The Protector

by HelenKay Dimon

  She’d tried to argue with him in the car but he’d shut down. He didn’t respond at all, which had to be the number one most annoying male trait in the world. He just sat there, taking it. The lack of a response had her anger winding down, and she really wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. She certainly refused to let him win an argument by default because he had exhausted her or bored her to death.

  He’d gone out to do a walk around the buildings. Muttered something about checking the perimeter before he closed the door behind him. The longer she stood there, the more the questions piled up. She wanted answers now.

  She texted him and waited all of ten seconds for him to respond. When he didn’t, she unlocked the door and opened it, searching the darkness for his familiar gait. Nothing moved or made noise in the parking lot in front of the motel. Nothing looked to be out of order either.

  The rooms lined up in a straight row, all connected to each other. The manager’s office sat more than twenty feet away to the right. Lights burned in the window but the curtains kept her from seeing anything and she figured she should be grateful for that.

  There were only three cars parked on the gravel and one of those was the rental Damon insisted they get before they drove here. Something about him not wanting to put the miles on her car or pile a bunch of stuff on his bike, which she took to mean motorcycle, but who knew.

  Then there was the kicker, how he didn’t want to make it easy for anyone to trace their license plates. If he wanted to scare her with that, it worked. Since someone had made it a habit of breaking into her place and sitting on the couch, she was very much in favor of not being easily tracked.

  A memory, some idea she couldn’t grab hold of, tickled in the back of her mind. Her gaze switched back to the manager’s rooms. Something about . . . no, she couldn’t get her brain to kick into gear and fill her in. She rubbed her arms, trying to ignore the goose bumps. She needed that gun. Holding it would make her feel better.

  She turned, right as the memory sparked in her brain—the lights. The outside ones at this end of the motel were dark. The rooms around them . . . nothing but darkness. Just as the thought registered, she heard the footsteps. Looking up, she saw Damon turn the corner and head toward her. He glanced behind him, out into the parking lot. Everywhere but in her direction.

  “Where have you—”

  His eyes widened as they focused on something behind her. “Get down!”

  Another male body came barreling toward her from the opposite direction. Big and brawny. Wide shoulders. Fury echoing in the grunting sound he made as he quickened his pace. And a black mask where his face should be. It was as if he stared through her. His attention appeared to be locked on Damon.

  Anxiety welled inside her. She was stuck in the middle.

  “Cate, move!” Damon ran now. He started from farther away but was gaining ground. Just not enough.

  Her hand shot out as she pushed the door open behind her, thinking to squeeze inside and grab her gun. That might be the only thing to equalize a battle between Damon and this other guy. Adrenaline fueled her steps but not fast enough. She’d just crossed the threshold when the attacker slammed his hand into her chest, pushing her out of his path. At the last second, she lifted her head, just avoiding a hard smack to the face that likely would have knocked out her front teeth.

  He passed close enough for his hot breath to skim across her cheek. She tried to take a step back and her knees buckled. Off balance, she started to slide down to the small porch in front of the door. She reached out, trying to break her fall, keep on her feet, but her butt hit the wood and she sat down, turning to see what happened to the attacker.

  She blinked, trying to take in the chaos of two men battling less than two feet away. The mass of bodies and all that grunting. While she flailed, they struck out at each other and swore. Two twists and Damon had the attacker in a headlock.

  The other man grabbed at Damon’s arm, raking his nails over Damon’s skin, but Damon didn’t make a sound. They struggled and punched each other. The attacker managed to hook his leg behind Damon’s and trip him up. They both went down in a rush.

  The porch shook as their bodies crashed into it. A crack rang out from the force of the fall, but no one came running. Every motel room door stayed shut. The whole time, she struggled to sit up, to think. She needed the gun and a phone, which she dropped or lost because it was no longer in her hand.

  She struggled to think of the right thing to do next as the men rolled off the porch and crashed into the dirt and gravel below. In a second, they were back up again. Damon landed a crushing blow that had the other man’s head shooting back. Taking advantage of the blind spot, Damon nailed him with a roundhouse kick right to his stomach.

  The guy’s legs seemed unsteady and his balance off as he stumbled backwards. He held out a hand as if to call for some sort of weird time-out.

  “Take off the mask.” Damon’s stern voice whipped around the parking lot.

  The guy shook his head. He bent over as if he were trying to catch his breath. When Damon took a step toward him, the guy bolted, all injuries seemingly gone. He ran toward the tree line and blended in with the darkness.

  Damon didn’t even try to catch him. “Damn it.”

  The door to the manager’s office opened and the guy shouted into the now relative quiet. “Everything okay out here?”

  Damon waved as he gulped in air. “She slipped. We’re fine.”

  The attack, the fight—it all happened in superspeed. While she watched, it felt like it dragged and she kept trying to get up so she could help, but she realized now that the whole thing hadn’t lasted a minute. When the rush and chaos ended she could hear the heavy pounding of breathing and knew it came from her.

  “Hey.” Damon stepped onto the porch and crouched down in front of her. “Look at me. Are you okay?”

