Overprotected

by Jennifer Laurens

  “My.” She eyed the small window the size of a card table top.

  “How did they get a bed in here?”

  “Carefully,” Colin quipped. “Bath’s here.” He stepped around Mother and pushed open another door. When he pulled a dangling chain, a bulb hanging from the ceiling lit the tiny, cream-color tiled room to look like the inside of an eggshell. “The sheets are clean.

  And I know for a fact the landlady bombed for roaches last month.”

  A squeaking gasp escaped Mother. She took my hand and squeezed it to her chest. I recognized the flash of panic in her eyes and patted her arm. Colin’s lip lifted in amusement.

  He went into the bathroom and dug two towels out of a small cabinet. He hung them over the towel bar. “Feel free to take a bath. I can bring in some dish soap if you want to—”

  “I’m too exhausted to do anything but sleep.” Mother’s wide-eyed gaze swept the room.

  “Can I get you anything else? Some sweats to sleep in?”

  Mother and I exchanged glances. Her brow arched over a playful grin. “I’m fine, darling. But thank you for the offer.”

  “I’ll take one of your shirts,” I piped.

  Colin’s dimples flashed. “Sure.” He opened his closet and pulled out a black, oversized NYU tee shirt and extended it to me. Our fingers brushed when I retrieved it.

  “Good night,” he said.

  “Night,” Mother and I replied in unison.

  Colin squeezed by us and shut the bedroom door. Mother, in bug-alert mode, shuddered and tip-toed around the room, her nose crimped as her gaze searched.

  “Mother, I’m sure we’re going to be fine.”

  Distracted, she didn’t respond, but lifted up the bedspread and threw it back in a flash, sure she’d expose an infestation of bedbugs.

  Nothing but clean, white sheets covered Colin’s mattress.

  She sighed and her shoulders sloped forward. She collapsed on the bed. “This has been the longest day of my life.” She looked at me and her expression softened. She patted the bed next to her.

  I sat, my body melting into the mattress. Colin’s mattress. I would lie where he slept, breathe in his scent all night and sleep in total safety. Mother pushed the hair off my face, touched the bandages, and her eyes teared.

  She snatched me against her with her free arm. “I love you, darling.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  I covered myself with his sheets, his shirt against my skin. Next to me, Mother slept soundly, a soft buzzing snore slipping in and out of her lips. Moonlight sliced through plastic Levelor shades. Colin was right, the room was quiet. I wasn’t afraid to sleep, not lying in Colin’s bed, surrounded by his things—meager though they were.

  He was twelve feet away on the couch. The front door was locked and bolted.

  I had nothing to be afraid of.

  No one was coming after me.

  I hadn’t thought of Stuart once since I’d been found—except when I’d retold what had happened. Even then his face hadn’t come fully into my mind, rather, in the ensuing hours his image had vaporized from my thoughts. The entire experience now faded, or maybe I was choosing to block it out somehow. I didn’t care.

  My safety wasn’t an issue anymore. The knowledge was freeing.

  Each muscle stretched out, and my breathing slowed.

  I closed my eyes and slept.

  The scent of coffee slipping into the room from beneath the closed bedroom door awakened me the next morning. Mother stirred next to me. Faint movement on the other side of the door meant Colin was up.

  I enjoyed each moment I could between his sheets, smiling at the innuendo—I was very far from doing anything more than sleeping in his bed, but I was okay with that. A dreamy image of his dark hair mussed like a porcupine inches away, the smooth curve of his back disappearing beneath the coverings sent warmth to my toes.

  I didn’t want to awaken Mother, so I slid out of bed as seamlessly as I could and crossed the floor into the bathroom. The scrapes and bruises on my face had bloomed to a blue-gray like a rotted eggplant. I touched them lightly and cringed. My mind flashed the moment Stuart had grappled with me in the shower. I shuddered.

  Thankfully, I got away.

  There was no point in dwelling on what might have happened if I hadn’t taken that chance, though pictures flashed in my head of him ripping off my clothes, of him smothering breath from my lungs as he mashed his mouth over mine.

  But I was here, and he was in custody.

  I gingerly splashed water on my face, finger-combed my hair and frowned at my reflection.

  “You look beautiful.” Mother came up behind me, her short auburn hair matted and sticking up like a hedgehog. Her mouth lifted in a smile. She placed her free hand on my shoulder.

  “Did you sleep all right?” she asked, smoothing my hair.

  “Yes. You?”

  “Like a log.” Her gaze shifted to the mirror and her eyes bulged.

  “Now that’s truly frightening.”

  “Mom, stop.” I turned and faced her. She touched my face, the cool tips of her fingers skimming my scratches.

  “You sure you’re all right?” she asked.

