A Promise to Protect

by Liz Johnson

  “I know.”

  He pulled his cell out of his pocket, thankful he’d programmed the police station number into it. “I’m calling the chief to report her missing.”

  “Charity Way P.D.” The gruff voice on the other end sounded like it needed another cup of coffee.

  “I’d like to speak with Chief Donal.”

  “He’s not here.”

  Matt turned to keep his eye on Ashley as she wandered through the ransacked room. “This is an emergency. Can you tell me how I can reach him?”

  “Do you need me to send an ambulance?”

  “No. Nothing like that. But a woman’s been taken.”

  The desk sergeant rustled several papers. “How long’s she been missing?”

  “Since this morning at least. Maybe last night.”

  “I can take her name and get her in the system. And we’ll have the next available officer look into it.”

  “How soon might that be?”

  The sergeant sounded bored. “Maybe twenty-four or forty-eight hours.”

  Seriously? Ashley could be attacked again and Miranda could be dead in two days. They didn’t have that kind of time to waste.

  He stabbed his fingers through his hair, wishing his leg was up for a boxing session or a five-mile run. Any kind of physical activity really. Just something to take his mind off this twisted mission.

  “Thanks.” He hung up the phone just as the sergeant was asking for his name. “Looks like it’s just you and me. But I have the chief’s cell number back at the house with the rest of my stuff. Let’s go back and make sure everyone’s okay.”

  Back in his truck, they sped along toward Lil’s, the rumble of the old engine and occasional creak of the seat springs the only sounds in the cab.

  She was probably thinking about what had happened to Miranda. And she should be. But that wasn’t nearly as important as figuring out what Joy knew. Because now there were three women in imminent danger.

  They were still on the country road. Matt glanced into his rearview mirror as an inky-blue Suburban picked up speed, narrowing the gap between their two cars. His entire body clenched with instinct.

  “Hang on to something,” he said as he pressed on the old accelerator. The truck roared at his demand, but it wasn’t going to be enough to outrun the sleek V8 engine behind them.

  Ashley twisted around, staring into the SUV’s grille as it bore down on them. “Who is that?”

  Her words were high and her question empty. She already knew who was behind the wheel of the other vehicle as she swung forward and clung to the door handle with white knuckles. She had to know it was the same guy who had sent a brick through her window and cracked her windshield.

  He’d been satisfied with distant threats before, but apparently not anymore.

  “This could get bumpy.” He let out a slow breath and swerved, the Suburban mirroring his movements as it eliminated the space between them. Its giant engine revved, and he only had time to yell, “Hold on!” as he flung his arm in front of Ashley before it crashed into the truck’s rear bumper.

  NINE

  Ashley threw her hands up to the dashboard to stop herself from flying forward, but it was Matt’s arm, which slammed into her chest, that held her in place as the truck lurched. Metal shrieked against metal as her head whipped forward.

  She managed to turn her neck far enough to catch sight of the giant SUV as it pulled back. Matt shifted into a lower gear to give the pickup more power, then crushed the gas pedal.

  “What are they doing?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat.

  “Trying to get us to pull over.”

  His voice was as calm as if he were having a lazy Sunday afternoon on the beach. Didn’t he know they were in trouble? That Suburban wasn’t politely asking them to pull over. The driver wanted something. Actually, the driver wanted someone.

  Her.

  She swallowed the rising bile in her throat and took two big gulps of air. “What are we going to do?”

  “Stay on the road.”

  Again with the clipped responses. Again with the freakish calm. His knuckles weren’t even white as he steered the truck into the lane for oncoming traffic. Granted there weren’t any cars coming at them, but she still grappled for the handle on her door. Anything to hold on to.

  His right knee bounced to a tune she couldn’t hear over the ringing in her ears. Her heart pounded, its speed rivaling the trees rushing by along the side of the road.

  The Suburban pulled alongside them, and she stared into the tinted black window, searching for a face or anything else recognizable.

  Suddenly the SUV veered into their lane.

  Matt swerved at the same time, two wheels falling into the shoulder and sending gravel flying.

  She could do nothing but try to catch her breath and hold on to her door for all she was worth. An attempt at asking God to keep them from a crash died on her lips as the truck started to slow.

  She spun on Matt. “What are you doing? They’re going to get in front of us.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got it under control.”

  The Suburban followed Matt’s lead, slowing down just enough to keep the vehicles parallel, still racing down the two-lane country road.

  “Are you ready?”

  Before she asked what she needed to be ready for, he jammed his foot against the accelerator, and they sailed in front of the SUV.

  “Hang on to something,” he said as he cranked the wheel back toward the right lane. The Suburban clipped the passenger’s side of the back bumper, spinning the truck until it faced the opposite direction.

  She closed her eyes as they spun, willing her stomach not to fall victim to the instant nausea, her hands still grasping the door handle so tightly that they were starting to go numb.

  Tires somewhere squealed, but they weren’t the ones on the truck. As if he’d done the same thing every day of his life, Matt spun the wheel until they were in the right lane, flying back toward Miranda’s house.

