by Rita Herron
Chapter Eight
Olivia had nightmares of the morgue all night.
Dead bodies lay next to her, staring at her with wide-open eyes. The room was ice-cold. She couldn’t move. Then she levitated from her body toward the bright light.
The funeral home had come for her. She could see the mortician waiting with his instruments, smell the stench of embalming fluid…see her own casket waiting.
She jerked awake, trembling, her arm throbbing. The IV tugged at her skin as she rolled over and scanned the sterile hospital room.
Craig Horn was slumped over in the chair beside her bed. He hadn’t left her side all night.
A wave of tenderness washed over her. In sleep, he still seemed tortured, aloof, but he also looked impossibly handsome and sexy in his rumpled gray suit and tie. His long legs were sprawled in front of a muscular body that she imagined in tight-fitting jeans and a T-shirt that would emphasize his impressive physique. The dark stubble on his cheeks beckoned her to touch him, the wide jaw that was normally set with determination and anger was slack, his chest rising and falling with steady, even breaths.
She remembered him holding her hand the night before, pulling her from the dark abyss of death, soothing her when she’d known she was going to die.
His eyes slowly fluttered open, and his gaze met hers. Steady. Probing. Icy? No… “How do you feel?”
She battled for a smile and lost. “A little sore. But I’ll be all right.”
“Tough Olivia.” His husky voice skated over raw nerve endings that needed his gentle touch again this morning. A strained heartbeat of silence stretched between them as she remembered pleading with him not to leave her.
“I don’t think I was very tough last night.”
A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “A lesser person would have given up and died.”
She almost had. If it hadn’t been for him…
The nurse pushed inside with a cart and took Olivia’s vitals. Craig moved aside to the window, offering her a semblance of privacy as the nurse redressed her wound, but at the same time Olivia felt his presence, his eyes watching her as if he didn’t trust the staff.
On the heels of the nurse’s visit, the surgeon sauntered in, Olivia’s chart in his hand. He pushed wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose and smiled. “You look considerably better this morning.”
“I am,” Olivia said. The nurse propped a pillow behind her to help her sit at an angle, then handed her a pill and left.
“Your vitals look good,” the doctor said. “You should be able to go home in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days?” Olivia asked.
“You need to rest,” Dr. Elgin said. “You’ve had surgery and a near heart attack.”
“But I can’t stay here,” Olivia protested. “I need to go home. I have things to do.”
Craig cleared his throat. “Olivia—”
“No.” Olivia swung her legs to the side. The movement sent her into a dizzy spell, but she gripped the sides of the bed to steady herself and concentrated on bringing the beige linoleum floor squares into focus. “Really, I’ll rest better at home. Please…I can’t stay here. I…hate hospitals.”
Craig and the doctor exchanged concerned looks. “No one enjoys them,” Dr. Elgin said, “but we’re liable for your health, Miss Thornbird.”
Olivia glanced at the IV. “If you’re worried about a lawsuit, don’t be.”
“Olivia, please, let them take care of you,” Craig said.
She gave him an imploring look. “I… Don’t make me stay here, Craig. Please. Every time I close my eyes I see that morgue.”
Craig swallowed, and she prayed she’d made her point.
Dr. Elgin tapped his pen on the chart. “Do you have family at home to take care of you?”
Olivia felt her face pale a deeper white, but Craig stepped forward. “Don’t worry, Dr. Elgin, Olivia won’t be left alone.”
Olivia stiffened. Craig Horn might have saved her life, but she didn’t intend to let him order her around or watch her as if she needed a caretaker.
“And besides, she’s right,” Craig said in a derisive tone. “We already know that the safest place for Olivia isn’t here.”
The doctor looked apologetic, but Olivia gulped at the thought of Craig invading her personal space. Spending the night in her apartment. Filling it with his presence and his smell and his intimidating size.
But she couldn’t work at all in the hospital, and she had to research the name she’d read in her father’s files.
“Let me check your latest blood and urine samples to make certain the potassium isn’t still in your system. Then we’ll talk.”
Olivia forced herself to lie back and rest for a few minutes while the doctor left to check on the lab results. Craig remained silent, his steely gaze shooting from her to the window as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
A few strained minutes later, the doctor finally returned. “Your tests look good,” he said, then reluctantly signed off on her release. “But I want to see you back in a few days to remove those stitches and recheck the wound. Now stay put, Miss Thornbird. A nurse will bring a wheelchair to escort you to the car.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “Hospital policy.”
A nervous energy hummed between them as the doctor left. Finally, Craig turned to her, his mask in place, his somber look revealing nothing. “Listen, I know you’re going to protest, Olivia, but we have to find a w together.”
Shock fluttered through her. “You want to work with me?”
He gave a clipped nod, meaning he didn’t, but he had no choice. “If you agree not to print anything about the virus investigation until we’ve concluded the investigation and solved the case, I’ll give you an exclusive on the story.”
She hesitated, then agreed. She’d find out more if she worked with him than she would on her own. Besides, someone had tried to kill her. She’d be a fool not to accept his help.
