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

by Lisa B. Kamps

  There was something in the way she said it, something in the way her eyes wouldn't quite meet his that made him wonder exactly what Davis had left. A will, definitely. Life insurance? Probably. But she wouldn't have been able to access either of those things if she was still on the run, not without alerting Byrne to her whereabouts.

  Which meant there was something else, too, something that went beyond the usual considerations a father would leave a daughter.

  Daryl didn't bother to ask what. It wasn't his business—and he doubted she would tell him anyway.

  "Finish your breakfast. We'll leave when you're ready." He pushed to his feet, headed toward the connecting door. Stopped and turned back. "Kelsey? You, um, you look nice."

  Nice? What. The. Fuck.

  He ignored her stunned look and pushed through the door, nearly slammed into Wolf before the other man could move back. Daryl closed the door and shot him a warning look—which Wolf simply ignored.

  "Oh man, Prince Charming you're not. That was fucking pathetic."

  "Shut up and get your shit together. I'll be out in the car waiting." Daryl dragged his bag from the bed, tossed it over his shoulder and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him—

  And drowning out Wolf's roar of laughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mac stared at his watch. Tapped the face then shook his wrist. No way was the damn thing right.

  Except it was. A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall in his office told him that much. Besides, the fucking thing had never failed him—and he'd put it through some serious shit, including one hell of a fireworks display in the sandbox.

  He ran a hand over his jaw, barely noticing the network of scars now. And wasn't that some weird shit? Not that he'd ever really been bothered by them—at least, not much—but he'd always known they were there. Had always been aware of them. Now, not so much.

  He had TR to thank for that. TR, with her love and laughter and total acceptance for who he was, inside and out. Yeah, he'd been fucking lucky that she hadn't stopped when he pushed her away.

  His gaze slid to the picture sitting on the edge of his desk—the only damn thing that could pass as decoration in the plain office. It had been taken three months earlier, right after their wedding.

  Gazing at it brought a smile to his face—one big enough that he'd catch a shit-ton of grief from any of the guys if they happened to see it.

  Fuck it. He didn't care. He loved his wife, why the fuck wouldn't he smile at her picture? And if the guys caught him, he'd tell them they could only hope to be so fucking lucky. Hell, he had told them that, numerous times.

  Not a single one of them believed him.

  Too damn bad. That was their problem, not his.

  Right now, he had a different problem to worry about altogether.

  He tapped the face of his watch again and frowned. Where the fuck was Ninja? He should have heard back from the man by now. Hell, he should have heard something hours ago. The fact that he hadn't yet was starting to worry him.

  Mac slid out from behind the desk—he hated that damn thing, would much prefer to be out in the field kicking ass without taking names—and made his way through the hallway maze to the front reception area. He pushed through the secure door and paused long enough to catch his breath, to let the racing of his heart settle down just a bit.

  Yeah, the sight of his wife did that to him, every damn time.

  "Hey babe—"

  "No, he hasn't called yet." She looked up from the monitor she had been studying and offered him the sweetest damn fucking smile he'd ever seen. For one brief second, he entertained the thought of tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her back to his office for some personal time.

  Yeah, he enjoyed going all caveman on her. So sue his ugly ass for being politically incorrect. As long as TR didn't mind, he'd keep doing it—and she had yet to complain.

  But now wasn't the time or the place—it never was, not here—so he pushed the thought from his mind and sat on the edge of her desk.

  Her desk. Except it wasn't. This whole receptionist-slash-assistant thing she was doing was only supposed to be temporary. She was a fucking reporter, not a secretary. But she didn't seem to be too eager to start a new job search and that worried him, more than he cared to admit. TR was still a little too skittish, thanks to that fucking asshole who had wreaked havoc on their lives ten months ago. The scar across her cheek had faded, barely noticeable unless you happened to really look for it. But he more than anyone knew that it wasn't the scars you could see that caused the most damage.

