River laughed. "Better than I am, I think. Remember the week in Costa Rica? The anticipation here is worse. It's like I'm holding my breath, waiting for something to happen."
"Maybe you being there has scared her stalker off. Look, man, I know you have things to do. You came out here at my request. If you think it's over, go ahead and go. You have security measures in place now. She'll be alright."
"Mr. Benson? River?"
He heard her call to him from the lower level. "My gut tells me this thing isn't over. I don't know who this yokel is and I don't know what he has planned. Everything in me is saying Joselyn is still in danger and I'm not going to leave her vulnerable. I got nothing better to do right now. Keep on digging. Give me something... anything. I'll check in with you in a few days."
He disconnected the call, picked up his gun, reinserted the magazine and secured it into his belt holster. He met her on the stairs. "Yes, Ma'am?"
She looked at him from the bottom of the stairs with those huge brown eyes and he felt a hitch in his stomach So pretty. So vulnerable. So perfect.
Don't get involved.
"We've been cooped up in this house for a while now. Don't you think it's time we dropped the formalities? Please, call me Joselyn or even Jos."
"Joselyn it is. So Joselyn, what can I do for you?"
She peered at him through the balusters. "I finished my manuscript and sent it off to the editor so it's time to celebrate. Go put on your dress holster, shine your best combat boots and break out the formal tee-shirt because we're going to get a real dinner in a real restaurant. Somewhere other than Giovanni's. I feel like I'm one meal away from becoming a cannoli."
He couldn't help chuckling; she was so cute and feisty. Once again, it was clear to him how perfect she would be for him. He could almost imagine how perfectly she would fit tucked under his arm as they walked the streets and alleys of the French Quarter. Despite what he had told her during their first meeting, he did want to find out her hope and dreams. He could easily see himself spending hours getting to know her. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Letting the grin fade, he forced his mind back to the business at hand. "I don't think that's a good idea, Joselyn."
She raised one eyebrow. "I always celebrate the end of a manuscript by going out to eat. After weeks of hunching over a keyboard, barely sleeping and sustaining on takeout or whatever I can scrounge from the kitchen, I need to get out. I need to associate with people who don't originate in my own mind. When the story takes me, I do well to remember about showering and brushing my teeth. I forget everything else until I get it's done. Nope, we are going out. I'm going to get ready and I'll meet you in the living room in a half hour. With or without you, Maddox, I'm blowing this popsicle stand for a while." She smirked mischievously. "I'll even let you drive me so you don't have to fold yourself up into my car. See, I can be reasonable." She climbed the stairs. "I'm in the mood for something authentic like gumbo and crawfish etouffee." She bumped against his hip on her way by and disappeared into her room.
He watched the door close and heard the shower start in her bathroom. Immediately visions of how she would look naked with water sluicing over her body danced through his head and filled his body with want. Shoving it down, he muttered to himself, "You are only interested in her safety. Nothing else, SEAL. Keep it in your pants."
He knew it for the lie it was and snorted.
"So there I was, sitting at my first convention with stacks of books, a handful of markers and absolutely no idea what to do. I felt a hand on my shoulder and it startled me. I jumped. Books and pens flew everywhere. Immediately I got down on the floor and started to gather everything together before it could get stomped on. I glanced up and there was Annabeth looking at me with a quizzical expression. Next to her was a tall man with long black hair, blue eyes and covered in tattoos. She leans toward him slowly and says in a conspiratorial whisper, 'It's the medications. I promise we'll fix the dosage before the next book comes out.' Then she introduced me to Martin Strong, two-time Male Romance Model of the Year and the cover for my next novel. I was completely mortified to meet both him and my literary agent for the first time while scrambling around on my knees."
Laughing, talking and simply existing was easy. Each moment he spent with Joselyn hammered the point home. She was funny, sweet, beautiful and he loved spending time with her. She was also pretty smart and though River hated to admit it, she had been right. They both needed a little R&R. It was nice to get away and almost forget. He motioned to the waiter. "Check, please," he said before he turned his attention back to her.
