Читать книгу The Doctor's Defender - Terri Reed - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTWO
Kyle pressed his back against the inside wall next to Brenda’s front door. Nerves stretched tight, he regulated his breathing. Brenda’s life was at stake here. He needed to keep control of the situation. “What do you want?”
“Floral delivery,” came the muffled reply. “For Dr. Brenda Storm. Is she here?”
Wariness narrowed Kyle’s focus. She didn’t need to be home for the flowers to be delivered. He could have left them at the front desk. How had the guy slipped past the doorman?
Brenda moved forward. “Who—”
Kyle lifted a finger to keep her quiet. He waved her back again. She nodded and stepped closer to the kitchen archway. “She’s not available. Take them back.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a schedule to keep. My boss will have my head if I return to the shop without delivering them. Guy paid to have them delivered pronto.”
“Guy?” Kyle wasn’t sure he bought the story. “You have the name of who sent them?”
“Yeah.”
A heartbeat of silence passed. “Well, what’s it say?”
“You gonna open the door, or what?”
“No, you’re gonna tell me through it.”
“My hands are kinda full here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Obviously, he knew Kyle was watching through the peephole. If he were an assailant, he knew he wasn’t going to have an easy time of it today. “Leave the flowers on the floor and back up ten steps.”
Kyle watched through the peephole. The flowers were lowered. A man wearing a black fedora perched low over gray eyes stepped back. He was older than Kyle would have thought, given the job. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, making an odd contrast with his hat. He held a clipboard and flowers.
“I said flowers on the ground,” Kyle repeated.
The vase of the flowers lowered to the floor.
Cautiously, Kyle opened the front door, careful to keep his weapon at the ready yet out of sight. One wrong move...
The delivery guy moved closer.
Kyle countered with a step forward, drawing on the guy.
“Whoa! Dude!” He raised his hands in the air. Fear widened the man’s gray eyes. “I need your John Hancock on the last line.” He lowered the clipboard slightly.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” Kyle grabbed the clipboard and inspected the form. It looked legit. So did the flowers. The name of the flower shop was emblazoned across the top of the form.
“How long have you worked for this store?” Kyle asked.
The guy swallowed. “A few weeks. I’m lucky to have a job in this economy.”
True enough statement. The state of the job market had hit everyone hard. Kyle signed for delivery. “So who sent them?”
The guy shrugged and gestured with his chin to the vase. “There’s a card.” He tried to peer over Kyle’s shoulder. “Is the doctor home?”
Shoving the clipboard into the guy’s chest and pushing him back another step, Kyle replied, “She’s not available.”
“You her boyfriend?”
Kyle narrowed his gaze on the man. “Time for you to go.”
The guy held up his hands. “Hey, man, just asking. Didn’t mean anything by it.” He retreated, going down the hall to the elevator, then disappearing inside.
Kyle stared down at the array of bright flowers. A small white envelope peeked out among the blooms. Squatting down, he inspected the water-filled, fluted clear vase. He scrutinized the blossoms, looking for anything suspicious. There didn’t seem to be any substance coating the petals. He didn’t see any hidden items that would suggest the flowers had been tampered with. He carefully ran a finger around the rim of the vase to check for wires or anything that would indicate the bouquet was rigged with an explosive device.
When he was satisfied that the arrangement wasn’t fitted to detonate, he lifted the vase and carried it inside the condo. Brenda stood stock-still in her kitchen, her hands gripping the marble counter, her knuckles white.
Her upset had his insides knotting. He wanted to ease her fears. “It’s okay. Guy’s gone.” He set the vase on the counter. “Nothing dangerous here but flowers.”
Wariness crossed her face. She backed away. “Who sent them?”
“There’s a note card,” he said. “Do you have a plastic baggie?”
She opened a drawer. Inside were neatly placed boxes of plastic bags. “Which size?”
“Sandwich.”
She withdrew one and handed it over. He tore off a paper towel from the dispenser near the sink and used the sheet to protect the tall plastic cardholder from his fingerprints as he lifted the thing from the flowers and set it on the counter. He’d worked long enough with several ex–law enforcement personnel to know how to be cautious and preserve possible evidence. Still using the paper towel, he removed the envelope from the prongs and flipped up the seal.
