01 Only Fear

by Anne Marie Becker

  Well I should. After all, I took a nap on the man’s couch.

  Despite the weariness that weighed on her, she smiled at the memory of waking up to find his gaze on her. Though she’d just been having an incredible dream about him and wasn’t fully awake at the time, she didn’t think she’d imagined the flash of heat she’d seen in his eyes before he’d quickly masked his feelings.

  Becca nudged her. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Want to share?”

  Grinning like a loon, Maggie shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Well there go my fantasies of a pajama party and sharing stories of our first kisses.” Becca shrugged. “But I’ll still braid your hair if you want me to.”

  They both laughed. Ethan came in behind them, frowning as he set down their overnight bags at their feet. “Tell me again why I’m doing all the work. And what about Sigmund? Who’s taking care of him?”

  “Sigmund has food and water and a clean litter box. He’ll be fine for one night, and we are your guests,” Becca said pertly, then linked arms with Maggie and pulled her toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if the man has cookie dough in his fridge.”

  A moment later, Becca shot a disgusted look at Ethan as he entered the kitchen. “No cookie dough? What kind of bachelor are you?”

  He reached past Becca into the open fridge and snagged a beer. “The kind that works too many long hours to bother with a grocery store.”

  Maggie laughed, feeling relaxed and safe with these two. She’d sensed some tension between them when they’d entered the restaurant earlier, but that seemed to have cleared. She suspected part of their friendly banter was for her benefit—to put her at ease after the stress of the day.

  “How about movies?” Becca grabbed Ethan’s beer and ignored his frown as she sauntered into the living room.

  He reached into the fridge and grabbed a couple more, handing a bottle to Maggie.

  She arched a brow. “She seems to have forgiven you.”

  He scoffed. “Forgiven me? For what, doing my job and making her the best she can be?”

  “And for being overprotective.”

  “It’s my job to protect you, Maggie.”

  “I meant her. You’re worried about her becoming a full-fledged SSAM agent and she knows it. She’s trying not to let it hurt her feelings that you don’t trust her ability to do her job. After all, her job is security. If you don’t trust her to know her job, how can you trust her to keep others safe?”

  Ethan looked away. “Maybe I have been hard on her. She called me a hard-ass.”

  Maggie laughed but quickly sobered. “When Becca and I were talking the other night, she mentioned your past. She thought the way you acted had something to do with it, though she wouldn’t say what it was.”

  He picked at the label on his bottle, avoiding her gaze. “Then she’s more perceptive than I gave her credit for.”

  “Is it about that agent you saw die?”

  “No, it’s something else. Something…more.”

  She cocked her head. “Want to talk about it?”

  He took a gulp of cold beer before replying. “No.”

  Maggie couldn’t hide her disappointment, so she turned away. It was his right to keep his past to himself. Still, she’d felt so close to him these few days they’d had together. Something in her thirsted for more of that closeness. Somehow he’d gotten past her walls, and now she wanted to scale his.

  She felt the warm, gentle pressure of his hand on her arm, turning her to face him. “When I’m ready to talk, you’re the person I want to talk to, okay?”

  “Okay.” He’d said when he was ready, not if. She smiled. “Let’s go see what Becca’s into.”

  Becca stood in the living room, hands on her hips, surveying Ethan’s meager DVD collection. “Just as I suspected. All action flicks. Don’t you get enough intensity at work?”

  Ethan snagged the video she’d been looking at. “Gee, guess not. Or maybe my soft and cuddly movies are in the other room, along with my assortment of teddy bears.”

  As Becca perused the titles, Maggie settled on the couch next to Ethan. The warm, spicy male scent of him filled her nostrils, mixed with the faint, tangy smell of beer. Tempted to lean closer, she crossed her legs under her and leaned away instead.

  “Do you really have chick flicks in your bedroom?” she teased.

  He arched a brow. “Wanna see?”

  “No, she does not,” Becca said firmly, settling on the couch between them like a good chaperone. “We’re going to watch Die Hard.”

