Above Protection (Imperfect Heroes Book 1)

by C. J. Pinard

  Yes, I loved Royal Wayne “Duke” Hawthorne. I had fallen in love with him some time during that long cabin stay we’d had. I wasn’t going to deny it or question it. There was no way this wasn’t pure, unadulterated love I felt for him – and judging by the way he looked at me, he loved me, too. I knew this because the look he gave me whenever he stared into my eyes was how I pictured my own staring back at him.

  Chapter 23

  Duke

  We waded our way to the rocky shore and began looking for a way back up to the cliff.

  “What are we gonna do?” Rayanne asked me, my hand clasped in hers, fear dancing in her eyes. Her body began to shiver from the cold.

  “There was another agent in the car where Morris had been. Surely he saw what happened and has called for backup,” I answered. The question had been on my mind, too. I could hear sirens getting closer.

  She nodded and we looked around. I spotted a small path that started on the rocky shore and began wounding its way up. “There,” I pointed, beginning to shiver myself.

  I led her over to it, and we began climbing up. Her hand gripped mine tightly, and I made sure I had a good grip on her. I wasn’t letting her go.

  Once we reached the top, there were police cars and people everywhere. Most of them were just pulling up. Two dudes in ties ran over to us as soon as we were spotted. I saw one yell for help and a paramedic near a waiting ambulance grabbed something out of the back of his rig.

  “Hawthorne?” one of the guys said to me. “We’re so glad you’re ok. We were just about to send divers down there.”

  “Well you’ll need them to fish out the car,” I said dryly.

  A paramedic came up with two blankets and wrapped one around each of us. I had to let go of her hand in order for him to do it, but I didn’t like it. I glared at him.

  “Thank you,” Rayanne said, her teeth chattering.

  “I’m Special Agent Cade O’Neill, and this is Agent Michael Diaz,” the guy who’d spoken first said, then pointed to his partner.

  I nodded and said, “Did you get the suspect? She can I.D. him?” I pointed to Rayanne.

  His eyebrows knit together. “Not yet, but agent Morris’s partner, Adkins, can I.D. him, too.”

  “His name is Shane Watson,” Rayanne said between chattering teeth.

  O’Neill nodded at her.

  “How is Morris?” I asked, suddenly feeling sick at the thought that he could have died.

  “Head injury, they life-flighted him to Richmond.”

  I nodded sadly. “Keep me posted, okay?”

  We were led to the back of the ambulance where I reluctantly let the paramedics do their jobs, taking our temperature, blood pressure, and checking us over. My eyes did not leave Rayanne for one minute. I knew my time with her was limited since they hadn’t caught Shane and his cronies yet. I was trying to memorize her face, even though I knew I had already done that the first time I’d laid eyes on her.

  She looked over at me, an intensity in her eyes I had never seen except when we’d been in that bedroom, and I suppressed a shudder. I could tell she was having the same thoughts I was.

  When we were cleared by the paramedics and given medical scrubs to change into, agent O’Neill said, “We need to take her, Hawthorne.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where.” It wasn’t a question because I already knew the answer.

  He shook his head of salt-and-pepper hair, his gray eyes and crow’s feet around them crinkling in sympathy. “Sorry, man, you know I can’t. And honestly, I don’t even know yet.”

  “Who’s her new agent?” I asked.

  He pointed at his partner, who was leaned up against their white government ride, texting. I sized him up. Dark, shiny black hair cut in a modern style, olive skin, square jaw, young. Good-looking, good dresser. I tried to beat down my insecurity, because the guy was just doing his fucking job and he probably didn’t want to deal with it. But it was only temporary, I knew, and hoped they would just lock her up somewhere safe, like headquarters, until the trial.

  I nodded my thanks at O’Neill and went to the car where Rayanne was about to get in. “Can I have a minute?” I asked Diaz.

  “Sure, man. But we leave in two.”

  My jaw pulsed but I said nothing. I watched him walk a safe distance away, then turned and looked at her. She was staring up at me with unshed tears glimmering in her topaz eyes. “Don’t cry. The trial’s almost here. Diaz will keep you safe.” I stopped and shook my head. “Safer than I managed to, obviously.”

