Called to Protect

by Lynette Eason

  With a groan, he rose and raked a hand through his hair. Fine. He’d go inside and make a fire, warm up—and pack. So he could go home and do what he did best.

  Which was to throw himself into work until he was so exhausted he fell into bed and slept without nightmares.

  A scream ripped through the air and he froze for a split second before reaching for his weapon.

  With the sun setting in the next several minutes, light was quickly diminishing.

  Another scream.

  Brady shot outside, off the porch, and into the yard, trying to discern the direction of the cry. There. On the water.

  A speedboat was motoring out to the middle of the inlet, aimed toward the open water, and the silhouettes of two people came into view. One sitting behind the wheel. The other sat in front, hands tied to the rail that ran along the side of the boat. She struggled, yanking and twisting against her bonds.

  “Hey! Let her go!”

  The driver jerked a head in Brady’s direction. Then lifted his weapon and fired. Brady dove to the ground and rolled. The bullet missed, but was a little closer than he was comfortable with. He lifted his head to see the man taking aim at his captive. She stilled, head ducked, shoulders heaving with her sobs. Brady fired while running toward the water. The man jerked and swung his weapon back in Brady’s direction.

  And then the woman was loose. She launched herself over the side and into the water. The man’s curses reached Brady even as he settled back into the driver’s seat and spun the wheel. The boat sped away.

  Brady caught sight of the woman’s head just above the surface, but her arms flailed, slapping the water.

  She went under.

  Brady ran to the edge of the dock, stopped long enough to shuck his sweatshirt and loafers, and dove in. The icy water nearly stole the breath he held, but it wasn’t the first time he’d swum in freezing water. He reached her in ten long strokes.

  Just as she was going back down, he got behind her and slid his forearms beneath her armpits, lifting her head up once again. Her back pressed against his chest. She gasped and coughed. Started to struggle.

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay, relax. I’m here to help you. Rest your head back on my shoulder and just breathe, okay?”

  She gave one last hacking cough, then went limp. Hoping she hadn’t passed out, Brady kicked toward the shore. The dock would get them out of the water faster, but if the guy decided to start shooting again, he could pick them off.

  “Are you conscious?” he asked. Then kicked, wishing he’d had the time to get rid of the heavy jeans, but he ignored the weight and aimed them for land.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Emily,” she gasped. “Chastain.”

  “I’m Brady. Are you hurt?”

  “I d-don’t t-think so.”

  But she was cold. “Can you swim?”

  “No. I mean yes, but . . . no strength.”

  “All right. Just be still and don’t fight me, and I’ll have us on shore in a couple of minutes.”

  She trembled against him. A combination of fear and cold. Finally, his feet found the sandy bottom of the lake and he hefted her into his arms.

  She gasped, coughed, then wiggled. “I can walk. I’m too heavy to c-carry. P-put me down.”

  He wanted to laugh. “Be still. I bench-press more than you weigh. A lot more.”

  She stilled and he set her next to the dock, out of sight of the lake, protected by the wood. “Stay here for just a second.”

  Shuddering, she nodded. At least he thought it was a nod. Keeping low, hunched against the wind that sent shudders whipping through him, he made it to the end of the dock, all the while feeling like he had a target on his back.

  But no one fired. He shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed the sweatshirt. He hurried back to find Emily curled into a ball, back against the dock post, tremors wracking her frame.

  Without asking for permission, he tugged the sweatshirt over her long-sleeved T-shirt and swept her into his arms once more. She didn’t protest, simply turned her face into the side of his neck and clutched his shoulders.

  Emily used the towel to clear the steam off the mirror and tried to calm her shaking. The hot shower had chased away the bone-deep cold, but the horror of what she’d just lived through wouldn’t loosen its hold. She’d thought she was going to die.

  Tears dripped down her cheeks as the images flashed in her mind.

  A knock on the door made her jump and she pulled the plush white robe tighter, then swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes?”

  “You okay? I’ve got some sweats and a dry sweatshirt you can put on while your clothes and shoes dry if you want.”

  She opened the door and looked up into the kindest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The gentleness she found there eased her pounding pulse. “Thank you.” She took the clothes from him.

  “There’s a hair dryer under the sink too. If you want to use it.”

  “I do. Thanks.”

  “Anything else you need?”

  “No. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

  He nodded and she shut the door.

  After drying her chin-length, chocolate-colored hair, she changed into the clothes, for once doing so without studying herself in the mirror and judging. She had to roll the waistband to shorten the length, then roll a thick cuff around her ankles. The sweatshirt hung to midthigh. Once she had on the wool socks, she took a deep breath.

  She was alive and finally warm.

  Only now she had to go explain to the man who’d just saved her life why someone wanted her dead and that he was now in danger as well if they managed to figure out who her attacker was. If not, then Brady would probably be all right. Which meant she should leave quickly.

