Читать книгу The Bodyguard - Julie Miller, Debra Cowan - Страница 15

Charlotte knelt down to lay the bouquet of roses on the turned-up mound of earth beside the flowers that had once been draped over Richard’s coffin. Max came over to sniff her handiwork and she scratched his head before shooing him on his way to follow the path of some squirrel or rabbit that’d come through earlier. She kissed her fingers and touched them to the plastic marker that held Richard’s name and dates until a permanent stone monument could be fixed into place, knowing it was as close to trading a hug with him as she could ever get again.

“Thank you, my friend. For everything. I’m sorry. So sorry.” Tears burned in her sinuses and squeezed out through the rapid blink of her lashes to warm her cheeks in the cooling air.

In the middle of the spring afternoon it felt like twilight. A storm was brewing overhead again, filling the sky with fast-moving clouds. Tall oaks and pine trees dotted each side of the road that twisted up through the hills of Mt. Washington Cemetery, their thick trunks and budding branches casting long shadows over her. But no shadow seemed as tall and foreboding as the sturdy bulk of Trip Jones standing beside her, with a handgun strapped to his thigh, a military-looking rifle draped in the crook of his elbow and a stone-cold expression of wary alertness stamped onto his rugged features.

“You okay?” Trip’s voice rumbled down on the breeze that was picking up.

Charlotte huddled inside her trench coat and the body armor Trip had insisted she wear, and slowly stood. “He should have been retired, enjoying his grandchildren. He shouldn’t have died because some freak wanted to get to me.”

She saw Trip’s black-gloved hand leave his rifle and reach for her. But just before he touched the small of her back, he curled his fingers into his palm and tapped at the headset hooked to his ear instead. “How are we doing?”

A chorus of “clears” and one “nothing here” answered loudly enough for Charlotte to hear.

Captain Cutler buzzed in as well. “Easy, people. Keep your eyes open. We’re not in any rush here.”

But Trip apparently was. He moved a couple of steps along the trail Max had taken, then circled around to stand beside her again. His hazel eyes stopping scanning their surroundings long enough to land on her. “Are you ready to head back?”

With his truck in the shop, Trip had driven her to Mt. Washington in one of the team’s SUVs, which was parked at the foot of the hill, while the others had followed behind them in an imposing armored SWAT van. It was parked around a bend, out of sight beyond a copse of trees, just like the other members of his team remained hidden in the trees and monuments around them.

“I think I’ve decided how I’m going to honor him.” Charlotte murmured the announcement to the flowers and the sign and anyone who might listen. “I’m going to set up a college fund for all his grandchildren. I’ll call the bank and our attorneys when I get home.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” He glanced toward the sky. “The storm’s about to break. I can feel the dampness in the breeze. We should get home so you can make those calls.”

But she wasn’t ready to disturb this solemn, secure moment. “Could we stay for a while? Richard was always so patient with me—I don’t want to rush my time here. I don’t mind a little rain.”

“A little?” That stern mouth eased into a grin. Trip’s easy capitulation to her request reminded her more of the man who’d kissed her and less of the warrior standing guard. “We’ve had so much this spring, creeks are flooding, roads are closing—they’re sandbagging the levees up by the river.”

Charlotte discovered she could smile, too, with the subtle glimpse of Trip’s humor. “Washing away is the least of my worries. I used to love playing out in the rain. I think when I was little, I thought I was combining bath time and playtime, meaning I could stay outside longer.”

“Why do I get the feeling you were a real handful growing up?”

“Me? An odd duck is more like it. I just spent a lot of time in my head. I was always curious, always reading, always thinking. I suppose I did give my dad a few headaches when I wandered off on one of my adventures and lost track of the time. I didn’t become any trouble until after high school.”

She shivered and slid her fingers up to her rebuilt ear to finger the gold earring there, her thoughts automatically including prom night and the disastrous events that had changed her life.

This time, his black glove settled at the small of her back. “Chilly?”

“I’m okay.” At first she stiffened at his touch, unsure of its motive. Comfort? Protection? Keeping her focused on the conversation? Years of shielding herself from anyone outside her family made it difficult to resolve this growing fascination with Trip’s passion and strength and almost poignant patience with her. He liked to touch and she … liked him touching her. But despite the fretful anticipation his sheer masculinity and straightforward desire seemed to have awakened in her, it took a huge leap of faith to admit she was developing feelings for this man she’d known for a week. Her body’s instincts to seek warmth and shelter let her relax and turn her cheek into his chest.

