Conceal, Protect

by Carol Ericson

  She ran her fingers across the area again and felt the nodule on the glass. Drawing her brows over her nose, she leaned in for a closer look.

  A tiny eye stared back at her.

  Chapter Six

  J.D. pulled the clean sheets up to his chest and inhaled the smell of grass and sunshine on a cold winter night. It smelled as if the linen had been hung out to dry in the spring and the scent had clung to the folds of the cotton through the dead of winter. How had Noelle done that? Or was he just imagining the smell?

  He rolled to his side, anticipating sleep to steal over his limbs, heavy with exhaustion. Instead, a bang on the front door had him bolting upright in the bed, all thoughts of spring evaporating.

  At the second bang, he kicked off the covers and stumbled to the front door. A quick glance out the window revealed Noelle parked on the porch, her fists raised for another assault.

  He yanked open the door, and she almost fell into his arms. And he would’ve welcomed it.

  One look at her wide eyes in her pale face and his heart slammed against his chest. “What’s wrong?”

  She held out her thumb and index finger pinched together, trembling. “I—I found something in my bedroom.”

  Was she afraid of a little bug? He extended his palm. “What is it?”

  She released her fingers, dropping a black button into his hand. He brought it close to his face. Then he crushed it in his fist.

  A camera.

  “It’s some kind of camera, isn’t it?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Now he knew it hadn’t been druggies who had broken into her house. The spy camera bit into his flesh. “Where did you find this? How?”

  “It was stuck on a picture frame in my bedroom.” She hunched her shoulders, tightening the grip on her arms. “I felt it first.”

  He didn’t ask why she’d been feeling a picture frame in the middle of the night. He dropped the disabled device on the table. “Why would someone be spying on you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  He did.

  Should he tell her now? Would she be in greater danger knowing about the threat against her? If he told her, would she run? He’d gotten orders from Prospero to keep Noelle in the dark until they could assess how much she knew, but why was she keeping him in the dark?

  He’d been waiting for her to tell him about the D.C. break-in ever since someone had pulled the same trick at the ranch. She hadn’t said a word to him about it.

  Clasping her shoulders through the thick terry cloth of her bathrobe, he said, “Is someone after you? Bad divorce? Dumped boyfriend?”

  She wriggled out of his grasp. “Of course not.”

  “Was anyone following you back in D.C.?”

  Come on, Noelle. Tell me about your missing roommate. Tell me about your ransacked apartment. Trust me.

  Her deep blue eyes flickered, but she shook her head. “No.”

  “Any enemies here?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Your half brother?”

  “Why would he spy on me?”

  “He wants the ranch. He wants to keep an eye on you.”

  She shivered and yanked on the sash of her robe. “I—I don’t think so.”

  “You’ve shot down every suggestion I made.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest, the chill of the night causing goose bumps to march across his flesh. “What do you think? Why did you run over here if not for my advice?”

  “I’m not sure. Finding that thing scared the heck out of me.” Her cheeks flamed.

  She’d come to the guesthouse ready to spill everything, but something had stopped her. He rubbed his arms. She didn’t trust him...yet. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You came here looking for some comfort, and I’m giving you the third degree.” He yanked on the ties of her robe, pulling her into his realm.

  Her body stiffened, so he stopped short of dragging her into his arms. He brushed the back of his hand along her smooth cheek. “What do you want me to do?”

  “If you could just—” her gaze finally dropped from his eyes to his chest, continuing down to the unbuttoned fly of the jeans he’d hastily pulled on when she’d pounded on his door “—come back to the house.”

  His skin heated beneath her bold inventory. Despite the electric current between them, this was the first time she’d looked at him like a woman looked at a man. He liked it.

  He shoved his personal attraction to her into a little corner of his brain. She must be scared if she trusted him enough to invite him to spend the night in her house, and he had to honor that trust.

  He cupped her face with one hand. “I’d be happy to bunk on the couch. I’m not sure the furnace is working in this place, anyway.”

  He also knew if Zendaris’s men had placed a hidden camera in her bedroom, they’d probably outfitted the other rooms as well, and he had just the device to detect any other cameras. He held up one finger. “Hang on while I gather a few things.”

  She nodded and wedged a shoulder against the doorjamb.

  J.D. grabbed the black backpack he’d retrieved from his truck before he’d turned in and shoved several items inside, making sure to include his weapon.

  Noelle had brought another flashlight with her. Now two beams of light bobbed across the dirt and gravel back to the main house.

  If she’d just open up to him about the disappearance of Abby Warren and the break-in at her D.C. place, he could confirm to Prospero that she didn’t know a thing about Zendaris or Abby’s involvement in his plans. Maybe a few more weeks with him playing the helpful cowboy would loosen her tongue.

  They got back to the house and she locked the front door. “I was thinking your first order of business could be a dead bolt on this door.”

  “I was thinking the same thing, along with those motion-sensor lights I mentioned earlier. You need to tell the sheriff about this recent development. He needs to look beyond the local junkies. Someone’s stalking you.”