He slid the card-stock note out and read the scrawling words out loud. “Hope your day will be better now. Are we on for next Friday? It’s signed Sam.”
A frown pinched the space between Brenda’s winged eyebrows. “A doctor at the hospital.”
“Your boyfriend?” From the dossier he’d read on her, she wasn’t married, engaged or involved in a serious relationship that they knew of. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in her life. Kyle didn’t understand why the thought bothered him. Of course Brenda had to be seeing someone. A looker like her couldn’t be unattached. She probably had a dozen men clamoring for her attention.
She gave a vehement shake of her head. “No. Not even close. He’s too...not my type.”
Now why did that please him? And just what was her type? Not that the type of man she dated mattered. His job wasn’t to pass judgment or probe his protectee’s psyche. Though if they’d met under different circumstances... He gave himself a mental shake. Not. Going. There. “This Sam would like to date you, though.”
She sighed. “He’s asked. Often. Wants me to go to the hospital fundraising gala with him next Friday. He can’t seem to get it through his brilliant thick skull that I’m not interested.”
“The gala is out.” No way would he let her go anywhere near such a security risk.
She frowned. “I have to be there.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. Your boss will understand.”
Her lips pressed into a firm line. A sign of acquiescence? He doubted it. But that was a battle they could have at a later date.
To preserve the note, he slipped it into the baggie and then placed it into his shirt pocket. “What’s this doctor’s full name?”
“Samuel Johnson.”
“I’ll have a background check run on him.”
She drew back slightly. “Sam would never hurt me.”
“Maybe the doctor has someone in his life who’d like to get rid of the competition. I need to know the players in this game.”
“Game? This isn’t a game! This is my life!”
The outrage and fear in her face twisted him up inside. He held out a hand, palm facing out. “Sorry, didn’t mean anything by that. Just a figure of speech. You’re right, this isn’t a game. I take it very seriously.”
Her lovely features turned stony. She went into the living room and sat on a plush chair. “I hate this. Hate feeling scared and out of control.”
He followed her and squatted beside her. “That’s understandable. And you’re doing great.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how I’m doing by the time this is done.” She scoffed and shook her head. “I can’t imagine living in fear for very long. Always wondering if the next knock at the door might be a deranged killer. Who knows what else this crazy person will try. Or who might get hurt because of me.”
“That’s why you have me. I’ll protect you. You might not believe it, but I’m very good at what I do.”
Her dark eyes searched his face. “Why do you do this? Work as a bodyguard, I mean?”
Uncomfortable with the focus turning to him, he rose. And deflected. He was good at deflecting. “Guy’s got to make a living.”
“There are other ways to make a living.” The studied way she peered at him made him think of microscopes and petri dishes. He wasn’t some bacterium she had to try to understand. “Less dangerous ways.”
A shudder worked its way through him. “Yeah, boring ways.”
He had no doubt that, being a surgeon, she saw the aftermath of dangerous careers and hobbies alike, which gave her a different perspective. She could never understand the inherent need to live life on the edge, to push as close to danger as possible, to risk life and limb to feel alive, to feel...something.
“Ah, you’re a thrill seeker, then.” There was just the barest hint of censure in her tone.
He grinned, undaunted by the disapproval. It wasn’t the first time a woman said that to him. It wouldn’t be the last. “Always looking for the next gnarly wave to come rolling in.”
“Gnarly, huh? You’re a surfer?”
“That obvious?”
A slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. He had the sudden longing to see a full-blown smile, to hear her laugh, to see her relax. So not what he should be concentrating on. Her physical well-being was his priority. Not her mental health.
“Yes, it is,” she admitted. “But I can’t imagine there’s much surfing in Boston. You must not have grown up there.”
“No, I didn’t. Southern Cal. On some of the best beaches in the world.”
A momentary bout of nostalgia hit. He missed the California sunshine and the smell of the Pacific Ocean. The Atlantic smelled different. Brinier. “There’s always windsurfing in Massachusetts. You can be at a great surf spot within two hours from downtown Boston.”
He remembered the last time he’d been out on the Atlantic Ocean planing across the tips of the waves, catching enough speed to loop. “Not quite the same rush as traditional surfing...but still fun.”
“How did you end up in Boston?”
