This Side of Heaven tp-1

by Beverly Barton

Why was he taunting her about running away when that was the very thing he wanted her to do? He wanted her to run back to Jacksonville. And the sooner, the better. He didn't need the complications she could create in his life. If he had to worry about her safety, he wouldn't be as alert to protecting himself, and Ryker would use any advantage he could to win the upcoming battle.

  Stopping by the table situated directly behind the sofa, Cyn ran her fingers over the array of cases that held an as­sortment of knives, and made a decision. "Yes, I suppose I was trying to run away. But now, I'm running back to the safety of what I know, of what I want to do with my life. Tomorrow, I'm going back to work. Half days."

  "Are you sure it's what you want to do, or what you feel obligated to do for your late husband?" He stood up and moved around the sofa toward her.

  She stared at him, puzzlement in her eyes. "What would make you ask such a question?"

  "You said you had promised your husband."

  "Tomorrow House was our dream, not just Evan's. You can't begin to imagine how many kids there are who need someone to care."

  "Yeah, you're probably right. I haven't exactly spent my life helping the needy." He realized that she had no way of knowing that he had once been one of those kids who des­perately needed someone, anyone, to care. He'd spent his whole life trying to escape from the past, not once con­fronting it or ever thinking about helping other kids with problems similar to his own.

  "You said you were a navy SEAL, so you were helping others by serving your country." She had heard the self-condemnation in his words, the hidden pain masked be­hind his reply, and she couldn't bear to know he was hurt­ing.

  He was surprised to hear her defend him. He couldn't believe it. This woman who abhorred violence, who was scared of his knives, who condemned his brutality, was ac­tually defending him. Damn, did she have any idea how that made him feel?

  Nate came up behind her, gripped her by the shoulders and lowered his head so his lips were against her ear. "You're the most beautiful, desirable woman I've ever known." When he felt her trying to pull away, he tightened his hold. "Don't balk, Brown Eyes. I have no intention of ravishing you no matter how much I'd like to."

  "I... I really should leave," she gasped, listening to the sound of her heartbeat roaring in her ears. When she tried to pull free, he let her go. She backed up several steps, then turned to face him.

  He needs you, she reminded herself. It's obvious he's never been friends with a woman. The thought of exactly What he had been with other women unsettled Cyn. This man wasn't her type. He was nothing like Evan. So why was she so attracted to him? What was there about him that made her want to be with him? "I'll take care of you," he'd said, and in that moment, she had wanted his strength, had felt such relief in being allowed to lean on someone else.

  "I don't want to be ravished... but if... if you need a friend..."

  He looked at her, his eyes devoid of any emotion, his face a mask. She waited, wondering why he didn't say some­thing, thinking perhaps she hadn't spoken the words aloud.

  "We can never be just friends," he said.

  "But Nate, I—"

  "Go back to your cottage, Cynthia Porter, and stay away from me." He didn't want to send her away. He wanted to pick her up, carry her to his bed and spend the rest of the day and night making love to her. "I'm a dangerous man whose past is finally catching up with him."

  "I don't understand."

  "You don't have to understand. Just leave." Nate's voice was harsh. He'd meant it to be. He didn't dare let this woman become a part of his life. Not now. Not ever.

  Cyn couldn't speak. She merely nodded in acquiescence, turned and ran out of the den. Stopping in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, gasping for air as she struggled to maintain control of her emotions. He didn't want her friendship. He'd made that abundantly clear.

  "I...I won't bother you again," she said, not looking back as she moved hurriedly toward the front door.

  It took all his willpower not to run after her, to ask her to stay, to demand that she take him into her loving arms and give his heart and soul the sanctuary he so desperately needed.

  But he didn't. He let her go. For her sake, he had no other choice. * * *

  Nate aimed the Arkansas toothpick, the long, sharp blade gleaming like quicksilver in the afternoon sunlight. With expert ease, he threw the weapon toward its target, know­ing, without looking, that the knife had hit its mark. In the past two months of daily practice, he had regained his once-renowned skill. But how much good would it do him in a fight with Ryker?

