The Protector

by HelenKay Dimon

  “We’re using two different words.” He moved the gun closer to his side of the table but didn’t pick it up. “Tell me about the break-in thing.”

  “You’re going to think I’m the nervous type or making it up.”

  His expression suggested she might be right. “Try telling me first then I’ll come up with a response.”

  “Twice I’ve been out of my condo and come back to the faint smell of men’s cologne or aftershave. I can’t quite nail it down, but it’s a scent that should not have been there.”

  He didn’t laugh or roll his eyes. Didn’t give her the poor little lady wince she’d gotten from the police about her sister long ago. “Sounds like an amateur move.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her or the intruder. “Meaning?”

  “People hired to do this kind of work blend in. You shouldn’t be able to pick up any clue that they’ve been there.”

  “Everything else looked the same.” Only that one thing hinted at an intruder.

  “Still, the scent might help us in the future.”

  “How?”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “You know I do.” He’d already admitted to reading a file on her, so she refused to play that game. “Nothing was missing that I could tell, but it felt like someone had looked around.”

  “For what?”

  “My guess? Some intel on what I’ve found on Shauna’s case.”

  He nodded. “What exactly have you found?”

  That none of the pieces fit together. That the police and FBI made leaps and seemed to accept Sullivan’s story without much research or investigation. It was all in her notes in the file she kept on the case. The same one she’d intended to show him that first day they met but then he’d insisted they go out to eat instead. “We’ll get to that.”

  “That’s an annoying answer.”

  “How does it feel to be on the receiving end of a nonresponse?”

  His mouth screwed up in a frown. “Not great.”

  She heard the amusement in his voice. Just a touch and it left as quickly as it came, but she was pretty sure she’d made her point. Just to make sure, she rubbed it in a little. “See?”

  “So, no one touched you but they touched your stuff. Walked around, looked through everything, likely sat on your bed and—”

  The wave of nausea hit her out of nowhere. “Don’t . . .”

  The blood left her head. She felt it whoosh right out of her. Her balance faltered and she fell against the edge of the bed, managing to catch herself from taking an embarrassing tumble by grabbing on to the edge of the mattress and lowering her body the rest of the way down.

  He was up and out of his chair a second later. On his knees next to her, rubbing her arm. “Cate?”

  She bent over with her arms dangling between her widespread legs and her eyes closed. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Whoa. Let’s not do that.” His hand slipped over her back and up to the base of her neck. He massaged her with a gentle touch.

  “I can’t . . .”

  “Breathe in and hold it until I tell you to let it go.” He stood right next to her, counting and guiding her. “There it is. Now exhale.” He held her hand and breathed with her. “Again.”

  They went through the calming exercise three more times. He never rushed her or questioned her. His entire focus seemed to be on getting her body to relax while it tried so hard to rebel on her.

  After a few more deep breaths, the urge to throw up on him subsided. She slowly lifted her head but kept her eyes closed just in case the room continued to flip-flop. “I’m okay.”

  “Of course you are.” His hand rubbed up and down her back in a soothing rhythm.

  She leaned into him, letting him shoulder a bit of her weight. “This is embarrassing.”

  “No one is watching but me.”

  She opened one eye and peeked over at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being condescending.”

  “Honestly, I’m not that transparent. You’ll know when it happens.”

  She let her head drop back as she stared up at the bland off-white ceiling. “That was—”

  “A panic attack.”

  She lowered her head and stared at him then. “I do not panic.”

  “You’re human, Cate. You think your sister was killed in a secretive school that enjoyed protection from the local government and police for years.” He shifted until he sat on the bed next to her. “A lot of people have been covering their asses about Sullivan, so you’re allowed to panic.”

  “One second you’re likeable then the next you’re . . .”

  He laughed. “A dick?”

  Not quite that bad, but she was sure he could head there without trouble. “That pretty much sums it up.”

  His hand dropped to the mattress between them. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Maybe, but right now her head thumped from the aftermath of the panic. She knew from experience the blinding headache would soon hit. She needed low light and loads of caffeine. But she also wanted him to understand. “I’ve spent years trying to figure out what happened that night at Sullivan.”

  “Were you two close?”

  The comment struck her with the force of a hard slap. “What does that mean?”

  He held up his hands as if in mock surrender. “It’s a simple question, not a test or a value judgment. I’m trying to figure out if you were able to communicate with her during the two years she was there. If so, if you have any insight on what was happening with her.”

  “That’s not how Sullivan worked.”

  His gaze searched her face. It smoothed over her cheeks and down to her mouth. Then he got up and sat on the table across from her. “Tell me what you think you know.”

  The move was so abrupt she could actually feel a breeze of air blow between them when he moved away. That fast, she missed the warmth thrumming off him. But his words grabbed her attention away from all that comfort. “The way you say things makes it clear you know about the inner workings at Sullivan.”

  “Let’s stick to your sister.”

