by Jean Oram
Evander’s jaw tightened and Daphne vaguely wondered what sort of dental problems he might have as a result of the tensing he did all the time.
“I’d rather be cautious than find out what they are truly capable of,” he said. “As I said before, scared men are unpredictable.”
“Well, so am I!”
“No, you’re not. You’re along for the ride.” With a firm hand between her shoulder blades, he pushed her out of the park.
“I resent that,” Daphne muttered, allowing him to lead her to what he felt was safety. He kept his hand resting on the holster under his jacket, his body ever alert. While she fought the sensation of being taken care of, she silently reveled in the fact that someone else was in charge, if only for a moment or two, so she could collect herself.
2
Evander felt alive as he escorted Daphne Summer home from the park in Port Carling, where Mistral Johnson had blown his top and revealed more than he’d surely realized. When Evander had taken on protecting the single mom and her young daughter, it was for the distraction of having a steady job to do—not for the money, seeing as he had more than he could spend in this lifetime. He no longer seemed to fit into civilian life, having lost some important synapse that connected him to humanity. To real life.
And anyway, field-testing new equipment in a low-risk, real-life environment was one of his favorite things to do, which made watching the Summers a perfect job. Perfectly boring. After less than twenty-four hours on the assignment he’d been wishing another G8 Summit would come to Gravenhurst and cause a fuss. That a prince would need Evander’s former Special Forces training and protection services.
The job of watching Daphne, despite the verbal threat from her ex, had been so uneventful that an hour ago Evander had done the one thing a good soldier never did: he got cocky. He’d relaxed his guard while waiting for Daphne in that quiet parking lot. Sitting in his warm truck, he’d let his mind wander, until a flashback from his earlier life as a high-risk, elite protection agent had gripped him, and he hadn’t fought it very hard. The flashback had washed over him, dragging him down like a determined undertow. It had been mercifully short—only about five minutes—but it had been long enough to allow Daphne a chance to slip away.
When he’d finally caught up with her again it was by sheer luck, or possibly good training. He’d spotted her flowered yellow dress in the park while he’d been driving over the drawbridge that separated the two parts of town. He’d barely got to her in time.
People didn’t pay him ridiculous amounts to add a little extra safety to their lives. People came to him because they were serious. When Tristen Bell had asked him to watch Daphne instead of Bell’s own girlfriend, Evander should have realized the stakes. And yet he’d made the mistake only a new recruit would make. Just because it was calm in the war zone, that didn’t mean the war was over.
A single mother of one… He didn’t want to consider what might have happened if he hadn’t come along when he had.
He needed to pull himself together and focus.
But war had changed him and all he wanted to do was show Mistral and Daphne what a wonderful, healthy, vibrant little girl they had. Wanting to share a child wasn’t something to get violent over.
Yet every day Evander saw individuals getting worked up over what he considered small things. If they looked beyond their sheltered and protected lives, they’d realize that good people were dying over things they regularly took for granted.
People—children, mothers, fathers, families, civilians and soldiers—were laying their lives down in the streets for the things they believed in. Big things. But back home folks were getting worked up because their expensive recording device didn’t capture their favorite television show, or their neighbor shoveled snow onto their property. They were allowing small things to ruin their days, their lives.
Evander wanted to grab them and shake them, make them open their eyes. To let them know just how good they had it. Food. Democracy. Clean drinking water. Health care. Religious freedom. Public education. Safety. Nobody was going to get blown up on the school run here in Canada.
Realizing that his hands were in fists as he marched Daphne along, faster than she was likely comfortable going, he backed off, just as she wrenched her shoulder away. She wasn’t out of breath from their brisk hike up the hill, which was good. In a foot race they’d probably do okay.
Always keep the weakest link in mind. Always know your viable exits.
“I can walk myself home,” Daphne said. Her dress was no longer clean, after her dive under the park bench. She’d shown good instincts getting out of the way of the gun, which was something he could work with. Some people froze when faced with an armed attacker, making them an ideal target. That was tough, because it put Evander’s own life at risk. And despite the number of times he’d thrown himself in front of things that should have killed him, he was quite fond of living.
He stopped when Daphne halted. He eyed their surroundings. He’d rather they kept moving.
She turned to him, hands on her slender hips. “I said I can walk myself home.”
“Nope. Coming with you.” He trailed behind her, giving her six inches of space, one hand on his gun in case her ex and his trigger-itchy buddy came by with a bright new idea.
Man, that civilian doofus needed to think again if he thought he could throw off a former member of Canada’s JTF 2 simply by pulling a gun. There was something about having tanks, missiles, grenades, fire bombs, and land mines blowing up around you that made dealing with one gun look as basic as preschool.
Daphne tried to walk faster, to slip out from under the protective hand he kept lightly over her shoulder blade. Keep her close. Know where she is at all times. Focus on possible threats and change in location.
