Make Mine a Marine

by Julie Miller

  She had nearly reached for him when he went deathly still. He was awake, dealing with whatever torment had plagued his dreams.

  I can't do this, sweetheart.

  Brodie's voice was filled with anguished regret. Regret over taking things so far with her. He thought she had more experience. She hadn't pleased him the way he had so thoroughly pleasured her.

  BJ knew computers. She knew math. She knew abstract thinking and deductive reasoning.

  She didn't know men.

  Brodie's scent lingered on the sheets, drawing her attention up to the pillow beside her. She touched the hollow indentation where his head had rested.

  Empty.

  Her bed was empty. Her heart was empty.

  And the man who could fill that emptiness had kissed her good-bye and run away into the night. The man who claimed he could never die had killed the bud of light and hope blossoming to life inside her.

  BJ curled up into a tight, tiny ball, burrowed into the pillows and accepted the pain and loneliness Brodie had fleetingly chased away back into her life.

  Chapter Eight

  BJ wondered how she could have lucked out twice. She stuck her fingers into the dog carrier on the seat beside her and scratched Duke's inquisitive nose.

  As the cab sped toward its destination, BJ replayed the past few hours in her mind. Brodie had lifted her to the very top and plunged her to the very bottom last night, with his glorious lovemaking and his sad, regretful words. She felt as if she had been waiting her whole life for him to find her, to make her feel like a womanly treasure, not just a clever prize.

  Her body still trembled with the memory of his rough, tender hands on her body, drawing fire out of her with every caress. She could close her eyes and remember how he had claimed her so fiercely, so possessively.

  He restrained himself patiently until her first moments of pain had passed and her body adjusted to the intimacy. Then he led her on a new journey, one filled with pleasure and sensation so exquisite that it robbed her of conscious thought. He banished the cruel, cold shadows that erased clear thinking, and filled her world with warmth and light, with protection and love.

  Love.

  In spite of her limited experience with men, BJ had no idea how she knew it, but she knew that Brodie loved her.

  After he left, sleep became an elusive state. She returned to her own room, dressed in jeans and an oversized shirt, crawled into bed and pretended to be asleep when Brodie checked on her.

  She waited a long time before silence filled the house and she guessed he had finally fallen asleep. She stacked her stuffed animals under the covers, a childish trick to make it look as if she were still in bed, then carried her shoes and tiptoed past Brodie's closed door. She picked up her cell phone and left through the back door, loading Duke into his carrier and taking him with her. She walked down to the gate and called a cab. Then, suppressing a stab of remorse, she changed the entry codes to her security system. If Brodie should wake and find her gone, she wanted to delay him as long as possible.

  Because she couldn't see him again. She absolutely couldn't bear to look into his icy, pain- filled eyes and hear him spout some noble garbage about how last night had been a mistake. How he could only serve as her bodyguard. How it wouldn't be right for a battered, cynical guy over eight hundred years her senior to have a meaningful relationship with an abnormal genius influenced by random mind control.

  His words might make sense. But she didn't want to hear them.

  So, like a calculating coward, she’d snuck out of the house with her most reliable friend and left to find someone who could set her world right once again.

  “Morrisey Institute, ma'am.” BJ paid the driver, adding a generous tip for coming out so early.

  The outer doors to the complex were still locked, but the guard on duty knew her and let her in. “Is Doctor Morrisey in yet, Tom?”

  “I believe he stayed the night in his penthouse. I can call the top floor, if you like.”

  “I'd appreciate that.”

  A few minutes later, BJ stepped off the elevator and crossed the hall. She had just reached for the bell when the door opened. Damon, dressed in his pajamas and a silk robe, drew her immediately into his arms.

  “What's wrong?” She clung to him for a moment, letting him rock her back and forth like a child. “Did that beast you hired do something to hurt you again?”

  BJ stiffened. Beast didn't sound right. She shouldn't let Damon insult Brodie that way. Yet she did hurt, more than she thought she could possibly stand. She pulled away and looked up into his dark, adoring eyes. She nodded. Then he gathered her to him once more while the tears burned down her cheeks.

