Under Fire (8 page)

Liam’s hand shot out and stopped her with a light touch on the shoulder. Just a simple brush, but electric and immobilizing.

His hand slid away. “Stay put. Use my phone, since we’re certain it’s secure. If you reach your friend before we can get one of our people to pick him up, tell him to come straight to base, to the OSI. Once we get there, you won’t be able to use your cell phone in the building.” His brow furrowed. “On second thought, I think you should get your phone after all and pass it to me.”

“Why?” But she was already reaching into the back even as she questioned him, careful not to ditch her seat belt even though it pinched like a son of a gun. She wrenched and yanked the backpack from beside her panting dog.

“If what you say is true about tapped phones, they could have been tracking you through your cell.”

“Oh God.” She unzipped her bag fast and tunneled inside. She handled her iPhone like it was a snake.

He snatched it from her hand and pitched it out the window, into the ocean. She felt the
plop
in the pit of her stomach. Had she lured these people directly to Liam? To Brandon too?

Damn it, she refused to let fear take over. She had to find her old calm under pressure. She may have brought this trouble to Liam’s doorstep, but she would do her best to hold up her end of things. “Your phone, please? I need to call him and warn him now more than ever.”

He scooped it up. “Here. Even though my phone’s secure, keep it brief, just in case.”

“Thank you…” For the phone and so much more. She really hated herself right now for all she was asking of Liam.

As she dialed, police sirens whined faintly in the background along with the ringing phone, ringing, ringing, until finally Brandon’s voice mail picked up again.

Hell.
Her hand fisted around Liam’s phone.

Leaving a message felt like a pitifully inadequate option, with buildings blowing up and a high-speed chase on a bridge. She couldn’t even bring herself to entertain the notion that he wasn’t picking up because whoever had been threatening her and Liam may have already gotten to Brandon.

***

Twirling a sprig of honeysuckle vine between her fingers, Catriona leaned a hip against the chain-link gate and watched Brandon, in his truck. He’d been sitting there for at least twenty minutes. But then he did that sometimes. Zoned out, thinking.

Except she wasn’t doing much else either. Just standing here. A little pathetic actually, watching and drooling over him.

Although, who was going to rat her out? Her staff was made up of a couple of college students, neither of whom was here now. Her only real buddies weren’t particularly verbal, sticking to barking or howling. While she understood every nuance of their sounds, the rest of the world wasn’t going to pick up on any hint from them that their caregiver had a serious crush on a guy who barely knew she was alive.

A guy who sometimes seemed to doubt he was still alive himself.

Across the yard in the parking area, Brandon slumped in the front seat of his truck. She could see his fists clench tighter as if he was resisting the urge to pound the steering wheel. Instead, he gently—carefully—reached for his dog. He buried his fingers in the dense fur.

She couldn’t pry her eyes away from how the sea breeze played with his dark hair, thicker than usual, since he’d let it grow while on leave. His face was bristly, just unshaven enough to be scruffy. Manly.

She knew he was on leave from the military after a rough deployment overseas and he had one of Rachel’s therapy dogs, so he must be suffering from some kind of trauma. But beyond that? He was a mystery to her.

One she really wanted to solve. She tucked the honeysuckle into her pocket.

Unlatching the fence, she angled through sideways, careful not to let any dogs out. She secured the lock after her and walked gingerly toward his vehicle, slowly, crunching gravel to give him an advance warning that she approached. He had one elbow crooked out of the open window, country music drifting from the radio.

Still, he jolted when she cleared her throat. “Hey, uh, didn’t see you coming.” He stepped out of the truck, the engine still idling, radio humming. “Is there some kind of a problem?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” She cocked her head to the side, late-night breeze caressing her cheek. “You look angry, and you haven’t left.”

“Rachel isn’t answering. And so far, she hasn’t left a message.” He waved his cell phone, green LED panel glowing in the dark. He tapped the roof of his truck, music from the radio drifting softly through the open door. “I was just searching my iPhone and listening to the news for more details on that explosion. Shit, it sounds like it was really bad—Uh, sorry for cursing, Cat.”

Cat? No one had called her that before. Except him. Now. “I’ve heard worse, but thanks for the apology anyhow.”

“From what I can tell, the explosion wasn’t just on Rachel’s block. It was her building.”

Her heart leaped up to her throat. “Oh, God. When did you last speak to Rachel?”

“This morning. And you?”

“When she dropped off the dogs, nothing more after that.” She reached for her cell clipped to her belt, dialed… listened. Darn it. “Straight to voice mail. Her phone must be off.” Or worse. “I’m sure she wasn’t there. Who pays a dog-sitter and goes home?”

Still, something was very wrong here. Rachel never, never disappeared without leaving concrete contact info. She was too devoted to her animals.

He scratched his head. “I have a couple other numbers I can call, people who train the dogs with her. Maybe they’ll know something.”

Nodding, she pressed her cell phone to her chest. “You go ahead and call them then. I’ll just take deep breaths so I don’t hyperventilate.”

She used to do that all the time as a kid, before she’d gotten her asthma under control. Inhalers. Not sexy.

Not that Brandon would find her sexy when they were worried about Rachel. Or even if they weren’t neck deep in worry, why would he notice her in her baggy dog-lady clothes, covered in canine slobber? But she couldn’t change who she was. She hadn’t been able to do it to please her parents. She wasn’t going to do it to win over some guy.

Even a guy as muscular, smart, intriguing—and strangely vulnerable—as Brandon.

His rumbling voice rode the breeze. Each time he spoke, her hopes rose, only to fall as he left yet another message or thanked someone for their time, even though nobody seemed to know a thing about where Rachel had gone today.

