by Denise Agnew
Dylan’s eyebrows went up. “That couldn’t be an accident.”
She shrugged and reached for her coffee cup. “Weird things happen, but you’re right. He point blank told me he’d sought me out.”
“Creepy.”
“It was.” She put down her cup and rubbed her arms.
“Cold?”
“Felt like someone walked over my grave.”
He didn’t press her and they went silent for a moment.
Finally she continued. “I immediately told him I couldn’t see him. I felt it would be a conflict of interest considering our past. Other staff members were witness to his behavior. It was erratic. He claimed that it had been a coincidence that he’d come to the practice. The psychiatrist decided to take him on, which I didn’t like. He should’ve referred Allan to another psychiatrist.”
“I can see that could get dicey.”
“It was. I hate to say this, but I think the psychiatrist I worked for thought I was being hard on Allan. He thought I was letting a breakup when I was a teenager color my professional abilities.”
Incredulity passed over his face. “What?”
“That was my reaction.” She rubbed one hand over her face, weary despite the caffeine. “I swallowed my disagreement because I was a wuss. I should’ve pressed the issue.”
“What did the psychiatrist think of him?”
“Dr. Conners didn’t say. He couldn’t. Client privacy and all that. Allan came in every Tuesday, and pretty soon I started feeling paranoid. Wanting to skip Tuesdays just to avoid seeing him. I kept to my office and tried to deal with it the best way I could.”
“I take it that didn’t go so well.”
“No. The psychiatrist kept seeing Allan, and I decided to apply for other therapist jobs in the area. About a month later I started seeing this off white Toyota Forerunner following me everywhere, and finally spotted Allan in it. One day I got so angry, I marched up to his car in the parking lot and yelled at him to stop following me. He just laughed and said I was delusional. The same gas lighting crap he used to pull when we were kids. Only more intense. He pulled out his cell phone and called the cops on me.”
“What the hell?”
“That’s what I said.”
“What did you do?”
She downed the remainder of her rapidly cooling coffee. “I waited for the cops.”
“Good for you.”
“I thought it was at the time.” Drained, she dragged herself from her chair and went to the sink with her empty cup. “He claimed I’d been harassing him and he wanted a restraining order placed on me.”
“What an asshole.”
She smiled, liking the vehemence in his voice when he described Allan. “That he is. The police questioned both of us in the parking lot for a long time. They took me aside and got my take on the situation. After what I told them about our history, they seemed suspicious of him. They put the restraining order on me only because he insisted.”
She rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. She returned to the table and plopped down.
“Don’t tell me where this is going,” Dylan said. “I can almost see it. He approached you and then claimed you violated the restraining order.”
She pointed at him quickly. “Boom. Fortunately for me, it didn’t ring true with the cops. I was sitting in a restaurant with the psychiatrist I worked with. The psychiatrist invited me to lunch straight from work. There was no way I could have stalked Allan.”
Dylan nodded. “Let me guess. When you told the police this, they realized Dylan was playing games and trying to get you jammed up.”
“Exactly. The psychiatrist vouched for me and explained how Allan was his patient and there was no way I was stalking the man since I was with the psychiatrist during lunch. Allan had to be looking for us or for me in particular at the restaurant.”
“And?” he asked softly.
“The cops warned Allan away from me and told him point blank not to use the restraining order that way or there would be consequences.”
Dylan sat back in his chair, eyes sharp. “How long before that wore off?”
“Less than a day. I guess what the police said pissed him off and he used it as an excuse to raise the stakes. Allan started a full-fledged stalking. Calling my house, my cell phone. He left hundreds of messages until it was full and no legitimate callers could leave a message.” She couldn’t stop now, letting it all out. “He accused me of having an affair with the psychiatrist.”
“Did you?”
Surprised, she glared. “What? No.”
He held both hands up. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. It’s a legit question. Doctor Milestone was twenty years older than me with a wife and sons. He wasn’t interested in me that way, and I wasn’t interested in him. Even if I had been I wouldn’t have acted on it. As it was, he was kind of a dismissive man. I didn’t exactly like him much. I should’ve looked for a new job long before Allan showed up again.”
“Did Rivers turning up at your lunch convince Doctor Milestone that you weren’t overreacting?”
“Thankfully, yes.”
She closed her eyes, anxiety dancing around in her stomach. When she opened her eyes, Dylan stared at her with a breathtaking intensity.
He leaned forward. “Wait a minute. You said was when you mentioned Doctor Milestone.”
Her throat went tight. “He had a heart attack and has become severely disabled. I blame Allan for that, too. So does Doctor Milestone’s wife and kids.”
Dylan groaned slightly. “Damn. I’ll bet there’s more to that story than I know.”
“Way more.” She hesitated, unsure if she could say more without choking up. She drew in a deep breath and spilled it before she lost courage. “An off-white Toyota Forerunner tried to run him over in the parking lot of the grocery store one day. He had a heart attack. No one got the license plate, and the video surveillance in the lot wasn’t working so there was no proof it was Allan who tried to run him down. But the doctor said it was an off-white Forerunner that tried to run him over.”
