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

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Kelsey nodded, motioned to the fourth door at the end of the hall. "What's down there?"

  Daryl's intense gaze met hers long enough that heat filled her face. "My room."

  He adjusted the large pack on his shoulder then continued down the hall, paused just outside his room and turned back. "There should be plenty of fresh towels in the bathroom closet. If you have anything that needs to be washed, toss it in the hamper and leave it outside the door. I'll do a few loads in a little bit."

  She stared at his bedroom door for several long minutes after he disappeared through it, wondering if she had understood him correctly. Had he just offered to do laundry for her?

  Yes, he had. Kelsey wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry—or throw herself into his arms and thank him.

  All three were absolutely ridiculous.

  She stepped into the bedroom, closed the door behind her, then looked around with something close to stunned amazement. The reaction was completely unwarranted, a sure sign that she was still too tired and drained to think rationally.

  The bedroom was nothing more than a regular bedroom, maybe just a tad smaller but that was probably because it had its own bathroom. A double bed was centered against the far wall. A thick comforter with a subdued gray-and-white geometrical design covered the bed. Plump pillows—four of them—rested against the pale wood headboard. Identical nightstands in the same pale wood flanked the bed and a matching dresser was placed against the wall to her right.

  The walls had been painted pale gray, several shades lighter than the thick carpet under her feet. Artwork covered the walls in here as well, ink drawings and sketches all tastefully framed. Despite the color, the room was anything but depressing.

  Or maybe she only thought so because it had been too long since she'd been in a real bedroom. Not since that night—

  She stopped herself before she could go down that crazy path of thought and moved toward the bed. Her pack needed to be emptied and reorganized, her clothes sorted through.

  She started to upend the pack on the bed, changed her mind at the last minute and sat on the floor instead. She carefully dumped everything in front of her, checked the several pockets and emptied their contents as well.

  Then she methodically went through everything, sorting and organizing, checking each item against the master list in her head. It didn't take long because she didn't have much.

  Two pairs of jeans, neatly rolled.

  One pair of sweatpants, also rolled.

  One sweatshirt. One flannel shirt. One denim shirt. Three plain t-shirts.

  Scarf. Baseball hat.

  Six pairs of socks and four pairs of underwear, neatly stored in a sealed plastic bag.

  Other than what she had on, the few pieces of clothing scattered in front of her completed her entire wardrobe. She stared at them for a minute then grabbed the sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a pair of socks and placed them to her right. Everything else she gathered into a pile and sat to her left. They weren't dirty but a cycle through a real washing machine wouldn't hurt.

  She grabbed the remaining items and began sorting them.

  Two boxes of ammunition for the pistol she no longer had. One knife secured in a leather scabbard. A pack of strike-anywhere matches. A set of folding eating utensils. A flashlight and spare batteries. A small first aid kit containing nothing more than the very basics.

  A few MRE's that she'd taken from the cabin, just in case.

  Personal toiletries, all neatly enclosed in a heavy-duty plastic organizer: deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, soap. Toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash. A small travel-sized brush. Nail clippers and nail file—not that she needed them.

  She tossed the toiletries on top of the sweatpants then reached for the final waterproof pouch. This one was bigger, sealed against any possible damage from the elements. She opened it, carefully removed the thick stack of contents, and placed them on the floor in front of her.

  Her and Paige's birth certificates and social security cards. The tiny plastic bracelet the hospital had placed around Paige's wrist after she'd been born. A small envelope holding the curl from her very first haircut.

  A stack of pictures. One of Kelsey and Blaine when they had been dating. One of the three of them in the hospital, right after Paige had been born. Another of her and Paige when she had turned one, both of them pointing at the camera with silly smiles.

  A picture of the three them—Blaine and Paige and her—taken not long before Blaine died. They'd been at a carnival with some friends, had posed for the picture in front of the merry-go-round. Paige was standing between them, grinning at the camera, her mouth and cheeks pink from the sticky cotton candy Blaine had given her.

