Protective Instincts

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Why not with you?”

  “I live in a one-bedroom apartment the size of a postage stamp. He stayed three nights and decided he needed a little more room to breathe. His new house should be ready to move into by Christmas. In the meantime, I have the whole Thanksgiving dilemma to deal with. I need help, and I’m not afraid to ask for it.”

  She almost said no. She’d spent the past three Thanksgivings at her parents’, having quiet meals where no mention was made of the people who were missing. It wasn’t special or fun, but it was what she did, and it had become as comfortable as an old pair of shoes.

  The thing was, she didn’t really want comfort anymore. She wanted the little thrill of excitement that came from looking to the future, imagining new and wonderful things. If Matt were standing behind her, whispering in her ear, he’d tell her that was the way things should be. “You may not be afraid to ask,” she said. “But I’m kind of afraid to give it. Your family sounds...”

  “Intimidating? Scary? Overwhelming? Loud? Those are all apt descriptions. And the truth is, my family is a little nuts, but they’re great people.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I’ll help you out.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. I’ll even make peach pie to go with the pumpkin and apple.”

  “You make the peach. We’ve got plenty of people in the family who will bring the others.”

  “How many are we talking about?” she asked.

  “A dozen. Two. It’s hard to tell. Lots of uncles and aunts and cousins. Stella usually comes, but I think that might not happen this time.” He didn’t explain why, and she didn’t ask. She’d sensed tension between Stella and Chance, and she figured it had something to do with that.

  “I should probably invite Larry.”

  “I think you should.”

  “And Destiny.”

  “And the good doctor Kent?” he asked, closing the distance between them. She could see his face in the darkness, the hard angle of his jaw, the sharp edge of his cheekbone, the smooth firm line of his lips. He’d changed into a shirt that looked like a blue version of his brother’s, only he hadn’t tucked it into jeans that were a shade darker than the ones he’d been wearing earlier.

  “I think he’ll be busy working at the soup kitchen.”

  “What if he isn’t?”

  “I’m sure he’ll have plenty of invitations to choose from. Even if he doesn’t, I’m not planning to invite him. I wouldn’t want to lead him on. He’s not my type, and it wouldn’t be fair to make him think he is.”

  “So, if he’s not your type, who is?” He smoothed his palms up her arms, his hands settling on her shoulders.

  She wasn’t sure how to answer. Ten years ago, her type had been bookish and quiet, funny and smart, caring and just a little awkward. She was beginning to realize she had a soft spot for tall, dark-haired men with Southern accents.

  It shouldn’t have made her sad, but it did.

  She swallowed down the lump of grief, tried to make herself smile. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about it.”

  “Maybe you could think about it,” Jackson responded, his fingers playing in the ends of her hair. “And let me know after this is all over.”

  “If it’s ever over.”

  “It will be. Trouble never lasts forever.”

  He was right. It didn’t. Maybe heartache didn’t, either. Maybe, after enough time passed, wounds healed and hearts mended and lives that were empty could be filled again.

  A soft buzzing sound filled the room, and she frowned. “What’s that?”

  “My cell phone.” He dug it from his pocket, glanced at the number. “It’s Wallace. I’d better take it.”

  She switched on the light while he answered, perched on the bed while he listened. It wasn’t good news. She could tell by the hardness in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw.

  “Are you sure?” he finally asked. “Okay. Will do. Thanks.”

  He tucked the phone back in his pocket.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, following him as he walked into the hall.

  “The evidence team found a scarf in the back of the Jeep that nearly ran me down. Fibers on it matched fibers that were clinging to Butch’s coat when he was found.”

  The news was like a splash of ice water in the face, every thought of Thanksgiving and moving on fading in the wake of it. “So he was murdered by the person who’s stalking me,” she said.

  “It looks that way.”

  He walked into the living room. She waited in the threshold, afraid to walk in on the men who were sleeping.

  “Might as well come in,” Boone called. “We’re decent, and thanks to Jackson, we’re awake.”

  She stepped into the living room, the firelight casting a warm glow over the room. She’d forgotten how nice it was to have the fire burning, the room toasty, the logs snapping.

  Boone stood near the fireplace, his red hair fiery in the light. “I guess neither of you know the first thing about jet lag. If you did, you wouldn’t wake a man who just got back from the Middle East.”

  “Sorry, Boone,” Jackson said, and he didn’t sound sorry at all. “But we’ve got a situation, and I need to fill you in on it.”

  “What situation?” Chance asked. At some point, he’d changed into a brick red T-shirt and faded jeans. Even in those, he looked polished.

  “Hold on,” Boone said. “If we’re going to be briefed, we may as well get Stella involved. Otherwise, she’ll show up right around the time I’m falling asleep again and want the information.”

  “Someone can fill her in in the morning,” Chance said, stalking to the switch on the wall and turning it on. “Now, what’s going on, Jackson?”

  “Hold on, boss.” Boone straightened to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. For the first time since Raina had met him, he looked angry and just a little dangerous. “We don’t break the rules for anyone. Not even for you, and the team rules are that everyone on a mission is present during the briefing.”

