Guarding His Witness

by Lisa Childs

  “Yeah, just nearly got stabbed to death at the hospital by a ‘patient.’” Clearly, the person had been no patient.

  Fear stabbed his heart. “What about Clint?”

  “He shot the kid.”

  “Good. Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, the kid is fine,” Spencer replied. “I talked to him the minute he regained consciousness after the surgeon removed Clint’s slug from his shoulder.”

  “Clint,” Parker specified. He had no sympathy for a killer. “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, just pissed.” Spencer chuckled. “I sent him back to the safe house.”

  He was probably pissed that Spencer had been giving him orders. And Parker didn’t blame him. Her voice was softer now, but he heard Keeli murmur something along those same lines.

  “He’s pissed that he nearly lost her,” Spencer said. “I think he’ll keep a better eye on her now.”

  Knowing how Clint felt about Rosie Mendez—even though he’d never admitted it—Parker doubted his gaze had ever left her. That was how she’d survived another attempt on her life—because of Clint.

  “What about the kid?” Parker asked. “Did you get him to admit that Luther Mills hired him?”

  Spencer snorted. “Hired him? Terrorized him is probably more like it. He says Luther had nothing to do with it. He was just grabbing the nurse to get him drugs. He claimed he’s an addict.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “Cleanest addict I ever saw,” Spencer said. And he’d spent quite a few years in vice, with them, before becoming a homicide detective. “He was after the witness, not drugs. And Luther must have ordered it.”

  “But we can’t prove it,” Parker surmised. “Just like every other damn time I’ve tried to take down Luther Mills.”

  “We can prove he killed the Mendez kid,” Spencer said. “We just have to make sure the witness stays alive. Do you really believe Clint Quarters is up to the job of protecting her?”

  Parker tensed. “I thought you said that he was okay. That he didn’t get hurt.”

  “Not today,” Spencer said. “But he’s hurt from that fall out the window the night before. That’s why they were at the hospital. His shoulder’s pretty messed up.”

  “It didn’t stop him from shooting her attacker!” Keeli yelled out from the background. That was part of what had made her such a damn good cop; she was a team player. Loyal and supportive.

  Spencer Dubridge could stand to learn a thing or two from her.

  And maybe he was, because he begrudgingly agreed, “No, Quarters did good today. But there will be another attempt. Luther isn’t giving up until the witness is dead or until he’s in solitary confinement.”

  Parker sighed. Spencer was right. If Clint was already hurt, this job might be too much for him. It might get him and the witness both killed.

  Chapter 12

  The silence in the SUV unnerved Rosie. She wanted to fill it with chatter, but she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she might cry. She was that exhausted and on edge.

  She’d already been tired from not sleeping the night before. Then after what had happened in the ER and even in the locker room. For several tense moments, she’d thought that Detective Dubridge was one of Luther’s crew determined to finish what his friend had started.

  Then the blonde girl had intervened, telling him to let Rosie go or she would Mace him herself. Finally, he’d released her, but not before scaring her into lying to him.

  The only way she would not testify against Luther Mills was if she was dead. Unfortunately, that was a distinct possibility, especially given the way that Clint kept looking in the rearview mirror.

  “We’re being followed,” she surmised, and her voice only cracked slightly with the fear she was feeling.

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  His brow furrowed. “For what?”

  “For being honest with me,” she said. She would have hated if he had lied to her and tried to claim that everything was all right.

  “If I’d told you nobody was back there, it would have been kind of hard to explain when I started driving like this then,” he said as he jerked the wheel sharply and turned the SUV. He was going the wrong way down a one-way street. To avoid oncoming traffic, he jumped it over the curb and onto the sidewalk.

  A scream of fear squeaked out of Rosie now. There were no pedestrians on this stretch of road, thankfully. The only thing Clint hit was a mailbox.

  The corner of the bumper scraped against it as he took another sharp curve, veering back into traffic but going the right way. Then he turned again, to the left, and again, to the right. He zigzagged up and down the streets surrounding the hospital.

  “I wouldn’t have suspected anything,” she said, and her voice went up and down with the movement of the SUV. “I thought you always drove like this.”

  Clint chuckled.

  Rosie had one hand on the console and her other on the armrest as she bounced back and forth in her seat. Her stomach pitched like she was riding a roller coaster. She had never done well at amusement parks or even carnivals. Javier had always teased her about her weak stomach. She could handle blood and gore but not a kiddie ride at a street carnival.

  This was no kiddie ride, though. And despite her attempts at humor, another little scream squeaked out between her trembling lips.

  Clint’s hand closed over hers on the console. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “We lost them.”

  Not we. He. She wouldn’t have been able to drive like that. Hell, she rarely drove at all. She and Javier had never owned a car. And her mother certainly hadn’t.

  Rosie always took the bus.

  “Who were they?” she asked. He hadn’t just lost his backup again, had he? She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, though.