  But as the opening credits disappeared, a happy tune intruded. “Shoot. That’s me,” Becca muttered, shifting her hips upward so she could dig in her jeans pocket for her ringing phone. She moved to the sliding glass door as she answered, then out onto the porch to talk in privacy. Ethan paused the movie, then rose and flicked a switch to turn the porch light on for Becca.

  When he came back, he sat in the middle of the couch, closer to Maggie. She reached out and took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his and effectively bringing his attention from the frozen image of Bruce Willis on the screen to her. “Thank you for being there tonight, with my family. It…helped.”

  His smile brought crinkles to the corners of his eyes, reminding her just how much of life this man, only a few years older than her, had seen. And endured. There were secrets behind those deep green eyes. “I liked them. And I’m glad it helped.”

  She thought he might have leaned in to kiss her if the back door hadn’t slid open at that moment. Becca, who had apparently taken it upon herself to protect Maggie not only from serial killers and stalkers but also from big, bad Agent Ethan Townsend, would probably not like to see them cuddled together, hands entwined, on the couch.

  But instead of the expected reprimand, Becca looked like a woman on a mission as she marched over to her purse.

  Alarmed, Maggie asked, “What happened? What is it?” Or, who is it? Please don’t let it be another dead body.

  “Ethan, I have to go handle something. Can you manage without me?”

  “What is it, Becca?” Ethan came to stand beside her, taking her arm. “You don’t have a car. It’s still at your place. I drove you tonight, remember?”

  “Another SSAM agent is picking me up here. He’ll be here any minute.”

  “Is that who called?” Maggie tried again. “Is it about this investigation? Please, I need to know.”

  Becca’s distraught gaze met hers. “Yes. It’s about David. I didn’t want to tell you, but…” She met Ethan’s gaze and something unspoken passed between them.

  “Damn it, what?” Maggie’s imagination was starting to run wild. “Is David dead?”

  “No,” Becca answered, startled. Then she sighed. “But I didn’t want you running off to help him. The message our SSAM communications guy intercepted was off of your voice mail. David said he wanted to talk to you.”

  Confused, Maggie rubbed at the ache that was starting in the middle of her forehead. “Why wouldn’t I help David? He’s a friend. And I had no idea SSAM was monitoring my messages,” she added as an afterthought.

  Ethan took Maggie’s hand and squeezed to get her attention. “What Becca’s not telling you is that we don’t want you running off to meet with David because he’s on our suspect list.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped. “David? A suspect?”

  “We didn’t want to tell you until we were sure,” Becca said. “Fearmonger would want to be near you, is familiar with campus, and it’s looking more and more as if Sharon knew her killer. David fits the profile.”

  David? Her David? He’d always been so sweet and attentive. “But what about Owen? David was around when he called in. He couldn’t have called in as Owen.”

  “He could have had an accomplice,” Becca pointed out. “And he’s a sound expert. He would know how to disguise voices, maybe even record them ahead of time.”

  Maggie shook her head, not wanting to consider the possibility. David wouldn
’t do such a thing. “He’d have been thirteen at the time of the other murders.”

  “Rare,” Ethan admitted, “but not impossible. We’re not saying David is Fearmonger. We just have to be careful until we check him out. And he’s resurfacing after we lost track of him for twenty-four hours, during which two murders took place. That looks more than a little suspicious.” He turned to Becca. “You’ll take backup with you?”

  She nodded. “Of course. I’ll call David and suggest he meet me and Maggie at my apartment. Only, of course, Maggie won’t be there when he arrives. I’ll have backup within shouting distance just in case.”

  “You’re not going to do anything to David, are you?” Maggie pleaded. “He’s been through so much. I’m sure he’s just been really upset about Sharon.”

  “I plan to have a nice little chat with him, to find out what’s going on in his head.”

  “We’re just keeping an eye on him,” Ethan said. “And that’s why I think Becca is perfect for this. He’s met her and they got along. She doesn’t come across as threatening. Maybe she can get him to open up.” He looked to Becca, who seemed to grow taller under Ethan’s words of confidence. “But don’t do anything without backup.”