“Oh, man.”
The cell phone on the table in front of Terra rang. Emily’s phone number popped up on her cell phone screen. Terra answered.
“Hey Emily.”
“Hi sweetie. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Fletch is on his way out but he needs to talk with both of you.”
“I’ll put it on speaker phone.” Terra placed the phone on the dining table and turned on the speaker. “Okay, go.”
Fletch’s voice came over the line. “Hey guys. Any sign of the Toyota or Rivers?”
“Nothing,” Dylan said.
“Good. We got information back from my source. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Hit us with the bad,” Terra said.
“You got it. The bad news is that Allan Rivers escaped from a prison work detail in Denver two weeks ago.”
Terra’s throat tightened, and suddenly she felt as she stood on the edge of falling off the world. She had to force herself to listen to Fletch’s next words.
“It’s a big mess and heads are rolling,” Fletch said. “Apparently he went straight to his parent’s farm and stole the old Forerunner.”
“Wait,” Dylan said. “How did he make it from the work detail all the way to his parents?”
“He stole another car first,” Fletch said. “Anyway, he left that car and took the Forerunner, but the police think his parents just plain gave it to him without a fight. They claim he left them a note saying he was skipping the country. How he’ll do that with no cash and no passport is beyond me. Maybe slipping into Mexico or Canada illegally. Who knows?”
Terra took a big breath, trying to calm her nerves. “So you think it’s possible he isn’t in town?”
“No, I think it’s very possible he’s in town. Because of that, I think we should implement a plan to stay on the safe side,” Fletch said.
“What’s the good news?” Terra asked.
“We have a way to protect you,” Fletch said.
Terra glanced at Dylan’s implacable expression, then back at the phone. “What do you have in mind?”
Fletch cleared his throat. “You need a bodyguard.”
Terra half feared he’d say that. “No. I mean, I can’t afford to hire someone.”
“You can’t go this alone. It isn’t safe,” Emily’s voice broke over the line.
“They’re right,” Dylan said suddenly. “There’s too much of a chance this guy could freak and do something desperate. There’s a good chance the car we saw was his.”
“And you saw the car at least two other times, Terra,” Emily said.
Terra rubbed her cold hands together, the inevitable rising up to meet her. “Okay, what’s your idea?”
Before Fletch could propose a solution, Dylan said, “I’ll be your bodyguard.”
Terra’s lips parted with a ready retort but died immediately. “But…are you a professional bodyguard? I mean…”
Dylan shook his head. “You’d be my first detail.”
“He’s qualified for close security work and close quarters battle. I’d trust him with my life,” Fletch said.
Her mind scampered for an excuse, anything she could say or do to wiggle out of this without sounding like or being like a complete idiot. Face it. You’re in trouble. You need help. She swallowed pride, and her insides started to shake.
“But what does this mean?” She dared to look at Dylan, who still wore an indecipherable expression. “You move in here?”
“Yep. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Good,” Fletch said in a rush. “I’d talk more, but I gotta go. You guys work out the details.”
“I need to talk to you, Fletch,” Dylan said, snatching up her phone and heading for the front door. He turned to look at her. “Lock this door behind me.”
She went on automatic pilot and did as he said. When he left with her phone and stood at her front door, she could hear the low murmur of his deep voice.
Two thoughts twisted up in her mind. How did I get here? I don’t like manhandling. I don’t like being forced into anything.
Although she knew intellectually Fletch and Dylan weren’t manhandling her, it still pissed her off that she needed a man’s help, or anyone’s help for that matter. She stood at the front door, starting to fume and wishing she knew another way around this situation. Not long after, a knock came on the door. She looked through the peephole and it was Dylan. She let him inside, and he closed and locked the door again. With a slow, easy stride, he moved back into the room. He handed her the phone.
“Sorry I just snatched your phone. I wanted to talk with him privately before he got away.”
“Talk with him about what?”
“To chew him out.”
She made a scoffing noise. “Chew him out?”
He heaved a sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
“Come with me to my apartment so I can pick up some clothes and things. I’ll explain on the way.”
She made a another noise, this one of disbelief. “You’re planning on moving in here for a few days?”
“As long as it takes.”
Her mouth popped open. “I’m not liking this.”
He slipped on his leather jacket, his expression transforming from stone hard to gentle and understanding. He wandered her direction and stopped close. She drew in a breath, disconcerted and yet aroused by his proximity.
He cupped her shoulders. “Hey, look. I get it.”
“Do you? Has some possessive, gas lighting, domineering male tried to control your life?”
He smiled, and the warmth filled her.
“No.” He shrugged. “Wait. Yeah. A couple of drill sergeants.”
She couldn’t help but respond to his levity with a smile. “All right smarty pants.”
