Protected by a Dangerous Man

by Cleo Peitsche

  The blood drained from my face. “That is weird.”

  Rob didn’t know Zak, didn’t know about him or that I’d been with him when he died—an accident—or that Corbin had disposed of the body and cleaned up the evidence. Henry didn’t have proof, but he did know I was with Zak the last night anyone heard from him.

  What if I was wrong, if Henry did have something? What if he’d unearthed a clue the night he broke into the office and trashed it? After all, Corbin had cleaned up the accident scene in less than ideal circumstances. He might have missed something…

  No, if that were the case, Henry wouldn’t have been sneaking around Rob’s condo. If he’d had even a shred of evidence, I’d have been enjoying the comforts of a county jail cell; my fractured relationship with the sheriff’s department all but guaranteed it.

  “I agree,” Rob said. “It’s very weird, and it’s not the first time he’s brought that guy up. You have no idea what he’s talking about?”

  “Henry’s insane,” I said. “What else did he say?”

  Rob shook his head. “He walked off after the comment about putting you in prison. Obviously he was looking for you.”

  “Surely he knows I don’t live there anymore.”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t know where to find you. And he probably doesn’t know where the temp office is, though it won’t take him long to find out.” A dark look crossed his face.

  I started to leave, then turned back. “Look, I’m sorry you got sucked into this.”

  Rob waved away my apology. “I’d rather have him hanging around my place than stalking you. You know… That’s another reason it might be a good idea for you to glue yourself to Corbin. After what happened the last few times they met, I’m sure Henry will give him a wide berth. He’ll wait until you’re alone. So don’t be alone.”

  Yeah, their previous meetings hadn’t gone well for Henry, but I wasn’t convinced.

  Corbin had made it very clear that there would be serious consequences if Henry came anywhere near me again, yet Henry had returned. The fact that I wasn’t at Rob’s condo wouldn’t get Henry off the hook when Corbin found out.

  If Corbin found out.

  Chapter 14

  An hour later, I was trudging alone up the side of a small hill.

  Katrina was waiting near our cars, in the nature preserve’s parking lot. We’d been extra careful not to pick up any unwanted Henrys on the way.

  Unfortunately, it was just the two of us; Corbin had a meeting—this had been confirmed in a second phone call with Jennifer, who promised to stay with him and was generous enough not to ask me why—but he’d be picking me up for lunch.

  I hadn’t asked Corbin about Henry, and he hadn’t volunteered anything. Given the dozens of secrets accumulating between us, what did it matter if a few more got thrown onto the heap? Sometimes I felt like we weren’t a man and a woman so much as two sovereign nations embroiled in a diplomatic crisis.

  As I crested the hill, I turned back to survey the ground I’d already covered.

  Katrina and the parking lot were out of sight, obscured by trees starting to turn soft shades of yellow and orange. In another week or two, they would be overtaken by bright red leaves, setting the foliage aflame.

  The nature preserve sat on the outskirts of the city. We were there looking for a woman who might have information about a fairly large bounty. I hadn’t been able to find her name or address, but she jogged daily through the forest. Kat was in the parking lot to question anyone who might drive in or out.

  I swatted away a flying insect, tried to convince myself that it wasn’t a mosquito, then attacked the next hill. Within a few minutes, I’d reached the dirt jogging trail.

  Nothing to do but wait, so I made myself comfortable on a slab-like boulder. Civilization wasn’t far away, but the forest smelled fresh, like renewal. Even the rich black soil clinging to the treads of my sneakers looked, somehow, clean.

  By day, the trails attracted families and fitness fiends. By night, a different category of fiend came out to play, depending on the section. One area, near the lake, was infamous as a dumping ground for bodies. Well, one every few years, but that was a lot of crime for us.

  And that made me think of Henry.

  What the hell had he been doing at Rob’s place? I wondered if he’d planted something, a listening device or a camera. Henry made me wish voodoo dolls worked. A few sharp pin jabs and I’d never have to worry about him again.

