PALADIN'S WOMAN

by Beverly Barton

  The doorbell chimes echoed loudly in the foyer. Addy jerked, startled by the sound. Staring at the door, she hesitated momentarily, then made her way forward, peeking through the privacy viewer to see the mailman standing on her front porch. Without giving it another thought, she unlocked and opened the door.

  "A package for you, Ms. McConnell." The tall, bearded mailman had been making the rounds in the Twickenham district ever since Addy had moved here five years ago. She didn't know his name, but recognized his friendly face.

  "Thank you." She accepted the brown paper-wrapped box, then turned and stepped back into the foyer.

  Nick grabbed the package out of her hands. "Why the hell did you open the front door? You should have called me!"

  "It was the mailman, for heaven's sakes." Addy pulled on the package that Nick had slipped under his arm. "You don't think someone would send a bomb through the mail, do you?"

  "It's been known to happen." He took the package into the den and set it down on the sofa. Addy followed closely behind him. "Get out of here. We have no idea what's inside and I don't want you anywhere around when I open this thing."

  "We should call the police. Let them open it." She couldn't bear the thought of something happening to Nick. What if it were a bomb? What if he died keeping her safe?

  "I won't take any chances, Red." He looked at her concerned face, that golden face with a smattering of freckles across her perky little nose. "I know what I'm doing. I'm highly trained, remember?"

  Addy nodded, then walked out of the room, making her way down the hall and out onto the patio. Dingy clouds obscured the sun, casting a dreary glow over the gravel walkway leading to the wooden bench near the hedge that closed off the yard from the alley. The breeze picked up force, swirling minuscule particles of dirt and loose grass into the air.

  Addy sat down on the backless bench, her nervous fingers idly picking at the profusion of flowers surrounding her. A dozen different questions whirled about in her mind, thoughts and images tormenting her with doubt, possibilities filling her with dread. She hadn't been expecting a package. She hadn't ordered anything, and the box was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string, childlike in its simplicity. Her name had been printed in bold black letters, the stick-on kind that could be purchased in any stationery shop.

  Minutes ticked by, soundless except in her mind, where each second toned louder than a striking mantel clock. What would Nick find inside the mysterious package? Her feminine instincts told her that the contents weren't harmless, that they would, somehow, be connected to the man threatening her safety. Both she and her father were convinced that Gerald Carlton was the most likely suspect, but Nick hadn't allowed their certainty to sway his judgment. He'd told them that the only way to keep Addy safe was to keep an open mind, to suspect everyone, whether or not their motives were obvious.

  The sound of distant thunder announced the possibility of rain. Glancing toward the west, Addy saw a dark horizon. With a great deal of anxious turning and twisting, she managed to stay seated, though she longed to rush back inside to be with Nick, to share whatever fate befell him. She didn't want him facing danger alone.

  The moments dragged by like hours. The rumbling thunder grew close. The wind whipped around Addy, tousling her loosely confined hair and blowing dust into her eyes. No matter what, even if it started to rain, she wasn't going to move from this spot until Nick came for her. If she stayed right here and waited, everything would be all right. She would be all right. And Nick would be all right.

  Sharp, bright lightning streaked the sky. Addy closed her eyes and prayed. The first tiny droplets of rain fell, hitting her bare arms and legs, sprinkling the bench and the gravel walkway. Thunder boomed loudly. Opening her eyes, Addy stared at the back of her house. Nick stood in the doorway, the open box in one hand, his black cane in the other. She gasped, relief spreading through her like syrupy sweet jelly over hot biscuits.

  Jumping up, she ran to him. The dark sky exploded with lightning, the clouds bursting with rain. Nick wrapped his arm around Addy, holding the box behind her back as he pulled her close.

  "Oh, Nick, I've been so worried!" Burying her face against his shoulder, she clung to him, whispering his name over and over again.

  "I'm fine, Red." He didn't want her to see the contents of the box, but he knew he couldn't protect her from them. She would demand to see what lay inside and he had no right to refuse. She needed to know what type of lunatic they were dealing with and understand that they didn't dare narrow their list of suspects down to Gerald Carlton.