  She wasn’t sure who to trust anymore. Except for Clint.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “But I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  “Then why are we going back to the safe house?” she wondered.

  He sighed. “Spencer said Parker ordered it.”

  She’d been there. She’d heard him, but she hadn’t been convinced. “And you believe him?”

  Clint sighed again. “Yes. Parker didn’t want me to leave it. And we shouldn’t have.”

  “Thanks again,” she said.

  He glanced over at her, and his brow was furrowed in confusion again. “For what? Losing the tail?”

  “For not saying you told me so about going to the hospital,” she said. “You were right. It wasn’t safe. Not for us and not for that kid or any other patients or staff.” She’d put them all in danger. Tears rushed to her eyes, but she squeezed the lids closed to hold them in. She was not going to cry. She hadn’t since Javier’s funeral.

  She wasn’t going to now, because nothing was as bad as that, as burying her baby brother.

  Clint’s hand squeezed hers. “The kid is going to be okay. The bullet didn’t hit anything vital.”

  “He’ll survive being shot,” Rosie agreed. “But will he survive not carrying out Luther’s orders?”

  “Would you have rather had him succeed on his mission for Luther?” Clint asked. “Because I know I’m damn glad that he didn’t or you’d be dead.”

  “Why do you care?” she asked. “There’s no love lost between us. Are you just like everyone else—determined that the witness live to testify?” She’d always known that he’d been determined to get Luther. Back then, she’d thought that it was just to further his career. Now she knew the real reason. Maybe she wasn’t the only one.

  That cute blonde bodyguard had seemed to know. And she’d certainly jumped to Clint’s defense even against the man she was supposed to be protecting.

  Something twisted in Rosie’s stomach, making her feel sicker th
an she had when he’d been driving so erratically. But she couldn’t be jealous of Clint Quarters.

  Clint’s fingers stroked over her hand now in a caress that had nothing to do with reassurance. “You’re more than a witness to me, Rosie.”

  “Clint...”

  “I know you hate my guts,” he said, as if reassuring her. “But I don’t feel that way about you at all.”

  How did he feel about her?

  Before she could ask, he steered the SUV onto the street in the warehouse district where the safe house was. She could ask him once they were inside the apartment, but maybe she should ask him before she went in with him.

  Alone.

  “I know you don’t hate me,” she said. Or he wouldn’t have been risking his life for hers. “But how do you...”

  “You’re more than the witness,” he said. “You’re Javier’s sister.”

  That was all she was—an extension of the guilt he felt over her brother’s death. She should have been happy that he felt so guilty. But it didn’t make her happy.

  Since Javier had died, she hadn’t felt any happiness at all. Maybe once Luther Mills was convicted of her brother’s murder she would feel better. Justice for Javier would make her happy.

  Not Clint Quarters. He could not make her happy. He would only ever remind her of what she’d lost.

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “They’re all right. ADA Gerber, Detective Dubridge, your friends... I am just the witness.”

  But in this case, in the case against Luther Mills, the witness was the most important person. She didn’t feel important, though.

  She felt scared, and not just for her life.

  * * *

  Clint took his hand from Rosie’s cold one. She was chilled and upset, and he couldn’t make her feel better. Hell, just his presence usually made her feel worse.

  He should have had Parker assign her another bodyguard. One she didn’t hate. But he’d thought he would be the best one for the job because of his promise to Javier.

  He’d nearly failed that promise. The mark on her neck, that trail of dried blood, had his stomach lurching with fear and regret. She could have died in the ER where she’d brought him for medical attention. And then he would have broken another promise to her brother.

  No wonder she looked so scared. She wasn’t the only one feeling fear. Clint was scared, too—scared that he was going to fail her and Javier.

  And scared that he’d made another horrible mistake.

  He’d lost the tail he’d picked up at the hospital. He had no doubt about that. But Luther’s crew wouldn’t need to follow him to the safe house if they already knew where it was.

  They could be here, waiting for him.

  Waiting for them...

  Of course, the place was heavily guarded. That was why Parker and Spencer were so sure that it was the safest place for Rosie to be. Clint wasn’t as convinced.

  He hesitated to get out of the SUV and walk around to Rosie’s side, so long that she murmured, “You don’t want to be here, either.”

  He didn’t. But he wasn’t sure it was because he didn’t think it was safe or if it was because he was worried about being alone with her again. If not for Parker’s call earlier, he wasn’t sure that he would have come to his senses.

  He wanted her so badly. And in that moment, she had seemed to want him, too. Or had she only wanted to forget how much danger she was in?

  Clint couldn’t take advantage of that fear and vulnerability. He had to do the job he’d sworn he was able to handle; he had to protect her. So he needed to get her inside the safe house, and once they were inside he needed to keep his damn hands and his lips to himself.

  He couldn’t touch her again.

  He couldn’t kiss her.

  Or he would only get distracted, so distracted that he might get them both killed. He was getting distracted now, so he forced himself to step out of the SUV. He needed some fresh air. Inside the SUV was full of her scent, vanilla and that spice she always smelled like.

