by Cindy Stark
She snatched her shoes, but before she could get them on, two fishermen appeared at the bend in the river. They walked along the edge of the riverbank, poles resting on their shoulders. She stuffed her feet in, prepared to run if necessary.
Both were tall with dark hair peeking from beneath baseball hats, one sporting a goatee. They continued to chat, still unaware of her presence. She wished desperately she could sink into the river and go unnoticed, but they were too close.
"We should have driven here, Luke," the goateed one said. "I'm sure Milo's still in Las Vegas. He'd never know we were checking out his honey hole."
"Yeah, I don't know. Lily swore she saw his truck pass through town a couple days ago."
"Must have been someone else with a similar vehicle. Milo would have called—"
The man with the goatee stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of her. His brows shot upward. "Good morning."
His friend who had been studying the river as they walked swiveled his gaze toward her, a similar expression on his face.
"Morning," she replied, wondering if she should pull out the gun or wait.
The two men exchanged glances and then searched the surrounding area.
"Are you out here alone?" the one named Luke asked.
Wariness crept through her veins. "Is there a problem if I am?"
"Well, no."
"You're scaring her, Scott," Luke replied. "Sorry, miss. We're not used to running into people we don't know in this area. It's kind of hard to get to without crossing private property."
Trespassing like they were, she wanted to remind them. "I have permission to be here." Sort of.
"You know Milo?" Scott narrowed his eyes as though if he looked hard enough, he might recognize her.
She stood, brushing the dirt from her backside, praying the gun didn't show through her shirt. "I do. Do you?"
Luke laughed. "Apparently not as well as we thought." He extended a hand. "Luke Winchester. This fool is Scott Beckstead."
Scott shook her hand as well, the friendliness in both men's expressions putting her a little more at ease. "We've known Milo since we were kids."
"I'm Anna." Ariana smiled. "Must be nice growing up in a small town."
"Can be," Luke answered. "I can't quite place your accent."
She swallowed, not sure how to answer. "Midwest." A vague reply was good. "But I've moved around a bit, so there's some intermingling going on." This was bad. Milo was going to kill her.
Both men nodded.
Scott glanced around again. "So, Milo left you all alone out here? I can't quite picture him doing that."
"He went into town for groceries and then to stop and see his mother."
Luke cocked his head. "I guess I was thinking you might have been on a date with him, and he went back to his house for something. But he's at his mother's? Interesting."
Good Lord, she was digging a deeper hole by the second. Perhaps the truth would set her free. "We're actually living together." Or incarcerate her, if she could judge by the expressions on the guys' faces. "And I put in a load of laundry that's probably ready for me. It was very nice meeting you, Scott and Luke, but I should go." She snatched the holster from the ground without explanation and kept walking.
She rolled her eyes in disgust at herself as she turned and headed back toward Milo's house. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to keep her gait at an even pace instead of sprinting, although running would not save her now. She'd given the men a questionable story, told them both where she was staying, and now Milo would hear about it for certain. She never should have ventured from the house.
As soon as they were out of sight, she strapped on the pistol and started running. From what or to what, she didn't exactly know, but suddenly, she wanted to be back inside, out of the glaring sunshine that rained down on her like a spotlight, exposing her to the world. She wished she'd never backed Milo into a corner the previous night, and she was starting to wish she'd never turned in her father to the police. Her life had been a series of nightmares ever since.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Milo pulled into his drive feeling like a new man. His little talk with Quinn had straightened out his head, gotten him back on track. He wasn't sure why he'd allowed Ariana to have such an effect on him in the first place.
He retrieved the groceries and glanced about his yard as he walked to the house. It was a gorgeous day after the rainstorm. The air carried a fresh smell, and the warm sun coaxed an earthy scent from the ground. He'd have to get out later and clean up the branches the storm had knocked down, but it was a good day to do it. If the grass dried out, he'd mow the lawn, too.
He unlocked and opened the front door, ready to greet Ariana with his new arsenal. "I'm back," he called into the quiet.
Barbed tendrils of tension snaked through him when he didn't get a reply. "Ariana?"
He dropped the groceries on the kitchen table and hurried down the hall toward her bedroom. He doubted she'd still be asleep this late in the morning, but he didn't really know her that well.
He knocked and then opened the door, finding her bed made and her gone. It took him less than a minute to rush through the rest of the house. She was not there.
Back in her bedroom, he threw open her closet. Her clothes were still there, so she hadn't left like she'd threatened the previous night. But where the hell was she? Had someone gotten to her? Could her father's men have found her, and she was dead already?
A cold sweat enveloped him. Flashbacks from his previous failure to protect threatened his composure.
He checked the front and back doors, but no signs of forced entry. The front entrance had been locked, but the door to the kitchen hadn't. He glanced at the porch swing and the rest of the backyard. No sign of her.
"Shit," he hollered into the empty house as he hurried to retrieve his weapon from the hook in the pantry.
