Protector

by Catherine Mann

  “Who are you?” Had she escaped one threat only to meet the same fate as her uncle?

  He slowed the car to a more manageable speed, looking like a normal commuter tooling around the back roads of Sicily.

  “Damn it, answer me.” Rage coursed through her, this betrayal so much worse than her father’s rejection the month before. She’d expected that. Charles had stolen something far more precious by the seaside cliff— hope.

  “Talk to me.” She thumped a fist against the scratchy upholstery. “I have a right to know. Do you plan to kill me, kidnap me, what?”

  His hands clenched around the steering wheel as the little car whipped down a narrow road. The engine hummed with a precision and speed that were hardly hallmarks of the utilitarian base model of this vehicle.

  Jolynn tugged his arm. Muscles flexed beneath her touch. How could she have ever thought him safe? “Hey, I already know you’re not one for long speeches, but you’re crazy if you think we’re going to just pretend nothing happened.”

  His stony expression didn’t alter. “I’ve left out a few details about my past.”

  “Drug dealer?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Arms dealer?”

  “If so, don’t you think I would be decked out with more firepower?”

  She considered how he carried himself, how he’d protected her. “CIA?”

  “It’s best you don’t know the details.”

  Ah, so she’d gotten close with that last guess. Some reassurance at least that he wasn’t the worst. But he was still tangled up in something horrible— and he’d lied.

  However she looked at it— whomever he worked for, she’d been used.

  None of this man’s tenderness had been real. Jolynn remembered all she’d told him during their riverside walk. Of course, he’d only been interested in what she could relate about her father. Even his apology outside her stateroom had been a lie to wrangle his way into her confidence. She hurt. All the way to her toes, she ached with a pain that had nothing to do with her fall.

  Pressing a finger against the fogged window, she wrote his given name, remembering her first night at the casino when she’d seen his name tag.

  He downshifted around a corner, leaving the city behind, the countryside open ahead. “For what it’s worth, my name really is Charles. You can call me Chuck.”

  She flattened her palm against the window and swiped away the scrawl. “Well, Chuck, I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Give me the phone under the seat.” His casual voice filled the car, bearing no more emotion than if he’d asked her to pass the butter. Of course he had a cell phone tucked away in his getaway car.

  What else had he planted in her life without her knowing?

  The old Jolynn roared to the surface, ready to fight. “Get it yourself, Chuck, you lying son of a bitch.”

  “That I am, Jolynn.” A flutter of some emotion, weariness perhaps, flickered through his eyes. “Now, let me have the phone anyway. I need to keep my hands on the wheel.”

  She wanted to argue, if for no other reason than to vent the emotions chugging through her, but bottom line, she didn’t want to be in the middle of another shoot-out anytime soon. She reached under the seat, groping around for a moment before she found the slim device.

  “Here…” Tossing it at him, she felt a grim satisfaction at his wince when it Frisbeed against his abs. The little girl inside her who threw rocks at statues wanted to hurl all her hurt at him.

  “Thanks.” He cast her a very unamused look before he punched numbers into the phone. “Four-six-nine. Alpha-Foxtrot.” His clipped, professional tone cut the air. “I’m coming in.”

  The final confirmation of his deception slammed the door on her dreams. Jolynn wanted to kick herself for believing he was genuinely interested in her, that they might have something to offer each other. Worst of all, she still wanted him. And as much as she wanted to jump out of this car at the nearest corner, Chuck had kept her alive when someone out there was gunning for her. Someone who could still be looking for her.

  For now, it appeared her best option was to stick close to him and pray like crazy a better option presented itself ASAP.

  * * *

  A cruise ship offered more places for a hired assassin to hide than a person would think.

  Parked on a silver bar stool, he sipped his Peroni, eyeing the crowd over the top of the beer mug. Sure, the Fortuna left port and floated around. But with all the traffic going on and off this oversized party barge, it wasn’t that tough to swap out one person for another as long as the people looked vaguely alike on the passport.