But could she trust him to keep his word? When the case ended, would he try to cover up the truth as the government had before?
CRAIG HAD NO IDEA when he’d made the decision to designate himself as Olivia’s bodyguard, but he damn sure didn’t trust anyone else right now and he had to keep her alive.
While she dressed, he phoned for a police car to drive them home. She seemed exceptionally quiet while the nurse wheeled her out to the car, even refusing his outstretched hand and offer of help. She had grit, he had to give her that, although he noticed the small wince of pain as she settled inside the car.
“We’ll stop by and pick up some of your things,” he explained. “Then we’re going to my cabin.”
“What?” The look of surprise on Olivia’s face would have been funny had the obvious refusal in her eyes not cut him to the bone. Was he so repulsive that she couldn’t imagine spending the night in his cabin? Or was it her disdain for his work?
Or the fact that you let her father get killed?
“Don’t be unreasonable, Olivia. Not only was your apartment trashed, but someone tried to gun you down. Do you really think it’s the safest place to recuperate?”
Her face grew more strained, her voice resigned. “I…guess not. But why don’t you take me to a hotel?”
“Because you’re officially in protective custody.”
“You mean you want to watch over me so I don’t get in your way?”
“You’re obviously feeling more like yourself today,” he growled. “Testy. Argumentative. Impossible.”
She glowered at him as she pushed her disheveled blond hair from her face. His sex hardened, his hands itching to assume the task for her, to smooth the silky strands into place himself.
Instead, he clenched the steering wheel and refused to look at her the rest of the way to her apartment. Where was the Iceman? He needed him back, now more than ever.
“Oh, my God.” Olivia staggered at the sight of the vandalism the intruder had wrought as Craig
escorted her into her apartment. Her drawers were open and had been pawed through, her books and file cabinet tossed as if someone had been searching for something, her computer smashed.
“I…have to get another computer.”
“I’ll have one sent over
She glanced at him, her surprise obvious. “You will?”
“Look, Olivia, I told you we were going to work together. I may not like your job, or any of the media for that matter, but I’m a man of my word.”
“You hate the media. It’s because of your father, isn’t it?” Olivia leaned against the sofa, battling another dizzy spell. “Why? Because of all the publicity about your sister’s death?”
He froze, anger knotting every muscle in his body. “What do you know about my sister’s death?”
She inhaled sharply. “Just that it came at a bad time for your father’s campaign. Or maybe it made it easier for him to run for office. He needed the escape.”
“Just like your father needed work to escape the pain of losing your mother?” he asked.
She swallowed hard, then nodded. “I imagine the senator’s opponent took advantage of your family’s grief, but then again, your father won some sympathy votes to even it out. But I don’t think the real story about your sister was ever printed. Your father probably paid someone to keep it quiet, didn’t he?”
God, she was honest. He didn’t know whether to admire her or be offended that she’d checked on him. “The media were vultures,” he said between gritted teeth, remembering a female one in particular. He’d let down his guard during pillow talk, voiced his anger and grief, blamed his father for neglecting his sister…and she’d printed every word.
“My sister died in a car accident,” he said in a deep voice. “End of story.”
The questions in her eyes rankled him, as did her long unwavering look of distrust, although he didn’t know why. He shouldn’t care if she trusted him or liked him.
Hadn’t he vowed not to fall into the same trap with her as he had with the other woman…what was her name? He couldn’t even remember anymore.
“I’ll get a service to clean the apartment,” he said, obviously trying to change the subject.
“No, I can do it here—”
“I promised the doctor you’d rest, and I intend to see to it that you do.” His tone brooked no argument.
She stared at him for another long moment, as if she were trying to read between the lines, but he refused to give her the opportunity.
“All right,” she finally agreed. “But only because I want to reserve my energy for the investigation.”
That grit of hers again. He almost smiled but choked it back. “I’ll wait here while you pack.”
She nodded and hurried to her bedroom, picking her way over the magazines and papers strewn on the floor. He followed but remained at the door, noting the hint of her femininity in the white eyelet comforter on her iron bed. Hmm, another interesting layer to the gutsy woman. One he’d like to explore.
One he definitely wouldn’t.
Still, he hadnvisioned her room as traditional or frilly. A Victorian lamp sat on a nightstand with a ruffled red-and-yellow striped skirt. Balloon shades in the same fabric hung above the windows. A lacy white robe lay on top of the bed, and her lingerie drawer was spilling over with flimsy silk and lace bikini panties, thongs and a teddy in black that made perspiration break out on his forehead and neck.
He pivoted away, forcing the image of Olivia in that black teddy from his mind, although the traitorous thought kept flashing back, tormenting him with what-ifs.
What if they weren’t working on a case? What if she wasn’t in danger? What if they weren’t on opposite sides? What if she wasn’t a reporter?
Then he might take her to bed. Peel away the layers of her multifaceted personality and that tough facade and touch the silky softness beneath.
But if they weren’t on a case, they never would have met….
“I’m ready.”
He schooled his reaction to the sound of her whispery voice, snapping his air of brusque control back in place as they walked back to the police car.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at his cabin, and he helped her out, then thanked the officer. The natural overhang of live oaks shaded the cabin, the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks almost symphonic.
