She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat. How had things turned so ugly in such a short amount of time? It seemed like yesterday that she’d been walking on air over her amazing new job offer. Even her grandfather, who hadn’t approved of anything she’d done since grammar school, had been grudgingly impressed. She should have known it was too good to be true. Great salary, solid benefits, all served up at a stunning locale. And then Lindy and Owen had checked into the retreat, and brought the whole sordid house of cards tumbling down. Lindy had almost been killed in the process.
The guilt rushed back in, displacing the self-pity. Unwittingly or not, she’d been a part of a plot to entrap wealthy clients into cheating on their spouses. Nico had planned to spend six months filming the guests in premeditated sexual situations with select members of the staff, and then disappear into the night with the footage, later to be used to extort money from the guilty parties. But he hadn’t counted on his past coming back to haunt him. Owen had spent months crafting his revenge, and his hard work paid off when he uncovered Nico’s secret. And thank God he had. There were dozens of recordings, and countless lives could’ve been ruined had Nico been able to follow through with his plans.
No matter how hard she tried, no matter that she hadn’t known, she couldn’t seem to scrub that oily smudge off her soul. There were signs, and she’d ignored them. Now people were dead. Maybe she could’ve stopped it before it started, if she’d only paid closer attention. Guilt by way of negligence. Was this the price?
“It’s not your fault.” Gavin’s low voice disrupted her dark thoughts. How had he known?
“You weren’t there. How would you know?” She was so tired all of a sudden, so damned tired.
“I know how it is to blame yourself for something you didn’t do. I’ve played that game before. The ‘what if’ game. It’s an illusion because even if you did everything right, other actions would have affected the outcome. There’s no way to know what would’ve happened.” His strong hands gripped the wheel as he took a corner far faster than she would have. “Suppose you did notice something weird. And suppose you did say something to Nico. What’s to say he wouldn’t have made you disappear right then and carried out his plan anyway?”
She made a noncommittal noise. There was no point in trying to talk about this right now. Her brain was like a colander. Things had gone so topsy-turvy that nothing seemed to make sense.
“I’m going to get us some distance, and then we’ll stop for the night and make some decisions,” Gavin said firmly. “I had planned on you coming with me, but I thought we’d have more time to prepare. This changes things, and we’re going to have to think on the fly. Did you have your cell phone on you when we left?”
She sat back in her seat and shook her head. “No, I always keep it in my purse, and I left that in the kitchen. In fact, I have no money, no credit cards. I don’t even have my driver’s license.”
“That’s good. You won’t need any of those things. You’ve got to disappear for a while. Lay low, and I’m going to help you do that. It will give us time to figure out what’s going on here, but it will also give the police some time to work.”
“How long is a while? I have my business to see to.”
“You haven’t had any clients for over a month.”
He wasn’t trying to be cruel, she could tell by his tone, but damn that hurt. “And I will continue to not have them if I don’t put the time in to drum up business, make calls, offer workshops, and so on,” she reasoned. “Are we talking days? Weeks?”
“I can’t answer that. There are too many unknowns right now. They could catch the perp tomorrow for all I know. I say plan for the worst, hope for the best.”
“Well, I need to contact my grandparents. Let them know I’m all right at least.” In spite of her tense relationship with them, they’d put a very distinguished roof over her head when her mother had abandoned her at the age of three, and they had been her caregivers her whole life. She owed them a phone call, no matter how dreadful it would be. She winced, just thinking of her grandfather’s reaction to the scandal.
“Fine, but not right yet,” Gavin said. “Once we get settled and I have a chance to set up a secure network, we’ll contact them. We can’t be sure they’re not being watched right now, and we can’t take the risk of them leading the killers to you.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything. She didn’t trust herself to speak without falling apart.
He must have sensed that she was on the cusp of breaking because he reached out and patted her gently on the hand. “I’m going to take care of you. You have my word on that. But I need you clearheaded and ready to do what I tell you, so whatever it takes to get you there mentally—sleep, meditation, fucking long division– you go ahead and do that for the next few hours while I drive, all right Doc?”