  Ryker might demand a face-to-face confrontation, but he wouldn't fight fair. It wasn't his style. Nate had to be pre­pared, as battle-ready as he'd ever been in Nam or after­ward on the numerous assignments he'd undertaken during his days as a SEAL. Ryker was as skilled, as ruthless, as prepared to die as Nate. They were equal opponents, ex­cept that Nate had been able to hang on to his sanity. Ryker hadn't.

  Retrieving the knife, he returned to his designated spot by the cypress tree in the backyard, took deadly aim and sailed the dagger through the air. Once again it pierced the make­shift wooden dummy's heart.

  What would Cynthia Porter think if she knew that many times he had killed victims by covering their mouth with his hand, jerking their head up, exposing their neck and then, with a quick diagonal slice, severing their carotid artery? A bloody, messy kill. But very effective.

  She would be appalled, utterly disgusted. Even if the threat of Ryker's imminent arrival didn't stand between them, his Special Forces past would.

  The faint, distant ring of the telephone drifted through the open windows. Nate pulled the knife out of the dummy, slipped it back into its sheath and walked quickly inside the house.

  "Yeah?" He took several deep breaths.

  "Are you busy?" Nick Romero asked.

  "Sort of," Nate said.

  "Not in the middle of entertaining your blond neighbor, are you?"

  In no uncertain terms Nate told his friend what he could do to himself.

  "Keep talking like that and I'll hang up without telling you why I called." Romero's chuckle vibrated over the phone lines.

  "What's up?" Nate ran his hand through his loose hair.

  "Just got off the phone with John."

  "What happened?" Nate didn't want John involved, didn't want anyone else getting in the way, maybe getting themselves killed.

  "Seems some strange guy approached John's wife Lau­rel at the local supermarket. Said a friend of his wanted to send a message to Nate Hodges."

  "Damn! Where was her protection? I thought you said you had her and John covered."

  "We do now. Our man was late getting in position," Romero said. "Mrs. Mason wasn't hurt. The guy didn't touch her. She told John that he was very courteous."

  "Did she give John a description?" Nate wondered if Ryker had sent a colleague or had come himself.

  "It wasn't Ryker."

  Nate heard the hesitation in the other man's voice. "But?"

  "This guy told Mrs. Mason to tell you that your old buddy Ian Ryker was on his way to St. Augustine and he'd be looking you up soon."

  "Make sure nothing happens to Laurel and John," Nate said, then slammed down the phone.

  Not all the horrors from his past had prepared him for his present torment. He'd seen buddies die—in Nam and other godforsaken countries around the world. But not once had a friend been in jeopardy because of him. Now anyone who was a friend or acquaintance was in danger. He had to keep Cyn Porter out of his life!

  Chapter 5

  What the hell is she doing? Nate slammed on the brakes, bringing his Jeep to a screeching halt a few feet away from Cyn Porter, who stood in the middle of the road.

  He stuck his head out the open window. "Are you trying to get yourself killed, woman? I nearly ran over you."

  Cyn cursed the fates that had thrown her together with Nate Hodges again. After their ill-fated breakfast ended yesterday, she'd sworn she'd never g
o near him again. By his less-than-friendly attitude, she could tell that he felt the same way.

  Walking around to the driver's side of the Jeep, Cyn counted slowly to ten before replying. "I can assure you that I'm not suicidal. If you'd been driving at a normal speed on this dead-end dirt road, you would have had no problem stopping."

  "What were you doing in the middle of the road?" he asked, trying not to notice how good Cynthia Porter looked in her jeans and sweater.

  "Wasn't it obvious? I was trying to get your attention."

  "There are other ways, you know."

  "Don't get smart with me," she said, her voice growing steadily louder and more agitated. "The deliveryman left a package at my house for you."

  Nate tensed, every nerve in his body going deadly still. He hadn't been expecting a delivery. "Where's the package?"

  "I just told you that it was at my house."

  "Why didn't you just bring it out here?"