  Becca’s pressed her lips into a firm line. “I know how to do my job.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think that. It’s just that if he happens to be our guy, he’ll do anything to lure Maggie out, including use you.”

  “I’ll be ready for Fearmonger, whether it’s David or someone else,” Becca said, the tone of her voice more eager than afraid.

  After Becca left with a fellow SSAM agent, Ethan checked the locks on all the doors and windows and settled next to Maggie on the couch again. “Want to watch the movie?”

  She shook her head. “Somehow, I’m not in the mood to watch villains wreak havoc on helpless people.”

  “At least the villain is destroyed in the end, by a guy who chose not to be helpless.”

  “Too bad it’s only the movies.”

  “Maggie, I’ve caught my fair share of bad guys. Believe it or not, the odds are against him.” He rubbed a thumb across her wrist. “And if it makes you feel any better, I don’t really think David is Fearmonger. We’re just covering all the bases. I want you to be safe.”

  She gave a small smile, appreciating more than he knew the way he tried to comfort her. She laid a hand on his cheek, coarse with the beginnings of stubble. “I believe it. With you, here, I feel safe.”

  His jaw hardened and he pulled away. “You shouldn’t get too comfortable. I’m not as safe as I seem.”

  Startled, she longed for him to look at her, but he seemed intent on avoiding her gaze. “What do you mean? You’d never hurt me.”

  A muscle in his jaw pulsed and she stared at it, mesmerized. “I’m not sure about that. I’m not sure I’m good for anybody right now. Haven’t been for years.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t respond right away, and she began to wonder if he’d answer her.

  “My dad was a cop. The only thing he valued in his life was the reputation he’d earned on the job—until a bullet put him on disability. He was never the same.” He’d never spoken to her of his father, she realized, but his bitter laugh told her volumes.

  “I thought he’d notice me, be proud of me, if I had a career like his, in law enforcement. So that’s what I pursued. But I had to be the best, the one who guarded the most important people in the country. So I went into the Secret Service.”

  But something had happened there. Something more than watching a colleague get gunned down.

  “And my father? He never knew. He died while I was in college, just before I graduated and moved on to train for the Secret Service.”

  She took his hand between both of hers. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, it happens.” Though he shrugged, she could see the little boy in him was still suffering. He would never see pride shining in his father’s eyes.

  “I was good at what I did.”

  She didn’t comment on his choice of the word was.

  “I protected the Vice President and his family. But one time, I messed up.” And once was all it took to dent this man’s self-image. Because of his father, he thought he was his work. He was only as good as his success on the job.

  “What happened?” she urged, knowing he had to be out with the bad feelings. Best to cut it out with a knife than to let the wound fester any longer.

  As if he couldn’t look at her, he pulled away and stood. He began to pace the living room. “Three years ago, I was guarding the Vice President’s daughter Mallory.”

  A clear picture of the girl came to Maggie’s mind. The press loved her, the darling of America, and reported on her as if all of the country was watching her grow up. Now fourteen, the young lady was about to enter high school. But what had happened to her three years ago that made Ethan beat himself up daily?

  “She was going to a friend’s party. A birthday party. A group of eleven-year-olds having cake and soda and fun.” He continued pacing, unable to meet her gaze. Was he afraid he’d find judgment there? It was difficult, but she forced herself to remain seated, not wanting to interrupt his story. “You wouldn’t expect someone to pull a gun on a young girl, especially as she left a kid’s birthday party…” He paused, his throat working.

  Finally, unable to keep from touching him any longer, Maggie rose and went to him. “But that’s exactly what happened,” she murmured, running a hand down his arm.

  She remembered the story now. It had been all over the news, but the Vice President’s daughter hadn’t been hurt, and the story had been replaced by bigger news within a couple days. How could Ethan see his performance as a failure?