  There was only one of him, which she took as a good sign. Except for his ruffled hair, he looked fine. She didn’t think that was fair at all since she’s been reduced to a lump on the ground. The headache hammering her skull was not welcome either.

  “Why did you tell the manager that?”

  “Do you really think he didn’t watch the whole scene from his window?” Damon exhaled. “For all we know, he’s the one who tipped off Vincent and whoever that guy was.”

  “That guy wasn’t Vincent.” She’d sat next to the man in the diner. He smelled like he’d been standing close to a fire, despite the warm weather. The attacker’s scent was much different. “He didn’t smell right to be Vincent.”

  “I’m not going to try to argue with that logic.” Damon brushed his fingertips over her arm and across the side of her face. The touch, so gentle and soft, had her leaning closer to him even though she realistically knew he was checking for injuries.

  “Damon.” The need to return the soothing gesture hit her. Somehow, she conjured up the energy to lift her hand and traced her fingers over his cheek. Down to his mouth. To that inviting lower lip. “That man appeared out of nowhere.”

  “I heard noises, so I went around the back of the motel. That’s when . . .” Damon shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t get him before you came outside. Did he hurt you?”

  “More like he pushed me out of the way.” Which didn’t make sense to her. Why go to the trouble of making sure she was out of the fray? She turned slightly, trying to make out his figure in the darkness, and pain flashed across the top of her eyes. She reached up to touch the spot and hissed when her fingers skimmed her temple.

  “Is it your head?”

  “I think that was me. I slipped and . . .” She actually wasn’t sure what happened and didn’t try to make it up. All that registered was the distinct sense the attacker beelined for Damon, not meaning to do more than shove her out of the way.

  “Jesus.” Damon shifted as he got to his feet and put an arm around her. “Let’s get you up and checked.”

  But the haze had begun to clear. The pain in her head sti
ll thumped but fear no longer raced through every vein. She could almost feel the adrenaline seep out of her, leaving her boneless and dragging. Little more than deadweight.

  She leaned on him until they got inside then she stood by as he locked each lock, knowing anyone who really wanted to get in could. A few steps and they were in the bathroom. He put the lid down and guided her to the toilet seat as he studied the back of her head. He kept the probing and poking gentle, so she tried not to squeal when he hit that one spot that was sore.

  “I’m not a doctor or concussion specialist, but I think you’re clear. He did rattle your head pretty good though.”

  Not exactly how she would describe the moment, but sure. “Again, I did it.”

  “I prefer to blame him.” Damon swore under his breath. “Now we just have to figure out who that was.”

  She needed him to concentrate on her and this moment and not mentally run off seeking revenge. “So, your family is one of the original families at Sullivan.”

  His eyes widened. “We’re going to have that conversation now?”

  It might be the only time she could catch him off guard enough to answer. “I figure you feel bad about what just happened and—”

  “Like shit, yes.” He leaned back against the sink, putting a little bit of distance between them in the small room, but not much. “You shouldn’t have been—”

  “How were you supposed to know someone dressed in ski gear was going to attack you by going through me? Now I know this small town is no safer than DC, which is a little weird.” She’d prefer to have this conversation just about anywhere else, but she suspected if she moved he would take advantage of the break and try to not answer what she asked. “But you should feel compelled to answer my questions. Consider it your punishment for the silent treatment in the car ride from the diner then running away on your big walk before I could corner you in the motel room.”

  His grip tightened on the edge of the sink behind him. “I thought that was slick.”

  “No.” It was as if they were having some big marital spat without ever going through the marriage part. Now she knew why her mother stayed single. “The thing about you being a lifetime Sullivan resident and kindergarten buddies with Vincent. Go.”

  “That’s not . . .” Damon shook his head. “Damn, don’t say it that way.”

  Poor baby. “Tell me the truth or I hunt down the gun.”

  He nodded toward the main room. “It’s in the safe.”

  In just a few words he’d strayed off topic. She recognized the strategy now because he used it a lot, but this time she let it happen because she wanted to prove a point about him being all covert putting them both in danger. “I’m supposed to guess the combination?”

  “It’s your birthday.”

  She felt the air rush right out of her. Of course he knew her birthday. He probably knew things she’d forgotten thanks to Wren and that file of his. Okay, then. “Do you get how frustrating it is for you to know stuff about me but I don’t get to know anything about you?”

  He had the good sense to wince. “Yeah, that would probably tick me off.”

  “So?”

  He shrugged. “I’m private.”

  “And unbelievably annoying.”

  That stern frown flipped and he shot her a bright smile. “I think I’m growing on you.”

  Her stomach tumbled, which was not a good thing at all. She was used to the sensation when something upset her or that one time she went on a boat and never again. Having it tumble over some dude’s smile was not okay with her.

  To block whatever superpower he was using on her, she looked anywhere but at his face. The rip in his T-shirt at the collar. Those forearms. Then she saw the trail of red and slowly got to her feet. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Is that a pickup line? Because it’s kind of weird.”