He rubbed her shoulders. “No, I don’t know what you’re going through, but I have a good imagination. Fletch and Emily care about you. They’re worried, and if I don’t help you, they’ll be beside themselves.” He released her shoulders, but stayed close. “Fletch asked me a couple of days ago to watch over you because of Rivers. Their gut is telling them you’re not safe. You don’t feel safe. After seeing what’s happening, I don’t think you’re in a good situation staying here by yourself.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Wait. That’s not all. What makes you willing to put yourself on the line for a virtual stranger?”
“I’ll tell you more if you come with me to my apartment, all right?”
She sighed. “All right.”
Chapter Five
“As a PJ I didn’t think of failure. I’d made it through an elite school designed to train me to be the best, a warrior capable of kicking ass and taking names. More important, I was trained to save lives. There are times when I look back at how I’ve failed, how I didn’t do what I needed to get the job done. I couldn’t save Jason and I didn’t save that woman. I didn’t save them, and the burn inside me…the pain rides my ass every single day.”
-Journal of Dylan Westcott
Man, oh man. He’d gotten himself into it now. Dylan couldn’t believe how things had turned around in a few hours. Thanksgiving evening and he’d become the bodyguard for a smart, hot woman who made his blood fire up in more ways than one. When he’d peeled his lazy ass out of bed this morning he hadn’t guessed where he’d end up.
More than that, he couldn’t believe the emotions that had fired to life inside him. Everything dormant within him, that he’d ignored for more than nine months, had started up again like someone had flipped a switch. Yet none of the feelings hitting him now were comfortable. Not a damned one.
Driving toward his apartment across town with Terra in the seat next to him made him feel restless, ready to crack some heads and take some names. An urgent desire to protect the woman beside him erased the other part of him saying he couldn’t do the job. That Fletch’s faith in him was damn misplaced. Another side of him whispered, though. And the voice wouldn’t leave him alone.
Man up, jerk. Terra needs you. A life is at stake.
He sensed fear within her, despite her efforts to keep it from him and anyone else. Her strength impressed him. She didn’t know him well, yet she’d put her life in his hands. If she was willing to do that, he couldn’t let her down. He couldn’t live with himself if he allowed mistakes of the past to rule his reactions today. Another death on his hands…he couldn’t bare the thought.
“You’re so quiet,” Terra said. She glanced around to look out the back window. “Is someone tracking us?”
“No. I don’t think anyone is following us. Rivers is off the scent for now.”
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath he heard clearly. “Rivers is never off the scent. He’s like something supernatural. Something evil.”
“He’s just a man.”
“A very evil, sociopathic narcissist.”
“That’s bad, but it’s not unbeatable. You beat him once, you can do it again. Tell me how you escaped his clutches the first time. Maybe there’s something we can use in this situation.”
“First, you promised to tell me why you had to chew out Fletch. I don’t like skullduggery.”
He smiled. “I haven’t heard someone your age use that word in a long time.”
“My parents are Irish. I have a passel of old words and ideas at my disposal.”
His grin stayed. “I like that.”
A half smile touched her mouth but she said, “Don’t try and wiggle out of explaining why you jumped in to be my bodyguard and why Fletch wanted you to be my bodyguard in the first place.”
He paused, trying to think of how to avoid the entire conversation, everything he didn’t want to talk about or think about ever again. If he didn’t tell her, though, she would balk and maybe tell him to take a hike.
“Okay.” He stiffened, h
is temples starting to throb at the idea of confessing. “I’ll give it all to you. From the beginning. I was in Pararescue originally, as you know. I was recruited into Delta, and I’d been Delta for two years when the crap hit the fan. I left the military nine months ago because of it.” He drew in a deep breath and took the plunge straight off the ledge. “I was caught in an explosion while trying to help a friend.”
“Oh, my God. That’s awful. Were you hurt?”
“A concussion. The PTSD, though…that’s been the real bitch. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with my life. I planned to make the military my lifetime career. It’s all I wanted to do.”
“And then the PTSD made it impossible to do your job anymore?”
“Yep.”
“Tell me more.”
He hesitated.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not one of those people who thinks soldiers with PTSD are weak. Or anyone who has PTSD for that matter. I’ve got some of my own.”
He nodded, reassured. “A lot of people don’t realize that PTSD is hardwired in the brain. They think it’s easy to just get over it.”
“I understand. For some people it is easier to get over…it depends entirely on the person. Everyone is different.”
More relief filled him. Maybe she would understand. He didn’t want to tell her what had happened to him, because those freaking emotions might leak out. The ones he didn’t want to deal with anymore. His throat tightened, his heart thumping a little faster despite his belief that she could and would understand.
Come on Westcott. Spill it. She needs to trust you or the excrement really could hit the oscillating device.
“My best friend from high school was a marine,” he said, eyes watering a little. “He had enough horrible experiences during the war that he lost it. I tried to get him help, to find counseling. He wouldn’t go. Then he…he stole some explosive, strapped it to himself. He walked into a dining tent and threatened to blow himself up. He walked out. I ran after him. He set off the explosive.”
Her hand landed on his shoulder, and the burn behind in his eyes started to dissolve under the comfort of her gentle touch.
“That’s…I’m so sorry,” she said softly.
