Sweet Caroline's Keeper

by Beverly Barton

  "Caroline?"

  She released her indrawn breath on a long, relieved sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I shouldn't have come in here. I'll go—"

  When she turned to leave, he moved quickly to snap on the bedside lamp and lay his gun on the nightstand. Then he caught up with her and clamped his hand down on her shoul­der with gentle strength. "Are you all right?"

  Without glancing back at him, she nodded. His hand on her shoulder was hard and hot. His rough fingertips absently massaged her muscles. A man's touch had never taken her breath away. Not like this. Powerless to stop herself, she pivoted slowly until she faced him. He maintained his hold on her shoulder and increased the pressure just a little as he moved his hand down to cuff her bare upper arm. Unable to bring herself to look him in the eye, she cast her gaze toward his chest and what she saw startled her. She gasped, then lifted her hand and laid it on his brutally scarred upper torso. He grabbed her hand and she thought he was going to snatch it away. But instead he held it there where she'd placed it over his heart.

  "What happened to you?" she asked, hypnotized by the viciousness of his scars.

  "An accident," he told her, his voice low and husky.

  "Oh, Wolfe. How awful for you. You must have suffered terribly. You poor darling."

  He lifted her hand away from his chest, turned it palm up and brought it to his lips. When his warm, moist mouth grazed her sensitive flesh, she trembled. There was such gen­tleness in the way he stroked her, the way he eased his hand up and down her arm, caressing her with a lover's touch. Her gaze lifted to his and a tremor of pure undiluted sexual long­ing spiraled up from the core of her femininity when he looked at her as if he intended to take her, here and now.

  She swayed toward him, unable to resist, swept away by the moment and the heady sensual experience. His gaze nar­rowed, shrinking his eyes to mere slits. His nostrils flared. His breath became labored. She sensed that he was an aroused beast and she was his appeasement. Excitement dulled her fear as pure animal instinct took control of her mind and body, telling her that he was her mate, the man she had been waiting for all these years.

  Abruptly Wolfe shoved her away. Startled by the unex­pected action, she caught her breath and glared at him, not understanding Ms sudden rejection of her.

  "You should go back to bed," he said, a hint of regret in his commanding voice.

  She nodded, then swallowed hard and said, "Yes. Yes, I should." Embarrassment claimed her with a vengeance and she all but ran from Ms bedroom, across the hall and into her own room. She started to slam the door shut, but remembered his orders to always leave the door open. With her pulse pounding at breakneck speed, her face hot with shame, Car­oline hurried into her bathroom, closed the door and dropped to her knees. Tears streamed down her face.

  What had she almost done? Wolfe must think her a hussy to have come into his room and all but attack him. He would have no way of knowing that she had never reacted that way to another man. Only to him.

  Ellison stood and rounded his desk when Oliver Harper entered his office. He hadn't seen Oliver in nearly a year and then it had been a brief hello at some political function they'd both been obligated to attend. Although they'd known each other since their days at Harvard, they had never actually been friends. More friendly acquaintances than anything else. Ellison had always liked Oliver, despite the differences in their political leanings and the fact that Oliver had all but stolen Eileen from him when they'd been a couple of young bucks vying for her affections.

  "What brings you to Peacekeepers International?" Ellison asked as he extended his hand.

  Oliver exchanged a cordial handshake with Ellison, all the while bestowing his most charming smile on his old rival. "Nothing to do with international affairs. I can assure you that I leave all that diplomatic stuff to you do-gooders. You know me, Ellison, I'm of the persuasion to bomb 'em and ask questions later."

  Ellison chuckled. Oliver never changed and never apolo­gized for his beliefs. He was the same old right-wing, militant conservative he'd always been. "Then to what do I owe the honor of your visit this morning? I'm afraid if there's trouble on Wall Street, you've come to the wrong organization for help." Ellison indicated a chair to Oliver, then stepped back and leaned his hip against the front edge of his desk.

  "No financial complaints." Oliver nodded and sat in the proffered leather chair. "What I've come to you about is something of a personal nature."

  Ellison's brows lifted as his eyes rounded with curiosity. "Would you care for some coffee? Or perhaps a cup of tea?"