She was full of questions, and that wasn’t a tale he cared to share. Revealing his painful past wasn’t part of his job description. He kept his life under wraps. Better that way. He’d hate to see the look of pity or judgment or both in pretty Brenda’s eyes if she knew how he’d ended up where he was. “Life. Funny how it works out sometimes.”
“Did you move there because of a wife or girlfriend?”
He arched an eyebrow. She was fishing to see if he was attached. Interesting. “No wife, no girlfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back.
She hesitated. “I’ve been focused on my career.”
“Ah. But someday you hope to get married?” He wondered what kind of man would snag the doctor’s heart.
“Don’t you?” she countered without answering his question.
“No,” he stated with certainty.
She studied him. “Why not?”
He thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t sure where his reluctance to relationships stemmed from. Maybe it was his parents’ rocky marriage before his mother’s death. Or maybe the way his high-school girlfriend, Anne Tucker, had stomped all over his heart when she’d gone to the prom with his best friend because Kyle hadn’t the money to pay for their ticket. She’d ended up pregnant that night. Kyle knew he’d dodged a bullet, or rather a situation that he wouldn’t have been able to handle. A kid at seventeen? No way.
Better not to get too involved with any woman and avoid such a sticky and permanent situation.
Realizing the doc was waiting for an answer, he went with the easy one. The one he knew would keep her at arm’s length. “I like playing the field. Keeping my options open.”
She stiffened. The corners of her mouth tightened. “What training do you have? How do I know my life is safe in your hands?”
Appeasing her curiosity and reassuring her he could protect her were two different things. He held his right hand up, his index and middle fingers in a V shape. “Cub Scout promise. I had my Bobcat pin within the first three months. Had it turned right side up by the next day.”
Irritation crossed her face. “I have no idea what that means.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re a girl. Only boys can be Cub Scouts.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give a straight answer?”
“Not if I can help it.” He understood she wanted to know what made him tick, what made him qualified to protect her, what made him who he was. That was only natural. But he needed her to trust him without knowing the answers. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me.” He made the Cub Scout sign again. “I promise.”
Her mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “What choice do I have?”
He grinned again. “Now that’s the spirit.” He sobered as he approached the next subject, prepared to do battle. “We need to figure out a more secure location for you.”
Dark eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline. “Excuse me?”
He knew that wouldn’t go over well. He gestured toward the covered window. “Too many places a sniper could take a shot from. The outside hallway’s too tight. A perfect place for an ambush. If we needed to escape, all anyone would have to do is pick us off as we came out the door.”
A visible tremor worked over her. “I don’t know where we could go.”
“The dossier said your parents have a home in Forest Park. The house is armed with a state-of-the-art alarm system.”
She shook her head. “I would hate to put them in danger.”
“It will be safer there.”
“I don’t know...”
He’d hoped to ease into this over Thai food. “It’s already been arranged.”
Her eyes widened with outrage. “You’ve spoken to my parents?”
“Trent is thorough in our protection.”
She made a face. “Unbelievable.”
“We’ve been here long enough. Do you want to pack a few things?”
“What choice do I have?” Anger laced her words.
Empathy twisted his stomach in knots. He knew firsthand how upsetting, annoying and humiliating it was to have someone else calling the shots. “It’s for your safety.”
“Of course it is.” Though the words dripped with sarcasm, her posture was resigned. She returned to her room. A few minutes later she came out carrying a small suitcase. “I have some clothes already at their house.”
“Do you want to keep the flowers?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Let’s leave them in the lobby.”
He wondered briefly if it was the flowers themselves or the sender she wanted to leave behind.
He escorted her to his rental car, a black Suburban. The modern, everyday version of the layman’s tank. He did a quick sweep of the exterior before allowing her too close to the vehicle. Checked the undercarriage, made sure the doors hadn’t been tampered with. Standard operating procedure. When he was sure the SUV was safe, he helped Brenda into the passenger seat.
As he drove he kept a vigilant eye out for a tail. Nothing. A half hour later they arrived at her parents’ Forest Park home. Behind a gated community, which provided twenty-four-hour security, the Storms’ residence was a large, gabled brick house with manicured hedges, Astroturf green lawns and flower beds with a kaleidoscope of colorful flora and visually interesting plants. A magazine-worthy home.
“Nice place,” Kyle commented. A far cry from the double-wide prefabricated place he’d called home as a kid. “You grew up in this house?”
