Guarding His Witness

by Lisa Childs

  “It’s fine,” he insisted. “Lucky for me whoever shot me didn’t have one of the guns with the special ammo in it. This is nothing.”

  She shook her head, unable to believe that he was treating a gunshot wound like the scratch on his face. “You must be in incredible pain.”

  “I am,” he said. “But it’s not because of that little .22 bullet that went through my shoulder.”

  “Then I don’t—”

  His mouth covered hers, cutting off whatever else she’d been about to say. And she couldn’t remember when he kissed her, when he touched her.

  She couldn’t remember that she was supposed to hate him. She knew only that she wanted him every bit as much as he seemed to want her. But he was hurt, and the nurse in her could not ignore that. She pulled back, panting for breath, and asked, “Are you sure you’re not hurting?”

  “Oh, I am,” he said, but his lips curved into a wicked grin. “I’m hurting.”

  “Stop it!” she admonished him.

  And he immediately pulled back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. That wasn’t...” He pushed a slightly shaking hand through his hair. “I thought you felt it, too.”

  She groaned with frustration. “That’s the problem.”

  “That you don’t?”

  “That I do,” she admitted. And now she reached for him. He’d said he was fine, so she would take him at his word. And in her opinion, he was very fine—with all that taut muscle and those chiseled good looks.

  She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him as hungrily as he’d just kissed her. He tasted so damn good that she moaned. Her lips tingled, her skin heated, and her heart pounded like mad.

  She’d never felt this attraction to anyone before. Why this man? Why the man she’d been so convinced that she would hate forever?

  Since he was sitting on the counter, she couldn’t get as close as she wanted to be to him. She wanted to press her body against his like she’d pressed her mouth. But only their mouths touched, lips nibbling and clinging to each other’s.

  Then he slid his tongue between her lips, deepening the kiss. And he tasted her like she’d tasted him. A groan rumbled from his throat.

  Suddenly he moved. As he slid off the counter, he scooped her up in his arms.

  “Clint!” she protested.

  And he stopped, just as he had moments ago. “Did you change your mind?” he asked, his voice gruff with desire and regret.

  She’d never made up her mind. Hell, she couldn’t think at all—except about him. “You can’t carry me,” she protested. “You’re hurt.”

  He chuckled—with relief and apparently amusement at her concern—and he continued to carry her despite her protest. He swung her through the bathroom doorway and took her to the bed in the corner of that one-room cabin.

  The bed was so big that it dominated the whole space. Like the rest of the cabin, it was made of logs, each of the four posters being thick ones. It was so sturdy that when he laid her on it, it didn’t even move. Only the soft mattress shifted beneath her, taking her weight and then his as he followed her down.

  Despite his wounded shoulder, he moved quickly. Maybe he was worried that she might change her mind after all. He pulled off her scrub pants and then her shirt. His breath escaped in a gasp as he stared down at her bra and panties.

  Her underwear was nothing fancy, nothing expensive, but she’d made it cute when she’d embroidered little roses on the white cotton. She’d done it for herself, to feel pretty. But now, with Clint staring at her so intensely, she felt beautiful and sexy.

  “You take my breath away,” he murmured, his voice gruff with emotion.

  “That’s probably the gunshot wound doing that,” she said.

  He shook his head. “It’s you. You are so beautiful.” He said it like it frustrated him—just like it frustrated her that she found him so attractive, too attractive to hate the way she wanted to hate him.

  But she didn’t want to hate him anymore. She just wanted him. So she reached for him, tugging on the waistband of his jeans to bring him closer. Then she undid the button and pulled down the zipper.

  And his breath hissed out with the sound of the zipper. “Rosie...”

  She stroked her fingers over the erection that pushed against his knit boxers. And he groaned as if he’d been shot again.

  Maybe it was her. Thinking that gave her such a sense of power. She watched his reaction to every stroke of her fingers, to her lips sliding over his neck...

  And he reacted to every touch, every kiss, until he was panting for breath. Instead of pulling down his boxers and taking her, he gently pushed her back against the pillows. Then he made her as crazy as she’d made him.

  He unhooked her bra and dropped it onto the floor. Then he caressed her breasts, moving his fingers gently around and around them until finally he brushed the pad of his thumb across a nipple.

  She arched off the mattress and cried out. And a need like she’d never felt before gripped her. Tension wound tightly inside her.

  He closed his lips around that taut nipple, and she nearly came at the sensation. But he wasn’t done. He pushed her panties down her legs and then he moved his mouth there—to her core. And he made love to her until pleasure overtook her and she found a release.

  But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to feel him inside her. So she tugged at him again, trying to pull him up her body.

  He moved away instead. And she released a little cry of disappointment. But he was only pulling a condom from the pocket of his jeans. He pushed down his boxers and rolled on the condom before he returned to the bed. Then he joined their bodies, easing inside her.

  She raised her legs, taking him deeper. And she wrapped her arms around him, clutching him close.