  Nick pulled her with him into the kitchen, dropping the box on the countertop, then jerking Addy's trembling body against the solid strength of his own. He stroked her neck, her back, her hips, his big hand moving up and down slowly, caressingly. He threaded his fingers into her hair, pulling free the long titian strands from the thick bun.

  She looked at him and knew that she loved him.

  "Addy?" He had never seen an expression so serene on a woman's face. It was as if Addy had discovered some wondrous truth that erased all her pain and anger and fear.

  "I was afraid … if there had been a bomb—"

  "No bomb. Just pictures, and newspaper photos and articles." He circled her neck with his hand, soothing her damp flesh with the pad of his thumb. "You're not going to want to see those things, Red, so why don't you just let me tell you what they are."

  She stared deeply into his dark eyes which were filled with tenderness and concern. "The package is from him, isn't it, the man who's determined to keep M.A.C. from bidding on the NASP project?"

  "Yeah." Nick glided his thumb up and under Addy's chin. Right now he wanted to ease her fears, to caress her, to love her and keep her safe. "The guy's trying to play mind games with us, Red. Remember that. If he gets to you, then he's succeeded in what he set out to do."

  "Let me have the box, Nick." She pulled away from him, turning toward the counter.

  He released her, knowing that all he could do was stand by and watch her confront her past. "I'll have to call Rusty. He needs to know."

  Addy's hand hovered over the box. Touching the lid, her fingers trembled. With haste born of fear, she slipped opened the box and stared at the contents. Nestled inside like brittle, golden autumn leaves, the old newspaper clippings lay scattered, mixed with snapshots of her brother. She reached out, but her fingers refused to cooperate. She couldn't touch the items. Tight, choking tears swelled in her chest and burned in her throat.

  Nick stood behind her, his big, hard body a source of warmth and comfort. Slipping one arm around her waist, he whispered, "You don't have to do this."

  A strangled cry escaped her throat. She balled her hands into snug fists. "This is going to kill Daddy. He never talks about Donnie. Never!"

  Forging ahead with all the inner strength she could muster, Addy picked up a photograph of Donnie, dressed in his cowboy outfit and sitting atop his pony. Tears gathered in Addy's eyes. She blinked them away.

  "Who would have access to pictures of your brother?" Nick asked.

  It took Addy a couple of minutes to understand his question. "Oh, Lord, I don't know. Servants, friends, relatives. Anyone who's ever been at the house. Daddy boxed away all the old pictures years ago, but he kept them in the storage areas above the garage. He even kept all of Donnie's clothes—and all of Mama's things, too."

  "That narrows down the suspects somewhat, but still leaves all the major ones. Gerald. Ron. Brett."

  Addy picked up a fragile newspaper clipping. The headlines jumped out at her. It was the story of Donnie's murder. A photograph of his lifeless little body accompanied the article. "Oh, God, we can't show these to Daddy!" She handled each article, each picture of her brother, her father, her mother and herself. Her parents' grief-stricken faces had been captured by some over-zealous photographer at Donnie's funeral. Stories of her mother's suicide four years later had made front page news.

  The sour, sick feeling began in her stomach.
Torturous pounding began in her temples. She swayed slightly and might have lost her balance had it not been for Nick's strong hold about her waist.

  Suddenly she pulled away from him, running, running. She made it to the downstairs powder room a split second before her stomach emptied itself. Nick caught up with her in the powder room where she'd knelt on her knees in front of the commode. He grabbed a hand towel, wet it with cool water and bent by her side, laying his cane on the floor as he wiped perspiration from her pale face.

  "It's okay, Red. I've seen grown men in the middle of battle react far worse." With tenderness and compassion, he cleaned her face and pushed back loose strands of damp, clinging hair.

  "I don't want to relive those days." She accepted Nick's help as he eased her up and onto her feet.

  "The person who sent the clippings and pictures knows that. He's counting on your pain and fear as well as Rusty's to get him what he wants."