  “I can’t imagine why, unless...” She wrapped her ponytail around her hand.

  “Unless what?” He held his breath.

  “Maybe you’d better sit down for this.”

  You show me yours, Noelle, and I’ll show you mine.

  He followed her to the couch and sat on the opposite end—time enough to move closer.

  She clasped her hands between her knees. “I’m a widow.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “My husband was murdered two years ago at the art gallery where he worked.”

  “Burglars?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, and a spasm of pain crossed her face.

  She must’ve loved him. No wonder she couldn’t warm up to another man.

  “That’s terrible, Noelle, but what does that have to do with your present situation?”

  Her eyes flew open and she pinned him with a blue-violet gaze. “I was there. I witnessed his murder, and his killers got away. The police never did catch them.”

  He knew all of it, but he raised his eyebrows and dropped his jaw. “That must’ve been traumatic for you.”

  “It was, but don’t you see?” She hunched forward. “Maybe the men who killed my husband are after me now.”

  He eased back against the sofa cushion. If this was what she thought, she’d had no inclination of what her roommate was up to.

  “Why would they be after you? Did you ID them?”

  “They were wearing masks. I could never give the police a description. To me they seemed ten feet tall, monsters wielding guns.”

  Leaning forward, he covered her bunched hands with one of his. “Why would they be after you now if you never identified them? It’s been two years, Noelle. If you haven’t given the police a description by now, you never will. They know that.”

  “I don’t know whether I want it to be them or not.” She collapsed against the back of the couch. “I can’t think of who else it could be.”

  “Don’t worry ab
out it right now.” He squeezed her hands, still cold even covered by his. “Get some sleep. We’ll take the camera to Sheriff Greavy tomorrow and let him figure it out. In the meantime, I’ll be here keeping watch.”

  She slipped her hands from beneath his and stood up. “I hope you’ll get some sleep, too. I still plan to work you hard.”

  That thought sent a pleasant buzz to his...fingertips. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll get you a pillow and a couple of blankets for the couch.”

  “Do you happen to have a toothbrush I can use?”

  “Of course.” She retreated to the hallway with a flip of her silky ponytail.

  J.D. pulled off his boots and stashed his backpack on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

  Noelle returned and dumped the blankets and pillow on the couch and placed an unwrapped toothbrush on the coffee table.

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been a big help today, like a guardian angel.”

  He snorted as he could feel his ears burning. “Not quite.”

  They said good-night and she pulled her door shut as he headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Several seconds later, the lock on the bedroom door clicked into place.

  Guess there were limits to how far she could trust a guardian angel.

  J.D. rinsed his mouth, tapped his wet toothbrush on the edge of the sink and left it on the vanity. He crept past Noelle’s locked door on his way back to the living room and unzipped his backpack. He placed his weapon beneath a cushion on the couch and dug for his radio-frequency detector.

  With a sweeping motion, he scanned the living room, cocking his head to listen for a hit. If Zendaris and his thugs were monitoring the feed from the camera or multiple cameras, they’d see him looking for the device.

  They’d know Noelle had company. They’d know she had protection. They’d know she had someone on her side. So what?

  Let the games begin.

  * * *

  NOELLE STARED AT the picture where she’d found the camera. She’d sort of assumed the D.C. break-in might have been related to Alex’s murder and had been hoping the one at the ranch was just what the sheriff thought it was—junkies looking for a quick fix. The discovery of that hidden camera had torpedoed that theory.

  J.D. made sense. Why would Alex’s killers be after her now, two years later, when she hadn’t been able to give the police one clue to their identities?

  She had no enemies. No ex-boyfriends. No secret stalkers—even Bruce didn’t fall into that category. The murder of her husband had been the only less-than-ordinary event in her life. It had overshadowed everything else before and since.

  “Abby.” She whispered the name of her former roommate.

  Could this have something to do with Abby? Was someone looking for her roommate? Abby’s family hadn’t even called her to ask questions. She knew Abby had a sister, at least. Was this their way of finding out what had happened to Abby?

  She closed her eyes and dug her fists beneath her pillow. She’d report this new affront to Sheriff Greavy tomorrow, have J.D. replace every lock in the place and sleep with a loaded shotgun next to her bed every night.

  She’d been jumping at shadows for the past two years. Now that she had something to jump at, it was time to dig in and put up a fight.

  She froze. Someone was tapping on the walls. Someone? J.D. was tapping on the walls.

  Had she been insane allowing a stranger into her home? She knew nothing about Jim Davis. Jim Davis. What a conveniently common name.

  He could be the one stalking her. Maybe he had broken into the house after running into her in the parking lot of the grocery store. Maybe he had disabled her car. Maybe he had planted the camera.

  Her mind had been working this way ever since Alex’s murder. Suspicions. Doubts. Mistrust. It had been her armor. It had steered her away from any possible relationship—well, that and her guilt.

  Why had her defenses failed her now? She’d been approached by good-looking guys before, so it wasn’t J.D.’s tawny hair and matching eyes or his solid muscles or the way his grin spread across his face, slow and easy.