“What were you thinking, meeting him in the park?” Evander scolded. The slope had leveled out and the tangled shrubbery to their right had slowly morphed into trimmed yards, where hiding was more difficult. “Haven’t you heard of coffee shops? Police stations or lawyer’s offices? And why did you try to shake me off?”
“I told you to stop following me. It’s not my fault you can’t listen.”
Her attitude reminded him of his old commander. The man had been a take-no-guff, tell-it-like-it-is, get-to-the-point type. “Keep it straight and honest and within the laws” had been one of his favorite sayings.
“You don’t call the shots,” Evander said, echoing part of the commander’s welcome to JTF 2 speech.
Daphne whirled on him, her dress flaring out around her shapely legs. “It’s my life.”
“And I’ve been paid to protect that life. Those orders precede yours.”
“I’ll pay you to stop protecting me.”
“You can’t afford me.”
“Yes, I can.” A flicker of doubt crossed her face.
“You can’t.” He gave a small smile of satisfaction when her face flushed.
“How do you know? I might have tens of thousands of dollars stashed away.”
“That’s about what you’d need.” She shot him a look of disbelief, and he said, “I’m elite, and don’t come cheap. Besides, I’m loyal to the one who hired me. He makes the calls.”
“Loyalty among gunmen, great.”
“It’s what keeps us alive. Speaking of which, you really need to stop ditching me.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she said quietly. He knew she didn’t quite believe the statement.
“Did you notice your ex’s bodyguard just drew a gun on you during conversation?”
“Yeah, because he thought you were drawing yours!”
“Because you touched my gun.” Evander enunciated the words slowly, waiting for it to sink in that weapons being drawn had been due to her actions, not his.
“You didn’t tell me you were armed.”
“You never touch someone’s weapon unless you plan to use it.”
“Or throw it away so things don’t get crazy.”
Evander sighed. What was he going to do with her?
“It’s your fault things went wonky back there,” she insisted.
He sighed again. “Remind me why I took this job,” he muttered. He paused a moment to settle his frustration, taking in the picturesque view of the north side of town, which was laid out behind Daphne. The Indian River cut through the small valley, creating a scenic backdrop for the woman, whose wild curls framed her delicate features, while the breeze pressed her thin dress against her curves…
“My eyes are up here, Evander.”
“Your dress is dirty,” he replied.
“Again…your fault.” She brushed the garment with a long swoop of her arm and began walking again. He fell into step, positioned so that he could throw her down and shield her with his body at a moment’s notice.
She halted suddenly and he slammed into her, wrapping an arm around her, holding her tight so they didn’t trip. Her body was warm and soft, and it had been too long since he’d had a woman against him. He allowed himself to inhale, to savor the unexpected treat.
“What are you doing?” she asked, wiggling out of his grasp.
He released her, hoping his expression remained blank. This was starting to look as though it was going to be a very long week in his life. Or however long it took to resolve this case.
“You’re following me again,” she stated, stomping away.
“My job.”
“How do I ditch you?”
If she only knew the number of men trained in espionage that he’d managed to stay behind through gnarly Middle Eastern city streets, she wouldn’t be asking that question. Then again, the single mom had managed to ditch him once. And there was the dead-end she’d trapped him in, too. He needed to get his head back on straight and start acting as though this was a critical matter—which he now believed it was.
“You promised you’d stop trying to ditch me.”
“I did not make such a promise. Oh, and I was talking to Tristen earlier and we decided your services are no longer required. You are dismissed.”
“You suck at lying.”
Her jaw clenched and for a second Evander wondered if she was going to try and hit him. It wouldn’t be the first time a peace-loving hippie had socked him.
“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, chin raised.
“That’s what my mother tells me.”
Daphne looked him up and down, then eyed the width of his shoulders. “You’re a mama’s boy?”
“Being on speaking terms with my mother does not make me a mama’s boy.”
Something niggled at the back of Evander’s mind. His mom…something was up with her. He knew that she would tell him in time, but the feeling that something big was on her horizon kept bumping into his thoughts, distracting him.
“How do I get you and Tristen off my back?” Daphne asked.
A large truck rumbled by on the narrow road, close to the sidewalk. Evander placed his body between the vehicle and Daphne, shuffling her back a few steps.
“For starters, get a restraining order against Mistral and his bodyguard,” he advised.
“I am not getting a restraining order against my daughter’s father.”
“Then you’ll definitely be stuck with me for quite a while.”
“Some of us believe that love changes people, weapons don’t.” She crossed her arms, scowling up at him.
“You love that man?” He struggled to say “man” instead of something derogatory. Mistral was not the one for Daphne, and Evander knew it without a doubt. Daphne’s love, attention, and hopes were wasted on her ex.
“Whether I love him or not is none of your business.”
“If you don’t love him, then why are you defending him? Why don’t you walk away and slam the door?”
“Do you have kids?” she asked.
Female version of a land mine. He needed to watch where he placed his size twelve feet. “No.”
