The Guardian: DARYL (Cover Six Security, #2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "I thought I told you twenty-four hours."

  There was zero remorse on Mac's face when he shrugged. "Guess my watch is busted."

  Daryl wanted to call bullshit but he didn't. Hell, he would have done the same damn thing if their places had been reversed so he should have expected it. And it wasn't like the help wasn't appreciated.

  Chaos motioned behind him with a brief nod of his head. "Any idea who they are?"

  "No, but I'd bet they're connected to Grady Byrne somehow. Did you get anything off them?"

  "IDs which are probably fake. All three of them had phones." Chaos patted the side pocket of his tactical pants. "I'll tear them apart when we get back, see what I can find."

  Daryl nodded, his expression turning grim. "We need to find out how the hell they found this place. Nobody is supposed to know about it."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Pretty sure. Davis wasn't a fool. There's no way anyone could have connected this place back to him." He'd have to ask Kelsey, maybe she knew.

  Daryl turned around, expecting to see Kelsey marching up behind him, demanding answers. She wasn't there. Was she still laying low? Possibly, although she hadn't impressed him as the type of person to cringe in fear once the danger passed. Hell, not even when the threat was right on top of her—

  Unless she had taken off.

  Fuck!

  Why hadn't he considered that? She'd tried to run before, why wouldn't she run now? This would be the best time, when he was distracted. When he wasn't close enough to keep an eye on her—or stop her.

  His feet were moving before his mind ordered them to. He'd gone two steps when the sound of weapon firing froze him in place. He dropped to the ground, weapon in hand, scanned the area around him. Mac and Chaos had done the same thing behind him.

  The shot had come from where Kelsey had been hiding. Fuck. Fuck damn shit. Had there been a fourth guy? Had he somehow fucked up? Fear and rage tore through him as he hurried forward—

  Only to be stopped by another sound, this one an incredulous roar of disbelief in a voice he instantly recognized.

  Boomer.

  "Son-of-a-bitch! She tried to fucking shoot me."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kelsey was going to be sick.

  Nausea had been burning her stomach for the last hour, eating away at her as they marched through the woods. Was it odd that she used that word? Marched. She wouldn't have thought of it under normal circumstances but it seemed to fit now—probably because of the men surrounding her. Two men walked in front of her, two men behind. Maybe she was supposed to feel more protected that way but she felt like a prisoner instead.

  Especially since the man she had almost shot was right behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder, met his dark gaze then quickly looked away. The chill in those eyes pebbled her skin and made her stomach twist and roll even more.

  Oh, God, three men were dead—because of her. They'd been coming after her. What would have happened if Daryl hadn't found her first? Would she be dead already? A small part of her brain—the part that was always detached from her emotions, the part that could look at things logically and coldly analyze them—wondered about the timing of their arrival. Had Daryl somehow led them to her? Would they have found her if not for him?

  She didn't know. All she knew was that three men were dead and she had nearly killed a fourth. Those three men should mean nothing to her—they were Grady's men. They would have surely killed her just like they had killed her father.

  The nausea exploded, tightening her gut, burning her throat. She didn't have time to speak, just pressed her lips together and took off at a run. Men yelled, called her name, but she ignored them. She couldn't stop—wouldn't stop. Wouldn't humiliate herself in front of them.

  She stopped behind a scraggly bush, bent over as her body emptied the meager contents of her stomach. Her throat burned. Tears filled her eyes—not because of her body's traitorous act but because she couldn't get her father's image from her mind.

  And God, she didn't want to remember him like that. Had succeeded in forgetting for the last twelve days. Why now? Why couldn't she replace the image of the last time she'd seen him with another image from a lifetime of memories? One of him laughing and smiling. Of pushing Paige on a swing or just sitting in his recliner, reading one of his favorite books?

