Shielded by the Cowboy SEAL

by Bonnie Vanak

Letticia Taylor had been a healthy seventy-year-old until a few months ago, when she began to sicken. She died in the hospital two weeks ago, Meg stroking her chilled blue-veined hand.

  Prescott attended the funeral, and a few days later, they went to the family attorney in Boston. Bert Baxter informed Meg that Gran had left everything to Prescott. Everything.

  She was literally cashless and powerless.

  The sexy Cooper with his crooked grin and burning blue eyes assured her this cottage was safe. He would protect her.

  No one can really protect me.

  She hadn’t been safe all those times before when she’d tried to escape Prescott, and she had no real confidence Cooper Johnson could deliver on his promise.

  Meg turned on the television in the living room. It was an older model, and nothing compared to the wide-screen HDTV in her mansion.

  She channel surfed, restless, until landing on a news channel. And then she stiffened as she recognized the familiar surroundings. It was a news report from Florida, with several police cars surrounding a BMW she knew...for she had been there the day he’d bragged about getting that “sweet” car.

  No, please no.

  The television news reporter was talking.

  “Murder in Palm Beach! The body of Palm Beach millionaire Randall Jacobs was found this morning inside his car in a public park near a playground. There are no suspects at the time and police are investigating...”

  Meg snapped off the remote and stared at the blank screen. Wind pushed at the windows, howling to get inside.

  Her chest hurt and her throat tightened. “Randall, oh God, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Randall Jacobs, the only man she trusted, the only one who had the evidence to convict her husband and send him to jail, far out of reach, was dead.

  Chapter 4

  It didn’t matter if Cooper Johnson had a room filled with weapons. She wasn’t safe here. Prescott had murdered Randall. She knew it.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, Meg paced the living room, thinking hard.

  She went into the kitchen and unplugged her cell phone from the charger.

  The light blinked, indicating a voice mail. She dialed it and listened, her blood turning to ice.

  Randall.

  “Meg, they’re after me.” A small, gruff laugh, filled with terror. “Should never have stayed in this game, but I got greedy. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry for what I did.”

  Sounds of a train going by in the background. Randall’s voice became more frantic and he spoke in a rush.

  “Meg, I don’t have much time and I can’t be certain this phone isn’t bugged. Prescott’s in deeper than I thought. It’s not him you have to worry about...it’s his new friends with deep pockets, and they’re planning something big. Be careful. The documents and cash for you to live on are hidden. Remember 43.961281 and -71.058542. There’s also a backup microchip close to your heart. Watch yourself, Meggie.”

  Hands trembling, she shut off the phone. Meg jotted the numbers down on a nearby pad. Then she looked at the cell phone. Police were investigating and would trace the phone number back to her.

  Pulling open drawers, she pawed through their contents until she found an old-fashioned meat tenderizer. Perfect. Meg removed the battery from the cell phone and then set the phone on the floor and smashed it. Then she took the shards and placed them in a plastic bag to dispose of later.

  It was a prepaid cell phone with a new SIM card that she’d paid for in cash. The police could call the number and use the phone to track her down. Randall’s call came three hours ago. Enough time for them to start checking out his phone calls.

  The numbers played over in her head: 43.961281 and -71.058542. Tears burned her throat. Randall had lived a lavish lifestyle, jet-setting and spending money extravagantly, but he was a good man at heart, wanting to do the right thing.

  And now he was dead because of it.

  She went to the fireplace and warmed her ice-cold hands. All she had as clues were the numbers and a vague message about her heart.

  What did those numbers mean?

  A loud crash sounded outside, making her jump. Sophie barked and scrambled to her feet. Meg’s blood turned to ice. Immobilized with fear, she stared in the direction of the kitchen.

  Right outside the sunporch.

  Turning off all the lights, wishing she could bank the fire as well to plunge the room into total darkness, Meg took a deep breath. Gathering all her courage, she peered out the living room window that paralleled the sunporch. Fat snowflakes swirled in the storm, making it difficult to see, despite the dim glow of the porch light. Tree branches scraped against the side of the house like nails against a chalkboard.