"In my second book, Deidre teamed up with a Marine to solve the crime. I did a lot of research so I know you military guys give each other nicknames for some pretty strange reasons at times. So where did 'River' come from?" Joselyn drained the last of the wine from her glass and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.
The waiter returned with the check and she lunged to grab it but River pulled it away. "Nuh-uh, this one's on me." He pulled out a card and dropped it on top of the leather guest check sleeve after glancing at the total.
"Why, Mr. Benson, how positively gallant," she gushed in a faux Southern belle accent. She batted her eyelashes at him. "But don't get into the habit of paying. Speaking of, we haven't discussed what I'm paying you for your help. I guess we should have talked about it before now." Her face fell. "Crapadoo, can I even afford you?"
He threw his head back and laughed. "You can afford me since I'm doing this for free. I owed Bull a favor and he called it in. "
"I can't allow you to do that. I have to pay you something. Your time is valuable."
"I said don't worry about it."
"Easy for you to say," she retorted. "I want to pay you for your expertise at least."
"Uncle Sam already did. Joselyn, don't sweat it; I'm glad to help out. To be honest, it's giving me a little break before I have to decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. Who knows, maybe I'll go into professional bodyguarding after this and I'll have you to thank for it."
She snorted. "Or you'll run screaming when you realize how bad it can be."
He laughed again. "You have a wonderful sense of humor."
"Thank you, but don't think I've forgotten what we were talking about. Seriously, how did you get your nickname?"
"No chance of letting that go, eh? Since you insist on knowing, it was during BUD/s."
She sat up straight. "You're a SEAL?"
"Well done. Most civilians don't know what that means." He drained the last of his water, signed the ticket after adding a good tip and replaced his card in his wallet. "Fourteen years."
Her mouth dropped open as her eyes widened. "I knew you were in the military from what Detective Jameson said but I didn't know you were in special forces. Wow, I'm impressed."
He shrugged. "It's not something we advertise." He leaned back and rested his hands on his stomach. "Back to your question; it was the first week of BUD/s. We were all sitting around, shooting the breeze and the subject of nicknames came up. Already, a couple had earned a new moniker but I knew enough to keep my head down and my mouth shut. The last thing I wanted was to be saddled with a name that was just a big joke. The one they decided on wasn't too bad to be honest, as it could have been a lot worse. You see, most of the guys entered the program right out of training but I had already been in for six years. I was the old man in the group. There's one guy, Hick, who asked me why I didn't already have one. I said I was too old to worry with nicknames but that excuse didn't go over too well." He chuckled at the memory. "Hick snapped his fingers and said, 'You're from Mississippi and you are the old man here. Old Man River.'" He shrugged, "And there it is."
Joselyn studied him for a moment. He could actually feel her eyes sweep his features. He wanted to crow with pride because she seemed to like whatever it was she saw in him. Finally, she spoke. "I think it's a great name for you. Rivers are calm on the surface but underneath Deadly and dangerous. They are a force t
o be reckoned with and given the right circumstances and time, can make changes in their environment. Yeah, I think they gave you the ideal name. From what I've seen, it fits you perfectly."
"Why, Ms. Kendrik, how positively gallant," he quipped.
They sat there in silence, gazing at each other until finally she cleared her throat and blushed. "It's getting late," she muttered as she stood and swayed slightly. Perhaps it was the moment or the ridiculous heels she wore but River was pretty sure it had more to do with the bottle she had consumed. Immediately, he shot to his feet and pulled her securely against his body. She felt right, pressed against him, all soft and curves. He couldn't help himself; he laid his head on hers, closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. She smelled amazing - like orange blossoms and the Chianti still sitting on the table. He stroked his hand up her back and underneath her hair, touching the warm skin with his fingertips. A part of him knew they couldn't be more, that he couldn't go any further than this moment so he committed it to his memory. It would have to be enough when this was over and he went on to whatever his life would become. Suddenly, only memories of Joselyn didn't feel like enough and yet it would have to be. He sighed and gently pushed her back.