  Footsteps pounded steadily closer. Standing, I brushed the dirt off my ass—suddenly it didn’t seem so clean and pure anymore—and stepped into the path.

  The woman I’d been hoping to meet bounded down the slope. She was in her fifties, slender, with henna-red hair braided neatly into cornrows. She was about average weight or maybe a few pounds over, but she floated effortlessly along the path.

  Even though I knew she could see me—how could she not?—I waved both my arms and smiled, hoping I didn’t look like a mugger or a lunatic.

  “Excuse me,” I called. “I’m a fugitive recovery agent. Do you have a moment?” By the time the last words left my mouth, the woman was already slowing.

  Still, she passed me before turning back, about twenty-five feet away. She tugged the white earbuds out of her ears. “Yes?” she asked, her chest lightly rising and falling.

  “There’s a guy who used to come running here a few months ago,” I said. “About five-eight, bald on top, a skull and crossbones tattoo on the back of his neck.”

  She nodded. “I know who you mean.”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Do you…” It wasn’t easy having to yell over the distance with wind shaking through the trees, but I didn’t dare take a step toward her. “Can you tell me which route he usually ran?”

  “Up on the ridge,” she said, gesturing. “I imagine he did the entire loop.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He was always going fast and he was heading in that direction.” She didn’t explain it like I was an idiot, but I got the impression she’d reached that conclusion.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “A month ago?” She considered, then nodded. “Maybe three weeks.”

  Finally, some good news. According to his brother, the guy we were looking for had left town, but Rob and I had concluded that he might not have left so much as gone into hiding.

  “How do you get to the ridge?”

  “Fifteen minutes, that direction,” she said, pointing back the way she’d come.

  “Is that fifteen minutes of walking, or…”

  “Running.”

  Suddenly, this felt like a job for Martin. Maybe he could prowl the mountains on his motorcycle.

  I dug a business card out of my pocket. “If you see him again, could you call us? He missed his court date, and we’re worried about him.”

  “Court?” She didn’t move to take the card. “For what?”

  “Assault,” I said. “Bar fight turned bad. I’m not even sure he was at fault, but he’s out on bail, and he shouldn’t have missed his court date.”

  “Ok.” She took the card from me and stuffed it into a zippered pocket of her lightweight shorts without looking at it. “He’s not dangerous?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “Is there a reward?”

  People were so predictable. “Could be.”

  That made her grin, a flash of white teeth. “Did you check his cabin?”

  “He has a cabin?” I asked, surprised.

  “Yep. I overheard him in the parking lot last year, hitting on some college girl. ‘Come to my cabin on the lake. I have a motorboat.’ It was lame.”

  Sometimes we couldn’t get anywhere, and sometimes we just got lucky. “I would love to hear about this cabin,” I said.

  “I’ll call you,” she said. “After my run.” With that, she turned off and bounded down the path, more like a deer than a human. Apparent
ly even the lure of money wasn’t as appealing as chasing her runner’s high.

  As I made my way back down the side of the hill, I wondered why I hadn’t thought to ask her if she’d ever hung out with the guy socially. But then, they were about twenty years apart in age, and I doubted they had much in common other than both being dedicated runners.

  “No one came through here. Any luck?” Katrina asked when I finally trotted the last few feet into the parking lot.

  I nodded. “Found her. He’s got a cabin on the lake,” I said. “She’ll call later. She wants a reward.”

  “Don’t they all.” Katrina shifted from one foot to the other. “Let’s go.”

  “Are you in a hurry?” I asked. Maybe there was enough time to pick up another bounty, or at least try.

  Katrina looked at me like I was crazy. “Aren’t we going to the lake?”

  Two months ago, that was exactly where we would have gone, but the last thing I needed was someone calling the cops, who would come out, realize we were part of Stroop Finders—especially me—and arrest us for trespassing.