  "No, thank you." Oliver relaxed his tall, lean frame in the chair and crossed his legs. "I suppose you know all about the attempt on Caroline McGuire's life recently."

  Ellison nodded. "Hmm-mmm."

  "I figured Gavin Robbins was keeping you informed. Brooke told me that Caroline dated Gavin for a while and he was actually her date that terrible night aboard Fletch's yacht. He was rather lax in his duty, wasn't he? If he'd been with her—"

  "Get to the point," Ellison said, his voice a bit more testy than he'd intended. "What personal interest do you have in Caroline McGuire, other than the fact she and your daughter are friends?"

  "Isn't that enough? If not, then surely you recall that Pres­ton Shaw was a friend of mine. Our families have been so­cially connected for generations. And Preston adored Caro­line. You know the poor child had a nervous breakdown after Preston's murder, so naturally Brooke and I are concerned about her mental health now. Caroline seems convinced that there's some credence to that ridiculous letter Preston left."

  "What makes you think the letter is ridiculous?"

  Oliver laughed. "I knew Preston. He was a bon vivant, a man who loved the good things in life and got a great deal of pleasure out of his role as a diplomat. He wasn't the type to be involved in espionage."

  "Perhaps you didn't know Preston as well as you thought you did. Perhaps none of us really knew him."

  "Of course it's possible you're right." Oliver sighed. "At this late date, that's neither here nor there, is it? There isn't anything we can do to help poor old Preston, but Caroline is a different matter. Considering the fact that Preston was one of your own, I'm sure you're as interested as my family is in safeguarding his step-daughter."

  "I understand from Gavin Robbins that Fletcher Shaw hired a professional bodyguard for Caroline. I don't see that there's anything else to be done."

  "Now you've hit upon my concern." Oliver leaned for­ward, his gaze connecting boldly with Ellison's. "I'd like for you to use your connections and have an in-depth security check done on this Mr. Wolfe. I've already made some phone calls and found out that the Dundee agency has an exemplary reputation. It's one of the best, if not the best security and investigation agency in the country. But I wasn't able to get any real information on Mr. Wolfe. His background seems to be a mystery and that fact bothers me. If there's the re­motest possibility that there is any truth to what Preston wrote in that letter, then we can't afford to trust anyone."

  "Not even each other," Ellison said in a deadpan manner.

  Oliver guffawed loudly. "I trust you, Ellison. You're prob­ably the most trustworthy man I know. That's why I've come to you with my concerns. Find out what you can about this man Fletcher hired to protect Caroline. Let's make sure that she's safe in his hands."

  "All right," Ellison replied. "As a favor to you and be­cause Caroline is Preston Shaw's stepdaughter, I'll run a check on Mr. Wolfe." Ellison realized that he would have to pacify Oliver with a fake report on David Wolfe; otherwise his old friend was bound to become suspicious. And that was something he couldn't allow to happen.

  Oliver rose to his feet. "You'll let me know the minute you get the information on him?"

  "It could take a few days."

  Oliver stepped forward and clasped Ellison's hand. "A few days would be perfect. We can discuss your findings at the dinner we're having this weekend to raise funds for Fletcher's political campaign.
You are planning to attend, aren't you?"

  "Didn't receive an invitation." Ellison pulled his hand from Oliver's grip.

  "Consider yourself invited." Oliver grinned. "I'll see that Eileen adds your name to the guest list. She'll be delighted to see you again. It's been what—five years or more since you two saw each other?"

  "Give or take a year," Ellison said.

  "Caroline will be at the dinner, escorted by her bodyguard. If there's any reason Fletcher needs to dismiss Mr. Wolfe, then we can present a united front and I can immediately call in a man from the agency I use. Eastbrook, Inc., out of Rich­mond. We've used their bodyguards for years, whenever there was any need."