She looked up at him with misunderstanding. "I don't," she started.
He hated the betrayal glimmering in her eyes. "It's better this way," he murmured away. Motioning for her to precede him, River followed her out of the restaurant, careful to keep his eyes on the other guests, the floor, the wall, the door - anywhere but on Joselyn.
Reaching the parking lot, she suddenly stopped and gasped. Immediately, he went on point, pulling his weapon and looking for danger. Not seeing anything, he pointed the handgun toward the concrete and closed the distance to her. "What is it," he whispered.
He searched her face. She was pale and her eyes were wide. Instead of answering, she pointed with one trembling finger toward his truck. Fluttering on the hood was a piece of paper with a small jar sitting on top. Taking the last few steps, he stood in front of his Ford. He read the words on the paper.
Busy little bees working the hive,
Struggling to keep their queen alive.
Drones attend to obtain favor,
Workers to toil in their tiresome labor.
A soldier guards the queen at home,
But cannot stop the end to come.
Poor little queen, sealed by fate,
The soldier's attempts will be too late.
Inside the jar, floating in what was most likely honey, were several bees. They were all intact except for one; the largest had been decapitated. Back on the farm in Mississippi, River's aunt and uncle had once possessed several bee hives to harvest honey. He knew without a shadow of a doubt the decapitated one was a queen. Fury like he had never felt before swept over him. The bastard was still out there, still hunting her. He was obviously aware of who River as well as the part he played in all this. A growl erupted from his throat as he glared around the empty lot, searching for the culprit. There was no one around. Placing his sidearm into its holster once again, he cradled Joselyn next to his body and hurried her back to the restaurant. Once he had her sitting at the hostess station and was sure she was okay, he withdrew his cell and pushed a number. When it connected, he snarled into the device.
"Bull, meet me at the parking lot on Iberville near Royal. There's another gift."
Chapter 7
The silence felt heavy and oppressive as they silently rode to Joselyn's house. Glancing over, she studied River's face as he drove, both hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Once Detective Jameson had arrived with a crime scene team, River had shut down her out. The Frost Giant was back.
Joselyn tried so hard to be brave but the weight of this situation was crippling her. It was the program all over. Once again, her life was not her own. As before, she had to keep one eye trained behind her at all times and every action she took must be scrutinized and evaluated. Drawing a breath, she let it out carefully, willing her heart to slow from its frantic drumming in her chest. Douglas Beecher McClane was stalking her. She knew he was supposed to be deceased. She knew Maddox, Detective Jameson and everyone in the free world thought he was dead but she knew better. The person causing all this anxiety was not some random stalker copy cat. She knew it was ludicrous to believe he was still alive but she couldn't shake the feeling. Something inside her told her it was him.
"You're not crazy."
She looked over at him. "What?"
"I said you aren't crazy. I know you feel like everyone thinks you are but you aren't."
She gave out a choked laugh. "Yeah sure."
He reached over and clasped her hand in his. Gently, he squeezed it. "I mean it. You have been through a lot. Douglas McClane took your security, your freedom, and your confidence. For three years, his actions ruled yours. Now, this guy comes along and does the exact same again. It's the same actions, the same feelings, the same inability to do what you want. It's natural for you to feel this way. Being scared isn't being crazy. In this situation, it's being smart." He pulled up to the gate and stopped. Entering his code, he drove through, waving to Sam at the gate and pulled into her driveway. Once the truck was parked, he continued. "Joselyn, I swear to you. No matter who this man is, McClane, or a copy cat or some sick fu... creep who gets his jollies trying to scare you, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Do you hear what I'm saying? Nothing is going to happen to you. If one good thing came out of tonight, Bull is now opening a full case for you that he can actively work. He is smart, wily and has instincts off the chart. He's going to figure out who is doing this to you. Until he does, I'll be right here, watching your six, keeping you safe. You have two SEALs working to take care of this for you, Okay?"
