Guarding Laura

by Susan Vaughan

  “Cole! Oh, thank God you’re all right.” Laura ran to him and threw her arms around his waist. “I—I couldn’t find you. The smoke…”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “The blast threw me backward, knocked me flat on my ass. Once I got my breath back, I got the hell out of the way.”

  She clutched at him. “That poor boy. Burt went in the cabin and…” She dissolved in tears that streaked down her soot-smudged cheeks. Ash smudged her blouse and slacks. If she was smeared with it, hell, he must look like a coal miner.

  Neither one cared.

  He pulled her as close as he could without stripping off their clothes and holding her skin to skin. That was what instinct spurred him to do, to examine every inch of her skin to satisfy himself she wasn’t injured. Instead, he kissed her, tasting her sweetness and filling himself with the fragrance of her hair, tinged with smoke.

  The firefighters yelled at them to get back. Arms around each other, he and Laura walked to the inn.

  Knowing she was safe uncoiled the snakes in his gut. An inch or two. He’d done the right thing to keep her safe. He’d sent her out of harm’s way before the cabin blew. Maybe his instincts weren’t all bad.

  If he’d listened to what Laura called his spy instincts from the start, she would’ve been long gone. Out of harm’s way. And he wouldn’t have this poisonous serpent of dread biting his insides.

  Never mind Alexei Markos. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge. They’d head to whatever safe house his contact could manage. And they’d go tonight. No matter what Laura said. No matter what the general said.

  A semicircle of people from the cabins had gathered to watch the fire and the firefighters. Cole spotted Grant Snow, who tipped his cane at him. Young Zach stood with a nightgown-clad woman who must be his mother. He clicked away with his camera, retrieved from the police. The Van Tassel sisters huddled together and pointed at the flaming cabin.

  At the inn, guests and employees hung out of windows and jammed the wide porch. ATSA Officers Byrne and Ward stood at either end to surveil the crowd.

  Stan Hart slumped on the steps, his head between his knees. His wife Joyce, beside him, kept a consoling hand on his shoulder.

  “Talk to him, Laura,” Joyce pleaded. “He blames himself for Burt going in there.”

  Sliding her arm from around Cole, Laura went to sit on the step below Stan. “I’m so sorry about Burt,” she said, her soft words slow and gentle. “We all are. But it’s not your fault. It was an accident. That gas heater was faulty. It could have blown like that at any time.”

  The resort owner raised red-rimmed eyes to her. “He was just a kid, Laura. An inexperienced kid. Jake showed him a few things about the propane heaters, but not enough. I should’ve called the gas company to send out someone.”

  Cole’s conscience nudged him. He couldn’t let Stan believe the accident myth. Not since he was in on ATSA’s trap. Laura must know the truth, but was trying to save her employer from the reality of murder.

  Placing one foot on the step beside Laura, Cole propped an elbow on his knee. He bent close so no one else could hear. “Stan, the gas explosion was no accident. Somebody tampered with the safety valve.”

  Stan was so still that for a moment, Cole didn’t think the man heard him. Then his head swiveled toward Cole. “Not an accident? Do you mean it was part of the plot against Laura?”

  “I wasn’t certain until tonight,” Cole hastened to say. “The killer either meant to asphyxiate us or blow us up. I believe the thing was rigged so the safety valve was disabled. When the pilot light was extinguished, gas kept pouring out with nothing to shut it off. Young Elwell must have ignited a spark in a cabin filled with gas. I’m damned sorry he got caught in this mess.”

  He meant it. The kid had been harmless and sure as hell didn’t deserve to die because he flicked on a light.

  Stan rubbed his forehead and stood up. “Laura, I love you like a daughter, and I hope you’re safe from now on.”

  He turned to Cole. “I appreciate what you folks were trying to do to catch this killer, and I was glad to do my part. Insurance will cover the property damage, but this…this mess—” he waved his arms dramatically “—has endangered my people. My guests and my employees.”

  “Oh, Stan, I’m so sorry,” Laura murmured.

