by Laura Taylor
"But most people don’t…" She groped for the right words. "I mean, you’ve got enough equipment here to open your own electronics outlet. This is not just a simple case of protecting your privacy, is it?"
"Exactly."
"And you’re certain you’re not being paranoid?" Hannah couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that anyone could require such elaborate protection from the outside world.
He smiled, but his attempt at a reassuring expression served to enhance the strained look on his face. "I probably am a bit paranoid."
"Is Sean in danger?"
"Threats exist," he conceded, "but they’re manageable, as you can see."
"Are you…" Hannah paused, suddenly flustered. In the seconds that followed, she tried to come to terms with what Nicholas had just revealed, not just her realization that his survival and happiness meant everything to her. She made herself complete the question. "Are you in danger, too?"
"I have been."
"For heaven’s sake, why?" she exclaimed. "What kind of man are you? What exactly have you and Sean done to cause people to want to harm you?"
Nicholas exhaled, the harsh sound revealing the toll of too many years lived in a heightened state of self–protective awareness. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms atop his desk and peered at Hannah with an intensity that assured her he was doing more than gathering his thoughts.
He finally said, "We’re just men who’ve lived life by a different set of rules, rules that alter a man’s values and make it hard for him to trust anyone."
"Do you trust yourself enough to know the difference?" she couldn’t help asking. "I mean, you can’t really believe that most people hold a grudge against you or want to kill you."
"Not most people," he agreed, "although the last woman who wandered onto my property was a paid assassin."
"You must be kidding!"
"I don’t kid about death, Hannah."
She heard resignation to a reality she could barely comprehend, not just the echo of loneliness in his voice that made her heart ache. What had Nicholas—or Sean, for that matter—done to become the target of even one act of violence, let alone the possibility of repeated attempts to kill them?
She nodded. "I believe you."
In that moment, Hannah stopped blaming Nicholas for his baffling behavior. She also ceased her resentment of his suspicious nature. She even forgave him his commando–style raid on her van that first day. And she thanked God that he was still alive and that her brother possessed such a faithful friend and ally.
"Hannah?"
"Yes?"
He straightened in his chair, as if steeling himself to withstand a crushing blow. "What are you thinking right now?"
"I’m thinking my big brother is fortunate to have you for a friend. Don’t look so shocked." She smiled, but her eyes remained troubled. "Now, are you going to stop treating me like the enemy?"
"I think of you in a variety of ways, but that’s not one of them." He shoved the fax he’d received across the blotter atop his desk. "You have more… staying power than any woman I’ve ever known."
"Thank you, I think."
She took the pages he’d shoved in her direction, but she glanced at Nicholas before inspecting them. The enigmatic expression on his face concealed his emotions. However, she thought she saw a hint of worry in his eyes.
Under his watchful gaze she scanned a copy of her driver’s license, which topped the first page, then copies of her library card, school identification, and her court certified child advocate credentials. She paused, uneasiness sweeping over her. Her frown deepened as she skimmed what amounted to a summary of her thirty year life.
She grew more and more disbelieving as she read the location and date of her birth, a Cassidy family bio that listed the names and current ages of her siblings, the name of the surgeon who’d performed her tonsillectomy on her seventh birthday, her grade point average in college, and a note about her broken engagement to fellow teacher Len Hillman five years earlier. Her jaw sagged in disbelief when she read the details surrounding the parking ticket she’d received less than three weeks earlier.
"How? Who?" she managed in a strangled voice.
"The process isn’t complicated, although it took longer than I expected."
His negligent tone grated on her nerves. "Who… who sent this to you?" she asked, her voice faint with shock.
"It doesn’t matter, Hannah."
"Of course, it matters. The FBI? The CIA? Tell me, damn it!"
"Don’t ask questions I can’t answer."
His level tone provoked instant fury. Appalled by the thoroughness of his investigation, she said, "I don’t know if I should smack you into next week or applaud your nerve. You’ve invaded my privacy without any regard for how I might feel about it. Why didn’t you just ask me about my life? I don’t have any secrets."
"I had to know, but in my own way. And for the record, everyone has secrets."
She fought for and found the strength to control her temper. "Because of Sean?" She waited for him to speak, to somehow justify his behavior, but he simply nodded. "You’re not telling me everything, are you?"
Nicholas shrugged, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He rubbed his temples as Hannah studied him. Despite her anger, a frisson of compassion passed through her. She ached for him, but she refrained from indulging the urge to put her arms around him and offer him a taste of the compassion that was integral to her personality.
"You cannot go on like this, Nicholas."
He refocused on her. "Like what?"
"You deserve to be a part of the world. And so does Sean. Your lives are starting to remind me of some self–imposed prison sentence."
"You’re wrong. I’m comfortable here, and I value my privacy. Sean feels the same way."
"I’m right," she shot back, "and you know it, even if you’re too stubborn and too paranoid to admit it. It may be beautiful here, but you’ve created a fortress, not a home."
Hannah slapped the four–page report onto his desk and surged to her feet. She paced the length of his office several times, glancing repeatedly at the wall map and TV monitors each time she passed them. She finally paused, gave Nicholas a searching look, and then approached him.