  “Yes. Don’t worry about me, please.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You might have them, Ashlyn. We might have to have you go see Dr. Schwartzman again for a while.”

  “Mother, I appreciate your concern.” Her eyes overflowed with so much love I couldn’t hurt her by disvaluing her worry for me. “I’m fine. But if you want me to see him, I will. For you.”

  She let out a breath. “Well, we’ll talk about it. Now, I must get to work on damage control.” She left me, went to her purse sitting on the floor in the corner of Colin’s bedroom, and she dug out her cell phone. “I hope no little critters crawled in my bag last night. They do that you know—stow away in your purse and then infest everything they touch.” She shuddered visibly.

  I giggled and joined her, my gaze shifting to the unkempt bed. A vision of a shirtless Colin sprawled in the sheets suddenly snuck into my thoughts. I cleared my throat and helped Mother make the bed.

  When it was box-wrap perfect, Mother took her bag in one hand, her other slipped around my waist and she guided me into the small bathroom with her. “Thank heavens I have the essentials. Want to share? Not that you need anything, young and beautiful as you are.”

  “Aw. Thank you. I wonder how Dad is.”

  She patted her fingers beneath her eyes. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the hospital and find out?”

  Mother stood back and, studying her reflection in the mirror turned her face left, then right. “Be my guest.”

  I tilted my head at her and she sighed and extended her hand with a wave. “Fine, I’ll call, Bring me my phone.”

  I dug her phone out of her bag and handed it to her. She dialed.

  Mother held her cell phone to her ear and asked for Dad’s room.”Yes, this is Fiona Adair calling. How is he this morning? Oh, very good. No, I’ll speak to him later. Thank you.” She clicked the device off. “Well, your father’s still alive.” Her smug tone lanced the air with sarcasm. She cared, but she was hurt. I understood that.

  “I’m glad he got to see me last night. So he knows I’m okay,” I said. “We should get uptown as soon as we can.”

  “I’m going to try to do something with this face of mine so I look reasonably acceptable. Would you mind bringing me a cup of that coffee Colin is brewing? Woke me from a sound sleep—it’s so very Folgers. ”

  “Mother!” I chuckled. “Once a snob, always a snob?”

  Mother shrugged. “Meh.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I smoothed the FBI shirt. I still wore the hospital scrub pants.

  The combination was hilariously ugly, but I didn’t mind. In light of everything that’s happened, who cares?

  Colin wore jeans and a white undershirt—his bla
ck sweater from the night before was draped over the single chair in the kitchen. His back faced me as he wiped the counter with a black dishcloth. My heart jumped. I loved the way the muscles in his back shifted when he reached his arm out to swipe the countertop. His straight shoulders, tapered waist. The back of his thighs pressing through his jeans.

  He turned, his dimples creasing. “Hey, how’d you sleep?”

  “Great, thanks.” I entered the kitchen, saw two mugs of hot coffee on the counter. “Your bed is really comfortable.”

  His eyes deepened a shade. “Coffee?” He nodded at the mugs.

  I took one. “For Mother. Be right back.”

  I crossed to the bedroom and found Mother in the bathroom, nose pressed to the mirror.

  “Ugh,” she moaned, fingers working the puffs beneath her eyes. “I wonder if he has any jasmine root juice and fresh ginger.”

  “Somehow I doubt it.” I handed her the hot mug.

  She took it and sipped. Her face contorted. “That’s awful. Aren’t you having any?”

  “Mine’s in the kitchen.”

  “You go… enjoy.” She turned back around to her reflection and groaned again.

  I laughed and left her to rejoin Colin in the kitchen. He leaned his back against the counter top, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest.

  A dazzling grin later, he handed the mug to me. “I can warm it up if it’s not hot enough.”

  It was hot enough.

  He pulled his cell phone out of his front pocket and handed it to me. “Felicity. I promised her I’d have you call.”

  “How did Stuart get her phone?” I asked.

  “Officer Ahearn said he stole it from her yesterday.”

  Felicity had told me she’d ‘bumped’ into Stuart. A creepy vibe scratched my spine. I dialed Felicity’s house phone. Colin sipped from his mug, eyes on me over the rim of the cup.

  “Fel?”

  “Oh my gosh, Ash.” She sobbed into the phone.

  “I’m okay.”

  Her weeping shifted to sniffling. “Is there something I can do? I feel so stupid. I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything, I want to see you.”

  “Yeah,” Felicity sniffed. “Whenever you feel ready. Don’t feel pressured.”

  I assured her that I was all right but it took some convincing.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” her voice hitched.

  “I am. I’ll call you later, k?”

  “Okay.”