Cursing, Brandon stuffed his cell in his pocket. “Sorry, Cat—uh, Catriona, I mean. Sorry. Just distracted. Nothing from anyone on Rachel.”

“No need to apologize. You can call me Cat. It’s easier. My full name’s unusual, to say the least.”

Her name even made her laugh sometimes. Her parents had chosen it months before she was born, obviously expecting great things from her, with a flamboyant name to go with a grandiose future. But she hadn’t been outgoing or particularly pretty no matter how much they paid to dazzle her up. Hair highlights and lowlights. Manicures and spray-on tans.

Underneath it all, she was still just herself.

She wanted to sit on the beach and read. She forgot her hat and wrecked the latest hair color her mother chose for her. She got sunburned and peeled.

The boys she had liked—the ones who’d liked her back—usually freaked out when they saw her million-dollar home and met her unmistakably pretentious parents. No one had been able to accept her for herself… until she’d stumbled on two stray puppies in a Dumpster when she was sixteen. They were starving, and the female bit her.

But then she’d seen the other three—dead—puppies. The biter had been protecting her siblings.

Catriona had picked up the scruffy puppy and tucked the fierce protector into her backpack—just to be safe. She didn’t blame the little one for the bite, but she wasn’t going to offer up her arm as a chew toy. She scooped up the other and held it close enough to see the fleas crawling around in its patchy fur. The little boy pup had trembled so hard, it peed on her. She’d taken them both home, names picked out before she hit the front stoop.

Freckles and Frisbee.

She’d expected her parents to argue about taking them to the veterinarian, but her mother had been strangely cooperative. It wasn’t until they reached the vet’s office that she realized her mom intended to have the puppies put to sleep.

For the first time in her life, Catriona stood up to her mother. She’d threatened to pitch a very embarrassing fit in the lobby full of people who would undoubtedly gossip. She would make sure everyone knew her mom, Vivian Whittier, was a puppy killer.

Her mom had ground her teeth but relented. Vivian had valued nothing more than her reputation as a philanthropist. So Vivian—Vivie—had changed tactics quickly, set up treatment for the puppies with instructions to arrange for them to go to a rescue, for a hefty donation. Her mom promised to go shopping for a pedigreed pooch that afternoon.

But Catriona wasn’t budging.

The thought of giving up the two pups snapped a switch inside her she’d never expected. She was willing to bargain with the devil for those babies.

Worse. She was willing to bargain with Vivian.

Catriona had promised to attend the blasted cotillion classes. She would even try to fit in there and date boys her mom picked out.

If she could just keep the puppies.

Frisbee, the fighter, the spunky little protector, didn’t make it. Parvovirus had sapped the life from her already parasite-riddled body. But the little guy, Freckles, the shy pup that peed when you looked at him?

He made it.

And with him, Catriona had found her mission.

Her fingers worked automatically over Tabitha’s head, soothing, until her heart rate slowed and her mind cleared enough to tune in again to Brandon’s voice.

“Hey, Rachel, when you get this message, give me a call or Catriona, either of us. We just need to know you’re okay.” He disconnected.

“Still no answer?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not.”

A vein throbbed in his temple. Faster and faster still. The strain on his face, in his eyes, was worse than anything requiring an inhaler.

“She’s okay.” She touched his arm again. Thick corded muscles twitched and bunched under her fingertips, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m sure of it.”

“You can relax.” He half smiled. “I’m not going to fall apart in the middle of your yard. I’m just honest to God concerned.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. How should she answer a person who joked about… what? PTSD, maybe? That would be the main reason a military guy would seek out a therapy dog, if they didn’t have a visible physical injury. But Brandon didn’t look how she would have expected a person suffering from combat stress to appear.

He was buff and tan. He cracked jokes. She would have expected him to be antisocial. Gruff.

But not open this way. Vulnerable, even. There were most definitely shadows in his expression and dark smudges under his eyes that made her want to pull his head to rest in her lap and stroke his thick, dark hair.

“I know, but still, you’re worried and so am I. I know I said it before, but I keep reminding myself, paid for a week in advance.”

He hitched his hands on his narrow hips. “Chances are slim she’s hanging out at her place, knitting dog booties. And she does deserve to get away after the hours she’s put in lately. Maybe she’s tucked away with some guy having the time of her life.”

God, he was hot. “But you’re still worried.” Which made him ever hotter. But was he worried about Rachel being on a date? “Uh, why are you looking for her?”

“Why do you ask?”

Because… she was jealous? And how pathetic was that? Still she pushed, “From where I’m standing, you’re more than concerned. You look really worried. Not that I’m diminishing how upset she’ll be over losing her stuff, but her dogs are safe here, and thank God she decided to step away for the day. Right? So all’s chill in the big scheme of things, as long as no one got hurt.”

He seemed to weigh his words carefully. “There’s a little more going on here than that. Rachel thought she had some kind of stalker. She reported it to the cops, but there wasn’t anything they could do.”

Catriona gasped. “You think someone actually set that fire on purpose?”

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

“Then we should call the police. Now.” She lifted her cell phone, ready to report… what? She wasn’t sure exactly, but someone should at least tip them off.

“I’ll handle it.” He gripped her hand.

Stopping her.

Searing her with his callused heat.

She swallowed hard and eased her hand away. “That’s right. You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

“Military. Yes…” The corner of one blue eye twitched. “But I’m on medical leave right now.”

“That doesn’t make you any less of a police officer. All the skills you learned are still there and they’ll listen to your suspicions.”

“You would think so.” He smiled.

Sorta.

“I can see how a cop could get cynical, but you do such an altruistic job. The honor in that just blows me away.” And she hated that he didn’t seem at all proud of what he’d accomplished. “You followed your dream. That’s really cool.”