Once upon a time, she might have considered a casual relationship with this man just because he was incredible eye-candy, and she’d never allowed her few relationships to go beyond casual. But she’d seen his horror. As she would see time and again when men looked at her from now on. It was something she would need to learn to brace herself against so she didn’t experience the same digging hurt biting at her now. The days of turning a man’s head by walking into a room were over. Men would never look at her the same again. It was just that simple.
That murdering bastard had seen to that.
As she was now prone to do, she raised her hand to cover her lips, then stopped mid-motion, and placed her hands in her lap. It was time to stop trying to hide the damage when anyone new walked into her life. In the end, it made no difference. She couldn’t hide forever. Not even from someone as beautifully made as the man standing before her.
“Suzie isn’t here.”
He smiled that smile people use to give the impression they don’t see the mess before them. “I came to see you.”
Polly sat up a little straighter. “Why?”
“Let’s start with whom. I’m Catcher Stevens. My friends call me Cat.”
“Polly Chapman. I don’t need a new friend.”
He smiled, this time in amusement. “Well, Polly Chapman, it would be easier if we could be friends, but it isn’t necessary. I’m your physical therapist.”
A bullet to the gut would have hurt less. To let this man see her, touch her, pity her! “No.”
Confusion flashed in a blink of his eyes, then shrewdness. He crossed muscular arms over his chest. “No?”
“No.”
Catcher snagged one of the four patio chairs and straddled it before her. “Because?”
Fury built. It didn’t matter that it was unreasonable, or that this young god with his curly blond hair and—good lord, what was that scent he was wearing?—hadn’t done anything to deserve her sudden need to hit something. “Because, I said so.”
A full-throated laugh bubbled up and showered over her. That he’d dare laugh at her, when his physical beauty only magnified her lack, burned deeply. Tears filled her eyes. “Get out. You son of a—”
“Whoa, Princess!” He grabbed her hands and held on with gentle firmness when she attempted to pull away. “My momma is a fine woman and not to be talked about in any manner other than respect.” His eyes twinkled. “Now let’s start over.” He released her hands and settled back into his seat. “How are you feeling today?”
Horrifyingly, a lone tear slid down her face and over the scar leading to her mouth. She caught it with her tongue and glared at him. “Mean. I’m feeling mean.”
Catcher nodded. “Good.”
Her brows lifted. “Good?”
“Yes. Good. I’d feel pretty mean about now if I were you, too. So, what are you doing about it?” He held up a hand. “Other than trying to insult a woman you haven’t even met.”
“I wasn’t insulting her. I was insulting you.”
Catcher glanced at the cup of tea she’d all but forgotten. “Got any more of that?”
Polly reached for the little brass bell Suzie had insisted she ring if she needed anything, only Suzie was still out. She left it there and lifted her cup, holding it out to Catcher, and then pointed to the door he’d entered through. “Kitchen’s in there. Kettle’s always hot. I wouldn’t mind some while you’re at it.”
Catcher didn’t move. Not to take her cup or to get one of his own. “I’d be happy to accompany you to the kitchen.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Catcher took his time looking her over. “Why? Are they starving you to death?”
She could actually feel the flood of blood heating her cheeks as her mouth fell open. “You are incredibly rude. I’ve lost weight. I’ve been sick!”
Catcher shook his head. “You’ve lost weight because you won’t eat. You aren’t sick, you’re injured. You’re healing but you aren’t recovering. It’s time you got off your backside and started moving.”
She swallowed the tears clogging her throat. How could he talk to her like that? How could he sit there with his beautiful face and magnificent body and beat her to death with her own ugliness? “Just go.”
“No can do.”
“I’m firing you.”
“You didn’t hire me. You can’t fire me.”
“Who did hire you?
Catcher smiled and took the cup she still held out. “The Agency.”
“Well, I’ll call them and have you fired!”
He pulled a cell phone from his shirt pocket, flipped it open, pushed two buttons and handed it to her. “Paskle Denvers, your supervisor.”
Polly snatched the phone and put it to her ear. “I know who he is,” she hissed. She waited for the call to go through and heard her boss’s voice on the third ring. “Sir, Agent Chapman, I need clarification on... Sir?... Yes, sir, but… No, sir, no, sir, no sir. Yes, sir, Thank you, sir, I will.” She snapped the phone closed and handed it back.
There was nothing to say. The Agency held all the power. They always had. She slid a glance up to Catcher Stevens as he rose. “I don’t like you.”
Catcher raised a brow, grinned. Finally, he slid the phone into his pocket. “Ready to get started?”
CHAPTER TWO
Catcher swore silently. He’d never been as inept with a client as he’d been in handling Agent Chapman. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned. But he’d always excelled in his handling of clients and had been certain she would be no different.
Perhaps he’d been a tad optimistic.