  A blanket of humidity masked the trees in a blurry haze as soon as the sun rose above the horizon. The same oppressive heaviness suffocated the air in Brodie's chest, strangling tightly around his heart.

  He knew what he must do. Last night, he prayed to the stars and the moon, and finally to the God that had forgotten him, prayed for a chance to have what he knew he never could.

  Happiness. Contentment. A woman's love. BJ.

  Now, she slept in her bed, hugging herself, curled in that little ball looking lonely and afraid and so damned vulnerable that it had taken every bit of his considerable strength to close the door instead of crawling into bed with her and taking her into his arms.

  He stood over the stove, cooking a hearty omelet filled with vegetables and ham. Not because he had any appetite, but because BJ would need to replenish herself after all he had put her through last night.

  When he was done, he arranged the eggs on a tray with some toast and juice. But he hadn't quite worked up the courage to wake her and face those tell-all green eyes this morning. He knew they would reflect hurt and confusion, maybe accusation, or even worse, guilt.

  He had taken her innocence and left her. She should wake in the morning, sheltered in a kind man's arms, treasured in a good man's heart. But all BJ had was him, a sorry excuse for a man who had taken what she so tenderly and enthusiastically offered and then abandoned her.

  Although it pained him to know he had hurt her, he also knew she would get over it. She was young, bright, funny, and inexplicably caring. She would find another man who could give her all the things she deserved.

  She could never survive Brodie's brand of loving.

  Forcing that fact to the center of his attention, Brodie picked up the phone and punched in the LadyTech office number. He was quickly transferred to Emma.

  “Brodie?” The guarded panic in her voice momentarily shifted his concern from BJ.

  “What's wrong?”

  Emma breathed deeply to regain calm authority. “I think I found what BJ's stalker is really after.”

  “Emma, wait, before you tell me anything, you should know that I can't—”

  She cut off Brodie's carefully worded resignation.

  “He made her do something criminal.”

  He?

  Brodie didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to get drawn into helping BJ any further. “He who? What happened?”

  “Rick was working on a program last night. He discovered that LadyTech is tapped directly into Takahashi Telecommunications. The program is buried too deeply to be legit.”

  “You have a deal with Takahashi. Isn't it normal to have a computer link?”

  “We interfaced only long enough to check the software we installed. I watched BJ cancel the program myself. The only reason we would still be connected is to glean or feed information into or out of Mr. Takahashi's systems.”

  Brodie rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't like the sound of this. All his protective instincts rose to the surface. The warnings that tingled through his nervous system when he prepared for battle made him edgy. “What else?”

  “Rick got curious, so he looked for other hidden programs.”

  “What did he find?”

  “We're tapped into a banking office in Lucerne, Switzerland, and a defense strategy s
ystem in Falls Church, Virginia.”

  The flatness of Emma's voice belied the fear she must be feeling.

  “Can Chambers erase the programs?”

  “Not without triggering notice at the other end. Right now they're so intricately interfaced, they're impossible to detect. If he should make a mistake, someone could trace the line back to us, and criminal charges might be filed against BJ. She doesn't need that right now. How could we explain that it isn't her fault?”

  BJ certainly didn't need another guilt trip right now. Brodie ran his tongue around the sour taste in his mouth. “Are you sure Chambers didn't write the programs? He's got a grudge against BJ.”

  Emma sighed, weighing the idea. “Do you think I should call him on this?”

  Brodie considered BJ's lack of expertise in judging people. “No. I'd better talk to Chambers myself.”

  “I'll back you in whatever you decide to do with him.”

  More trust. Damn. Did he have to become everyone's enemy in order to save BJ? He concentrated on his scars. He concentrated on the rage against injustice that stalked his soul. “Emma, I'll talk to Chambers, but you need to find somebody else to finish this job.”

  “I thought you were making progress.”

