Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (49 page)

“Generator?” Her expression darkened. “That's why you were grinning when I showed you my invention. You were laughing at me. Why didn't you say something? You let me go on and on about what a great invention I made when all I did was make a fool out of myself.”

“I wasn't laughing at you.” He reached out for her hand but she stepped away. “I'm sure you've never been camping in your life, have you?” He could have frozen on the spot for the icy look she sent him. “Yet, you rummaged around and tried your best to find a solution. It doesn't matter if it works or not. You tried. That's one of the things I lo...like about you. You are independent and resilient and strong.”

His words didn't ease her anger. He knew she was embarrassed. He didn't know how to make it easier on her.

“I'm sorry.” He lowered his outstretched hand. “I think you should be proud of your efforts.”

She turned her back on him.

“Angelina...”

She didn't answer or look back.

“I wasn't making fun of you. I thought it was a cute idea. If it hadn't been PVC pipe, I might have wanted to see if it worked myself.”

Silence and showing him her back were her response.

He sighed deeply. “Fine. I'm going outside. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

The only sound from the kitchen was the banging of pots.

* * *

She tossed the pots on the counter. How could he? He'd played her for a fool. Why didn't he tell her there was a generator? She squeezed a stream of liquid soap into the sink. In a few minutes the generator would be humming and she'd probably be able to get hot water out of the tap. She felt like such an idiot.

Suddenly the lamp beside Dylan's chair and the kitchen light came on.

Great. The generator works.

She fumed a little bit more as she wiped down the counters and then the ridiculousness of the situation seeped through her anger. He must have found it hysterical when she'd shown him two pots, pipe and masking tape. Despite her embarrassment, she could see the humor in the situation and smiled.

It might have worked. If there hadn't been a stupid generator, and then he would have been very happy she'd been smart enough to rig a contraption to feed them even if they would have had to cook outside. At least they would have been able to cook.

Her smile widened.

She was a smart, inventive, enterprising woman and, generator or no generator, she was pretty proud of herself.

Bang!

Angelina gasped and froze. Gunfire! She wished she wasn't so familiar with the sound that she knew instantly what it was.

Another shot.

Dylan.

Someone was shooting at Dylan. Grabbing the PVC pipe by the door, she stepped onto the porch and screamed.

A bear! A big, black, angry bear was running straight at her!

Angelina waved the contraption wildly over her head and in front of her like it was a spear. “Shoo! Shoo! Go away!”

“Get back inside! Close the door!”

Angelina saw the whites of the bear's eyes. That's when she wasn't staring at the animal's teeth. It didn't take any further encouragement to respond to Dylan's command and she ducked back inside. No sooner had she slammed the door behind her, she heard the heavy thundering gait of the large animal as it ran across the cabin porch.

Silence.

Seconds ticked by. She thought she would scream if she didn't hear or see Dylan soon.

When the door opened, she flew into his arms.

He cried out when she threw her arms around him. Realizing that hugging his chest was a bad idea and had probably sent shafts of pain racing through him, she released him instantly and stepped back.

“I'm sorry.” Her fingers flew to her lips when she noted the extremely pale tinge to his face and the pool of pain in his eyes. “I wasn't thinking.”

He waved her away. “It's okay. I'm fine. Don't worry.”

He collapsed in the chair near the door, leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

“Can I get you anything?”

He barely moved but she saw the slight shake of his head.

She ignored his comment and twisted her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I can't believe a bear was on our front porch. Is it gone? Do you think it will come back?”

“We're in the middle of the woods, Angelina. There's all sorts of wildlife here.” Her eyes widened with fear and he hurried to reassure her. “But, no, I don't believe it will be back. I fired into the air and scared it off. It probably was scrounging for a last meal before digging in for winter hibernation.”

“That bear was huge! When I stepped outside, I heard you but didn't see you. I didn't know if the bear was running toward you or away. When I closed the door and didn't hear anything, I was afraid you might have been in the bear's path. When you walked through the door I was so relieved I forgot about your injuries. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He waved his hand at her. “It's okay. I'm fine.” He took a deep breath, a second one, then sat back in the chair. “What were you thinking? Running outside with a piece of PVC pipe? Just what good did you think that would do?”