  Everyone was more zeroed in on the beautiful people anyway. Like the jewel-draped contessa of who-the-hell-knew-where blowing on the dice for a different gigolo in each port. And the Italian torch singer laughing over lunch with her American flyboy.

  But no sign of Jolynn and her new pal.

  If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t see their faces again. Ever.

  He’d intended to take care of her later in the States, but then her trip presented too perfect an opportunity. And there would be less scrutiny here than in the United States. Although the parking lot carjacking attempt had been a bust. Breaking into her suite hadn’t gone well, either. He’d intended for his underling to pitch her off the balcony, but instead merely stirred others on the hall into hysteria.

  With luck, the local henchman he’d subcontracted to pop Jolynn during her sightseeing jaunt would eliminate the problem once and for all. Good God, the woman seemed to have nine lives.

  It was a shame her fling with the blackjack dealer called for an additional death, but that could be turned into an advantage. It should be simple enough to toss around rumors of his having unpaid debts to loan sharks.

  Problem solved. One more barrier out of the way to achieving his goal. Total control of the Taylor family and fortune. Thanks to the business being funneled through this cruise ship, that fortune was growing exponentially.

  Speak of the devil, he saw one of the latest players in their exchange of information head for the slot machines.

  Yes, things were moving along according to schedule. By the time they reached their final destination in Spain, all the components would be in place for a top-dollar package.

  An explosive package that would rock the world.

  * * *

  Chuck slammed on the brakes, the tiny village street narrow and packed with pedestrians. A battle raged inside him as fierce and tenacious as the one they’d just left behind. His worst fear had happened. He’d let Jolynn distract him, and she’d nearly lost her life for his screwup. While he’d stood there sucking on her finger like a lovesick puppy, his guard dropped.

  Cranking a hard left around a corner, he narrowly missed an old man pushing a wheelbarrow full of produce. Jolynn braced her palms against the dash, silent for the half hour since they’d left the port city limits. He still couldn’t be certain who the target had been. Was the attack an extension of the earlier attempt on Jolynn in the casino parking garage? Or had his cover been blown? What about the rest of his team back on the ship?

  Regardless, his assumed identity was shot to hell. He seriously doubted he could convince anyone a blackjack dealer carried around a military-issue automatic and drove an armored car.

  The disillusionment in her eyes when she’d stared at him… His hands shook. Now, he owed her.

  He parked the Fiat on a side street in an older section of a remote little fishermen’s village— with a safe house. He had addresses stored in his brain for one at every port of call along the way for this mission.

  “This is it?” Jolynn asked, her voice full of skepticism.

  He doubled-checked the address on the pastel pink plaster and stone row house, age lines streaking downward with tiny cracks. “Yes, this is our stop.”

  She snorted. “I’ll certainly think twice before advocating further government budget cuts. Do they make you guys type repor
ts on a manual typewriter? Etch them on papyrus? I would wager you even boil the lead to make your own bullets.”

  Now probably wasn’t the time to mention his techno background. “Glad to see you’ve recovered your sense of humor.”

  “Oh, I’m fine, invigorated. You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” She swept her tangled hair back brusquely. “A walk by the water, pilfer some info about her crooked daddy, then treat her to a shoot-out and trip to CIA headquarters. What a great date you are.”

  He ignored the anger in her voice. If only he could ignore the pain in her green eyes as well. “I’m not CIA and this isn’t headquarters for anything.” He would feel his way through telling her more once he checked with the agents inside. “This is just a safe house. Of course, now that you’ve been here, it’s no longer secure. Everything will be moved to another location shortly after we leave.”

  “If you’re not CIA, you’re obviously with some spooky agency. You wouldn’t want this big bad Taylor selling you out to all her mob friends.”

  “Cut it out, Red.” He scanned the area from the relative safety of his reinforced Fiat. “You aren’t going to run from me again, are you?”

