“N - n - no, we’re not!” She pushed her hair out of her eyes, her teeth chattering. “He was going to—”
“It’s none of your business what I was going to do,” Dirk shouted. He shoved the stranger’s shoulder, but the bearded man didn’t budge an inch. It looked more like Dirk had tried to push a wall.
“I’m making it my business.” The man hadn’t raised his voice, but Libby heard the menacing power in his tone. By then, he’d planted himself squarely between the good doctor and her. “Ma’am? Is this man your husband?”
“No!” she cried. What an odd question. “God, no. He’s a—”
“If you must know, I’m her psychiatrist,” Dirk roared out another lie. “Restraint is a known method of treatment. She was hysterical. I was simply restraining her to—”
“You lie! You were hurting me!” she screamed, “and I’m not hysterical either!”
Libby glanced at the man in fatigues, afraid he might never believe her now. If anything, she had just made Dirk’s case for him, but then she really looked at the stranger. His dark beard did not hide the square line of his jaw. Muscular shoulders roped his broad chest before it tapered off to a trim waist. The way he stood so sure of himself, his hard body shielding her from danger, gave her a déjà vue kind of feeling, like she had seen him standing exactly like that before. He looked confident. Proud. Honorable.
When he took a step forward, Dirk took a matching step backwards.
“Where I come from, we treat women like ladies,” the stranger said evenly.
“Where I come from, we mind our own business!” Dirk shot back. He ducked his shoulder to pass the stranger. He didn’t get far.
The man moved so fast that Libby yelped. In a flash, he had hold of Dirk’s lapels, his fist curled inward as he angled Dirk’s face into his. The doctor’s feet were nearly off the ground, and his back was to the same bushes where he had just cornered her. Now he was the one in danger.
“If you ever, and I mean ever, touch this young lady again ….” the man hissed.
Libby tugged at his elbow. He’d changed so drastically from calm to ferocious.
“B-b-but ….” Dirk found his squeaky voice.
“If you so much as dream of laying a finger on her,” the stranger rasped. “I’ll rip that finger off and make you eat it.”
Dirk’s jaw dropped. He sputtered, his lips moving in a good impression of a silent movie.
“Do I make myself clear?”
By then, the men were nose to nose. Dirk’s toes were pedaling the sidewalk. His head bobbed in response. “Y-y-yes,” he answered meekly.
“Then get the hell out of here.” The stranger pushed Dirk backwards into the bushes. Without stopping to tuck his shirt back into his pants or to tell another lie, Dr. Clements beat a hasty retreat. He had almost gotten away when the man called after him.
“Hey! You forgot something!”
Dirk spun around, his eyes wide with fright. “I, I what?”
“You forgot that these things take amazing videos.” The stranger waved his cell phone high in the air. “I am a witness to what you did here today, and I can find you any time I want.”
Dirk nodded once before he turned and all but ran back to the building.
Libby stood alone with the stranger. He had just rescued her, but he had a scary side, too. Smoothing her hair out of her face, she was a little afraid to look at him.
“Th-thanks,” she muttered, still trying to stop her shaking. “Thank you—”
“Libby,” he said softly, lifting his dark glasses to the top of his head. “Don’t you recognize me?”
The change in his voice brought her face up.
“Mark?” She clutched his sleeve. “Is that you?”
He stood rock solid as she barreled into him, his open arms wrapping her tight and safe. Relief flooded her. These arms she knew. Her heart pounded, making her voice squeaky and weak. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Believe me,” he muttered into her neck. “The pleasure is all mine.”
A shiver of panic shuddered through her body. She had come close to being assaulted. “He was going to hurt me.”
“He’s gone now.” Mark tucked her under his chin. “I’ve got you now. Don’t cry.”
Like she could have stopped if she’d wanted to. He handed her a cloth handkerchief, which she promptly saturated. She eased away from him to blow her nose. “Gosh, I’m a mess.”
“Looks like I got here just in time.” He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. Tenderness shone in his dark eyes. “Who was that jerk?”