“It’s nice,” Olivia said, pausing to inhale the fresh, salty air. “Not what I expected.”
His jaw snapped tight. “What did you think, that I’d live in a hovel?”
She laughed, then pressed a hand against her side as if the movement hurt. “No. More like a steel-gray contemporary condo.”
Perfect for the Iceman, the image he normally evoked, he thought. But he didn’t pursue the topic; he simply pushed inside, let her enter, then grabbed her suitcase.
He gestured toward the bedroom. “You can stay in my room. I’ll take the sofa.”
She caught his arm. “Craig, I can’t do that.”
“For God’s sake, Olivia, do you have to argue with everything?”
He hadn’t meant to speak so harshly, but the sudden set to her jaw indicated his tone had forced renewed distance between them. Distance he needed now that she was in his home.
Because letting her sleep in his bed would be difficult.
Letting her sleep there alone—paramount to torture.
OLIVIA RETREATED TO the small bedroom, ignoring the stab of hurt she’d felt at Craig’s tone. Their situation was impossible. Could she really stay here and work? She didn’t want Craig looking over her shoulder.
She wanted him holding her hand again. Soothing her. Stroking her. Kissing her.
Which was ridiculous.
Olivia Thornbird didn’t need anyone.
Suddenly exhausted and , she stretched out on the denim-covered oak bed. The room appeared masculine, suited him more than the empty sterile steel-gray place she’d imagined, made her think of what he would look like sprawled on the bed beside her. Naked and muscular with dark hair sprinkled across his legs and chest—
“Olivia?”
Startled, she looked up guiltily, hoping her feelings weren’t written all over her face. He stood in the shadows, his look brooding, but his broad shoulders were so wide she ached to rush into them.
Then he moved toward her, approached the bed and stared down at her. Seconds lapsed into a tension-fraught minute as his eyes flared with something that looked like desire. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
His husky offer triggered dark memories. The horrors of the night returned. The nightmares. The morgue. But that voice also elicited tremors of sexual awareness, thoughts of heated touches and pleasures known only between a man and woman in the heat of a lonely night.
Unable to resist, she reached up, took his hand and pulled him down beside her. One second, she just wanted to thank him, the next she was in his arms wanting so much more.
He cradled her face so gently that tears nearly spilled from her eyes. After a low groan of protest, his lips met hers, softly, gently teasing, exploring, and she sighed and threaded her fingers through his hair. He groaned again, this time deep and throaty, welcoming, then deepened the kiss, his tongue meeting hers to dance and stir the need within her. Sensations raced through her, cutting off rational sense as she parted her lips and welcomed him inside. He traced a finger over her jaw, teasing her with fire as he stoked the flames already flaring up between them. She pulled him closer, met his tongue thrust for thrust, ached to have him closer, his bare skin next to hers. His hand touched her bandage, and he froze. She winced, and he pulled away slightly.
“God, what are we doing?” he mumbled.
The self-loathing in his voice twisted her insides.
“It’s all right,” she whispered.
“No,” he snapped. “You’re injured. We have to maintain a professional relationship.”
A relationship that was tentative and shaky at best. But the sex between them wouldn’t
be tentative. It would be volatile, explosive….
He set her away from him. “That kiss was a mistake, Olivia. It can’t happen again.”
She swallowed hard. Rarely did she ever ask for anything, especially comfort. She should have known Craig Horn was the last man on earth who’d give it.
He stood abruptly as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. “I brought you here to keep you safe, not to have sex with you. I’ll let you rest now.”
She nodded slowly, although she wanted to tell him not to leave her again. But she’d already begged him once. Once more than she’d ever begged in her life.
His cold referral to the sexual heat between them doused the flame of desire lingering within her. Angry at him for turning the moment into some kind of sordid, tawdry, worthless physical act, she shot back, “Believe me, Agent Horn, I to work on this case, not seduce you.”
“Fine,” he snapped in a steel-edged voice.
“Yes, fine.”
He spun around and left, closing the door behind him, shutting the door on any kind of emotion.
She closed her eyes, wondering if she’d imagined the heat between them. She was a fool for throwing herself at him.
He was just like her parents. Obsessed with work. Unable to give emotionally.
And she had to remember it.
She’d vowed to never let anyone get close enough to hurt her again. And Craig Horn, the federal agent who’d caused her father’s death by involving him in this investigation, the Iceman, was the last man on earth she would break that vow for.
But even as she fell asleep in his bed, the smell of him on the pillow and the subtle reminder of his sexuality teased her senses, the kiss lingered in her memory and her body ached for more.
NO ONE KNEW WHERE Olivia was. She was safe in his house. Asleep.
And he was better off leaving her for a while before he gave in to temptation and kissed her again or did more.
Reminding himself she would be all right at his cabin, that no one knew her location, Craig met Detective Black at the precinct to interrogate Harlam Jones, a man who’d recently been paroled after spending five years in jail for starting an anthrax scare by sending fake chemicals to various people’s homes as a practical joke.