“No. My parents bought this home after I’d graduated from med school.”
“Where did you live as a kid?”
She opened the passenger door. “Evanston.”
“Did you go to Northwestern?”
“I did. The university was practically in my backyard.” She climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward the house.
Kyle grabbed her suitcase from the back and followed her to the front door. Humidity made his shirt stick to his back. He glanced around, noting the quiet street and the other homes visible over the hedges marking the property lines. The hedges weren’t exactly the best for security—too many places a bad guy could slip through undetected.
He would have preferred a fence or a rock wall. Better yet, barbed wire.
Brenda opened the door. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.”
The temperature change between the outside and the inside was drastic. The sweat from the late-September humidity outside chilled on Kyle’s skin. Brenda rubbed her arms as goose pimples appeared.
As they stepped around the entryway corner, a well-dressed woman hastily shoved amber pill bottles into the drawer of the side table. A gray-haired man lay stretched out in a recliner. He adjusted the blanket covering him over his torso and legs. If he was cold, why not turn down the air conditioner? The place was like a meat locker.
“You’re here early,” her mother said, her voice sounding strained. Her red eyes made Kyle think she’d been crying recently. No doubt upset by Brenda’s brush with death.
The photos in Brenda’s apartment didn’t do Mrs. Storm justice. Kyle could see the resemblance between mother and daughter. Mrs. Storm’s dark hair was cut short to frame her youthful face. If not for the silver streaks, Kyle wouldn’t have guessed she was old enough to be Brenda’s mother. “We weren’t expecting you until later this evening. Are you all right?” Mrs. Storm asked.
“I’m fine, Mom.” Brenda went to her father’s side and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Dad, are you okay? You look feverish.”
Mr. Storm shooed her away. His eyes were not quite focused. “Stop your fussing. You’re not my doctor.”
“Just a cold, dear,” Mrs. Storm said quickly, though she wouldn’t meet her daughter’s gaze. “You know your father. Nothing for you to fret about.”
Kyle’s chest knotted at the hurt in Brenda’s pretty eyes as she stepped back.
“Brenda, please introduce your guest,” Mrs. Storm said.
“Mom, Dad, this is Kyle Martin of Trent Associates, the bodyguard the hospital hired,” Brenda said.
“We’re so thankful you’ll be protecting our daughter.” Mrs. Storm offered a smile.
“I will do my best, ma’am,” Kyle replied.
“Please call me Maggie.”
Mr. Storm held out a hand to Kyle. The effort seemed to cost him energy. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Mr. Martin.”
Kyle grasped the older man’s hand, noting how thin and fragile the bones felt. The man’s grip was stronger than Kyle would have thought given how ill he appeared. “Mr. Storm, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Ned tells me you come highly recommended.” Mr. Storm’s gaze focused on Kyle. “Tell me what qualifies you to protect my only child.”
The man asked virtually the same questions as his daughter. “Ex–special operations, Navy.”
Releasing his hand, Mr. Storm gave an approving nod. “Excellent.”
One glance at Brenda told Kyle she wasn’t as appeased. He’d have some explaining to do. Came with the territory. “Glad we got that settled,” Kyle said. “I’m going to do a perimeter sweep.”
He lifted his right hand and gave a Cub Scout salute by touching his forehead with his index and middle fingers pressed together. He could feel Brenda’s gaze on his back as he walked out the front door. She’d have more questions. It seemed in her nature to be inquisitive. As long as she didn’t probe too deep, they’d get along fine.
* * *
“Something’s up with my parents. Dad doesn’t look good,” Brenda confided to Kyle later that evening when they were alone. Her parents had retired, leaving her and her bodyguard alone in the living room.
Here she was hiding at her parents’ house from some madman bent on hurting her, she had an annoyingly handsome protector by her side and her parents weren’t being straight with her.
She’d taken one look at her father when she’d arrived this afternoon and known he’d had a fever.
It was infuriating to stand by while her dad was sick and not be allowed to treat him. They’d spent tons of money for her to become a doctor, and though her specialty was general surgery, she was still an experienced physician able to do more than just cut people open. It hurt that even in this she didn’t measure up.
“You think it’s more than a cold,” Kyle said, his voice low. Light from the overhead track shone on him, shadowing his handsome features, making him appear mysterious.