  The tears came faster, scalding her face as she bent over the bush. She pressed her hand against her stomach, willed her traitorous body to stop. Seconds went by, maybe minutes, before she reached behind her, searching blindly. Her hand brushed against rough bark and she fell backward, using the tree to brace herself as her knees finally gave out and she collapsed to the ground.

  She curled her arms around her bent legs and dropped her head to her knees. But the tears wouldn't stop. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, grief and regret tearing through her.

  It was too much. All of it. The running. The hiding. The worrying and the fear. Never knowing what would happen next. Never knowing if she'd ever see her daughter again.

  Never knowing if today would be the day she died.

  But she was still here.

  Her father was dead.

  Three men she didn't know were dead.

  She had nearly killed a fourth man. A man she didn't know. A man who had been trying to help her.

  But she was still here. Still alive.

  And she didn't know why. Didn't even know if she cared anymore. If not for Paige, she wouldn't. If not for her daughter, she would have given up long ago.

  Part of her wanted to give up now.

  Leaves rustled beside her, steps moving closer as a shadow fell over her. Kelsey didn't have to look up to know who it was. It was him. Daryl. Mortification swept over her though she didn't understand why. She didn't know him, not really. Why should she care if he witnessed her breakdown?

  Because breaking down was a sign of weakness—and Kelsey didn't want to be perceived as weak.

  That thought only made her cry harder. She pressed her face against her knees, tried to make herself stop. Willed the tears to end. Sucked in deep, cleansing breaths of air.

  She needed to calm herself down. She was overreacting. Coming completely unglued. This wasn't like her. She didn't have breakdowns. She didn't lose control.

  Kelsey Ann, this has nothing to do with losing control and everything to do with being human. Stop being so damn hard on yourself.

  Her father's voice again, so loud and clear he could be standing right next to her. She didn't bother to tilt her head up, didn't bother to look around. If she did, she'd be giving into the insanity of wishful thinking. Of hoping the voice was real and not just a byproduct of finally losing her mind. Her father wasn't here—he would never be here again.

  The man next to her—not her father but the flesh-and-blood man—crouched beside her. She turned her head away from him, angrily wiped the tears that kept streaming from her eyes. God, she was tired. So tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of being afraid.

  Tired of doing everything on her own.

  Tired of being alone.

  "You okay?" Daryl's voice, low and even. Real.

  "I'm not weak." And God, he must be laughing at her. How could she claim such a thing when she was nothing more than a sniveling mess? Even her voice was weak. Raspy. Hoarse. Pathetic.

  "Never thought you were." He shifted, moved from a crouch so he was sitting next to her, his back against the trunk, his shoulder brushing hers. Something nudged her arm and she looked over, carefully keeping her face averted from his gaze. He was holding out a bottle of water—and a small square of material, neatly folded.

  For a reason she didn't understand, the sight of that folded bandana made her start crying again. She swore to herself, tried to edge away from him as embarrassment swept over her. Arms closed around her—familiar arms, strong and capable—and she stiffened, started to pull away...

  Then gave in and sagged against him. Buried her he
ad against his chest and stopped fighting. Let herself cry until there were no more tears. Until she was limp and spent, drained. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He didn't say anything, just sat there and held her, his hand rubbing gentle circles against her back. And it would be tempting, so tempting, to just stay where she was. To let the man holding her take care of everything.

  There's nothing wrong with asking for help, Katydid. It takes a stronger person to ask for help and a fool to turn it down when you need it.

  Her father's voice again. But was she really hearing it—or was it nothing more than a memory? How many times had he said those exact words to her when she was growing up? Whenever she tried to figure something out on her own. Riding a bike. Taking apart a lawnmower. Teaching herself how to braid her own hair because she wanted to show off to her dad. Always pushing herself, stubbornly convinced she didn't need help. Stubbornly convinced she could figure it out on her own.

  I don't know how to ask for help, Daddy.

  I know you don't, Katydid. You never did. Don't you think it's time you learned?