  “I should have stayed in my hole where I belong. BJ will be safer without me.”

  “But you care about her,” she protested. “I can see it when you look at her. I can see how she's changed with you here.”

  Care? Hell. What did he know about caring? He only knew killing. “I can't stay with her. Find somebody else to take care of her.”

  He ground the words between his teeth, knowing he had to make this decision, hating that somebody else would get the privilege of protecting BJ.

  “Tell me how to reach Chambers. I'll drive BJ in so you can keep an eye on her until you hire someone else.”

  Brodie jotted down the information he needed, roughly silencing the protest Emma wanted to add. He hung up the phone and stared at the cooling breakfast on the counter beside him. Something else caught his eye.

  BJ wasn't the neatest housekeeper, but she kept everything clean. That's why the wadded up ball of ripped paper looked out of place tucked into the corner by the splashboard. He unwrapped the note, remembering the grim message he had received in the LadyTech parking lot.

  But that threat didn't make him pale the way this set of scribbles did. The paper matched the notepad beside the phone. The writing looked like a child's, heavy-leaded with jerky lines.

  He could make out three letters, B, R, I. Whatever else followed was obscured by a raggedly drawn lightning bolt.

  Brodie touched the cotton covering the brand on his heart. During yesterday's episode, BJ must have tried to piece together some kind of clue before succumbing to the trance. For a brief moment, she knew what the mark meant. B-R-I, Bridget.

  He flipped through the pages of his notebook, looking for a name and a phone number. He didn't have many friends in the outside world, but there was one man he could call on who might be able to explain the significance of the note.

  Brodie placed the call, wrote down the address, dumped BJ's cold breakfast in the garbage, and went to wake her.

  He found her still snuggled up in bed, in the same position as when he had checked her earlier. “Beej,” he called softly.

  When there was no answer, he knelt beside her bed and reached out to gently shake her shoulder. The moment he touched the soft shape, his concern changed into absolute fury.

  He flipped back the covers and sent pillows flying. He grabbed an offending furry elephant and squeezed the animal until cloth ripped beneath his fingers.

  He ran to the front door, but the damn thing was locked. His large fingers felt awkward as he punched in the security code. No response. He tried again.

  He didn't bother a third time. He ran through into the kitchen and out onto the back porch. He didn't waste time with the door there, either.

  Brodie jimmied a window open and cut the screen with his knife, cursing his size, gravity, and BJ as he climbed through the window and dropped to the ground below. He circled the house and jumped into his Explorer, gunning the engine to speed down the drive toward the front gates.

  He pushed the accelerator to the floor. No sense wasting time figuring out new codes. The woman was too smart for her own good. Steel chain links came up quickly. Without blinking an eye, he crashed through the barrier, stomped on the brake, and spun the vehicle onto the road.

  He didn't bother calling anyone. He didn't need to search. There was only one place BJ would go.

  The one place she shouldn't.

  “Duke!”

  The headstrong canine leaped out of BJ's arms, snarling at Damon. Quickly, she snatched him by the collar and picked him up.

  “Bad dog.” Normally, BJ used a calm tone of voice to command Duke. This time, though, the command sounded stern and harsh. “Damon, I'm sorry. He doesn't behave this way when I take him to the LadyTech offices.”

  “You know I don't like animals. I only tolerate that dog because he's so dear to you.” Damon's clipped tones elicited tiny growls in Duke's throat.

  “He doesn't growl at you when we're at home.” BJ pondered her pet's odd behavior while she loaded him in the carrier. “Of course, I usually put him out when I have company.”

  Damon pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and blotted the beads of sweat from his forehead. “He probably senses your tension. Animals pick up messages from the people around them.”

  “I suppose you're right. He can't stand Brodie at all.”

  Damon refolded the handkerchief, looking cool and immaculate once more. “That illustrates my point. Obviously your security guard causes you a great deal of stress. Even the dog senses that. I tell you again, you should fire him. That stress might make you even more susceptible to those blackouts.”