  I clicked the phone off and handed it to Colin. “She’s a good friend,” I said. He slipped the cell into his pocket, his gaze still keen on me.

  I sipped the lukewarm liquid watching his eyes skim my face.

  “How do those feel today?” He tapped his own cheek indicating my injuries.

  I shrugged, keeping the mug at my lips because just looking at him made me want to smile. His gaze slipped to my mouth, and he quickly averted his eyes.

  “Thanks to you I got away from him,” I said. His light expression darkened.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I did what you told me to do. Head butted him, gouged his eyes—with soap. It worked.”

  He shook his head, a smile of pride on his lips. “You’re something else. You saved yourself.”

  “Yeah, but you taught me.”

  He lowered his head. “Nah. It was you. How is Fiona this morning?”

  “Fine.”

  “I imagine she wants to get to the hospital as soon as possible.”

  “Probably home first, to change.”

  He unfolded his arms, rested his palms behind him on the counter ledge. Was he nervous?

  I sipped again. The coffee was room temperature now, but the air in the small kitchen smoldered.

  Colin’s foot jittered. He looked ready to launch himself from his casual stance to—where? The way his eyes sparkled with black mischief reminded me of when we were kids. He’d get that same look when he’d corner me and tease me without mercy. My insides buzzed.

  “Dad’s okay this morning. We called.”

  Colin shifted his feet. “That’s good.” The grin playing on his lips slowly vanished. His eyes intensified like black fire, the flames leaping across the small space to me, licking the surface of my skin with tempting heat.

  I swallowed.

  Is this what it’s like to crave? To want someone so much talking seemed irrelevant. I could barely breathe, my chest was so tight. Did he feel the same?

  I was going to cross to the sink to wash out the remaining coffee, but as I began the short trek, craving took me to him. I stopped when my body was close enough to his to touch. I want you. The thought spun on an endless loop in my head. I hoped he saw in my eyes that I wasn’t backing down.

  “Thank you for everything.” I embraced him. He had to understand how important he was to me. He hesitated only a second before his arms wound around my body.

  His fingers opened across my back and shoulder blades. “Please, don’t thank me.”

  “I have to. I know you’re doing your job, but—”

  “It’s more than that.” His hands moved to my shoulders, he eased me back so he could look at me. His finger lifted my chin and his gaze fixed on my mouth. A tingle raced beneath my lips. His head dipped, until our lips brushed. “I love you,” he whispered the words and kissed me.

  Joy spiraled through my soul. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying tears of joy against the beat of his heart. “I love you, too.”

  Colin arranged for Eddy to pick us up and take us uptown. Eddy and Mother talked about Dad quietly in the front. Colin sat in the back with me. Eddy stole glances at me through the rearview mirror, like he couldn’t believe I was there. He’d worked for Dad since we’d moved to New York. He’d always been friendly when he’d driven me to and from school, occasionally sharing stories about his own boy and girl, his wife, and his dreams of world travel someday.

  “It’s good to see you, Miss Adair,” he finally said once his conversation with Mother came to an end.

  “Thank you, Eddy.”

  His smiling eyes seemed to want to say much more to me, but he didn’t.

  As we approached the townhouse, my pulse skipped. News vans with satellite dishes perched on their roofs lined the street out front.

  A small gathering of media, dressed in dark coats, hats and scarves waited—for us.

  “They’re still here?” I whispered.

  “Of course,” Colin murmured, eyeing them through the glass.

  “How many people can say they’ve been kidnapped twice in their lifetime—by separate individuals who work for their father?” His eyes met mine.

  “Here we go.” Mother’s gaze was latched on the crowd.

  Colin leaned forward. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He gave Eddy instructions. As we neared, I noticed two police cars. Colin whipped out his cell phone, made a call and spoke with someone on the police force.

  Mother and I put on our sunglasses.

  When the car stopped, two officers held back the media creating an opening from the curb to the door. Photographers and reporters turned their attention to us, hovering closer with cameras and mics.

  Colin slipped on his dark glasses and opened the door. In fluid precision he helped Mother and me from the car and ushered us through the flood of shouts and camera clicks to the front door of the townhouse without incident.

  Mother shook. Trepidation whitened her face. Colin tapped in the code and the door opened. He thrust us both in and brought the door to a close.

  Alone in the empty silence of the townhouse, Mother and I stood together, breath speeding in and out of our chests. I heard Colin’s muffled voice through the door, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying, even though the roar of the media ebbed as he spoke.

  The familiar scent of home mixed with some spicy scents wafting from the kitchen. Gavin came fluttering from the back of the house, his hands flap
ping, face twisted like a pretzel.

  “Mrs. Adair. I was frantic. Frantic. Ashlyn! Oh heavens. How is Mr.