Mountain Shelter

by Cassie Miles

  It’s not always about you. Anger seethed inside her. She wanted to scream and yell and tell him that she could have been hurt, could have been kidnapped and it was his fault. But what if it wasn’t? What if their suspicions were wrong? She was furious and, at the same time, she felt an ache inside. She wanted to rest her head against his shoulder and cry away her fears and doubts.

  Preventing either response—yelling or weeping—Dylan extended his hand and introduced himself as her bodyguard. “I’m the one who kept Jayne from calling you. For her safety, we moved her to a secure location and turned off her cell phone so the intruder couldn’t triangulate her signal and find her.”

  “You’re the guy I talked to on the phone this morning, the one who wouldn’t tell me where you took my daughter.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You’ve got one hell of a nerve, son.”

  “Over the phone, I can’t accurately verify your identity.”

  “You sure can. I can send you my photo. Or you can watch in real time while I’m talking on my cell phone.”

  “The intruder disarmed a high-tech, high-quality alarm system at the house. Hacking a cell phone and transmitting a false identification would be child’s play for him.”

  “Jayne should have used another phone to call me.”

  “Dr. Shackleford requires several hours of sleep before she performs delicate neurosurgery.” Dylan turned to her. “Doctor, you should speak to your assistant, Eloise. I have a few questions for your father regarding Martin Koslov.”

  He practically shoved her out of the office, and she couldn’t have been more grateful. She walked down a short hallway to an attractive waiting room, where two patients sat in comfortable chairs reading old magazines. The medical assistant/receptionist was feeding the gang of tropical fish in the five-foot-long aquarium. With her hair dyed a purplish red, Eloise was nearly as bright as the fish with their streaks of neon blue, yellow and mottled green. She had named her fishy friends and made up fishy stories about their lives.

  “Sorry about my dad,” Jayne said.

  “You don’t need to apologize. Meeting Peter the Great is a big deal for me. If I’d known he was going to be here, I would have brought a used plane ticket for him to autograph.”

  “He’s not in the airport business anymore.” But he probably flew one of his private planes up here from Dallas. “Maybe he could autograph a used oil can.”

  “You know, Jayne, I never ever pry, but my fish are totally nosy. Hedda—the black one with yellow stripes—wants to know about your cute male friend with the glasses and ponytail.”

  “A journalist, he’s doing a story on neurosurgery.”

  Eloise hiked up her eyebrows in an expression of disbelief. “And why was he answering your cell phone at seven-thirty in the morning?”

  “We met for breakfast.” That was somewhat true. Dylan had insisted that she have a bagel and a couple of bites of bacon from his room-service order.

  “Is he going to be hanging around all day?”

  “For as long as I am.” She went to Eloise’s desk and jotted a note. If she moved fast, Jayne might be able to escape without confronting her father again. Though she shouldn’t leave the office without Dylan, she felt safe in the hospital. There were guards at the doors; nobody entered without passing through a metal scanner.

  “I like older men,” Eloise said. “Is your father married?”

  “Not at the moment.” She slid the note across the desktop. “Would you mind returning these calls for me? Especially to Mrs. Cameron, she needs to be reassured about her husband’s surgery. I’m going to slip out so I can review the most recent charts and blood work for Dr. Cameron.”

  Her dad’s voice thundered through the closed door and down the hallway. “How dare that cheesy detective accuse me? I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

  If Eloise’s eyebrows went any higher they would disappear behind a swirl of colorful hair. “Detective?”

  “I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  Eloise grasped her arm. “Jayne, what’s going on?”

  “Don’t tell anybody.”

  “Of course not.”

  But the story would get out. There was no chance of keeping this juicy secret. It’d go viral. She knew from experience that the hospital was a swarming petri dish of gossip. “Somebody tried to break into my house last night and kidnap me. The DPD detective thinks it might be related to my dad. The guy with the ponytail and glasses is my bodyguard.”

  One of the other doors leading to the reception room swung open and the short, skinny Dr. Bob, the oncologist, popped his head out. He was a worse gossip than Eloise. “No joke?” He gaped. “You were almost kidnapped? Why?”

  Eloise pointed down the hall toward Jayne’s office. “Rich father. Peter the Great.”

  “Wow,” Jayne said glumly. “You put it together quicker than the police investigator.”

  “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist,” Eloise said. “There’s only one reason to be kidnapped—ransom. And your dad’s loaded.”

  The door to her office flung open. Her dad and Dylan spilled into the reception area. Her father did something she never would have expected: he hugged her. His big arms wrapped around her, and she was surrounded by the pine-forest scent of an aftershave that he’d worn since she was a girl.

  “I could have lost you,” he whispered.

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Dylan told me there were two of them, wearing ski masks and carrying stun guns. He said that you had to flee across a rooftop.”

  All of Dylan’s description was true. She hadn’t realized how dramatic her escape sounded until her dad said it out loud. She added, “And I took the stun gun away from him.”

  “My sweet little gal, you shouldn’t have to suffer for my mistakes. If it’s somebody I know...”

