Cowboy Protector

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Not if I have anything to say about it. I’ll take you home, of course. After we eat. And the meal is on me, too.” Thinking she was going to refuse, he added, “I insist. I hate eating alone.”

  She blinked as if trying to keep from crying and nodded. “Thanks, Neil. I really appreciate it. So what are you in the mood for? Pizza or burgers?”

  “I had something more substantial in mind.”

  Because he was a visitor to the city, he let her pick the place.

  Down Home specialized in comfort food, meat loaf and mashed garlic potatoes—he was wary of something so exotic-sounding, but, after the first forkful, decided they were even better than his mother’s homemade. Not that he would ever say so.

  “I like this place,” he said, looking around at the walls washed with deep color and the bric-a-brac in every nook. “It’s comfortable, kind of like a home.”

  She grinned. “That’s the idea, I guess.”

  The restaurant wasn’t too crowded, but still a respectable number of customers for late Sunday night frequented the place. And because it wasn’t one of those trendy places, the clientele was a mix—young, old and everything in between. Music played in the background. Soft rock that set a comfortable mood.

  Gradually, the food and the atmosphere worked its magic on Annabeth, Neil noted with satisfaction. She seemed to be more like herself.

  “I would just like to get my hands on that guy,” she muttered threateningly, making a martial-arts hand gesture. “You know, face-to-face, when he doesn’t have the element of surprise on his side.”

  Knowing she was just trying to make herself feel better—undoubtedly less vulnerable—Neil played along. “You’d take care of him, would you?”

  “I’d give it my best shot.”

  “Karate?”

  “Nah, just general self-defense. It’s whatever works all mixed up. It was a couple-hour presentation at one of my jobs—I never had time to practice, actually. But I know I could have defended myself if the circumstances had been different.”

  Not really believing it, he asked, “So where did you learn to be so tough?”

  “This city. It takes the life out of you if you let it. And sometimes when you don’t.”

  Neil realized he was treading on personal territory when he asked, “Your family?”

  “My father was strong and healthy when we moved here. That didn’t stop him from dying in a construction accident. And then once Dad died, everything fell apart. Larry started acting out. My younger brother,” she clarified, her expression darkening once more. “I guess he was looking for a father figure, someone to give him guidance. He just wouldn’t believe that a gang leader didn’t fit the bill.”

  “So he got into trouble.”

  She nodded. “Of the worst kind. The fatal kind. He was killed last spring…”

  So that was the key, Neil thought. That’s what she hadn’t told him when they’d talked about family before.

  Doubly tragic that her brother’s death had spelled the real end of family for her. Undoubtedly her poor mother hadn’t been able to deal with losing a son after losing her husband, and so had gone back to what she had seen as her safe roots in a small town.

  But in doing so, she had left her daughter—an obviously vulnerable Annabeth—alone.

  In an attempt to make her feel better, Neil said, “You can’t blame your brother’s death on yourself.”

  “Who said I did?” she snapped.

  “All that talk about bad karma.”

  “Yeah, well…” Annabeth put on a too-bright expression. “Well, the good news is that you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  “And that would be because…?”

  “Your vision of me in danger…I came out all right. Well, in one piece anyway.”

  Neil almost let it ride. She was finding something positive to hold on to. But he couldn’t let her fool herself.

  “No, that wasn’t it.”

  Her smile faded a tad. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your getting mugged for your wallet on the rodeo grounds—that’s not the danger I saw.”

  Neil would have liked to reassure her but it wasn’t in his nature to lie.

  Annabeth’s smile disappeared. “You’re saying there’s more?” When Neil chose not to answer, she muttered, “Oh, great. Just great!” And shoved away the plate of half-eaten food. “I wouldn’t mind getting out of here.”

  “I’ll get the check.”

  “You know what—I can walk home from here.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “No, you finish eating.” Annabeth popped up out of her seat. “I’ll see myself home. Thanks for dinner and the ride this far. And if Lloyd cuts that new check for me, I’ll pay you back every penny.”

  Then, before Neil could stop her, she turned and headed for the door.

  He had a bad feeling about this.

  “Miss,” he called to the waitress who was warming coffee several tables away. “Check, please. And hurry.”

  Neil rose and pulled out his wallet even as the young woman hurried over. He gave her far too much money but decided waiting for change would waste valuable time.

  “Keep it all,” he muttered, shoving his hat on his head and making his own escape.

  Her surprised “Tha-a-ank you!” followed him as he charged toward the door.

  Mere seconds later he flew onto the street. But it was already too late. Annabeth was nowhere in sight and he had no idea which direction she had taken. He didn’t know the area.

  What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  The rumble of a nearby elevated train made him start. And the internal warning now threatening to consume him went straight from bad to worse.

  ADRENALINE AND ANGER pushed Annabeth down the side street toward home. If she got any madder she would be talking to herself. Out loud. Then they could just put her away. Lock her up in a loony bin and throw away the key.

  Yeah, she could see that happening, Annabeth thought. She could see anything bad happening in this city!

