HER MASTER DEFENDER
Her Master Defender
Sandra S. Kerns
HER MASTER DEFENDER
Copyright © 2012 Sandra S. Kerns
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Tatiana Vila -- Vila Design
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
HER MASTER DEFENDER
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated with love and thanks to...
my amazing husband and sons who continually inspired, encouraged, and loved me through the process of writing and publication,
my sister who keeps asking me to write faster,
and last, but definitely not least,
my dear friend and fellow writer Annette, who never let me get so discouraged I stopped writing.
Chapter One
Dos concentrated on the dim lights overhead as two men dragged him down the hall. It was his latest trick to ignore the pain. His raw heels burned with the intensity of a heating coil. The cracked bones in his body screamed in agony. He swallowed the need to voice his suffering. Cardone’s goons would prefer he screamed. Dos refused to give them that satisfaction.
Dimness changed to retina searing brightness. They dragged him onto a table. The rough wood tore open festering welts on his back. Still he kept silent. The men strapped his wrists and ankles to the table. As if he could jump up and run away. Two broken patellas and one broken tibia pretty well shot any chance of that. The fractured bones, burns and cuts on his body did nothing to stop Cardone from messing with him. Over the past two weeks the drug lord had changed tactics. Instead of beatings and shock treatments, he now pumped drugs into Dos and watched the reaction. Dos wondered what the drug of choice was today.
“Ah, Major, I hope you have not been waiting long,” Cardone said, walking into the room.
Dos didn’t bother turning his head to watch the man’s movements; it didn’t matter. He could handle whatever the bastard doled out. And if he couldn’t, he’d die. Even knowing he’d go to Hell for letting his men die, Dos figured it couldn’t be worse than this.
“The silent treatment today, is it? Don’t worry, I’ll remedy that soon,” Cardone said, staring down at him from beside the table. Inhaling deeply on his cigar he removed it and blew the smoke down into Dos’ face.
Dos wanted to choke. He didn’t even blink.
Cardone smiled and blew the ash from the end of the cigar. He grabbed Dos’ broken right hand turning it palm up. “I thought we could have some fun before I give you your fix today.”
Dos clenched his jaw and stared at him, as the tip of the cigar pressed into his palm. He held off as long as he could. A scream burst from him, tearing at his parched throat as he tried to pull his hand away.
“That’s better. You know it just lasts longer when you disappoint me with your silence, Major.”
“Bastard.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve already discussed my lineage.” Cardone smiled then yanked Dos’ hair, and leaned his head close. “Shall we discuss yours? I can see in your eyes, what little of them is visible, the answer is no. In fact, your conversational skills on any topic are quite limited. I suppose I will have to amuse myself some other way.
“Let’s see.” Cardone, still holding onto Dos’ hair, trailed the end of the cigar down Dos’ chest. “How many good ribs do we have left?” he asked, before fisting his hand .
Dos’ hands slapped down on the desk. His chest heaved as he sucked in air. Sweat trailed down the side of his face. His eyes scanned as much of the room as possible without moving his head. Sunlight poured through windows. There were chairs, tables, a coat rack, and desk. He was in an office. Colorado, he remembered, not a cell in South America anymore.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, falling back against his chair. He rubbed a hand over the ribcage on his right side. If someone had told him a year ago that the memory of pain could hurt as much as the real thing, he would have laughed. Now he was a true believer.
Living through the capture the first time had been bad enough. These flashbacks were driving him insane. They were so real. Knowing if he closed his eyes his brain would go right back to it, he stared at the paperweight holding down schematics on the desk in front of him. He concentrated on deep breaths to slow his respiration and heart rate. Next, he went through progressive muscle relaxation the physical therapist at the base had shown him. After long minutes, his jaw released enough so his teeth weren’t grinding together.
He grabbed the extra long cane his brothers had given him to accommodate his height. Using it, and the desk, he levered himself out of the chair and crossed to the small bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face a few times. Leaning his full weight against the sink for a minute he let the water drip off. Reaching for a towel, he didn’t look in the mirror. There was no need. He knew he looked like crap. The shocked look on his mother’s face the first time she’d seen him after he came home, told him all he needed to know.
Now, a month later, he still hadn’t gained back much of the twenty some pounds he’d lost. He was only thirty-six, but gray now peppered his almost black hair. The pallor of his as a rule tanned skin wouldn’t change since short periods in the sun were all he could handle anymore. He looked like death warmed over, which he was, in essence. He might have been rescued from Cardone, but the virus the bastard had pumped into him still plagued his body.
Snagging a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, he walked to the front window. He looked out at what passed for downtown in Braedon’s Edge. The sleepy Rocky Mountain town was slowly waking up to another sunny October morning. With little activity to watch, his mind tried to figure out what caused the flashback this time.