  "Was there a note?" She didn't hesitate to cling, to snuggle, to seek comfort in Nick's arms.

  He held her, longing for the power to solve Addy's problems and ease her pain and sorrow. "Yes. I left it in the den."

  "What did it say?"

  "The same old stuff about bidding on the NASP contract."

  "Daddy has to know." She laid her head on Nick's shoulder, closing her eyes, willing herself to be strong and brave. Her father would need her strength. "If only there were some way to keep Daddy from seeing the articles, the pictures of Donnie and Mama."

  "Rusty is going to be able to handle all this old grief a lot easier than he's going to be able to deal with the continued threat on your life." Nick tightened his hold on her, silently cursing the demon whose sick mind was putting Addy in danger. He would not let anyone harm her. No matter what it took, he was going to keep her safe.

  "What more can Daddy do? I'm under constant surveillance. You're with me night and day." She thanked the dear Lord in heaven for Nick. All the resentment, the distrust, the uncertainty vanished. Maybe she was a fool. She didn't know. She was certain of only one thing. She was falling in love with Nick Romero.

  "Rusty can let me take you away from here. Out of Huntsville to some place no one knows about … where no one can find us." Nick had made that suggestion to Rusty a week ago. He'd told Nick that Addy would never agree. But now, the threat to her life had escalated. Things had changed. With or without her agreement, Addy would soon be going into hiding. He'd convince Rusty that it was the only foolproof way to keep her safe.

  "I don't want to leave Huntsville, to run like some scared—"

  Nick silenced her by placing his hand over her mouth. She glared up at him, her green eyes vivid with surprise. "You'll do whatever I tell you to do, woman. Understand?"

  Addy nodded in agreement, remaining silent when Nick removed his hand. There was no point in arguing for the sake of arguing. Nick's background made him far more of an expert than either she or her father. If Nick said they had to go into hiding, then she'd go.

  "You're awfully quiet, Red. Just what's going on in that sharp little brain of yours?"

  "I was thinking how lucky I am to have you as my own personal bodyguard."

  He stared at her, knowing there was more to her statement than met the eye. Strong emotions vibrated in the air, a pulsating tension between the two of them. She looked at him, her feelings written plainly on her face. Addy McConnell had fallen for him. It was what he'd wanted, wasn't it, for her to care enough to let him be her lover? Becoming Addy's lover could get complicated. Once he'd had her, would he ever be able to let her go?

  "Well, I'll be damned," Nick said.

  "We both may be damned," Addy said. "But I'm willing to take the risk."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Nick opened the door and stepped back, avoiding a collision with Rusty McConnell. Addy's father barreled into the foyer like an out-of-control steamroller.

  "Where is she?" A splattering of sweat dotted Rusty's ruddy cheeks. His deep baritone voice trembled with anger.

  "She's in the den." Nick reached out a restraining hand, grasping the older man by the arm.

  Rusty stopped, eyeing Nick with a harsh glare. "Is she all right?"

  "Yeah, she's all right … now. But she won't be if you go storming in there and upset her." Gauging Rusty's reaction to his comment, Nick felt him relax slightly, his big, powerful body losing some of its rigidity. "Look, she's worried about you. She's more concerned by how this is affecting you than anything else." Nick released his tenacious grip on Rusty's arm.

  "Where's the box?"

  "She has it with her," Nick said.

  "Dammit, man, why did you ever let her see it in the first place?"

  "I didn't want her to see it, but I didn't have the right to keep it from her. She's not a child, and as much as you and I want to protect her, we're not doing her any favors by treating her like one."

  "Hell, she is a child. My child! My only child…"

  "Granted. But she's also a woman, an adult who's fought long and hard for the right to be treated as one." Nick nodded toward the living room. "We need to talk, just the two of us … alone, before you see Addy."

  "Keeping secrets from her?" Rusty asked. "I thought you said we needed to treat her like an adult."

  "Addy already knows what I'm going to say to you. I just didn't think it was necessary for her to have to hear it all over again while you and I thrash things out." Nick walked out of the foyer and into the living room, stopping briefly in the doorway to issue Rusty an invitation. "How about something to drink while we talk?"

