by Lisa Childs
Too long. Her face heated even more over that sad, schoolgirl crush. “That was stupid.”
“I don’t think so, especially after meeting him,” Margaret Thompson said with a wink.
Clearly, she and Wendy’s father thought something more was going on between her and Hart, and she wasn’t going to waste time arguing with them. Not when they needed to be taken off to that safe house.
“Are you finished packing?” she asked them.
Her mother chuckled at her change of subject.
“Do you have your stuff?” her father asked her.
She shook her head.
“You’re going with us,” he said as if it brooked no argument.
She wasn’t a child anymore, even though her crush had made her look like one. “No, I’m not.”
“But you’re the one in danger,” her mother said. “You have to come with us.”
She shook her head again. “No. I can’t not do my job. If I stop working, then Luther Mills wins before he even goes to trial.”
“And if you die, he won’t go to trial at all,” a deep voice said.
She turned to find Hart leaning against the doorjamb. He had circles beneath his eyes that were even darker than his brown irises. His thick brown hair was mussed and his clothes were torn. A sleeve was ripped and his jeans were ragged at the knees.
He must have had to duck and dive to avoid being killed. How he had survived all those bullets, she couldn’t fathom. But she was damn glad that he had. So glad that her heart filled with warmth.
Despite that, she opened her mouth to argue with him. Before she could say anything, though, a soft voice called out for him.
“Daddy...”
And he hurried away.
“Sure,” her mother remarked. “He’s just your bodyguard.”
That was all he was.
Nothing more.
Wendy didn’t even have a crush on him anymore. No. What she felt now for Hart Fisher went much deeper than a crush, but she had no doubt that it would be equally as unrequited.
* * *
Hart closed his arms around his daughter’s tiny body and lifted her up against his chest. He loved her so damn much. If he’d lost her...
Felicity sighed as she settled her head against his shoulder. He’d only stepped away for a minute while she’d been in the bathroom. But she acted as if he’d been gone too long.
Could he spend any more time away from her? But he had to. He had to keep Wendy safe, especially since she was so damn stubborn.
“Everything’s okay now, sweetheart,” he assured her.
Felicity’s head moved against his shoulder in a nod. “I know. It was just a game.”
Wendy. Obviously she’d worked her magic with his daughter again to soothe her fears. She was amazing. Damn her.
He wanted to be furious with her. He wanted...
Her.
She stepped outside the den her parents had been using as their bedroom. She carried a suitcase, but he knew it wasn’t hers. She’d made it clear she had no intention of joining them in the safe house.
Stubborn woman.
“Winnie!” Felicity exclaimed. She arched away from him, reaching for Wendy, who immediately dropped the suitcase and took the child from his arms.
Felicity hugged her tightly. How had a bond formed between them so quickly?
He saw the connection on Wendy’s face, too. The love in her eyes just before she closed them. Felicity’s own mother had never felt that kind of connection with her child.
But then, he suspected his ex didn’t know how to give love; she only wanted to receive it. No. She didn’t even know what love was—only infatuation. He pitied her new husband. From experience, he knew it wouldn’t be long before Monica moved on to someone else.
“There’s our princess!” Wendy’s mother exclaimed as she limped out of the bedroom. But she wasn’t talking about her daughter. She was talking about his.
Just as Felicity had arched away from him to reach for Wendy, she arched away from Wendy to reach for her mother. Before the shooting, she’d been shy with the older couple. But, enduring the ordeal together, she must have formed a bond with them, as well. She wrapped her arms around Margaret’s neck and snuggled against her. “You smell like cookies.”
“As soon as we get to our new house, we can bake some together,” the older woman offered. “You can help me.”
Hart tensed. “What?”
“We’d like to take her with us,” Ben said, “if you’re okay with that?”
He didn’t know what to be with that. Offended they didn’t think he could care for her? Relieved she would be safe and out of harm’s way? Mostly he was just confused.
Wendy had told them the truth. They knew everything now.
“I don’t understand...” he murmured.
And their daughter stared at them, her brow furrowed with confusion, too.
“We know about your childcare situation,” Mrs. Thompson said.
That his babysitter had quit. He could find another one, though. Or he could take Parker’s wife up on her previous offer to watch her. When Sharon had suggested it before, he’d thought he had everything under control. He’d been wrong, though.
Tonight had proved that. He’d put his own child in danger. His stomach churned as he felt sick over it.
He would have never forgiven himself.
“But still,” he said. “You know that I’m not really...” He glanced at Wendy, whose face flushed nearly as red as her hair over the awkwardness of their situation.
“I’m going to talk to the chief before he leaves,” she murmured and then hurried down the hall away from them.
She was probably going to make another argument for working the crime scene. Or for continuing to work despite everyone’s arguments that she needed to go to that safe house, too.
