by Kaylea Cross
At this point, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the place. She certainly didn’t want to live in Beirut, but selling it would feel like a betrayal of her father’s lifelong work. He hadn’t struggled up from the depths of poverty for his daughter to sell his dreams after he’d gone, merely because it was simplest for her. If he’d taught her one thing about life, it was that the right path wasn’t always the easiest one.
Ben cleared his throat as he drove, his pale green eyes sweeping over her face. “How you doing, sweets? Want to take a break before going back to the house?”
She smiled at his profile. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet for the last two days. “No. I’d better get back.”
Her presence was expected, anyhow. The reception was going to be huge, over four hundred people coming. Politicians—supporters and rivals alike—distant family members and friends. Ben had seen to it that security was tight. Everyone was on high alert after the embassy bombing and the kidnappings, him especially.
He was guilt stricken at what had happened to her and her father. She’d tried to convince him it wasn’t his fault, but despite her reassurance, Ben carried the burden of her kidnapping and Jamul’s death on his broad shoulders, and she was at a loss to relieve him of it. Thank God for him, though. She would never have made it through the past couple of days without him.
When the white stone walls of the compound came into view, Bryn suddenly felt exhausted. The almost-healed stitches in her right arm and ribs pulled every time she took a breath. They didn’t hurt so much anymore, just bothered her.
All she wanted was to go upstairs to her room and be alone for a while, but that wasn’t going to happen. No, she had to make it through another six or so hours of introductions and forced conversations.
The only thing that kept her from losing her mind was knowing Ben would be right next to her. His presence was the sole calming, soothing influence in her life right now. Whatever happened for the rest of her stay here, he had her back. It was a nice feeling.
That kind of stalwart protectiveness made her think of Dec, but with the major difference that she didn’t feel the least bit sisterly toward Dec. It had meant so much to her, knowing he’d come back to be with her when her father died. She hadn’t heard from him since, not that she’d expected to, but she hoped he was all right. So far she hadn’t been able to find out where he was. For all she knew he could be back in the States already.
Despite the chaos she’d had to deal with, he was on her mind constantly. Lying in bed unable to sleep at night, she couldn’t help remembering the feel of his arms around her in the hospital, how amazed she’d been that someone so strong and tough could be so gentle. So okay, it wasn’t healthy to obsess about a man she’d probably never see again, but she couldn’t get him out of her head.
As Ben parked in front of the stone and stucco Mediterranean-style mansion, he regarded her, jaw clenching and unclenching as he chewed his cinnamon gum—a habit he’d developed when he’d quit smoking the year he’d made the Rangers.
That was Ben for you. Once he made up his mind to do something he was all steely determination and resolve. With nothing but a pack of Big Red to tide him over, he’d given up the smokes the same day he earned his Ranger tab.
His pale eyes were kind as he looked at her now. “Ready to do this?”
Bryn sighed and summoned her inner strength. She was going to need it. She gripped the door handle. She was her father’s daughter, and she would handle this with as much grace and decorum as possible. “Showtime.”
People filled the house—a sea of faces she didn’t recognize and didn’t really care to meet. She had to, though. Her father would have expected her to fulfill her duties as hostess, even under these circumstances. The staff had laid out food on the long dining table. Platters with crispy grapes and juicy watermelon nestled amongst sandwiches and wedges of cheese. Above the aroma of food, the heavy scent of lilies filled the air, nauseating in their sickly sweetness.
Funeral flowers, she thought with a swallow. Funny how scents triggered such powerful memories, in this case her grandmother’s open-casket funeral. The perfume saturated the room until she was desperate to escape it.
She sought refuge in her father’s library. As she pushed open the solid wooden door, the smells of old leather and pipe tobacco brought a lump to her throat. The mahogany desk, set against the window overlooking the grounds, sat unused; the high-back tufted leather chair empty, never to be occupied again by her father.
She shut the door and stood stiffly at the threshold. The room seemed as cold and lifeless as a tomb without his unending reserve of energy to fill it. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea. It hurt to see the hub of her father’s home vacant and still. She passed her fingers reverently over the desk’s polished surface, as if searching for a connection she hadn’t been able to forge while he was alive.
Someone knocked on the door. “Bryn? It’s me,” called Ben.
Straightening her spine, she cleared her throat and turned around. “Come in.”
He did, and assessed her with a long look. “Need a break?”
“I just wanted a minute. I’m okay now. The flowers…”
“Yeah. They reek.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Then he snapped his gum, a sure sign something was on his mind. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but someone asked to speak privately with you.”
“Who?”
“He said you’d never met but that you’d recognize him.”
She couldn’t imagine who he was talking about. Still, she had a role to fulfill. “I guess I could. Sure, send him in.”
He stuck his head out and gestured for their guest to enter.
When the visitor’s face appeared she gasped, a hand flying up to her mouth. Ben stiffened in alarm but stayed where he was, watching her carefully. But she wasn’t in any danger.
“Hello Bryn,” the man said with the hint of a Louisiana drawl.
