Doran set aside another sliver, rinsed the new area, then applied pressure to it. “It isn’t as bad as it looked." His smile seemed reassuring.
“You saved my life, twice. You’re really a good doctor."
"Just standard military training.” His mouth flattened in concentration as he extracted another shard. “You were lucky, so far, nothing has hit a vein.”
The tone, the touch, Devlin Doran was definitely the gentle man who'd saved her, not just the knife-welding maniac. "You're good at keeping people safe.” Her intuition answered the question of whether he was a guardian angel or something darker.
Kelsey swallowed hard. “I want you to protect me."
Doran gave her an odd look. “I’m not a bodyguard.”
Yes he was, he just didn’t know it, yet. "I'll pay you.”
He shook his head.
“I didn’t know anyone could react as fast as you." She put her fingers on his wrist and silently willed him to look at her. "You’re the only one I trust with my life. Please say you’ll do it." He peeked at her, but shook his head. "You can name your price.”
“You can’t afford me.” He nearly blushed.
She would have laughed if she'd felt better. “How about a hundred-dollars-per-hour as a beginning bid or is your rate higher?” He looked at his wrist, where her fingers still clung to him, then peered back at her. His face was definitely flushed.
"You mean I’m not just some sort of jinx for you and this sort of thing happens to you a lot?"
She stroked his forearm; it was the most brazen thing she’d ever done in her life. "Marvin Frederickson wants me dead, so what I'm offering you isn't a safe job." He rubbed the back of his neck, in a familiar gesture, which her father made when he was trying to say no politely. Tears blurred her vision. “Please.”
“If I do,” he said, “you have to trust me and do everything I tell you without question."
He’d do it! The breath she didn’t know she’d been holding rushed from her lungs in a burning blur. "Anything." She wished she dared hug him. "I’ll do whatever you say." She smiled at him. His neck and ears turned beet red. With her own personal guardian angel at her side, she could handle whatever Frederickson’s goons threw at her.
Doran dropped his gaze and plucked a sliver of glass from her left palm, then one corner of his mouth tilted up. "Anything?" She nodded and meant it, as she held out her hand to shake on the bargain. He engulfed her hand in his larger one, his attitude professional. How many more faces did this man have? “First, we need to find a safe place for you to stay.”
Kelsey swallowed hard and looked around. The kitchen doorway framed wisps of smoke, which still hung in the air. Where her hands and knees had been, drying splotches of blood marred the floor. She looked from the trail of blood to the shard of glass Doran had extracted. In his own lethal way, Devlin Doran was like the fragment, which appeared innocent and oddly beautiful.
"I’m sure a hotel would be safer than here,” she admitted. He frowned and she remembered that she’d agreed to let him make the choices. “Do you know of someplace better?" Kelsey took a deep breath, then coughed as the horrible smell gagged her.
He daubed her forehead. “Would you prefer to spend the night at my home or the hospital?” As if suddenly hearing the invitation he’d just offered, his eyes widened until the whites were visible. The poor man was absolutely endearing.
“Your house sounds fine,” she said with a confidence that astounded her.
His stared at her as if wishing he could rephrase his previous comment. Apparently he didn’t sleep around either. He swallowed hard. “Go pack whatever you need. While I call-“
“No police.”
“But-“
“I’ll agree with you on anything else, but not that.
He raised a brow. “Fine. Would it be alright if I call in my crew and have them secure your window and clean the mess?" His embarrassment made her trust him with her life. "They’ll make certain they keep any evidence they find.”
“I'd appreciate that and I'll certainly pay them, too.” What would she have done if he hadn’t brought back her phone? Would she even be alive to wonder?
Chapter Seven
Zoë stomped on the brake pedal as her Porsche skidded across the gravel parking lot, sending up a cloud of dust into the first light of dawn. Her car halted two feet short of the ruby Taurus, which was parked next to her guy's silver Lexus. The dust billowed across the parking area and shrouded the bleachers. Zoë squinted at the joggers, which populated the local high school’s track at sunrise. She spotted her quarry as he rounded the far turn of the track. Her mouth flattened with the effort of holding back the torrent of angry words, which had been building inside her since the firebomb attack.
