That’s why they’d given her a bodyguard. Chloe, probably at Wes’s instigation, believed the stalker might try to come after her to hurt her sister.
“I’ve got a spare room at the extended-stay efficiency I’m booked into. She can stay with me,” Janowski said, rising from his crouch and handing her the phone. “Besides, I’ll have to take you to work when it’s your shift again.”
Who was she to argue with her bodyguard?
“When are we telling Bobby? Because I’m not very good at lying to her. You know that,” Dylan said.
More mumbling on the other line. “If we are no closer to figuring this out by noon tomorrow, we’ll go into town and tell them ourselves,” Chloe said.
“That’s not going to work and you know it. She’s going to be calling your phone, then mine, the minute her feet hit the floor in the morning.”
A big sigh heaved over the phone. “I know.”
“You have until about seven, eight at the latest tomorrow morning, then she and Gage are going to know where to find you. Stay safe, Chloe. Love you.”
“Love you, too Dylan.”
“Put Bulldog on the phone,” Wes said.
Dylan’s eyes shot over to Janowski’s who was at the window. Bulldog? She mouthed at him. He nodded and stalked back over to the phone, hitting off the speaker button.
“What’s up, Chief?” He listened to whatever Wes was saying, nodded his head a few times. “Got it. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He pushed the disconnect button and pocketed his phone.
Dylan held up her hand when he opened his mouth. “Don’t say anything. I’m mad and I need questions answered.”
“Okay.” Slipping his weapon into the shoulder holster under his coat, he moved to stand between her and the front door, obviously still in dangerous protector mode. She had no doubt he wouldn’t need the weapon to stop anyone unwanted coming through that door.
“First, and this is more of a statement of fact than a question, you came to work at the hospital two weeks ago, just to keep an eye on me, right?”
He shrugged. “More like keeping an eye out for trouble around you.”
“Are you really gay or was that just a ruse to keep me relaxed?”
The corner of his lip lifted, a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “Gay as the day is long, Doc.”
Good. She liked knowing something about her friend was true. “I assume you got your surgical skills in the military. Which one and how did you meet Wes?”
Janowski leaned back against the wall. “Army Rangers Special Forces. Wes was First Sergeant of our squad. I was the medic.”
“How long did you serve together?”
“In the Rangers? ’Til our first tour was through, so four years.”
Something in the way he asked the question in his answer set off her curiosity bell. “Where else did you serve together?”
Janowski grinned at her. “Told the Chief you were one smart surgeon, Doc. After that tour was done in Afghanistan, we joined a team with Homeland. Dark Ops.”
Now he really had her curiosity going. “Homeland? As in Homeland Security? Dark Ops as in…?”
“Yes. Homeland Security. Dark Ops as in extractions.” His face had gone serious. Deadly serious. “No more questions on either subject, Doc. I can’t answer them.”
Okay. Off limits, she got it. Time to change the subject.
“So, Bulldog, huh?”
He gave a little shrug. “What can I say? I’m as tenacious as a bulldog.”
Silence filled the space between them. Dylan could feel the adrenaline seeping from her body. She curled into the corner of the sofa and pulled the afghan she and Chloe found at a craft fair a few years ago over her. The police better hurry or she’d be snoring soundly when they arrived.
“So, do you think they’re sleeping together?” she asked between yawns.
“Depends,” Bulldog—that was now how she’d always think of him—said.
“On what?”
Slumped down to the floor in front of the door, his legs extended in front of him, Bulldog looked relaxed, but Dylan wasn’t fooled. Anyone coming through that door that wasn’t law enforcement, would find themselves in a heap of trouble.
“Does your sister look like you?” he asked.
“We’re about the same height, same build, but she’s got short spikey brown hair. So dark it’s almost black.”
He whistled. “She’s a lawyer, so I assume she’s smart and sassy?”
Dylan grinned. “Told you, she argues for a living.”
“Beautiful, smart and sassy. That’s a combination hard for a straight man to ignore. Chief is no fool, so yeah, I’d say they’re sleeping together.”
“He’d better not break my sister’s heart.” She murmured, letting her eyes close. “My sister and brother-in-law won’t like him putting her in danger.”
Bulldog watched the sexy surgeon drift off to sleep. Too damn bad he wasn’t in to women. He envied the Chief. If the sister was anything like the doc, she’d be worth getting caught up in something dangerous.
* * * * *
Wes hit the off button on his phone with one hand and pulled Chloe tight into his body with the other. He tossed the phone onto the counter and wrapped both arms around her shaking body. Moisture touched his neck and collarbone where she snuggled against him.
Tears.
For the first time since all this started, Chloe was crying. All that had already happened to her, the stress, the frustration, the anger, none of it had brought her to tears. It took someone trashing her home to do that.
Carefully, he maneuvered her back to the couch and eased her down beside him, never losing his hold on her. A dark need to find and destroy the person tormenting her filled his chest. Like a warrior of old, he protected what was his.
His.
Whoa. Where the hell had that thought come from? Chloe wasn’t the woman for him. She was too tightly wound. Too sophisticated. Too smart. Too sassy. Too sexy.
