Deep Cover

by Moira Reid

  She lowered her voice, letting her anger seethe through the slow, controlled words. “How dare you? What makes you think you have any say whatsoever in what I do?”

  He lowered his voice also, placing his palms on the table, and leaned toward her. “I was hired to protect you. Your skin is ashen; your hands are shaky, and you are unsteady on your feet. I mean, holy shit, your eyes are glazed over—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. No way you should operate a vehicle in this condition.” He sucked in a breath as if to calm himself. “You have important work I respect that. But you’ll do it only if I chauffeur your bossy ass over there. I’m not going to wait in the car like some pet, either. The guy who did this could work for you. I’m taking you there, and I’m going in with you. I got dressed up for it, and I’m ready. You got me?”

  The words washed over her. She didn’t feel all that well, but taking the day off was not an option. Not today.

  He watched her, obviously waiting for an answer. Something about his eyes, the way he was looking at her, his presence, the shape of him…it was so familiar.

  He’d looked sexy to her last night, she wouldn’t deny it. A woman would have to be blind not to notice that kind of sex appeal, but this was something else.

  What the heck was she thinking? She pushed the emotions welling up inside her aside. The truth was, he was right. She wasn’t feeling well enough to drive. But as he stared into her eyes waiting for her response, another truth sunk in alongside the first: Butch Markham was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

  She nodded, accepting the first truth and forestalling the second.

  “All right then. We leave in ten minutes.”

  * * * * *

  Exactly ten minutes later, Butch followed her outside. He took the keys when she offered them, having half expected her to take off and leave him in the driveway.

  They rode in silence. What did he have to say to her anyway? How’s the bump on your head feeling? What’s so important about today’s business that you can’t give yourself one day to recover? What is it about you that makes you so damn appealing?

  Uh, no.

  “Let’s go over the description you gave to the police,” he said, finding a topic that would prove more useful than his current line of thinking. “Blond, six feet, two hundred pounds. What else can you remember?”

  When she didn’t answer, he turned to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean your skin is pale and you’re shifting around in your seat like it’s on fire. What happened out there in the parking lot?”

  She stilled and stared through the windshield. “Exactly what I told the police. The guy tried to attack me, I climbed under the car, and he went away. That’s all there was to it.”

  She was lying. If he hadn’t already picked up on the increase in her heartbeat and breathing rate, the tone in her voice would have given her away. And she looked like she was about to spring out of the car. Why was she lying? Did she not want this guy caught? If not, then why not?

  “You know him, don’t you?”

  She turned to face him. “Of course I don’t. What makes you say that?”

  “There’s something else. You told the police the truth, but you didn’t tell them everything, did you?”

  She hesitated a moment too long.

  “No, you didn’t. So, why didn’t you? Don’t you trust the cops?”

  “I have no reason not to trust them. What is this, the third degree?”

  “Tell me what you didn’t tell them.”

  She stared through the windshield as he turned down another street toward her office. Whatever she thought, she wasn’t getting out of the car until he knew everything she did about the guy.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “It will sound insane.”

  “Try me.”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay, fine. Just remember he did kick me in the head.”

  “Fine.”

  “It’s crazy. It had to be a hallucination.”

  “Just say it.”

  She shook her head, then shrugged her shoulders, but her heart was pounding hard, her blood pressure elevated. “Forget it.”

  “Tell me, damn it!”

  She laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “He had three eyes.”

  Butch stomped on the brake and swerved to the side of the road. “Where was the third eye?”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “The third eye, where was it?”

  “On his forehead. What kind of question is that?”

  “An important one.”

  She continued to stare at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I just told you someone has three eyes, and all you can come up with is „where?’ What difference could that make?”

  It made a hell of a lot of difference. What did she know about his kind? Hadn’t her father ever told her anything? He should have.

  “Did he say anything?”

  She blinked. “Yeah, he said, „Get in the van.’ And he called me a bitch. He kept trying to cover up that eye.”

  He shook his head. “His lips didn’t move, did they?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “How did you know that?”

  “What else happened?”

  She sat back in the seat. Her blood pressure was returning to normal, but her heart was still pounding. “Well, I could have sworn…” She shook her head.

  “That he touched you,” he finished for her. “It felt like he touched you, but he didn’t.”

  “How in the hell do you know that?”

  He sat back in his seat, checked the rearview mirror, then turned the car around. “We’re going back.”

  “What? No, we’re not! I have to go to work.”

  “You’re not going to work. He’ll be expecting you there, and I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Who is he? Tell me what’s going on!”

  Didn’t she have a right to know? She was the target, but if her father hadn’t told her after all this time, it wasn’t his place. “As soon as we get back to your house, your father will tell you. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “No!”

  Her shout reverberated inside the interior of the car almost loudly enough to rattle the windows.

  “Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! Pull the car over right now, or I’ll pull it over myself.”