  As attractive as she found the man, his appearance had been secondary in her assessment. It had been all about the way he’d taken care of her, protected her, looked out for her. When had she ever had someone like that in her life?

  She’d been the one to take care of Alex in their marriage...and she’d failed at it.

  The tapping continued, and she rolled out of bed. J.D. made her feel safe, but it could all be an act. Bottom line—she had a strange man in her house and he seemed to be searching for something in the middle of the night.

  She grabbed the shotgun from the corner. Then she crept across the floor and unlocked her door, turning the handle a centimeter at a time. She nudged the door open with her hip and slipped into the hallway.

  Pressing the gun against her side, she narrowed her eyes as she peered across the darkened living room at J.D. He hadn’t heard her yet and continued creeping around the edges of the room, one hand held in front of him.

  She swallowed and raised her shotgun.

  “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

  Chapter Seven

  J.D. spun around, dipped his right hand into his pocket and thrust his hands above his head. That stance came a little too naturally to him.

  Noelle tightened her grip on the shotgun. “What are you looking for? What do you want from me?”

  His gesture turned to one of supplication as he held his hands out, palms up. “Take it easy. It occurred to me when I was lying there trying to get to sleep that if your stalker planted one spy camera, he might’ve planted others. I was just checking out the room.”

  She licked her lips. “H-how were you looking? What were you looking for? I just happened to find the camera because the picture frame was crooked.”

  “Looking at the same types of places—picture frames, the mirror, plants.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen a few spy movies in my day.”

  Was he feeding her a line? Conning her? Ted had been the master of cons, and she’d learned to spot one a mile away. She didn’t get the sense that J.D. meant her any harm.

  She blew out a shaky breath. “What did you have in your hand when I walked in?”

  He dropped his arms and fished in the front pocket of his jeans. “My cell phone. I heard you could actually pick up frequencies with your cell phone.”

  “You weren’t kidding about those spy movies, were you?” She leaned the shotgun against the wall. “I’m sorry I pointed a gun at you.”

  “I understand. In fact, if it hadn’t been me that you were inviting into your home, I would’ve chastised you for allowing a relative stranger to spend the night under the same roof with you.”

  “I surprised myself, but the camera scared me and you had already rescued me a few times today.” She tilted her head, searching for more words to explain the affinity she felt for him, the way he eased through the chinks of her armor.

  She tossed her ponytail over one shoulder. Maybe Dr. Eliason had done enough head shrinking on her so that she could finally let down her defenses. Perfect timing—just when someone was stalking her for real. Maybe it had taken a real threat to break through her shell.

  Maybe it had taken J.D.

  “I don’t want you to be worried, Noelle. I’ll secure these locks tomorrow. You keep that shotgun close and you’ll be fine in this house by yourself. I’ll make myself comfortable in the guesthouse.”

  She hoisted the gun. “Do you want me to help you look for more devices?”

  “Are you going to shoot at them?”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “It’s way past midnight. You get some sleep—” he held up his cell phone “—and I’ll continue the search.”

  Sounded like a dismissal to her. Maybe she’d scared him off with the shotgun and her whiplash-inducing change of moods. She tucked the gun against her side and troo
ped down the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “Good luck.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the rich scent of coffee tickled her nostrils. She opened one eye, and her gaze trailed to the picture across the room. Ironic that the stalker had hidden the camera on the frame of one of Alex’s pictures—as if Alex himself was keeping an eye on her from the grave.

  What would Alex think about the man in the other room?

  She kicked her feet over the side of the bed and tucked them into her slippers. The sounds from the kitchen drew her down the hall, and she peeked around the corner.

  J.D. raised a spatula in greeting. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but I can handle something simple.”

  “The coffee smells great.” She sat on a stool at the kitchen island, the tips of her slippers scuffing the tile floor.

  He held up the pot from the coffeemaker. “Hard to screw up coffee.”

  “But not toast.” She leveled a finger at the smoking toaster oven.

  “Those are bagels.” He yanked down the door of the toaster oven and forked a bagel half onto a plate. “The edges are a little crispy, but I think it’s still good.”

  She took the plate from him and scooped a knife into the tub of butter he’d placed in front of her. The butter melted on the warm bagel, running over the sides and puddling on the plate. She licked her fingers.

  “Did you have any luck finding more cameras?” She glanced over her shoulder. “They could be watching us right now.”

  “I think the one in your bedroom was the only one.” He splashed some milk in his mug of coffee and held up the carton.

  She shoved her cup of coffee toward him and he poured a steady stream of milk into the brown liquid. She held up her hand when the milk had turned the coffee into a toffee color—not quite the shade of J.D.’s eyes.

  “I’m going into town to talk to Sheriff Greavy today. I’d like to show him the camera I found last night.”

  “Good idea. I’m going in, too, to pick up some supplies.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  He bit into his bagel and chewed, and she had to restrain herself from dabbing at the buttery crumb at the corner of his mouth.