  He was going at least twice the posted speed limit, his eyes jumping between the rearview mirror and the road in front of them. He had this under control, and all she had to do was not distract him or make it worse.

  Just breathe.

  Focus on the trees soaring by.

  Keep her heart from flying out of her chest.

  They passed Miranda’s driveway without even a tap on the brakes, going miles and miles, turning onto obscure side roads until Matt swerved onto a cross street. He pulled mostly off the pavement and parked in the middle of the shallow ditch.

  With both hands on the top of the wheel, he hung his head and let out two quick breaths. “Are you all right?”

  Her clavicle was tender to her touch, and her seat belt had rubbed a spot on her neck raw. “Just fi-ine.” She clamped her eyes shut as her voice broke, swallowing the urge to give into what had caused it, if just for a moment.

  He didn’t say anything else. Before she could look in his direction, his door slammed. “Matt?”

  Her door squeaked as he wrenched it open and reached across her, undid her seat belt and lifted her to the ground without a word. His eyes had turned almost white, like ice; his hands were almost as cold as they ran over her arms, across her shoulders and up her neck. With deft movements, he inspected the back of her head, lifting her hair and then letting it slip back into place through his fingers. The chill that swept her skin had nothing to do with the fresh wind that kicked up the corner of her jacket.

  “How’s your neck feel? We should watch for whiplash.”

  “I’m all right. Really.” She looked into his face and made the eye contact he’d been avoiding. “Are you?”

  “Of course.” He smirked as he backed up a step and dropped his hands to
his sides.

  She missed the contact immediately, mirroring him another two steps into ankle-deep grass. He watched her movements with narrowed eyes, lines deep between his eyebrows.

  So this was Matt’s version of panic. He’d been completely, eerily calm for the whole car chase, but now he was visibly shaken. That was very telling—it meant that it wasn’t the dangerous situation that rattled him, but the possibility of harm coming to her.

  And now that she’d put the pieces together, she wanted nothing more than to slide back into his arms—to comfort him while taking some comfort for herself as well. As if he knew what she was thinking, his nostrils flared twice followed by a very slow blink. A shake of his head seemed to tell her that they shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  Whatever he thought they shouldn’t do didn’t matter in that moment. She hadn’t wanted anyone to hold her in years, hadn’t wanted to be touched by any man in just as long. But in that minute she needed Matt to wrap his arms around her and hold on to her until her pulse returned to something resembling normal.

  “We should get back to the house.” His face wrinkled like it wasn’t even close to what he wanted to do.

  “I just need a minute.”

  Or an hour.

  But how could she ask him to hug her fears away without admitting to them?

  She bit into her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d be willing to admit that he needed a bit of contact to keep the ground from spinning away, too.

  His cheeks puffed out as he let loose a slow breath, closing his eyes again and holding his arms out just enough to tell her it was okay.

  No one had to ask her twice.

  She stepped into his embrace, burying her face into his chest and breathing in the scents of his clean laundry and subtle aftershave. Hugging his waist with both arms, she wiggled a little bit closer as she laid her ear to his chest. The steady beats of his heart picked up speed until they matched her own, which still thudded as fast as they’d been driving.

  “Your heart is racing.”

  His swallow reverberated all the way through her. “I know.”

  Her stomach churned with full-grown and not unwelcome butterflies. Lips tingling in anticipation, she waited. Hoping.

  She wanted to kiss this man.

  The realization plunged through her middle, leaving her almost breathless. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and prayed for a jolt of courage before looking up.

  The infernal coolness in his eyes had thawed, replaced by something she’d never seen there before. Something that flicked and flickered like a flame.

  In that moment Matt’s jaw jerked, the pulse in his neck thumped and he dipped his head, leaving just a breath between their lips.

  His aftershave was spicier this close to him. Maybe he tasted spicy, too.

  She licked her lips again and pushed to her tiptoes until their lips met.

  He dropped one of his arms from her shoulder to her waist and moved the other so that he cupped the back of her neck, his fingers plunging into her hair.

  Without a thought she lifted her hand to his cheek, his morning stubble in stark contrast with his curls at her fingertips. He leaned into her touch, scratching her chin with his whiskers but never letting go.

  With shaking fingers, she grabbed the soft cotton of his shirt for support. And when her breath was completely gone, she pulled back and buried her face in the middle of his chest, avoiding any chance at eye contact.

  What had she just done?

  That was so stupid.

  But the zing still on her lips and prickles down her spine didn’t feel stupid. They felt like a warm robe on a cool morning. Like a cozy blanket in front of a roaring fire. Like she’d once dreamed it would.

  Actually it was better than her sixteen-year-old dream.

  This was real.

  The man that she’d had a crush on then held her now and provided all of his protection.

  He slowly pulled his fingers from her hair and ran his hand from the top of her head down to the back of her neck in smooth motions. His arm around her waist loosened, but he didn’t let go. Did he know that if he did, she’d fall into a heap at his feet?