  Was it time? Kelsey couldn't answer that question, wasn't even sure where to start or how to go about asking.

  Maybe she didn't need to. Daryl was here now, wasn't he? He was already helping—because her father had asked him to. What kind of man would drop everything to help someone he hadn't seen in years? What kind of man would track down someone he didn't know, someone who didn't want to be found, just because an old friend had asked?

  Only a man like her father would.

  Kelsey eased away from Daryl, shivered at the loss of warmth from his body. She took the bandana from his outstretched hand, mopped her face with it in an attempt to erase all signs of her uncontrollable crying.

  "You okay?" He asked the question again, like she hadn't completely fallen apart the first time he said those words.

  She nodded, not sure she could get any words past her raw, swollen throat. Something nudged her in the side again and she looked down, saw the bottle of water Daryl was holding out for her.

  "Drink. You don't want to get dehydrated."

  She uncapped the bottle and raised it to her mouth. The cold liquid eased the burning in her throat, soothed the ache in her chest and somehow revived her flagging spirits. She drank half the bottle then recapped it and handed it back.

  "You worry about dehydration a lot, don't you?" She noticed the confusion in his eyes so she nodded toward the bottle. "You said the same thing in the islands. Told me I needed to stay hydrated." Did he even remember that? Or had she placed more importance on his concern than it deserved?

  "Yeah, I guess I did." His gaze shot to hers then quickly dropped. "Do you need a few more minutes?"

  "No." But she didn't move and neither did he. Kelsey closed her eyes and rested her head against the trunk, tried to empty her mind of everything but the peace and quiet around her. Yes, it was peaceful now—but it hadn't been that way an hour ago. Not when the three men—Grady's men—had been shooting at them.

  Not when she had nearly shot one of Daryl's own men.

  "I—I didn't mean to shoot him." The confession fell from her lips before her mind even realized she was going to speak. And she wasn't sure why she was telling him, only that something inside her had decided he needed to know.

  When she realized how close she had come—

  If the man hadn't had the reflexes of a cat and moved in time—

  She really hadn't meant to shoot him. She had reached into Daryl's pack, found her pistol tucked inside along with the clip. It had been nothing more than survival instinct, a need to protect herself against the men who were shooting at them. She'd been on edge, every sense on high alert even when she saw Daryl walk out to greet men he obviously knew. She'd heard them talking, had let out a sigh of relief—

  And then she'd heard the noise behind her, the rustle of leaves crunching beneath heavy steps. She rolled over, saw the huge shadow coming toward her. She didn't think, just raised the gun and pulled the trigger and—

  A shudder raced over her when she thought again of how close she'd come to taking an innocent life.

  "He should have known better than to approach you from behind." There was something in Daryl's voice that made her look up. Humor? No, that couldn't be it—there was absolutely nothing funny about what had happened. Whatever she had heard—or thought she heard—was gone when he spoke again.

  "Either way, I'm glad you didn't. Boomer's too valuable to the team." He pushed to his feet, reached down and offered her his hand. Kelsey hesitated but only for a second before accepting it. His grip was strong. Warm. Gentle. The way she remembered from their time together—

  She pushed the thought away, quickly dropped her hand after he helped her stand. "Team? What team?"

  "My team. Cover Six Security."

  "I don't understand."

  "You weren't too far off when you asked if I was in private security. Down in the Caribbean."

  Had she? Yes, she had—but it had been nothing more than a wild guess, a way to fill in the gaps in their conversation. She'd known he was former military—her father had told her that much. But beyond that, she hadn't given it much thought.

  She nodded toward the men standing a few yards away. "Those men work for you?"

  "In a roundabout way, yeah. And now they work for you."

  Kelsey wanted to ask him what he meant—not that they worked for him, she understood that part. What she didn't understand was the why. Why did they work for her now? Why were they even here to begin with?