  He ignored her. “Enough is enough.” Stan’s long face drooped with sadness, but his voice rang with determination. “You’ll all have to leave.”

  Later after the police and fire department finished and drove away, Cole lay beside Laura watching her sleep. Her back to him, she rested in exhausted slumber.

  Not Cole. His brain and heart kept winding around and around and tying him in knots.

  Hell of a thing. He’d had no choice but to stick around and keep the trap baited.

  His contact officer had nixed their shutting down the trap and heading to a safe house. The same FBI informant who’d spotted Markos in Boston with Janus had seen him renting a car and buying a Maine map. Since the bastard seemed to be headed for Hart’s Inn Resort and Laura, they couldn’t leave.

  The cheese had lured the rat to the trap. Now the cats had to be very, very wary. One cat especially.

  Cole had managed to convince Stan to let them stay through the next day or two. ATSA had offered funding to make up what rebuilding insurance didn’t cover. Wagging his head, Stan had capitulated. Neither had Laura objected. Hell, no. More time meant she could finish the week with her students and the damned Diner troupe.

  Cole had pried one concession out of her. She wasn’t to tell anybody they were leaving soon. As much as she might want to, no goodbyes. No sense alerting the enemy.

  Following the sirens, Kent Isaacs had returned in the Avalanche with Cole’s repaired laptop. The fire had destroyed the laptop’s tiny satellite receiver, but he could get another in a day. So they had transportation and communication.

  The Harts and some of the vacationing families had offered clothing and toiletries to replace some of what was lost. Cole and Laura had moved into the cabin he’d originally rented. After a shared shower, they’d fallen into bed. Only Laura had been able to sleep.

  He hoped to hell staying one or two more days wasn’t asking for disaster, but—

  Laura whimpered, rolled her head back and forth on the pillow as if in denial of whatever terrible vision passed before her closed eyes.

  The nightmare again, Cole realized. No wonder after what she’d been through the past two days. He eased closer and put his hand on her shaking shoulder.

  Her breath huffed out, then in with a ragged sob. “No! No! My baby…”

  “Laura, sweetheart, wake up.”

  She sat up straight, eyes wide and breath chuffing in and out in shallow drags. In the faint moonlight from the window, he could see the tears beading her long lashes. “Thanks. Sorry I woke you.”

  He wagged his head at her automatic concern for him, not for herself. “You didn’t.” Their first discussion of her nightmare clicked in his memory. “Your dream. It’s about the accident ten years ago, not the wild ride in the hatchback.”

  She flopped back on her pillow, her pale hair haloing her face. Straightening her donated, oversized T-shirt, she sighed. “When you asked me about it that night, I thought at first you already knew. But of course you couldn’t have.”

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “Not really. The scenes are disjointed, a kaleidoscope of images and feelings. For a while after Kovar’s attack, I saw knife blades and I seemed to be in a box. But that’s gone.”

  “You triumphed in that case. You took control. Maybe that’s why,” he guessed.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Mostly the dream’s about the accident. You were right. Some of it, like Angela’s scream and the shriek of the tires, really happened. Others…are creations of my pain. This time I saw Burt Elwell’s face, too.”

  Beautiful, sweet, generous Laura. Her torments and imperfections made her no less perfect as far as he
was concerned. For years he’d had no idea the suffering she’d gone through. All while he’d hated her, imagined her the target of his Marine-issue M-16. “This will all be over soon. Will you go back to a counselor?”

  She gave a wry laugh. “The problem’s supposed to be post-traumatic stress. But the traumatic stresses keep piling up. Yes, I suppose I’ll need help.”

  The bed jiggled as she propped up one elbow and leaned on her hand. “You said I didn’t wake you. Can’t sleep?”

  Her voice, husky from sleep and tears, alerted at least one part of his anatomy. The part that didn’t comprehend or care about the danger around them. Down, boy. “Just trying to figure things out.”

  “Based on facts? Or are you using your spy instincts?”