  A single tear escaped and traveled down her pale cheek. “Don’t do that, Duke. I already told you I don’t blame you.”

  “I will see you in a few days, I promise. I’ll be at the trial. I’m not gonna miss it.”

  That seemed to make her a little happy. “Thank you.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. Against everything, I leaned down and wrapped my arms around her, trying to warm her up. She was still so cold and shivering, and pang of guilt shot through me. When we broke apart, I used my thumb to wipe away another tear. “I’m sorry.”

  Diaz returned and interrupted us. He opened the passenger side door and instructed Rayanne to get in. As she rounded the car, I said, “Hey.”

  She stopped and looked at me.

  “I’m sorry about your books,” I said, trying to smile.

  She grinned sadly. “Those can easily be replaced, Duke.”

  I got the feeling there was a double meaning there, but I was too fucked up in the head with what was going on to realize she meant me. I knew I had a long drive ahead of me, and would have plenty of time to think it over.

  Agent O’Neill had the exciting chore of being in charge of driving me back to Florida. It wasn't as if I could drive another government vehicle, rent a car, or fly in a plane without ID. I was truly fucked.

  He had tried making small-talk during the 12 hour car ride. He’d told me that they were going to have the car fished out of the river, but doubted anything would be salvageable. My guns, my wallet, my FBI badge, clothing, Rayanne’s stuff… it was all shit by now, I’m sure. And I was sure I’d catch another disciplinary detail for wrecking one of the FBI’s precious drug-dealer seized cars.

  Not that I gave a shit.

  I wondered if she was okay. I wondered if Diaz was taking good care of her. I wondered where he had taken her. I wondered if he was eye-fucking her, wanted her. Gritting my teeth together, I had to let it go.

  “Can I use your phone, man?” I asked O’Neill.

  He nodded and pulled his smartphone from the pocket of his shirt. “Sure.”

  I swiped the screen and dialed my brother. He answered on the third ring.

  “Detective Oliver,” he said, obviously not knowing who was calling.

  “Hey, brother,” I said, a small smile on my lips on hearing a familiar voice.

  “Duke!” he exclaimed. I could hear the smile in his voice. “How are you?”

  I sighed and slid my free hand down my beard, wishing I had some chew. “I’ve been better, but I’m alive. It’s been a freakshow up here, man.”

  “Wow, really? Can you tell me about it?”

  I glanced at O’Neill and pulled the phone from my ear. “Hey, my brother’s Tampa PD. Can I give him the details from today?”

  He shot me a worried look then put his eyes back on the road. “If he’s PD and you trust him, I suppose. But keep in mind it’s still an active investigation.”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, man. You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

  I started at the beginning, the cabin, the boring days, then to Agent Morris being assaulted, then our exhilarating dive off the cliff and then Rayanne being taken away by Diaz. What I left out was all the personal shit Rayanne and I had gone through. Not only was I not sure I was ready to tell Mason that, I most certainly didn’t need O’Neill hearing it. He’d get his tighty-whiteys in a twist and probably drop a memo on me. No fuckin’ thanks.

 
; “Wow, that’s some crazy shit, man,” my brother said. “But I get the feeling you’re leaving something out.”

  I chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Of course I am.”

  “Well, what is it?” he asked, and I could just picture his dark eyebrows dipping together in concern on his too-pretty face.

  “You know I can’t tell you that, dude.”

  Thankfully, my brother knew me better than anyone and let it drop. So I simply said, “I’ll be back in town late tonight. I got a fuck-load of paperwork to do tomorrow, but when I get off work, I’ll meet you at Murphy’s and if you get me drunk enough, I might spill.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, man. Be safe. Glad you’re okay.”

  “Me too,” I said, hanging up.

  When I finally got home, I was bushed. Beyond bushed. Thankfully, Kyle was still at my house and I’d called him from O’Neill’s phone to let him know I’d be pulling up, because God knows where my keys were. Buried under some rock at the bottom of that river, I suppose.

  “Hey, man!” Kyle said, opening the door after I’d rung the bell.

  It was after midnight and it didn’t even dawn on me until after I rang the bell that I might wake up his kid.