  Gathering her nerves, she stepped out into the hall and followed it into the spacious den area. Her rescuer sat in one of the wingback chairs facing the warm flames produced by the gas logs. He’d showered and changed into jeans, warm socks, and a red-and-blue flannel shirt. His right hand worked a cloth over the weapon held in his left hand. Probably the gun he’d fired at her captor.

  “Excuse me while I take care of this,” he said. “It went into the lake with me and I need to get it dried out just in case we need it.”

  “In case they find me here, you mean?”

  “I would think that whoever was in the boat would be long gone, but you never know about people—or how desperate they are.”

  His hands stilled and his eyes locked on hers for a moment.

  “He seemed pretty desperate,” she said. She stepped up next to him and held her hands out to the fire. “This is lovely.”

  He gestured to one of the chairs to his right. “Have a seat. Your clothes and shoes are in the dryer.”

  “Thanks.” She lowered herself into the chair and curled her legs under her. “I should probably leave as soon as my clothes are dry. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  He went back to cleaning. “I’m not worried about it.”

  “But I am.”

  He glanced up again. “Don’t. I can take care of myself. And you.”

  “But—”

  “Seriously. Okay?”

  She sighed. “Okay. For now.” She took in her surroundings for the first time. “This is a nice cabin. Big, but still cozy.”

  “I think so. It’s got three bedrooms and three baths.” He shot her a smile. “Too much room for one guy, but the people who own it are friends and gave me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Good friends if they let you undo all their winterizing.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, they are. And I promised to leave it like I found it.” He studied her.

  With a deep sigh, she shook her head. “Thank you for saving me. I probably would have drowned if you hadn’t jumped in.” She paused. “Actually, I might not have made it to the drowning part. He was going to shoot me.”

  His hands stilled. Those blue eyes met hers. “You want to tell
me what that was all about?”

  She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ve done complicated before.”

  “That’s cryptic.”

  His lips curved, but the slightly haunted expression that slipped into his eyes said he’d seen things better left alone.

  “I’m a financial crimes investigator for a bank,” she said.

  His hands paused in their cleaning and he looked up. “I’ve worked with a couple of those before. Cool job if you like numbers.”

  “It can be. Apparently, it can also be quite dangerous,” she muttered.

  “After your late-night swim adventure, I’m inclined to agree.” He set the cloth aside and put the parts of the weapon back together, then wiped it down once more. “So, you think your job had something to do with all this?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I think someone didn’t like what I was investigating, decided to grab me as I was walking out of work, throw me in the back of a trunk, and bring me here to kill me.”

  Finished with the weapon, he set it aside and turned his full attention on her. “I know that was scary for you.”

  “A bit of an understatement, but yes. It was definitely scary. And they would have gotten away with it, too, if not for you.”

  “Did the guy on the boat say anything? Give you any clue about why he wanted you dead?”

  “No. That was the weird thing. He never said a word. Even when I was begging him to tell me why.” She shuddered and looked away, the fear washing over her once again.

  “You said they grabbed you as you were leaving work. How did they do that?”

  “They drugged me.”

  “How many of them were there?”

  “Two of them, I think. Could have been three.”

  “So they got you after work. Did you yell? Try to grab someone’s attention?’

  “I never had a chance. And even if I had, it was late and there wasn’t anyone around.” She rubbed her eyes. “It all happened so fast. They stuck me with a needle and whatever was in it made me feel weird and lethargic. I remember being in the trunk, but I must have passed out, so I have no idea how long they drove or what happened up until I woke up in a shed tied to a boat ramp.”

  “What time did you leave work?”

  “I don’t know, around midnight?” She shook her head. “I’m a night owl. I don’t have anything to rush home to.” She grimaced. “That sounds pathetic, but as long as I’m doing my job, my boss, the bank manager, Calvin Swift, lets me flex my hours so they’re convenient for me.” She paused and stared at the flames. “I fought them, but—” Goose bumps pebbled her arms, even though she wasn’t cold. “What lake are we on anyway?”

  “Lake Henley.”

  “I’ve heard of it but don’t know much about it.”

  “It’s private. Mostly second homes people rent out. I think there are about five year-round residents, which means during the winter, it’s a ghost town.” He shrugged. “That suited my purposes.”

  An interesting comment she’d like to follow up on, but had a feeling he wouldn’t say anything more. “And probably why my kidnapper thought it would a good place to dump a body,” she muttered then sighed. “So, what day is it? Is it still Wednesday night? Early Thursday morning?”

  “It’s Thursday night.” He glanced at his watch. “A little past nine.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “So I lost a day?”

  “Looks like it. Anyone you need to call and let them know you’re okay?”

  “I probably should call Heather. She’s got to be wondering where I am.”

  “Who’s Heather?”

  “My best friend.”

  He handed her his cell phone and she dialed the number. It went straight to voicemail. “Heather, call me when you get this. Only call me on this number as I don’t have a phone right now. I was kidnapped and almost killed and I need to talk you ASAP.” She paused. “And no, this isn’t a bad joke.” She hung up and rubbed her forehead.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Or is that a stupid question?”