Feeling a bit awkward with Kyle so close, she sat on the love seat, putting some distance between them. “They’ve both been acting so strange lately. We usually have Sunday dinner together, but the past two weeks they’ve canceled, saying they had something come up unexpectedly. A golf tournament one weekend and a retirement party the next. But...I’m not sure what to think. Dad’s lost a lot of weight. He’s never been heavy, but now he’s almost gaunt, haggard even.” Nothing like the stalwart, healthy man who’d taught her to sail.
“They’re your parents. Parents tend not to want to worry their children with their problems. Tomorrow you can ask more questions and press for answers.”
She heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. I just wish I could do something now.”
“There’s nothing you can do tonight. He’s resting, and so should you.” Kyle held out his hand.
She slid her hand into his, and the roughness of his palm rubbed against hers, creating friction. Sparks shot up her arm as he helped her to her feet. Not unpleasant but very surprising. How could just holding someone’s hand create such chaos inside her? She’d never experienced anything like it before.
She extracted her hand. “You told my father you were ex–special operations for the Navy. What exactly does that mean?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “It means I’m special, in a good way.”
She shook her head. He’d been charming to her mother and respectful to her father all evening. But with her, he was the jokester. Why didn’t he want to talk about himself? Most men she knew did. “Seriously. What did you do in the Navy?”
“Swim.”
Exasperation sharpened her tone. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
His expression turned earnest. A look she liked on him. “I really did swim. My specialty was underwater reconnaissance and demolition.”
It sounded dangerous. But then she already knew he was a man who sought the rush, the buzz, of danger. It made for a great protector but not the type of guy a woman could pin her heart on. If she were interested in pinning her heart on any man. Which she wasn’t. “I’ll say good night now.”
“I’ll see you to your room,” Kyle countered. “After you.” He gestured toward the staircase.
He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he was sticking close. “I hardly think anything’s going to happen to me on my way to my room.”
“I’m cautious. Plus, I need to know where you are. Just in case.”
Just in case the lunatic after her tried something here in her parents’ home. She rubbed her arms, fighting back a shiver of fear. “My room’s the first one at the top of the stairs.”
She led the way upstairs. At her bedroom door, Brenda asked jokingly, “Do you need to check the room?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “What a good idea.”
Her mouth gaped. She hadn’t meant for him to actually do it.
He reached around her to open the door and brushed past her to enter the room. A second later he reappeared at the doorway. “No bad guys.”
“That’s reassuring.” She met his gaze.
The light from the hall heightened the blue of his eyes. They reminded her of a summer sky reflecting off Lake Michigan. The sudden longing to be out on the water, gliding through the waves, the sound of sails filling with the wind, gripped her.
Just her and the boat on open water as far as the eye could see.
She heard herself sigh. Saw the slow spread of a smile lighting up his face and realized what he must be thinking. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She was not sighing over him. But telling him that would only sound lame. And make her sound like an idiot. “Good night, then.”
He set his hands on her shoulders. She sucked in a quick breath. Twin points of heat seared her flesh from where he gripped her with strong hands. With gentle pressure, he moved her aside so he could step into the hall.
A fresh wave of embarrassment flushed through her. She’d been blocking his path out of her room. He must think her a complete airhead. Or worse, that she didn’t want him to leave her alone.
Well, okay, maybe a part of her didn’t want him to go too far away. For safety reasons. Just in case. And if she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true.
“Good night, Brenda. Sleep well,” Kyle said with a two-fingered salute.
She nodded like a bobblehead doll and watched him saunter down the stairs and disappear into the dark.
She sagged against the door frame. She had to get a grip. She would not be interested in her bodyguard. No matter how attractive he was. He was a danger junkie. Only here to protect her. Period. She wasn’t looking for a romance, a relationship or anything in between. With him or any man.
She’d been down that rocky path before and found herself at a dead end. She was not going there again.
As she slipped into her room and closed the door, she only wished her heart would stop racing every time he was near. It was only a biological response to an attractive man, but it sure felt like something more. Something she had no intention of pursuing.
* * *
After one more perimeter check, Kyle was satisfied the grounds of the Storm house were as secure as they could be with only the eight-foot-high laurel hedges as a barrier to the outside world. He dialed Trent offices. He stood in the shadowed driveway, listening to the ring of the cell phone pressed to his left ear, while keeping his gaze on the street. A few lights dotted houses down the block. Several houses over a parked car sat at the curb.