Zoë grabbed the beach-bag she used for a purse and whipped her door open. The knowledge that slamming her door into the side of his car would scar her beloved Porsche was the only thing that saved his precious red paint.
Instead, she kicked the Taurus’ tire. Though her foot ached, she felt better. Zoë put on her sunglasses and with purposeful strides, marched toward the bleachers. Next to her guy's distinctive athletic bag sat a shabby one, her hand balled into a fist. How dare the bastard attack Kelsey!
She settled primly on the weathered aluminum seat behind her guy’s gear, crossed her legs, and demurely adjusted the ankle-length skirt of her conservative black dress to conceal her high heels then she pasted a serene smile on her face and waited. While she pretended a tranquility she didn’t feel, a group of senior citizens power walked past. Next came a middle-aged couple, who held hands and looked more interested in each other than the exercise they were getting. The man gave the woman such tender smiles that Zoë's heart ached with envy.
Next, her quarry jogged past, his head tilted toward her guy as if he was memorizing whatever he was saying. The next lap, her guy was alone, and jogging as if in deep thought. Tension filled her and she tried to appear casual as she looked around the area. A downward glance confirmed that the old black nylon bag was still there. Though her guy didn't look up, she knew he’d seen her. She fought to control her breathing and overcome the raging emotions she felt whenever his attention focused on her. Trying to appear casual, Zoë pulled a candy bar from her bag. He began doing his cool-down workout without glancing her way. But she knew he was watching her.
She did the thing guaranteed to attract him: she ignored him.
Exercise done, he sauntered over to the bleachers. Perspiration gave his skin a vital sheen and his muscles looked taut. Zoë re-crossed her legs and concentrated on the elderly couple. He got a bottle of flavored water out of his bag and sat with his back to her. Safe from his stare, Zoë noticed that gray roots were visible beneath his damp hair. Though mere inches separated them, he appeared unaware of her. Zoë looked past him. The lovers stopped, then hugged and kissed. Her stomach did a flip-flop of envy.
He leaned back, held the bottle to his forehead and hissed, “What the hell is so all fired important that you had to see me before evening?” Ever the consummate actor, he looked carefree and totally oblivious to her presence as he took a long swallow of water.
“Where’s your damned buddy?” Zoë hissed through clamped teeth. “I want to throttle him for nearly killing me along with Kelsey
Her guy snorted and stared at the rising sun. “You weren’t in her car. You were in my bed.”
So he was behind Kelsey’s brakes, she had hoped she was wrong. Zoë hid her quivering hands in the folds of her skirt. When the fabric jostled, like cats fighting, she clenched her fists so hard that her fingernails bit into her palms. It took every ounce of acting skill she possessed to appear relaxed and indifferent. She raised the candy bar, as if nibbling it. “I meant last night.” Good, her tone was steady. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. “When your buddy torched her house. He failed miserably, you know.”
He didn’t blink, didn’t even glance at her. “Lower your voice, surveillance coul
d be anywhere.” He raised the bottle and took a long swallow.
Public opinion was all that mattered to him; that and having a chance at the White House four years hence. “Marv, are you trying to have me killed?”
“Don’t be stupid. No one can suck dick like you.”
“Answer me, dammit.”
Marv’s mouth eased into a false smile, but he didn’t look at her. “Why? You getting wet?” He shaded his eyes with this palm and looked out over the field.
The rising mist gleamed like spun gold in the early morning light. “Such a romantic view.” She sighed. “Once you divorce Helen and we’re married, we can watch the sin rise every day.”
Marv’s posture stiffened. “I never made you any promises.”
“Yes, you did." He snorted. "If you hadn't, I would have screamed the first time, when you snuck into my bed!" He sneezed. She suspected it camouflaged laughter at her naiveté. Zoë’s anger grew. “I was nine years old! Nine.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. From experience, she knew she’d better quiet down or else. That hand had been the one he'd silenced her with the first time. It was the hand she alternately loved and hated; the hand that she saw in her nightmares and the one she wanted to hold in her waking dreams.
