Gasping outright, I gather my lady up in nurturing arms and hold her closer than close; cradling and shushing her as she finally lets loose with a torrent of what I suspect are long withheld tears.
“My dad was indeed a big-time prosecutor—one who was altogether too good at his job,” she wails, covering her face with her hands. “He apparently sent up the wrong person—not that you can call the evil creature who killed my father anything close to a human—and he was murdered for the effort.” She pauses here, adding with a sigh, “Pete has told me that my father’s killer, Nate ‘Dutch’ Reynolds, was a man that my father sent to prison 10 years ago for armed robbery. I just barely remember the man’s name. And now, Joey, I can’t ever forget it.”
I say nothing for a moment, just squeeze her closer to me.
“Well at least he’s locked up now,” I say finally. “Put away for good, or so we hope.”
Winter sighs.
“Pete says that he is a powerful criminal with ties everywhere-which is why he is advising us to stay put here, at least for the time being,” she pauses here, gulping hard, “Oh, I want to see that man punished so badly—I hope he never again sees the light of day. But even if he does rot away in prison, it won’t at all change the fact that he took away my daddy.”
A single tear escapes her eyes; one I immediately wipe away with my fingers as she lets loose with a tortured sigh.
“The most wonderful, beautiful man I ever knew, and now he’s just gone. And now, the man who took him from my family is—in all likelihood—stalking me as well. Even if he is locked up, he is probably just looking for a way to get to me.” She pauses here, shaking her head from side to side in what seems a show of sheer desperation, “Dad was always the one who comforted me when bad things happened—the one who told me everything would be OK. Now who’s going to make everything all right?”
I silence Winter with a hard, fierce kiss; quieting her cries as I soothe and lull her with a sweet, nurturing kiss.
“I’m here now, Winter,” I whisper my assurance, my hands running in slow, even circles down the planes of her delicate back. “And although I know that a strong woman like you can and will survive this, I am here to help you.”
Drawing a still crying Winter into the sheltering cocoon of my arms, I press my forehead tight against hers and grace her with an affirming nod.
“In your own words, Sweetheart, I am your protector,” I swore. “I will shield you from all harm. I will, if needed, lay down my life for yours. And do you know what else, Winter? I love you.”
Chapter six
For a time that night I just hold and cradle Winter, hugging her close and tight until her body ceases trembling and stills in my arms.
Over and over again I tell her that everything will be all right, that I pledge to protect her, that she never again will have to feel frightened or uncertain. I swear to her that she has my protection, and that she should feel free to unburden on me whenever she likes. I promise to bear the burden on her behalf.
And the moment that she falls asleep, I make good on that promise—too good, as a matter of fact. For even as I lie still and quiet with her, wrapped as we are in the softness of our quilt, my mind races as I wonder just how this is all going to end—and if there is any possible way that all of this could end in our favor.
Staring down into the docile, slumbering face of the woman I adore, I know that I would kill to keep her safe. I just pray to God that I don’t have to do so.
I mean, I’ve been in some bloody fights in my time; and, as an act of self-defense, I have sent a man or two to the hospital. But I sure don’t savor the idea of taking a man’s life, even if it’s for Winter.
“And I savor even less the idea of somebody taking my life,” I admit with a sigh before I repeat, “Even if it’s for Winter.”
Letting loose with a tired, frustrated sigh, I reach for a nearby remote control and switch on the old-fashioned, tube style TV; desperate for any noise or picture that will distract me from my current situation.
With vacant, disinterested eyes I click my way through an endless, meaningless stream of late night infomercials, old sitcoms I’ve seen about a bazillion times, and dumb, clichéd soap operas not ready for prime time.
I’m about to give up when I finally find something worth watching; indeed, my heart even warms as I stumble across the last few moments of the classic movie “Casablanca.”
I smile as I see the familiar faces of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman fill my oversized, slightly fuzzy TV screen.
Although bummed that I have indeed missed most of the movie, I am at least glad that I’ve made it on time to catch its classic signature line; one that I say right along with Bogie, but while looking into the pretty, placid face of a woman even lovelier—in my humble, opinion, at least—than Bergman.
“Here’s looking at you, Kid,” I tell Winter, taking in my breath as her eyes flutter open and she graces me with a soft, sleepy smile.
“You go, Mr. Better than Bogie,” she murmurs, adding as she shifts her head in the direction of the television, “I see you’ve found my favorite movie.”
I smile.
“So, you share my love for ‘Casablanca’?” I ask her, taking her hand in mine. “I have to admit it, Winter. When you and I met, I really didn’t think we had a thing in common. And now it turns out—we have everything!”
We turn as one to watch the remaining moments of “Casablanca”; relaxing totally as I rest my chin on top of her sleepy head. For a few precious moments, our beings are flooded with a feeling of complete and total peace; along with a binding mutual affection that seems to—just for an instant, at least—isolate us from the outside world that threatens to consume or possibly even destroy us.
At last, there’s just her. And me. And that’s pretty damn cool.
“Want to go to bed now, babe?” I ask her, reaching downward to stroke the skin of her cheeks as she shifts restless in my lap.