When he found the gun missing from the hook on the pantry door, certain fear gripped his insides with icy fingers. Beyond target practice, there was no other reason for her to take the gun.
"Damn it!" He slammed the pantry door shut. Where the hell was she?
He had to force himself to take a calming breath so he could think rationally.
He needed a weapon. He hurried to his bedroom and dug his father's service handgun out of the closet and checked it for rounds.
"Don't panic," he reminded himself. Ariana was a decent enough shot she might be able to protect herself. Fuck, he was an idiot. He'd done nothing but screw up since he'd taken on her case.
If the mob had found her, there would be some sign of a struggle. Maybe they'd come upon her outside. He hurried to the back door, wishing he could find a clue, but praying he wouldn't find anything bad.
* * *
Ariana topped the last little bluff, grateful to see Milo's quaint house not too far in the distance. She increased her speed, wanting to be inside and lock the doors. Her pulse kicked up another notch when Milo emerged out the back door.
"No," she whispered under her breath. Now that she'd met Luke and Scott, it was unlikely Milo wouldn't learn about her excursion, but she'd hoped to put off the lecture until later. Still, Milo couldn't get too mad at her for going to a place he'd considered safe the day before, even if he had taken his gun. Her throat tightened, though, when he started running toward her. There was something about his posture, his gait, something that radiated tension and set her on edge.
As she neared, she realized he had a gun in his hand, scanning the horizon with his weapon pointed to the side. Terrified, she glanced behind her, sure someone chased her. She couldn't see anyone and wouldn't know where to point her gun if she removed it from the holster. Had Luke and Scott been more dangerous than she'd thought? She faced Milo, his features etched with concern, sending her internal alarm through the roof.
"Get down," Milo yelled.
She dropped to the ground, dust sailing up around her.
It took him only seconds to reach h
er. He crushed her in his big, strong arms, as he rolled on top of her. His body covered hers stomach-to-stomach, both of their chests expanding in rapid succession as they lay on the dirt path between the tall grasses.
"Where are they? I couldn't see them."
His question confused her. "Wait? Who? You were searching for someone. I saw you scan the horizon."
He pulled back a little, scrutinizing her. "Whoever you were running from."
"I wasn't running from anyone. I was running home."
"No." Irritation sparked in his eyes. "I came home and couldn't find you. When I walked out the back door, you were running, looking behind you, like the devil himself chased you."
She pushed him off her, both of them moving to a sitting position. "No. I was running home, as in exercising. You came out waving a gun and scared me to death."
"There's no one chasing you?" He said it with such disgust that she flinched.
"I never said there was," she volleyed back at him.
"Shit." He stood, dusting off his jeans before tugging her to her feet. "You can't keep playing these games, Ariana. I know you're bored, but we're dealing with some serious circumstances here."
She jerked her hand from his. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Milo. I'm not playing games beyond the poker you walked away from last night."
He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. She was sure he was thinking about their heated kiss. The muscles in his jaw flexed as sparks snapped from his icy eyes.
Her gut told her it wouldn't be wise to push things, but she was just angry enough to not care. "Say it. I can see you're holding back. Don't let me stop you."
His nostrils flared as his chest expanded. "Let's go back to the house." He took her by the elbow and started walking.
She pulled away, her emotions still raw. "I'm quite capable of walking by myself." How dare he insinuate she played games when she'd only been trying to survive each day? Yes, she'd teased with him the previous night, but they'd both participated in that play. Now, he made it sound as though she'd done something backhanded or dirty. That was how her father operated, not her.
She increased her pace, trying to lengthen the distance between them. His legs were longer than hers making her task difficult. By the time they reached his back fence, she only had a little lead time, but it was enough to enter through the screen door and allow it to slam in his face.
* * *
God almighty, Ariana would be the death of him. Every morning for the past ten days since they'd had their misunderstanding in the field, Milo had found her in the kitchen, standing in her skimpy tank top pajamas cooking breakfast, clearly wearing no bra. He'd done his best to ply her with books and movies, even allowing her to shoot every night. They'd cooked and worked in his garden. Anything to keep her safely entertained.
He couldn't be sure, but he suspected she was still trying to get even with him for accusing her of playing games. So much for having his head on straight. One look at her, and he was right back in the confusing mire of lust. Trying to remain civil yet pleasant to the woman who made his blood boil had been a constant battle and had worn his self-control down to the nub. Reminding himself that she was just a job worked great until they were in the same room. Then all he could think about was the moment he'd pressed her up against the door and let his basal instincts take over. She'd tasted so damn good. When this was over, how would he ever forget her?
For unknown reasons, the fates had thrown his Achilles heel right in his face. Maybe it was a test from the heavens. Maybe it was God's way of laughing at him and his attempt to be half the man his father was.
Whatever it was, trying to keep a professional distance from the woman who tempted him at every turn was his version of a living hell.
This morning, she stood near the counter watching television, bright sun coming through the window. The warm light added hints of honey to her already sun-kissed brown hair and silhouetted her figure from the side. Her full breasts beckoned him like lush fruit, and he ached to walk up behind her, kiss the curve of her neck while he slipped his hands beneath her top and indulged in her bare flesh.