Libby glanced back to where she had been trapped a moment earlier. Her throat dried just thinking about it. “Dr. Dirk Clements. My department head at the university. We’re attending the same conference, only he’s got a different kind of conference in mind.”
She blew her nose one last time, her hands trembling so hard she was afraid she would drop the handkerchief and end up blowing her nose on her bare fingers. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life. It’s been too long.”
“You didn’t answer any of my e-mails.” The way he blurted those words out sounded sad. Disappointed.
“I did. Last night ... I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been busy. I didn’t know if I should. If we—” She stopped spouting her lame excuses.
“I missed you,” he said softly, closing the distance between them again.
He didn’t get another word out of his mouth. Too many months of wondering where he was and how he was doing fell away. One moment she was wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and the next, her lips were on his. Her fingers gained easy access to the sides of his head, combing through dark locks of more hair than he had last time she’d seen him. His sunglasses slipped back farther on his head. She kissed him hard, and he kissed her with the same hunger. The surprise on his whiskered mouth quickly changed to welcome home, Libby. He tasted wonderful, minty, salty, and—him. His beard tickled, but his lips—soft, warm and incredibly satisfying.
He lifted both of her feet off the ground. Her knees bent and even her toes arched in feminine surrender. Mark was all she felt from lips to toes, and he felt very, very good.
The kiss deepened. When he groaned softly, she wholeheartedly agreed. For one breathless moment, the warmth and taste of another man on her mouth consumed her. An unexpected appetite for this man roared to life. She wanted more. She wanted—
What am I thinking? What have I done?
Libby pushed away. She’d just overstepped the limit of friendship in too many ways.
Mark placed her feet back to the ground reluctantly, his hand still circling her wrist.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that … it’s just that—” Embarrassment strangled a sob out of her. She lowered her eyes. “Gosh, I’ve missed you, and you look so good. I shouldn’t have done that though. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I’m not.” Mark pulled her back under his chin, his hand flat between her shoulder blades. “Don’t apologize.”
He stroked the back of her head like he needed to calm her. It worked. His gentle side released all of her confused emotions, and once again, her tears got the best of her. She wasn’t crying for herself anymore, but for all the wasted months waiting for a man who didn’t really want her, all the lies she had tried so hard to believe, and all her broken dreams. The gate to her grief had opened, and Mark was the only one there to witness. She snuggled into his arms, the smell of him filling her nose with memories from the lake, the airport, and the cemetery. He’d been there during every painful time in her life, quietly and steadfastly waiting for her to notice.
“I used to think he loved me,” she admitted. “He lied, Mark. Jonathan lied.”
“Shhhhh,” he soothed. “I know. It’s over. It’s done. You’re safe now.”
And there it was. She heard what Mark had not said. Yes, she was safe from Dirk, but now she was also safe from Jon. Libby blew out a big sigh. The weight she’d carried for
a long time lifted out of her. She could breathe.
Mark tipped her chin up, kind eyes taking in every feature of her blotchy, tear-stained face. She saw the question in those dark browns, and the hesitation. Very slowly, he leaned in, as if asking permission. With that sweet question silently posed, she raised her lips, and he closed the distance. The tenderest feelings flooded her when his mouth touched hers. Realization struck home. She was done with regret and anger. She was done with friendship, too. She wanted more.
He ended the kiss, whispering hotly against her cheek. “I am so glad I showed up.”
She stroked the beard on his chin. It was no wonder she hadn’t recognized him. This man had some gorgeous hair on his head instead of that uptight military cut. Pushing her fingers into his scalp, he sighed, and she paused. This rescue could turn into some serious petting if she didn’t knock it off. With one last stroke of her index fingertip along the edge of his ear, she pulled her hand away.
He shivered, closing his eyes for a second.
Oh, yeah. She needed to stop tempting him. And her.
“Did you really catch all that on video?” she asked shyly as she changed the subject.