  “This isn’t a mission,” Chance growled.

  “Yeah. It is. You set up the parameters of what a mission was way before the company executed its first rescue. Once we commit to helping someone, we’re on mission together until the job is done. Doesn’t matter if we’re getting paid.”

  “Now you remember the rules?” Chance sighed. “Fine. Someone go get her. Then Jackson will brief us. Happy?”

  “Does a whip-poor-will sing in the morning?” Boone responded.

  “I don’t know, Boone. How about you just go get Stella, so we can move on with things?” Chance growled.

  “I will.” He snagged Raina’s hand as he walked by, pulling her toward the kitchen. “And maybe you can make some coffee for us, Raina?”

  “Sure,” she said, more worried about what else Jackson was going to say than coffee, missions or rules.

  “And maybe an omelet? Some toast? Nothing fancy. Just something to keep the brain working.”

  “I can do that,” she said, opening the fridge and pulling out what she needed.

  “You’re a good kid,” he responded, ruffling her hair. “I like you. I think you and Jackson are going to do just fine together.”

  He disappeared upstairs, and she started the coffeepot, cracked eggs into a bowl, put bread in the toaster. Went through all the motions of making breakfast for the team who was protecting her, and the whole time, his words were running through her head.

  I think you and Jackson are going to do just fine together.

  A few days ago, she would have laughed at the idea that she could be fine with anyone.

  She wasn’t laughing anymore.

  She was praying, hoping, believing that there was something good coming o
ut of the bad, and that Jackson was right. That her troubles wouldn’t last forever, that when they were over, she’d have Thanksgiving with his rowdy family and with Samuel, and all the things she’d believed about God and faith and hope, all the things she’d thought she’d lost when Joseph and Matt died, would finally be renewed.

  SEVENTEEN

  At ten-thirty in the morning, Raina had already run out of ideas for entertaining Samuel. Being stuck in the house wasn’t fun, especially for a ten-year-old boy. Unfortunately, aside from a visit to the doctor, Raina and Samuel had been confined to the house. Thank goodness Samuel had another appointment scheduled for that afternoon. They both needed to get outside, get a little fresh air, try to move beyond the circumstances they were in.

  Not easy to do when the circumstances never seemed to change. After nearly a week of investigating, the police were no closer to finding Butch’s murderer. Which meant, of course, that they were no closer to finding Raina’s stalker. Things had been so quiet for the past few days, Raina was beginning to wonder if there’d ever actually been a stalker. If not for the healing wound on her forehead and the fading bruises on her neck, she could almost believe there wasn’t one.

  Raina sighed, shoving her hands into soapy dishwater and pulling out a plate. She scrubbed it, rinsed it and handed it to Samuel.

  “I can wash these,” he offered. “You rest.”

  “It will be faster if we work together. When we’re done, we can play chess.” After nearly a week of spending almost all their time together, she’d learned a lot about Samuel. He loved learning. He loved games that made him think, television shows that taught him something. He could read quite a bit of English, and he loved books. He also liked to help, and he treated her like an elderly aunt who might expire at any moment if she didn’t get enough rest. Sometimes that made her smile. Other times it made her wonder if she should slap on some foundation and blush and try to look a little younger.

  The floorboards above her head creaked as she handed Samuel another plate to dry. Jackson was upstairs with Stella and Boone. Chance was in the living room on Skype with a team member who was in China. It seemed strange that a house that had been empty and lonely for years was suddenly full. That meant more dishes, more cooking, more cleaning. It also meant more companionship. Raina hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that until she suddenly had it again.

  “I was thinking,” she said as she washed the last dish and pulled the plug. “After we go to the doctor today, we should stop at the library and get some books.”

  “Library?” Samuel wiped the last drop of water from the dish and carefully set it on the counter.

  “It’s a place where you can go and borrow books. Once you read the books, you return them and you can borrow more.”

  “Really?” His dark eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his face. “I think I will like a library.”

  “Who’s going to the library?” Jackson walked into the room wearing what looked like another one of his brother’s dress shirts. This one was a deep blue that matched his eyes, the fabric soft and well-worn. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and left the buttons undone, a dove-gray T-shirt beneath clinging to his chest and abdomen. His muscles were clearly defined, the holster he wore strapped to his chest emphasizing his masculinity.

  Her heart jumped as he walked toward her, her stomach filling with a million butterflies. Being near him was like the first day of summer, warm and exciting and wonderful with just a hint of regret because spring was over.

  “I thought I could take Samuel there after his doctor’s appointment,” she responded, hoping he didn’t notice how flushed her skin was. She felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, awkward and unsure.

  “Since when did he have a doctor’s appointment today?” Jackson asked, snagging an apple from a basket of fruit Destiny had dropped off the day before.

  “Since before he arrived. We’re having X-rays done to see how the bone in his leg looks. The prosthesis can’t be fitted until it’s healed completely. I told Stella about it.”

