A Promise to Protect

by Liz Johnson

  When it was clear that she wasn’t going to fill in the blanks in her own story without prompting, he figured that the best strategy would be to charge right in. “So what happened that has your mom so worried that she called and riled up your brother?”

  Ashley ducked behind a circular rack of sweaters, blocking her face by holding up a top that should have only been worn by traffic cones. “Nothing worth making this much of a fuss about.”

  “You’re bad at this.”

  The sweater dropped, revealing rows of parallel wrinkles on her forehead and shining eyes. “Shopping?”

  He didn’t back down from the intensity of her gaze. “Dodging the question.” The room was so full that he had to slide between the overstuffed racks like a sand snake to reach her side. Without drawing undue attention from the pair of women on the far side of the store, he leaned in so that she couldn’t look away. When she blinked up at him with ocean-blue eyes and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, his stomach lurched. “Tristan is the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. He’s worried about you, and so am I. I promised him I’d check in on you. Let me help.”

  Fear flickered through her eyes, and she broke eye contact, taking the moment to hang the orange monstrosity back on its hanger, which seemed to take a lot longer than it should.

  Matt couldn’t do his job if he couldn’t read body language, and right now hers was telling him that she felt she was in over her head. Something had happened to put her in danger, even if she didn’t want to admit it. The direct approach hadn’t worked—maybe he could ease her into it, if he could get her talking.

  “Tristan tells me that you’re running a battered women’s shelter.”

  “That’s right.”

  He caught her gaze as she picked up several tops at least two sizes too big for her. “He brags about you all the time. Tells us how smart and talented you are.” She looked away. He’d stepped over the line. She may have been like a little sister, but it didn’t mean he knew her well enough to gush like he had. Time to get the conversation back on track. “But he says that not everyone is happy with the work that you’re doing. That sometimes the husbands and boyfriends of the women you’re helping get angry. Make threats. Maybe even...attack you directly.”

  Still not meeting his gaze again, she whispered, “Someone wasn’t paying attention and almost ran me over.” She ran her fingers over the hangers on the metal frame, studying the shirts as though there would be a test on them later. “It just rattled me a bit, but I’m sure it was just an accident now.”

  “Tristan said something about a letter,” Matt pressed.

  Ashley nodded, examining a stain on the front of one of the shirts. Frowning, she put it back and picked up another. “When I got home that day, there was an anonymous note saying that someone wanted his property back.”

  “You get a lot of anonymous letters?”

  Her nod was slow and thoughtful. “I suppose. More than a normal person.”

  His gut clenched. What kind of jerk threatened a battered women’s shelter? Someone without any respect. And a man who didn’t respect women could be dangerous. “Was there anything that made you think that particular note was connected to the car that almost hit you?” He followed her to shelves piled with blue jeans.

  “Ye-es,” she said slowly. “That is, I thought there was at the time. The note said something about missing me—that even though he’d missed me, I shouldn’t think that that meant I could keep his property. But maybe he just meant he’d missed seeing me—that he’d come by the house when I wasn’t there for him to yell at me in person.”

  “Did you turn the note over to the police?”

  The glance over her shoulder at him was more resigned than worried.

  Had threats become such a part of her life at Lil’s Place that she couldn’t even recognize a real one when it came along?

  And this one was real.

  “Of course I did. The chief told me they couldn’t do anything. The threat was too vague. It wasn’t...well...threatening enough.”

  Matt subdued the growl growing at the back of his throat. Abusive men weren’t to be trifled with. They weren’t concerned about anyone but themselves. Matt knew that firsthand. He also knew that they didn’t give up. If this guy was angry enough to try to run Ashley over, he wasn’t going to give up if she didn’t capitulate after a note. This guy would try other, more forceful tactics until he got what he wanted.

  Maybe he hadn’t always been able to protect his foster moms from being beaten when he was a kid, but he most certainly could do something to protect Ashley from an abuser now. Ten years on the teams and more training than any man could use at one time, he knew how to defend himself and how to protect the innocent. And with her platinum-blond hair, freckled nose and shining eyes, she looked like the epitome of innocence.

  “Listen, I’m just going to be in town for a few days. I’m already set up at the hotel down the street. Let me just look into things while I’m here.” He followed her to the register as she purchased several pairs of jeans. “I won’t get in your way.”

  She smiled up at him as though he was a child. “Thanks, but I’m okay. Really. I’m used to taking care of my girls.” She stepped through the door that he held open and strolled toward her parked car. “I got the note more than a week ago. If there was any danger, something else would have happened by now.” She laughed up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “So now what will you do?”

  He pushed her arm as he’d seen Tristan do a thousand times, pushing aside a decidedly unbrotherly thought. “Well, my hotel doesn’t have ESPN, but I am trained in spec ops. I’ll come up with something.”