And he’d never been more comfortable with or entertained by a woman. Holding her this close, his cock tightened with the idea of taking her back to bed. Quickly, he put a kibosh on that idea. The woman had a right to grieve, she had a need to grieve and he intended to let her do just that, no matter how much he ached to go all caveman and claim her as his. When this was all over, there would be time for that.
As her trembling slowed, he rubbed his hand up and down her back. The first hiccup-gulp hit her and he couldn’t help pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“I know…it’s silly.” She hiccup-gulped again. “They’re just…things. They can be replaced.”
He smiled against her head. “I’ll be happy to help you replace all your lingerie.”
This time she giggled. “I bet you would.”
“Although, I confess I have a fondness for that red bra and panty set you wore under the bridesmaid dress.”
She laughed and laid her hand on his chest, then pulled back to look at him, her beautiful eyes red and a little redness filled her cheeks and covered her nose. “I’ve soaked your shirt.”
“It will dry,” he said, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek.
“I can’t believe I broke down like that. I never cry.”
“I know.”
“No. Really. I think the last time I really cried was at my parent’s funeral. And it’s not really the things in my apartment being destroyed. It’s just…” she let the words drift off, biting her lip in an effort to stop the tears from starting again. Her courage impressed him and broke his heart for her at the same time.
“The invasion of your privacy and the threat to your freedom,” he finished for her.
“Yes.” She pulled back and the color had returned to her cheeks. No longer feeling sorry for herself, he could see the sparks of anger in her dark eyes. “How dare someone think they can just come into my home? My home. It was the first place I ever bought by myself. Bobby and Dylan helped me pick out the fur
niture and decorate it as a graduation from law school present. Now some asshole has destroyed it.”
Wes loosened his hold on her, knowing she needed to pace, now that she’d gotten her tears under control. She sprang to her feet and started across the room in her long-legged stride most runway models would envy.
“And the destruction of my property and invasion of my privacy isn’t the worst part. You know what is?” she asked as she pivoted one-hundred and eighty degrees, pointing a finger at him.
“What?” he asked, scooping up their impromptu dessert picnic from the floor in front of the fireplace, clearing a space for her to stalk to the opposite side of the cabin.
“This jerk scared Dylan.”
“That’s what has you angry?” He set the tray of snack ingredients on the counter, then started cleaning up their dinner dishes. “I promise you Bulldog will keep her safe.”
She grabbed a dishtowel and started drying the dishes as he rinsed them off. “It’s not that. I have no doubt your friend will protect her. It’s just that when my parents died, she was so frightened. It took Bobby and me years to convince her that she wasn’t going to be taken away to an orphanage.”
“She’s not a little girl anymore, counselor. She’s a grown woman who sews people back together. Takes a certain amount of courage to do that. Courage you and your sister obviously gave her.” Turning, he handed her the steak platter, but didn’t let go when she took it. Instead he stared into her dark eyes.
“I know. It’s just she was, and always will be, my little sister. I don’t want her scared even if her fear is for me. And I hate that this creep caused that.” She gave a little tug and an I-understand-what-you’re-saying look.
He released the platter, and started in on the silverware. “This is actually a good thing.”
She paused placing the platter up on the open shelf and gave him a you-can’t-be-serious look. “How in the world can someone breaking into my home, destroying my things, and scaring my sister be a good thing?”
“Think about it,” he said, handing her the clean knives and forks. “We have a list of possible people that could be your stalker, but no real evidence.”
She dried the cutlery and put them in the drawers. “And you think this scumbag left some at my place?”
“Maybe fingerprints. Maybe DNA.”
She held up her hand and visibly shivered. “Please. I don’t even want to think what kind he might’ve left.”
Wes let the dishwater out the drain, dried his hands and turned off the kitchen light. Taking her elbow, he steered her back to the sofa, turning off the lights as he went. Finally seated in front of the fire, he slipped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her in close.
“Don’t think about what he might have done to get us the DNA. Let’s just let the police gather what evidence they can, then we’ll be able to go after the son-of-a-bitch.”
She snuggled close a minute, but Wes could almost hear the wheels in her brain turning.
“If we’d called the police when my tires were slashed, they might’ve gotten him before he broke into my house. Maybe you should’ve just taken me home then.”
So the asshole could’ve attacked her there?
The possibility shook him and he tightened his hold on her a moment, then relaxed. “No. That was a savage, angry attack on your car. Taking you home where he obviously planned to continue his game would’ve been the worst option.”
“We didn’t know that at the time. Maybe having the police look at my car would’ve scared him off?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think he hung around to watch you deal with the tires. He slashed them, then headed to your place. It gave him time to get inside your condo and wait for you.” Wes planted another kiss on the top of her head to ward off the anger surging through him. “You were better off leaving the area. You were safer with me.”
For a few moments she didn’t say anything, didn’t argue the point. Which, for Chloe, meant something. “I think you’re right. I’m much safer here with you.”
* * * * *
The only light in the room was the fire in the fireplace and the candles circling Isaac’s Army Ranger picture. Just like when they were kids and Dad would take them camping in the winter. A rabbit roasted on a spit in the fireplace, caught just like Dad taught them as kids. Survival wasn’t just for nice weather. He expected his kids, all his kids to survive in the woods.