  He shook his fist. His pupils were so dilated that his blue iris was reduced to a slender rim. Either he was in an elevated emotional state or he’d been taking advantage of Colorado’s legalized marijuana. She assumed the former. Her dad didn’t do pot.

  He concluded, “You can be damn sure I’ll find out who’s responsible. And I will make them pay.”

  Over her father’s shoulder, Jayne saw the shocked faces of Eloise and Dr. Bob. Their eyes bulged. Their jaws gaped. The patients waiting in the reception area had dropped their magazines and were watching. She gave her father one last squeeze and stepped away from his embrace.

  There was moisture at the corner of her left eye that she refused to believe was a tear. Jayne cleared her throat. “I appreciate anything you can do to help the investigation.”

  “I’ll talk to my friend Razzy.” She doubted any of the other people in the room would be aware that her dad was referring to Rashid bin Calipha, one of the richest men in the world and the leader of a sheikdom. “There have been occasions when your good old Uncle Razzy might have used this Koslov character.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Uncle Razzy? Oh, please!

  “I’ve got plenty of contacts. I’ll check in with my oil people in South America.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll start with Javier Flores. He’s got an office here in Denver.”

  “Is he an enemy?” she asked.

  “A friend, and he’s a good enough friend that he might have information about who wants to hurt me.”

  Before he could punch in the phone number, Dylan stopped him. “I have to take your daughter away. She needs to prep for surgery.”

  “Not today,” her dad said in a firm, no-nonsense voice. “She needs to take the day off. Somebody else can fill in. One of the other docs can pick up the slack.”

  “That’s not how it works.” Her tenderness toward him evaporated like dewdrops under a heat lamp. “This surgery is
my specialty. I have a relationship with the patient, and I want him to have the best care.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m sure you do a great job...”

  Was he patronizing her? Her temper simmered.

  “...but I need to keep you safe,” her dad continued.

  What did he intend to do? She’d already hired herself a bodyguard. She’d fled from her house.

  Once again, Dylan came to her rescue. He pressed a cell phone into her dad’s hand. “It’s a burner, programmed with only one number. We’ll use it to keep in touch with you.”

  “Unacceptable.” Her dad thumped his puffed-out chest. “She’s coming back home to Dallas with me.”

  She remembered why she avoided living in the same time zone as her dad. It was just too damned painful. To him, she would always be a sweet little girl who reminded him of her mother, his only true love, who had died when Jayne was seven. He’d gone through half-a-dozen wives since then, but the oil painting that hung over the mantel in every house he owned was her mom, Rachel Shackleford, a well-respected biochemist.

  Her dad wasn’t being deliberately cruel or belittling. He truly wanted to take care of her. Dragging her back to Dallas was, of course, his first solution to the threat.

  But she wasn’t a child. After her mom died, she’d grown up quickly. She loved her dad, but she resented his steadfast refusal to accept her as a capable, accomplished adult. He never called her “Doctor” in spite of the years of study and hard work it had taken to gain that title. He never complimented her on her achievements, couldn’t be bothered to attend her graduation at the top of her class in med school when she was nineteen.

  She stumbled backward a couple of steps and bumped into the fish tank. “Sorry, Dad, I’m not going to Dallas with you. This is my home, my life. And Dylan is right about my needing to prep for surgery.”

  Before he could respond, she swept through the door into the hallway with her bodyguard following close behind.

  * * *

  RECALLING THE ROUTES from the hospital blueprints, Dylan stayed at her side as she stalked through the corridors in the medical building. They passed offices, a break room and a pharmacy before climbing an open staircase to the second floor. He congratulated himself on remembering to grab her gym bag with the special scrubs and sneakers before leaving her office. In spite of her precise skills and her particular, somewhat fussy, need to have the right clothes, shoes and underwear, Jayne was absentminded. He’d also noticed her tendency toward clumsiness, an endearing trait that made him want to be close so he could catch her when she fell.

  Without slowing her pace, she glanced up at him. “Thanks for helping me get away from my dad.”

  “You’re good at handling him.”

  “Our conversations don’t feel good. We’re always battling.”

  “He’s a tough guy.”

  “Yes.”

  “But he means well.” He lightly touched her arm, thinking he’d reassure her. Instead of relaxing, she gasped and pulled away, reacting as though she’d been stabbed by a hypodermic.

  He gave her space as they marched along the gray-and-blue vinyl floors. For a bodyguard, a hospital created several problems. The interior was a sanitized labyrinth. There was tension in the air. Most of the staff dressed in scrubs or lab coats that all looked alike, and many of them wore masks. When passing people in the corridor, he scanned their faces. As they walked, he frequently looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was following.

  Jayne muttered under her breath. “Why won’t he accept that I’m an adult? I bought my own house. I’m renovating. I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

  He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “He has no idea what kind of work I do. I mean, he knows I work with the brain, but he thinks that means curing a headache with two aspirin and a good night’s sleep.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you going to stroll along and not say anything?”