  “I’m not particularly pleased to discover you’ve been lying since we met. But at least I know you’re not a thug for hire planning to feed my toes to the fish or I would be dead already. Now that the gunfire has settled, it seems best to stay put with you. For now.”

  He knew her adrenaline rush would fade soon, and he needed to get her inside before that happened. Weakness would flood her in the wake of a day no one should have to experience. He shoved aside his own need to assess his actions, his guilt, fixating instead on taking care of her. “You do pack quite a wallop. I’ll let you have that one. I figure it’s your due for our… encounter.”

  “Encounter? You mean kiss. Toe-curling assault on my senses by a lying creep. If we’re keeping score, then here.” She kicked his shin, hard, the toe of her sandals digging deep.

  “What the hell was that for?” Maybe she’d rallied a little too much.

  “I still owed you for sucking on my finger.”

  “This car is wired for sound.”

  Her eyes widened in horror. He almost laughed. Hell, he needed a laugh, or a drink, or to be anywhere but in the middle of this mess of his own making.

  “Really?” she squeaked, her hands dropping to her lap.

  “No, but my shin feels better now.” He smirked, knowing the grin would fire her, providing the extra push of energy to get through the rest of their ordeal.

  “Can I believe anything you say?”

  His smile faded. “Come on, Red.” He shoved her cavernous purse toward her. “Don’t forget the Black Hole of Calcutta.”

  After they left the car, Chuck slid his computerized security key into the lock and pushed through the front door, a hand between Jolynn’s shoulder blades. Two layers of codes and deactivated alarms later, he guided her into the temporary office in the belly of the house. He scanned the room with a new perspective. He’d trusted military technology to keep him alive more than once. In fact, a tracking device embedded in his shoulder had saved his ass when he’d been taken captive in Turkey. He rolled his shoulder against the phantom ache.

  The stakes were higher now with Jolynn’s life on the line.

  Gripping her by the elbow, Chuck led her past the wall sporting high-tech surveillance systems. An agent with the National Security Agency wearing a ball cap was parked behind one, and an Air Force Office of Special Investigations agent sat behind the other.

  The ball cap– wearing agent— Mike Nuñez— spun his chair around to face them. “The prodigal son turns up. From the audio feed we got from your pals on the ship, it sounded as if things got a little hairy out there for you. Glad to see you’re okay, Tanaka. Well, other than some mud.”

  Chuck looked down, only just realizing Jolynn’s entire torso was caked from when he’d tackled her. He glanced at his clothes, only soiled along the knees and forearms.

  What if he’d hurt her and in the adrenaline frenzy she may not have felt the pain? “Jolynn?”

  “I’m fine. And what’s this about audio from while we were at the water?” Her eyes crackled with renewed anger— and fear.

  Now wasn’t the time to tell her how much of their conversations had been monitored by Berg back at the boat.

  Nuñez pulled out a chair for her at the desk beside him. “Are you sure? Let me get you something to drink before we talk.”

  “Talk?” Jolynn’s accusing gaze pinned him. “I don’t think so. I’m under no delusions that you sent this guy in to check out hairnet violations among our cooking staff. Even if I did know something, do you really think I would play any part in your attempts to nail my father? If so, you can all be my guests at a nice little river walk I’m planning for revenge on pretty boy.” Jolynn thumped Chuck on the chest and promptly winced.

  “Damn. You are hurt.” Chuck wrapped his fingers around her arm. “Where?”

  “I’m fine.” She flinched away from his touch.

  “Apparently not.”

  She glared at him for a moment. “My ribs are a little sore from when you tackled me.”

  Panic knotted his gut. Chuck whipped her shirt up. Nuñez cleared his throat and tugged at the bill of his ball cap. Chuck pierced him with a stare until he turned away.

  Chuck steadied his breathing and tried not to think about his knuckles grazing her gently rounded softness. He wanted her. With a throbbing ache he wanted to reaffirm life in the most basic way. He shrugged through a kink in his neck. It didn’t help.