“Then don’t pretend to understand.” She turned and began walking once again. A few steps later, she stopped. It was going to take forever to get her back into the safety of her home at this rate. “How do I get you to stop following me? Besides a restraining order, what do I have to change in my life?”
“Tristen mentioned something about allowing your sister to move in with you again. So you wouldn’t be alone. The safety-in-numbers theory. That would be a smart place to start.”
“Are you kidding me? This is about Melanie? Because I’ll have you know she doesn’t have the right to tell me how to deal with my daughter’s father, as though she knows what it’s like to be a single mom. And neither do you, I might point out.”
Evander began herding her along, wishing they were less exposed. Going for a walk after having a gun drawn on you was not a bright idea. And as for the bit about her sister? If the two of them had been men they’d be well over it by now and enjoying a few beers, the water under the bridge having long ago reached the ocean.
“Add in handgun and training, as well as better security for your house. Those are the places I’d start.”
Daphne let out a sigh so gusty he wondered how her lungs managed to hold that much air.
“You’re making everything worse. More difficult,” she said, not looking his way.
“The same could be said for you,” he grumbled when she stopped again. “Keep walking, woman.” He gave her a light poke in the back, but she didn’t comply.
“You’re armed.”
“Yes, and that fact put luck on your side only a few minutes ago, might I remind you. Now get moving.”
She gave a light laugh and the sound hit him in the sternum like an unexpected punch from a heavyweight. This woman was simply overflowing with life, which, instead of making him feel more empty, made him feel…well, he wasn’t sure yet, but he liked it.
Daphne was everything he didn’t have in his life, and never would again. Except for the danger part. He had that in spades.
“You have a nice laugh,” he said, surprising himself.
“You carry a gun.” Her breathing seemed a bit off as she added, “Two. Maybe more.”
He stepped closer, infringing upon her space. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes! You can’t just walk around with weapons strapped to you. This is Canada.”
He watched her closely so he wouldn’t miss any emotions or internal truths she’d likely try to hide from him.
“How would you have felt if I hadn’t been there and he’d pulled that gun?”
“It wouldn’t have happened if you were off somewhere else, buster. You scared him.” Daphne poked Evander in the chest, hard. He rubbed the spot with the heel of his hand, watching her, taken aback by her strength.
“The fact remains that you were meeting with a man who brought along an armed accomplice.”
“Accomplice? How sinister.” Her tone was flippant and sarcastic, but she wrapped her arms around herself and started walking again, brow furrowed, head down in thought.
“Do you see it yet?” he called.
“See what?”
“What you’re up against?” This woman was so independent she’d stay clinging to a crumbling bridge, seconds from death, but determined to fix the structure herself even if there was a crane on shore ready to help.
She had stopped again, her eyes sliding away from his whenever she tried to meet them. “Rubicore is my sister’s battle. All I want is a father for my daughter.” Daphne finally met his gaze, her beautiful blue eyes flecked with green and hazel. “Can you understand that? I don’t want a big mess, and with you here, a war is sure to break out.”
“My dear Daphne, it already has.”
Evander let himself into his mother’s house in Bracebridge and scooped up the orange tabby that was trying to make an escape. He called out, “It’s just me,” as he disarmed the home’s security system. He scratched the cat behind the ears, careful of the right one, which would likely get him clawed, seeing as old Rudolph
was working on getting over an ear infection.
“No going outside until you’re all cleared up again,” he murmured to the cat, depositing him on the floor, then picking up the potted geranium he’d bought on the way home.
The cat meowed at the door and Evander gently shooed him away with a foot. “I know, I know. You’re ready to go on a mission and hate sitting on your paws until you receive the go-ahead. I get it, buddy. But there’s no way I’m letting you out until you’re through the twice-a-day meds. You’re too unreliable.” His life had boiled down to providing risk reduction to a feline since returning home late last winter. What a use of his skills.
Rudolph swore at him with a haughty flick of the tail and Evander scooped him up again, tucking him under his arm. He made his way to the back of the old Victorian, which had been rambling even before the previous owners had added to it, and found his mom sitting in a wing-back chair. Florence was watching the evening light change over the sloping yard, the sun’s fading rays highlighting certain flowers in the garden just beyond the window. She was lost in thought, and looked up when he entered the room, but was not fully present, her usual buoyant self lost in untold secrets.
He plunked the cat on her lap and pulled up a tiny padded footstool, cramming his massive build onto it. He handed her the potted red flowers. “In case we get an early frost and the sunflowers don’t make it to blooming. And you may have to take over Rudolph’s ear drops.”
The cat scrambled off his mother’s lap and hightailed it out of the room.
Florence frowned after him. “He understands English, you know.” She gave Evander a smile, her dark hair streaked with gray whisked back into a casual bun at the nape of her neck. She was tall and stately, but seemed wan. “You’re lucky you weren’t holding him or you would have got scratched. Again.” She gave his hands a pointed look.