  Lucy ran up to me and licked my hand, and I petted her golden head. “Hey, girl.” She nuzzled her face against my leg.

  “Night-night time, Lucy,” Kyle said to the dog. She went trotting back to the bedrooms.

  “Hey, man. Hope I didn’t wake up your boy.”

  He chuckled, limping over to the kitchen with me following – also limping. We were quite a sight, the two of us disabled vets. “Nah, that kid can sleep through anything.”

  I nodded. “Awesome.”

  He looked me up and down. “You do surgery today, doc?”

  I gazed down at my scrubs. “Shit, this was all they gave me to wear. I need a hot shower STAT.” My attempt a doctor joke.

  He smiled at that but something looked sad about it. I didn’t have the energy to ask him about it, because obviously I was a tired, selfish asshole at the moment. He turned and pulled something out of the microwave and set it in front of me.

  “I made a lasagna. Want a piece?”

  My mouth watered staring at the greasy, cheesy lump of pasta and meat. “Yes.”

  He laughed and handed me a fork, then rested himself against the counter. As I ate, I looked at his tattooed arms, his preppie blonde hair, and the prosthetic left leg extending out from under his shorts below the knee. Poor fucking bastard. I really did need to stop pitying the guy. First off, he had told me to stop a long time ago. Secondly, I bet his leg didn’t hurt anymore like mine did. All the fucking time.

  “This is damn good, Adams,” I said, scraping the rest of the meal from my plate.

  “Thanks. You okay, man?” he asked, looking concerned.

  I nodded. “I will be. I just need my own damn bed.”

  “I hear ya. Luke and I will be gone tomorrow, thanks for letting us stay.”

  “It’s me who owes you. I wouldn’t have slept well at night if you hadn’t been watching my place. Stay as long as you want. I mean it.”

  He smiled and I walked to my bedroom and closed the door. The shower was quick but hot, and after throwing on some shorts, I slid into bed, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 24

  Rayanne

  I wrapped my arms around myself and sat on the hotel room’s bed somewhere in bum-fuck Georgia. This was the most awkward situation ever.

  Agent Diaz sat on the other queen-sized bed of the room. His back to me, doing something on his phone. He wore a white T-shirt and sweatpants. His one and only duffel bag sat next to his bed, and his gun was lying next to his thigh as he sat there.

  The TV was on, and I was pretending to be engrossed in whatever was on it, but I wasn’t. I was scared, confused, upset, and most of all… missing Duke. Just when I had grown comfortable with him, he’d been ripped away from me. I was stuck with Mr. Stiff Pants over there. He reminded me of the cute FBI agent from the movie Miss Congeniality who was all stuffy and bossy. Except unlike Sandra Bullock’s character, there would be no falling for this guy.

  I was exhausted and couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. “Um, Mr. Diaz, I’m gonna go to sleep now.”

  He turned his head around and said, “You can call me Mike. And okay. I’ll let you know if I get any updates by morning.”

  First off, I would never call him Mike. Secondly, what the hell kind of updates did I need? I wasn’t confident they’d catch Shane. That little asshole had probably gotten away and I’d have to be scared for the rest of my life after I testified on Thursday and possibly put his daddy and uncle in jail for the rest of their natural lives.

  I sighed and slid under the covers on the side furthest away from Mike’s bed. Once on my side, a tear slipped out. I had never been in such a stressful situation in my life. The sight of that poor agent getting whacked over the head by Shane played over and over in my mind. My scream and the squeal of tires as we pealed out of there… the terror as they had caught up with us… the car careening over that cliff with all my stuff in it… us jumping over it into the icy cold breath-stealing water, and my terror those few seconds before Duke had emerged, safe.

  Then visions of him kissing me in the water, his passion pouring into me. He had meant everything he’d said to me, and I knew this because he’d said it in a stressful situation, and usually people told the truth in those situations. I’d meant what I’d said, too. I loved him, and I could only hope… pray… daydream… that once this was all over, that I could see him again. Thankfully, I had committed his address to memory when I’d seen his driver’s license, and if I didn’t hear from him, he’d be hearing from me. That man had branded something onto my heart, searing it there with his white-hot kiss, leaving a permanent mark I wasn’t sure I wanted to let go of.

