Guarding His Witness

by Lisa Childs

  Her breath escaped in a shaky sigh, and on that sigh, she whispered a name. “Parker.”

  And he knew that her feeling was strong. Parker was in danger. And it was all Woodrow’s fault for giving him the assignment.

  “He would have been hurt if you hadn’t given it to him,” Penny said, as if she’d read his mind. And maybe she had. “This is personal to him. Luther Mills was always the one that got away from him. You’ve given him the chance to change that.”

  But Parker’s situation was different now. He wasn’t the young vice cop going after the drug dealer. He was a man with a wife and with children. This assignment could not cost him that.

  It could not cost him his life.

  Chapter 17

  Rosie held her breath, waiting for the bullets to strike her as they had Clint back at the safe house. But his body covered hers. If any shots came near them, the bullets would strike him first.

  Again.

  But while the gun blasts were loud, there was no rustle of bullets moving through the brush or trees around them. Whoever was shooting was shooting away from them, not toward them.

  Then the gunfire abruptly stopped, and voice called out, “Oh my God, we didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

  Clint didn’t move off her immediately. Had he been hit?

  The man who’d spoken must have thought so, because he cursed. But he was cursing himself. “Oh God, I hit you. You’re bleeding!”

  Clint moved then, but he moved slowly to his feet. Then he reached down to help her up, but as he did, he stepped between her and the man speaking to them. “I’m fine,” he told the guy. But then he tensed as a couple more men joined the first one.

  They were all older guys, probably in their sixties or early seventies. So it was unlikely they were working for Luther. They carried weapons, but they were also wearing orange vests and hats. They must have just been hunting.

  “But you’re bleeding,” the first man said. “I must have hit you.”

  Clint shook his head. “This is an old injury.”

  “Can’t be that old,” the hunter said, “since it’s still bleeding.”

  “He needs stitches,” Rosie said.

  The guy angled his head to peer around Clint, who blocked her with his body. “You a nurse? I don’t remember any clinics or doctor offices in this area.”

  “I work at—”

  “In the city,” Clint interrupted, and spoke for her.

  Rosie would have bristled with indignation. But she realized that despite their ages and attire, Clint didn’t trust these guys.

  “Hey, you look familiar,” one of the other men remarked.

  And Rosie ducked farther behind Clint now. Maybe he had a good reason to mistrust them.

  “You with the River City PD?” the guy asked Clint.

  Clint shook his head.

  “Sure you were,” the guy persisted. “Vice unit, right?”

  “You’re a police officer?” Clint asked him, without answering his question.

  The guy chuckled. “Not for a few years. I earned my retirement. But once a cop always a cop, right?”

  Clint shook his head again.

  Why had Clint quit the force at such a young age? Did his guilt over Javier’s death have anything to do with it?

  Rosie felt a pang of regret for adding to his guilt with all her recriminations. But it had been his fault, right? For forcing Javier to become an informant...

  But had he forced Javier?

  Her brother was headstrong—like her. If he hadn’t wanted to help Clint, he would have refused. And maybe he’d even liked helping him.

  She suppressed a sigh.

  “I could swear you worked vice with the Myers kid and that little girl...”

  A muscle twitched in Clint’s cheek as he clenched his jaw. Did he want to defend his friend? But he refrained.

  And Rosie couldn’t help but wonder again if the blonde was just a friend to Clint. She’d certainly come quickly to his defense the day before in the locker room.

  Another of the men uttered a low whistle of appreciation. “She was a cute little thing,” he remarked. “Great bait for johns...”

  Rosie cleared her throat, reminding them that there was a woman present—one who didn’t appreciate women being referred to as cute little things.

  The guy’s face flushed, and he changed the subject. “You sure you didn’t get shot? We all got a little carried away when we saw the buck—had to be at least an eight-point.”

  Deer hunters. That was what they were.

  Another of the guys snorted. “Maybe six.”

  “Bernie’s like this when we go fishing, too,” the first man remarked. “Exaggerates the size of every damn fish that got away from him.”

  “Well, we’ll let you get back to your hunting,” Clint said, and he closed his hand around Rosie’s wrist to guide her from the woods. But he hesitated when the men did not move.

  “What are you doing out here?” one of the men asked with suspicion in his voice. “Doesn’t look like either of you is dressed for hunting.”

  Clint moved his hand from her wrist to entwine their fingers. His mouth moved into a smile, but it didn’t warm the intensity in his green eyes. “Just out for a short hike before she heads to work.”

  “It’s dangerous walking in the woods during hunting season, especially without wearing any bright clothes,” one of the men chimed in. “You could have been shot.”

  Rosie wasn’t entirely certain that Clint hadn’t been. And if he had been, she wasn’t entirely certain that it had been an accident.

  There was something slightly off about these guys. The chief had admitted to having a leak in his department. That leak could have extended to retired officers.