  "Look, your swords are lying in the middle of my living room floor where they fell out of the package. I'd appreci­ate it if you'd come and get them." She flashed him a quick, phony smile, then turned on her heels and walked back to­ward her cottage.

  Swords! Who the hell had sent him swords? And how had they wound up in the middle of Cynthia Porter's living room floor? Nate turned his Jeep into her drive. By the time he'd parked and gotten out, she was on her doorstep.

  "Wait up," he called out, taking giant strides to reach her before she entered the house.

  Turning on him just as he stepped up behind her, Cyn­thia blocked the doorway. "Just go in, get them and leave."

  "What else did you think I'd do?" he asked.

  "I didn't want you to think that I was inviting you to stay or anything after you made it perfectly clear yesterday that you neither want or need my friendship." Stay angry, she told herself. If you stay angry, he can't get to you. And whatever you do, don't look into his eyes. You'll be offer­ing him more than friendship if you see that passionate need he can't disguise.

  "Will you move out of the way, please?" he asked.

  She moved inside. He followed. "There they are," she said, pointing toward the floor where a long box lay, one end open. Part of a heavy metal sword lay half in and half out of the box, and beside it was a matching sword, only a few inches of the tip still inside the box. Nate recognized the pieces immediately. They were excellent reproductions of Norman swords.

  Who the hell had sent them? And why? Everyone who knew Nate knew about his collection. Even Ryker.

  "I didn't open them," Cyn said. "When I walked in here with the box, the bottom just came open and the swords fell out. I was so startled, I dropped them."

  "Have you touched them?" Maybe Romero could get some prints if the sender had been careless enough to leave any. If it had been Ryker, the swords would be clean.

  "Most certainly not. The very sight of those things re­pulses me." What was wrong with him? Cyn wondered. For heaven's sake, the man collected knives, why was he so sur­prised that an order had arrived? "And I didn't touch the card, either."

  She nodded toward the floor, then tapped her foot be­side the small envelope that had floated out of the box when it sprung open.

  Nate hesitated no more than a second, but long enough for Cyn to notice. He acted almost afraid to touch the card. She shook her head to dislodge such a ridiculous notion. Nate Hodges afraid? Don't be ridiculous.

  He glanced around the room. "I need to use your phone."

  "Is something wrong?"

  "I want you to stay out of this." He made the mistake of grabbing her by the shoulders. The moment he touched her, he wanted to pull her closer, to tell her everything, to con­fess the danger he was in and the danger that would threaten her, too, if she became a part of his life.

  "Nate, if something's wrong—"

  "Why don't you go for a walk on the beach... or take a ride. Go somewhere until I can get this mess cleared up." Hell, he knew she wasn't about to leave. He hadn't given her an explanation, he'd just issued her an order.

  "You forget, this is my house." She had sense enough to realize that Nate Hodges was in trouble whether or not he thought she was clever enough to figure it out. "You may not want me involved in this, whatever it is, but don't you think it's a little too late, now?"

  "If you're smart, you'll pack your bags and go back to Jacksonville. Right now."

  Cyn walked around him and the weapons lying so deadly in their stillness on her living room floor. Sitting down on the couch, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Do what­ever you need to do. I'm not leaving."

  Nate uttered a few choice words under his breath. He wished he could order Cynthia Porter to leave, but he couldn't. For whatever reason, she was determined to stay. Hell, it was as if she honestly thought she could help him, and there was no way he could persuade her otherwise without telling her the truth. And he wasn't about to do that.

  "Fine, sit there and behave," he told her. "But stay out of the way and don't ask any questions."

  "The portable phone is right there on the coffee table."

  Nate picked up the phone, punched out the numbers and waited. The moment he heard Romero's voice, he said, "I'm at Cynthia Porter's cottage. While I was out, a guy delivered a package containing two Norman swords. He left them here. They're lying in the middle of Ms. Porter's floor. There was a card enclosed."

  "Has she touched anything?" Romero asked.

  "Just the outside of the box."

  "You think they're a gift from our friend Ryker?"

  "That's my guess." Nate watched Cyn. She sat quietly on the sofa, her hands crossed in her lap, her chin tilted up­ward as she gazed at the ceiling.