  Gliding his fingers through the silk of her hair, he savored the moment of closeness. They’d found each other again, really found each other, without the prejudices and impulses of their youth. When she’d thrown her arms around him after the explosion, he’d seen the love in her eyes. So this moment wouldn’t be their last. He would see to it.

  “Both,” he answered finally. “Fact. Somebody opened the gas valve and doused the pilot light inside the cabin, for the third or fourth time. That somebody has a key or some other way in.”

  “So we were supposed to walk in and trigger the explosion…as Burt did?”

  He considered. “That’s my hunch. The killer continued rigging the heater to lull us into thinking it was faulty. If he’s onto my real reason for being here, which is a damned distinct possibility, he has to figure that at least one time when we enter the cabin, I’ll fail to detect the smell when I do a sweep. If we’d entered as usual, what would you have done first?”

  “Turn on the lights. Maybe made tea.” She put her palm on his bare chest. Her elegant fingers clutched at him. “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. Boom. Another damned freak accident.” He worked his jaw to ease the tension twitching at the muscles.

  She gave a little shiver before relaxing in his arms. In a short while, her breathing evened out. She was asleep. Without dreams this time, he hoped.

  God, she trusted him to keep her safe. If only he could trust himself. If only all it took was to hold her all night, to shield her with his body.

  Her waking nightmare had to end soon. She was incredibly strong, but how much more could she take?

  Somehow he’d missed a clue. Something that niggled at his brain, at what Laura had called his spy instinct. If he could nail it down, he’d know who Janus was, who was after her. But the answer hovered just out of reach, fuzzy and indistinct like the shadows playing on the ceiling.

  Chapter 16

  Thursday morning Laura felt Cole’s tension as though the danger had increased rather than the opposite. When they made love, it seemed their passion knew no bounds. One minute, Cole was tender, the next driven and demanding, stirring her senses until the two of them soared together, closer than ever.

  Her own desire simmered at feverish pitch, as though each time were the last.

  One of these times had to be.

  She would have to end their affair. Pain speared through her. She closed her eyes and counted her breaths. She was standing on the rim of a great precipice. Like a mechanical doll whose key had been wound too tightly, at any minute she might burst into a dozen parts and fly over the edge, to be further smashed on the rocks below.

  Postponement magnified the heartache. But delay gave her more time in his arms.

  She showered and dressed in Joyce’s royal-blue shorts and a Hart’s Inn Resort polo. The swelling on her knee wasn’t noticeable, and she was grateful for the coolness of shorts. The greasy smoke smell no longer clung to her hair and skin, but it hung in the muggy air of the warm morning.

  Once more she was reduced to almost nothing. Not even a purse this time. Or her doctored driver’s license. Only someone else’s clothes and the gold crown charm. Slipping the charm’s long chain over her head, she tucked it inside her shirt. After Cole was gone, she’d have the charm he’d given her to keep next to her heart.

  What was left of her heart.

  When she entered the rental cabin’s spacious living room, Cole clicked closed his cell phone. She drank in the sight of him.

  Clad only in a hastily pulled-on pair of denim cutoffs, he stood brooding, phone in hand. She stared, memorizing his sinewy legs, his slim hips, the thatch of black hair peeking above the open placket of the shorts that barely contained his potent masculinity.

  Her avid gaze followed the widening fan of hair up the sleek ridges of his flat belly and broad chest to the strong column of his neck, the angular planes of his face. And to the wolf eyes she knew so well. The dark stubble of whiskers and new abrasions from the blast added to his aura of danger.

  She ached with love for him.

  She ached with the pain of having to let him go.

  Heat washed over her as his gaze traced her form. He also was remembering their earlier lovemaking.

  “Zach’s mother brought over coffee and muffins.” He strode to the stove in the kitchenette. “You want some?”

  “Not yet.” Noting his taut mouth, an expression she knew well portended no good, she asked, “What’s wrong now?”

  Coffee sloshed into a mug and splashed onto the counter. He swiped viciously at it with a sponge. “More trouble with the plan for Marisol.”