  She took that as a yes but didn’t battle him. At this rate, it would take two weeks for them to have a full conversation on any topic. “For now.”

  “It’s cute that you think we’re negotiating.”

  “Once she was at the school, or whatever it really was, she would call. That lasted for the first year but eventually, right before she died, that stopped. I wrote a few letters near the end but I never heard back, which made me think she didn’t get them.” That soft-coated her feelings back then. Cate had felt abandoned. That her sister had moved on and no longer had to worry about Mom’s work hours or how they would pay all the bills and still eat.

  In Cate’s head, Shauna was off having fun and making friends. She’d moved on and left Cate behind.

  “You’re right. With the timing of when she broke off contact and what was happening at the school, it’s likely she didn’t see the letters. Things had turned by then, become less subtle.”

  Cate wanted that to be true but she was afraid to let her mind go there. After all the years of strangling guilt about not stepping in and asking questions sooner, she was not ready to be let off the hook. “And how would you know about all those changes?”

  “That’s how cults work.”

  The word settled in Cate’s head. For a second she didn’t say anything. Couldn’t because relief raced through her, stealing her breath. “You’re one of the few people willing to use that word.”

  “Seems obvious.” He shrugged. “It started out fine but things slowly changed. Before the shoot-out that ended it all, the so-called students were kept on campus, very insular. Trips outside the school were limited.”

  “But by whom?”

  “The Sullivan family started the school two generations ago. The original idea was to teach practical skills in this bucolic environment. Keep the costs low by having the students provide labor and produce goods.” H
e stared off to her right, into the distance, as if he were disconnecting from the words as he spoke them. “The idea turned out to be successful. Too successful.”

  She’d never heard anyone explain the school’s history quite this way before and was eager for him to go on. “Meaning?”

  “In the most recent generation, the two sons stepped up. One took over the education and theory and helped the school’s reputation and reach grow. The other brother handled the production end.” Damon rocked the chair back and forth on those back two chair legs. “The place flourished. It was held up as an example of a new type of educational thinking.”

  “And then people started to die.” Not just her sister. Others.

  “Right.” Damon focused on her again. “The first time the FBI and the ATF stormed the place, it was viewed as law enforcement overreach. Then the paranoia set in. Years passed and something changed. The place became less of a school and more of a locked-down facility.”

  She wasn’t convinced it was ever really a school, but she knew what it was when her sister died. “Like a cult.”

  So much of the story had been in the press. Professionals dissected every move, trying to figure out how everyone missed the signs. Fourteen years ago, that initial attack on the school was referred to as a rogue operation based on wrong information. Sullivan was cleared and FBI procedure changed and the school continued to thrive. Then, years later, her sister died and that barely made a blip in the national news. Then another death. Then came the showdown that ended the school. Now it was a private commune.

  But those were the basics. A man who could spy wrong blueprint details likely possessed a deeper understanding of what happened there. “How am I supposed to trust you when you won’t tell me how you know what you know?”

  He let the front two legs of the chair fall to the carpet again. “You’re paying me.”

  He was big on the payment arrangements. Those were the least of her concerns, except for the part where she couldn’t afford any of this and was halfway through her sixty-day special leave from the office from the insurance company. Most of her fellow employees used the time to travel or take classes. One adopted a baby. She used it to hunt down old leads. “Wren is paying you, though I suspect that cost will get passed onto me.”

  “He’s a millionaire for a reason.”

  “Then answer this. Is everything you know about Sullivan from the file Wren gave you?”

  “No.” For a few seconds, Damon didn’t say anything else, which had to kill him because the man loved to talk. Then he filled in a few more blanks. “Sullivan was in the news. There’s a paper trail. Theories. A documentary, even though it doesn’t offer much that wasn’t already public.”

  “I’m not sure you answered my question.”

  “Complaints against Sullivan either got lost or were quickly closed without much in the way of an investigation. Then a congresswoman started asking questions. The result was the altercation with FBI and—”

  “You’re calling the first government intervention fourteen years ago an altercation? Two people died.”

  He nodded. Even looked a bit relieved, as if he was happy she got that without him having to explain it. “That fact tends to get lost in the legal battle that came after. Sullivan’s PR machine went into overdrive with all the talk about private land and government interference. The argument touched off a national conversation about interference since the FBI came to ask questions but fired the first shot.”

  “There’s some debate over that.” At least there was in her head.

  “Maybe.” He sighed. “Eventually, a teacher broke off with Sullivan and started talking. This time when ATF and the FBI stormed the place—the second time—the result was a bloodbath. That was eight years ago.”

  Arrests were made and what happened there slipped and became little more than a footnote in history books except to the antigovernment crowd that still considered every move at Sullivan to be part of some bigger government conspiracy. “All of that was in the news.”

  He traced over the cracks on the top of the table with his finger. “It was.”

  “What do you know that wasn’t put out for the public to see? You’re hiding something.”

  He groaned. “So many things, yes.”