  I shook my head, and Katrina made an irritated sound. “I didn’t know you liked paying out for information,” she said. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

  I started to protest, then gave up. Katrina had been with the company a long time. She was stubborn and a little scary, and anyway she’d do whatever she wanted. It wasn’t worth fighting her, not over this.

  “Suit yourself. But I want you to take Martin. If you don’t find anything at the lake, try the ridge trail. It’s at the top of the mountain.”

  “That’s hardly a mountain,” Katrina said.

  “Let’s see if you feel that way after you climb it.”

  Since I was on my own again, I decided to go by Rob’s place, see if I could figure out what the hell Henry had been doing near his garage.

  Even though it had been months since I’d lived at Rob’s place, and even though I’d visited plenty of times since then, I couldn’t fight off an all-too-familiar squeeze of apprehension as I drove closer to his neighborhood.

  When I was living with Rob, I’d had to endure a special brand of stalking by Henry. He or one of his minions would follow me from Rob’s condo to the diner where I was working—really the only two places I went at that point, though I did occasionally find my way to a bar to relax for a bit.

  Not that I’d ever really relaxed.

  Now Henry was back, and all those feelings of vulnerability were returning, settling into the unhealed niches they’d carved out for themselves.

  Corbin had returned from what was supposed to be his final mission. He’d chased off Henry’s men. He’d made me feel safe.

  Now I was scared, not for myself but for Corbin, for his freedom. Unless Henry had been leaving an apology, I didn’t see how this situation was going to end well.

  “Don’t you know how lucky you’ve been?” I murmured. Like Henry could hear me, and even if he could have, he obviously wasn’t interested in my advice.

  I drove by Rob’s condo twice before pulling over on the third pass; there wasn’t any sign of Henry, and I doubted he’d be stupid enough to come nosing around in the middle of the day. In any event, he’d expect me to be working.

  Still, the skin on the back of my neck crawled as I got out of the car and approached the building. No signs of forced entry on the garage door. The entrance to the condo looked untouched as well.

  I squatted in front of the garage and checked again, searching for where a crowbar might have dug into the door or scraped the concrete, but I didn’t find anything amiss.

  The last time Henry had come to Rob’s condo, Corbin was with me. That night had ended with Corbin slowly choking Henry while I pleaded with him to stop. I’d only managed it by using my safe word—a safe word that Corbin had changed the next time we had sex. I couldn’t blame him for that. It was tainted.

  I always carried keys to Rob’s place—he’d never asked for them back—so I unlocked the door and entered the garage from inside, thinking maybe Henry had slid a note inside.

  He hadn’t.

  Remembering Henry’s threat, I shivered. He couldn’t possibly have proof. The most he could do was voice his suspicions to someone in law enforcement, but my story was simple: Zak had come by Stroop Finders. This was true. We’d talked. Also true. Zak was an asshole. Accurate, and if I pretended otherwise, that would be more suspicious; he had a reputation. And then Zak and I had parted ways.

  That was true, technically.

  Corbin would be my alibi if I needed one. What could we say we were doing? Having dinner? Sex? Maybe I should find out what movies had been playing that week.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered to myself. Henry was getting to me, making me paranoid. If I got taken to the station for questioning and started blabbing about what I’d done that night and how Zak and I had briefly met, then I was screwed. Over-explaining and talking too much would only make me look suspicious.

  Being unprepared, though… That could be disastrous.

  Whether I liked it or not, I did need to talk to Corbin about our story for that night. Bringing it up was the problem. He’d want to know why it was suddenly so important, and then he’d be out for Henry’s blood.

  Maybe, I thought as I left the garage and locked the condo up again, I could bring Henry’s threat up in the context of when he’d first made it. Corbin knew about that, at least.

  The problem was that I couldn’t lie to save my life, and Corbin was a human lie detector.