  But as his feet touched the sidewalk, the short hairs rose on his nape, and a chill chased down his back, between his shoulder blades. That chill wasn’t just from the crisp autumn wind that had whipped up; this was a deeper chill—one of foreboding.

  No matter what Parker and Spencer believed, it wasn’t safe here, not for Rosie and not even for Clint.

  He reached for his weapon just as shots began to ring out. “Get down!” he shouted at her.

  But he didn’t have time to jump back into the SUV. Bullets pinged off the metal of the vehicle and off the concrete near him.

  And then one struck him, sending a searing pain down his arm.

  And Rosie’s scream rent the air.

  He shouldn’t have brought her back here. He’d only put her in more danger. And he wasn’t going to be able to protect her if he was dead.

  * * *

  While Luther didn’t have a TV in his cell, he had unlimited access to the television room. It helped that quite a few of the guards had drug habits, which they fueled by dealing to the prisoners and doing favors for their boss. While the county employed them as correction officers, Luther was their boss.

  So he was hanging out alone in the TV room. Maybe there was a guard at the door, maybe not. He probably could have walked right out of the damn jail if he wanted.

  He wanted...

  It was taking his crew too damn long to get rid of Rosie and Clint. Maybe he needed to handle this little problem himself.

  But if he just walked out of jail, he would become a fugitive.

  He’d look guilty.

  And while he was guilty as hell, he wasn’t going to look it once Rosie was dead and that damn evidence had been destroyed. It was just a matter of time.

  A breaking news report interrupted the program he’d been watching. A shooting in the warehouse district.

  He leaned back and grinned.

  This was it.

  His crew had hit the safe house just like he’d ordered. With as many gunmen as he’d sent to the place, there was no way they could have failed.

  Which the reporter confirmed when she said, “There are casualties...”

  “There damn well better be,” Luther murmured. He needed to end this now, so he could legally leave jail.

  The scene behind the reporter showed a couple of zipped-up body bags. So at least two were dead.

  Hopefully, those two were Rosie Mendez and Clint Quarters. He took out a phone and stared down at it, willing it to ring with the confirmation of those deaths.

  This was a different phone than the one Clint had called. He’d ditched that one in case the ex-cop had tried to trace it. Since this one was new, not all of his crew had the number yet. So he might have to wait a while to learn for certain that Rosie and Clint had died.

  It had to be them. They could not have survived a third attempt, and not an attempt like this. He had sent an army after them.

  Even Clint Quarters could not conquer an army.

  Chapter 13

  Rosie had thought the scene at her apartment, with all those gunmen, must have been what war was like. But she’d had no idea what war was like until the street outside the safe house had erupted with gunfire.

  So many shots had rung out. So many bullets had been fired.

  How many had struck Clint?

  He was bleeding, but it hadn’t stopped him from firing back, from jumping into the SUV and steering it away from the scene.

  He’d run over at least one gunman. She’d heard the body strike the front bumper. Just as Clint had instructed, she’d been down on the floorboards. If she hadn’t stayed down, she might have been hit because bullets had penetrated the windshield, had shattered the glass so that jagged fragments of it had rained down on Clint and even onto where she sat on the floor.

 
“We need to stop,” she told him. And it wasn’t just because the night air was whipping through the SUV, chilling her to the bone. He had to be even colder than she was. And he had to be hurt.

  She wanted to know how badly. She wanted to help him like he had just helped her, saving her life once again.

  But he continued to drive fast and erratically. With all the shooting, she couldn’t imagine anyone had survived to follow them. Luther’s crew must have been firing at them while Payne Protection bodyguards had fired back at Luther’s crew. It couldn’t have been Clint’s fellow bodyguards firing at them.

  Could it?

  Had the safe house been a setup?

  She hoped not, for Clint’s sake. He had trusted and admired his boss. But Rosie knew all too well that no one was beyond Luther’s reach. She’d had to face the fact that not even her brother had been.

  “You’ve been hit,” she said. Blood streaked down the side of his face from a wound on his cheek. It wasn’t enough blood or a deep enough wound for a bullet to have entered. He must have just been grazed.

  But his shoulder was bleeding again. From the old wound or a new one?

  Was he in shock?

  Why hadn’t he spoken since he’d yelled at her to get down? What was wrong with him?

  Maybe he had other injuries that she couldn’t see from where she sat on the floor, with him across the console in the driver’s seat.

  “We need to go to the hospital,” she persisted.

  “Because that went so well for us last time,” he replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  Despite the snark, she breathed a sigh of relief that he had finally spoken.

  “Are you okay?” she asked again, and she tried to move up from the floor.

  But he held out his hand as if to push her back down. “I don’t know if we’re safe yet,” he warned her. “Stay where you are.”

  “I’d be safer belted into my seat if you crash this vehicle,” she pointed out. “You shouldn’t be driving.”