  Another picture, this one of her and her Dad taken at her high school graduation.

  Kelsey wiped at her eyes with one hand then carefully gathered the pictures in a neat pile. The packet she had taken from her father's house twelve days ago was next. She slid her finger under the clasp and opened it up, pulled out the contents and studied them again.

  Two passports, one for her and one for Paige, only with different names—different even from the passport she had used this summer. Social security cards for both of them, the names matching those on the passports. A single sheet of paper, neatly folded, the note inside scrawled in her father's bold handwriting—written in a code she couldn't read.

  Another sealed envelope, the words For Paige printed across the front in her father's writing. She smiled, wondering what kind of note he had left for his granddaughter. She thought of opening it, of reading it. No, the letter was for Paige. She'd hold it for her daughter until she was old enough to read it.

  She studied the final item, her stomach once again tilting at the sight. Cash—a grossly obscene amount of cash, all large bills. A way for Kelsey and Paige to disappear for good, to go anywhere Kelsey wanted to take them and start all over.

  All she needed was Paige.

  She tucked everything back into the envelope then stared at it, once again wondering where her father had gotten everything. Where he had come up with the money. He'd told her six months ago, the night she had given him Paige to hide, that he was working on something. On some kind of failsafe that she could fall back on. Had made sure she knew exactly where to look to find it.

  Was that why he sent her the cryptic message to meet? To give her the packet and tell her where Paige was so they could finally be free of Grady Byrne? So they could disappear for good?

  Maybe. But would she have gone? Would she have been able to leave her father, completely cutting all ties with him, knowing she might never see or talk to him again? Kelsey didn't know, couldn't answer that question. She thought she would have, if it meant keeping Paige safe.

  It didn't matter now. Her father was gone and there was nothing stopping her.

  She just needed to get Paige. Once she had her daughter, they could truly disappear.

  Kelsey placed everything back into the weatherproof pouch, sealed it and secured it in the inside back pocket of her pack where it would be safe. Everything else except the clothes followed.

  She pushed to her feet, grabbed the pack and placed it in the corner near the bed—then hesitated. The bag was never out of her sight. Ever. Should she take into the bathroom with her?

  She reached for it, hesitated again, finally grabbed it. Maybe it was foolish but she couldn't leave it unattended. Did she think Daryl would go through it if he found it? No—but she still wasn't comfortable with leaving it.

  Kelsey carried it into the bathroom then went to grab her toiletries and both piles of clothes. The sweatpants and t-shirt and socks she placed on the small vanity counter; everything else went into the hamper—including the clothes she had on. She set the hamper outside the bathroom door, closed it, then stepped into the shower.

  Water washed over her, caressing skin and easing muscles. She adjusted the temperature, making it as hot as she could stand it, then closed her eyes and stood under the stream and let the
water pound her body.

  Let the water wash away her tension. Her fears. Her worries.

  She waited as long as she dared before the water could turn cold and shampooed her hair, digging her fingers into her scalp, working the shampoo into a thick lather. Conditioner followed and she used her fingers to work through the tangles, wincing when she came to a particularly stubborn one.

  She had forgotten how relaxing a shower could be. Had forgotten how it felt to take her time instead of rushing. Instead of worrying about conserving water.

  She'd forgotten a lot of things beyond basic survival these last few months.

  A loud knock echoed in the room, making her jump. She braced a hand against the tile wall for balance, brushed the water from her eyes with her free hand. Instinct had her reaching for the faucet, ready to run and fight and flee—

  "I've got your dirty clothes. Do you need anything else?"

  Daryl's voice, coming through the door. Drifting through the stream and pebbling her skin. She shook her head, realized he couldn't see her so she poked her head around the edge of the shower curtain. "No. Thank you. I-I'm almost done."

  "No need to rush. I'll be in the kitchen. Come grab something to eat when you're done."