  Rusty grunted, then smiled. "Sure. Scotch. Neat." He joined Nick in the living room, watching while his daughter's bodyguard poured two glasses a third full, then handed one to him.

  "Sit?" Nick asked, lifting the Scottish whiskey to his mouth, tasting it, savoring the smoky flavor.

  "I know what you're trying to do, Romero." Sitting down, Rusty filled a blue brocade wingback chair with his big body.

  Nick didn't respond. He simply stared at Rusty as if he didn't have any idea what he was talking about.

  "You want to calm me down before I see Addy." D.B. McConnell took a hardy sip of his Scotch, allowing it to linger in his mouth before swallowing. "Seeing those pictures and newspaper clippings upset her more than she wants me to know. Right?" When Nick didn't reply, he continued. "You're trying to protect my daughter from me, aren't you?"

  "Look, Rusty, I'm probably overstepping my bounds, but the last thing Addy needs right now is to see you coming apart at the seams."

  "I agree." Rusty took another hefty taste of his drink. "I knew you were the man for Addy the night you threatened to castrate Gerald Carlton, the same night you saved her from a kidnapper."

  "I admit that I care about Addy, that I'll do whatever it takes to protect her, but don't go ringing wedding bells and throwing rice. I've been a bachelor for forty-three years, and I plan on staying one another forty-three."

  Rusty finished his Scotch, set the glass down on a nearby cherry table and stood. "I like that about you. You're honest with me, and I'll bet you're honest with Addy. That's good enough for me. Don't make her any promises you don't intend to keep."

  Choosing to ignore Rusty's comments, Nick plunged right to the heart of the matter. "I need to get Addy out of this house, away from Huntsville." He set his unfinished drink down beside Rusty's. "It's the only way I can guarantee her safety."

  "Has she agreed?"

  "Yes, she has. Your daughter may be as stubborn as a mule, but she isn't stupid. We're dealing with an unknown quantity here, a guy who's making threats to kidnap—threats to kill—if you bid on the NASP project. If he doesn't know where Addy is, he can't hurt her."

  "I've got a condo in Florida and an apartment outside Washington—"

  "And everybody who knows you and Addy knows about the condo and the apartment."

  Grunting, Rusty rubbed his chin as he considered other possibilities. "I've got fr
iends and business associates all over, even in Europe. I can call in some favors and have the two of you on a plane to practically anywhere in the world within twelve hours."

  "It'll be best if I take Addy someplace that even you don't know about." Nick waited for the lion's roar. He didn't have to wait long.

  "What? You can't mean that you don't want me to know where my own daughter is? That won't wash with me, Romero! Wherever Addy goes, I want to stay in contact with her!"

  "I've already called Sam Dundee," Nick said. "He's got a place lined up for us. No one except Sam will know our whereabouts. I'll check in daily with him, and he'll relay the message to you. If you need to contact us, then call Sam and he'll get in touch with us."

  Rusty paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, his hands balled into fists as if he longed to smash something. "I don't like it … but you're right."

  "Then you agree?"

  "Yeah. Reluctantly, but I agree."

  "Let's tell Addy."

  * * *

  The moment her father entered the den, Addy jumped off the couch and ran to him, throwing her arms around him.

  Rusty soothed her, petting her like the child she was to him. "It's all right, baby girl."

  "Oh, Daddy, please don't look at the pictures or the articles. It won't change anything. It'll just upset you." She gazed at him pleadingly.

  He ran his fingers down her cheek, tenderly grasping her chin in his hand. "I don't need to see them. I'll just take a look at the note."

  Addy sighed with relief. Going through the contents of the box had made her physically ill, and even now her mind could not erase the images of those long-ago newspaper articles—articles she'd never been allowed to see when they'd been fresh news. But her father would have seen them all, twenty-nine years ago when Donnie had been kidnapped and murdered, and twenty-five years ago when Madeline Delacourt McConnell had committed suicide.

  "Ned Johnson is on his way over here," Nick said.