  He stared down at her, and there was such intensity in those deep green eyes of his that she nearly shuddered with release just from that look. And he moved, thrusting gently in and out of her.

  She met each thrust with an arch of her hips, taking him deeper yet. He fit her so perfectly, as if he’d been made for her or her for him. And what should have felt wrong—so wrong—actually felt right. So very right.

  “Clint...” His name escaped her lips on a moan.

  He leaned down and brushed his mouth across hers. Then he deepened the kiss. And as he kissed her, he touched her, moving his hand between their bodies. He stroked a nipple and then he trailed his hand lower, to the most sensitive part of her body. As he stroked that, she came with a release so powerful that tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  Then his body tensed. Maybe he had seen her tears. But then he joined her in pleasure with a long release of his own. Maybe he hadn’t seen the tears. He left her—for just a few moments—to use the bathroom. When he returned, he pulled her into his arms. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  He had seen the tears.

  She shook her head. But she couldn’t speak. She was too overwhelmed with emotion—with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

  She laughed now. “I’m not sure who took advantage of whom,” she said. “You’re the one who’s hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. “But you must be exhausted. Close your eyes. Rest.”

  Maybe he was a hypnotist because, despite her concern for him, she did as he said. She closed her eyes. But she wouldn’t have believed that she could rest, not with all the emotions and fears running through her. But she felt safe in Clint’s arms—safer than she could ever remember feeling. That should have scared her even more than someone wanting her dead.

  * * *

  Clint struggled to awaken, to open his eyes, which were still gritty with sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so deeply. Certainly not since Javier had died.


  And the dream he’d had...

  He jerked awake. That hadn’t been a dream. He’d made love with Rosie Mendez. But when he opened his eyes, she was gone. The sheets were tangled around him, around his naked body—which was hard again with wanting her.

  And he and the sheets smelled like her, like vanilla and that spice. Maybe cinnamon.

  She had been here. It hadn’t been just a dream.

  But where the hell was she now?

  Some damn bodyguard he had proven to be; he’d lost her again. How was he supposed to protect her when he didn’t even know where she was?

  How could he have fallen asleep? Sure, he’d been exhausted. And so had she. But he wasn’t certain that was why she’d cried after they’d made love. Had she been that regretful? Had she felt as if she’d betrayed Javier?

  She hated Clint. Why would she have had sex with him? Unless she’d been up to something.

  He jumped up from the bed and grabbed his clothes. After dressing, he hurried out to the lean-to where he’d parked the SUV. Had she taken the keys? Was that why she’d slept with him? To disarm him and take off?

  But the SUV was there.

  If she was gone from the property, she must have left with someone else. But by her own admission, she wasn’t close to anyone. Unless she’d lied about that.

  But she’d sounded lonely, so he believed she’d been telling the truth. And maybe last night had just been about that loneliness and fear and having to connect with another human being even if that human being was him.

  But where was she now? Had someone taken her?

  He studied the driveway, trying to tell if there were any other tire tracks on it. He hadn’t heard a vehicle drive up, but then he’d apparently been dead to the world because he hadn’t felt her leave his arms or the bed.

  Where the hell had she gone?

  * * *

  Where the hell had they gone?

  “You’re sure he was hurt?” he asked.

  “There was blood on the sidewalk where he’d pulled the SUV,” Nikki said. “And I swear I saw him get hit at least once.”

  A twinge of pain struck Parker’s heart. But he wasn’t the only one bothered by the news. Landon Myers looked sick. He and Clint were so close that they shared a house in the city.

  Clint hadn’t gone there. Landon had already checked. His principal—as the client in a bodyguard assignment was called—sat next to Landon. Jocelyn Gerber looked sick, too.

  But she wasn’t worried about Clint. She was worried about the witness. “What about Ms. Mendez?” she asked Nikki. “Was she injured?”

  Nikki shrugged. “Like I told my brother, the SUV came under heavy fire. She could have been.”

  Jocelyn gasped. “That is unacceptable. The Payne Protection Agency’s main responsibility was to make sure that nothing happened to the witness—”

  And Landon lost his temper. “Do your damn job,” he said, “and you won’t need Rosie’s testimony.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “Of course I’ve done my job.”

  “Offer those shooters a plea deal to turn on Luther. There are plenty of them in custody thanks to the Payne Protection Agency,” Landon said with pride. “Even you should be able to get through to one of them.”

  Jocelyn glared at him. “Then I need to go down to the jail,” she said as she rose from her chair around the conference table. “We’re obviously wasting our time here.”

  Landon grimaced, and Parker mouthed I’m sorry at him. He’d had no idea that Jocelyn Gerber would be so difficult for his friend to handle. Landon got up to follow her out, but he paused at the door and turned back. “Let me know when you find Clint.”

  “Do you have any ideas?” Parker asked. “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “And I can’t even pick up a signal for it,” Nikki added.

  Landon shook his head and turned back toward the door. But then he stopped and swiveled around. “What about his cabin? Did you check there?”