  “Stella didn’t tell me,” he said with a frown. “This is going to be at the clinic?”

  “No. We’re going to River Valley Radiology. It’s in the same building as the clinic, but not in the same offices.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s good about it?”

  “I don’t like Kent,” he said bluntly.

  “Don’t like whom?” Chance walked into the room, his shirt neatly pressed, a tie hanging loosely around his neck. He spent most of his time on the computer or on the phone, but when he wasn’t occupied with work, he was kind to Samuel, offering to play board games and read books with him. That meant a lot to Raina, because she could tell it meant a lot to Samuel. He craved love and attention the way plants craved sunlight, needed it the way he needed to breathe.

  “Kent Moreland. The guy makes my blood boil.” And Jackson wasn’t going to apologize for it. The guy called every day. He always had a reason. He wanted to check on Samuel or find out if Raina planned to return to work as scheduled or tell her that one of her coworkers had had a baby girl.

  “Is he a person of interest in the case?” Leave it to Chance to get to the point and to the problem. No matter what Jackson’s gut said, there was no evidence against Kent, nothing to make the police bring him in for questioning.

  “No.”

  “Of course not!” Raina frowned. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowing blue-purple, the small bandage that covered the wound on her forehead stark white. She looked young and pretty and too vulnerable for Jackson’s peace of mind.

  “I’m just asking,” Chance responded, meeting Jackson’s eyes. “I figured Jackson had some reason for not liking the guy. I thought it might have to do with the case.”

  “They butt heads,” Raina responded, but that wasn’t all there was to it, and Jackson thought she knew it.

  “It’s more than that,” Jackson said. “The guy is pompous. He thinks he’s better than the average Joe, and as far as he’s concerned everyone but him is average.”

  “In other words,” Chance replied, “he’s interested in Raina and you don’t like it?”

  Raina blushed, but Jackson wasn’t going to deny the truth. “There’s that, too.”

  “What’s Wallace have to say about the guy?”

  “He’s looking into Kent’s background because I asked him to.”

  “What?” Raina frowned. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I don’t trust him, and usually, I’m spot-on about people.”

  “It’s true,” Chance agreed. “But I think our better bet for a suspect is Lucas Raymond. I did a little research of my own, and he’s been MIA for three days. Canceled his appointments, asked a neighbor to feed his cat.”

  Chance took a seat at the kitchen table, his gaze on Samuel. The kid had stacked clean plates on the counter and was putting dry silverware into a drawer, carefully arranging it by size and style. Jackson thought that probably amused his brother. Like Samuel, Chance loved organization and order.

  “I can top the MIA psychiatrist,” Jackson said. “Kent’s wife committed suicide.”

  “Really?” Raina looked shocked. “He told me that she died in a car accident.”

  “She did. If you count sealing the car muffler, closing the car windows and running the engine until you succumb to carbon monoxide poisoning an accident.” It had taken Jackson a couple of days to track down the information, but he’d finally managed to contact someone in Kent’s Wisconsin hometown who was willing to talk about Cheryl Moreland’s death.

  “That’s horrible,” Raina said, her gaze jumping to Samuel. He’d finished with the silverware and was wiping off the counter. “And it may not be good subject matter for a ten-year-old boy.”

  She was right about that. Samuel didn�
�t need any more sad stories in his life. He didn’t need any more loss or heartache. Raina wasn’t the only one Jackson was bent on protecting.

  “Hey, buddy.” Jackson touched the young boy’s arm. “Why don’t you go ask Boone to play chess with you?”

  “It is okay?” Samuel asked, his dark gaze on Raina. He spent most of his waking hours shadowing her around the house, hopping from one room to another, doing everything he could to help her with chores.

  “Of course it’s okay,” Raina said with a gentle smile. “But remember, we need to leave in less than an hour.”

  “I will remember.” Samuel grabbed crutches that were resting upright against the wall and left the kitchen, his narrow shoulders already looking a little stronger and broader than they’d been when he’d arrived. It was amazing what a little good food and a lot of affection could do for a child.

  “Okay. The kid’s gone,” Chance said impatiently. “So, spill. What’s the deal on Kent’s wife?”

  “According to a neighbor, she took a handful of sleeping pills, locked herself in the car while Kent was at work and killed herself.”

  “Did she leave a note?” Chance pressed for more information, but Jackson didn’t have much. He’d spoken to a neighbor and to Cheryl’s sister. According to them, police hadn’t found anything suspicious about the death and the coroner had ruled it a suicide. Cheryl’s sister had questioned that, hinting that there might have been more to the story than the obvious. When Jackson had pressed her for clarification, she’d clammed up and told him she had to go.

  He wasn’t sure what that meant, and since she hadn’t taken any more of his calls, he didn’t think he’d be getting an answer from her anytime soon. Hopefully, Wallace would have more luck. “No note. Apparently, not even a hint that she was suicidal. According to her sister, she was alive and happy one day and gone the next.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Raina said, grabbing the stack of plates Samuel had left and sliding them into the cupboard. “If she was happy, then why is she dead?”