  The crash was probably the wind knocking over one of the clay planters on the steps. It made no sense that Prescott had found her, unless he’d traced her to Jarrett and Lacey...

  Meg ran to the fireplace and seized the poker, carrying it like a weapon. She found the coat Cooper had left for her, hanging on a peg in the sunroom. Sophie trotted behind her, but she motioned for the dog to stay quiet.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. If something was lurking outside, she wasn’t going to hide in here, cowering in fear.

  She was so tired of being afraid all the time.

  Snow pelted her face, danced around in the air as she stepped onto the landing. The tiny light outside did little to illuminate the gloom. Wind whipped at her hair, sending tiny stinging needles into her skin.

  Meg held up the fireplace poker, ready to swing at an unknown assailant. But no one was outside. The clay pot, containing only dirt, had been knocked over and lay in shards on the snowy ground. Nothing. Just the pot, knocked over by the wind. Still she stood there for a minute, listening to the wind howl and the trees moan under the storm, cold snaking down her spine.

  A deeper cold she knew would never leave, not until she’d freed herself permanently from Prescott’s clutches.

  Finally, the cold became too much to bear and she returned inside.

  Meg set down the poker on the kitchen table. Using the kitchen phone, she dialed the toll-free number Lacey had given her.

  Her former sorority sister answered on the first ring. “SOS.”

  “Lacey, it’s Meg. I made it here, but I’m not staying.” She spoke in a rush, worried the connection would get cut off.

  “Meg! We were worried about you.” Her friend’s relief was obvious. “Stay there with Cooper. You’re in a safe house now. We need you to stay put until we can find another place to move you.”

  Move me. Like I’m furniture, only the moving meant putting more people at risk. Her throat tightened. She’d already played havoc with too many lives and endangered good people. It had to end now.

  Fingering the diamond around her neck, she thought of the cash it would bring if she pawned it. Enough to find another place to run and hide, until she could figure out the numbers Randall had left her.

  She hated pawning her grandmother’s jewel, but Gran would understand. Meg’s hand trembled as she gripped the phone. “No. I have a little money. I’ll find a place on my own. Thank you, but I can’t risk it.”

  “Meg, please, I know you’re scared, but Cooper is the best...”

  “You don’t know my ex. He’s ruthless and has enough money to make anyone vanish. You both aren’t safe. If he finds out you helped me... I can’t risk your lives, Lacey.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to us, Meg,” Lacey told her. “Jarrett takes every precaution when it comes to our underground railroad of aiding women in distress. Coop’s going to give you a new ID, new passport, driver’s license...but it will take a little time.”

  “I don’t have time. It won’t matter.” She gripped the phone and thought of Randall, and his cheerful, round face
, now frozen in death. “Cooper Johnson can’t help me. He has his hands full here.”

  “Cooper is a professional soldier and he’ll make sure you’re safe. He’s okay, Meg. Trust him,” Lacey told her.

  “I can’t stay here. And you and Jarrett and Fleur are in danger, because if Prescott finds you...”

  A crackling over the phone and mumbling in the background.

  “He’s not going to touch Lace, or Fleur, and if he gets within one hundred miles of our house, I’ll be on him, Meg. Stay with Coop.” The deep, rumbling tones of former Navy SEAL Lt. Jarrett Adler sounded confident and assured.

  But she could not take chances.

  “Watch yourselves.” Meg hung up the phone, then she went to the window, worried about the storm. No time to go out in this mess. She had no car, and for now, she was stuck.

  Stuck in a cottage with someone outside. She lifted the checked curtain at the kitchen window and peered out into the darkness again.

  Was someone out there now, watching her every move?

  Fear soured in her stomach. The barn couldn’t be far. She suddenly couldn’t stand to be alone anymore. She found Sophie’s leash and hooked her up and took the key to the front door off the peg in the kitchen.