…
Good thing he hadn’t taken his Lincoln. Gavin gave himself a mental pat on the back for that choice. Even if one of the neighbors had seen them leave, hopefully the fact that he’d used a rental car would buy them some time before anyone figured out who she was with and even more time to figure out where they’d gone. One thing was for sure. Whoever was behind this would find her eventually. This wasn’t some second-rate operation. Using explosives and having pockets deep enough to manage intel and surveillance suggested professionals were either behind this or on the payroll. The question was, who’d hired them and why?
He wondered briefly if the neighbors might have any information, then dismissed it. None of them had so much as peeked out of their gingerbread houses at the sounds of trouble. Rather than making him happy, it annoyed the hell out of him. Bunch of wusses. He definitely did the right thing getting her out of here. Those people were totally apathetic. They couldn’t care less what was happening as long as it wasn’t happening to them.
He glanced at her sleeping form, grabbed his Bluetooth from the dash, and slipped it over his ear. Owen and Lindy had told him to call when he left Sarabeth’s regardless of the outcome. He’d gotten the feeling that Lindy had been dubious as to whether her friend would even let him in the house, and he knew she was probably a nervous wreck. He engaged the scrambler option on his secure phone and dialed. The phone only rang once before Owen answered his own similar model.
“How did it go?” His clipped tone was softened by a fair dose of Irish, and Gavin resisted the urge to let it lure him back to his own Scottish brogue.
He kept his voice low so he didn’t wake up his sleeping charge. “Depends on your perspective, I guess. If you mean did she come with me? Yeah, I have her. If you mean did anyone not try to kill her while I was there? No. Or yes. Wait, is it a double negative if—”
Owen let out a growl of impatience. “Cut the bullshit. What the hell happened?”
He glanced at Sarabeth as she shifted in her seat before settling again with a soft sigh. She looked so much less prickly in slumber. “She didn’t want to come with me and sent me packing. Luckily, as we were on our way out, her car exploded, so she changed her mind.” Silence filled the car as he waited for that chestnut to sink in.
“Are either of you hurt?” Owen finally asked.
“Nope. But it was closer than I would’ve liked. The only thing that saved her was Chicago’s crazy weather. The temperature dropped to forty degrees last night, and she wanted to heat up her car before she left. Whoever planted the bomb obviously hadn’t factored that in when they set it. They probably had her under surveillance for the past few days. Up until today, it’s been a warm spring by Chicago standards, and she’d had no reason to use her car starter. It wasn’t a habit so they didn’t account for it. Still, it’s starting to feel like this is the work of a pro, which suggests big money behind it.”
“Do you think you could have been spotted leaving with her?”
“It’s possible one o her neighbors saw us out the window, although I doubt anything will come of that. They weren’t looking too hard, if you know what I mean.
I’m driving an under-the-radar rental from a guy I know so even if they run the plates, it’ll take some real doing to track me. And I don’t have a tail, which leads me to believe the bomber didn’t have anyone on the scene at the time. I think we’re good for a while as long as she keeps her head down.”
“Okay. Lindy is champing at the bit here. She wants to know how Sarabeth is holding up.”
Gavin could hear Owen’s wife in the background furiously shooting rapid-fire questions at his friend. “She’s doing all right. I think it was a shock. She thought—actually, hoped is probably more accurate—she wouldn’t be targeted. Denial is a powerful thing. She’s sleeping right now, which is probably for the best. Give her brain a chance to decompress.”
“So what’s the plan now, and what can we do to help? I was thinking of paying her family a visit, let them know what’s going on.”
“That’s a great idea. I don’t want her contacting them directly until we know for sure they’re not being monitored, and that’s going to take a while. We’re going to a motel, then we’re going to get a different car and some supplies. Her face will be all over the news by tomorrow, and I want her to look like someone else by the time that happens. Once she’s safe, I’m going to start trying to figure out who’s at the bottom of this mess.”
“Sounds good. Whatever else you need, call me. Did you have a safe house in mind?”
“We’re going to head back to my place. There’s no better security in the world. I’ve got an idea that I’m still knocking around. When it’s fully baked, I’ll call you.”
“All right. In the meantime, I’ll have the jet fueled up and be on my way to Chicago in the next couple of hours.” There was a long pause. “Gavin, I really appreciate this. I know it’s bloody inconve—”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me. I’m only doing it so I can have a taste of what it’s like to have you owe me one for a change.” He disconnected and tugged the device from his ear. As he turned to set it on the console, he saw Sarabeth peering at him through clear green eyes.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, taking in the still-chalky pallor of her skin.