He imagined her turning to him with a smile on her face and a kiss on her lips that would send them barreling head first into a fiery haze of passion.
A man's voice on the TV mentioned her name and yanked his attention back to the present. She had the station turned to the damn news channel again. He draped his shirt over a chair. "I wish you wouldn't watch that. It only makes things more difficult for you." He strode forward, intending to turn it off. As he reached to take the remote, she put her hand on his, stopping him.
"Wait." Her hand remained on his as though to control him.
The spark of desire he'd ignited a moment ago with his thoughts jumped back to life at her touch. The smell of spring lilacs drifted from her hair or maybe her shoulders, and he leaned in closer to try to decipher the inciting location. He feasted on the sight of her while the reporter kept her distracted.
"Quinn," she murmured, and he glanced at the annoying screen.
The blond woman reporter interviewed an unknown man dressed in a suit, but in the background Milo caught a glimpse of his good buddy.
"No, this is not a case of the U.S. Marshals failing to do their job. Miss Trasatti left protection of her own accord. We have never failed a client who followed procedures. Regardless of what happens to Miss Trasatti, the U.S. Marshals have done their job well."
"What about the reports of a woman being pulled from her car at the Chicago Airport and forced into a black sedan? Eyewitness accounts indicate it may be Ms. Trasatti."
Ariana inhaled sharply. "Kenzie will see this."
The Marshal's public information officer shook his head. "I've received no information on that incident. That would be a question for the Chicago Police Department."
"The prosecution is still saying they can produce her. How can they do that if she's dead?"
The PIO's eyes shifted to the side in an awkward movement giving Milo the impression he was uncomfortable answering the question. "I think it's best we let the Chicago PD fully investigate this crime before we start speculating. At this time, we have no further information to add."
"Thank you for your comments, Mr. Carlson." The reporter turned to the camera. "As you've heard—"
Milo clicked off the TV.
Ariana turned to him, anxiety creasing her brow. "My friend will be so worried."
He knew exactly the road her thoughts had traveled. "Try not to think about it. Your friend will be fine."
"You don't understand. She's already mourning the death of her mother. If she thinks she's lost me, too, it will devastate her."
"I'm sure she's smart enough to not believe everything she hears on TV. Television stations love to sensationalize stories, and that story had no substance. It's going to be okay."
"It's not okay," she whispered. "None of this is okay."
He took her by the shoulders. "Look at me." When she finally focused on him, he mirrored her serious gaze. "Things will work out. Sometimes doing the right thing can be tough, but you are doing what you need to."
She didn't respond other than the tears welling in her eyes. She bit down on her bottom lip, but he caught the tremble before she fully sank her teeth into the soft flesh. Every ounce of his reserve crumbled like the rock barriers he'd encountered while fighting halfway across the world.
"Ah, hell." He pulled her against his bare chest, folding her in a protective embrace. She laid her head against him, a shuddering sigh escaping her. She slid her hands around his waist and clung to him in a way that tugged at his heart. It was imperative he keep a level head.
He tried to pull back, but she tightened her grip. "Please, can you hold me for just a minute longer?"
How could he refuse? "Of course." His words came out raspy with emotion. She really was messed up by this whole thing. Who wouldn't be? He leaned his chin on her head and stroked her soft strand
s. "I'm sorry I've made this more difficult for you than it had to be. I should never have let things between us get out of control. I never should have kissed you."
She lifted away from his chest, meeting his gaze. "Do you regret it?"
Her blue-green eyes burrowed into his soul. He wanted to tell her yes. If he did, it would be a great first step to getting them back to the protector-client relationship. "No."
Her mouth softened, leaving a hint of a smile, and he yearned to claim another kiss.
He drew his index finger across her bottom lip even though his common sense screeched a continuous warning to him. "It can't happen again, Ariana." He removed her hands from his waist and held them between their bodies. "No matter how much I want to, it would be grossly unfair to you."
"What if I want it, too?" She searched his face, her eyes begging him to agree.
It killed him to shake his head. "You're in no condition to start anything. Your current predicament has put you in a vulnerable position, and I won't take advantage of it." She started to speak, but he cut her off. "Not only that, but if I'm constantly thinking about…us…" Damn, he couldn't even go there in thought without getting hot and bothered. "Any distractions could be detrimental to you. I need to be focused on my job."
Her smile slipped, but she nodded. "I understand." She pulled her hands from his and crossed them in front of her. "I admire that you're dedicated to your job."
He raised his brows, not certain of her sincerity.
"No, really, I do. I've spent plenty of time around men with no scruples. Your answer might not be the one I want, but I respect it."
He relaxed. They should have had this talk the first day she arrived. "Thank you." Already the tension between them had eased. "Now that we're both off the hook, maybe we can work together to keep you safe and find ways to enjoy the time until your court appearance. Nothing says we have to be miserable while you're here."