  He’d said he was going to be at the trial. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I just couldn’t help it. It was so strange to me how much I’d disliked the guy for so long and now, it was like insta-love or something.

  Oh, my God! Maybe I had that syndrome, what was it called? Stockholm Syndrome? No, that was when someone started to care for their captor. But honestly, it had felt like Duke and the government had been my captors. They had kept me hostage for days and that was enough time to get to know someone as intimately as I had known Duke. I’d memorized the way he walked, and how his limp would get more exaggerated around 4 p.m., or after a long car ride. How he only dipped into his can of chew when he seemed stressed or distracted. How he rubbed his hand over his beard when he was angry, his jaw pulsing under it when he would try to keep from saying something. The way his dark blue eyes raged like a storm when he was angry or aroused, which seemed to be his main two emotions. Duke would look at me – check me out – when he thought I wasn’t looking, but I always noticed from the corner of my eye. Men don’t think women notice these things, but we do. I knew Duke was a decent enough cook, but I didn’t know where he’d learned it. I knew he had a younger brother who was also a cop but had a different last name. I knew his father had been in the Navy. I knew that limp of his was from a war injury he’d sustained in the Marine Corps while serving overseas. And while I knew all these things about him, I thought about how knowing little facts and quirks about someone doesn’t mean you actually know the person. So I had to ask myself – did I really know-know him? Admittedly, I hadn’t thought too much about it because I knew what I felt, and if that was just an infatuation or a crush, then so be it.

  But something told me it was something much more than that. I loved him with all his flaws and not in spite of them.

  The days in the hotel room with Diaz were even worse than the ones in the cabin had been. But, thankfully, the day before the trial, Diaz had received word that Shane Watson had been captured. They’d found him holed up in a local motel room in Pembroke, nursing a pretty badly infected bullet wound that had grazed his neck. I chee
red silently that Duke had hit him before we’d jumped over that cliff. The asshole had been too scared to go to the emergency room and was barely functional when they’d arrested him. I wanted to punch the air with my fist when Diaz had told me. What I had also wanted to do was to call Duke and share in the excitement. But of course I couldn’t. I was even as desperate at one time to ask Diaz if he could somehow get ahold of Duke so I could talk to him, and he’d practically laughed in my face, his perfectly straight, white teeth glimmering in the fluorescent lights of the room as he’d tipped his head back and laughed. Dick.

  The day before the trial, Mike drove me back to St. Petersburg and I had cried when I walked through the door to my condo, surrounded by my own things. FBI said I couldn’t have my cell phone or internet back until after the trial, but I could live with that. They said there could still be more threats, as Shane had had people with him. Something told me those people were probably in hiding, though. Still, Mike stayed and slept on my couch. I was just happy to have my own bed, clothes, and kitchen.

  I woke up the morning of the trial nervous and sick to my stomach. I still didn’t know why George and Elmo had been charged with Murder-For-Hire, but I was about to find out. Dressed in my nicest skirt suit and cute, but conservative heels, two FBI agents picked me up in an unmarked car with dark tint over the windows. The drive to the federal courthouse was only about 10 minutes from my condo, but by the time we got there, my palms were sweaty and I was trying to even out my erratic breathing. I was nervous as hell.

  Yesterday, an agent had come over and had briefed me for hours on how to testify, what to say and what not to say, and he told me that if I cried on the stand, it was okay, but to try to maintain my composure as best as I could. Thankfully for me, and lucky for them, I had been in court several times and had witnessed the process. I’d taken notes for my bosses before, but only on the big cases. I’d seen what sharks both prosecuting and defense attorneys could be. But in all honesty, I thought the defense lawyers were the worst of the two. I never truly understand how someone would put money before their scruples. Defending the worst of the worst – and the Watsons hadn’t been any better. I’d bit my tongue so many times over the past 5 years I’m surprised it was still intact. The agent seemed satisfied with my answers as he’d quizzed me over and over, and before he left, I had only asked him one question: Why had they been charged with Murder-For-Hire? His answer shook me to my very core.