Polly was as headstrong as he’d been warned, which was surprising since she’d done nothing to advance her own recovery. She’d made her resentment of his presence known by barely responding to his questions about her health. And she’d refused to acknowledge him at all when he’d expressed his high esteem of her illustrious career. In the end, she accomplished something no other client had ever done. She’d made him lose his temper.
He always did what was necessary to endear himself to those assigned to him. His goal was to alleviate the patient’s physical or emotional suffering. Former clients were now friends. The agency he worked for rewarded him constantly for his success in bringing agents who’d lost will or way in their fight for the nation’s security back into the fold.
With Polly, he’d made one blunder after another. It was obvious she detested his presence, though he knew it wasn’t personal. She would have protested anyone coming into her life and telling her what she was and wasn’t going to do with her own body.
He knew the pain she still experienced was real. The woman was too direct to fake anything. The reality was that she shouldn’t have survived the brutal attack of her assailant. Between the puncture wounds, broken bones, and blood loss, she should have expired before help arrived on the scene all those months ago. Only her conditioning, mental and physical, had saved her, as well as a healthy dose of stubbornness, he was certain.
According to the Bureau, she’d never missed a day of work because of illness and was, in fact, reprimanded for failing to take her vacation time before the accumulated days overlapped into the following year. And she’d placed herself in harm’s way time after time to save or hide one of the many people the agency had assigned to her. She even had a code name: Eraser—because she was such an expert in making people disappear as if they’d never been born.
Only this one time the person she was trying to save was slaughtered along with her children, and Agent Chapman had stepped off her perfect ladder of professionalism and took matters into her own hands. Bottom line—she’d flipped out. And an agent with her classification was too dangerous if not in complete control.
Her job was hanging by a thread—both of them, a fact he figured she knew since she hadn’t kicked his teeth in already, but she also had to be aware that her skills were greatly needed. There were precious few agents who equaled her in stealth, skill, an
d ability. She could perform the most delicate of assignments, even assassinations when necessary, and then disappear in plain sight within inches of her assigned victim. She’d been trained with, and by, the toughest sub-agencies within the mother of all government agencies.
Polly was special. She was lethal. Few who knew her professionally had a clue that the savior of the innocent in the Witness Protection Program was more deadly than the people her clients fled. It was uncommon—outright unheard of—for a government agent to use one agency job to cover what was, in fact, her real purpose within another branch of the same agency—a branch that remained unknown to any but those with special clearance. He’d only been informed of how special she was after she’d nearly died, because it was his job to patch such people back together. It was a career he always took seriously, but this time it was more personal.
He admired her. She was the best of the best at what she did. And what she did was save the world from the worst of the worst. While others sat in their homes watching sitcoms or playing game shows, she flew across oceans to take out the bad guys. Those who procured or produced weapons of mass destruction, terrorists, and any other miscreants our government declared worthy of a red alert.
She had as many faces as other women had shoes, and as many identities to boot. She breathed, ate, and slept her dual careers, and she’d always taken her lumps without complaint. Until now.
The agency considered her broken.
Her physical condition wasn’t the issue. The problem was that Miss Perfect Agent had freaked out after the grotesque slaughter of her client and the three children. She’d lost her ability to detach herself from the results of that madman’s work, then followed that up by disobeying a direct order, and in the process nearly got herself killed. To top it off, the perpetrator had escaped.
None of that would matter except she wasn’t recovering. She was refusing to follow orders and get counseling. She wasn’t making the scheduled visits to see her physician. She was determined to ride around in an electric wheelchair instead of fighting for her strength. Her emotions now ruled where once there had been only an analytical mind that dictated how she logically functioned.
And none of it was acceptable.
Catcher exhaled heavily as he stared into the space where he’d last seen her entering her room. If he couldn’t help her—if he failed—then the nation would lose one of its greatest secret assets. He’d have no choice. He’d have to kill her.
And God help him, he wasn’t sure he could do it.
He’d never had to let things go that far, and he’d be damned if he’d let her make him, make her, his first.
CHAPTER THREE
“Well, I just think it’s terrible, them sending that man here to make you work before you’re ready.”
Polly moved across the room with the speed of an eighty-year old woman. She leaned heavily on her cane to stop and peer back at Lilly. “He’s an ass.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“He thinks he can bully me around just because he’s so damned big.”
“Tsk.”
“He told me I looked like a starved rat!”
Lilly looked up from remaking Polly’s bed in disgust. “Well, the nerve.”
“Well, he didn’t say starved rat. But that’s what he meant.”
“He’s a fiend.”
“He smells so good.”
Lilly laughed. “I wondered if you noticed that, too. Jim would flip if he heard me say this but, damn, that man smells good.”
“I know. It pisses me off. Every other scent on the planet makes me want to hurl.”
Lilly stopped fussing with the bed, placing a hand on her stomach as she lowered herself atop the tight bedding. “Don’t say hurl. I’m feeling a little green myself today. Why does it piss you off?”