  “The sponsor problem again?” If only she could make a phone call or two.

  “That’s not settled yet, but no. The damned rebel situation in Colombia is going from bad to worse. The airline won’t let such a young child travel without an adult. Sister Josefa can’t leave. The orphanage staff is too short-handed.”

  The opportunity lay before her. The precipice loomed.

  A broiling heat rose to her cheeks. Good thing she had eaten nothing yet. Food wouldn’t have stayed down.

  “You can go to Colombia and travel with Marisol. Vanessa can move in with me. Byrne, Snow and Isaacs are here to catch Janus and Markos. I’ll be fine.” Her words sounded so brittle to her ears they might crumble apart and crash to the floor with their falseness.

  Cole turned and stared at her as though she’d punched him in the stomach.

  Silence hung in the air between them. The only sounds were the low hum of the water heater and Laura’s heart, pounding like tom-toms in her chest. Time spun out on a thread of tension.

  “Did I hear you right? You’re telling me to leave? And not just for Marisol.”

  She nodded woodenly. Her heart seemed to stop dead.

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. We both knew it would end sooner or later.” Angling up her chin, she tried to convey detachment, as though exiling the only man she’d ever loved meant no more to her than refusing a telemarketer.

  His blue eyes smoldered, and his low voice rumbled like approaching thunder. “Maybe you knew. I had other plans.”

  “I told you at the beginning this wouldn’t work.”

  He crossed the room in two strides, but she stood her ground. His gaze bore into her. She feared he could see into her soul.

  Anger seemed to dissipate, to morph into vulnerability, an emotion more painful to see. He swallowed, clasped her shoulders with hands that trembled as much as she. “If you really believe we have no chance because of past hurt and misunderstandings, you haven’t been paying attention.”

  “Please, Cole.” She didn’t know what she was asking, but if he continued, she’d break down.

  “We know each other better than we did years ago. Trust and respect are a good start, but I need more than this short time together.”

  When she averted her eyes, he cradled her face in his hands, forced her to look at him. “You can’t deny that you have feelings for me, not after our nights, not after this morning.”

  Her lips trembled, and she shivered. She could scarcely form a reply. “No.”

  Before she could protest, he tugged her closer and held her. At first she yielded, cra
ving his touch. But resolution stiffened her spine, and she wrenched away from him. “No, Cole! I can’t. It didn’t work then. It won’t work now. And you…There’s too much…too much.”

  His brows arched sardonically. He ran one long-fingered hand through his ebony waves. “So, the princess has had enough of her fling with the biker?” His mouth compressed blade-thin. “I’m a damned fool.”

  Fighting a wave of despair, she forced anger at his accusation to override her pain. “Don’t give me that biker bum-princess excuse. We’ve been through all that.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been through it. So much that you convinced me the differences between our backgrounds no longer mattered. You want a laugh? I even went so far as to think those differences never mattered except in my mind. Even ten years ago. But don’t forget the other differences between us—the male-female variety you’ve been appreciating.”

  Blood roared in her ears and her stomach roiled. “Yes, the sex was good. The best. We always had that. But it’s not enough. Go to Marisol. She needs you.”

  “And you don’t.” His voice was as glacial as his eyes. “I’ve got a news flash for you, Laura. You can’t send me away. Only the ATSA director can do that. So you’re stuck with your shameful past—the biker, the hoodlum, the lowlife—until this damned trap catches a killer or two. Looks like I got over my past, but the princess didn’t and slapped me back down where I belong. I won’t forget again.”

  He stalked past her into the bedroom. After stepping out of the cutoffs, he grabbed his donated clothing—a T-shirt with a moose on the front, khaki shorts and his soot-stained Tevas. Every muscle and sinew bunched and leaped with tension.

  Laura felt the painful throb of her heart with each taut motion of his big body. Wadding his garments in front of him like a weapon, he slammed into the bathroom. A moment later, she heard the shower rushing full force.

  Biting her fist to choke back a sob, she slid to the floor and dropped her head on her knees.