Her mouth opened. The resemblance was uncanny. He was a little shorter than his son, his dark hair sprinkled with silver and his eyes chocolate brown instead of greenish-hazel, but otherwise she was staring at her best friend, Rayne Hutchinson, twenty years from now.
She dropped the hand covering her mouth. “You’re…are you—?”
“Luke Hutchinson,” he said, holding out his hand. Bryn took it politely and shook it. “Rayne’s dad.”
And her father’s old friend. “Were you on the chopper the other night?”
“Yeah.”
Whoa. “I knew I saw Rayne in there…but of course it was you—” She broke off, studying him. “I thought you got out of the SEAL Teams years ago.”
“Sure did. I run a private security company now. Sometimes I do contract work.”
Contract work? Well, that was one way to put it. “So why were you on the chopper?”
“I was going after the cell responsible for kidnapping you and your father when the rescue team was sent in. I asked to go along, to help an old friend and his daughter.”
“You look just like Rayne,” she breathed, hand on her chest. “Or rather, he looks just like you.”
“Yeah, so everyone tells us.”
“I’ve heard so much about you I feel as though I know you already. Which of course I don’t, but…” She was so glad to see him here in the midst of all these strangers. He represented a connection to her father and life back home, made her feel less alone and almost safe for the first time in a week. “You knew my father, didn’t you?”
Luke nodded. “Met him when I did a tour here back during the civil war. I’m sorry for your loss. He was a good man.”
“Thank you. I’m sure you’re aware I wasn’t that close to him. I only got to spend a couple weeks with him each summer.”
“He was proud enough of you, all the same.” He indicated the framed pictures of her on the desk and bookshelves. “Knowing Jamul, he followed everything you did your entire life, even if
you didn’t know about it. Likely preferred it that way.”
Maybe. Her father had been a man with little time for emotion. But he had loved her in his own way. A sad smile curved her lips, but she was comforted by Luke’s words. Part of her wondered if he was speaking from personal experience. “What are the chances of you meeting my father and then me becoming friends with your son on the other side of the world?”
“Yeah, this planet gets smaller every day.”
She missed Rayne and his fiancée. “How is he, by the way? Last I heard he and Christa were still ironing out the wedding details.”
“Early May, and they’re both doing fine.”
It occurred to her he was still standing up. “Please, sit.” She gestured to a wingback chair, seated herself in the other. “I was so surprised to see you I forgot my manners.”
His smile warmed her. “I’m not easily offended, ‘specially not by a beautiful woman who’s been through what you have this past week.”
Bryn hid her grin. Ah, yes, the infamous Hutchinson charm. Must be genetic.
Luke lowered his well-muscled body into the chair, and she had to admire the physical condition he was still in. As his magnetic gaze met hers, an air of authority and power hummed around him.
Thirty-odd years of covert warfare and intelligence work lay in the confident set of his shoulders and blazed from the depths of his dark chocolate eyes. He was every bit as dangerous as his reputation made him out to be. Yet she knew from his wife and son there was a softer, vulnerable side to him.
Not that he’d want her—or anyone else—to know anything about that. In fact, somewhere beneath that ultra-strong exterior he might be feeling awkward. She’d been privy to more dirt about him than the tabloids printed about Hollywood celebrities.
On the other side of the room, Ben cleared his throat.
She glanced over at him, saw him giving her a “what the hell are you doing” look and realized she’d been staring at Luke like he was some sort of fascinating biological specimen. More interesting, the whole time he hadn’t broken her gaze for an instant during a silence even Ben had found awkward. She shook her head ruefully at her lack of grace. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I must be in shock from meeting you face to face.”
Something flickered in Luke’s eyes. “It’s all right. I expected it.”
Bryn faltered, sensing he meant that all the things she’d heard about him must be bad. “I’m really glad you came,” she admitted, unable to keep the smile from her face. “It’s almost as good as having Rayne or Emily here.”
His eyes warmed a fraction. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She leaned forward. “Are you in Beirut for business, or did you come for the funeral?”
“Both.” He stretched out his long legs and crossed his ankles, hands resting on his flat abdomen. Most men in their thirties didn’t have abs as impressive as those. “I have some important information to share with you, and I wanted Ben to be here when I told you. As head of your father’s security team he should know about this, but I also thought you’d be more comfortable with him here.”
Unease rippled across her skin. What, was she going to need moral support? “That was thoughtful of you, but unnecessary. I feel perfectly comfortable with you.” She hoped he believed her. She would hate him to think she was afraid of him and wanted someone around to protect her just in case.
“What information do you have?” Ben asked with a note of suspicion. Though his posture seemed relaxed, Bryn knew he remained vigilant, his brain whirring constantly. That mind of his never shut off.
Luke flicked him a glance and then settled his gaze back on her. The intensity of his eyes made her stomach tighten and she mentally braced herself for bad news. “The man responsible for the bombing and your kidnapping is Farouk Tehrazzi.”
Her lungs constricted at the mention of his name. “Yes, that’s what I was told.”
“Obviously, he’s still out there. And if he wasn’t sure before, after today’s media coverage, he knows you survived.”
