by Terri Reed
“Ouch.” So even her childhood hadn’t been picture-perfect. Compassion welled up. “A bit tyrannical, huh?”
“Yes.” She made a face. “So was Steven. I’ve spent my whole life under someone else’s thumb.”
Anthony cut her a sharp glance. Motive enough for murder? “Not anymore, now that your husband is dead.”
Could that same strength of character he’d just admired be used to kill? Good thing he wouldn’t have to make that judgment. He was just here to bring her to the authorities safely.
“True. And once this mess is resolved, Mikey and me will get to live our lives our way. Together.”
Anthony glanced at Mikey in the rearview mirror. The boy sat rocking slightly, forward and back, his gaze out the front window. “You’re very good with him.”
“I don’t have a choice.” A soft smile teased her pretty mouth. “I love him. He’s my son.”
Anthony could appreciate her feelings even though he wasn’t a parent and had no plans to be one any time soon. He knew his parents loved him and his siblings unconditionally. That was how it should be. Viv loved her son that way. Amazing considering her own mother sounded as far from unconditional as one could get.
“Don’t you ever question why God allowed him to be born this way?”
“Not any more than I question why God allowed me to be born this way.” She made a sweeping gesture toward herself. Then narrowing her gaze, she said, “Why would I blame God for something that could have been caused by any number of factors? All of which have more to do with the human condition than God. That would be as ludicrous as blaming God for Steven’s murder.”
His heart rate sped up. “But if you believe that God is all-powerful, all-knowing, couldn’t He prevent these things?”
“You sound just like Steven.” She turned away to stare out the window. “Believe me, Steven tried to find the reason behind Mikey’s disorder. Something, someone to blame. It’s convenient and easy to blame God. Humans do it all the time.”
Anthony’s throat tightened. Her words pierced his soul like arrows. He didn’t want to look at why her words were creating so much havoc inside of him. He flexed his fingers and readjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
“There just isn’t any definitive explanation for Mikey’s condition. It could have been our genetics. It could have been some environmental element I came in contact with during pregnancy, or vaccines, food allergies…the list of possible reasons is endless.”
The frustration in her voice ripped into him. Compassion welled. He didn’t know what to say, how to comfort her.
“As for Steven’s death…good ol’ mankind.” She shook her head. “So no, I don’t blame God. I cling to Him.”
I cling to Him. The words reverberated inside Anthony’s head as the miles whizzed by.
There definitely was more to the beauty queen than met the eye. Smart, compassionate and a good parent to boot. And if her story about fighting off the fake FBI agents was true, she hid an admirable fierceness within her polished exterior.
All of which made her an intriguing woman. He was finding himself not only attracted to her, but liking her. If the situation were different…
But it wasn’t. She was his protectee. Attraction, liking, none of those soft emotions had any place in the equation.
He needed to concentrate on the one question he couldn’t let go of. Was she involved in her husband’s murder?
It was nearly midnight by the time Anthony pulled the minivan into the parking lot of a convenience store. Viv stirred as the engine quieted. She’d fallen asleep somewhere in Utah. She’d looked so vulnerable and sweet leaned against the door, using his suit coat as a pillow.
Viv straightened and looked around. “Where are we?”
“On the outskirts of Cheyenne, Wyoming. I need to grab a few things before we stop for the night.” He needed to rest, but they needed to do something about disguising Viv and Mikey.
She nodded and pulled the awful hat down lower. After her initial protest she’d kept the thing on her head for the past ten hours to keep her identity hidden from passing motorists. She was a trouper and that went a long way in his book.
Quietly, he left the van, locking the doors with the electronic key before entering the store. Buying the necessary supplies didn’t take long and he hustled back to the van. Easily finding the motel the store clerk suggested, Anthony checked them into connecting rooms on the second floor. Vivian had become more fully awake while he was in the motel’s small office. He handed her a card key.
He parked in front of the staircase, noting the other vehicles in the parking lot—a sedan, another minivan, two pick-up trucks and a big rig taking up the back half of the lot. Anthony carried a sleeping Mikey to the room while his mom carried their few belongings and the bag from the store. Viv used the key card to open the door and quickly turned down one of the double beds.
He gently laid Mikey down. Viv immediately went to work on removing his shoes. For a moment Anthony watched the loving way she so carefully untied each shoe and slipped them from the sleeping boy. Her love was so evident and constant.
Inexplicably, his throat tightened. He hadn’t given much thought to having a family of his own. Sure, he’d wanted to marry Becca, but she’d had her career and he’d had his. Having kids hadn’t been part of their conversations. Kids had been something to think about far into the future. A future that no longer existed.
Pushing away the unwanted memory of his former fiancée, Anthony forced himself to turn away from the appealing mother and son moment and focused on the here and now. He moved to open the two connecting doors. “I’ll be right back.”
Going out the door in his room, he hurried down to the parking lot. Not wanting to advertise their whereabouts, he hid the van behind a metal garage bin, just in case anyone traced them to the rental agency.
When he returned to the hotel rooms, Viv sat at the foot of one of the double beds with the bag from the grocery store in her lap.