  So he wouldn't push her. Not yet. Just like he wouldn't say anything about the damn weapon she always carried now—a Taurus G2C 9mm. It made her feel safe and she knew how to use it—had become damn good at it, as a matter of fact—so he just accepted it. Maybe, hopefully one day soon, she wouldn't feel the need to carry it. Just like, one day, she'd realize she was meant for something a hell of a lot more meaningful than organizing the daily shit that the rest of them couldn't seem to keep up with.

  Until then, he'd continue to support her with whatever she needed. Besides, he kind of liked having her so close by.

  Except for now, when she was staring at him like she was waiting for him to say something. She gave his leg a gentle nudge then leaned back in the chair.

  "You're worried."

  It was a statement, not a question, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah. Ninja should have checked in by now. The fact that he hasn't—and that he's gone totally silent—can't be good. He was just supposed to go out and check on the woman, that was it."

  "You think there's a problem."

  "I think this whole thing is a huge fucking problem." He swore again—under his breath this time—and pulled the wallet from his back pocket. He peeled off a five from the stack of bills and handed it to TR, who promptly put it in the envelope she kept tucked in one of the top drawers. She was convinced he'd stop swearing if he had to pay her every time she caught him—except in bed, that didn't count, thank Christ. So far, it wasn't working because that damn envelope was at least an inch thick by now.

  "So why is the whole thing a problem?"

  "Because Daryl isn't thinking straight. He's too damn close to everything. If shit goes sideways, he's not going to see it in time."

  "Maybe he's in love."

  "Bullshit. Daryl doesn't do love. He doesn't do emotion, period. He's too damn controlled for that."

  "Actually, Wolf is the one who doesn't do emotion." TR leaned forward, rested one elbow on the desk and propped her chin in her hand. "You really haven't noticed how different Daryl's been since our wedding?"

  "He hasn't been different, just distracted. And tired. The damn fool has been wearing himself out, going on jobs he doesn't need to go out on."

  "Yeah, keeping himself busy. You don't think that means anything?"

  "It sure as hell doesn't mean he's in love. Christ, he only met the woman one time."

  "Sometimes that's all it takes."

  Mac opened his mouth to argue, quickly snapped it shut. TR was right—sometimes one time was all it took. The two of them were perfect examples of that. At least, he was. TR swore she had fallen in love with him the first time she had seen him but he still didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it.

  He was just grateful that she loved him now, and counted himself the luckiest man alive because of it.

  She laughed, the sound soft and delicate. "No comeback for that one, huh?"

  He answered with a low growl, leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers for a fleeting kiss. "I'm going to the back to workout. Get rid of some of this damn tension. Let me know if Ninja calls, or if you have any luck getting through to him."

  She nodded, gave him a saucy wink that promised a workout of a different kind when they got home, then turned back to the computer.

  Mac forced himself to walk away, pushed through the secure door leading to the back. The faint whisper of his boots against concrete flo
ated around him, the sound an ominous accompaniment to the hairs that were starting to stand on the back of his neck.

  And fuck, that was never a good sign.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The main lobby was open and airy, filled with sunlight streaming in through the wall of windows behind them. The tile floor gleamed and the faintest scent of lemon and pine lingered on the air. Clusters of potted plants native to the area added warmth and the framed prints on the wall—obviously drawn and painted by children—added color, giving the space a warm, welcoming feel.

  The woman seated behind the desk, however, did not.

  Long black hair threaded with silver fell below her shoulders. Dark brown eyes watched them from below delicate brows. The appearance of faint lines at the creases of those eyes hinted at laughter and warmth—both of which were completely absent as the woman stared down all three of them.

  Daryl wasn't used to being stared down, especially not by a woman who was at least fifteen years older and an entire foot shorter than he was. He took firm reign on his temper, drew in a deep breath, let it out calmly and started again.