Cold spread over her palms to the tips of her fingers. She laced them together and squeezed tightly. “I see.”
“I can tell you he won’t let that go unanswered.”
She stared at him, the words echoing through her head. Her lips felt numb, her muscles stiff with apprehension.
Ben snapped his gum once before speaking up. “Meaning what? He’s going to come after her again?” His pale eyes glittered with hostility. “You think I wasn’t already aware of the threat?”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “Were you?”
Unable to speak, Bryn held her breath and waited for him to elaborate.
“A message was posted this morning on their social media.”
This guy had his own social media sites? What a wonderful world cyberspace had created. Scumoftheearth.com.
Luke continued speaking to Ben. “If you’re up to your job, you’ll be aware that Tehrazzi has issued a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for her.”
She gasped, eyes flaring wide. “What?” She glared at Ben. “Did you know about this? Why didn’t you tell me?”
His shoulder muscles were taut against the fabric of his dress shirt. “What agency are you working for?” he said to Luke.
“The usual one. Under contract.” His lips curved in a humorless smile. “You could call me somewhat of a…Tehrazzi expert.”
Bryn’s mouth went dry. Oh, Jesus.
“In that case, do you know where he is?” Ben demanded.
Luke arched a brow. “More or less. My point is, he’s as relentless as he is dangerous, and this threat to her safety is to be taken seriously. She needs protection twenty-four-seven until she’s back home, and even then it wouldn’t hurt to have a detail keep an eye on her until the cell is destroyed.”
Ben swore and started barking orders to his security team over his radio.
Oh God. This couldn’t be happening. Not on top of everything else. No, no…she wanted this to be over. She wanted her life back—the life of independent Bryn McAllister who lived on the beach and fought for the children in her caseload.
“Bryn?”
She blinked up at Luke, who was watching her intently.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered. She had a bounty on her head. Depending on how popular the terrorist’s social media sites were, she could have a whole lynch mob after her. Her chest tightened.
Ben set his radio down on the desk, resolve stamped all over his face. “It’s going to be okay, Bryn,” he reassured her, his eyes on hers. “You’re safe here. I’m making sure of that.”
She nodded, unable to think of a single thing to say, suddenly wishing Dec were there to guard her. Then a horrifying thought occurred to her. What if someone had already infiltrated security and was here in the house?
Luke must have known what she was thinking because he laid his hand atop hers and said, “I’m gonna work with Ben on this and make sure we’ve got everything covered. Nothing will happen to you.”
Again, she nodded, only this time she swore the joints in her neck creaked.
Ben uttered another curse. “I’m going to fix her a stiff drink and take her up to her room.”
“No,” she protested, coming out of her stupor. “I don’t need it. I want to know—”
“Let’s go,” he commanded, gripping her uninjured elbow.
Digging in her heels, she lowered her voice to a stern whisper. “Ben, stop treating me like a two-year-old.” She tugged her arm away but he kept dragging her along.
“You’re coming with me,” he growled, and she smelled the cinnamon gum he was chomping on in agitation. “You’re tired, and I don’t want you keeling over on me. I need you to lie down for a while, and after Hutchinson and I have discussed this, I will personally brief you, okay?”
Why even bother posing it as a question? She knew Ben, knew it was futile to argue with him when he had that determination a
bout him. He would carry her over his shoulder if he had to, so what choice did she have? She heaved an irritated sigh and glanced back at Luke, heart beating fast. “I want to know everything.”
“Of course. I’ll be in touch.”
With as much dignity as possible, she allowed Ben to escort her from the library, murmuring her excuses to her guests, hating their expressions of sympathy. No doubt they thought she was overcome with grief and had to seek out her bed like some nineteenth-century female in a fit of vapors.
She ground her teeth together, scanning each face in the crowd. If anyone tried to grab her this time, she’d make them regret it. But nothing tripped her radar.
Ben took her straight up the stairs and into her room, strode across to the window and pulled down the blinds, even sitting her down on the canopied bed before pinning her with a hard look. “You stay put until I come and get you.”
His words triggered the memory of Dec saying almost that exact thing to her before all hell had broken loose in the desert.
“No buts, Bryn.” His face was stern, hands on his lean hips. “You don’t set foot outside this room until Hutchinson or I come get you. Understood?”
Suppressing a shiver, she wrapped her arms around her waist and gave him a baleful look. “Yes.” She wasn’t an idiot. She understood the danger she was in.
At least, she thought she did.
Her compliance drained some of the tension from his shoulders. “Thank you. I’ll post someone outside, and I’ll handle this as quickly as I can.” He shut the door behind him.
Alone in the spreading silence, she glanced around her. Her king-sized bed stretched beneath her in luxurious splendor. Its blue and cream French toile dressings and bedspread matched the draperies framing the tall picture window that overlooked the rose garden, as well as the thick Persian rug anchoring her bed and antique armoire.
She’d been so excited about this room when she’d chosen its theme and furnishings. It had always seemed like a hotel suite when she’d come here on vacation. Now, despite its feminine elegance, it seemed as much a prison as that filthy hole Dec had pulled her out of.