  Ellison followed Oliver into the outer office, past his sec­retary and all the way down the corridor to the private ele­vator. The door to Gavin Robbins's office, directly across the hall from the elevators, stood wide open and Gavin's assis­tant, Mike Latham, glanced up from his desk to make eye contact with Ellison. Gavin had hand-picked his assistant, just as Ellison had, and with his legal background, Latham had proved himself an invaluable asset to the Peacekeepers. The minute the elevator doors closed, Ellison reversed direc­tions and headed straight back to his office. He paused mo­mentarily at his secretary's desk. Barry Vanderpool, whose father had been a Peacekeepers agent until his untimely death, was the most efficient secretary Ellison had ever had. The young man had a knack for anticipating Ellison's every need. He was quite proud of the fact that he had handpicked Barry from a long list of applicants and his instincts had proved him right.

  "I don't want to be disturbed for the next half hour."

  "Yes, sir," Barry replied.

  Ellison closed and locked his office door, then removed his cellular phone, which worked off a scrambled security frequency, thus preventing interception. He dialed the num­ber that he had memorized and waited, tapping Ms foot on the floor, while the phone rang.

  When the familiar voice answered, Ellison said, "We've got a big problem."

  "I can't believe we didn't find anything, not even a hint of a clue in all these things." Caroline dropped the handful of old, yellowed letters back into the ornately carved wooden box lying in the middle of Fletcher Shaw's attic.

  "I felt certain when we finally unearthed this box that the key would fit it," Fletcher said. "But the thing wasn't even locked."

  Brooke leaned over the back of the dilapidated chair in which Fletcher sat, among the array of stored antique furni­ture and boxed family items. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his right temple. "I'm so sorry, dear. I know how disappointed you and Caroline must be."

  "Is there anything else that you can think of?" Wolfe asked. "Something that your father could have left some­where else?"

  "Lenore cleared out his safety deposit box," Fletcher said. "So that's ruled out. And the key doesn't fit any locks in the Sheffield Street house that he shared with Lenore, nor does it fit any locks in this house, where he once lived with Mother."

  "What about his office at Peacekeepers International?" Brooke asked.

  "I'd already thought of that," Fletcher said. "I phoned Ellison Penn and he assured me that every key issued to Father by the Peacekeepers was accounted for shortly after Father's death. Besides, none of the old keys fit any of the new locks in the Peacekeepers building."

  "There has to be something we're overlooking." Caroline paced the unfinished wood floor, trying her best to avoid eye contact with Wolfe. Ever since what had occurred between them in the wee hours of the night, she'd felt a keen sense of embarrassment. When he didn't mention the incident this morning, she felt relieved and thankful that his demeanor toward her had returned to robotic efficiency. Their breakfast conversation had consisted of nothing more than the plans for the day. Then at the studio, while she'd photographed four different clients before noon, Wolfe had stood guard quietly, his gaze only occasionally meeting hers and then moving on quickly.

  "Everything that belonged to Father is stored right here," Fletcher said. "And as far as I know, when Lenore left for Europe, she didn't take any of Father's personal items, just his money and her jewels."

  "By any chance, did your father have an apartment in D.C.?" Wolfe asked.

  "No." Fletcher shook his head.

  "What about cars? Did Lenore sell his cars or did you get them?" Wolfe glanced first at Fletcher and then at Caroline.

  "I have no idea," Caroline admitted. "Mother left for Eu­rope only a few weeks after Preston's funeral and she'd al­ready shipped me off to Aunt Dixie's by then."

  "She sold her Mercedes and Father's BMW," Fletcher said. "But I still have the '39 Alfa Romeo coupe. He willed the thing to me."

  A flash of color swept through Caroline's mind. Wind blowing her hair. She and Fletcher giggling. Preston smiling happily. Caroline remembered how she'd loved taking rides out to the Maryland countryside with Fletch and Preston in that fabulous old car. Preston had adored antique cars and had bought and sold several over the years, but he'd always kept the Alfa Romeo—the 8C 2900 Sport Spider. Odd that she would remember that tidbit of information. But then whenever Preston had taken them out in the old car, which he'd had repainted a brilliant red, he had raved on and on about it to them. "Where is the Alfa Romeo now?" she asked.

  "I stored it in the garage at my grandparents' cottage in Windhaven." Fletch sighed. "I'm afraid I haven't even seen the old car in years. I didn't inherit Father's love for antique vehicles." Fletch's eyes widened as a suspicion came to mind. "I say, you don't think the key fits the Alfa Romeo, do you?"