She parts her pretty pink lips to answer; shutting them tight and bolting upright as a loud, rude noise erupts from our television set.
My eyes fly wide as the screen dissolves abruptly from the black and white end titles of our favorite classic movie; scattering to reveal instead the stark red lettering of a very real warning.
“Alert,” the message reads. “Urgent public advisory.”
The screen freezes then on this ominous message; the jarring alarm that accompanies it giving way to the sound of a hard, stern masculine voiceover.
“We interrupt regularly scheduled programming to bring you this urgent public safety message,” the man, who sure sounds like he means business and then some, tells us. “An armed and highly dangerous prisoner being held at the Avondale County Jail has escaped. Please be on the lookout for this man.”
Suddenly the scowling image of a balding, middle-aged man filled the screen; one whose eyes glares outward with a bare ferocity that sends chills down my spine.
And if I’m unsettled by this man’s ugly image, the woman in my arms is sent over the edge by his jarring, unexpected appearance.
“Him!” Danger screeches, pointing at the screen with a frantic finger. “That’s the bastard that killed my father.”
I say nothing, just tighten my hold around her waist as the ominous message continues.
“Nate ‘Dutch’ Reynolds, the man who has been charged in the shooting death of prosecutor Thomas McDonald, has escaped from a minimum-security prison in downtown Avondale,” the voice continues, unwavering and emotional. “He is armed and considered extremely dangerous.”
Winter shakes her head.
“Why would they have such an awful man in a minimum-security prison?” she asks me, her gaze all the while riveted to the face of the man who changed her life forever.
As if in answer to her question, the narrator of this gruesome—and all too true—story continues, “Police report that Reynolds made the escape earlier this evening, as he was being lead from his cell to mak
e a scheduled meeting with his attorney. He managed to strike and overpower the guard on duty and take his gun.”
I say nothing, just wrap my arms tight around Winter’s shoulders as she stares at the television with somber, near disbelieving eyes.
“After stealing the deputy’s gun and running for the door, Reynolds is said to have fired the weapon into the air and declared that he was off to finish the job. Officers are unclear as to what he meant by that statement.”
I gasp outright as a suddenly furious Winter jumps from my arms; her previous fear and shock disappearing in a flash—and leaving only bare, cold rage in its place.
“I’ll tell you exactly what it means!” she bellows, waving her fists wildly in the air as she rushes the TV. “It means that he wants to kill my mother. It means he wants to kill me!”
Suddenly she turns in a furious flourish, pointing an authoritative finger in my direction as she insists in a scream, “I am not going to be his victim. And I am not about to lose my only living parent—the center of my universe. I am going to stand up and fight, Joey—I swear it!”
With these words, she reaches for a discarded floral throw pillow lying dormant on the ground; scooping it up and throwing it with a certain vengeance in the direction of the TV set.
This totally ludicrous move bringing a faint smile to both of our faces, we relax for just a moment as—fully and finally—the man who so inflamed her disappeared from the screen; seemingly intimidated by the act of assault as performed with the aid of a light floral throw pillow.
Soon we recline once again in the cushions of the couch; now clinging to one another in what seems to be an act that is one part passion, one part mutual protection.
“I swear I’ll fight with and for you,” I whisper in her ear. “You and I are going to stay right here as long as we need to—though in order to protect you, I do believe that I’ll contact Pete and ask for additional firepower.” I pause here, adding with a shrug, “As you know, I do have a pistol—but I want to get another one for you. And, if we can lay our hands on a few more defensive and highly charged throw pillows, well more’s the better.”
Winter chuckles, but only briefly.
I gape as my lady pulls herself up to her full, impressive height; her chin held high and her lips drawn into a tight, defiant line. Suddenly she reminds me of a newly minted warrior, her fists balled and ready to fight.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” she informs me, tone solid and strong. “And I don’t think I ever will be, ever again. I’m fighting for my dad. I’m fighting for my mom. I’m fighting for you.”
With these words she straightens her spine, looking me straight in the eyes as she declares, “I’m fighting for me.”
Chapter seven
After checking to ensure that our doors and windows are locked and secure, I sweep my lady up in my arms and carry her to our bed; hovering over her throughout the night with the fiercest of protectiveness.
Still, I wonder as I finally fall asleep, will all the locked doors and sealed windows be enough? Will even my love and protection be enough to save Winter?
My question remains unanswered the next morning, when we get an unexpected visit from a concerned Pete; one who tells us both the news that we already know, while all the while adding even more unsettling and infinitely disturbing tidings.
“Joey, I am so sorry to tell you this,” the man I’ve known as a father tells me, pinning me with set lips and a grave, narrow stare. “But as much as I would love to ensure your security here, I simply can’t.” he pauses here, adding in a lowered tone, “I have had to ask Cole Shipley to leave our group—that is, after I beat him to a bloody pulp last night.”
I blink hard, shaking my head from side to side as I process this unbelievable news.
“Cole? He’s like a brother to me—always has been,” I protest, making a broad, awkward gesture in the air between us. “How can you do this, Pete?”
Pete shrugs.