  “Come on, Sophie. We’re going to find Cooper.”

  * * *

  “Easy, girl.”

  Coop finished walking Betsy around the barn, cursing the storm that kept the mare inside. Then he rubbed down Betsy once more for the night. He lifted the latch on the stall door and locked it behind him. In the stall next to Betsy’s, Adela poked her head out and looked at him suspiciously.

  “Hey, Adela,” he murmured. He went to the minifridge where he kept carrots and apples and medication for the animals, and fished out a red apple. Coop unlatched her stall door and stepped inside.

  But Adela backed away, laying her ears back.

  Still wouldn’t take food from his hand. He needed to work with her more, needed time to work with her.

  “It’s okay, girl. When you’re ready.” Backing out of the stall, he fumbled with the finicky catch and let himself out. Coop set the apple down on a bench to try later.

  In the aisle, he sat on the chest containing cleaning equipment and pulled out his cell phone. After scrolling through messages, laughing at a stupid joke one of his teammates sent, he clicked onto a news station from Palm Beach County.

  Needed to see what else he could find out about Meg.

  And then he saw a headline screaming in bold type: Palm Beach Millionaire Found Shot to Death.

  Coop’s heart raced. He read through the article, and then set his phone down, burying his face in his hands.

  Damn it. There went his hope of getting to Jacobs and finding out how to track down M. E. Franklin, owner of Combat Gear Inc. Digging into this company was like a game of Chutes and Ladders he’d played as a child, and he’d just slid down a very long chute.

  He dug into his pocket and withdrew a jeweled figure no bigger than his thumbnail.

  It had a gold halo, a white crystal for a head and body, and two blue crystals for wings. His guardian angel.

  “I’m sorry, Brie. I let you down again,” he whispered. “God, I wish you were here. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to keep you safe.”

  Brie had bought it for him the day he enlisted. She’d pressed it into his palm as he slung his duffel over one shoulder. “To protect you, Super Cooper. No being the hero, okay? You come home to us,” she’d told him, and then hugged him tight.

  He treasured it as much as he did his Budweiser SEAL pin. He’d tucked that angel into his uniform pocket and it had traveled with him ever since. The little angel had seen him through BUD/S, the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALS training all SEALS endured, and was in his uniform when he’d taken a bullet in Ramadi that should have killed him. Jarrett had teased him about it at first, but later, his LT started thinking maybe that angel pin pulled Coop out of a bad scrape or two dozen.

  He’d been banged up bad, came through it intact. But no angel pin could keep Brie safe. Only a damn vest that should have never been sold.

  Coop ran a hand through his hair, his guts churning. He looked at the little guardian angel charm and felt his throat close up.

  A noise at the barn door jerked him out of his ruminations. Coop pocketed the angel and stood, muscles tensing, his hands itching for a weapon as the barn door opened.

  Wind blew the snow inside as Meg and her dog ran into the barn. Meg struggled to close the doors.

  He stood, alarm pelting him. “What’s wrong?”

  Had to be a hell of a reason to bring her out of the nice, warm cottage in this mess. Scanning her body, he felt relieved to see no obvious injuries, nothing but a hint of distress in her green eyes. At her side, the dog wagged her tail and then shook, spraying melting snow everywhere.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  She braved this snowstorm for a chat? Exasperated, he shook his head. “I told you, I’d be by the cottage later.”

  “I know.” She came forward, snowflakes dusting her soft brown hair. “I also wanted to see how Betsy is doing.”

  Nice of her to check, but he resented Meg’s intruding on his personal space, his retreat away from the world. “She’s good.”

  Cooper splayed his legs and tensed. “Go back to bed and stay warm. You’ve just been through one bout with exposure. Unless you want me warming you all over again.”

  Not a bad idea, his body cheerfully agreed. Amid the earthy scent of horses and hay, he caught a tendril of her fragrance, all floral and feminine. Yet another reminder it had been a long time since he’d had a woman warm his bed. Or warm anything of his.