Zoë gulped. “I thought someone finally loved me.” Despite what he kept promising, she realized he’d never leave his ticket to society. Bile rose in Zoë’s stomach at the thought of his perfect, rich, society wife, who always wore a perfect string of pearls around her skinny neck. “But you didn’t then and you don’t now.” Her pitch rose and cracked.
“Keep your voice down, dammit.” Marv took a deep breath then added, “Why have I spent the past fifteen years fucking you?”
A scalding tear rolled down her cheek. Others blurred her eyes. “Because I’m stupid and easy.”
“Keep making a scene and I will have you killed.” He glanced back at her, his eyes gleaming. Marv's eyes always shone with delight when he heard details of gruesome death or saw photos of violent crimes. Brutality aroused him.
Zoë grabbed her bag and stumbled off the bleacher. He surged to his feet. Forgetting all resolutions of propriety, she broke into a run.
“Hey Lady,” he called. “Hey, did you forget this?”
Zoë ran faster. The toe of her high heel caught in her hem. She tripped, but when the fabric ripped, she caught her balance. The sound reverberated in her ears. She was sure everyone had turned to stare at her. It didn’t matter. She hiked up her skirt and ran for the parking lot.
She heard Marv running behind her.
Zoë stumbled as she rounded the bleachers and pain shot up her ankle. His footfalls were closer, but her car was only a hundred feet away. The Taurus was gone, so she wouldn't have to fight them both. She gasped for breath and ran for her life, oblivious to the gravel turning under the impossible heels.
“Hey, lady, hold on a minute.” He didn’t sound winded.
Zoë dodged around the concession stand. Her car was only forty feet away, just beyond the gate.
A hand clamped on her shoulder and yanked her off balance.
She tried to catch her balance, but Marv grabbed her waist with his free hand and hauled her into the bathroom. With a muted bang, the door blocked most of the light. Without pause, he threw her toward the dark rectangle of an open stall door. She gasped. The stale smell of urine gagged her as she fell toward the toilet.
Her scream turned to a gasp when he grabbed her hair, then his hand slammed over her lips in a stinging blow.
ooo
Doran glanced sideways at Kelsey. Her rigid posture and the way her fingernails dug into the Suburban’s leather seat made him wonder what she was thinking. “Either you’re not a morning person or you don’t trust my driving,” Devlin said. She grunted. Since waking, she’d given him driving directions, as if he was some sort of machine, instead of the man she'd clung to for support and comfort. Perhaps she’d expected him to sleep with her instead of give her his bed, while he slept on the sofa in his home office. “If I did something to offend you, I apologize.”
She grunted and indicated he should make a left hand turn. The silence lengthened. As he eased the Suburban to a stop beside the back door of her greenhouse complex, her attention fastened on the rearview mirror. He glanced in his, but only saw parked cars. He’d had enough of her brooding. “I laid awake half the night trying to figure out why you hated my peace offering." He tilted his head toward the building. "You must be sick of plants if you work with them all day long." He gave her a shy smile. "Why didn't you tell me you worked here?"
She turned to him, tension etched in the tiny furrows at the corners of her eyes. Either she hadn't had any more sleep than he had, or she needed to take some pain medication. If anyone other than a MacLennan were looking at him like that, he would have hugged her and told her that everything would be all right, but Kelsey was a MacLennan and he didn't dare let himself actually care about the woman. Not when he intended to use her to infiltrate her misbegotten family, so he could shut down their corner of Ling’s drug empire.
“I own The Flower Shop and the adjoining greenhouses." Her tone dared him to make something of it.
Doran arched a brow. "Does that mean you were serious about paying me to protect you?"
"Don’t worry, you’ll get a check." Her tone sounded final.
“What changed overnight?”