  She grabbed for the steering wheel, but he quickly pressed her arms down, pinning them to the console.

  “All right, stop it. I’m pulling over.”

  She yanked her hands back and sat up straighter. Her heartbeat was returning to normal, but her temperature was rising. A quick glance confirmed it. Her face burned red with fury. Getting her to listen to reason was going to be a tough one.

  She pointed to the entrance of a hotel parking lot. “Park over there.”

  He extended the radar of his inner ear across their surroundings as he drove to the edge of the parking lot and turned the car around. A cacophony of sound gridlocked his senses. Families discussing vacation plans, the front desk clerk talking about the weather and room accommodations, a guy talking to the dog he was walking, along with a couple of dozen other conversations. Nothing there, but it was too difficult to differentiate with so much input. The bastard could be out there amid the pandemonium, and he would miss it. They were too exposed.

  He parked the car but left the engine running. “Claire, it’s not safe. I can’t protect you out here in the open. I’ve got to get you home. Now, I want you to stay calm, and I’ll drive us back so you—”

  She turned off the engine and yanked the keys out of the ignition. “We’re not going home. We’re staying right here until you tell me who that was, and then you are taking me to my office.”

  If she wasn’t going to let him take her home, he needed a plan B. He fought the urge to grab the keys from her and tie her ornery butt in the seat. />
  “Butch, tell me who that was.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “Let’s check into a room.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I can’t—” What could he tell her that wouldn’t be saying too much? Boondan, her father should have told her. “I need to get you someplace safe.”

  “I’ll tell you what you need to get—a grip. I’m not checking into a hotel with you.”

  Her heart was racing. Of all the times… “This isn’t about sex, woman. I can’t protect you out here.” Damn, this would be so much easier if he could just palm her. He forced himself to take a deep breath and lower his voice. “All right. Home or the hotel. Those are your options. Decide.”

  “I’m not going back home. You were going to take me to work! I’ve got important—”

  “Good. Decision made. Listen to me, Claire. We’re getting a room. We’ll call your father when we’re safely inside. He can tell you everything. Unless I miss my guess, you’ll need some privacy. Now stop arguing, trust me, and come on.”

  Claire followed him into the hotel and struggled to remain quiet. Butch paid for the room, took the card key, then guided her toward the elevator. He might not tell her what was going on, but her father would, whether he liked it or not, as soon as she got to the telephone.

  Her description of the man with the third eye had not even fazed Butch. She’d admitted everything she hadn’t wanted to tell the police, and he hadn’t even batted an eye. If someone had told her that, she would have assumed they had a head injury or were insane. Butch didn’t appear to think either. He thought she was in danger.

  It was still relatively early, and none of her employees would be at work yet. She had a little time, but she wasn’t going to be delayed indefinitely. One way or another, she was going to work today. And someone was going to tell her what in heaven’s name was going on.

  Butch scanned the lobby until they were inside the safety of the elevator. When the doors closed, Claire’s patience ran out.

  “You’ve got to tell me what’s happening.”

  “As soon as we get in the room.” He punched the number three button. “We’ll call your father—”

  “Why won’t you tell me? You obviously know who that guy was!”

  He shook his head and silently removed a weapon from inside his jacket. Stepping in front of her as the doors opened, he slid his other hand behind him and held her waist.

  Butch glanced up and down the long hallway, then took her hand and pulled her in front of him. “That way, and move fast. Room three-oh-seven.”

  Her muscles still sore from yesterday’s ordeal, she walked as quickly as she could down the hallway, glancing at the plates on each door until she found their room.

  Butch slid the card key into the door handle’s mechanism. The lock disengaged, and he shoved the door open and moved her inside. He turned around and locked the dead bolt and the lock bar.

  “This isn’t much for security, but it will have to do until I can get you home.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and offered it to her. “Call your father.”

  She stared at the phone, then shook her head. “Not until you tell me something—anything. Tell me how you knew that guy’s lips didn’t move. At least tell me that.”

  He paused a second, then shook his head and punched a series of buttons on his phone. “Your father will tell you everything. If he doesn’t, then I will, and you can tell him I said that.”

  She took the phone from him, turned, and walked into the room. After two rings, her father picked up.

  “Father. I have a question for you.”

  “Did you get lost on your way to work? Why aren’t you there yet?”

  Claire stopped in the middle of the room. “How do you know I’m not at work?”

  Her father’s pause was short but spoke volumes. “You are using Butch’s cell phone. I assume you wouldn’t do that unless you had not reached your office for some reason. Is Butch still with you?”

  “Yes, he is. I want you to tell me what you know about a guy with three eyes who could talk without moving his lips and seemed to be touching me when his hands were nowhere near me.”

  The silence was much longer this time, and when her father finally spoke, she had the sneaking suspicion she would not be able to believe a single word.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Father! Answer my question.”