"You should be able to come and go as you please. You shouldn’t need to worry about people who might want to hurt or kill you. You should feel secure in your own home without all of these exotic security devices."
"You never cease to amaze me."
"Why?"
"You’re so fucking innocent!"
"Wrong again! I am not innocent!" She thought of the traumatized children she mothered and loved when she wasn’t elbow–deep in first graders. "But if I’m innocent of your particular world, I think I’m lucky, but it doesn’t mean I’m stupid, or naïve, or that I should be treated like some bubblehead who can’t be trusted. Neither does it mean that I’m blind to the fact that you’re lonely."
Nicholas went rigid with tension. "Don’t."
"Don’t what? Don’t be honest with you? Don’t care about you? Don’t feel sad that you’re trapped by circumstances you seem unwilling or unable to change? Don’t tell you that you deserve to be loved? My God, Nicholas, you’re missing out on so much that life has to offer."
"Do not assume that you know what I need or want. You don’t know a damn thing about me or the life I’ve lived. I may be a loner, but I’m not a fool."
"I don’t think you’re a fool" she protested. "I just think…"
"Stop thinking. It’ll just get you into more trouble."
She bristled. "Quit telling me what to do, because I have no intention of following your orders. Being rude or condescending will not change the facts."
"You’re a guest in my home." His eyes looked glacial as he abandoned his chair, advanced on her, and then glared down at her.
She glared right back at him, hands knotted into fists and parked on her hips, stubborn chin jutting forward, and green eyes flashing fire as she snapped, "Guest
or not, I have every right to my opinions."
He grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her forward. "You do not have rights unless I grant them."
Hannah pulled free, backing away from him. She stopped once she’d put a chair between their bodies. "I’ll leave you to your solitary life the instant you tell me how to find Sean."
"No!"
"But you said…"
He didn’t let her finish. "I said nothing of the kind."
"You bastard! You’re just being perverse," she accused.
"Life is perverse." His voice matched the bleak expression on his face.
Nicholas thought then about the man that Sean Cassidy had become, in particular his aversion to being around people. Any people. No exceptions. Post traumatic stress disorder. Sean suffered from one of the worst cases Nicholas had ever seen. His heart sank, because he grasped the shock and disappointment that Hannah faced if he even managed to arrange a meeting between the brother and sister. For his part, he felt torn between an old and time–tested loyalty and his hunger for this fierce woman who defended the innocent and challenged him at every turn.
Did Hannah possess the strength and courage to accept Sean’s radical personality changes? Would she accept Sean’s altered reality, or would she become the avenging crusader and set out on a hopeless mission?
"Please help me find him," she whispered.
"You don’t know him any longer. He’s changed in more ways than you can possibly imagine or understand." He hesitated. "If he views you as a potential threat, he could…"
"None of that is important," she interrupted. "I just need to speak to him, Nicholas."
"And I need to get back to work." He abruptly turned away from her and returned to his desk.
Hannah swore, the word stark even by her host’s standards. She marched to the open door and stepped into the hallway.
"Hannah!" he shouted.
She reappeared in the doorway, glowering at him. "What?"
"Sean is alive and safe, and I intend for him to remain that way."
She sighed. "Please just ask him if he’ll see me for ten minutes. That’s all the time I’ll need. Then I’ll leave, and I won’t ever bother you again."
Nicholas hesitated. He finally nodded, aware that he owed her an attempt to orchestrate a meeting, not just for her sake, but for Sean’s as well.
He watched Hannah disappear from sight. The prospect of never seeing her again brought to mind the darkest period in his life, a time during which the inhumanity of others had shriveled the hope in his heart and the constant threat of death had dominated the landscape of mind and soul.
He shook himself free of the melancholy settling over him. He devoted several hours to repeated attempts to establish contact with Sean, sending coded non–crisis messages to each cabin on his property. He knew that all of the residents of the preserve would search for Sean and convey his desire for communication.
He didn’t bother to join Hannah in the kitchen for supper. He noted, courtesy of a concealed monitor, the disinterest she displayed for the meal she’d prepared. He noticed, too, that she made a salad and a sandwich, covered both with plastic wrap, and left them in the refrigerator for him.
Amazed that she felt inclined to be thoughtful of his needs despite her anger, Nicholas allowed himself the luxury of imagining what it would be like to be loved by Hannah. His emotions and his body responded instantly, eliminating his ability to concentrate on his writing as he awaited Sean’s radio call.
The radio sparked to life shortly after midnight, rousing Nicholas from a restless doze on the couch in his office. After securing his office door, he retrieved a radio headset and spoke briefly but firmly to his old friend.
As he neared the end of their one–sided conversation, he knew he’d failed to persuade Sean to participate in a face–to–face meeting with his sister. Not a huge surprise. Nicholas finally, and very reluctantly, agreed to arrange for Sean to see his sister, but only at a distance and without her knowledge.