“Trent Associates, Simone speaking. How can we help?”
“Hey, it’s me,” Kyle said by way of greeting. The former Detroit homicide detective had joined Trent Associates around the same time he had. “How’s it going?”
“All’s quiet here,” she replied. “Everyone’s out in the field except me and James. How’s your assignment?”
“Interesting.” He quickly filled her in on Brenda and the case. “I need a couple of things checked out. Can you help?”
“Of course, anything for my favorite frogman.”
“Ah, you’re gonna make me blush,” he quipped. From the day they’d met they’d had a good-natured banter going. Simone was all sleek polish. While he was...well, himself. They couldn’t be more opposite. Brenda, in fact, reminded Kyle a little of Simone. The same quick wit and standoffish manner.
“First up a Dr. Sam Johnson, plastic surgeon at Heritage Hospital. Has a thing for Brenda and doesn’t seem to understand no. He’s probably not our perp, but maybe someone close to him wants Brenda out of the picture. Dig up whatever you can.”
“Got it. Next?”
“Her parents. I need everything you can find on them.”
“Wait, you want me to do a deep dig on her family? You think they’re behind the attempt on your
protectee’s life?”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “But there’s something off. I’ve got a gut feeling that there’s more going on than they are saying. Mrs. Storm was quick to hide some medication when we arrived unexpectedly. Brenda says they’ve been acting strange lately. According to Brenda, her dad’s lost a lot of weight and was feverish tonight.”
“All right. I’ll do some digging, though you know with HIPPA I won’t get far on the medical,” Simone said. “Anything else?”
Kyle hesitated. Something niggled at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t put a bead on what was bothering him. “I’m good for now. But I’ll call if I have anything else.”
“Sounds good. Hey, Kyle?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay safe. I’m praying for you.”
He smiled, glad to know someone was putting in a good word with the man upstairs. Kyle prayed often, but sometimes God felt so very distant. Kyle had come to know the Lord at the Special Warfare Center in Coronado, California. There were days when his faith was the only thing that sustained him through the vigorous training and later combat. “You’re concerned about me? How sweet.”
He heard her exasperated sigh. “As I am for every member of the team.”
Kyle sobered. “I know. And I’m grateful.”
“Be careful.”
She’d shared her story with him after a harrowing assignment had left another team member in the hospital with a bullet wound. She’d lost someone close to her, someone she felt responsible for. Simone took everyone’s welfare very seriously. He appreciated that about her. “I will. You, too.”
“Thanks.”
Kyle hung up and stared at the house shrouded in darkness, his hinky alarm jangling. Just what were the Storms hiding? And was their secret the reason Brenda was in danger?
The house was quiet when he came back inside. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the slight creaking of the floorboards settling for the night kept the place from being completely silent. Kyle swept the downstairs, making sure all windows and doors were locked tight and the security alarm was set. He headed to the guest room on the main floor near the kitchen.
The room was done in muted tones of green and brown. More masculine than not, yet it wouldn’t necessarily be considered a man’s domain, not with the bits of lace on the cherry dresser, the painting of a field of flowers and a lazy creek on the wall and the ruffles on the accent pillows he’d tossed onto the wingback chair in the corner. Still, as digs went, this was cushy and more than adequate to provide a good night’s sleep.
He stretched out on the queen-size bed with every intention of relaxing. But his mind wouldn’t shut off. He kept reliving the moment upstairs when Brenda had sighed. Such a small sound, hardly worth noting. Except she’d been staring at him with such yearning on her pretty face, his ego had ripped the curl. He’d wanted to explore what that sigh meant. He hadn’t. And told himself he couldn’t. That wouldn’t be professional.
Giving up on sleep, he rose and dug through his “to-go” bag, double-checking his weapon and ammo. His hand brushed over the photograph he always kept with him. He didn’t need to see the image to recall the picture of him, his twin sister, Kaitlin, and his parents. Before his mother had taken ill. Before his world came crashing down in a fiery flame of heartache. He zipped the bag closed.
A high-pitched noise pierced the quiet of the night.
His heart jolted.
The house alarm had been tripped!
