Sworn to Protect Page 6

  The thought sobered me and I righted ourselves, ending the kiss but reluctant to let her go. “Wow.” I heard her sigh. “Better than in my dreams.”

  Huh, what? My grip tightened around Katie’s waist at the thought of what I might be doing in her dreams. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, figuring it was my duty to fulfill her every wish, right? Yeah, not in my FBI job description. My job was to keep her safe at any cost, even if that meant stepping in front of a bullet for her. There were many times I had to say no to things my protectee wanted, especially if it would endanger their life. Funny, now I wasn’t saying no to Katie, I was saying no to myself.

  I stepped back, putting some distance between us even as my body protested. I could see desire reflecting in Katie’s eyes, as our breaths came shallow, and I resisted reaching for her again.

  “Okay,” she says after a moment, taking a deep breath, “you mentioned a leak at the FBI, want to start there?”

  Katie is all business and asks a few clarifying questions as I set about telling her what I know of our situation, linking the timing of her attack to her case and evidence getting logged in the FBI computers, which could imply someone inside the FBI system saw the file and leaked it, so we had to get off the grid. The FBI doesn’t know where we are, Aunt Claire believes we’re just on holiday and that Katie is my girlfriend. That gets a raised eyebrow from her, but she holds back further comment. Jeff is the only one at the FBI that knows I’m assigned to protect Katie.

  “Which one is Jeff? She asks. Then admits she didn’t remember his name, just called him Desk Boy.

  I chuckle as I see Jeff through her eyes. “It’s small things,” she says. “A little less in shape than most agents and slower reaction time, the rapid eye movement when you enter the room checking for hostiles that he doesn’t do.” I wonder if Jeff realizes he’s lost the edge. He’s not that old; he could get it back if he got out from behind the desk every once in a while, went to the gym, even the range would help. But we digress.

  I debate whether to tell her about my uncle; it is his house we are crashing at, after all. It’s been tumbling around in my head, along with other questions: why was Jonathan Colby killed? Is it more than coincidence that he worked for Uncle Jackson? I decide to keep those to myself for now but want to ask Jeff if they’ve uncovered a motive for what got Colby killed. I need more information before I give Katie a scoop like this. Yeah, I know, she’s not that kind of journalist, but I’ve seen how the media treats Uncle Jackson in the news and I’m not about to throw rumors out there to feed the wolves.

  Katie and I talk more about the plan and our next steps. This is day one. For now its radio silence, it’s not safe to contact the FBI yet. We can watch the news. If they capture the killer, Jeff will want the media to broadcast it and quickly, so we’ll hear. I’ll call him tomorrow morning and get an update.

  In the interim, we have to settle in and assume we’ll be here all of next week, “maybe less if we’re lucky, but the video doesn’t show the guy’s face so unless we can figure another way to identify him, we have to do the legwork, and that will take time.”

  Katie has listened and been objective so far. “What if they don’t catch him next week?”

  I see distress in her eyes and I reach out to grab her hand instinctively. “Let’s not worry about that yet. I don’t want you to worry at all; I won’t let anything happen to you.” She doesn’t pull away, but I don’t see the fear lessen either.

  “Enough of the serious stuff for now. Let’s go for a walk before it gets too dark. There’s a path that follows the fence and down to the south pasture where the horses graze.” Throwing on some shoes, we are out the door a couple of minutes later.

  We walk down the path and I regale Katie with stories about the property, pointing out the equipment sheds and the training paddocks. We’ve had some champion horses here over the years and I’m still in awe of their power and grace. A couple of foals show promise of speed, their shoulders and muscular legs well proportioned. I explain that my aunt has a magical touch in determining if a horse would be a champion. “She says the horse must want it. It’s not enough that he has the right build and assets; if his heart isn’t in it, she’ll just breed him and let his foal become the racer. So she has a conversation with the horse about what he wants.”

  Katie looked at me, tilting her head, “Claire talks to the horse?”

  I nod. “Yep, by herself, no one around. So I’m not sure if it’s in the body language or if she understands the sounds a horse makes or if it’s telepathic communication. She’s never been wrong.”

  Katie shook her head. “That’s strange, but amazing.”

  The sun is dipping behind the hills, throwing a soft glow of twilight around us and stirring up a warm summer breeze. I breathe in deep, the smell of the alfalfa and hay, mixed in with the sweat of the horses, takes me back to the summers of my youth.

  When I first saw the farm, I was eight-years-old. I remember my parents had an argument a few days before Mom and I left for Virginia horse country and I spent several days worried that my parents were getting a divorce. I sulked, continually complaining about everything from the size of the forks to the blanket on my bed to the horses—they were stupid animals. That was Claire’s limit. She dragged me out of the barn and sternly told me I was no longer allowed in the barn until I respected the horses.