  He studied the multihued purple, red, and yellow bruise spreading across her rib cage. Anger replaced frustrated passion.

  Jolynn looked down at her bared skin, her eyes widening. The color left her face, and he caught her as her legs folded. He lowered her into a chair.

  Her hand fluttered to her forehead. “I thought I was fine.”

  “Adrenaline fools us all sometimes.” He knelt beside her and touched a hand to her ribs, prodding carefully. Her skin felt so soft, her ribs so fragile. “I think you should see a doctor. Who can we call? Hey? Nuñez?”

  “Yeah? A doc. I’m on it.”

  Nuñez could always be counted on. Always. As an undercover NSA agent, he had been instrumental in the undercover op that had got Chuck out of Turkey in the first place two years ago. He’d become involved with a woman from the region during the case. She’d been sent into witness protection for a year before they got married. Nuñez had a few scores of his own to settle in bringing down the terrorist bastards pulling the strings.

  The enormity of what he’d pulled Jolynn into threatened to swallow him whole. He didn’t have the luxury of doubts about his edge or mojo any longer. He’d brought her into this. His own personal mission for vengeance had to be sidelined in the interest of keeping Jolynn Taylor alive.

  She brushed Chuck aside. “Forget about finding a doc. I’ll check in with the ship’s physician.”

  He gripped his fingers around her upper arm. “The ship will have left by the time we get back.” That part was a lie, but hopefully she was too disoriented to pick up on details like the passage of time. “And even if it hadn’t, you need to stay here.”

  “Are you arresting me for something?” Her cool eyes locked in on his hand.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then I’m out of here. I will catch up at the next port of call.” She jerked away and stalked toward the door— a door she wouldn’t be able to open even if she tried.

  And even if she could pry the thing open? He had a fairly good idea of what waited for her beyond the secured exit.

  He charged past an obviously curious Nuñez flattening his hand to the steel-enforced door just before Jolynn could try to twist the handle. “You need to be in protective custody until we have some answers. If you walk outside, you stand a good chance of being finished off by those guys in the truck back at the river.”

  She
spun to face him. “They’re after you, Chuck Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is. Why would they want to kill me?”

  “To get to your father.” Chuck watched the pain stab across her face and felt a moment’s remorse for inflicting it. But he needed to use whatever methods of persuasion possible to convince her to remain in protective custody until he sifted through the facts. “Do you really think your father’s going to be able to keep you safe this time? He can’t even leave his room. I know his ‘reach’ is far, but there’s no question his power is diminished now.”

  Jolynn rubbed her forehead, her brow furrowed. Was she weakening? He’d hurt her again, but he didn’t have a choice.

  He chose his next words with care, dealing the final blow. “Is it worth risking your life just to gain Daddy’s approval?”

  Her lips thinned, and Chuck knew he’d won. But at what cost?

  NINE

  Five minutes to go until her performance, Livia sipped her lukewarm lemon water, her standard drink to soothe her vocal cords prior to singing. Rex hadn’t left her side all afternoon, and the constant need to resist the attraction was beginning to exhaust her. Soon, though, he would be seated in the audience and she could lose herself in the music.

  From the tiny hall that led onto the stage, she studied the clusters of people drinking at tables, a larger crowd than last night. But so far, she didn’t see any signs of Jolynn. She’d invited the woman at Rex’s request. He’d merely said that he and Chuck needed to keep her in sight.

  Was she a criminal? Or in danger? Either of which put both Chuck and Rex in the line of fire.

  The specter of the unknown chilled her. Chuck had become her friend over the past couple of years, and she didn’t want to see him hurt again. His recovery had been so difficult, he deserved to kick back. While she wasn’t privy to details, the mission must be dangerous.

  And while she was worried for Chuck, Rex was far more than a friend. Her gut clenched and she blurted out, “Are you sure you’re safe?”

  Rex’s serious eyes turned toward her slowly, narrowing. He dipped his head toward her. “I’m not sure at all. You should quit and go home.”