by Lucy Monroe
When Queenie didn’t answer a second knock, Claire bit her lip. “Maybe she’s still down at breakfast.”
“Let’s go find out.”
They had to pass the lounge on the way to the dining room, and Claire’s knees almost buckled with relief when she heard Queenie’s trilling laugh.
She grabbed Brett’s elbow. “She’s in here.”
He stopped her outside the door. “Now that we know she’s okay, what is your plan?”
“We have to watch over her.”
“Stay here twenty-four-seven?”
“If that’s what it takes.” But she knew she wasn’t being realistic, and Brett’s expression agreed with that assessment.
“Come on, sugar. You have to stop reacting. We need to deal with this situation logically. First, do we tell Queenie we think her life is in danger?”
Claire shook her head vehemently. “She’d probably take an ad out in The Times. She came by her name naturally. She’s the quintessential drama queen.”
“So, what do we tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
Brett sighed. “I can have her watched, but a secret bodyguard can only be so effective. It might be easier to control her need for melodrama than it would be to keep her safe without her knowledge.”
“We can’t even be sure she’s in danger. I mean, Lester could have died from a heart attack like everyone thinks.”
“Yes, but it’s too damn suspicious that you were attacked and your house was ransacked after one of your very few close friends is revealed to be a former assassin.”
She had to agree. “What are we going to do?”
“What if we sent her to stay with Josie’s dad?”
“How would we get her to go? She’s going to want to stay where the action is.”
“Tough.” The ruthless determination in that one word left no doubt in Claire’s mind who would win a contest of wills between her elderly friend and Brett. “We’ll tell her Tyler will help her look into the government conspiracy surrounding Lester. That ought to interest her.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to feed both of their delusions?”
“I think it will keep her safe and they can theorize harmlessly to their heart’s content together. His new wife should keep them on the sane side of paranoid.”
“Queenie won’t leave until after the memorial service. I think I should stay with her.”
“No.”
“Brett—”
“You are just as much at risk as she is. More so, for all we know, because an attempt has already been made on you.”
“But we can’t just leave her here.”
Brett frowned. “Then we tell her about our suspicions now and get her to come to the hotel with us for the night.”
“Claire, my dear, what are you doing here? I thought you had finals today.” Queenie stood not far from the entrance to the lounge, her wrinkled face creased in a smile of welcome, but her usually merry green eyes dim.
Claire didn’t think about it—she just stepped forward and pulled the other woman into a hug.
Queenie hugged her back, her frail body trembling. “I killed him, Claire. I did it. I don’t know if I can stand it.”
Claire briefly tightened her hold on Queenie and then stepped back, shaking her head. “You didn’t kill him.”
“Don’t tell me you believe that taradiddle about a heart attack.”
“No, I’m not saying that.”
Queenie nodded approvingly, but then her face crumpled. “Then you know it was my fault.”
“No. It wasn’t.” The refrain was so like the words she’d spoken over and over again to her mom and to herself, even after her dad’s death, that they hurt in a way she didn’t even want to deal with. “You aren’t responsible for the actions of—”
Brett cut her off. “Let’s talk about this upstairs.”
Queenie wiped her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief, her expression speculative. “Who is this, Claire, your new boyfriend?”
Since Claire had never had a boyfriend that Queenie had met, the “new” was a kind euphemism on the older woman’s part.
“Actually, he’s one of Josette’s friends.”
As she knew it would do, the information brought a spark of interest to Queenie’s eyes and she gave Brett an avid once-over. “You’re a mercenary?”
Brett put out his arm for Queenie to take and slipped his other around Claire’s waist. “Why don’t we discuss that upstairs as well?”
When they got to the apartment, Queenie insisted on making them tea and Claire jumped up to help her. Anything to get away from Brett’s touch. It was driving her insane.
The kitchen was really nothing more than a small nook in the living area, so Queenie began her interrogation of Brett while setting up the tea tray.
“Why did you become a mercenary? I assume you were some sort of special forces military, not one of those silly boys who take a six-week course and think they can battle evil in the four corners of the world because they know how to shoot an Uzi.”
“No, ma’am, I wasn’t one of those boys.”
She nodded approvingly. “You look far too sensible and intimidating.”
“Intimidating?” Brett drew out his drawl, giving Queenie a lazy smile. “That’s not the word most women use.”
“You’re a charming devil, I’ll give you that, but it’s in the eyes. The same as in Lester’s. You can try to hide it behind an amiable façade, but I see the truth.”
Brett just raised his brows at her.
“And which branch of the Special Forces were you in?”
“I was an Army Ranger.”
Queenie’s eyes lit with interest. “Lester was one of the first to volunteer for that designation during World War II.” Brett had obviously risen several notches in her estimation. “Now, tell me why you left such an honorable career and moved to something as disreputable as selling your gun arm to the highest bidder.”
“Queenie!” Claire admonished, sure Brett would be offended.