  Or maybe it wasn’t the city at all.

  Maybe it was just her as she’d told Neil—bad, bad karma. Or maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough to make things right.

  Hadn’t gotten Dad to take an easier job, one that wouldn’t kill him.

  Hadn’t gotten her brother to cut off approaches by that gang leader who initiated him and led him to his death.

  Hadn’t gotten Mom to a better place psychologically so that she wouldn’t abandon all hope—and her—to walk through life a living ghost.

  Her fault…her fault…her fault…

  The internal and too-familiar chant blended with the chatter of steel-on-steel overhead.

  Clack-clack…clack-clack…clack-clack…

  And with a too-familiar sound behind her.

  A glance over her shoulder revealed nothing but her city-neighborhood street, dark and deserted, eerily lit. Two flats and three flats and old Victorians invaded by duplexes and condos and town houses, windows closed and shuttered against the all-seeing eyes in the night.

  The screech of metal-on-metal made her jump. Over on the next block, the elevated train had come to a screeching halt to take on passengers.

  A block from home. Now all she could hear was the distant drone of traffic. That and her own breath. And underneath both, something more sinister.

  Footsteps?

  She whirled around, danced backward, all the while piercing the dark with her frantic gaze.

  Not a thing…not a thing…nothing…

  Spooked anyway, she faced forward and moved faster. Less than a block. Who had she imagined would be there? Three-fourths of a block. Nickels? He couldn’t know where she lived. The El train pulled away from the station.

  Clack-clack…clack-clack…clack-clack…

  The footsteps sharpened against the pavement. Was she imagining it or was this real? Half a block to go. Was someone really behind her, moving more swiftly, trying to catch u
p to her?

  Glancing over her shoulder yet again, Annabeth gasped.

  Nearly blending with the shadows, a big man followed, hunched over, covered head down, hands in pockets. Though he was wearing light clothing, he made a threatening silhouette.

  With an explosion of breath, she ran. Less than quarter of a block to safety. The pulse of the train softened and now it was her heartbeat filling her ears.

  Her mind raced faster than her feet.

  What to do? What to do? How to get away?

  What if she couldn’t reach her apartment in time?

  What if…what if…what if…?

  This was it. She’d had it! If she didn’t take a stand, she would be defeated. Another victim. People murmuring regrets and then going on with their lives and forgetting. And who was there to remember?

  The mother who’d left her?

  Casual friends with busy lives?

  Neil Farrell?

  She had herself, Annabeth thought fiercely. She counted for something. And she was through running. Or would be once she arrived at the place where she would take her stand.

  The courtyard between the main house and the carriage house awaited, the shadowy garden pooled in soft yellow light. She fled down the darkened gangway, already placing herself there mentally.

  Lungs pumping, heart racing, she tried to calm herself. Prepare herself. Finding the tool she’d seen her elderly landlady Mrs. Kravitz use earlier, she grabbed it, slipped into the shadow of the big silver maple tree and waited for the man pursuing her.

  The moment he so much as took one lousy step into the courtyard, Annabeth vowed she would make him sorry!

  Jazzed, she lifted the shovel. Damn thing was heavy! But she was strong. Always had been. She just had to remember that. Had to remember that she could take on anything. Anyone. Standing with feet slightly spread, she balanced herself.

  And waited…and waited…and waited…

  Annabeth wasn’t certain for how long before the weight of the heavy metal made her muscles burn with the strain. She listened hard and heard nothing. No footsteps. No scraping. No nothing.

  Her lungs eased. Her heart slowed. She lowered the shovel and faced the truth.

  The man hadn’t been following her after all. She’d allowed Neil’s dire predictions to spook her.

  But still, the imagining had sparked something in her. A resolution. A vow that she would get control of her life, maybe for the first time ever.

  She was through with believing everything would work out all right if only she were a decent person living a respectable life. That’s what her parents had promised on the day they had all abandoned the farm and a way of life that she still mourned.

  But now, unwilling to continue to sit back and wait for things to work out, Annabeth was determined to find a way to take her destiny into her own hands.

  And then maybe she could stop being angry.

  Stop being depressed.

  Stop living without hope as her mother was so obviously doing.

  Feeling better than she had in months, Annabeth set the shovel back where she’d found it, then moved from the shadows into the light.

  Keys in hand, she swiftly crossed to her staircase, knowing that this day was a turning point in her life. She started up the steps. Distracted by the plans already forming in her mind, she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until it was almost too late.

  Almost…

  Whirling around, she kicked out and caught the man four steps below her in the chest. Pumped, she felt as if everything happened in slow motion—the man flying backward, her turning and dashing upward.

  Her mental picture of him was shadowy and vague, but she knew it wasn’t the man from the street. This one wore a ski mask, jeans and dark T-shirt.

  Annabeth was almost to the door when she heard the man come after her. He tried wrapping an arm around her neck, but she shoved her chin down so that he couldn’t get a good hold. Instinct drove her to clamp down on that beefy arm—with her teeth.