As he departed his office for the night, Nicholas silently cursed the emotional anguish that had become Sean Cassidy’s constant companion, the realities of his own life as gatekeeper to the privacy and protection of his small band of brothers and sisters, and the knowledge that Hannah would always remember Nicholas Benteen with regret and anger.
7
Nicholas found Hannah in the living room. Moonlight spilled across her nightgown clad body, spotlighting her as she sat huddled on the couch. With her head bowed, her shoulders slumped, and her arms looped around her upraised knees, her posture told an eloquent tale of dejection and isolation. He silently cursed himself when he heard the shuddering sigh that escaped her.
She didn’t stir as he approached her. Dropping to his knees before her, Nicholas took her hands and felt her chilled skin. He shared his warmth and patiently waited for her to respond to his presence. She finally raised her head and looked at him. He considered the dark shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes yet another indictment of the tactics he’d used on her.
"I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you?" she asked.
"I couldn’t sleep, either," he admitted, too disturbed by her vulnerability and his desire for her to release her hands and put a safe distance between them. He felt his once iron–control start to shatter and his emotional defenses begin to crumble with each moment that passed.
"Did you find the salad and sandwich I left in the refrigerator for you?"
He nodded, and then admitted, "I wasn’t hungry."
"I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earlier. Sometimes I speak before I think."
His grip on her hands tightened. "You didn’t say anything I haven’t already said to myself, so quit worrying." He smiled. "Your hands feel like ice. You need to take better care of yourself. You aren’t used to the climate."
"I’m not used to a lot of things, I guess." She freed one of her hands and pressed her palm to the side of his face.
His smile faded as he searched her expressive features for some hint of her state of mind.
"Despite our differences, I care about you, Nicholas, and I really am sorry if I hurt you with what I said."
He turned his face into her hand, kissed each fingertip, and then pressed his lips into the center of her palm. When she whispered his name, he died a little inside. She would leave soon, and he would never hear her speak his name in the throes of passion.
"You need to sleep. You’re exhausted."
"My body’s willing, but my brain refuses to shut down."
Lifting her into his arms, he cradled her against his chest and carried her to her bedroom, his body as powerful and his footsteps as soundless as the predator she’d compared him to earlier that day.
Nicholas knew he needed to leave her alone the instant he lowered her to the bed, but he lingered, drawn to Hannah on so many levels that his hand shook as he turned on the lamp next to the bed. He sat down beside her, his muscles knotted with tension, his body enflamed by desire. His gaze swept over her, his hands closing into fists in order to keep from touching her again.
"Can we talk for a few minutes?" She settled back against a mound of pillows.
Nicholas watched the gentle sway of her breasts beneath the simple nightgown she wore. "Of course."
She took one of his hands, brought it to her lap, and tangled their fingers together in a loose clasp.
Nicholas welcomed her gentle touch, even though his conscience urged him to stand up and walk away before he lost control of the situation. She skimmed her fingertips over the back of his hand, effectively heightening his arousal. His inner tension ratcheted higher and higher until he noticed that Hannah seemed distracted, as though something weighed heavily on her mind.
He already felt responsible for the emotional roller coaster ride she’d endured since arriving at his home. He remained at her side, finding the patience within himself not to rush her as she readied herself to speak.
"You’ve probably noticed that I call ho
me almost every day," she began.
He nodded. He had noticed, although the conversations he’d overheard had seemed benign enough.
"Since I don’t think you’ve listened in on my…"
"I haven’t," he broke in.
"Then you aren’t aware that my mother is very ill. She has a heart defect. The doctors are trying to get her strong enough for open heart surgery. Although she doesn’t say much to anyone about Sean, she’s afraid she’ll never see him again."
"Christ! You should have told me."
Hannah nodded, her facial expression revealing her regret that she hadn’t spoken sooner. But then, he’d treated her as an adversary from the beginning, hadn’t he? Hardly an inspiration for shared confidences.
"You’ve been suspicious of my motives since the beginning. I thought you’d feel I was trying to manipulate you if I told you the truth."
"I probably would have."
"I hate seeing the constant fear in her eyes, Nicholas. I came here because I don’t want her to be worried or afraid any longer. I need Sean to come home for Mom’s sake. If she doesn’t…" Hannah cleared her throat. ". . . if the surgery fails, then this will be her last chance to see him."
If Sean refused to speak to his sister, how in the world could he be persuaded to travel to St. Louis? "That may not be possible," he cautioned.
"It has to be possible. It just has to be." Tears welled in her eyes. "Damn it! I promised myself I wouldn’t fall apart like this."
He gave up the fight. Easing her into his arms, he held her with gentleness that seemed at odds with his physical strength and fierce nature as she wept.
As she straddled his lap, Hannah wrapped her arms around him and turned her face into his neck, dampening his warm skin with her tears. He soothed and comforted her with near heart–breaking tenderness, and he couldn’t produce even token resistance to the emotions clamoring within his own heart.
Hannah finally lifted her head, eased back, and looked at him, her face pale and her cheeks wet. Nicholas’s control snapped, and he gave into countless years of emotional starvation. He claimed her mouth, his hunger for her exploding like a fireball in a long, searching kiss.