  His tortured gaze finally sought hers, and he accepted her arms around his waist. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “There are all kinds of pain in this world. And all kinds of monsters.” Absently, his hand fisted in her hair, then loosened and he ran his fingertips through it. “That experience, and this job with Damian, has taught me that.”

  She ignored the shivers his touch evoked and focused on him. “I know. Mallory was okay, though, wasn’t she?”

  He nodded. “I tackled her when I saw the glint of the gun across the street, from the window of a passing car, but she was okay. Just a few scrapes and bruises. It was her friend, the birthday girl, who’d rushed out of the house because Mallory had forgotten her bag of party favors.” He paused and she felt the column of his throat move against her cheek as he swallowed. “She ran right into the spray of the bullets.”

  “God.” Tears sprang to her eyes. If he couldn’t cry, she’d cry for him. “That must have been absolute hell for you.”

  “I had to make a choice. I could have leaped up to grab the other girl—her name was Bethany—but that would have left Mallory exposed.”

  “And you chose Mallory.”

  He nodded, his throat working. He couldn’t seem to speak.

  “You chose duty, Ethan, as you were trained to do.”

  He pulled away, looking surprised that he’d shared all of that and survived. She kissed him then. One minute, he was looking into her tear-filled eyes. The next, she was pulling him down to meet her lips, coaxing a response that was already there, just waiting to be tapped. She gave him all that she had, opening to him in her eagerness to comfort him. And to seek her own comfort.

  He breathed her name, pulling away enough to look into her face, then leaning his forehead against hers. “I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

  Julia’s words at dinner had haunted her all evening. She’d said Maggie didn’t know how to live anymore since Brad’s death. And maybe she didn’t. But she wanted to. Right now, she wanted it more than anything she’d ever wanted before. She wanted Ethan.

  “I think you’ve got that backward. You’re the one who just gave me a part of you. I think I’m taking advantage.” Her hands came up to frame his face. “So let me. I need
this as much as you do.”

  Her eyes searched his for several long seconds, seeing the war waged within. He was trying to be strong and resist, to live by his own code of honor while on the job. But she wouldn’t let him be noble. She wanted—no, as she’d told him, she needed—him to let her help.

  When he released a breath and leaned toward her, she knew she’d won. Pulling his face to hers, she claimed another kiss. Vaguely, she was aware of long limbs bumping as they moved. He was walking her backward to the short hallway that led to his bedroom.

  A thrill of anticipation coiled and struck through her belly. Her fingers moved from his face to his shirt, gripping the cotton fabric at his waist as she tugged the shirttails from his pants. Frantic fingertips fumbled with the buttons and he released a husky laugh into her mouth. As the backs of her knees met the edge of his mattress, his own fingers found the edges of her shirt and pulled it loose, his thumbs brushing against the skin of her abdomen underneath.

  It was then that Maggie froze.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sensing a change in atmosphere, Ethan pulled away. “What? What is it?” Her eyes were still luminescent from the tears she had yet to shed for him, her cheeks flushed with emotion and from their shared passion. Her breasts rose and fell as she caught her breath.

  God, he’d never wanted a woman so much. He was shaking from holding back. But something was obviously wrong.

  “Tell me, honey,” he encouraged, sitting her down on the bed. He knelt in front of her, taking her shaking hands in his.

  “I didn’t know it would be this difficult.”

  “What? Talk to me.” He turned her chin until she met his gaze. “I opened up to you. You listened. Allow me to do the same for you.”

  She sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly, averting her eyes despite his grasp on her chin. “I have…scars.” Her hands fluttered around her abdomen.

  “Scars?” he repeated, confused. Following the vague motion of her hands, he swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. “Deborah Frame physically hurt you? I thought it was Brad who got hurt.”

  “It was. She killed Brad.” Liquid honey eyes finally met his gaze. “I’d been treating her for months, primarily for schizophrenia. Her symptoms were getting worse, and she was behaving more strangely toward me, bringing gifts that I had to refuse. But I never thought she was harmful.