  "If you could just check your records—"

  "There's no need for me to check my records. Without proper identification and the necessary paperwork, I absolutely will not give you any information—especially not about one of our children." There was a finality in her softly accented voice that told him there was no way in hell this woman would budge. He could hold at her at gunpoint and offer her a million dollars in cash and she still wouldn't budge.

  Which was great. Absolutely fucking wonderful and more power to her. She was serious about protecting her charges. Serious about doing her job. Terrific.

  That didn't help them one damn bit.

  And why the fuck hadn't he even considered this? He should have—who the hell would just hand over a child to a stranger, especially in this day and age with all the twisted fucking sickos out there? Nobody. Hell, even Mac had brought it up, had warned him of the possibility. But Daryl had never once considered that the child's own mother wouldn't be able to get her.

  The mother in question—the woman he had nearly left behind and thank God he hadn't, or they'd really be screwed—was close to having a meltdown of major proportions. Daryl couldn't blame her—to be this close to the daughter she hadn't seen in six months, only to be turned away? Yeah, she had good reason for that panicked desperation that pretty much oozed from her. But having Kelsey meltdown—or worse, come completely undone and start throwing things—wouldn't help them one bit.

  He stepped behind her, placed one hand on her shoulder and held his breath, wondering if she'd brush it off. Because yeah, that wouldn't look good, either. But she didn't do anything except turn to him, her eyes filled with silent pleading.

  Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Tear the place apart until he found the girl then kidnap her?

  Wolf slid a glance his way, one dimple creasing his cheek as if he knew exactly what Daryl was thinking. "There's always option number two."

  Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch did know what he was thinking.

  Kelsey stepped away from him, moved closer to the woman and curled her hands around the edges of the desk as she leaned over it. "Please. She's my daughter. I haven't seen her in six months. Her name is Paige Davis. My dad brought her. To hide her. To keep her safe. I just want—"

  "Ma'am, I'm sorry. Without the proper paperwork and authorization, there's nothing I can do."

  Kelsey's hand curled into a fist and she banged it against the desk. "I just want—"

  "Ma'am, if you don't leave now, I'm going to have to call security."

  Shit. Kelsey was two seconds away from going into full momma-bear meltdown, the way she had back at the cabin. That was the last fucking thing they needed. Daryl stepped forward, offered the woman what he hoped was an apologetic smile, then wrapped his hand around Kelsey's arm and tugged.

  "Kelsey, this way."

  "But I want—"

  "I know. Just—I need you to calm down and follow me for a minute."

  She started to say no, started to struggle—then caught herself at the last second and nodded. Thank God for small favors.

  He led her over to a small alcove that provided at least an illusion of privacy then dropped her arm. "You said your father left some things for you. To help get you started again. What did he leave?"

  She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, chewed on it for a second, then shook her head. "It wasn't anything that would help with this."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, of course. I think I'd know—"

  "Do you have it?"

  "What?"

  "Whatever he left for you. Do you have it with you?"

  A long pause. A slow nod. "Yes but—"

  "Where is it?"

  "I don't think—"

  "Where is it, Kelsey? I need to see what he left."

  "But—"

  Daryl cut her off with a cold look. He leaned closer, lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Listen, lady, I did not plan on coming here to stage a coup on a goddamn children's home, which is something I'd like to avoid at all possible costs. So if you're father left you something, I need to know what. Now."

  She must have seen the threat in his eyes, or maybe heard it in his voice, because she finally—thank God—nodded. "It—it's in my pack. In the car."

  Daryl straightened, tossed a bright smile at the receptionist who was watching them way too closely. "Excuse us. We'll be right back."

  He marched Kelsey out the door, Wolf bringing up their rear, and led her straight to the Crossover SUV. The alarm beeped as he thumbed the key fob. He hit another button to release the latch on the rear hatch. Kelsey's pack was tossed in the back with his and Wolf's. He grabbed it, shoved it at her. "Let me see it."