  Things he didn’t intend to tell her, at least not yet. She picked up on that. Really, she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t a fan of you-show-me-yours either but they had to start somewhere and the bits and pieces of information she had didn’t provide any direction. “What’s the plan now?”

  “We get closer.”

  “We haven’t even talked about . . . there are files. You know.” She knew that was a mess of a thought, even for her.

  “I’m going to pretend that was a full sentence.” He pushed back from the table and stood up. “We’ll have plenty of time to review paperwork tonight. Right now we need in-person intel.”

  “You think we’re going to knock on the front door and they’ll let us in.” Man, she would be so happy if that worked, since she’d been sneaking around the outside fence, looking for an easy way in.

  “I think we’re going to have an early dinner.”

  She swallowed a groan. “Again with food? Maybe I should buy you a box of energy bars.”

  “There’s a diner near the front gate of Sullivan. We’re going there.”

  A strange feeling flickered inside her. She barely recognized it, but the spiraling sensation reminded her of hope. “Because you’re hungry.”

  “Yes, but that’s not why. We’re going because everyone knows the best place to be seen is at a diner.”

  That sounded like he had a plan. She tried not to get too excited over the idea. “Is that a Pennsylvania thing?”

  “A small-town thing.” He walked over to the bed and tucked her gun back into her duffle bag. “If you’re right that a person has been in your condo, snooping around—and I don’t doubt you for a second—then we want to send a message.”

  She watched every confident move he made. “What message?”

  “It’s simple.”

  Nothing about him, this case or her life fit that description. “Fill me in.”

  “You’re saying, here I am.”

  Anxiety started whirling around in her stomach. “Couldn’t we say something a little less provocative? Maybe something subtle.”

  He just smiled at her. “That’s not my style.”

  Chapter 6

  “This is a terrible idea.”

  Damon started keeping count. This was the second time Cate made the same comment since they got to the diner fifteen minutes ago. This time she added a heavy sigh. He fought the urge to mimic her. “I’ve had worse.”

  “I believe that,” she mumbled as she deconstructed her turkey club sandwich. First, she removed half of the meat. Next, she put the middle piece of toast to the side. When a piece of lettuce dared to sneak out of the side of the sandwich, she pulled out most of that, too.

  “At least this one comes with a side order of onion rings.” He picked up his patty melt. The only question is if he’d have the chance to eat it.

  She finished putting her meal back together and looked up at him. “Are you ever serious?”

  “All the time.”

  “Then what’s with the jokes?”

  He stopped before taking a bite. They engaged in banter, he joked, but this topic was deadly serious. “You’re not the only one who panics near danger.”

  She snorted. “You panic?”

  “I am human.” Most days he didn’t feel like it. Years ago, the emotions had been burned right out of him. He’d stepped up, pulled a trigger and everything changed. He’d tried after to issue warnings about what was happening at the school but no one listened, and he spiraled, unable to help anyone. But he had to believe some bit of caring and humanity still lingered inside him. “Though some believe that I don’t feel anything. Would you prefer that?”

  She waited a few seconds to answer. “I’m thinking.�
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  He picked up on the lightness of her voice. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who likes to joke.”

  “I’m trying to keep up with you.”

  He watched her eat. She even managed to look enticing doing that. The way she moved, sometimes all nerves and awkwardness, other times confident and strident. She managed to be this complex mix without ever once losing her smarts or her determination to get answers for Shauna. Compelling and sexy with just a touch of kick-ass I-don’t-need-you bravado to have him thinking about her when he should be concentrating on other things. Like eating.

  He turned his plate around to silently offer her an onion ring. “I thought you were a genius.”

  She grabbed one then another and stacked them on the side of her plate. “Did the file Wren gave you say that?”

  “Not exactly, but your job sounded fancy.” The type where she wore a suit and celebrated office birthday parties and attended meetings. Maybe even had an assistant who answered her phone. At least that’s how it worked on television. He had no clue how it worked in real life.

  “I’m an actuary.”

  He only had a vague idea of what that meant. “Numbers and math, right?”

  “I analyze costs and risks for companies, everything from how much insurance should a museum carry to the potential risk of a business investing in a new product.”

  That sounded impressive in a not-really-saying-anything kind of way. But since he punched things for a living and got to shoot a gun now and then, he wasn’t exactly in her league. “Sounds impressive.”

  “It’s not hard to figure out why I chose it.” She picked up one of the onion rings and studied it before peeling off a piece of the batter. “Psychologically speaking, I mean.”

  Funny, but he thought it was kind of hard. “I might need a clue or two.”

  She dropped the onion ring without eating it. “I grew up with uncertainty. Not enough food or money. So, when it came time for me to plan my life—”

  “Which was when?”

  “When I was about fourteen.”

  “Ah.” He figured she might say something like that. At fourteen he’d been shooting beer cans off logs for fun. Clearly, they’d had different teen experiences. “Go ahead.”