“I wasn't thinking. I heard the gunfire. I thought you were in trouble so I grabbed whatever I could find and came to help you.”

“Help me?” He sent her an incredulous look. “With PVC pipe and masking tape?” He gestured with his head to the gun cabinet against the wall. “Don't suppose you gave any thought to grabbing something that might really help?”

She glanced at the cabinet, then back at him. “I don't like guns.”

He laughed. “Unbelievable! You don't like guns but be careful, bad guys, because my gal can swing a mean pipe.” He laughed again almost unable to control himself despite the fact that it was obvious more pain seized him with the movements. “You really are a piece of work, you know that?”

“There you go, laughing at me again.” Her mouth twisted in a frown.

“I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you. This will be a story you can hand down to your kids of how Mommy shooed away a bear with pipe and masking tape.”

They shared a meaningful look, both lost in their own thoughts at the mention of children. After a heartbeat of awkward silence, Angelina laughed and changed the subject.

“I don't know about you but I'm starved. We haven't eaten since dinner last night. Now that you have the generator running, I guess that means the stove will work.”

Dylan nodded.

“Good. So what do you want? Tuna fish and crackers or a bowl of soup?”

“I need to take a few minutes to clean up.” He crossed the room to the bathroom. “But if I have a vote, I choose soup and coffee. Dry tuna doesn't do it for me.”

“Coming right up.”

* * *

The grin on her face was infectious and Dylan returned her smile, leaving her to her chore. When he'd finished in the bathroom, he came out to find her sitting in front of the fire. He plopped down next to her. She picked up a bowl of soup and mug of coffee from the floor beside her and offered it to him.

They were finishing their coffee when Dylan said, “Thanks for the soup. I didn't realize how hungry I was.”

“How are you feeling?” She spoke softly. “Does your chest hurt?” She stretched out a hand almost automatically and ever so gently touched his bare skin. Her eyes widened. She started to pull her hand back.

He clasped her forearm, stopping her. Their gazes locked. He couldn't fight the surge of tenderness that swept over him. He lowered his head and kissed the inside of her wrist.

“Dylan...” Her tone held a warning but the longing he saw in her eyes told him she wasn't immune to the attraction between them after all.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to tell him to stop.

She didn't.

Dylan drew her closer, cradling her in his embrace. He felt her tremble in his arms like a butterfly in danger of flitting away. He bowed his head and brushed his lips against hers. He felt her catch her breath.

He smiled against the softness and fullness of those lips he'd wanted to kiss for years. He gave her an unhurried kiss.

“Dylan...” She gently pushed away. “We shouldn't. We can't.”

Reality hit him like a sledgehammer. She was rejecting him, again, and it stung. But she was right. This shouldn't be happening. His job was to keep her safe and deliver her to the courthouse Monday morning where he would leave her behind and never see her again. He was crossing a line and it had to stop, now.

She moved away, picked up a poker and tended the fire. After a moment, she glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes lighting on his chest and a deeper flash of red tinged her cheeks. She turned her head away and resumed poking at a fire that didn't need any tending.

“I couldn't salvage your shirt. I had to cut it off. But when I was looking for supplies earlier I noticed that Bear has some shirts hanging in his closet. They'll probably swim on you, but at least they'll keep you warm.”

Without another word, he went into one of the bedrooms and retrieved a shirt. Gingerly he slipped on the heavy plaid flannel, shards of pain shooting through his chest when he raised his left arm. He cinched the waist, tightening his belt to the last hole, yet the excess material puffed out like an ancient pirate shirt. He rolled the sleeves to his elbows in an attempt to make the gentle giant's clothes look more like a shirt and less like a winter coat. He caught his reflection in the mirror over the dresser.

He remembered the last time he'd seen Bear wear this shirt. It was on their final fishing trip up here. Bear had caught a record-size trout, lost it and spent the night telling the-one-that-got-away story over and over again.