  She bit down near his wrist as hard as she could.

  He yelped. “Bitch!”

  Annabeth held on like a dog with a bone, her sharp teeth cutting through his flesh. When the metallic taste of blood startled her, she let go.

  Praying that he didn’t have a disease, she spit out the trace of blood in her mouth and scooted up a few more stairs before he caught up to her. Again she turned to fight him off, grabbing both railings so that she could kick him with both feet.

  He ducked and she tried a second time.

  Suddenly a large leather-gloved hand wrapped around one of her ankles. And a knife appeared in his other hand. Even as the fingers tightened so that she couldn’t pull free, Annabeth kicked him again with her other foot, this time aiming for the knife and missing.

  The knife was raised threateningly and she didn’t see how he could miss her.

  Frantic, she screamed for all she was worth.

  Chapter Eight

  Where the hell was she?

  Neil practically jogged from his truck—legally parked this time—toward the old Victorian facing the carriage house. He’d driven up and down the side streets until he’d found one he recognized.

  But Annabeth had vanished.

  Heading down her gangway, Neil hoped she was safe in her own apartment.

  The shrill of an elevated train competed with the shriek coming from behind the building. Neil ran, bursting free of the gangway in time to see a bizarre struggle on the carriage-house staircase. Annabeth was hanging on to the railings for dear life and kicking out at the man who held her fast by one ankle and was trying to stab her with a knife.

  She screamed, “Let go of me!”

  Neil plunged up the staircase, yelling, “You heard the lady!” and grabbed the man from behind.

  He so surprised the attacker that the man released Annabeth’s ankle. And the force Neil used sent him spinning back, half over the railing. Before Neil could get his hands on the bastard, the man did a balletic roll over the banister, dropped down from the staircase and beat a hasty retreat down the alleyway, crashing into what sounded like a resin garbage can.

  Torn between going after him and seeing to Annabeth, who sat on a stair shaking, Neil stayed put.

  When he helped her to her feet, she threw her arms around his neck tight enough to strangle him. He could feel the quick beat of her heart against his own. His body roused to the pulsing, and he wanted in the worst way to do something about it, but he figured she was vulnerable and he would be taking advantage. So he merely held on to her until she calmed down and pulled back.

  Looking into her flushed face, he realized something different limned her expression than had earlier.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Am I all right?” she echoed, sounding more angry than scared. “That seems to be the question of the decade!”

  Annabeth tested her limbs—all functional, Neil noted—but didn’t give him a concrete answer. Then she leaned over and felt along a step until her fingers connected with something that jingled. When she straightened, her key ring was in hand. Suddenly, she focused on him, making him feel as if she’d forgotten he was there for a moment.

  “You’re welcome,” he muttered.

  “All right. Thank you. Again.” She turned and went up the last few stairs to her door. In the midst of unlocking it, she turned back to him. This time her tone shifted to appreciative when she said, “That sounded ungrateful and I’m not, really, Neil. Thank you.” She popped the front door open. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Hands on hips, he dryly said, “I thought I would take a midnight stroll in a strange neighborhood.”

  Annabeth sighed at his sarcasm. “Come on in.”

  Neil followed her across the threshold and was immediately enveloped by the warmth of the sparsely furnished place. A soft gold color washed the walls.

  “Make yourself at home.”

  Neil sat on the couch backed with fluffy pillows in a
rainbow of colors. He assumed Annabeth turned this into her bed at night…

  To get his mind from such distractions, he said, “We need to call the police and make another report.”

  Now that she had calmed down, her face was pale and strained, washed out against her wheat-colored hair. Her normally soft-looking body seemed rigid and her hands curled into fists at her sides.

  “I don’t want to call the police just yet. Maybe not at all. It seems to be a waste of time, doesn’t it? In any event, we need to talk about this first. And I need some tea.” She dropped her keys on the table on the way into the kitchen. “What about you?”

  Some instinct told Neil that he needed her—to take her in his arms and reassure himself that she was, indeed, okay. The legacy at work, he assured himself. But for now the tea would have to do.

  “Tea sounds good,” he said.

  The apartment was so small that he could see her fill two mugs with water and set them in the microwave.

  He went on. “The man who attacked you—”

  “Nickels.”

  “You saw his face again?”

  “I didn’t have to. First the hostage situation, then my wallet being lifted and now this.” Opening a canister and pulling out two tea bags, she said, “Obviously his intent at the rodeo was to get identification so that he could lie in wait for me and kill me without witnesses.”

  Neil feared that she had a point. “Maybe we should call Detective Wexler and go over everything with him personally. See if he agrees that all three incidents are related.”

  She poked her head out the kitchen door. “I was thinking that might be more productive than calling 911 again. At least he’s spoken to us personally before.”

  The microwave dinged and she pulled out the mugs of hot water and dunked a tea bag in each. She asked how he liked his tea—plain—then joined him in the main room and handed him one of the mugs. She sat next to him, kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up on the couch behind her.