  She hesitated then unzipped the pack, rummaged through it one-handed then pulled out a waterproof document bag, maybe two inches thick. The look she gave him telegraphed her reluctance as she handed him the pouch. Handed? Hell no, that would have been too damn easy. She practically slammed the thing into his chest.

  She was pissed. Too damn bad, she'd just have to get over it.

  He unsealed the pouch, removed the contents one at a time and placed them on top of his pack. An envelope containing several pictures: Kelsey and her father. Kelsey and a cute little girl who must be her daughter. Another picture, this one of Kelsey and the girl with a young man, taken in front of a Merry-Go-Round. Man? Hell, he looked more like a kid, certainly not old enough to be a father. Good looking in a nerdy way—and with the same laughing eyes and crooked smile as the little girl. Yeah, he was definitely the girl's father.

  The man Kelsey loved.

  Daryl ignored the flare of jealousy twisting his gut and carefully placed the pictures back in the envelope. He grabbed the second envelope and opened it, thumbed through the papers. Paige's birth certificate and social security card. Kelsey's as well. He folded the flap on the envelope and handed it to Wolf then reached for the third. This one was thicker, heavier. Kelsey shifted beside him, staring at the edge of the trunk as he opened it—

  Holy fucking shit. This is what Davis had left her? No wonder she didn't want him to know about it. He thumbed through the wad of cash—well over ten grand, probably at least twice that amount, all in big bills. Shit. Yeah, that would definitely go a long way to helping someone start over.

  So would the passports. He pulled one out, opened it, stared at the name printed next to the picture. Kelsey's picture—only, according to this, her name was Katy Anderson, from Richmond, Virginia.

  Son of a bitch.

  He slid a glance at Kelsey, thought about asking her if she was planning on going somewhere, thought better of it. She wouldn't give him a straight answer no matter how many times he asked.

  Did she even realize the significance of the last name? Or hadn't she given it any thought at all? Watching the small blush spreading across her cheeks, his bet was on the for
mer.

  He thumbed past the second passport—he didn't even want to know what fucking name Davis had picked for that one—and pulled out the letter stuck to the back of the envelope.

  "I—I can't read that one."

  Of course, she couldn't read it. The damn thing was in Davis's fucking code—and addressed to him.

  "It's not for you." He skimmed several long paragraphs. Read them again, slower this time, and swore to himself. Clenched his back teeth hard enough to shatter them. Damn the man. God damn him.

  He folded the letter, shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, then placed the money and passports back into the document pouch. He didn't miss Kelsey's small sigh or the way her shoulders sagged in relief. Had she thought he would take it? Probably.

  Nothing was saying he wouldn't—later.

  That left one more envelope. For Paige was written across the front in Davis's bold handwriting. He reached for it, started to open it—only to have Kelsey's hand close over his wrist, stopping him.

  "You can't open that! It's for Paige. He left it for Paige."

  "Yeah—for Paige. Not to Paige."

  She frowned, reached for the envelope again when he held it away from her. "It's the same thing."

  Was it? Maybe. Maybe not. In this case, Daryl was betting on the maybe not, especially after reading that damn letter. He slid his finger under the flap, unsealed it, pulled out the thin sheaf of papers and quickly scanned them.

  Yeah, there was definitely a difference between for and to.

  He folded the papers and put them back, reached up and closed the hatch door. "This is what we need. Let's go."

  "But—" Kelsey stared at the envelope in his hands, looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I didn't know. I had them and I didn't know. I didn't want to open them, thought he left them for Paige—"

  "He did." And shit, why the hell did she look so upset? Daryl wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her it was okay. Let her know that she wasn't supposed to know, that her father had counted on it.

  Yeah—the wily son-of-a-bitch had counted on one hell of a lot. But she didn't need to know the rest of it. Especially not now. Maybe never. Except she was going to discover at least one part of it in about fifteen minutes—and he wasn't looking forward to the shit storm that was going to hit when she did.