  “Not stupid at all. I’m just a little worried. Heather always answers her phone and the fact that she didn’t . . .” She shrugged. She fell silent, then shook her head. “Heather will call me back when she can. I guess I need to go to the police and report this.”

  “I called it in while you were warming up. They’re sending one officer to take your statement, but unfortunately, there was a big wreck nearby with fatalities and this is a small town. The majority of officers will be responding to that first until help from other counties arrives. I told them you were safe for now and the guy in the boat was probably long gone. Which means they’ll get to you when they can.”

  She blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Who was he? The one in the boat?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “How’d you get loose from the railing?”

  “Dumb luck? The grace of God? I was struggling pretty hard and he’d been in a hurry when he tied me to it.” She pulled her sleeves back just far enough to reveal the rope burns. Blood had flowed from them before her dip into the lake, but had washed away during her impromptu swim. They stung like fire, but it was better than the alternative.

  “If I have to choose between the two, I’ll go with the dumb luck,” Brady said.

  “Hmm.” She paused. “What is it you do exactly?”

  “I’m a detective with the Columbia Police Department. Occasionally, I work with the dive team when they’re shorthanded, but my main job is criminal investigation.”

  She gaped, then snapped her mouth shut. “Wow. Okay, then. You might not be very happy with God right now, but I’m thrilled with him for sending you my way.”

  He barked a short laugh and rose to grab his pack by the door. He rummaged through it and she watched, curious. He returned to kneel in front of her. “Let me see those wrists.”

  “They’re fine.”

  He took her right hand in his anyway. The feel of his warm fingers wrapped around hers chased some of the horror away.

  “You don’t believe in God?” she asked, sliding her hand out of his grasp and pulling her sleeve down over the wound.

  “I believe in him.” He nodded to her wrists. “And they’re not fine. Let’s wrap them for now. Give them a chance to heal and keep the germs out. You don’t want them to get infected.”

  With no energy to argue—and feeling uncharacteristically compliant—she let him bandage her wrists. When her sleeve rose a little too high to reveal a multitude of white scars crisscrossing the inside of her forearm, she said nothing, just adjusted the sleeve to hide them. He glanced up and caught her gaze, a question in his eyes she had no intention of addressing.

  “Why are you mad at him, then?” she asked.

  He blinked. “Who says I’m mad at him?”

  “A number of little clues you’ve dropped.”

  “Like?”

  “Like choosing dumb luck over divine intervention. Body language when I mentioned God. Changing the subject to my wrists.” Should she push him on that or leave it alone? It really wasn’t fair to expect him to answer deep personal questions if she wasn’t willing to respond in kind, was it?

  Then again, she knew first hand that life wasn’t fair.

  He raised a brow, then focused on her wrists. When he was finished, he replaced his supplies and returned to his chair.

  So, he wasn’t going to answer. Alrighty then. “You always carry bandages and antibiotic ointment?” she asked.

  “I do when I’m going to be fishing.”

  “Ah, smart.”

  “I try.”

  A pause. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re mad at God?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay. Then what are you doing out here all by yourself?”

  He tilted his head as though surprised she didn’t keep pushing. “I’m on vacation. Where are y
ou from?” he asked.

  “Sicily. The city in South Carolina, not Italy, much to my regret.”

  “Is that where you were kidnapped from?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know that city well. It’s about fifteen minutes from where I live. I have some good friends who work out of the Midtown Region police department.”

  She offered him a small smile. “I don’t even know why they had to make it a separate city. It might as well be Columbia.”

  “True, but the family who founded it missed Sicily—the other one back in Italy.”

  “You know your history.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  She smiled. “The Italian influence is one of the things that I love about Sicily. One of the reasons I fell in love with it and decided to move there.” She yawned. “Apparently, the low crime rate report was a big old lie, though.”

  They fell silent and her eyes lowered to half mast. She was warm. She was safe. She was sleepy. She let her eyes shut all the way and stay there, close to dropping off, but vaguely aware of Brady moving in the background.

  The window behind her shattered. She dove out of the chair to the floor. Brady’s body covered hers. He had a weapon in his hand before she could blink. Flames spurted from the floor in front of the fireplace and the sharp sting of gasoline burned her nose.

  “What’s going on?” she cried.

  He yanked her to her feet and grabbed his pack. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Smoke curled around her. “How?”

  “The back door. Through the kitchen. Laundry room first. We need to grab your shoes from the dryer on the way out.”

  Another explosion shook the cabin as Brady led her to the kitchen’s laundry room. The heat intensified. Moving fast, he grabbed her shoes and stuffed them into his pack. A quick look at the kitchen door said they weren’t going out that way.

  “Stay here.” He ran to the front door and caught sight of two figures darting behind his truck. The front door was out. They’d be picked off as soon as they set foot outside. He bolted back to Emily and pulled her into the laundry room.

  “What are we going to do?” she gasped.

  He grabbed the rope connected to the attic stairs and yanked. Once he had the steps down, he pulled her in front of him. “Climb!”