Polly shrugged. How could she confess that he was everything she’d once thought herself to be? Young, at least at heart, healthy—she’d worked out and kick-boxed every day of her adult life until the attack—beautiful—men had flocked to her even though she’d only opened herself up for friendships while pursuing her career.
“Because I smell like Ben-gay. And you need to take a break. Go home and take a nap or something.”
“You do not. And I will not. I plan to enjoy every minute of this pregnancy. Even the yucky parts.”
Polly made it to the cheerfully decorated window seat and peered out at the late afternoon light. Suzie’s magnificent gardens boldly reflected their mistress’s green thumb. She turned back to look at Lilly. The once incredibly beautiful woman was even more so now that she carried a new life. Even the room, with its primary colors and boy toys, was a creation of beauty. Everywhere she looked, everyone she came into contact with, was only another reminder of how hideous she’d become.
“Will he be back tomorrow?” Lilly asked, studying her a little too closely.
Polly grunted and turned back to the window. “Earlier, I’m afraid. He left to get equipment—though I have no idea what that means, then plans to come back around dark…or sooner, the toad, to start my first session. I told him to stick his precious equipment up his butt.”
Lilly giggled as she rose. With less grace than usual, she gathered soiled linens, rolled them into a ball, and sat them at the open bedroom door. “Want to come to the parlor with me? Suzie should have cookies ready by now. Peanut-butter and walnuts, I think.” She grinned. “Yummy.”
Polly glanced at the door, calculating how much pain she’d have to endure to reach it. “You go ahead and enjoy yourself. I think I’ll stay here and rest.”
“Not today, Princess. Get your butt up off that window seat. We have work to do.”
Stevens! Polly wanted to scream. He’d barely been gone two hours and she hadn’t yet found a way out of his proposed torture session. He was earlier than she’d hoped for. Not true, she admitted with a wicked sense of satisfaction. She’d really hoped for a terrible car accident and he couldn’t make it at all. Not that she wished him harm…much.
And damn him, he was gorgeous in a tight sleeveless t-shirt that emphasized his chest and arm muscles, and his athletic shorts which showed every flexing thigh and calf muscle. The man was a friggin’ work of art. And it was seriously pissing her off.
Catcher and Lilly greeted each other like long lost friends, flirting for all they were worth, before she flashed Polly a wink and carried the laundry from the room. Turning to Catcher, she smirked. “She’s married.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said cheerfully, while he retrieved a large black duffle bag from the hallway and placed it on her newly made bed. “My eyesight is twenty-twenty.”
She squinted at him, hoping to look mean. “Don’t call me ridiculous. I told you, I don’t want to do this today. You need to get out of my room.”
He shrugged. “I’ve read your chart. You should have started therapy months ago. You can’t keep hiding, pretending you can’t recover. Eventually you’ll convince your body that it’s true.”
She wanted to slap him. That’s all there was to it. “I have other plans today.”
He pulled large rubber bands, an assortment of balls, and other devices she knew she would hate from his bag. “Like what?”
Polly bit her bottom lip then released it. Damn, she couldn’t think of a witty comeback so she opted for the truth. “Ignoring you.”
As if she didn’t exist, he continued taking things from the bag, stacking them in piles beside the bed. She forced herself back across the room, determined to make a grand exit, but her body refused to move any faster than before. She made it to the door before he laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and glanced back at him. “Don’t ever touch me.” Oh my gosh, he smells good!
Catcher lowered his hand slowly. “I’m going to be touching you a lot. You need to get used to it. But for now all I was going to do was say, ‘good job.’ I know you’re in pain, but you need to move as much as you can. You’ve become stiff.”
Polly refused
to lean against the door-trim even though her legs were about to give. “I’m not stiff, I’m hurt.”
“You are stiff and that’s making you hurt worse than you otherwise would. You sit around too much.”
“I need a painkiller.”
“You need to move and I’m going to help you.” He pointed towards the bed. “We’re going to start there. You need to lie down and let me give you a massage. It will help me to know how badly your muscles have atrophied and you’ll feel better for having me work the tissue.”
Nearly panting, Polly gave in to exhaustion and leaned against the white painted trim. “No way.” And please stop smelling so wonderful! I’m not up to dealing with yummy twenty-something—year old men who want to touch me right now!
Purpose and determination lit Catcher’s aqua eyes and tightened his square cut jaw, causing a tingle of something, though she refused to consider it might be excitement. The man, boy really, needed to leave her alone. Actually, he just needed to leave as she was seriously afraid her thirty-nine year old hormones were kicking in and she not only couldn’t, but wouldn’t, do anything about them!
“You can walk back to your bed or I can carry you, but one way or another you and I have an appointment on that bed.”
“Bite me,” she snapped, not sure whether she was angrier with him or herself. What the hell is wrong with me! She had enough to deal with and didn’t need a revived libido. Good grief!
He exhaled loudly, his broad muscular shoulders rising and lowering in the process. “I guess we do this the hard way.”
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 53