  “I only ask because you sound a little bit irrational. Perhaps we should take you back to the hospital and have a doctor examine your head injury further.”

  Although this was the response she’d expected from not only the police but also Butch, that explanation was no longer good enough. “I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re trying to say. Butch doesn’t think I’m crazy, either. I want an answer. You know who that guy was, don’t you?”

  He did not pause this time. “No, Claire, I don’t know who the man was. If I did, I’d have the entire police force out hunting him down like the dog he is. Surely you know that already. Let me speak to Butch.”

  She wanted to believe him, but something was wrong. He might not know who her attacker was specifically, but he knew something he wasn’t telling her. Insisting he answer her question would do her absolutely no good. Experience had taught her that long ago.

  She would get the information another way. Butch had said that if her father wouldn’t tell her, then he would. As soon as he disconnected, she would get some answers. She turned and held the phone out to Butch. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Butch took the phone. “Captain Simonson.”

  Claire listened for her father’s voice through the receiver. She could hear sounds but could not make out his words. After a couple of minutes with her father doing most of the talking and Butch responding, “Yes, sir,” numerous times, she gave up and walked to the window.

  She glanced at her watch. Right now she needed to be sitting at her desk preparing the forecast reports and other written documentation for the presentation to the Anthony Group. Her entire financial future and that of the company depended on it, and instead, she was in a hotel room with a man. There was insanity afoot, but it wasn’t hers.

  “Claire! I’m out here! Help me!”

  The sound of her father’s voice from the hallway startled her…but he was on the telephone with Butch. Was this some kind of trick?

  She walked toward the door.

  “Claire! Help! Let me in!”

  Before she could reach the door, Butch had both of his arms wrapped around her and yanked her back against his chest.

  “Stop it! My father is out there!”

  He dragged her into the room, then turned her around in his arms. “Your father is at home. We just called him.”

  “I hear him out there!”

  He released her, pulled out his gun, and pushed her behind him. The doorknob rattled, and Butch pointed the gun at the door.

  “What are you doing? You can’t shoot my father!”

  “That’s not your father.” Butch slowly backed away from the front door, the weapon trained on it. She was right about one thing; he couldn’t shoot through the door without alerting the entire hotel.

  Butch looked toward the door. “Do you hear him now?”

  “Yes, of course I do! He’s shouting!”

  “Like this you mean?” He stared into her eyes. “Claire, listen to me! That is not your father!” His voice filled the room. His lips hadn’t moved.

  “Oh my God—”

  “We’ve got to get out of here. Damn it.”

  Glancing behind her, he examined the window. It wasn’t in his nature to turn and run, but sometimes running was the smarter alternative.

  “This is ridiculous! This is my life we’re talking about. I’m not a child. I want to know who that is.”

  “He must’ve followed us from your house.”

  “Who followed us?”

  Butch pulled her with him to the window and shoved the curtains farther o
pen. “Damn it, double pane—no latch.” The room door rattled harder.

  “That guy isn’t human, is he?”

  Butch darted around the room. He picked up a stuffed chair, then tossed it aside and grabbed the television. When he lifted it, the dresser came off the floor. “Shit!” He picked up the lamp and let it fall back on the dresser.

  “What are you doing?”

  Opening drawer after drawer, he tossed blankets, a telephone book, and a Gideon Bible onto the floor. “I need something big, heavy, and not screwed down to break that window.” He took hold of the edges of the wall mirror.

  Claire grabbed an old-fashioned iron from the open closet. “What about this?”

  Butch turned around. “That’s not heavy enough.”

  Ignoring the shouting from the other side of the door, Claire wrapped the cord around the iron and marched to the window. She drew it back like a pitcher readying to deliver a fastball. “Want to bet?”

  Before he could stop her, she threw the heavy appliance at the center of the window with what looked like every ounce of fury and frustration inside her. The point of the iron hit square in the center of the window, sending it into raining crumbles of safety glass

  “That’s what I’m going to do to your head if you don’t tell me who that is screaming at me.”

  Butch grabbed her hand and pulled her to the opening.

  She wrenched back. “We need a rope or something. We could tie the sheets—”

  His hands clamped around her hips, and without warning, she was in his arms.

  “What are you—”

  He stepped onto the ledge

  A wave of terror surged through her, her vision blurring red. Thrashing against him with all her might, she struggled to get away, thirty or forty feet of air and his arms the only things between her and the concrete below. She snaked her hands free and clasped both sides of the window frame, small fragments of safety glass pressing into her palms. “You’re insane! You’ll kill us both!”

  He tightened his grip around her and straightened. For a long moment, he didn’t seem to be breathing, while her breath came in hard, fast gasps. Over the sound of her father’s shouting, Butch’s calm, melodious voice broke through the cacophony of nauseous fear.