“I left behind one too many comrades on the order of my superiors.”
“The Rangers have a credo—never leave a comrade behind to be taken by the enemy.”
“Not all comrades and casualties are Rangers, especially in covert ops.”
“Your superiors did not allow you to protect others with the same dedication as your fellow Rangers?”
A flicker of pain passed through Brett’s blue gaze. “Exactly. As an independent operator, I never abandoned the people who depended on me.”
“That is commendable.”
Brett shrugged.
“Brett and the other two mercenaries in his company didn’t sell their gun arms to the highest bidder, either, Queenie. They specialized in extractions and now they run a security provision and consulting company.”
“I see. I’m glad to hear that. It was one thing for an old bird like me to take on Lester with his background, but Claire has a lot of good years left in her life. She doesn’t need them marred by a man too scarred by killing to have a fully developed conscience.”
Claire was tempted to place her hand over Queenie’s mouth to silence her.
Brett just smiled with enough southern-boy charm to make Queenie glow. “No, ma’am. She doesn’t.”
“I am assuming your conscience is still intact, then, young man?”
“Yes, ma’am. And any holes that need filling in have my mama and sister to see to them.”
Queenie’s lips quirked and she shook her head. “Claire is going to have her hands full with you—I can see that right now.”
“I have no intention of putting my hands on him,” Claire gritted out.
Brett gave her a mocking look and his blue eyes challenged her ability to make that claim.
And darned if she didn’t blush. “Can we get back to the matter at hand?” she demanded vexedly.
“You mean Lester’s murder?” Queenie asked.
Claire felt compelled to sa
y, “We can’t be certain it was a murder. Lester was eighty-five. His heart could have given out without warning.”
“Other than the way his mind would wander, he was one of the healthiest men I knew,” Queenie said with asperity. “He could have been sixty-five, considering how spry he was.”
Claire felt an immediate need to smooth the older woman’s clearly ruffled feathers. “Of course, you’re right.”
Queenie was still frowning. “And you do think murder is a possibility?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Brett said, his eyes hard and his manner all business. “I would go so far as to say a probability.”
“I don’t suppose you have any connections in the government that would help us find his killer?” Queenie asked Brett.
“I do have connections, but I think you’re barking up the wrong tree by assuming the government is responsible.”
“I have seen things in my life, young man, things that have left me a very cynical woman where the government is concerned. Lester’s a prime example. He worked for the government, killing people.” As tough as Queenie tried to sound, her shock at that reality exposed her naiveté.
“Regardless of who is at fault,” Brett said, “the fact is that after the broadcast of your interview today, you could be at risk, too.”
“You admitted reading the kill book,” Claire added. “Even though it’s now missing, whoever doesn’t want its secrets revealed might decide you’re too big a liability to have around.”
Queenie’s eyes snapped. “Good. Let them come after me. I dare them.”
Brett shook his head. “Queenie, they got to Lester, and he was a professional. Don’t underestimate them.”
The militant gleam faded from her eyes as they filled with tears. “Yes, they got to my Lester.”
“I don’t want them to get to you, too,” Claire said.
“But wouldn’t I be good bait to draw them out?” Queenie asked with a glow of budding excitement. Claire’s stomach lurched with fear.
Brett laid his hand on Queenie’s. “You care about Claire, don’t you?”
“Of course. I love her like family.”
“Lester’s death hit her hard because in a lot of ways, her friends here at Belmont Manor are her family. If anything happened to you, she would be devastated. I don’t want that to happen, and I’m arrogant enough to believe I can catch the bad guys without using either you or Claire as bait.”
“Why Claire?” Queenie immediately demanded.
“It’s well known she spent a lot of time with Lester, too.”
“Oh, of course. I should have thought of that. What do you suggest, then?”
“I have a friend in Nevada. He’s recently married, but his wife’s a nice woman and wouldn’t mind some female company, I’m sure. I’d like you to go stay with them.”
“In Nevada? That’s so far away.”
“Yes. It’s someplace you’ll be safe. You have no link to Tyler Graham, so no one will look for you there. If you went to stay with family or friends, you could be putting them at risk. And Tyler is an expert on government conspiracies. You two will have a lot to talk about.”
“He is?”
“Yes.”
“What about him and his wife, are you sure they’ll be safe, with me coming to stay? I could be bringing danger. What if I’m followed?” she asked with hushed excitement.
Brett did not so much as blink at Queenie’s dramatics. “You’ll be traveling with one of my operatives who will make sure that doesn’t happen. And in any case, Tyler is a former mercenary just like me.”
“I see. And you don’t think his wife would mind me coming?”
“No. Tyler told me her sister recently moved to the east coast to be closer to her grandchildren and she misses her. Having your company would be good for her.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit the desert, but I never quite got around to it. I can’t leave until after the memorial service tomorrow.”
“Of course not,” Claire said, relieved Queenie was cooperating so easily, “but I would feel better if you would come to stay the night at the hotel with Brett and me.”