She nodded but wouldn't meet his gaze. Sure, a part of her knew it was impossible for her stalker to be McClane but it was a small part. This terror felt the same. It felt like those three years hiding in safe houses, looking over her shoulder and waiting for the moment he would finally get to her. It was insane, absurd. She had seen the report and the pictures of the man stretched out and face up on the cemetery lawn. He had the same chin and lips and the same hair, although drenched in blood. Except for the bullet holes on his forehead and cheek which destroyed his face on one side, it was the same. There was no question it was Douglas McClane. He. Was. Dead. If she knew it, why couldn't she trust herself?
"Come on, I think it's time to break into that bottle of red sitting in your fridge." River got out of the truck, scanned the area before going to her side. Opening the door, he helped her out of the truck and ushered her toward the door in front of him. Shielding her from the open, they went inside, disarmed the alarm and locked it behind.
"Stay here," he murmured as he pulled his weapon and quickly made a sweep of the house. It was obvious nobody had entered since the alarm had not sounded but she was glad he was checking anyway. It made her feel... safer.
Several minutes passed before he returned to the entryway. "All clear." He led her into the den and seated her in front of the fireplace. Within minutes, he had a nice fire going. He pulled an afghan from the sofa and placed around her shoulders. "I'll get you a glass of wine."
She watched him leave and felt something in her twist. He was so protective and strong. It wasn't fair she couldn't be strong as well. She thought she had possessed a decent grip on things. Up until the moment she discovered the latest gift, she was sure she could handle anything. She hated what she had become; a weak, uncertain, frightened version of herself. Now she felt like a piece of dandelion fluff caught in a windstorm. Her stalker, McClane or copycat, had proven could get to her when he was ready. Instantly, she understood hopelessness. Before, while still in WitSec, she hadn't received any gifts or creepy poems and though frightened she understood she was safe. Now, knowing he could reach out and pluck her like the rose he called her, terrified her. She tasted salt and realized the tears threatening to fall had finally made their way down her fac
e. She heard River return and quickly wiped her cheeks with the corner of the cover. He handed her a glass half full of the deep red wine. She smiled but couldn't meet his eyes.
He muttered a curse and she didn't even chastise him. Did she trust River to keep her safe? She wasn't sure. She didn't trust anyone right now. Taking a sip of the vintage, she frowned. It tasted like ashes in her mouth. Placing the glass on the table, she pulled herself to her feet. "I'm going to go to bed," she mumbled before walking woodenly to the stairs. Tomorrow she would get herself together but for tonight, all she wanted was to sleep.
No, that's not exactly true. What she really wanted was to feel River's arms around her and to hear his whispered assurances saying she wouldn't come to harm. She knew he was Special Forces. She knew it was wrong to feel this way about him. She knew nothing would ever come of her romantic notions concerning him. Yes, she knew all of this but it her heart wasn't listening. Right now, she needed his strength, his care. She needed him but it was not to be. He made it very clear every chance he could.
Changing into her pajamas, Joselyn slid into bed. Curling on her side, she closed her eyes but instead of the dark, she saw Douglas McClane's face as he screamed at her in the courtroom. She shuddered and bit her lip to keep a sob from erupting. Her heart raced in her chest and sweat poured down her back. Fighting to maintain control, she chastised herself. She didn't want River to see her fall apart. She heard him climb the stairs and stop outside her door. Holding her breath, she waited until he entered his room. Then and only then, would she allow the tears to fall.
She closed her eyes and pulled her favorite comforter up over her head. Staring into the blackness, the words with is revolting gift flickered through her mind over and over. When sleep finally claimed her, it was only after her pillow was thoroughly soaked and exhaustion forced her into the arms of her nightmares.
He couldn't sleep.
Lying on the bed down the hall from Joselyn, River stared at the red glowing numbers of the clock on the table. When the digital numbers read 4:30, he threw the cover off. He might as well get up. There wasn't going to be any more sleep tonight.
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Joselyn (Kindle Worlds) Page 5