  “What cabin?” Parker had never figured Clint for the outdoors type. All he ever remembered him doing was working—first as a vice cop and now as a bodyguard.

  “He just bought the place a little while ago,” Landon said.

  “He didn’t mention it.”

  Landon grimaced again. “Yeah, he probably wouldn’t have said anything about it to you.”

  Parker felt a pang. And now he knew what his brother Cooper had gone through when he’d become the boss to his friends. It wasn’t always easy to maintain friendships when you were suddenly the one in charge. “Why not to me?”

  “It’s the cabin Cooper owned.”

  “My brother?” As far as Parker knew, Cooper had never owned a cabin—unless he’d been keeping things from him, too.

  “Officer Cooper,” Landon said.

  The man who’d killed Parker’s father. He shuddered. He’d never intended to go back there. Ever.

  “He bought it really cheap from the guy’s estate, which just recently got settled,” Landon said. “It had been in probate for years...”

  “Does anyone else know about it?” Parker asked.

  Landon shrugged. “I think everybody in vice knew he’d bought it. He was trying to buy it off the estate before it even got settled.”

  So everybody but Parker knew about it. Of course, Parker had left vice long before these guys had.

  “Do you remember where it is?” Landon asked.

  Parker nodded. He would never forget. Now he had to go back. He only hoped that when he did, it wouldn’t end as it had the last time—in another death.

  Chapter 15

  Rosie was lost—in more ways than one. When she’d awakened in Clint’s arms, that sense of security she’d felt had fled, replaced with a panic more terrifying than any she’d experienced before. She’d needed to get away from him. So she’d carefully extricated herself from his grasp, causing him to murmur in protest in his sleep.

  Then she’d slid out of the bed and had quickly dressed in her scrubs again. But the cabin was so small that she hadn’t been able to get far enough away from him—and not still want him. She’d wanted to crawl back into bed with him, back into his arms.

  She’d wanted to wake him with kisses and caresses, with her body sliding over his hard, muscular one. Heat flashed through her at the thought, warming the chill from her skin.

  It was cold outside. When she’d stepped out of the cabin earlier, the cool air had felt good against her heated skin. But now...

  The cold had seeped deeper into her flesh. She wore only her scrubs. She’d left the borrowed parka at the hospital yesterday, but she wished she had it now. The early-morning air was colder here. They must have been near a lake, because it was damp, too.

  She shivered. She needed to head back toward the cabin. But as she turned in a circle in that heavily wooded area, nothing looked familiar. She wasn’t sure from which direction she had come.

  She shouldn’t have wandered off on her own. But she’d needed to get away from Clint. She’d needed to think...

  About him.

  About last night.

  About Javier.

  Had she betrayed her brother? Or had she done exactly what he’d wanted?

  She shivered again. For so long she’d thought that Javier had been wrong to idolize Clint, to trust him. And she’d thought that she would never be able to trust him. Despite her resentment of him, she had started to, though.

  Had that been a mistake? Had it all been a mistake?

  Not that he’d taken advantage of her like he’d lamented. As she’d told him, she wasn’t sure who’d taken advantage of whom. He was wounded—in pain.

  Was he thinking any clearer than she was?

  If he had been, certainly he would know that they had no future. But maybe he was one of those guys who preferre
d one-night stands to relationships.

  That was all last night had been.

  One night.

  It could never happen again. They could never have a relationship.

  A pang of regret struck her. But that wasn’t because of the relationship.

  It couldn’t be.

  It was because of last night. Because she never should have had sex with him.

  Now it was all she could think about—all she wanted. Him.

  Had he awakened yet? Would he find her?

  Because she was certainly lost. What was a lost person supposed to do? Sit down and wait to be found?

  She remembered all those stories about people getting lost on hikes and how they’d wandered farther away from the trail than they’d thought.

  And Rosie—who was used to city streets and sidewalks—hadn’t understood how that was possible. How could a person walk farther than they’d realized? Wouldn’t they feel it?

  She hadn’t. She had been so preoccupied with thoughts of last night, with thoughts of Clint, that she had no idea how long or far she’d walked.

  She could have been miles from the cabin or just around the corner. And it was that possibility that she might be closer than she thought that compelled her to walk just a little farther. Maybe she would be able to see the roof of the cabin through the trees. But instead she saw a glint of water through them, and then she realized the noise she’d been hearing had been the rush of water moving over the rocks in the riverbed. She walked closer to it.

  Wasn’t that a way to get unlost? Follow a river to civilization?

  She had no idea how far away civilization might be, though. Certainly they hadn’t driven that far from River City last night. Not that River City was exactly civilized. Even now, after new leadership had been brought in to clean up the corruption in the police department, there was a leak in it and in the district attorney’s office.

  And those leaks reported to Luther Mills.

  Maybe there were leaks within the Payne Protection Agency, too—since both Parker Payne and Detective Dubridge had ordered Clint to take her back to the safe house. Had one of them set up that ambush?