“Sunglasses? Ball caps?” she asked, taking out the three pairs of shades he’d bought. Two adult-size, one child-size. The baseball caps had the Boise State University Broncos’ logo on the front.
“There are security cameras everywhere. There’s no way to avoid them, but if we wear the sunglasses and caps, and keep our heads tilted down, facial recognition won’t have enough markers to make a match.”
She pulled more items from the bag.
“Hair dye? Scissors?”
“We need to change your look. Your hair is too identifiable.”
She held up the box of hair coloring he’d purchased and gave him a lopsided smile that made him forget his name. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a brunette. I was named after Vivien Leigh from Gone with the Wind. Which always seemed odd to me since I look nothing like her.”
She gave a delicate shrug. “But my mom’s obsessed with the movie. I think she secretly wanted to be Scarlett O’Hara. She tried to talk daddy into naming me Scarlett. The only reason he agreed to Vivian Leigh is because his great-grandmother was named Vivian. Though Mom had a fit when she realized he’d filled out my birth certificate and spelled Vivian with an A like his grandmother’s name, rather than Vivien with an E like the actress.” A flush of color rose up her neck. “I’m sorry I’m babbling. Nerves, I guess.”
Respect for how well she was taking the situation constricted his chest. “You’re doing fine.”
He pulled her to her feet; her hand, delicate and yet solid at the same time, fit neatly within his.
“Can we use the bathroom in your room so we don’t wake Mikey?”
“Absolutely.” He led her back to his room. Taking the grocery bag from her he set it aside. “We’ll change Mikey’s hair color in the morning.”
Meeting his gaze, she said, “It’ll be challenging.”
“I know.” If he’d learned anything in the past day, it was that Vivian was a good mother and Mikey was a handful. Admiration for
her dug in deep.
With a nod, she moved into the bathroom. “The directions say to use it on dry hair.” She paused and slowly turned toward him with a look of concern. “These are the only clothes I have. I’d rather not ruin them.”
“I figured you’d need something else to wear.” He reached into the grocery bag and pulled out the two tourist T-shirts he’d bought. “This will have to do for now. They only had extra large.” He tossed her a shirt. “In the morning we can stop and buy a change of clothes for all of us.”
She caught the shirt. “I’ll need help.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Yeah? Hair Color 101…after ballistics and before hand-to-hand training?”
Liking her humor, he laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”
He slipped out of his jacket, removed his shoulder holster, draping them over the arm of a chair and then began unbuttoning his white dress shirt.
Vivian stood frozen in the doorway of the bathroom, staring.
He raised his eyebrows at her.
She did an abrupt about-face and shut the door, but not before Anthony glimpsed the blush working its way up her delicate neck.
So Miss Dew Berry Princess wasn’t immune to the attraction he’d been fighting since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Interesting. And probably not the best time to catch on to that fact considering he had no business noticing.
He made quick work of changing into the second T-shirt before knocking lightly on the bathroom door. “You decent?”
The door opened. Viv had exchanged her soft sweater and slacks for the too-large shirt, which hung past her knees. Anthony’s gaze swept down her slender, well-shaped calves to her pink-polished toes. He struggled to swallow.
She cleared her throat for obviously different reasons, jerking his attention to her face. He grinned. He was a guy after all. He couldn’t help looking. She blushed again. The urge to pull her into his arms caught him by surprise.
“Could you go next door and get some more towels?” she asked, her voice sounding a bit strangled.
Glad for the momentary reprieve from the searing attraction, he nodded. “Be right back.”
He turned on his heel and went after the towels.
Get a grip, Carlucci. She’s off-limits. You can not get involved with a protectee.
Vivian closed the door behind Anthony and leaned back against the wood, trying to regain her composure. Her heart galloped in her chest. Her cheeks still burned. What was happening? She’d been stared at with male appreciation her whole life. She’d thought she’d become immune to stares that normally made her feel like some museum piece to be studied and appraised.
But Anthony didn’t make her feel that way. He made her feel feminine and pretty. She’d wanted to preen, of all things. And that surprised her. Stunned her, really.
When was the last time she’d felt that way? Long enough ago that she couldn’t remember.
After her marriage, she’d been the proper wife and never purposefully set out to draw another man’s attention. She’d dressed conservatively and avoided compromising situations.
But something about Carlucci made her feel brazen. She’d wanted to flirt, to see if Anthony felt the same sort of attraction that sizzled in her veins. She’d wanted… She released a pent-up breath, straightened her shoulders and pushed away from the door.
It didn’t matter what she wanted.
Her wants didn’t matter. Developing feelings for her bodyguard that couldn’t go anywhere wasn’t going to help them.
What she needed to do was stay the course, to do what had to be done to keep her and Mikey safe. To do that, she needed to change her looks so no one would recognize her as Senator Grant’s widow.
Normally she paid one hundred and fifty dollars for haircuts. Her highlights added another hundred to the tab, not to mention the tip. But this wasn’t La Bella Salon in trendy Georgetown. She had a cheap pair of scissors and not much light.