Which made Isaac’s death in the jungle so tragic. Left on his own, Isaac could survive for weeks. He’d know how to find water, food—even if it was bugs and snakes. He would’ve made his own shelter. No one would’ve found him unless he wanted to be found.
So, whatever happened, however Isaac had died, it was all Wes Strong’s fault.
Tomorrow, he’d find out what it was like to be truly hunted.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I appreciate you bringing Lexie over to the house, deputy,” Melissa Compton said as she held the backdoor to the halfway house open for Daniel to carry Lexie inside.
With the sleeping little girl snuggled in his arms, he carried her through the mudroom and stopped in the middle of the kitchen, admiring the space. “You’ve been busy.”
She smiled at him as she took off her coat and hung it on pegs by the back door. “You’ve been here before?”
“Helped get the place cleaned up and furniture moved in when the county decided to covert the old house into the halfway house for the troubled teens,” he said as he slowly turned, taking in all the changes she’d made.
Melissa had transformed the kitchen from a sterile industrial feeling space to a homey room. The cabinets had all been painted a cheery yellow. Yellow and blue print curtains hung at the windows. The metal table and chairs the county had provided were replaced with an antique looking, white-washed table and chairs—material from the curtains covering the upholstered bottoms of the six chairs.
“I can’t really take all the credit. One of the projects I got the boys involved in was painting the cabinets. Geoffrey liked doing the painting so much, he’s been slowly painting rooms for me. In fact, he’d been asking so many questions of Joe over at the Knobs & Knockers, that Joe hired him to work in the paint section of the store.”
Daniel remembered Geoffrey Hamilton. Kid had been kicked out of four schools in Columbus for disruptive behavior, fights with students and teachers. When he was caught stealing food at a grocery he was headed to a juvenile detention center until a judge reviewed the file and had him tested. Geoffrey was not only ADA, but he had severe dyslexia. Being shipped back and forth between two parents who neither cared about his education or his behavior as they advanced their mutual business careers, he’d managed to slip through the school system to the point he couldn’t read or write as a sophomore. That’s when he was given a chance to straighten his life out at the Westen House.
Geoffrey wasn’t the first young man to flourish under Melissa’s care here.
“You’ve done a remarkable job, both here and with the guys staying here,” he said and was rewarded by a pink flush in Melissa’s cheeks.
Quickly, she lowered her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh, I haven’t done much. They’re good kids underneath all their problems.”
Daniel knew that wasn’t true and also knew her sudden self-deprecation had more to do with her lousy ex-husband’s abuse and destruction of her self-esteem. He’d push the point that she had indeed achieved quite a number of good things since moving into Westen House, but suspected it would only make her more uncomfortable.
“Where would you like me to put Lexi?” he asked to change the subject.
“Oh, this way,” Melissa said, leading him past the downstairs bathroom to a hall with two bedrooms. “This is my part of the house. The boys are all housed upstairs. I think she’d be more comfortable down here with me.”
She led him into the smaller of the two rooms that had a daybed covered with frilly pillows on one wall. The other long wall housed what could only be d
escribed as a crafting center. A sewing machine table and desk were flanked by floor to ceiling shelves stocked with material, papers, ribbons and other do-dads that Daniel had no idea what they were or what they were used for.
“Wow,” was all he could say as he stared at it.
Melissa stopped pulling back the covers on the daybed. “I like to sew and do crafts.”
“I can tell. It looks pretty organized.” He smiled at her to let her know he really meant it, then turned and sat on the bed, slowly unwrapping the quilts from around her.
“Dear Lord, poor little thing,” Melissa said, helping him ease Lexi under the blankets and quilt, tucking her bear in beside her. They turned out the light, but Melissa turned on the hall light and left the door open. “In case she wakes up and doesn’t know where she is.”
Daniel smiled to himself as he followed her back to the kitchen. The way she’d just tucked in Lexie and brushed her straggly long brown hair off her face told him Lorna and Libby had been right. Melissa needed someone to mother, just as much as Lexi needed some mothering.
“Do you…do you think she’ll come for her?” Melissa asked, stopping at the back door.
“Who?” Daniel asked.
“Her mother,” Melissa raised her dark blue eyes to his. “Will she come looking for her? I mean, she must’ve had a good reason for leaving her alone like that.”
Yeah, she needed a fix.
He kept that idea to himself. Libby, Lorna and Deke all believed it would be best if the mother’s possible drug addiction was kept quiet for now, until the weather broke and they got a chance to find Rose. Whether they found her dead or alive, Daniel wasn’t sure which would be best for the little girl.
But Melissa’s question did send off his internal warning system. What if Rose came looking for Lexi? What if she wanted to use her for payment for her drugs? Worse, what if Rose and her dealer showed up her, putting Lexie, Melissa and the teens in the house in danger?
“With this weather, and as bad as the roads are, I don’t think Lexie’s mom will come looking tonight.” Daniel slipped a business card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “This is my cell phone number. If she does, or anyone suspicious comes looking for her you give me a call and I’ll come right over.”
Close To Danger (Westen Series Book 4) Page 17