But her mind, her emotions, insisted on holding something back. In some ways, she knew as little about men as she knew a lot about archaeology. Boys hadn’t looked at her as dating material in school, and she hadn’t looked at men in that way since. There was a security in being able to shut off her feelings, knowing that was one aspect of her life she could control—no one could mock or hurt her, no one could trick or abuse her. Yet there was a loneliness in that particular skill, too, and she was just beginning to wonder whether it left her in a more perfect prison than all her phobias put together did.

Trip’s fingers tightening at the nip of her waist encouraged her to stay in the moment and continue. “I loved to read mysteries, solve puzzles. But I was just as interested in climbing trees and exploring whatever new places I could get myself into—a friend’s attic, the museum’s back rooms.”

“So you’ve always been the explorer.”

“It wasn’t like I had any dates to keep me busy. I had my friends, my homework, my adventures … I guess I always did march to the beat of my own drum.”

“High school’s a tough place to be different, isn’t it?”

Charlotte nodded against the rough weave of his vest cover. She had an idea he was referring to his own experience about being labeled for his brawn and learning disability, rather than commiserating over her odd habits and plain looks. But he understood. Maybe more than most people, he understood why she’d made the choices she had. “That’s why I was so excited about going to prom. It was my first date that Dad and some social event of his had nothing to do with. Landon Turner. He was a new guy in school my senior year—he had that whole swarthy Italian look going on.”

“I hate him already.”

She felt the first sprinkle of rain on her cheek, and while the initial drop startled her, she soon savored the cool trickles of moisture on her skin. “He had a soccer scholarship to play on the team with my friend, Harper. I’d been pining after Harper for years, but he never saw beyond the glasses. A buddy of mine, Donny Kemp—he was on the quiz bowl team with me—had asked me first, out of the blue—I didn’t really know him, didn’t know he even liked me—so I said I needed time to think about it. I guess I was still holding out for a miracle invitation from Harper.”

“Sheesh, the soap opera of high-school relationships. I don’t miss that.”

She tiptoed her fingers up his vest until she found the warmth of skin above Trip’s collar to cling to. “I’d been tutoring Landon, to help him keep his grades up so he could stay at Sterling instead of going back to a public high school. When he asked me, I thought it was as close to dating Harper as I was going to get so I said yes. And then I found out he’d done it as an initiation rite. One of the kidnappers had given him a hundred dollars to get me to the school, away from Dad and his security.”

“What the hell kind of initiation involves getting you kidnapped?”

Charlotte flinched at the sudden sharpness in Trip’s voice and he immediately released her.

“Sorry.” He skimmed his hand over his face, but she didn’t think he was snarling at the rain wetting his skin. “No wonder you don’t trust men.”

He turned away, muttering a curse, then startled her when he swung back around to face her. “Did Turner pay for his part in the kidnapping? Does he have any reason to come after you again?”

“He didn’t come after me.” Her guardian had returned in full force. How did a man turn his compassion and gentleness on and off so quickly? She hugged her arms around her waist, afraid of her own warring needs to run away or offer a reassuring touch. “Landon’s prank was a cruel one, but he didn’t know about the kidnapping. He testified on my behalf at the trial by identifying the man who’d paid him, and helped get the conviction. He was kicked out of Sterling Academy, and I think lost a couple of college scholarships. But the judge didn’t file any criminal charges. He has no reason to want to hurt me now.”

“Don’t defend him.” Charlotte backed away as Trip advanced, his suspicions overriding his patience with her. “If he didn’t know about the kidnapping, then how did the kidnappers know about the initiation?”

“All the guys at school knew about the initiation dare. If I’d been more of a social creature, I would have heard the gossip, too. One of them must have let it slip somewhere, and the kidnappers paid Landon to make sure it was me he took that night.” Talented though he was with his feet, Landon had never been the brightest bulb at Sterling. “He apologized, over and over. He used to call me …”

Every day. For months.

Charlotte. You have to forgive me. Charlotte? Answer me!

Oh, my God. Had she missed a connection between Landon and her kidnappers? A connection between then and now?

Charlotte’s heart rate kicked up a notch. Her breathing went shallow. She was going back in time. Slipping into the past. Remembering. “I want to go home.”

“Honey, are you—?”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me!” She whirled around, looking for Max. “Stay in the moment. Stay in the moment,” she chanted. “Max?”

“Jones.” Captain Cutler’s voice buzzed into the radio, loud enough for Charlotte to hear the summons. “Is there a problem up there?”

“Charlotte?”

She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. “Max!”

“She’s on the verge of a panic attack, sir. Call everyone in. We’re coming down.”

Charlotte yelped at the big hand that closed around her arm.

But it wouldn’t let go. “Look at me, Charlotte.” He had her by both arms now, had hunkered down so she could see his face. “Look at me.”