“Nope, but he doesn’t know one way or the other, does he?” Mark chuckled as he swayed back and forth with her in his arms.
Libby turned in his arms to face him, stoking the whiskers on his chin again. This touching seemed a little less intimate, but it still ignited a steady glow all the way to her core. “So why are you here? You didn’t come all the way to Washington D.C. just to rescue me.”
“Let’s sit down while I explain.” He latched onto her hand and led her to a nearby park bench. “I’ve been looking for you since I got into D.C. I called your friend, Marcy. She told me you would be here. Then it was just a matter of finding you.”
“But why did you need to find me?” Libby turned to face him. He’d restored his sunglasses to the top of his head again. Everything about him looked so good, all that tanned skin and the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. She reached out to touch him, and he clasped her other hand, too.
“Remember I told you about my new job?”
She nodded, her eyes drinking him in.
“My boss sent me to Afghanistan to investigate a new drug cartel,” Mark explained. “They’ve been smuggling opium stateside when soldiers’ remains are shipped home. Some of that dope was hidden inside a few of the caskets that left Dover. We’re fairly sure that includes Jon’s.”
“But how could they do that? Wouldn’t those nice people at the mortuary—”
“No, not unless they had a drug sniffing dog.”
“But I—” Libby couldn’t finish. Of course, they hadn’t looked inside Jonathan’s casket. His body wasn’t there. There was nothing inside but a heavy-duty plastic bag of remains beneath a USMC dress uniform. Tears came with the rush of sad memories.
“I’m sorry.” Mark traced a gentle finger over her cheek. “I didn’t want you to hurt again.”
She leaned into him and closed her eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I think I’m getting over it, and then it all comes back like it happened yesterday.”
“It takes time. I know.” He brushed his hand through her hair. “But there’s more. I’m also taking you to a safe house until this business with the cartel is settled.”
“A safe house? Why on earth?” She pulled away to look at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. My boss doesn’t want to take any chances. For once, I agree with him. These guys are dangerous.”
“But what about my family? Are they in danger too? Who’s going to save them?”
“Don’t worry. The FBI already has them in protective custody. Jon’s parents too.”
“But I need to get my things from the hotel. I need to cancel this class. I need to—.”
“No, Libby. No, you don’t.” He braced a gentle hand under her chin. “Right now, we’re going to the safe house, and that’s all there is to it. Another agent will get your things from the hotel. You’re not leaving my sight for a minute, honey.”
Libby blinked. He just called me honey.
Thirteen
“This can’t be the right place.” Mark peered up at the giant oaks lining the residential street. “Let me check my GPS.”
Libby waited patiently while he entered the address again. Yep. This was it, but there was no way his boss would live in a little cracker box home like the one Mark had momentarily parked in front of. He’d fully expected a grand mansion given the money Mr. Stewart had to be bringing down. Judging by the ultra modern office building that housed The TEAM, with its utilitarian design, black granite surfaces and polished aluminum trim, he figured the Stewart’s home would be just as lavish and twice as pretentious. It wasn’t.
Mark glanced at Libby riding shotgun and looking like she belonged there. After showing up just in time to be her hero for the day, he didn’t want to look like a bumbling country bumpkin who couldn’t navigate big cities. It was time to act like he knew what he was doing, even though he didn’t.
“Let’s see who’s home.”
“Okay,” she answered.
He ran around the rental car to get her door. The moment she swung her long legs out of the vehicle, his heart flip-flopped. The navy blue dress and heels enhanced her already slender figure, but the way she smoothed her hands over her hips to push the wrinkles away didn’t help. He was already mesmerized, and very aware of her curves. She looped her arm through his, smiling up at him on their way to Alex Stewart’s front door, if this really was his home. Mark stifled his lustful thoughts of Libby, and prepared to find out the hard way who lived here—by knocking.
“This is a nice quiet neighborhood.” Libby glanced down the sidewalk where a bushy-tailed squirrel hopped on its way to a nearby bush. “I like it. It feels like home.”