  Meg flushed a little and she bit her lip. He caught sight of her pulse pounding at her temple, as if she thought it was a great idea as well.

  Right. Put that thought out of your gray matter, chum, ’cause it ain’t happening in this lifetime.

  He heard a whuffing sound and hooves clicking against the cold cement floor, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Adela had nosed her way out of the stall and now stood in the aisle, right in front of Meg and her furball.

  Son of a...should have fixed that damn latch. But it had been yet another thing on his long to-do list.

  “Stay where you are and don’t move toward her,” he warned in a low voice, not wishing to alarm Adela.

  Wariness faded from Meg’s expression. Instead, she pulled off one glove and started toward the horse. Terrific. Now I have to save you a second time tonight?

  He murmured to the horse, hugging the left side stalls, not wishing to get kicked by Adela’s hind hooves.

  “Hey there, pretty girl,” Meg crooned. She picked up the abandoned apple.

  “Careful. Back off, now,” he warned. “She’s a rescue and had a tough time of it.”

  “A rescue horse?” Her face lit up and she smiled with such warmth, it nearly took his breath away.

  What would it be like to be greeted with a sweet, sunny smile like that every day? Marriage, family, a wife who would stick by his side, someone he could talk with, encourage her hopes and dreams like she did to him. Not the women he’d taken to bed and watched walk away, women who simply wanted sex because he was a Navy SEAL.

  Shaking free of the thought, Cooper watched Meg with wariness. Adela had been a rescue from a group out West. Her owner failed to care for her, leaving her alone in a pasture without enough water or feed. Ribs stuck through her skin, and Adela had huge trust issues.

  One didn’t simply walk up to a horse, let alone an abused one, and start chatting. But Meg walked toward her, nice and easy, approaching from the side, talking slow and soothing.

  Adela trembled at Meg’s approach, her ears pinned back. Meg stopped and stepped to the side, her gaze averted.

&n
bsp; “I know, pretty one. Someone was mean and hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you, baby. I just want to offer a little treat. A nice, fresh apple.”

  Meg took the fruit and held it out. “I’m going to stay right here and let you see me, see I’m not going to do anything until you give the okay.”

  She kept talking in low, soothing tones to the horse. Finally the mare’s ears returned to the side and she lowered her head.

  Meg kept palming the apple. “I’ve got a good friend who really likes horses, just like Cooper here does. She’s small, so you have to be real careful around her. Sophie, go say hello to Adela, nice and slow, like I taught you.”

  The mare didn’t retreat, and her muscles didn’t tense.

  Tail wagging, Sophie went to Adela, approaching very slowly from the side to avoid the horse’s blind spot just as Meg had. The dog stopped about thirty feet away, watching the horse, as if gauging her reaction.

  Ready to spring into action—it wouldn’t be good if the horse trampled the princess’s furball—Coop tensed.

  When Adela relaxed, Sophie loped over to the horse. For a moment, the pair sniffed at each other. Jaw dropping, he watched as Sophie nuzzled the horse’s neck and Adela responded by playfully butting the dog.

  Well, look at that. The dog and the horse. Remembering what Meg had said about Sophie being abused, Coop shook his head. Animals never ceased to amaze him. All the times he’d worked with Max, the Belgian Malinois who had been an integral part of the teams, he’d learned a lot.

  But he’d never seen anything like this. Instant friendship. His gaze whipped over to Meg, whose attention remained riveted to the dog and the horse.

  Meg made a hand gesture to Sophie, who moved away from the horse. Then Meg continued sidling up to Adela, holding out the apple. Adela plucked it with her big white teeth and munched. Meg stroked her neck, continuing to murmur soothing words.

  With a reassuring pat to Adela, Meg left, Sophie trotting on her heels.

  He must look like a fool, standing there with his mouth open. Coop approached Adela after she finished her treat and led her back to the stall. She went docilely, and he made certain to latch the gate firmly.