Читать книгу Undercover Protector - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 14

The palm of Annie’s hand stung from slapping the grin off Michael’s face. He reacted immediately. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched. She could tell that his instinct was to slap back, but he held himself in check.

She should have exercised the same degree of restraint.

“I was wrong to hit you,” she said. Physical violence never solved anything.

“Is that an apology?” His voice was cold.

“I’m sorry.”

But she didn’t turn tail and run. Though he hadn’t physically lashed out at her, Michael and her grandfather had been bullying her emotionally, forcing her into positions that were more and more untenable.

He’d grabbed her and kissed her without permission. Though the aftershocks of that incredible kiss still trembled through her body, he’d had no right.

Annie straightened her backbone. Like an athlete who had strained a muscle, she tried to shake off the lingering effects of Michael’s kiss. She had to regain control of the situation.

“I want both of you to listen carefully. I’m sick and tired of having things sprung on me.” She frowned at her grandpa. “Lionel, you should have told me ahead of time that Michael was going to stay with us and help out. For that matter, you should have told me you’d kept in touch.”

“You’re right, honey.” He yawned again. Now that the excitement was over, he was ready to go back to sleep.

She dared to look at Michael. His eyes were hot. His lips invited her. It took all her willpower to confront him. “You had no right to kiss me. And claiming to be my fiancé? It wasn’t fair.”

“Agreed,” Michael said.

“I want no more lies. No more games. This phony engagement thing will be the last decision either of you will make without consulting me first. Is that clear?”

Michael nodded. “You’re the boss.”

“Good.” If she could get her body to stop yearning toward him, everything would be fine.

She went to her grandpa’s bed and fussed with his covers while she scolded, “You need more sleep, Grandpa, because I’m going to wake you at eight tomorrow morning. Your physical therapist is scheduled for ten o’clock, and you need to bathe before he gets here.”

“There’s one more thing.” He pointed to the bedside table. “Open that drawer and reach way in the back. There’s a cigar box.”

Now what? She removed the battered rectangular box of heavy cardboard decorated with a garish picture of a Spanish señorita with red flowers in her impossibly thick, curly black hair.

“Open it,” Lionel said.

She eyed him suspiciously, half expecting an explosion of confetti when she lifted the lid. “If this is some kind of joke, I will not be amused.”

“Just open the box, girl.”

Inside, resting atop a clutter of buttons and lapel pins, Annie found a three-by-four-inch sepia photograph of a smiling woman with pale eyes and long, light-colored hair swept back from her forehead in a style popular in the 1940s. She was Annie’s grandmother, Elizabeth Callahan.

“The engagement ring is in there,” Lionel said.

Gingerly Annie picked up a little velvet-covered box. “Grandpa, you don’t have to give me this.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I buried Elizabeth with her wedding band twenty-three years ago, but I kept this little diamond for you, Annie. I always thought you might like it.”

Annie snapped open the box. A small bright diamond winked at her from its ornate setting of tiny, twining wild roses. “It’s beautiful.”

“You remind me of her. Sometimes when I look at you, I see Elizabeth.” He cleared his throat. “You were only seven when she died, but do you remember her at all?”

“Her laughter.” Mostly she recalled stories other people had told her about Elizabeth, but one memory belonged to Annie alone. “She took me fishing on the river in a rowboat. We didn’t catch anything, but we laughed all afternoon.”

“That woman had one hell of a sense of humor. She kept me from taking myself too seriously.” He gave Annie a lopsided grin. “Put the ring on.”

Tears stung the back of her eyelids, and she blinked to keep them from falling. This ring was a sacred symbol of her grandparents’ love. Wearing it for a fake engagement seemed sacrilegious. “Grandpa, this isn’t right.”

“Just do it, honey. Elizabeth would’ve loved the joke. She would’ve laughed her head off if she’d seen your face when Michael said you were engaged. I never thought your eyes could pop that far out of your head.”

But this moment wasn’t funny to Annie. Getting married and being engaged were serious business. A lifetime commitment was not to be taken lightly. She took the ring from the velvet box and held it.

Unable to decide what to do, she rose from the bed and walked slowly, thoughtfully, toward the bay windows. Though the miniblinds were closed, a breeze crept in. Annie wished for a strong wind to flow through her mind and whisk away all her questions and doubts.

Though she had no intention of ever falling for Michael again, there seemed to be no choice except to play along with the fake engagement. By tomorrow morning, Officer Bobby would’ve blabbed to somebody else, and the rumor would be all over town. To explain would be embarrassing, to say the least. “I hate lies.”

Michael joined her at the windows. “The ring doesn’t have to be a lie.”

“What are you saying?” He couldn’t possibly be proposing. After eleven years apart, they hardly knew each other. “You can’t be talking about a real engagement.”

“Let me help you put it on.” Gently holding her left hand, he slipped the band over the tip of her third finger and paused. “This ring is my promise to you.”

His nearness and the warmth of his touch soothed her troubled mind. His dark eyes shone with sincerity. Oh, how she wished she could believe his promises! She longed to curl up against his broad chest and forget her cares.

He continued, “This is my vow. I will always keep you safe. Always. As long as you wear this ring, I will protect you.”

From the bed, she heard her grandpa’s heartfelt sigh of relief. “Amen,” he whispered.

“I accept,” Annie said. Silently she added her own promise: She would protect him, too. They would be partners.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Michael sat opposite Annie at the kitchen table and watched while she polished off a ham-and-Dijon-mustard sandwich. She didn’t pick at her food, mentally counting every calorie. Annie ate the same way she did everything else—without pretension.

And yet her life wasn’t an open book, easily readable from page to page. Annie kept her emotions under tight control. She had erected barriers—steel walls to hide her secrets from prying eyes.