Kelsey stared down the skirt of her moss green suit. "I hybridized the Blessed Promise. That’s the name I chose for the plant you bought. I originally thought it represented some sort of golden future.” She shook her head and winced as if the movement were painful.
Quinn had been correct; the flower symbolized something, but nothing happy. “Boy was it dumb to buy you a gift you already owned." He put on his stupid-me face. “Why do I get the idea that whatever expectations it symbolized never materialized? Isn’t it a good seller?”
Kelsey couldn’t hold back the pain-riddled guffaw. “It’s my best.”
“So it must have come to mean something else to you,” Doran said. “Is that part of the reason why you seem so troubled?”
Her eyes widened, then she turned away from him, and hopped out of the Suburban. “Thanks for the lift.” She leaned inside and whispered, “It was really nice of you to go out of your way for me, but I can’t continue to endanger your life.” She swallowed. “I’ll send a check to your home.” With that, she slammed the door and hobbled toward the building. He'd never had anyone shut him out so effectively. Each limping step ground his plans into the dust. Suddenly, light flashed.
A quick glance at his rear-view mirror showed a skinny man with a big camera. He took two more photos of Kelsey as she moved toward the door. Doran didn’t think. He slammed the door open and went after the photographer. The man jumped into the open door of a faded blue Pinto and sped away.
Realizing that he’d lost the race, Doran switched directions and caught up with Kelsey outside the glass door. “You hired me to be your bodyguard.” He tilted his head toward the receding car. “Do you get a lot of jerks like that?” She nodded. He put his hand on her upper arm. He felt the flesh beneath her thin silk blouse become rigid. She yanked her arm away as if he was an attacker.
"It was a dumb idea made in a moment of fear.” She said. “I think we both know that." She glared after the Ford. “The paparazzi are everywhere; always an annoyance, and always misconstruing things.”
"So you don’t want to be seen with me."
She looked away from him. “Don't worry, you'll be paid."
"I didn't agree to do this because of the money you offered."
"Last night, I hired you out of fear. This morning, I’m unhiring you, because I don’t make choices based on negative emotions."
"I don’t hire on as a bodyguard, either, but it seemed like the only thing to do."
"Regardless, I won't need your services anymore. I’ll send you a check for your time and add extra for lodging." She lowered her voice, "Y
ou can never tell anyone what happened.”
"The fire damage is pretty obvious."
"Not that. The fact that I went home with you," she hissed.
"Nothing happened.”
"The paparazzi would never believe that nothing happened. If they figure out that you’re the one I rear ended, they’ll probably tell the world that we’d had a lover’s spat and that the accident was my way of getting back at you."
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t matter to them. The more lewd the story, the happier they are.” With inbred dignity, she turned away from him and went into the building.
Doran watched the Flower Shop’s door swish closed. Why was the woman more worried about tabloids than saving her life? What had he figured wrong? Why had she rejected him, just when he was making progress and gaining her trust? Things had been fine the previous evening, after he’d tended her knee. Doran rubbed the back of his neck. Could it be that she was attracted to him and either that scared the shit out of her or she was upset because he hadn't tried anything?
Judging from her injuries and the pain she must be in, being upset because he had behaved like a gentleman seemed highly unlikely.
Was she afraid a reporter would find out she'd spent the night with him? More likely. If so, perhaps he could change her attitude. With nothing to lose, Doran squared his shoulders and followed Kelsey.
Chapter Eight
“Let me go.” Zoë yanked her arm, but his hold was too tight. Blood welled where his nails cut her flesh.
Eyes bright with lust, Marv shook his head.
Zoë took a breath to scream, but his hand clamped over her mouth and he jerked her hard. She kicked his legs, beat his chest and tried to bite the soft palm that was suffocating her. He laughed and grabbed her by the throat. Her lungs screamed for oxygen and her surroundings turned gray than black. She heard a distant, heavy thud. His laugh deepened as her world reduced to a pinpoint of light.
Zoë couldn’t move, could barely think. As her life drained away, the texture of the concrete block wall imprinted itself on her back. Dying wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. In fact, it was sorta nice.
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