I'm sorry you were knocked out, but considering the alternative I'd do it again.”

  He stared directly at her, his eyes challenging her to argue with him about his assessment.

  Staring at him, Beth decided that whilst he seemed to be genuine she wasn't about to let her guard down. That said, if he was who he said he was, the man in front of her had just saved her life.

  Breaking the silence her stomach rumbled, loudly. Mortified, she pressed it with her hands in an effort to stop it happening again. With everything that was going on how could she possibly be hungry? One glance at Trooper Maddox’s expression was enough to confirm that despite her hoping otherwise, it had clearly been loud enough for him to hear.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A little,” she confessed, embarrassed. There was no point pretending otherwise when her body had given her away. She didn't trust this man completely, but he wasn't doing anything suspicious. She decided to bide her time and see how things played out. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice anyway.

  “Come on, I'll make you something to eat.”

  “You cook?” she blurted out, feeling rude when she realized that her surprise came across loud and clear.

  “I don't know if I'd call it cooking, but I can certainly rustle up something vaguely edible!” he replied with a cheeky grin.

  Chapter Four

  The kitchen was a good size, although basic. It had obviously been tackled by the same interior decorator as the sitting room with magnolia walls and lots of black fittings. A long piece o
f black marble operated as a breakfast bar, separating the kitchen area from a small dining table with four chairs. As Beth hopped up to sit on one the tall, chrome barstools positioned by the marble surface, Chase turned to inspect the fridge.

  “So what culinary delights will you be serving up?” she asked.

  He continued poking around in the fridge and without turning to look at her answered, “Omelet okay?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Chase started to pull out ingredients, eggs, butter, and cheese. Someone must have stocked the safe house up as a precaution for today. Damn, but he loved when people thought ahead like that. He took the jacket of his morning suit off and began rolling his sleeves up to allow himself to move more easily.

  Hearing the heiress’s gasp he looked over and, seeing her shocked expression, realized she had spotted his weapon and shoulder holster.

  Frowning, he looked from it to her. She obviously wasn’t totally convinced he was who he said he was, and the fact he was armed clearly made her uncomfortable. Shrugging to himself, he unclipped the holster and removed the .45. Moving slowly to give her time to understand what he was doing, he put it in front of her on the breakfast counter, deliberately placing it so it was closer to her than him. If it helped her to relax and trust him then having his main weapon out of arm’s reach was worth the itch that parting with it caused between his shoulders. Besides he had his secondary one on his ankle. The sight of her shoulders easing down a fraction proved his instincts right, even if she was now eyeing the weapon like it was a live snake. Hiding his smile, he turned to continue cooking.

  “So, Trooper Maddox. How long have you been in the SAS?” she asked, breaking the silence that had grown between them.

  Chase looked over at the heiress, wondering where she was coming from. This was a conversation he wasn't allowed to have. Withholding personal information was a given. They even had a whole section of training on tactical evasion, meaning withstanding torture and withholding information for the layperson. What they hadn't covered was how to respond when the beautiful and vulnerable blonde you were tasked with protecting was the one asking the questions. Normally he’d just point out that he wasn’t allowed to share personal information, but instinctively he knew that if he took that approach he’d freak her out further. Her safety, and with it his professional reputation, were hanging on him keeping her in this safe house for the allotted time. He figured a subtler approach was needed if they were going to get through the next few hours. Shame he didn’t have much experience with subtle.

  “Just over eight years, ma'am,” he said, deciding his best option was to be as honest as he could without sharing any tactical information.

  “Were you in the Air Force before that?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “How did you end up on our protective detail?”

  Breaking eggs into a large bowl, Chase’s hands stilled, and he looked into her eyes. Why was she asking that question? Could she possibly know? He took a beat to study her eyes but saw only open interest in them. Releasing his breath, he gave as vague an answer as possible.

  “Just following orders.” He shrugged, stealing a quick glance at her to see if she'd bought it. He thought he saw a flicker of something in her expression, a suggestion that she hadn't quite accepted his answer. What he'd said was true, it just wasn't the whole truth. He was following orders. The fact those orders got him up close and personal with the family he suspected were responsible for his dad’s death was beside the point, at least insofar as the heiress needed to know.

  Fortunately, she changed the subject.

  “I see what you mean about the cooking,” she said.

  Pulled back by her words from the dark path his thoughts had started to take, Chase looked between her and the bowl where he’d been attempting to retrieve a piece of shell that had fallen in.

  “What?” he said, perplexed.

  “Here, let me,” she said, slipping down from the stool and walking round to stand next to him.

  She reached out to take the unbroken egg from his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she did so. Chase stilled at the jolt of electricity that shot through him at that small contact, and judging by her gasp she'd felt it, too. Quickly he stepped back out of arm’s reach, making sure he couldn’t do something stupid, like reach out and touch her again.