“Like three people I know were murdered, and I was almost blown to smithereens. You?”
His lips twitched. “Somewhere between that and pretty good.”
She reached up and tugged the clip from her hair, sending the mass of dark-blond tresses tumbling around her shoulders. “How much longer before we stop?”
She looked like a whole different person with her hair down. Softer. More approachable. Some might even say attractive, if you liked the subtle type. Which he didn’t. He dragged his gaze away and focused on the road ahead. “We can stop any time. I figured I’d let you sleep while you were able. Next motel we pass, we can check in.”
She nodded and massaged her scalp for a moment before scooping her hair back into its clip, this time in a more haphazard ponytail. “I could use something to eat, if we have the chance. I had a grapefruit for breakfast, but that feels like days ago.”
“I have to run out anyway. We’ll get you settled, and I’ll do what I have to do, then get food on the way back.”
She nodded again, settling back into her seat. Damn, she was awfully agreeable. Not at all like the contrary woman who’d blown him off that morning. He’d heard that some people were at their best in the face of adversity. Maybe the doc was one of those types. And, he acknowledged grudgingly, just maybe protecting her wouldn’t be as awful as he’d thought.
Chapter Three
“No way,” she said, shoving past him to march into the tiny kitchenette. He must have let her because if he wanted to stop her, it wouldn’t have taken much. She tried not to think of what that slab of muscle would feel like under her hands without the T-shirt covering it.
What was wrong with her? She never thought of things like that. If she entertained romantic thoughts about a man it was because he was smart, sweet, and easy to be around, not beefy, brusque, and difficult. And right now, difficult didn’t even come close to what Gavin was being.
“I can’t. I won’t.” She knew she was being a baby but couldn’t seem to stop herself. It had been a hell of a day, but she and Gavin had managed to come to an uneasy truce earlier. Once they’d found a motel, she’d hidden in the car while he checked them in—with two beds, thank you very much. He’d whisked her up the back staircase, given her a pad and paper, and asked her to jot down some information about her former coworkers while he ran some errands.
He’d returned almost two hours later, arms laden with bags. One had contained white cartons filled with scrumptious-smelling Thai food, which set her mouth watering. Another sported a department store logo and was bursting at the seams. She’d barely finished chewing her chicken pad thai when he dumped the contents of the giant bag onto the bed.
She eyed a box of ”brushed sable” hair dye and groaned. Why this would be the tipping point that would send her into hysterics after watching her car explode, she couldn’t say, but it would be. She could feel the panic setting in. Over the past three months, she’d lost her job and what little respect her family had for her, not to mention her professional credibility. She hadn’t gotten a decent sleep in weeks, and today, she’d lost her car and even her home, temporarily. She wasn’t budging on this. If she didn’t stop the bleeding, there’d be nothing left of her at all, just the shell of some homeless, car-less, short-haired brunette.
“I-I don’t want to cut it. I like to wear it up, and if it’s above my shoulders I won’t be able to. And I can’t dye it either. It will look ridiculous that color.”
“This is not up for negotiation.” Gavin crossed his arms over his chest, and his biceps thickened. She tore her gaze from the tattoo that was only a date, 8-28-02, in stark black ink and swallowed hard.
He stared at her, impatience oozing from every pore. “Listen, Doc, I told you from the first, if you ride with me, it’s my rules, 24-7. My job, whether I want it or not, is to protect you. When I agreed to do that, I made an oath. Whatever it takes.”
She shook her head firmly. “Nope. I’m not doing it. And I take full responsibility for anything that happens to me. I hereby relieve you of your oath,” she said, snapping off some sort of half salute, half finger pistol in an attempt to make it all official-like.
“I don’t think so. I made the oath to myself and no amount of”—he nodded pointedly at her finger pistol—“whatever it is you’re doing there relieves me of it. You can make it easy on both of us. Or not.”
The challenge in his eyes sent a sizzle of apprehension through her. Or was it? Fear alone would have made her want to cower. Instead, she found herself fighting the urge press him. What would he do if she said no?