“It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” he insists, adding as he looks me straight in the eyes, “After I caught him sending an e-mail that listed the full address of your little hideaway here. Cole, and the computer, were turned over to the police after I doled out my punishment; who then determined that he was writing to a prison-based IP in Avondale.”
I double over on the couch, gasping out as though someone has literally punched me square in the gut.
Wrapping her arms tight around my shoulders, Winter seems to keep her sense of calm as she looks a solemn Pete straight in the eyes.
“So Nate knows we’re here,” she concludes with a deep frown.
Pete sighs.
“The police are working as fast as they can to track him down, Winter,” he releases on a sigh. “But to be frank, I just don’t know where to take you to keep you safe. This monster that we’re up against seems to have connections everywhere.”
Winter thinks a moment, then nods.
“We’ll hold our own here,” she assures him.
Slowly but surely I sit up on the couch, taking my lady’s hand in mine as I nod in agreement with her words.
Pete leaves us with a renewed supply of food and firearms as he assures us that he has sent armed guards to the home of Winter’s grandmother, to watch over her and Winter’s mother.
Then my makeshift dad gives me a big, tight hug; following this uncharacteristic gesture with a solid punch in the shoulder, to assure me that he hasn’t gone all soft on me or anything.
“I wish I could take you both back to town with me, seeing as to how Nate knows about our hiding place,” he tells me with a sigh. “But since he was in cahoots with Cole, he probably knows the address of our clubhouse too, along with all of the usual places we stash the people that we’re trying to protect.”
I nod.
“Wherever Winter is,” I vow. “I’ll always be there to protect her.”
Finally Pete takes his leave, lingering on the doorstep to make sure that I lock the door behind him.
After drawing the curtains and settling down with Winter on our favorite comfy couch, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hover over her in a protective manner; using my body as a shield even as I wonder if—or, more truthfully, when—the danger will strike.
Even as I cuddle her close and sweet, an obtrusive coal black pistol protrudes upward from my back waistband and digs painful into my back; a cold, hard reminder that a threat looms over the life and well-being of the woman in my arms.
“I love you, Winter,” I whisper in her ear, hoping against hope that it won’t be for the last time.”
“I love you, Joey,” she responds in kind, wriggling deep and contented in my embrace as we stare deep into one another’s eyes.
For a timeless moment we cling to each other, neither of us seeming to know what to say. Finally I just reach once again for our ever-reliable remote control, clicking on the television and mindlessly browsing through the vast selection of cable channels available to us.
Finally, I settle on an old episode of “I Love Lucy”; relaxing just a bit as we laugh at the antics of that wacky Lucy and Ethel.
“I used to watch this show when I was kid,” I tell Winter, adding in a wistful tone, “I even once pretended that Lucy was my mom.”
Reaching upward to plant two warm, soft pink lips against my cheek, Winter whispers in my ear, “Those days are behind you, Joey. I’m here now.”
For a few minutes we languish and cuddle on the couch, until finally a smirking Winter declares, “Enough mush already! I’m up for some popcorn!”
With this declaration, she pops up from the couch; delivering a cheeky smile over her shoulder as she hops like a kid in the direction of the kitchen.
As I hear boxes and bowls rattling about on the surface of our kitchen countertop, I continue to bellow out commentary on the show that unravels across our TV screen at a lightning pace; with the legendary Lucy delivering one sharp gag after another while getting into more and more trou
ble by the second.
“Hey Winter, you just gotta see this one scene,” I declare at one point, sitting up on the couch as I let loose with a loud, sharp chortle. “It’s the one where Lucy and Ethel go to work in the candy factory….”
“Oh, is it now? I tell ya, I just love this episode.”
My laughter dissolves, and I freeze in my place, as a deep, cold masculine voice answers my words; one that seems to be coming straight from the kitchen.
My eyes widen in horror as Winter emerges from that room—but she has not come alone.
A tall, scowling muscle thug walks with slow, melodic steps at her side; clutching my lady’s arm in one strong, beefy hand and a full cocked pistol in the other.
I watch helpless as this terrifying intruder—a hulking bald man with empty ice blue eyes, dressed in a tattered grey coat that covers an ominous orange jumpsuit—drags the petite Winter like a helpless rag doll into the living room; raising his gun to her temple as he fixes me with a slow, dry smile.
“You know, as much as she likens that ugly old man of hers, Winter here sure is a right pretty gal,” he snarls, adding as he clicks his gun in a grim, ominous manner, “It’s such a pity I’m going to have to blow that beautiful face clear off her ever lovin’ head.”
Even as I gulp hard in response to these words, I hold the madman’s gaze as he jerks a silent, petrified Winter closer to his side.
“Now before you do anything rash, Nate is it?, please just take a moment to think about something,” I bid him, fighting to keep my tone steady. “Surely in your life, and I might be overreaching a bit here, even you have known a woman that held your heart in your hand—someone you’d do anything to protect. Well, that woman right there beside you is everything to me. Surely there’s something left inside you, some shred of humanity or decency, that allows you to understand what I’m trying to tell you.”
Freezing in his place, Nate arches his eyebrows and purses his rough lips as he seems to consider this question.
Collared By The Warrior Page 91