  Holy hell, he thought. This is bad, really, really bad. Of all the moronic things he'd done, being attracted to the bloody heiress to Great Britain Air topped the lot. Okay, he thought, he only had to get through the next few hours, and then he could hand her over to the Counter Revolutionary War wing. They were the protection detail experts. He really needed that hand-off to go to plan. Although he'd spent the last few months telling himself he only needed to get to the end of the wedding for the boredom of these months to be over. It was already hours past that time, and, although boredom wasn't his current problem, it was clear he was far from finished.

  The heiress just stood staring at him with her mouth open, her expression slightly dazed and cheeks flushed. It was obvious she’d been as affected as he had by their brief contact. This was seriously not good. If she'd been anyone else he'd have closed the space between them and taken her on the kitchen counter there and then. For that matter he wouldn't have backed away to start with. He'd didn’t think he’d ever had that kind of immediate response to such innocent contact. All these months undercover and his body obviously thought he was fifteen years old again.

  “Come on then, let's see what you can do,” he said, forcing his tone to stay light in an effort to create some distance from his reaction to her touch. Seeing her jaw fall further, he realized she'd misunderstood him.

  Waving his hand in the direction of the egg she was squeezing in her hand, he clarified, “The omelet.”

  “Uhh, umm … yes, of course!” she stuttered, and turned her attention to the bowl, neatly breaking the egg she’d taken from him and using the empty shell to scoop the fragment he’d dropped in one easy movement.

  Chase chuckled to himself. No wonder she'd taken over the task from him. He'd been jabbing away at the bowl with no success, the slippery mixture making his efforts futile. Her expert solution surprised him. He'd thought she would expect to be waited on hand and foot, and certainly hadn't anticipated that she'd be an expert in the kitchen. Why would she when she lived in a mansion full of staff?

  Chapter Five

  Beth finished whisking the mixture whilst the frying pan heated, testing to check the temperature was correct before pouring in the omelet mix. The sweet-edged smell filled the room, setting her rumbling stomach off again. This was embarrassing. Not only had she totally spaced out when she'd accidentally touched Trooper Maddox’s hand, now her stomach was making enough noise to fill in for a marching band.

  What was wrong with her? She had no idea if her family were safe and she was busy getting heart palpitations because someone touched her hand. When he'd asked her to show him what she could do her heart had just about stopped completely. Just thinking about how she'd misunderstood him had her sent heat to her face all over again. She certainly wasn't going to admit to the spark of excitement that had shot through her entire body and curled in her stomach before she'd realized what he was really talking about. She had to get a grip. She knew well enough by now she couldn’t trust her own judgment when it came to men.

  Slicing the omelet in two, she slid the bigger half onto a plate and held it out.

  “Lunch is served, Trooper Maddox.”

  “Mmmm, that looks amazing!” he said, grabbing the plate in one hand and cutlery in the other before heading to the small table.

  “Could we eat in the sitting room?” Beth asked. Needing to see if anything new was being reported, she felt the tug of the TV.

  With the family advisors providing summaries of what was happening around the world to keep them up to date with current affairs, she didn’t need to watch the news, preferring glossy TV entertainment. Having m
ade the mistake of watching the news when she was younger, it was a chore she was glad to be relieved of. The pain she’d felt at hearing so much speculation about the people closest to her had stayed with her ever since. It would have been impossible to avoid press coverage of the family completely, but she usually gave it her best shot.

  Eating in silence she did her best to enjoy the omelet, but the lack of any more information from those damned reporters was turning the food to dust in her mouth. Didn't they understand how desperate she was to hear how her family were?

  When she'd finished the meal she curled up in a ball and lay glued to the screen. She had nearly three hours before they could reach out and make contact with anyone, and she didn't know how she was going to get through them. She was used to having to play a part, behaving happy and friendly all the time, but there wasn't any audience now, and she couldn't have faked it if her life depended on it. This was supposed to be a wonderful day for the family, full of joy. Instead of which she was stuck goodness only knew where, with a huge man who was sending her hormones haywire, despite the fact she wasn't quite sure she should trust him.

  He was obviously military, but that didn’t mean he was one of the good guys. Beth knew she should be more concerned about her safety and the strange situation she found herself in, but she couldn't make herself care about that when she didn't know how her family were. Were her sister and parents even alive? God, how was she going to get through the next couple of hours? Trooper Maddox had clearly picked up on her uncertainty about him as while she lay curled on the couch, eyes glued to the screen in front of her. Having cleared away the dishes, he returned from the kitchen with his gun, placing it in front of her again and backing away.

  He was giving her the power, a sense of control. The fact she was more terrified of guns than him was beside the point. It was rare for someone outside of her immediate circle of family and friends to be so thoughtful about her feelings. She wasn't about to touch the gun, but he didn't know that. He was letting her know he wouldn't hurt her.