  Shaking my head, I set out for the office. Corbin would be picking me up in about forty minutes.

  It would take me at least that long to devise a strategy to keep Corbin from killing Henry. Frankly, it was something I should have been plotting ever since Paris, when I’d learned that Henry had been released from prison.

  My head had been buried deep in the sand. I’d hoped that the problem would just… go away somehow. That Henry might have reorganized his priorities after several months in the slammer.

  I couldn’t have predicted that he’d do the opposite, that he’d come looking for trouble, taunting a man he knew was a murderer, a man who had managed to get himself removed from the Most Wanted list as if by magic.

  Maybe I was stupid to think I could control the situation, but Henry Heigh was even dumber. He was reckless.

  With everything that was happening—Corbin’s ex, Massimo, Stroop Finders’ problems with the sheriff’s department—Henry’s timing couldn’t have been worse. On the other hand, was it ever convenient to be stalked by an obsessed maniac?

  Chapter 15

  Corbin was supposed to pick me up at noon. He didn’t show up at the office until fifteen minutes before one.

  Those forty-five minutes nearly killed me. In that time I imagined three different scenarios. Not a wide range, but what I lacked in scope, I made up for in excruciatingly vivid detail.

  I saw Corbin choking the life out of Henry Heigh. That visual was easily summoned; after all, it had happened once before.

  Then I imagined Corbin shooting Henry. Walking up behind him in a public area—at a gas station, for example, the gun hanging loosely from his hand. He raised it, pressed the muzzle against the back of Henry’s head, and pulled the trigger.

  Then I imagined Corbin running Henry over with one of his SUVs. That wasn’t Corbin’s style so much as mine.

  What was most alarming about these scenarios wasn’t Henry ending up dead. And it wasn’t just about the long-term aftermath and what it would mean if Corbin turned to killing once again.

  The thing that worried me was that Corbin hated Henry so much, it interfered with his self-preservation instincts. Whether he was shooting, strangling or stomping on the accelerator to kill Henry, there were always witnesses.

  Witnesses with cell phones.

  Witnesses who would have no problem recalling a six-foot-three-inch man, built like an action movie hero, with the most beautiful blue-green eyes.


  When Corbin finally did arrive, I threw myself into his arms the moment he opened the door to my office.

  “Hi, baby,” he said, sounding amused.

  Pressed up against his chest, I couldn’t feel his heartbeat so much as my own, raging like a wild animal trapped in a shrinking cage. I inhaled Corbin’s familiar scent, the mix of aftershave, body wash, and his own unique musk that did things to me on a cellular level.

  I loved this man more than life itself.

  As angry as I’d been with him the last few weeks, and as anxious as I was about what might happen in France, the prospect of losing him terrified me more. If he murdered Henry in cold blood, I wasn’t sure I could deal with it. I honestly didn’t know. But if he got taken off to jail, I would lose my mind.

  Corbin deserved his freedom, and the possibility that he would throw it away made me feel violently ill.

  I squeezed my arms tighter around him.

  Corbin leaned down to nuzzle my ear. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to end up fucking you on your desk,” he said, “and I’m not sure that your safe word could get me to stop.” The massive erection pressed between our bodies backed up his words.

  Reluctantly, I let him go.

  “What would you like for lunch?” he asked.

  Something that takes hours to prepare, I thought, racking my mind, trying to think of the slowest restaurant around.

  “You could cook,” I suggested, rubbing my hips against his.

  He sucked in a breath, then gently pushed me away. “If I take you home, I will definitely end up fucking you the rest of the day.”

  I smiled. That sounded like the perfect distraction from the perfect disaster of my life. And if Corbin was pounding away on top of me, then he wasn’t being videotaped committing a felony.

  “We’re going to lunch,” Corbin said, shaking his head.

  “Can we go shopping after?”

  Corbin looked down at me, probing my soul. He knew damned well that I hated shopping, that I hated letting him buy me things.