“You’re staying in a hotel? What’s the matter with your house?”
“I want to keep her close by,” Brett said before Claire could answer, “and the hotel offers anonymity.”
“Yes, I suppose it would.” Queenie gave another one of her approving nods. “You’re a thorough man. I like that.”
Brett took them back to the hotel and settled her and Queenie into the room. They’d just finished lunch when Brett got a call on his cell phone from the police and he left to meet them at Josette’s house.
He and Claire didn’t get a chance to discuss his meeting with the police when he got back because of Queenie’s presence. Claire assumed Brett didn’t want to give an elderly woman with a flair for melodrama and journalistic whistle-blowing more information than was absolutely necessary.
It was decided Claire and Queenie would share the bedroom while they had a rollaway delivered for Brett to use to sleep in the living area. It was a surprisingly enjoyable evening spent playing Scrabble and gin rummy. Queenie beat the pants off both Claire and Brett in both games. There was definitely something to be said for experience.
Claire wasn’t surprised at how much she enjoyed her time with Queenie. She had always loved elderly people, Queenie and Lester especially. They were safer than her peers, whom she could rarely identify with. What surprised her was how much Brett appeared to enjoy the older woman’s company and how easily he managed her.
“Thank you for being so good with her,” she said to Brett while Queenie was preparing for bed in the bathroom.
“She’s a nice lady.”
“But a lot of people are impatient with the elderly. I like the way you treat her.”
“I have a grandmother—two, in fact. Treating older women respectfully comes with the territory.”
She smiled, thinking how nice it must be to have a big family like he did.
“Why don’t you live near your family?” she asked before she thought.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just figure we all get along better with a little distance between us.”
“But you love them.”
“And they love me.”
“So, why don’t you get along?”
“We do get along.”
“But you said…”
“I just don’t fit in with the rest of the clan.”
“Why not? I can’t imagine you not fitting in anywhere.”
He smiled at that. “Thanks, but everyone in my family is a major overachiever, and then there was me.”
“You don’t consider yourself an overachiever?”
“My sister is a judge and my older brother is a professor of law at his and my father’s alma mater.”
“And you were Special Forces in the army, spent the better part of a decade rescuing people from dangerous situations while dabbling in government work, and now you’re running a security consulting firm that specializes in situations no one else wants to touch. I’d say you fit right in.”
Brett’s gaze grew hot, his smile pure predatory male this time. “Thank you, sugar. It’s nice to know you’re appreciated.”
Embarrassed by how much she had revealed of her admiration for him in that impassioned speech, Claire took a hasty step backward. “Well, um, good night.”
“Just one more thing.”
“What?”
“This.” He pulled her to him until their bodies barely touched and his lips hovered over her own.
Her heart sped up and she opened her mouth, but couldn’t think what to say. He didn’t move, just stared down at her, the heat in his blue gaze searing her insides until it felt like warm honey ran through her veins. She could no more move away than stop breathing. In fact, that might be easier.
Something moved in his eyes, and then he closed the gap and kissed her.
As she let herself press intimat
ely against him, the inevitability of what they were doing washed over her. She’d been wanting his mouth against hers since he broke the bone-melting lip lock in the park that morning. This kiss was different, though, not a scorch-her-socks-off encounter like the one he’d given her earlier. Instead, his mouth was gentle against hers, his lips staking a claim in a wholly different way that made her toes curl into the carpet all the same.
His arousal teased her, letting her know he wanted more than a kiss and, heaven help her, she wanted that, too.
When he let her go, she stumbled back a step and he steadied her. “To be continued.”
“What?” she asked vaguely, her focus on the lips that had been giving her so much pleasure.
“Queenie is out of the bathroom.”
“Oh.” Oh, goodness. Claire had been thinking about making love with Brett when Queenie was in the other room.
Brett smiled. “I want it, too. Good night, sugar.”
She stumbled back toward the safety of the room she would share with Queenie. “Good night, Brett.”
The memorial service for Lester drained Claire. She missed the old man already and the service brought home to her that he was gone for good. Blinking back tears, she listened to Queenie give the eulogy, her love for the deceased man vibrating in every word.
Claire’s tears escaped and a warm arm settled around her shoulder while a tissue held by a masculine hand appeared in front of her. She took it and wiped at the moisture on her face, ashamed of her loss of control, but hurting too much to do anything about it.
“It’s going to be all right, Claire,” Brett whispered in her ear.
It was a standard phrase of comfort—meaningless, really—but she felt inexplicably better. And his arm around her gave warm comfort. She didn’t feel alone in her grief as she had been the times before when she’d lost people she loved. Even her dad. Her mom had been too wrapped up in her own disillusionment to comfort her daughter.
And when Mom had died…there’d been no one.
Claire turned into Brett’s strength, allowing herself to rely on him for just this little while. She could go back to being her own little island later. Right now, she needed what he was offering.