She was the one in the most danger. But tonight his child had been in danger, as well. Her parents were offering him a way to keep her safe.
“We know what you really are,” Margaret said, but she was smiling. Maybe for his daughter’s sake. The little girl was staring up at her.
“Then why...?” Hart asked.
Her mother took Felicity aside as her father stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You’re protecting our daughter. Let us protect yours.”
Hart blinked. He’d thought the Paynes were a unique family, how they accepted outsiders and made them feel like family. But the Thompsons were a hell of a lot like them. They were making him and his daughter feel like family.
He could hear Mrs. Thompson asking his daughter, “Would you like to go on vacation with me and Papa Ben while your daddy and Winnie work?”
The little girl nodded eagerly in agreement. And the tightness in Hart’s chest eased. She was comfortable with Wendy’s parents, more comfortable than she’d ever been with her own mother.
Ben pitched his voice lower and added, “We’re going to have an army of bodyguards and we’re going to be in a very safe location. She’ll be protected with us.”
Hart had thought she would be safe tonight, too. But Luther’s crew had got close. Too close.
The chief and Parker had assured them all, though, that the Thompsons would be somewhere that nobody but their bodyguards would know about. There would be no way for Luther’s mole to get him the information about their whereabouts.
“Are you sure?” Hart asked. “Her babysitter quit...” Felicity wasn’t a difficult child, but she’d been through a lot and had trouble connecting with people. Of course, she hadn’t had any trouble connecting with any of the Thompsons.
Ben chuckled. “My wife was a kindergarten teacher and I was a coach until our recent retirement. We’ve never met a kid we couldn’t handle.” His brow creased momentarily. “Except maybe our own...”
Hart chuckled now. He could understand that, since their child was Wendy. His amusement faded. “She should be going with you.”
“She won’t.” Her father apparently knew and accepted that, whereas Hart still wanted to fight with her about it.
Hell, he just wanted her.
Ben reached out, planting a beefy hand on Hart’s shoulder, and he nearly jumped. Had the older man read his mind?
“You keep Wendy safe,” Ben said. “She’s a stubborn one—determined to keep working.”
Damn her. She was stubborn. Too damn stubborn. And it was probably going to get her killed.
He could trust the Thompsons with his child. But he wasn’t so sure they should trust him with theirs.
* * *
Woodrow Lynch had daughters of his own, even more now that he’d married Penny Payne. Her children were his and vice versa. They also tended to collect other people’s children as theirs. He felt very paternal toward Wendy Thompson. He cared about her so much that, like his own children, she managed to frustrate the hell out of him.
Over the body bags of the men who’d nearly killed her, she pleaded with him to let her continue working—without a bodyguard, of course.
Or, at least, without Hart Fisher.
She turned to Parker, who stood beside Woodrow. “He needs to be with his daughter. She could have died tonight.” As she said it, her voice cracked with emotion. The child meant something to her.
“Go with your parents,” Woodrow urged her. “Go into protective custody until after the trial. Your job will wait.”
She shook her head. “No, it can’t. You’re the one who told me about those other cases against Luther falling apart. If I go missing, the evidence might go missing, as well.”
He winced. But he couldn’t argue with her. Getting rid of Wendy made no sense because the evidence would still exist. Unless Luther already had a plan in place for someone to destroy the evidence once Wendy was out of the way.
Someone like another crime scene investigator.
But if Wendy had someone within her own department whom she couldn’t trust, she was in even more danger than the chief had feared. She wouldn’t be safe anywhere.
But that safe house.
If she was gone, he had a horrible feeling that the evidence would disappear, too, because someone else would have to know where it was to ensure the chain of custody. Someone who might already be on Luther’s payroll.
He couldn’t risk that, so he had no choice but to risk her life instead.
Chapter 14
Wendy had won her argument to continue working on other cases while she waited for the trial. But she hated the reason why: that there was someone within the police department she couldn’t trust. Someone working for a murderer.
She shivered.
Hart reached out and turned up the heat so that warm air blasted out of the vents of the SUV. She hadn’t won the argument for him to be removed as her bodyguard, though. She was surprised that she was the only one who thought he shouldn’t protect her. Being around her put him in too much danger, just as it had her family and his daughter.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Someplace safe,” he said.
She tensed. “You better not take me anywhere near that safe house where my parents and Felicity are going.”
He glanced across at her. “I don’t even know where they’re going.”
She closed her eyes as regret overwhelmed her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That must be hard—to not know where your daughter is being taken.”
“I know she will be safe,” he said. “And that’s most important.”
Wendy couldn’t argue with that. But she kept her eyes closed as tears continued to burn behind them.
“She will also be with very good people,” he said, his deep voice gruff with emotion. “Your parents are so good with her.”