She shook her head briskly to ward off the sudden buzz clouding her thoughts. It was just adrenaline. She’d always lived such a safe, sheltered life, and this was all new. Sex tapes and bombs and bodyguards. This mess would affect anyone. And that warm feeling spreading low in her belly had nothing at all to do with Gavin McClintock as a man.
Maybe it would be easier to go along and save her strength for the war she knew was brewing between the two of them. “Fine. But only to here.” She held up her hand to a spot past her shoulders. Was it her, or did he look surprised and slightly disappointed at her acquiescence?
“Sit on the chair so we don’t get hair on the bed.”
She sat on the rickety side chair with her back to him. “I’m thinking I should wet it first. I’m going to take it down and comb—” She’d moved to stand but stopped short as she felt a tug. The sound of something sharp sawing through hair reverberated in her head.
“Done,” he announced, handing her a thick, six-inch-long hank. “I’m assuming you can at least handle the dye part yourself or…?”
She ignored his question as she stared, flabbergasted, at the tail of blond locks in her hand. He hadn’t even taken it down or brushed it out. She reached her free hand up to the back of her head and gaspe
d. A tiny stub stuck out from the back of her clip, like the tail of a Doberman.
“Are you insane?” she demanded, her voice trembling with anger as he closed his little pocketknife with a snap. “You didn’t even use scissors, and I said past my shoulders. That is so not how you cut hair. You comb it out first and measure to make it even. I’m going to look—”
“Alive. When I’m done, you’re going to look alive, which is a hell of a lot better than how you’d look if we’d been doing things your way up to this point, Doc. Now”—he held up the box of dye—“do you want to do the honors, or do you want me to?”
She snatched it from his hand and stalked toward the bathroom. “I think you’ve done enough.” She slammed the door and flipped on the light. Tears gathered behind her lids, and she groaned. She’d cried more in the past few months than in the previous ten years combined. It wouldn’t do at all for him to hear her, so she turned on the water to drown out her sniveling.
She stared into the mirror as she lifted her hands to her hair. Right now, from the front, she looked the same. Maybe she should just leave it that way. She took a steadying breath. Better to get it over with, and fast. Like a Band-Aid. She plucked the clip from her hair, and it fell like a curtain over her cheeks, brushing her chin. She blinked away the tears to see more clearly. She turned her head this way and that, and the bob swung with it. It wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t great, either, but she could live with it. Not that she was going to tell him that. He hadn’t cared whether it looked good or not, so the outcome didn’t absolve him. Still, she’d have to play nice because she needed him to snip the ragged pieces she couldn’t reach in the back to make it even. She gave another tentative fluff, then picked up the box.
She’d just finished mixing the concoction and was shaking it to a terrifying shade of chocolate brown when a knock sounded on the door.
“I’m going to take a nap,” Gavin called gruffly. “I put the bag of clothes right outside the door. Once you’re done with the dye job, change into them. You can’t be wearing what you left the house in, just in case any of the witnesses described your outfit. There’s also some…girl stuff in there. The lady at the makeup counter picked everything, so don’t blame me if you don’t like it.”
She paused, then gave her reflection a sheepish look. Whatever this guy was, he was also trying, albeit in a clumsy, oafish way, to help her. She vowed that, going forward, she was going to make his job a little easier. Her reflection raised a dubious brow, and she waggled her tongue at it. Okay, she’d make his job easier within reason, she amended. As long as he started being a little less ham-handed about everything. Maybe they could even come to some sort of agreement now that the immediate crisis was temporarily in check and cooler heads prevailed.
That settled, she put the bottle of dye down on the edge of the ugly, avocado-colored sink, anxious to see the clothes and makeup he’d gotten. She hoped everything fit. He hadn’t asked her sizes, so it was unlikely, but she’d take even close at this point. She peered into the bag and let out a groan.
…
Gavin tucked his hands behind his head and tried, yet again, to fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, another random noise came from the bathroom. First it was groaning, then what sounded like a muffled but semi-panicked laughter, and now the drone of a hair dryer. Women were strange, and this hardheaded one was no different, in spite of the conservative package.
He almost smiled as he recalled the look on her face when he’d cut her hair. Priceless. He was so not going to sit there for two hours and play Vidal Sassoon while she directed him on what kind of hairdo she wanted. Way easier just to cut first, ask questions later. She had clearly not found it as amusing as he did. He had to hand it to her, though. Considering the circumstances, she’d proven to be a trouper. If she would get in line with the rest of the plan, they’d have a shot at getting out of this unscathed.