  Something like setting up a perimeter around her home to keep the threat at bay, and making sure that her security system would do its job. He’d stop by the police station and see if he could get them to pay a little more attention to Ashley’s situation, just in case he needed them down the road. And then he’d ask around to see if there were any troublemakers in town. Pressing on them might reveal the coward afraid to stand by his threats.

  As they reached her car, her laughter died on her lips. He didn’t have to ask if she still thought the threat had passed. Pure terror flashed across her face as she took in the smashed windshield of her coupe. And tucked over a spiderweb of cracks and under a wiper blade, the person responsible for the mess had left a clear message.

  If I don’t get what’s mine, you’ll get what’s yours.

  TWO

  Crossing her arms against a chill coming from somewhere deep within, Ashley stared at the note still wedged beneath the wiper blade.

  If I don’t get what’s mine, you’ll get what’s yours.

  Another line beneath the first gave instructions for returning his property. Put it back where you found it.

  The words made her skin crawl as another shiver shot down her spine, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end. Her gaze traveled up and down the sidewalk. The chalkboard signs and colorful awnings were the only signs of life, except for Matt, who was marching backward toward the closest alley, his eyes squinting at her hard. “Stay put.”

  At any other time, she might have resented being ordered around, but at that moment she was too worried to even notice. Apparently the note and near hit-and-run hadn’t been a fluke. Someone really was after something. Or someone.

  And that meant she might need the SEAL’s help to protect her girls. As uncomfortable as she was with the thought of trusting her safety—and especially the safety of the families in her house—to someone else, her discomfort seemed a small price for the specialized protection he could offer.

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks and took several deep breaths, her stomach pitching like a canoe in a typhoon. Even with her eyes pinched closed, she could see her windshield, and she clamped them even t
ighter, trying to dispel the image. Although the picture wouldn’t disappear, she refused to give in to the burning at the back of her eyes, instead letting out a slow breath through clenched teeth as she prayed for something she couldn’t even name.

  Peace?

  Courage?

  Protection?

  “There’s no one there.” Matt’s words snatched her from the depths of her own mind. “This must have happened a while ago.” His lips barely moved, but the force of his tone could have blown over the first little pig’s house. She could only be thankful that his ire was directed at the situation and not at her.

  “Thanks for checking.”

  “We need to report this.”

  She nodded, reaching into her purse and pulling out her phone. “First I have to call the house and make sure everyone’s okay. That this guy—” she nodded toward her car “—didn’t go there after doing this.” With fingers that shook more than she wanted to admit, she punched in the number to Lil’s Place; the knot in her stomach tightened with each unanswered ring.

  The intensity in Matt’s eyes only made her throat thick, so she turned her back on him. Holding her breath on the fifth ring, she prayed someone would pick up. What if the man who’d smashed her windshield and left this note had hurt the women at Lil’s?

  No. She wouldn’t let that happen. Not on her watch.

  If someone didn’t answer on the next ring, she’d fly—shattered glass and all—back to the house.

  “Hello?”

  “Meghan?”

  “Hi, Ashley.” Was her voice too calm? Her tone overly cool? Was someone there with her, threatening her?

  Ashley bit her lip hard, the pain forcing her mind back to the immediate. “Is everything all right at the house?”

  “Of course.”

  “But it took five rings for you to pick up.”

  Meghan chuckled, the bright, cheerful sound an exact replica of her ten-year-old daughter’s laugh. “The girls and I are making cookies, and we had the mixer on. We didn’t hear the phone.”

  “And everyone else? Carmen? Benita and Julio?”

  “Well, Carmen left this morning with you, but everyone else is in the living room.” Right. Carmen’s interview and testing for the bookkeeping position would last at least another couple of hours, and she had lined up another ride back to Lil’s.

  Meghan’s tone dropped, and Ashley could picture her ducking into the hallway away from her two young daughters. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  Ashley let out a slow breath, glancing back at the car and the intimidating man leaning against it. Arms crossed, he leaned on one leg and rested the other foot on top of the opposite ankle, his eyes sweeping the street over and over. When he caught her staring at him, he gave her a quick nod and returned to his watching.

  “Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. I’ll be home soon.”

  “All right. Bye, then.”

  Ashley pressed the button on her phone to end the call and slipped it back into her purse. The hair on her arms was just beginning to fall back into place.

  She turned to call to Matt, only to find him already at her side, the offending note gripped between two gloved fingers. “Ready?” He nodded toward the police station across the street and fell into step beside her.

  * * *

  It took all of Matt’s willpower not to run to the police station and demand to know why they hadn’t done more to protect Ashley and her charges. How could the cops let a car be vandalized right across the street from their station? He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. For all intents and purposes, he was a civilian here with no authority. And the police wouldn’t be willing to work with him if he charged in, taking over the situation.

  He could sit back this time. Watch and listen. Any mission was doomed to fail if there wasn’t enough intel. Time for a little recon.

  As they entered the fluorescent light of the station, Ashley’s back arched a fraction, her pointed chin sticking out just a little bit farther, and he couldn’t help his smile as she approached the unassuming officer standing behind the counter.