  The same thing must have occurred to Clint, because he seemed anxious to get away from them. “We’re going to take your advice,” he said, “and get the hell out of here.”

  But when he stepped forward, the man didn’t move.

  And fear gripped Rosie again. While they were older men, there were three of them and only one of Clint. And he was injured...

  * * *

  As they headed through the woods, Clint felt a tingling between his shoulder blades—like someone was watching him. The hunters?

  He’d had a weird feeling about them, especially since they’d acted as if they’d recognized him. Was that just because they had actually worked with him? Or had they been sent after him and Rosie?

  But then why had they let them past? It had taken a few seconds—tense seconds—for them to step aside and allow them to pass. But they had allowed them. And if they’d wanted to kill them, certainly they would have just started firing.

  All three of them had been armed.

  Rosie must have felt the same sensation he had, that they were being watched, because she kept glancing fearfully behind them. “They couldn’t work for Luther, could they?” she asked.

  He shrugged, then grimaced. His shoulder had taken a hell of a beating the past couple of days. It throbbed, and his shirt was sticky with the blood the guys had seen on him. Knocking Rosie to the ground must have opened his stitches.

  “Usually Luther’s crew is so young.”

  But that was only because most of Luther’s crew didn’t live much beyond their teens. Like Javier, who’d just turned twenty when he was killed.

  “But I guess...” she continued.

  “Shh,” he cautioned. He wanted to listen to see if the guys were following them. And if they were, he didn’t want them to overhear them wondering if they were on Luther Mills’s payroll.

  “Do you hear something?” she asked.

  “Not with your chattering,” he remarked.

  And she sucked in a breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He hadn’t meant to hurt her fee
lings. He’d noticed she only talked a lot when she was nervous.

  But now she fell silent and remained so until the cabin came into view. Then she said, “I walked behind it. How come we’re coming up to it from the front? Was I that lost?”

  “No,” he assured her. “I didn’t want those guys following us back here.”

  “You think they were following us?” She shivered despite the sun shining brightly around the cabin. “Then they must work for Luther.”

  “Or they wondered what the hell we were really doing out in the middle of the woods,” he said. Just because they were retired didn’t mean the ex-officers had lost their lawmen instincts.

  He would have been suspicious had he happened upon a couple like him and Rosie in the woods. She’d obviously been frightened. Maybe they’d thought Clint was holding her against her will.

  He wanted to hold her again. But he wanted her to be willing. And he doubted that would happen again.

  He wasn’t sure why she had let him touch her the night before. Maybe she’d just needed something to distract her from the danger she was in.

  But there was no escaping it.

  He cursed.

  And she tensed. “What? Did they follow us?”

  Nobody had followed them. But he noticed another vehicle parked out by the road; this one had pulled onto the driveway because he could see the sun glinting off the metallic grille of it.

  He pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them to her. He’d found them inside the SUV when he’d been searching for her earlier. If she’d wanted to get away from him, she easily could have. “Go,” he told her. “Get in the SUV.”

  “What—where are you going?” she asked.

  “We have company.” He glimpsed a shadow passing behind one of the cabin windows. And he ducked behind a tree, tugging Rosie along with him.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” And he drew his gun from his holster.

  “Just come with me,” she urged him. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He wasn’t sure that they would be able to, with the other vehicle parked on the driveway, which was really more like a narrow path between the trees. Would there be enough room for the SUV to get past it?

  He hoped there was. “If you hear gunfire or anything, take off,” he told her. “And if you can’t get past that vehicle, just ram it until you have enough room. The SUV has reinforced bumpers and metal.”

  But last night, and the broken windshield, proved that it wasn’t a tank, and they might need one of those to escape if there were more gunmen than there had been at the safe house.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” she said.

  “You had no problem doing that this morning,” he reminded her.

  And her face flushed with color. “Clint—”

  “I’m just your bodyguard,” he said. “I get that.” That last night hadn’t meant anything to her. “And you need to understand that my job is to protect you.”

  “So drive me out of here,” she said.

  She was right. He should. But he was too curious to find out who was moving around his cabin, the place he’d intended to make his home.

  Had one of those guys known where they were going and beaten them back here?

  It was possible. Despite their ages, they’d been in good shape, and they’d seemed familiar with the woods. They’d probably been friends of Robert Cooper’s. That was why they hunted near his old cabin.

  They might have even heard that he’d been trying to buy it from the estate and had known where to find him. He couldn’t trust them.

  Hell, he couldn’t trust anyone right now, not with Rosie’s life at stake.

  “Your job is to make sure I testify,” she reminded him. “You won’t be able to do that if you’re dead.”

  He stared at the cabin, though, wanting to know who’d invaded his privacy—his life.

  “You don’t know how many guys are in there,” she said. “You could be walking into a trap.”

  He could. Was that a chance he was willing to take? If he had only himself to worry about, he would have, gladly.