If he wasn't careful, grief would consume him. Bear had been more than a partner, much more. He was a best friend, a father figure. He couldn't believe the man was gone. Didn't dare hope maybe he wasn't, maybe the arriving paramedics had managed to save him. But Bear's closed eyes, the number of wounds, the significant amount of blood loss?

Two partners. Dead. Two partners too many.

He'd promised Bear he'd celebrate with him at his retirement party. A promise he hadn't kept. He'd also promised Angelina that he would protect her and get her to the trial. He'd been unable to keep his first promise but he'd die before he'd break his second one. He grimaced in pain, touched the bandage on his chest and realized that he almost had.

FOURTEEN

“N
ow that the generator is working and we have lights, I'm assuming there is a hot-water heater someplace and we have hot water, too.”

Dylan nodded.

“Good. I'm going to grab one of Bear's shirts, get out of these dirty clothes, and take a shower.”

Angelina could feel his eyes on her back as she left the room. Had she heard him correctly earlier? Had he really said “my gal” when he'd been teasing her about the PVC pipe? That sounded like a man who cared about her—a man she had used those feelings against and betrayed.

And what was it with those kisses? For the first time in her life she understood what the term “curled her toes” meant. After all that had passed between them and three years absence, could Dylan still have feelings for her?

She chewed on her lower lip.

And if he did, what did she want to do about it? Did she feel the same way? After everything that had happened, everything still happening, was it even possible they could build a lasting and true relationship?

Her feelings were a jumbled mess right now. She didn't trust herself to know what she wanted. She sighed heavily. She just knew that Dylan mattered, his health, his life. He mattered. She wasn't going to torment herself any more tonight asking herself why.

When she finished her shower she came into the main room, plopped onto the sofa and continued to dry her hair with a towel. Her face scrunched when she glanced across the room at Dylan.

“What are you doing?” She tried to keep tension and fear from her voice.

“I'm making sure we're prepared.” Dylan closed the gun cabinet, his arms full of weapons and ammunition. He crossed the room, lowered a rifle to the floor and, with one arm free, held out his hand.

She stared at the small black object in his palm.

“Take it.”

She recoiled. “I can't.”

“Yes, you can.” He thrust it into her hand. “It's easy to handle, easy to hide, is fully loaded and will stop whatever or whoever you are trying to stop.”

She stared at the gun, then offered it back. “I have never fired a gun and don't intend to start now.”

He ignored her protests, picked up his rifle and sat back in what Angelina humorously thought of as his “sentry” seat.

“I don't expect you to have to use it.” Dylan reloaded his handgun and loaded the rifle. “But if the moment comes when your life depends on you squeezing that trigger, then squeeze the trigger. Understand?”

His eyes bore into her. She knew there was no way she could win this argument. He showed her where the safety was, how to use it, and reminded her to release it before she tried to fire. She tucked the weapon into her purse lying on the floor beside the sofa. She nodded but had already made the decision that she would never use the gun—unless Dylan's life depended on her. She prayed that wouldn't happen.

Dylan's laugh drew her attention.

“What?” He was staring at her. She looked down at herself and couldn't find anything particularly funny.

“Bear's clothes may be too big for me but on you they look like you're wrapped in a blanket with buttons.”

She glanced down at herself. He was right. She had rinsed her clothes out, hung them to dry on the shower rod after she'd showered and washed her hair and then donned one of the smallest shirts she could find in the closet. Still, on her body the shirt tails touched her feet. She had had to use the suture kit to turn the sleeves inside out and sew the cuffs to her shoulders just so she could move her arms freely.

She chuckled. “Not complaining. Glad these shirts were here. It felt wonderful to be able to shower.” She'd removed her gauze bandage and allowed hot water to run over her face, through her hair, down her back, and it had felt wonderful. She finished drying her hair.

Dylan stared at her intently.

“What now?” When he didn't immediately answer, she continued drying her hair.

“You took your bandage off.”

She touched her forehead. “I didn't think I needed it anymore.”