  BJ fell into a moody silence, absently stroking Duke through the front grate of the carrier. After comforting her through a solid bout of crying, Damon had fed her a continental breakfast, and gently prodded the story of the past few days out of her. She had given him a bare-bones version, leaving out the part about sleeping with Brodie.

  But Damon could easily guess that she had developed feelings for Brodie Maxwell, and that the main emotion she felt this morning was a deep, fatiguing hurt.

  He had been sympathetic at first, giving Brodie the benefit of the doubt. After all, BJ was inexperienced in relationships. She might be confusing gratitude and a false sense of security with something deeper and more meaningful.

  But when she gave the details about stabbing Brodie, Damon hardened into the ruthless, despotic executive she knew he could be. The gentle father figure vanished, replaced by a strutting, fuming tyrant.

  “Doesn't that tell you anything?” he finally said, sounding accusatory. “How could you possibly hurt someone you care about? Your subconscious is trying to tell you that you can't trust him.”

  “Brodie said someone else planted the idea in my head.”

  “Of course, he'd say something like that.” Damon sat beside her on the couch, drawing her hands into his. “I know you don't want to hear this, but isn't it possible that Brodie Maxwell is the man stalking you? At the very least, he could be working for someone. Who is in a better position to keep an eye on you or to trigger your episodes?”

  BJ shook her head, refusing to believe that Brodie intended her harm. “He wouldn't hurt me like that.”

  Damon arched an eyebrow. He saw more than she wanted him to. “But he has hurt you.”

  BJ withdrew into the corner of the sofa after that, curling her knees up to her chest and hugging her arms around them. Damon's words left her feeling unsettled, unsure where to turn, whom to trust.

  She thought she trusted Brodie. She believed in his intrinsic honesty, and in his devotion to duty, helping Jonathan Ramsey and anyone within Jonathan's sphere of influence, including her.

  But a man could lie in other ways. He could lie by bri
nging a woman's heart and body to life with rough, needy touches and gruff-voiced praises, and then abandoning her while he thought she slept. He could lie by sharing bizarre secrets from his past, but hiding those that plagued his dreams. He could lie by swearing to protect her from an unseen evil, yet strike a painful blow himself by making her feel something he could not feel in return.

  Maybe Damon was right. While he went into his den to make several phone calls, BJ cuddled with Duke, trying to make sense of what she felt for Brodie. Compassion, certainly. A healthy appreciation for his angular physique and secretive, icy eyes. An indescribable need to be held by him, to feel his physical power surrounding her.

  Damon had always been a pillar of strength for her. They had weathered some bitter times in their relationship, but the love was always there. Brodie evoked many of the same emotions. But he was too different from anyone she had ever known to say the emotions were exactly the same. After just four days, surely love couldn't be counted among the things she felt for Brodie.

  Damon returned, leaving her undecided. He called her confusion a criminal act for which he held Brodie responsible. But he would do something about it.

  “I've called in some of my closest friends. Discreet colleagues who will work with me to help you.”

  “How?”

  “Let them talk to you. See if they can piece together what's happening inside your head.”

  “Like one of your think-tank projects? I don't think so.” BJ's internal defenses shot up instinctively. She started when she felt Damon's hands on her shoulders.

  “I can give you something to relax.”

  “You know I don't like to take anything stronger than aspirin.”

  His fingers massaged the knotted muscles in her neck and shoulders. “Bring Duke with you. And I'll be there to monitor everything.”

  After a great deal of patient coaxing, Damon had talked BJ into accompanying him down to the fifth floor, which was divided into small offices and observation rooms with picture windows made of one-way glass.

  Damon escorted her off the elevator, down a long hallway, and into a small, generically decorated office. BJ skipped over the dark paneling to the fourth wall, where a one-way mirror rose from waist level to the ceiling. Through the glass, BJ saw four men and one woman dressed in white lab coats, sitting in a semicircle around a leather-covered examination table. The fancy upholstery and arrangement of pillows at one end didn't make it look much like the daybed someone had intended.