  “I’d like to speak with the chief.” Ashley’s voice, completely even and free of any hint of the scare she’d just received, carried to every corner of the room. If the chief was in, he’d heard her.

  “I’m sorry.” The officer folded his newspaper and set it on the counter, smoothing it out with a single swipe. “The chief isn’t in right now.”

  Ashley leaned in a little more, her eyes unblinking. “Well, then, who can I speak with about my smashed windshield and the threatening note left under my wiper? Perhaps you’re available to take a look at it?”

  “Sorry. I’m the only one here, and I can’t leave.” The burly desk sergeant flipped his hand toward the two chairs on the opposite side of the room. “But you can wait here for the chief if you want to.”

  Ashley’s shoulders dropped a fraction, but she marched over to the chairs as though this was why she’d come to the station. Matt couldn’t match her nonchalance; his frown was still on display. When they were settled into the seats, he bent toward her. “Is it usually like this?”

  “Small town. Small police force.” She never took her gaze from the sergeant—at least, what was visible of the top of his head behind the paper he’d resumed reading. “The chief knows my situation, but he’s still only one guy.”

  The police might not be much help. Matt had hoped that they would be halfway to identifying the threat to Ashley by now. But if the local law enforcement wasn’t equipped to do that, it was up to him. Which meant he needed information and a place to start. No time like the present.

  “So who do you think tried to run you over last week?”

  Taking an audible breath, she sat a little taller in her chair. “Like I said before, we get calls and threats at Lil’s Place. It’s just part of the job. Ex-husbands. Soon-to-be exes. Boyfriends. We’ve heard from them all. But we hadn’t had anything significant for a few weeks before last. Of course, we hadn’t had any new residents for a while up until last week. But there’s something different about these threats.”

  “How so?”

  She folded her hands in her lap, every inch the calm and collected professional until her knuckles turned white. She squeezed them so hard that the tips of her fingers turned red; she seemed wound tighter than a guitar string. But at least he could help her. He’d do whatever it took to make sure that Ashley—and anyone that she called family—was safe from whatever goon lurked in the shadows. He owed that to Ashley and her mother, who’d welcomed him into their family—and he owed even more to Tristan, who would never forgive him if anything happened to Ashley on his watch.

  “Usually we know exactly who the threats are from. Abusive husbands aren’t usually afraid of being recognized.” She glanced into his eyes as she chewed on her lower lip. “These notes are different. They’re so vague. No names. No precise demands. They could be from anyone.”

  Matt finally set the note from her windshield down on the table next to his bouncing knee. “And you haven’t seen anyone lurking around your place?”

  Instead of answering his question, Ashley jumped up as two men entered the station. “Chief Donal, may I speak with you?”

  So this was the missing chief.

  “Hello, there, Miss Sawyer.” As he turned back to his companion, his sport coat pulled tight against his round belly, and he unbuttoned the jacket. “I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow, Jimmy. Same time?”

  Jimmy nodded and waved, but not before tipping his nonexistent hat at Ashley. He didn’t bother with more than a glance in Matt’s direction before disappearing out the door. Matt didn’t like a guy who didn’t at least acknowledge another man, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it as he gave the police chief his full attention.

  �
��Well, well. Miss Sawyer. Twice in one week? What have I done to deserve such a treat? And you’ve brought a friend.” Donal stuck his hand out. “Albert Donal, police chief.”

  Matt stood slowly, careful not to favor his injured leg. It wouldn’t do to have anyone thinking he wasn’t up to his assignment. He squeezed the other man’s hand just hard enough to let the chief know he wasn’t dealing with a pushover. “Senior Chief Matt Waterstone.”

  Donal pulled his hand back, nodding. “A navy man.”

  Ashley clearly had no time for formalities; she stepped directly in front of the older man. “Someone smashed in my windshield and left me another note.”

  Using a gloved hand to make sure he didn’t leave fingerprints on the note, Matt held it out to the chief.

  Donal’s eyes narrowed, and he ushered them into his office. He produced an evidence bag and slipped the scrap of paper inside.

  When he had settled into the leather chair behind his wide desk, the police chief studied the paper. “Where’d the note come from?” He didn’t tear his gaze from the message, as though studying it would reveal some sort of hidden meaning.

  “It was under my windshield wiper.”

  Donal glanced up then, surprise crossing his features. “Sit down. Please.”

  They accepted the offer, both leaning toward the chief.

  “Did you see who left this or what smashed your windshield?”

  Matt looked at Ashley, but she didn’t wait for him before diving in. “We were running a few errands—to Puckett’s Pharmacy and Jenni’s shop—and when we came back, someone had smashed it and left the note.”

  “Whoa, there.” Donal held up both hands. “We don’t know that the same person who wrote the note also smashed your windshield. For that matter, we don’t know that the broken windshield wasn’t an accident of some sort. We have had an increase in vandalism since the layoffs at the plant. It might even just be kids playing a prank.”