  "Probably no point in checking for prints, but I'll bring a guy with me. Just stay put."

  Nate laid down the phone, then sat beside Cyn. "You re­member my friend, Nick Romero, from the Brazen Hussy?"

  She nodded, but didn't look at him.

  "Well, he's coming over and bringing someone with him. Romero will probably ask you a few questions about the deliveryman—"

  "Just who are you, Nate Hodges? And what sort of trouble are you mixed up in?" She uncrossed her arms, reached out and touched him, her hand covering his where it lay on his leg.

  He pulled away from the warmth of her touch. It wouldn't be easy to open up, to tell her the truth, to share his past with her, but God in heaven, he wanted to. By choice, he'd been alone all his adult life. But he was tired of being alone, tired of being afraid to care.

  "Nothing that needs to concern you, Cyn."

  She felt as if he'd slammed a door in her face, the door to his life that was clearly marked Private. Why was he so afraid to let her help him? Didn't he know she was very good at taking care of others? "It'll be... interesting to see Mr. Romero again," she said, smiling, but still not looking di­rectly at Nate. "He's very charming, isn't he?"

  Nate gave her a harsh look. "You aren't interested in Romero, so don't bother pretending you are."

  "What makes you think I'm not interested in Nick Ro­mero?"

  Reaching out, Nate cupped her chin in his hand, his grasp infinitely tender, his thumb and fingers biting gently into her flesh. "Because you're interested in me."

  She looked at him then, unable to stop herself. What she saw in his eyes both frightened and excited her. "You need me," she said, her voice no more than a faint whisper.

  More than you'll ever know, he said silently as he re­leased her chin. "Don't try to use Romero to make me jeal­ous. It won't work." * * *

  Nate hated to admit that he was jealous of his best friend, but he was. After Romero had sent the swords and note to the lab with another agent, Nate had done everything he could to persuade his old buddy to leave, but Romero had stayed. And, although Cyn hadn't deliberately flirted with Romero, she had been friendly and cooperative, answering his questions without asking him any in return. Nate would have already left, but Cyn had invited them to stay for lunch, and after Romero had
accepted, what else could he have done but stay?

  Now the three of them were sharing afternoon coffee on Cyn's patio. Romero was his usual charming, flattering Casanova self—as smooth as silk. His friend's way with the ladies had never bothered Nate before. Usually, he watched Romero's magic skills with amusement. But not today. Nate had never felt such gut-wrenching jealousy. Cyn Porter, whether he wanted her to be or not, had become important to him. She was more than just another woman, and she most certainly was not a woman he wanted to share.

  When the phone rang, they all jumped. Cyn answered, then handed the phone to Romero. Nate glanced over at her just in time to catch her staring at him.

  "Swords were clean. The note, too," Romero said. "Your guess about the gift-giver is probably right."

  Nate merely nodded. The note had been typed. For your collection... the words as meaningful or as meaningless as anyone's personal interpretation.

  "Fine," Nate said, having been reasonably certain that the gift had been from Ryker. Just his little way of letting Nate know that his whereabouts were no longer a secret. But it didn't mean Ryker was in town. On the contrary, the lit­tle gift was more than likely just another method of mak­ing Nate sweat. Maybe Ryker's business associate, Ramon Carranza, had arranged to have the swords delivered. After all, this guy Carranza lived close by, just a few miles away in St. Augustine.

  "Would you care for some more coffee, Nick?" Cyn asked, trying to concentrate all her energies toward playing the perfect hostess while avoiding any eye contact with Nate. She had never deliberately tried to make one man jealous of another, and having done so today made her feel uncom­fortable. But Nate had a way of making her act out of character. She had seldom met anyone, man, woman or child, who didn't respond to her loving and caring attitude. Nate had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested in being friends.

  "I'd love to take you out for dinner tonight," Romero said. "I know this great seafood place down—"

  "She can't go," Nate said.

  "Sorry," Romero said, turning toward his friend. "I didn't realize you and Cyn had plans for tonight."

  "We don't," Cyn said.