  After several long minutes, her veins no longer felt like they were going to burst.

  Matt’s breathing had returned to normal, too, and he leaned away from her just far enough to look into her face. He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted it up. She couldn’t make her eyes focus past his mouth as he cleared his throat and asked, “Okay?”

  She bit her lip as she nodded.

  “Ready to go back to the house now?”

  Again, she could offer nothing but a mute nod.

  * * *

  Tristan was going to kill him.

  Matt didn’t have a chance in the world after kissing Ashley like that.

  But, boy, had it been worth it.

  He could still feel the way her lips had brushed his, hesitantly at first. But when her hands clutched at his shirt, she was all in, inhibitions and worries aside.

  For a moment there on the side of the road, he’d forgotten about the Suburban and the man threatening Ashley. He’d lost all track of their surroundings and given up forming a single coherent thought.

  He’d forgotten everything, including his own SEAL team number.

  She fit in his arms like she’d been custom molded to be there. Holding her was like the answer to a prayer he’d never even prayed.

  He’d survived a childhood that could have ruined him in so many ways. He’d gotten through Hell Week and been wet and sandy on the Coronado beach for eight weeks straight during SEAL indoctrination. He’d faced missions that had brought strong men to their knees.

  But he’d go through it all again for another kiss like that.

  Of course, if Tristan ever found out about it, he wouldn’t live long enough to re-up with the teams. Tristan would have good reason, too.

  He wasn’t good enough for Ashley. He couldn’t offer her much on his salary or give her nearly what she deserved. She should have beach-house vacations, diamond jewelry and a family. Even if he could ever afford the first two, the third was a bad idea for him.

  He’d read the literature. He knew the statistics. Children raised in abusive homes were more likely to become abusers of their spouses and their own children. He’d had three foster dads who had chosen beatings as their preferred form of discipline.

  Add to that long and often sudden overseas assignments. If he wasn’t present—and making a mess of things—he’d be thousands of miles away, leaving his wife to wait in anxious silence for interminable days and weeks.

  Any way he added it up, he’d make a rotten husband and father. Ashley and her someday children deserved much better than that.

  But he could still enjoy the memory of holding her in his arms.

  “Where are you going?” Ashley pointed down the cross street he should have taken to return to Lil’s Place.

  He’d missed his turn. Because he was daydreaming about kissing the girl sitting next to him again. “Just thought we should check the neighborhood for the Suburban before we go in.”

  If the wrinkle across her forehead was any indication, she didn’t entirely buy that. Too bad—it had been a very good excuse, even if he’d had to come up with it on the fly.

  There was no sign of the SUV on any of the surrounding streets or as he pulled up in front of Lil’s, so they hopped out of the truck, hurrying toward the door.

  Lil met them inside. “Were you able to help Miranda?”

  Ashley shook her head, blond hair bouncing once at her chin. “She wasn’t there.”

  Lil’s face turned pale beneath her artificially rosy cheeks, and she lifted shaking hands to cover her mouth. “Gone?”

>   He didn’t like the direction of this conversation. It wasn’t going to do them any good to breed fear in such a small house, so he plastered a smile in place. “We’ll take care of it. We’ll find her.” Lil seemed placated. But while Ashley’s eyes said she desperately wanted to believe him, he knew she wouldn’t be as easy to convince. She’d seen the house.

  He nodded toward the living room. “Did someone say something about house church? Should we sing a few songs and read a few verses?”

  Lil’s white curls bounced in eager agreement as she scurried to collect the others. He reached for Ashley’s elbow, giving it a quick squeeze, then immediately jerked back. Touching in any capacity was a bad idea.

  “I’ll go call the chief and tell him about the Suburban. Unless you’d rather go to the station to file a report?”

  “No. I don’t want to go anywhere right now, except to the couch.”

  He excused himself to go place the call from his makeshift bedroom, but when he punched in the chief’s cell phone number, it went straight to voice mail.

  “This is Chief Donal. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

  How to light a fire under the cop without scaring the daylights out of him? “Donal, this is Senior Chief Waterstone. I think we have a situation involving Miranda Cain. Also, Ashley and I ran into a little trouble on Highway 492 today not far from Miranda’s place. Call me back.”

  * * *

  “You’re squeezing me too tight.”

  Ashley jumped at the words whispered in her ear, immediately loosening her arms around the little girl sitting in her lap. “Sorry,” she whispered back.

  Greta smiled and snuggled back into place, her blue eyes trained on Matt’s face on the opposite side of the circle.

  He sat on a kitchen chair, reading from the open Bible in his hands and looking like he had home church every week.

  Then again, maybe he did.

  The SEAL schedule didn’t usually allow for weekends off, so his study of God’s Word was probably less formal than her normal Sunday schedule.

  He glanced up in the middle of a sentence and caught her eye, sending her heart into overdrive and her mind right back to the side of the road just a few hours before. Was he thinking about the same thing?