He closed his eyes again and wondered idly if the clothes fit. He hadn’t asked her measurements for the same reason he hadn’t asked about her hair preferences. No need to spend any more time than he had to in the store hunting down a pair of kitten heels—whatever the hell those were—or some other item he had no clue how to find. Besides, he’d dressed and undressed enough women to have a fair idea of her sizes. The most important thing was that she didn’t look like the Sarabeth Lucking who had left her house this morning. He was contemplating whether he should’ve picked up a pair of dark contact lenses to camouflage the unusual sea-glass green of her eyes when the bathroom door swung open.
His breath left him in a whoosh as she stepped into the room. She’d gone from looking like a high school principal, albeit one that some of the smarter, more mature male students would fantasize about bending over something, to a flat-out bombshell. Her newly darkened hair cupped her jawline in a jagged but flattering cut, drawing attention to her high cheekbones. The saleswoman behind the makeup counter had been dead-on with the makeup, too. Her lips were a glossy rose that emphasized the fullness he’d appreciated when they’d first met.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on where you were sitting, he’d missed the mark on the clothes. He let his gaze sweep over the rest of her, ignoring the hands fisted at her sides. The plain, V-neck black T-shirt should have been nondescript and casual. Instead it clung to her like seaweed to a mermaid. And what a fucking mermaid she was. The breasts that had seemed modest at first glance had jumped ship and strained against the thin cotton, a perfect handful, and his fingers twitched with the urged to test that theory. Her lithe frame was showcased by a second-skin pair of jeans that made her legs look long enough to wrap around him once and half again, and this time another part of him twitched.
“We’re, ah, going to need to get some other clothes. I look ridiculous.” She tugged at the shirt, her gaze flickering away from his.
Part of him, the part concerned with his own peace of mind and self-preservation, was totally on board with getting her other clothes, but the protector in him won out. He sat up and cleared his throat. “You don’t look ridiculous. I understand it’s not what you’re used to, but that’s a good thing. That’s what we’re trying to achieve here. You don’t look anything like the woman I left with this morning, and that is an asset right now.”
She shot him a dubious frown. “I think I’m more conspicuous like this. It’s very…showy.”
“If you think that’s showy, you should drive past a nightclub once in a while. Or maybe check out your local high school. You have on jeans and a T-shirt. It’s not exactly a lace teddy, Doc.” Bad move on his part, as instantly an image of her in exactly that forced its way, front and center, to his brain. Black. Or white, even. Garters. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “At any rate, you look fine.”
“Still, next time I’d like to come with you so I can get something a little looser, okay?”
There was a slight edge to her voice, but her expression bordered on pleasant. She wasn’t screaming over the hair dye or cursing him about the cut, so he gave a noncommittal shrug. No point in getting her all stirred up again by telling her he had no intention of taking her shopping. He’d won the battle, and the results had been even better than he’d hoped. She didn’t just look like a different person. She looked like a different kind of person. Sexy. Confident in her body, if she would only stop the damned fidgeting. All in all she appeared to be ready to take on the world. What better way for a wren to hide than by disguising itself as a peacock? He’d stumbled into something, but if it wasn’t broken, he sure as hell wasn’t about to let her try to fix it.
“So what’s the plan now?” she asked, crossing the room to sit on the opposite bed.
“Let’s see how much has hit the news already.” He tore his gaze from her newly emancipated bod, picked up the remote, and turned on the small TV. Odds were fair that the bomb hadn’t made national news yet, but with such a high-profile, media-sexy case like this one, it wasn’t out of the question. The second he flicked on the twenty-four-
hour news channel, his stomach clenched as her picture flashed in the right-hand corner of the screen. He’d banked on a bit more time. Apparently one of her neighbors had a conscience after all.
The auburn-haired, stiff-faced newswoman shook her head grimly and continued with her report: “…is the granddaughter of hotelier Stanley Lucking and his wife, Lucinda. There was an attempt on the young doctor’s life today. Authorities are treating this as a possible homicide, but have set also up roadblocks in the
Guardian For Hire Page 2