  "Um. Okay. Sure." She focused on the closed bathroom door. Watched the handle to see if it turned. Wondered if he would come inside—

  Footsteps retreated away from the door, faded into silence a few seconds later. Kelsey yanked the shower curtain closed then stepped under the stream of water again. Her heart was racing too quickly and she felt feverish despite the way her skin pebbled.

  Not from the cooling spray of water but from him. From the memory of that night three months ago. She had taken a long shower then, too—with Daryl. Had watched with burning eyes as he explored every inch of her body. As he kissed and touched and caressed while streams of water washed over them from every direction.

  Had he been thinking of their time in that exquisite shower while he stood outside the bathroom door? Or was she the only one who held those memories close?

  She was a fool. An absolute fool. That night had meant nothing. Not to her, certainly not to him. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. It had been nothing more than a brief interlude. A few stolen hours where she'd been able to feel human again.

  Where she'd been able to feel, period.

  The water was turning cool now so she rinsed off, still thoroughly berating herself for being so foolish. Feeling guilty for craving—just for a second—some normalcy. A gentle touch. A soft caress. A warm embrace. She had no business remembering those things, even less business wanting them, if even for a second. Her priority was her daughter.

  Finding Paige.

  Keeping her safe.

  Disappearing forever.

  Nothing else mattered but that.

  She quickly dried off and pulled on her clothes. Ran the brush through her damp hair then bent over and finger-combed it. Brushed her teeth then studied the stranger in the mirror staring back at her.

  She had changed so much in the last three years that she had trouble recognizing herself. The change had been expected, at least to a degree—you didn't go on the run the way she had and not change.

  The few extra pounds she had kept after Paige was born were gone now—and quite a few more on top of them, to the point she almost looked too thin. Her hair was shorter, wavier—easier to maintain, especially since it was usually hidden by a baseball cap. No mascara coated her eyelashes, no blush colored her pale cheeks. If she used any cosmetics at all, it was a simple swipe of plain lip balm. She didn't have the room—or the money—for useless cosmetics, not anymore.

  But it wasn't the physical changes that always caught her off-guard, it was how she had changed as a person. She looked...hard. Wary. Suspicious. Even more now than she had six months ago. At least then she'd had Paige. Now, she had...

  Nothing.

  But that would change soon enough. As soon as Daryl took her to Paige, they'd leave. Start over. Go somewhere far away. Someplace where Grady Byrne would never find them.

  Kelsey nodded at the stranger staring back at her then turned on her heel and left the room.

  Daryl was in the kitchen, as he had said. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers for a brief second when she walked in.

  "Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Have a seat."

  Kelsey considered telling him she wasn't hungry then thought better of it. There was no point in spiting herself just because she was stubborn. She was hungry and whatever he was cooking smelled—maybe not delicious but definitely appetizing.

  She moved over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down at one of the place settings. Placemat. Silverware. Two glasses, one filled with water and the other with a darker liquid. She reached for the second glass, raised it to her mouth and took a cautious sip. Iced tea. Strong and unsweetened, with just the faintest hint of lemon. She took another sip, longer this time, then cradled the glass in both hands, not sure what else to do. It was unsettling, sitting here doing nothing. Worrying about nothing.

  Having someone else wait on her.

  She cleared her throat, winced at how loud just that small noise seemed. "Do you need help with anything?"

  "Nope, almost done." He looked over at her again, the barest hint of a smile curling the corners of his mouth. "I hope you like grilled cheese and tomato soup. I was running low on everything else."

  "That's fine. Thank you."

  He turned back to the stove and she busied herself with looking around. Studying the room was a hundred times safer than watching him.

  But no matter how hard she tried, her gaze kept returning to him. To the broad back covered by a black t-shirt. To the muscled-arms that moved so gracefully as he worked in front of the stove.

  Like her, he had taken a shower. His hair was damp and his jaw was smooth, the days-old scruff gone. Sweatpants rode low on lean hips, clung to a firm ass and hugged muscular thighs.