He smiled but it seemed almost bittersweet. “But now we don't match.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she lowered her gaze.

Dylan was the first to speak, one profound word she'd been expecting but had hoped not to hear.

“Why?”

She didn't know whether to play dumb and pretend he was referring to the bandage she had removed or to face the fact that the man had been patiently waiting for a much deserved explanation for what she'd done that night three years ago.

She saw the question in his eyes. She also saw hurt and disillusionment. He'd hurt enough on her account. He deserved to know the truth. Steeling herself for his reaction, she decided the time was right to confess.

“I didn't believe you could protect me.”

“No faith in my marshal expertise?” He chuckled, obviously trying to make a joke out of it, but there was a hint of hurt in his tone.

“That wasn't it.”

He arched an eyebrow and waited.

“I thought you were on my father's payroll and had been hired to kill me.”

His mouth dropped open. The shock on his face chased away any remnants of doubt she may have still harbored that he was working for her father.

“Angelina...”

* * *

He stared at her in disbelief. Had he really heard her say that? He loved her. He could never hurt her. Was she kidding? He had almost given his life to protect her.

Of course, he'd never told her he loved her, never spoken those specific words but certainly she should know by now. He'd told her in a million other ways, hadn't he? The way he looked at her, the way he held her in his arms. Could it be possible that she truly didn't know?

Is that why she'd run? Was she afraid of him?

He huffed, not able to speak an intelligible sentence while his mind strained to process this new information. What had he done to make her doubt him either personally or professionally? Did she really believe he was someone whose badge and integrity were available for sale to the highest bidder? He didn't know which belief hurt most.

He studied her face. There was still an egg-size knot on the side of her forehead from the bullet graze. Her blackened left eye wasn't quite as swollen as it had been four days ago but was still discolored. A purplish mottling crept from the edge of her eye down her left cheek.

His stomach clenched. How could she believe he could do something like this to her? A deep, undefinable ache coursed through his entire body. Love him? What a fool he'd been. She didn't love him. On the contrary, she had the lowest opinion of him that anyone could.

He clasped his hands between his knees, his shoulders bowed, his head bent. “Angelina...” He couldn't find anything else to say.

Tension grew between them with each passing second. Finally, he heard her whisper.

“I saw you.”

His eyes flashed to hers. “Saw me? Do what?”

She sat wringing her hands, looking away and then back at him, clearing her throat, saying nothing, then clearing her throat again.

He waited, knowing she was nervous, maybe even scared but he didn't care. His stomach seized as if someone had kicked him in the gut. His chest ached. He hurt...and he needed her to say something, anything that would take this hurt away.

“The day you took me to testify before the grand jury...do you remember everything that happened that day?”

Yeah. He remembered. She had been in the holding room waiting to testify, claimed she was suddenly sick to her stomach and asked to be taken home. Everything he'd tried to say to convince her to testify before going home fell on deaf ears. She insisted she was too sick and would come back another day. She had been pale. Jittery. Weepy. He'd based it on nerves, on being afraid to face her father, but he'd given in. He'd told the district attorney to present his other evidence and that he'd bring her back tomorrow to testify.

Tomorrow never came, though.

Once they got home, she'd recovered quickly. It hadn't taken her long to home in on his vulnerability to her with kisses, hugs, blue eyes that drowned his soul, convincing him she cared. He'd been thinking with his heart and not his head. He volunteered for night duty and let Bear catch some shut-eye. While he was building a fire, she climbed out the bathroom window and disappeared.

Yeah, he remembered that day. How could he forget?

“I saw you pass the bailiff the note.”

Baffled, he searched his memory and came up empty.

“What are you talking about? What note?”

A glimmer of something—looked like hope, possibly happiness—shone in her eyes. “You didn't know, did you? You had no idea what that note said.”

Frustrated and reaching his limit, his voice came out harsher than he'd intended. “Cut to the chase, Angelina. What are you talking about? I don't have a clue about a note or any idea what it might have said.”

Angelina grinned.

Dylan's frustration level soared. What was he saying that was making her so happy? Confusion was quickly becoming anger.