Her stylist, Kiara, would have a heart attack if she ever found out. But Kiara had never been in her shoes. She’d never needed to keep her son safe from goons who wanted to kill him.
She picked up the scissors and met her reflection in the mirror. Her long blond hair lay draped over her shoulders like a shroud. Her crowning glory, as her mother would often tout. Steven used to say her hair was gold in his pocket because with her by his side he could never lose.
But her hair no longer mattered. It was a symbol of her old life. A life lived to please others. Beauty pageant judges, her mother, Steven.
No more. She would no longer allow herself to be the trophy daughter. The trophy wife. She was Vivian, Mikey’s mother.
Grabbing a hunk of hair, she began to saw away the invisible shackles of oppression. From this day forward she would be in charge of her life.
No one would ever take her freedom or her choices away from her again.
Anthony took his time checking on the thankfully sleeping boy. The warmth and fierce protectiveness coursing through him was more than a complication. It was a disaster.
When he returned to his room, the bathroom door was closed again. He leaned against the wall to wait; willing himself not to let her affect him again. He had to keep himself immune to her charms.
A few moments later, the bathroom door opened. He stepped inside and sucked in a sharp breath.
FIVE
The polished beauty queen was gone.
Vivian had cut her hair. She’d cut it short. In choppy layers, the longest of which skimmed her brows, ears and the delicate nape of her neck. Huge chunks of her silky tresses lay scattered on the floor.
Anthony liked the pixie look on her. The way her hair now framed her face accentuated her big blue eyes and the long column of her slender throat. She’d scrubbed her face clean of any makeup, leaving her fresh-faced and oh, so appealing. His blood revved like the engine on an Indy 500 car.
He was tempted to stop here and not use the dye. But her unique shade of white-blonde would still give her away.
She touched the sheared ends. “I’ve never had short hair.” A soft, bemused smile played at the corners of her pretty mouth. “It feels so…light.”
Drawn to her like a man in a drought and she were the proverbial oasis, he stepped closer. “You look good. Really good,” he said, meeting her gaze in the mirror’s reflection.
The vulnerability in her eyes tore at his heart. “It needs a bit of shaping. I couldn’t quite get the back.”
“I can help with that.” He picked up the shears lying on the counter. He was surprised to notice his hand shake. Taking a deep calming breath, he waited a second for control to return. When his hand was steady, he trimmed the wayward strands she’d missed and evened out a few places. “There. Perfect.”
Mirth danced in her lovely eyes. “Nice job. Have you ever considered becoming a stylist?”
He scoffed. “No. And don’t tell my siblings, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You have siblings?”
The wistful note in her voice touched him. “Yes. A brother and a sister. I’m the eldest.”
Turning to face him, she asked, “Do you get along with them?”
“I do.” He opened the box of dye and pulled out the contents. “We’re pretty close-knit.”
Longing entered her gaze. “I always wanted a sister. Or a brother. I wanted that for Mikey, too, but Steven…didn’t.”
“It’s not too late.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “True. Maybe one day. But…” She turned back toward the sink and worked at mixing the dye with the activating solution. “I’d have to adopt because I don’t think I’ll ever remarry. Just the thought of being that subjugated again to someone else makes my skin crawl.”
Though he ached for her pain, he couldn’t let her believe that what she’d experienced was the norm. “Not all marriages are like yours. My parents have been married for nearly forty-five years. Yeah, they’ve fought and had their difficult moments, but
they would die for each other. Die without each other.”
“I think that’s rare. My parents tolerate each other, at best.”
“Relationships are what you make of them.”
She titled her head and looked at him through the mirror. “What about you? Are you married?”
He shook his head, a dull ache throbbing in his chest.
“Ever come close?”
Regret colored his words. “Yes. Once.”
“What happened?”
“My life was derailed and she got tired of waiting for me to get my act together.” Or more specifically tired of him putting off setting a date. “The assassination?”
He nodded.
“You’ve got your life together now, right? Why not find out if she’d take you back?”
The pointed question caught him off guard. He didn’t have an answer. The thought had never occurred to him.
“Don’t rule out reconciliation until you’ve tried,” Vivian said, softly.
The idea bounced around his mind but wouldn’t take root. “I suppose you’re right. Something to at least consider when this assignment’s over.”
He tried to decipher how he felt about pursuing Becca again, but with Vivian so close, her fresh scent filling his head and her bright blue eyes watching him, he could hardly breathe properly, let alone think.
Abruptly, Viv pushed the container of dye into his chest. “Let’s get this done.”
Closing his hand over hers, he took the bottle. Heat from her hand raced up his arm and spread across his chest. She jerked her hand away. She moved to lean her head over the sink. Taking a deep bracing breath, Anthony adjusted the towel over her shoulders to protect her neck and the T-shirt from the purple-colored liquid. Gently he worked the dye through the short strands, trying not to let the intimacy of having his hands in her hair get to him.
He kept his gaze focused on her hair and not where the hem of the T-shirt rose above her knees. Sweat beaded on Anthony’s brow.
“Okay, all the gunk is gone from the bottle. Now what?”