  Kelsey yanked her gaze away once more, forced herself to focus on the placemat in front of her. There was no reason to be staring at Daryl. No reason for the sudden yearning pulling at her. She had only one priority: her daughter. Nothing else mattered.

  She couldn't let anything else matter.

  A shadow fell across her and she jerked back in surprise, felt her face heat in embarrassment when Daryl looked down at her with a frown.

  "Didn't mean to startle you." He slid a plate and a soup mug in front of her, turned away before she could say anything. A minute later, he was sitting across from her, his own lunch in front of him. "I'd offer you some chips but they're stale as shit."

  "This is fine." And she meant it. It was more than fine. She took a bite of the sandwich, held back a sigh at the rich taste of gooey cheese and tangy mustard. She finished half the sandwich and reached for the soup, looked up and noticed Daryl watching her.

  She dropped her hands into her lap, bowed her head and wondered if she'd eaten too fast. If she'd made a fool of herself by devouring just that little bit of food.

  "Is the sandwich okay?"

  "Yeah. It's fine. Thank you."

  "Then eat up before it gets cold. Same with the soup."

  Kelsey shook her head. "I'm not—"

  "What was the last thing you had to eat?"

  She frowned, trying to remember. "Oatmeal."

  "When was that?"

  She looked away from his steady gaze, stared at the plate in front of her. "Last night."

  "And before that?"

  "I—I don't remember." Peanut butter crackers, probably. Or maybe a can of soup heated up on the cookstove back at the cabin. She honestly couldn't remember, not when the days ran together, blended into one long nightmare.

  "Eat, Kelsey." It was an order. Phrased gently, yes, but still an order. She almost balked at it, stopped herself when she realized how stupid that would be.

  She picked up the spoon and started on her soup.

  "I can make another
sandwich if you're still hungry. And there's soup left, too, if you'd rather have that. I'll make a grocery run tonight. If there's anything you want—or don't want—let me know."

  Kelsey looked up, the food forgotten. "A grocery run? I thought—I mean, you said we were going to get Paige—"

  "And we are."

  "Then you don't need groceries. Not if we're leaving right away—"

  "We're not leaving right away, Kelsey." There was a finality in his voice that chilled her—but not as much as the stony expression in his eyes. She dropped the spoon, ignored the wave of soup that splashed over the side as she gripped the edge of the table.

  "You said you would get my daughter. You said you would help—"

  "And I will. But things need to be planned first."

  "No." She shook her head, pushed away from the table. "No. I'm not waiting. Just tell me where she is and I'll get her."

  "And manage to get her killed in the process?" His low voice vibrated with subdued anger. "Is that what you want?"

  Kelsey shook her head in denial. No, that wouldn't happen. He was just trying to scare her. To make her wait.

  She thought of the passports in her bag. The cash. Two stepping stones to freedom—all she needed was Paige. Once she had her daughter, they could disappear within hours. They could finally be safe—for good.

  "That won't happen. We'll both be gone before Grady can find us."

  "Is that what you think?" Daryl propped his elbows on the table, stared at her with those amber eyes she had thought were so mesmerizing a few months ago. They weren't mesmerizing now—they were lethal. Dangerous. The eyes of a powerful predator. "Grady's men found your little hiding place. How long do you think it'll take before he finds you again? Especially if you go tearing off across the country."

  "I've stayed ahead of him for three years."

  "Have you? How? By running? By hiding? Is that what you're going to do again? Take your daughter and run, knowing you'll always be looking over your shoulder? Never knowing when he might show up and take her away. Never knowing when you might lose her for good."

  There was a hard edge to his voice that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She pushed the feeling away, dismissed it as nothing more than a scare tactic. He was wrong. With the package her father had left her, she could make them both disappear forever. They could leave the country, start fresh somewhere else and never have to worry about Grady Byrne again.