It was Trip. She knew it was Trip. But she was afraid. Afraid of the calls and the memories and the mistakes she couldn’t save herself from. She blinked her eyes into focus. “I need to go home. I want to go home.”

“Okay.” His grip shifted to one arm and he gentled his tone as he towered over her. “I’m sorry I upset you. Stay in the moment, okay? Stay with me.”

“I’m sorry, Trip. I must have pushed myself to be outside a little too long.” She felt twenty-five pounds of furry warmth wedge its way in between them and sit on her foot. Max. Thank goodness. She reached down to stroke his fur, taking the edge off her panic. “Good boy, Max.”

“You have no idea what a fighter you are, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could summon the troops with that whistle.” Trip pulled the dog’s leash from her coat pocket and hooked him up. He rubbed Max around his neck and ears before pushing the leash into Charlotte’s hand and straightening. “I’m the one who pushed you too hard. I thought Turner might be some kind of break on the case.”

“You were just doing your job.”

“I was being a jealous idiot and I scared you instead of helping.” He held out his hand for her to take. “Let’s get you home so you can make those phone calls about Richard’s memorial, okay?”

She nodded, wrapping both hands around the leash, unsure what to make of his compliment or apology or the whole idea of a man being jealous over her.

Trip’s gaze dropped to her fingers, understanding the unspoken message and accepting it. “And as far as Turner goes?”

“What about him?”

“Innocent or not, he’d better never show his face around me.” Backed up by an ominous rumble of thunder overhead, his vow triggered a riot of inexplicable goose bumps across her skin. If they’d been sparked by her usual anxiety or the possessive promise in his words that tickled something new and uniquely feminine inside her, she couldn’t yet tell. “Come on. Let’s get out of the rain.”

Although she hadn’t taken his hand, he still put his fingers at her back to position her in front of him and lead the way down the hill with Max. He released her to tap on his radio. “We’re heading back to the car. Bring it in, guys.”

“That’s a negative. Stand fast, big guy.” Captain Cutler’s crisp voice buzzed over the radio. Charlotte spotted the reason for the warning appearing from behind a mask of trees and doubling back on one of the cemetery’s hairpin turns. Her eyes widened. Her steps slowed. “We’ve got an unmarked vehicle approaching on your six. White van, local plates.”

“I see it.” Trip’s hand clamped down on her shoulder, stopping her beside a red marble headstone. “Let it pass.”

Charlotte grabbed hold of the red marble, swaying as the van crept up behind the black SUV.

Her brain spun around inside her skull as Charlotte pushed herself up from the pavement. Where were her glasses? What was happening to her? Was she bleeding?

“Sir, it’s slowing down.” A woman’s voice broke through the static in Charlotte’s ears. “All I can see is the driver. One male. Sir, he’s puttin’ on the brakes.”

But Charlotte was slipping back in time.

The screech of tires echoed through her aching head. What was going on? She squinted the blur of white into focus. A van. A white van. She tried to push up to her knees, but her head was so heavy. A yawning black hole opened in the side of the van. “Get up!”

Clarity kicked in a moment too late. There were hands on her, rough hands pinching and grabbing and countering every kick and twist she made. “No! Let go! Don’t take me!”

“Shut up, Charlotte!” She flew through the air and landed in a heap on the dirty, rusty floor. She screamed as a hood came over her head and the van door slammed shut.

They were speeding away as a needle pricked her arm.

“Charlotte!”

Someone had pushed her down to her knees and shoved something warm and furry against her.

“Charlotte, you’re all right—stay in the moment.”

She fought inside her head to ground herself, to find her way back to reality. Her pants were wet. Something cold and wet was soaking into her jeans. Max. Max had his front paws on her shoulder and was licking her face. Her hands crept around his neck, hugging him tight. “Good boy. Good boy, Max.”

“Stay in the moment,” the deep voice beside her commanded. She took a deep, calming breath.

And then she saw the white van. “No.”

It stopped at the bottom of the hill. They were coming.

“I won’t go. Don’t take me!”

He turned her bruised face into the stale bedding. “I’m tired of waiting for my millions. It’s time to show Daddy just how serious we are.”

And then she felt the cold scissors squeeze her earlobe. “No!”

“Charlotte!” the voice snapped. “Honey, I don’t want to touch you right now. Listen to my voice. Stay in the moment.”

“Trip?” She pulled one hand from Max’s fur and reached out.

The driver’s door opened and a man climbed out of the van. “Charlotte Mayweather?”

He looked right at her. He was coming for her. She backed away.

“I have something for you.” He held up a small package wrapped in plastic.

Charlotte answered with a scream.