They were coming more often. Dos had no more warning now than he’d had when they started. Add the unpredictable, debilitating, body spasm attacks brought on by Cardone’s virus, and Dos’ life wasn’t worth shit. After three weeks of peace, he’d almost convinced himself it was over. The virus had run its course, and he had both consciously and subconsciously dealt with what happened in South America. The last two days had shown him the error of that belief.
He’d had at least two flashbacks and as many physical attacks. It was like he’d been in remission, and now the damned garbage was redoubling its efforts. The thought of going back to the condition he’d been in before the rescue terrified him. Just the fact that he’d had to be rescued still ate at him. He should have known something was wrong. He should have been able to save his men.
He should have died.
Why the hell hadn’t he died? He rubbed his eyes to push the unwelcome notion out of his mind. But, the flashback brought the memory of his rescue back. He went deeper into the thoughts.
He could hear the scraping sound the soldiers made when digging a hole into the decrepit building where Cardone kept him shackled. The same feeling of fear that had stole his breath then, was like a vise on his chest now. The suffocating hold eased remembering the confident young captain who led the rescue. Dos had carried the same before his capture. Now he knew better.
Shaking of the self pity, Dos glanced up at the Colorado blue sky and remembered seeing the star strewn sky as the soldiers had pulled him out of his prison, and the rush of freedom the sight had given him. He could still smell the heaviness of the humid, but fresh air that had chilled his half naked body. Freedom had taken on
a new reality for him that night.
His captivity had taught him a sobering reality. Freedom truly was a gift. He never planned to take it for granted again. The walk down memory lane left him as parched as if he’d been in confinement. Twisting the cap off the bottle he held, Dos chugged the contents. The water did little to slake the feeling of dehydration. Before he could turn to go get another bottle, movement across the street caught his attention.
The copper haired beauty who owned the massage therapy business on the other side of the street was just getting in. He glanced at his watch, six-thirty. She was early today. At least she gave him something better to concentrate on. He leaned against the window frame. When the backpack she had slung over one shoulder slipped, sunlight glinted off the window. Something about the way it bounced wasn’t right.
“What the hell?” He pulled open the door and started across the street.
# # #
Copper Kerrigan juggled the bag of sheets, her backpack, and travel mug as she maneuvered the shop’s key to the lock. Her hand halfway there she noticed the door wasn’t latched tight. The area beside the handle was splintered. She pushed the door open with her foot.
Her eyes filled with tears as she took a step inside. If seeing everything in the front room ruined wasn’t enough to make her cry the awful smell would be. She stumbled back out dropping her travel mug and coughing uncontrollably. She was two steps out onto the sidewalk when hands grasped her waist from behind. Copper whipped around ready for battle.
The big man stepped back holding his hands up. “Whoa, it’s okay. I’m from across the street. I noticed the broken panes in the window.”
“The lock’s broken,” she said pointing toward it before coughing more. She noticed her hand start to shake and pulled it back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pull a gun from a shoulder holster she hadn’t noticed. Before it registered that he could be the guilty party he swept her behind him.
“Stay here. They could still be inside,” he said, as he stepped over the threshold.
“I don’t think so,” Copper said.
His retreat mimicked hers as he started coughing and gasping for air.
“Holy crap, sorry,” he said, still coughing. He was half bent over dragging air into his lungs.
Despite the situation Copper smiled at the apology. Having been an army brat, then serving four years as a Navy nurse, crap didn’t even register as an offensive word. “No problem, I agree. I don’t think anyone could stand staying in there more than a few minutes after they made that mess.”
“What the hell is it?” His eyes were tearing so much they were red-rimmed already.
Copper reached in her backpack for tissues before answering. “Various scented oils for massage. One or two at a time they’re great, but all of them mixed together are pretty potent.” She reached around him and pulled the door closed while he caught his breath. “Guess you won’t be so quick to run to someone’s rescue again.”
“You would think.”
His response sounded like he’d been in similar situations before. As he pulled himself to his full height and met her gaze, Copper saw the truth of it in his dark eyes. Deep, soulful and determined, but accepting that he wasn’t perfect. Before she could discern anything else, he looked away.
“As to this,” he said, pointing at her office, “I agree, it’s doubtful they are inside anymore, but just to be safe you shouldn’t go in until after the police check it out.”
“Police, right.” Lordy, girl, stop staring at the man and use your brain. Copper started patting her coat looking for her cell phone. Why was her brain turning to mush? She’d seen handsome men before. Then she realized the shock of finding her shop burglarized was starting to set in. Copper accepted the excuse rather than the truth. She’d been alone a long time and the man in front of her was the epitome of hot. Okay, a little gray around the edges, but on him gray looked good.
Really? You’re rationalizing your hotness meter.
Thankfully, she found her cell phone before having to answer to herself.
“We can call from my office. It’s warmer over there,” Mr. Hot said touching her elbow.