  But he’d promised Javier that he would take care of Rosie. Yet her brother—of all people—should have known how strong and stubborn Rosie was. She could take care of herself.

  * * *

  Parker couldn’t tell if he’d found the right place. There was no address. No vehicle even parked outside, although there had been tracks along the driveway. There’d also been two trucks parked on the road nearby, so the tracks could have come from one of those vehicles. But if so, why hadn’t they parked in the driveway?

  Why park alongside the ditch as they had?

  Because they hadn’t wanted Clint to see them approaching the cabin?

  If they were here to take out the witness, Clint was outnumbered. That was why Parker didn’t wait for backup like his brother Logan had asked.

  Logan was close but not close enough to help Clint if he needed it. Parker was. So he’d jumped out of his vehicle and hurried up to the cabin. But if Clint was here, where was the SUV?

  Had he ditched it somewhere?

  Maybe he thought it had GPS, so it could be located. And he obviously hadn’t wanted to be found. Parker walked softly across the porch to the front door. It wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even completely closed.

  Someone had been here.

  He pushed open the door and, with his gun drawn, walked inside the cabin. The space was so small that it was easy to see it was empty. The bathroom was empty, too.

  He holstered his gun and took his time looking around the cabin. Someone had slept in the bed, but he didn’t know who. There were no pictures, was nothing personal in the space.

  But there was blood on the sheets near one of the pillows. Whoever had spent the night had been bleeding.

  Nikki thought Clint had been hit. How badly?

  And where the hell were he and Rosie?

  Had she been hit, too?

  They damn well could not lose the witness for Luther’s trial. Parker had to find her and Clint, had to make sure they were okay. But before he could move toward the door, he heard something.

  It wasn’t the door creaking.

  It was the click of a gun cocking. And he felt the cold steel of the barrel press against the base of his skull. He didn’t dare try to draw his gun. Hell, he didn’t dare move. One twitch of the finger on the trigger and he’d be dead—killed execution style.

  Years ago he’d survived a professional hit that had been put out on him. Some of the most notorious hit men in the country had tried to take him out. But none of them had come as close as whoever had that gun pressed against his head.

  Back then he hadn’t had much to lose if someone had killed him. Now he had everything. He had Sharon and their family and his own damn business.

  He wasn’t going down without one hell of a fight.

  Chapter 18

  She was supposed to be in the SUV, driving herself off to safety. But Rosie grasped the keys in her hand. She hadn’t even walked toward the lean-to where Clint had hidden the vehicle. Instead she’d waited just a few seconds before following him into the cabin.

  And as she walked into the melee of two men rolling around on the hardwood floor, arms and legs flailing, she screamed. Then she reached for the weapon that must have been knocked from Clint’s grasp.

  Her hands were shaking so badly, and the gun was so heavy, that she had to grasp it in both hands. She had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. She didn’t know where the safety was. If it had been released or not, but she bluffed. “I’ll shoot. Stop! I’ll shoot!”

  “You’d have to take off the safety first,” Clint said as he rolled away from the other man. Then he turned toward his boss. “You’re damn lucky I had it on or I
might have blown your head off when you attacked me.”

  Parker cursed as he jumped to his feet. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Sure, it’s my cabin,” Clint said as he moved more slowly to his feet. “Who else would it have been?”

  Was Clint suspicious of his boss? Did he think Luther had gotten to him? He must have or why else had he pulled his gun on him?

  Rosie wondered, too, and she held tightly to the gun yet. Where was the safety? Could she slide it off in time to protect Clint from the man he’d once considered a friend?

  But before she could figure it out, Clint took the weapon from her grasp. “Thanks for the backup, Dirty Harriet,” he told her. “But you were supposed to be in the SUV.”

  And it was clear that he wished she was there now as he stepped between her and his boss.

  Parker’s eyes narrowed at the gesture. “I didn’t know it was you when I knocked down the gun,” he insisted. “Why the hell did you pull it on me anyway? Couldn’t you tell it was me?”

  Clint shook his head. “Not in this dim light—with your back to me.”

  Parker must not have recognized Clint either because he hadn’t knocked down just the gun. He must have knocked down Clint, too. There was blood smeared across the hardwood floor where they’d been rolling around, and that blood was trailing down from Clint’s shoulder to drip from his fingertips.

  She gasped and ran for the first aid kit in the bathroom. She hurried back with the bandages she found. “Take off your shirt,” she said.

  But he could barely drag it over his head. She had to help. When she saw the wound, she gasped again. Just as she’d thought, he’d ripped the sutures loose. “You need more stitches,” she said.

  “What the hell happened?” Parker asked.

  And she turned to glare at him. “You ripped open the stitches!”

  Clint shook his head. “It was already bleeding in the woods—when those hunters started shooting.”

  And he’d pushed her to the ground to protect her.

  “Were you shot again?” she asked. But she saw only the one hole from the night before. That wound looked red and inflamed, though it wasn’t bleeding like the cut from the dumpster.