The SUV stopped. And a door opened.
Wendy opened her eyes just as Hart rounded the front of the SUV and opened her door. “We’re here,” he said.
She looked around now and recognized the street in the old warehouse district of River City. It was slowly being transformed to a residential area since some of the warehouses had been converted to industrial-style condos. But yellow tape hung from some of the light poles.
She looked back at Hart and said, “This is a crime scene.”
She had been called out to process the scene. In the past week, there had been a shoot-out here when Luther’s crew had tried to take out Rosie Mendez. Just as had happened at her home, some of Luther’s crew had died here.
But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t return.
“Why would you bring me here?” she asked.
“Because I live here,” Hart said.
“You bought the safe house?”
He shook his head. “No. I live in this condo.” He pointed to one on the other side of the street. It didn’t look much different than a warehouse from the front. Some brick had been added to the metal, and a brick sidewalk led to a heavy steel front door. It looked quite similar to the Payne safe house condo.
“I just bought it a couple months ago when it was completed,” he said. “There’s a courtyard in the middle of the building with a playground.”
He’d bought the place for Felicity. And now he didn’t even know where his daughter was.
Too overwhelmed with guilt to argue with him, she let him guide her to the front door. He opened it quickly and ushered her inside. Then he closed and locked the heavy steel door behind them.
“There,” he said. “We’re safe.”
Wendy didn’t feel safe, not alone with him in his home. And it was a home. Toys sat out on a table in front of the couch, as if they’d been playing but had to leave before they’d finished.
Felicity shouldn’t have had to leave her home and father because of her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“That you didn’t go into protective custody, too?” he asked, a dark brow arching.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry that I put you and Felicity in danger.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “Luther Mills did.”
“I tried to get Parker to take you off this assignment, to let you go with my parents and Felicity...” She felt an ache in her chest at the thought of being separated from the little girl, and she’d just met her. She couldn’t imagine how much he hurt over the separation.
Instinctively she reached out, placing her palm on his chest. His heart pounded heavily beneath her hand. “You don’t want me protecting you anymore?” he asked.
“I don’t want to put you or your daughter in danger,” she said. “Or my parents...” She closed her eyes as tears rushed up again. She was too exhausted to control her emotions. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep. She certainly hadn’t had one since the threats had started.
“Your parents are safe,” he said, his deep voice soft as if she were a little girl whose fears he was trying to soothe. “Felicity is safe.”
She opened her eyes. “You’re not.” She could remember that gun pointed at him, that kid nearly killing him. And she cringed.
“No, I’m not,” he agreed with a heavy sigh. “I’m not safe at all.”
He was looking at her like she was the threat, not Luther Mills.
Then he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her tenderly at first, just skimming his lips back and forth over hers.
She gasped at a rush of desire, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid in and out of her mouth as he tasted her. Then he groaned.
Suddenly she was being lifted and carried. She clutched at him. Not so that she wouldn’t fall.
She knew it was too late for that. She’d already fallen for Hart Fisher.
Even before he’d saved her life over and over.
She was helpless to fight her feelings any longer. She was helpless to fight the passion that overpowered her. She’d nearly lost him, nearly lost her opportunity to ever be this close to him. When he set her on a bed, she clung to him, pulling him down on top of her like he’d been that night he’d sneaked into her room.
Their legs tangled and she felt the evidence of his passion as his erection rubbed against her hip. She moaned and arched against him.
“Wendy...” he murmured as he tried to ease back, away from her.
She might have let him go, if she hadn’t seen the desire on his face, which was flushed, his eyes glittering. He wanted her, too.
She moved her hand between them, across the erection that pushed against the fly of his worn jeans. His breath hissed out between his clenched teeth.
“You’re killing me,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want that to happen. I want you...”
Alive.
Right now she wanted him period. Any way she could have him. And in this moment, she was glad his boss and hers had refused to remove him as her bodyguard.
While he might never be her boyfriend, tonight or this morning as it was, he could be her lover. She reached for the button on his jeans.
He jerked back. “Slow down,” he cautioned between pants for breath.
Slow down.
Not stop.
He wanted her, too.
She smiled and lay back on the bed. His bed. The room was dark: dark walls, dark blinds, dark trim. Even his sheets and blankets were dark; a rich chocolate brown like his eyes. But his eyes weren’t brown as he stared down at her. They turned black, the pupils completely dilated with desire.
She yanked up her shirt, pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the floor. Her bra wasn’t particularly sexy. She didn’t own any lace or silk. Lace was scratchy and silk felt cold. She preferred cotton, but it was a deep green, and her breasts swelled over the cups as she breathed heavily.
He groaned again. “Wendy...”
Then she reached for his shirt, tugging it up over his washboard abs that rippled when she brushed her knuckles across them.