  “I thought your comments were rhetorical,” he said. “Do you want an opinion?”

  “Of course I do, as long as you say I’m right and my dad is wrong.”

  “You’re both right.” He shrugged. “You’re a grown-up and deserve respect. But he doesn’t want to treat you like an adult because that means you don’t need him anymore. He wants to be needed. Dads are like that.”

  She came to a complete stop and looked up at him. “That’s a really smart explanation. Do you have kids?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked, too personal.” A pink flush crept up her throat to her cheeks. “Besides, I already knew you didn’t have offspring. And I also know you’ve never been married.”

  “Internet search?”

  She put her head down and proceeded with long strides into the wide second-story overpass that connected the med center with the hospital. Her blushing baffled him. Why would she be embarrassed about looking him up? That was standard procedure for a first meeting. It seemed to be the marital-status part that bothered her. Was she showing an interest that was more than that of client and bodyguard? He hoped so.

  On the hospital side of the overpass, she took an unexpected left turn.

  “Wait!” He pointed in the opposite direction. “The OR is that way.”

  “I need to go to the locker room and change.”

  Ignoring the double-wide chrome elevator, they descended an enclosed stairwell to the first floor. All the doors along the corridor were clearly marked except for the one nearest a side exit with a key-card lock blinking red for locked. He imagined that door was used by most of the staff when coming and going.

  They entered a break room with vending machines, counters, a coffee urn, fridge, microwave and toaster oven. Three women in scrubs sat at three separate tables, reading or texting. An open door on the left led to rows and rows of lockers. There were other rooms beyond. Dylan could hear the sound of a shower.

  She stopped in front of a beige locker midway down the third row. The number on top was 374. Jayne twirled the combination lock. Before she could open it, he placed his hand over hers.

  “I have a few questions,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “I need your full cooperation.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Last night, you saw Koslov. Would you recognize him again?”

  She thought for a moment. “I’m sure there’s a perfect image imprinted somewhere in my brain, but I don’t think I’d know him. He was wearing a ski mask. It was dark, and I was scared.”

  Koslov was careful about hiding his identity. Even after all his research, Dylan had found only one partial photo of a profile. He pulled that image up on his cell phone. “This isn’t much, but I want you to take a look. If you see anyone who resembles this man, tell me.”

  She squinted at his phone screen and shook her head. “Not exactly a clear portrait, is it?”

  “It’s all I’ve got.”

  “I wouldn’t know his face, but I’d recognize his voice. He had an accent that I didn’t recognize as Spanish but it probably was. I’ll listen for him.” She removed the combination lock and opened the door.

  “How much of the cool equipment do I get to play with?” he asked.

  “You aren’t sanitized,” she said, “so you aren’t allowed in the OR. But you’re free to observe. The neurologists use computers and electronic equipment that you’ll find interesting.”

  “Will you saw off the top of his head?”

  “Only in horror movies. But his brain will be exposed throughout surgery.”

  He jammed his hand deep into his pocket to keep from doing a fist pump. Watching machines that were hooked up inside somebody’s brain was astounding. This was real-life, super circuitry. He’d barely tamped down his excitement about witnessing the cool technology when he realized that Jay
ne was preparing to change clothes right in front of him.

  In a calm tone, she explained the difference between an MRI and electro-monitors that pinpointed brain activity. At the same time, she slipped off her teal jacket and hung it in her locker. Without glancing in his direction, she started to unbutton her shiny black blouse. The outline of her black sports bra emerged.

  Dylan dragged his gaze away from the milky, smooth skin above her breasts. She wasn’t doing a striptease for him, wasn’t trying to be sexy at all. And he wasn’t supposed to think of her as anything more than a client.

  But he’d been a little bit turned-on by a glimpse of her ankles. Seeing the curve of her breast and her slender waist was enough to send him into overdrive. He made a desperate lurch away from her. “I’ll go find...something. Bodyguard stuff.”

  Knowing that he shouldn’t leave her sitting in the locker room alone made the situation even more complicated. He hadn’t noticed anyone or anything suspicious on their way here, but that was no assurance that Koslov had given up.

  Was this long enough to stay away? He didn’t want to interrupt her with her pants off, so he stood at the end of the row and peeked around. Jayne sat on the bench in the middle, dressed in scrubs and tying her sneakers. At the other end of the row was a man in burgundy scrubs with a matching surgical cap and a baby-blue mask obscuring the lower half of his face. He moved toward her.

  “Jayne,” Dylan alerted her. “Do you know this guy?”

  She bounded to her feet and took a good, hard look at the stranger. Then she shook her head and frowned. “Not sure.”

  When the masked man stuck his hand into the pocket of his scrubs, Dylan stepped in front of Jayne and eased his gun from the holster. “Identify yourself.”

  The man held up an ID and a gold badge. “Special agent Wayne Woodward, FBI.”

  Chapter Six

  “Take off the surgical mask.”

  The stranger in scrubs pulled the mask below his chin, thrust out his arm and waggled his FBI badge.