“We’re partners,” she said. “Just like my partner on the force in Salem.”

Michael’s intentions were far more intimate. He’d been watching her for days, developing a grudging admiration for her professionalism and her no-nonsense approach to life. He liked Annie Callahan. And her kiss had sparked a deeper attraction. “Partners,” he said.

“As such, we should proceed with our own investigation. I suggest we start now.”

As she raised the sandwich to her lips, the engagement diamond flashed like a warning signal. His promise to protect her might be more difficult than he’d expected. “Why now?”

“Because we don’t want the trail to get cold.” She chewed for a moment. “Engstrom and Officer Bobby aren’t exactly super sleuths. I don’t think they’d recognize a clue if it jumped up and bit them on the toe.”

“It’s their job, Annie.”

“Mine, too. And I’m good at it,” she said confidently. “I noticed that you’re pretty handy with that weapon you were waving around. By the way, do you have a permit?”

“Yes, Officer,” he said dryly.

“Why are you armed?” she asked.

“I’m here to protect you.” He deflected her question. “I didn’t know if Bateman would be carrying.”

“Possession of a weapon would be violation of his parole.” She was all cop. “Michael, may I see your gun?”

He grinned. “That’s the first time a woman has said that to me and meant it literally.”

“Ha-ha.”

“It’s double-action. Easy to cock.”

“Very funny.”

“Most women would—”

“I don’t want to hear about your other girlfriends,” she said quickly. “It’s not that I’m jealous or anything. But this is the way I like to work with a partner. We stay focused on the job, which is taking care of Lionel and guarding against threats from Bateman. We don’t need banter.”

“Are you telling me that you and your partners don’t ever talk about anything other than policework?”

She leveled a cool, blue-eyed gaze at him. “I want my male partners to think of me as a cop, not as a woman. And the best way to do that is to avoid talking about sex. Understand?”

This probably wasn’t the best moment to tell her that she was cute when she was being a hard-boiled lady cop. “I bet you’ve got other rules.”

“Only one,” she said with a shrug. “But it’s not worth mentioning. You couldn’t possibly follow it.”

“Try me.”

“Always be honest. You’ve got to be able to trust your partner one hundred percent. There can’t be any lies or betrayals.”

Though he agreed with her in principle, Michael thought honesty was highly overrated. It was safer for him—and for Annie—if he continued to slide around the edges of the truth. The things she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

He reached behind his back, pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans and placed it on the kitchen table.

Annie finished off her sandwich before she picked up the gun. “Very nice. A Smith and Wesson automatic? Is it 10 mm?”

“Yes.” He knew exactly where her questions were headed. The handgun was a specially designed model issued to federal agents. Michael phrased his explanation carefully to avoid a direct lie. “It was given to me by a friend. He’s in the FBI.”

“That’s unusual. The feds don’t like to part with their weapons.” Her injured right arm and wrist caused her to fumble as she removed the ammunition clip. Frustrated by her clumsiness, she flexed her fingers. “I need to practice with my left hand.”

“How long before you’re back to normal?”

“The swelling is almost gone. I’ll probably be okay in a couple of days, but I’m going to have to wear this adjustable cast for a lot longer to protect the bones while they heal.” She snapped the clip back into place and handed him the gun. “Let’s go outside and take a look around.”

Michael was fairly sure there were no snipers lurking in the shrubbery. Bateman didn’t intend to hurt them. Not until June thirteenth.

Still, Michael insisted on basic precautions. “We’re turning off the porchlight. And I want you to stay close to me.”

“I’ll give the orders.” Grabbing the flashlight, she led the way to the front foyer. “By the way, I want to thank you for sweeping up the glass from the broken window. A lot of guys would consider that women’s work.”

“A lot of guys don’t live for days at a time on a boat. Efficient maintenance is important.”

“I guess so.” She cocked her head. Curious again. “I never even knew you were interested in boats. How did you become a charter captain?”

“I guess it was a natural transition after being in the navy.”

“You were in the navy?” She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Michael, I don’t know anything about you at all.”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yes. If we’re supposed to be engaged, I ought to have some vague idea of what you’ve been doing with your life.” She flicked the light switch off, and a soft darkness fell over them. “What should I say to people?”

“We’ll tell anybody who asks that our relationship is based purely on sex and we don’t have time to talk.”

She punched his arm. It was a friendly boyish gesture. From years of hanging around with the football teams her grandpa coached, Annie had learned to act like one of the guys. But Michael knew better. Earlier, when he’d kissed her, she’d responded with the passion of a mature woman. She was hot.

“Jeez, Michael. Didn’t you promise not to talk about sex?”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t.”

“So you can’t stop yourself from behaving like a pig?”

“Oink.”

She pushed open the front door and stepped onto the veranda that stretched all the way across the front of the house and halfway around the south side. The floorboards were painted slate-blue, like the house. The surrounding rail matched the white trim, some of which was peeling badly.

The beam from her flashlight flickered across the porch swing and two wicker rocking chairs. Then she focused the circle of light on the area leading to the door.

“Too bad the ground is dry,” he said. “We won’t find footprints.”

“Wouldn’t do much good as evidence. Bateman was wearing steel-toed work boots, like most of the loggers in town.”

Nonetheless, she bent low to inspect the flower beds. Though no one had been at the house to tend them, yellow jonquils and white irises bloomed in the fertile Oregon soil. At the corner of the veranda, wild red roses climbed the railing.

She raised the light and slowly swept it back and forth. “I doubt he walked up the sidewalk, aimed at the door and threw a brick. He had to sneak across the yard, staying in the shadows to avoid being seen.”

He agreed with her reconstruction of the crime. “Tomorrow we should talk with your neighbors. Maybe somebody noticed him.”