  She didn't get a chance because Daryl led her back to the three men who had been waiting for them. None of them said a word—they didn't even give her more than a passing glance when she finally joined them. Did that mean they hadn't noticed her breakdown?

  No. Nothing got past the notice of these men. Which meant they were pretending it hadn't happened.

  Fine, she could pretend to.

  She took her place in the center of the line and started walking. Each step brought her closer to her daughter, closer to the end of this long nightmare.

  Unless that was nothing more than pretend, too—and that was something she refused to believe.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Daryl studied the woman beside him. Even sleeping, she was tense, huddled into herself. Her arms were crossed in front of her, her hands tucked under her armpits. A frown creased her face and she shook her head, just once. Several strands of hair fell across her cheek and his fingers itched to brush them away. To pull her into his arms and coax her into relaxing against him, the way she had their one night together.

  The way she had a few hours earlier, when she stumbled to the side of the makeshift trail they'd been forging and become sick.

  He needed his fucking head examined. Relaxed? He didn't think the woman he couldn't seem to look away from knew what the word meant. Could he blame her? No, not after learning what she'd gone through the last few years.

  As far as comforting—you needed to trust someone to let them comfort you. Like her father had warned, Kelsey Davis wasn't one to trust.

  He eased his bulk from the seat and moved two rows back. The plane they were on was another small private charter, big enough for eight people. Theoretically, there should be plenty of room for the five of them.

  There wasn't.

  He wedged himself between Mac and Chaos, nodded at the phone in Mac's large hand. "Did you make the calls?"

  "Yeah, everything's going to be handled. Bodies will be disposed of, no questions asked."

  At any other time, the words would have reassured Daryl. Not this time. There would be questions. Maybe not from the authorities—their contact would make certain of that—but no way in hell would Grady Byrne not notice three of his men missing. No way in hell would he not question it.

  Fuck it. He'd deal with that later.

  He turned to Chaos, nodded to the secured laptop opened and braced against his legs. Daryl had already told all three of them
what was going on. At least, the abbreviated version:

  Kelsey was Davis's daughter.

  She'd been running from Byrne for three years.

  Her daughter was Byrne's granddaughter.

  She'd given her daughter to Davis six months ago to hide and hadn't seen her since.

  Abbreviated version? Shit, that was pretty much all he knew.

  "Find anything?"

  "Yeah, enough. And you're going to fucking love this. It's ingenious. I'll give it to your friend—he knew what the hell he was doing."

  Daryl clenched his jaw, had to control the urge to punch the man in the mouth just to see that cocky fucking smile disappear from his face. "Care to elaborate?"

  "To start with, you were right about the coordinates being flipped." Chaos turned the laptop to the side so Daryl could see it and pointed at the enlarged map on the screen. "If anyone got hold of them, they'd end up near Oelrichs, South Dakota."

  Daryl leaned forward, frowned at the screen. "Where the hell is that?"

  "Yeah, exactly. But—if you flip the latitude, you end up here." Chaos typed something into the computer and brought up another map. "Portales, New Mexico. Just like you said. Want to know what's an hour outside Portales?"

  "You mean besides dirt?"

  "Actually, it's not as barren as you think—"

  "Save it, Chaos. What's there?"

  "A children's home."

  "No shit."

  "Yeah, no shit. Like I said, ingenious. He hid her in plain sight."

  Which was the best place to hide something. Or, in this case, someone. He was still having trouble believing that Kelsey didn't know. No, scratch that. He had trouble believing that she went along with it willingly. He remembered the pain and anguish of losing Layla, remembered how he'd spiraled out of control, convinced life wasn't worth living. Anger had swallowed him whole, made him lash out at everything and everyone. No way in hell could he imagine willingly giving her up.

  Except Kelsey hadn't given up her daughter—she'd placed her in hiding. Would he have done the same thing in her place? Fuck, no. He would have gone after the bastard chasing her down. Would have turned the tables on Grady Byrne and made the son-of-a-bitch pay.