Copper jerked at the unexpected contact. Her foot kicked something on the sidewalk.
“Dang it,” she said looking down. When she’d dropped the mug, she had also dropped the bag of clean sheets. The bag had soaked up most of the spilled coffee.
“Great, coffee-dyed sheets,” she grumbled bending down to pick things up.
“It could be worse,” he said.
Glancing up Copper cocked an eyebrow at him since he hadn’t bothered to help. Obviously, Mr. Hot only dealt with the prospect of danger, not cleaning up after.
“You could have dropped them inside.”
“Good point,” she said standing again. “I’ll just throw these back in my car then meet you at your office.”
“I’ll wait,” he said and leaned against one of the overhang’s supports.
“I think I can handle walking across the street myself.”
“Humor me.”
Rolling her eyes, Copper turned away and walked to her SUV parked in the alleyway next to her business. As if she needed a protector. She’d been in Iraq for heaven’s sake. She knew how to take care of herself.
He doesn’t know that.
Dropping the wet bag on the backseat floorboard, she opened her hands as if letting the negative thoughts go. She should be thankful there had even been anyone around at this hour. Most of the shops didn’t open until nine or ten. At least she didn’t have to sit in her car by herself and wait for the police. The crisis she could deal with. Being alone and thinking about it was not something she handled well. She walked back to where he stood.
He pushed off from the support and stepped off the sidewalk. Copper noticed him favor his right leg as he started across the street. Guilt for her earlier uncharitable thoughts pricked uncomfortably. She thought about shortening her stride only to realize even limping he covered ground faster than she did. As the wind gusted, throwing her blanket style coat open, she gathered it close around her. That’s when she noticed he didn’t even have on a jacket. No wonder he wanted to get back to his office.
Once inside she again started looking for her cell phone. He held up a landline and dialed.
“My brother’s a cop,” he said as he held the phone to his ear. “I can get someone here faster. You might want to call whoever was your first appointment.”
“Good idea. I wouldn’t want them showing up while the police are there,” Copper said frustrated and, though she hated to admit it a little shaken up. He nodded and motioned to a chair in front of the desk.
“Hello, this -- sure.”
She glanced at him and saw him rubbing his temples. She hoped she hadn’t bothered him while he had a headache. Deciding at this point it didn’t matter, she got back to her calls while he waited for the person on the other end of the line.
One appointment this morning and another this afternoon were all she had scheduled so far, so it didn’t take long to make calls. All too soon she found herself with nothing to do. Too edgy to sit she noticed a coffee maker with a half-full pot. When she pointed that way, he nodded. Having dumped hers, and doubting she would have time to get her usual cup from the diner, Copper took advantage.
“This is Dos Masters, I--"
Copper turned to look at him when he stopped talking mid-sentence. They wouldn’t put him back on hold already, would they? She saw a tense jaw and closed eye in his profile. Obviously, the person on the other end of the line interrupted him. Mr. Hot, rather Mr. Masters, didn’t appreciate it. She was glad to have his real name. Thinking of a control freak as Mr. Hot didn’t seem right. The even tone he resumed speaking in almost made her change her opinion. As frustrated as he had appeared, he didn’t take it out on the person.
“I know he’s not there. I’m his brother. I’m calling to report a break in at,” he glanced at her. Copper pulled a business car
d from her coat pocket and handed it to him. “1210 Laurel,” he read then handed the card back to her.
Okay, then, he doesn’t even want your business card. Great, haven’t even introduced yourself and you’re being dumped. The absurdity of the thought had her shaking her head. Hadn’t she just decided he wasn’t her type?
“Copper Kerrigan.”
Copper looked at him again, thinking he’d asked her something, but his back was to her.
“Caring Therapeutic Massage,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as he rattled off her business phone number.
Copper just stared. How could he possibly know all that with such a quick glance at her card?
“We’ll be waiting across the street at Master Security, I can watch the property from here,” he said before hanging up.
When he turned to face her, his coloring was off. He couldn’t be going into shock could he? It wasn’t his business that was trashed. He had a gun so he probably faced this kind of thing more than she did. She crossed the room. Every nursing instinct in her told her something was wrong.
“They’ll be here in ten minutes or so. Why don’t you have a seat?” He again swept an arm toward the large leather chairs while working his way around the desk to his chair. He didn’t sit down, but leaned so hard on his knuckles they were white against the desktop.
“Are you okay?” she asked, reaching toward his face. He moved back trying to avoid her touch, but she grazed his cheek with the back of her hand before he could. Her hands, though still a bit cold from outside, could tell his skin was too warm and a bit clammy.
“You’re feverish.”
“I’m fine,” he said, stepping out of her reach. “Please, have a seat.”
“Now I feel guilty making you come out when you’re sick,” she said, walking to the other side of the desk and sitting as he’d asked.
Her Master Defender (The Masters Men Series) Page 1