Mental note to self, Libby likes this place. Cool. Gosh, I hope we’re not lost.
“Mark.” A smiling Mrs. Stewart met them at the front door. “I’ve been expecting you. Please come in.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. This dinky little slice of suburbia really did belong to his millionaire boss. How weird?
The dinky little place didn’t even sport a garage, only a carport and a fenced backyard. The inside seemed larger than the outside, but that had to be the artful way the furniture was arranged, that and the fact there was so little of it. The old man didn’t even have a television, at least not in the front room. A bookshelf, sofa, and easy chair with end tables graced the room before it led to a nineteen-fifties style kitchen, chrome legs, red vinyl covered chairs, and all. A black cat clock hung above the table, its long tail swinging back and forth to the ticking minutes.
“Libby Clifton.” He stopped surveilling his boss’s home to handle proper introductions. “This is Kelsey Stewart. Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Kelsey waved off his handshake in lieu of a hug. She was very pleasant and attractive. With her long brown hair clipped at the back of her head, she could not have looked happier. He looked twice. Tiny scars marked the side of her face. For all her cheerful welcome, there was a haunted look to her eyes, as if she was happy but in a subdued way.
“How was your flight?” she asked. “You must have been flying all night, Mark.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked around again, his need to understand his surroundings overcoming his need to socialize. “If you ladies don’t mind, I’d like to check the perimeter.”
“I’ll be fine,” Libby said. “You go do what you have to do.”
“We’ll fix lemonade while you’re gone,” Kelsey said. “Come on, Libby. I understand you’re from Wisconsin?”
The women’s chatter faded as Mark let himself out the front door. He had noticed the magnetic security tape on the windows as well as the keypad for an alarm inside the front door. The outside of the home appeared in good order. No windows were left opened, nor did they appear easily accessible.
He mentally
strategized. The home had the usual two points of egress, a fenced back yard, and an alarm system. In case they were under attack, he could have Libby out of there in no time at all. He ran into trouble the moment he lifted the latch to the backyard gate. Two huge German Shepherd-type dogs set up a noisy ruckus.
“Whisper. Smoke. Shush.” Mrs. Stewart stepped out the back porch. Both dogs ceased barking and sat on their haunches as if waiting another command.
“Wow. You’ve got some huge guard dogs.”
“They were EOD dogs over in Iraq,” she explained. “Whisper’s the black one. Smoke’s the silver. You do know what EOD means, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Explosive Ordnance Disposal.” Mark joined her at the backdoor. “I never would’ve guessed Mr. Stewart was a dog lover though.”
“Please Mark, call me Kelsey.” She was so much the opposite of her domineering husband. The evidence that his boss had a definite alter ego was beginning to pile up. How could a woman as sweet as Kelsey stand a man as obnoxious as Alex?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mark.” Kelsey stopped him with a hand to his arm, a scolding smirk on her face. “You need to stop calling your boss Mr. Stewart, too. Just Alex and Kelsey. That’s all. I mean it.”
“Sorry.” He ran a hand over his head, grimacing that she really wanted him to call his boss by his first name. That was going to be hard. The man didn’t even like being called sir, but Alex? “Guess it’s the way I was raised. Being in the military only made it worse. It just kinda pops out of my mouth.”
“I know.” She chuckled as they entered the kitchen through the backdoor. “It’s very respectful, but we’re your friends. You can be yourself with us. Now, can I pour some lemonade for you?”
He nodded, instantly distracted. Libby had just bent over the arm of the couch in the front room, reaching for something he couldn’t see. It was what he could see that detonated a heated explosion in his body. Every ounce of blood fled from his brain. The sight of her very trim backside and curvaceous hips took every last intelligent thought right out of his head. He couldn’t look away, his eyes memorizing the smooth curve of her profile, the gentle swell of her breasts as she leaned over, and the way the buttons of her dress parted just enough to catch a glimpse of her bra. White. Lacey. Thirty-six Bs. Hmmm.
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 12