  “It’s reality.” She turned his arm to show him the lines of blood running down his elbow.

  “It’s a scratch.”

  It was more than that. She thought back to the fight and remembered the attacker using his nails, but now she knew that’s not really what she saw. These cuts were from a blade. The attacker used a knife on Damon.

  “Maybe we should call the police. Make a report.” She realized it was a ridiculous idea as soon as she said it. Years had passed but she’d bet some of the same police who ignored her sister’s murder were still here. Yeah, no thanks.

  Ignoring her own comment, she turned him around and cleaned off the blood in the sink. The warm water ran over the underside of his arm and her fingers.

  “This actually does look like the kind of place the police need to visit pretty often.” He reached for a towel and pressed it against the wound. “You probably didn’t get a great look at the manager but he gives off a Psycho vibe.”

  “Naturally, you brought me here.”

  His head shot up and he stared at her in the mirror. “I’ll protect you.”

  “I’m not a damsel in distress.”

  “Never thought you were.” The serious expression morphed back into a smile as he stepped out of the bathroom. “My guess is you could kick my ass.”

  “You should keep that in mind.” She was about to call him back when he reappeared in the doorway with a first aid kit. “And of course you have one of those. I assume that’s a statement about how often someone tries to kill you.”

  He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “Answer this . . .” She opened the kit and rummaged around for something to clean the wound and a bandage. She didn’t see him move but she felt the touch of his finger under her chin.

  He lifted her head until their gazes met. “You actually have to say words now.”

  “Is this what you do for a living? Pick up a fake girlfriend and race into small towns across America to solve old crimes?”

  His thumb slipped over her chin. Back and forth in a rhythmic beat. “You make me sound like a bad television show.”

  “I’m serious. I’m trying to figure you out.” And fight off the tremble that started in her muscles and threatened to take over her entire body. “You’re this messed-up puzzle with all these odd pieces.”

  “Now that’s definitely a pickup line.”

  “One minute you’re joking around. The next you’re fighting off attackers.” She hadn’t heard him coming until the other guy went flying. Damon was tall and all muscle and, she guessed, fully trained for this sort of work. “You have a connection to this place but you got out. From the few things you’ve said, it’s clear that anyone who gets out of here runs, which means it’s dangerous for you to be here. Yet here you are.”

  “Wren hired me.”

  She covered his hand with hers. She meant to push it away and force him to talk to her but the minute their fingers touched, they entwined. “I’m not buying it. This gig with me is not a way for you to score a few easy bucks.”

  “I am not a hero, Cate.” He tried to pull away.

  She held on, resting their joined hands against her chest. “Never said you were. You’re a flesh and blood man.”

  And this close, she could smell the soap on his skin and see the darker streaks in his green eyes.

  “Very much so.” His breath seemed to hiccup. “So . . .”

  When his voice trailed off she got a taste of what it felt like to have someone drop the end of important sentences like she often did. But she didn’t think he tried it or that he was playing games. He stared, unblinking, at her and her own breath stuttered in her chest.

  “Now you’re the one who should finish the sentence.” Her voice came out in a breathy whisper.

  “We’re in a tense situation. Stress sometimes disguises itself as something else.”

  The words crashed into her brain, wiping out every other thought. She pulled back a bit, but kept holding his hand. “What are you talking about?”

  His gaze traveled over her face now, landing on her mouth. “How much I want to kiss you.”

  Ah, okay. T
hat sounded better.

  “I thought we were talking about your past.”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “About the risks you’re taking.” The conversation about his past and this assignment had dwindled away, as predicted. If this was his way of changing the topic it sure worked. Her entire focus centered on him and how good it felt as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

  He really was an evil genius.

  “So long as you stay in Salvation, I stay.” His foot slipped between hers.

  Forget the headache and the attack. All she wanted was this—him—right now. “But you still say you’re not a hero.”

  “Just a man who wants to kiss you.”

  She almost shouted yes but somehow kept her voice calm and steady. “Do it.”

  “Cate, I don’t—”

  He was making this way harder than it needed to be. “Now, Damon.”

  She moved first, dropping his hand and bringing hers up to cradle his throat. As her eyes closed, their lips met. Not soft and sweet. No, when Damon Knox kissed, he went for it. His arms wrapped around her and the blood left her head.

  He kissed like he walked, full of confidence. His mouth covered hers, moving and learning, first licking along her bottom lip then swooping in. She felt picked up and spun around but her feet never left the ground. The kiss reeled her, made her forget her questions and concerns, and had her wanting more.

  When he lifted his head a few seconds later and stared down at her, all she wanted was the feel of his warm mouth against hers again. Her tongue swept over his as the kiss started anew. Her stomach rolled and bounced as if she were on a sexy, wild roller coaster. Her fingers slid into his hair as a hot little grumble sounded from the back of his throat.

  She was just about to wrap a leg around his when he cut off the kiss and lifted his head. His heavy breaths echoed around her and he didn’t let go, but he wasn’t watching her. His focus switched to the locked door.