“I glanced into the hallway. I saw you hand the bailiff a small piece of paper. He walked directly into the room where I was waiting and handed me a note.” She knew from his expression he was about to explode. “Because I saw the exchange and the bailiff came into the room immediately afterward I believed it came from you.”

Dylan clenched his teeth. Trying to rein in his temper, he lowered his voice and forced himself to appear calm. “What did the note say?”

She blanched and twisted her hands tighter. Then she took a deep breath and repeated the words that had lived in her heart and her mind for the past three years. “Do you think I will allow you to testify? I own cops. I own judges. I own the marshals that pretend to protect you. You will never be able to hide from me.”

Dylan experienced his second huge shock of the evening. Thoughts and emotions tumbled through his brain. Where should he even start? What a mess!

Wide, blue, tear-filled eyes stared back at him. He could read the expressions on her face like a book. Fear. Relief. Confusion. Hope.

Welcome to my world, Angelina. I'm fighting with my emotions, too.

He got up, perched on the edge of the sofa and clasped her hand. He felt her fingers quiver and knew he'd have to treat her gently or things would worsen.

“I didn't pass on a note, any note, particularly a threatening one.” He gave her a moment to think about his words before he continued. “Why didn't you ask me about it? I thought we were close. I thought we were...friends.”

“We were.”

“But you didn't say anything. You didn't show me the note.” He squeezed her hand. Seconds ticked by. “Did you really believe I would harm you?”

“No.” Her answer came instantly almost without thought and that made him feel a little better. “Not really.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn't know what to think.”

His gaze locked with hers. “Listen to me. I never would and I never will harm you.”

She hung her head as if she was ashamed. “I know.” Her words came out in a whisper.

“If that's true, then why didn't you show me the note and ask me about it?”

“Because I saw you! Don't you understand? I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen you pass the bailiff that paper with my own eyes.”

Dylan could feel deep grooves etch at the edges of his mouth as he tried to think back to that day. A heavy sigh escaped his lips when the memory clicked.

“The man dropped the note. I picked it up and handed it back to him.”

Dylan remembered the man's hand tremors when he'd accepted the paper. The bailiff had been an older man and Dylan had passed the tremors off as age or a disease process like Parkinson's. He'd been so preoccupied with making sure the safeguards he'd requested for Angelina's safety were in place, he'd missed the biggest threat standing right in front of him.

What a fool!

He washed a hand over his face. “I wish you'd said something to me.” He glanced her way. “But I understand why you didn't.”

Angelina smiled. “I know it probably doesn't make you feel any better but I had a hard time believing it. I don't think I ever really did even though I witnessed the exchange.”

Dylan sighed heavily. “Is that why you ran? You thought I was planning to kill you?” He couldn't believe how wrong she'd been.

“Not exactly, Dylan. I don't think deep down I believed you wished me any harm.”

“Then why run?”

“Because I was convinced you couldn't protect me. Even if you didn't write the note or even know its contents, you still allowed the bailiff to get close enough to kill me if he had wanted to.”

Dylan's face drained of blood. She was right. He had. How could he blame her for trying to save her own life?

“And you can't protect me now.” Gently she placed her hand on his leg. “I have no doubt you'd die trying, Dylan.” A bittersweet smile twisted her lips. “You almost proved it.” She leaned back against the cushion. “Your ability and Bear's was never in question.”

He glanced at her but didn't interrupt.

“It's my father. He has deep pockets and a long reach.” She shivered as though a chill had raced up her spine and pulled the blanket over her. “I don't care how good a marshal you are or how many marshals you have standing guard. How can you possibly keep me safe when you don't know who you can trust? When you can't trust the people working with you?”

A leaden weight formed in his gut. She was right. Look what had happened at the safe house. Only a handful of people had been privy to that location. His boss. His secretary. Maybe one or two others in the office who needed to get the safe house set up. Four other federal marshals. That's it. Only a handful of people. Yet, someone gave Frankie Malone that location. Someone inside the department. They had a mole.