  "I doubt it," Wolfe said. "But there's a possibility that your father could have stored something in the trunk or the glove compartment that requires a key to unlock."

  Caroline focused her gaze on Fletcher. "Would it be all right with you if Wolfe and I drive down to Windhaven and have a look at the car?" She glanced at Wolfe, anticipation glowing in her eyes. "I can call Roz and have her reschedule my afternoon appointments and we could leave right away."

  Wolfe looked to Fletcher for approval. "Do we have your permission to check the car over and remove anything we find?"

  Fletch disengaged himself from Brooke's clinging embrace and stood. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his tai­lored slacks and paced across the attic. "I'd drive down with you, but I have a meeting with Senator Marshall and Con­gressman Williams at three today." He paused, looked di­rectly at Caroline and then reached out to grasp her by the shoulders. "I want to find out the truth about Father's murder as much as you do, but not at the cost of your life. I'd rather never know than to risk your getting hurt. But if you're de­termined to continue with the search, then—''

  "I am determined." She laid her hands over his where he held her shoulders securely. "I have no intention of letting someone get away with murder, not if there's the remotest possibility that I can bring Preston's killer to justice."

  "Very well." Fletcher kissed Caroline's cheek, then re­leased his hold on her. "I'll call up Teddy Richards, the caretaker there at the cottage, so he'll be expecting you. I'll explain to him why you're driving down.'' Fletch turned to Wolfe. "You have my permission to tear the damn car apart if you think you can find anything. And whatever you find, by all means bring it back with you."

  "Then we can leave from here?" Caroline asked Wolfe.

  He nodded.

  "I'll call Roz right away." When Caroline headed toward the attic stairs, Brooke followed her.

  When the women were out of earshot, Fletch said, "I'm holding you personally responsible if anything happens to her."

  "I can promise you that nothing is going to happen to her as long as there's breath in my body." Wolfe glared at Fletcher, his gaze and stance vowing as surely as his words that he was completely and wholeheartedly dedicated to pro­tecting Caroline.

  Fletcher narrowed his gaze and stared at Wolfe oddly, as if he couldn't quite figure out what motivated his stepsister's bodyguard. Wolfe didn't give a damn. Let Fletcher Shaw think what he would. David Wol
fe was in Caroline's life now, her constant companion, and until she was safe from all danger, only an act of God could sever him from her side.

  Chapter 9

  Interstate 97 took them to Annapolis. Then Caroline stayed on Highway 2, heading south, until they reached their turnoff onto a county road that would take them to the coast and the tiny village of Windhaven, which wasn't even a speck on the map. Wolfe sat on the passenger side, riding shotgun, while Caroline drove. He read aloud Fletch's directions that would lead them to his maternal grandparents' waterfront cottage— and hopefully to a discovery inside Preston Shaw's antique car stored there in the garage. Nothing would suit Wolfe bet­ter than to learn what the mysterious key opened. Not only would that disclosure put an end to the threat on Caroline's life, but it would enable Wolfe to hand over, to Ellison Penn, the unquestionable proof of Preston Shaw's guilt as well as the evidence against Shaw's cohorts. The Peacekeepers had had enough proof of Shaw's guilt to order his death and Wolfe had simply been following orders when he executed Caroline's stepfather. But having recently seen a new per­spective of Preston Shaw through Caroline's and Fletch's eyes made him wonder if there was even the slightest pos­sibility that the Peacekeepers had made a mistake. Wolfe's conscience would rest easier when even the tiniest glimmer of doubt was removed from his mind.

  The truth would no doubt break Caroline's heart. She still thought of Preston Shaw as not only an honorable person, but as a good and kind man. Wolfe regretted that it would be necessary to ruin her cherished memories of the man she'd thought of as a father. But now that she had found the mys­terious key and had become obsessed with locating the hid­den evidence, there was no other way to protect her. As much as he would like to see the other members of the highly secret, traitorous group of which Shaw had been a leader revealed and punished, Wolfe would prefer Caroline never know the complete truth about her stepfather. If they found the evidence Shaw had professed to have in his possession, then Wolfe decided that he would do his best to keep her from being exposed to all the ugly details.