  I was a little shocked and started crying, too emotional with thoughts of my parents’ splitting up to worry about looking like a sissy. “Between you and I, what’s this about?” Claire asked.

  I sniffled and tried to maintain my obnoxious behavior. “I hate it here. I want Mom and me to go home!”

  Claire laughed. “Why would you want to go back to the stuffy city? What would you do all day with the summer heat and your friends at camp or in the country?”

  “I’d spend it with Dad,” I said stubbornly.

  Claire thought about that for a minute. “Do you normally spend all summer hanging with your Dad?”

  “Yea.” I got excited thinking maybe Claire could help me. “He takes me to the beach, and we go to baseball games and get hotdogs.”

  “Is that the only reason you want to go back to the city?”

  I chewed on that question. How much did Claire know? How much would she tell me? “We need to be home, so Dad and Mom don’t get divorce.” It came out in a whoosh and I looked at Claire with all the hope I could muster.

  She furrowed her brows, her eyes forming slits before she responded. “Well, we don’t want that. Let’s go call your dad and see what we can work out.” She took my hand to walk back to the house, and for the first time since I’d arrived, I felt like something was going right. Aunt Claire would fix it.

  “What are you thinking?” Katie asks as I realize we’ve stopped walking.

  “I spent my summers growing up on this farm,” I sigh contentedly. The call to Dad was an eye-opener. Claire told him under no circumstances could he ship his son off to the country while he divorced my mom. She winked at me, and I heard Dad yelling through the phone, accusing Claire of day drinking. She corrected him. This wasn’t about her; it was about what Anthony thought of the situation. He should think about that then figure out how to fix it. Then she hung up on him, smiling at me the whole time.

  The next day Dad showed up on the farm and he sat down with Mom and me to explain that they weren’t getting a divorce. Dad had his project extended and needed two weeks in the city to wrap it up before he could come to the farm. That’s what they’d argued about; Mom wanted to stay with him while he finished; he didn’t want to delay my summer on the farm. Before he drove back to the city that day, Dad and I walked down the river; he told me how he met my mom and how she blew him over, he fell in love with her instantly. He had to beg her to go on a date with him and how even now she still had him wrapped around her little finger, but the best part was she knew how much power she had over him, yet she never used it. “That’s how I know how much she lov
es me. She could have me running in circles, waiting on her hand and foot, and I’d do it gladly; but she won’t.” He told me I should hold out for love like that.

  I looked at Katie then pointed toward the creek. “See that log that juts out over the water?” She nodded. “I had my first conversation about love with my father sitting on that log when I was about eight.” I smiled and thought about all the firsts I had on the farm.

  I think about the crush I had on Tiffany until she told the neighborhood about my reaction to Stephanie Chamberlain and I think about hanging out with my best buds, Billy and Chuck, two brothers from the Hastings farm over the hill. We used to get into trouble staying out after dark. I know I had to muck out the stalls on more than one occasion; Billy and Chuck got sterner punishments, their daddy was old school, liked to use his belt as a learning tool.

  Once, Billy and Chuck hid out from Old Man Hastings when they knew they were in trouble, but thought they’d avoid punishment if they waited to go home until their Dad had left on a business trip. They succeeded, but when Mr. Hastings returned, he hadn’t forgotten, and they still were punished. That didn’t seem to deter them. Billy now ran the Silverbacks MC, having never grown out of the tendency to get in trouble. Chuck straightened out, now goes by Charles, and took over his father’s ranch a few years back.

  I grabbed Katie’s hand and started pulling her off the path and through the trees. “I want to show you something.” I knew this grove better than some of the streets in DC. There was still a path to the old cabin; someone made regular trips out here. I darted around a large boulder and started climbing the smaller boulders behind it, reaching down to help Katie. When we got to the top I pointed to the cabin that lay about fifty feet in front of us. “My friends and I used to come up here to look at Playboy magazines, sip from a bottle of bourbon we’d snuck out of the house, and talk shit. I liked to hang with them, but I loved this view more.” I turned around as did Katie and I heard her suck in her breath.

  “WOW! You can see for miles. It’s so beautiful.”

  I looked at Katie, the remnants of the day reflecting off her skin and in her eyes. “Yeah, beautiful, alright.” The waning sun shone in her eyes, silver flecks shooting little lightning rods my way. There was a regal quality about Katie, from her patrician features and strong posture, but also a little rough and tumble shimmer to her that should be at odds but wasn’t.

  I could have stayed up there for hours watching twilight descend and envelop Katie in the mystery of the stars, but while I can make it back down blindfolded, I knew Katie couldn’t. “Come on; we better get back before its too dark to see.”

  The rest evening was uneventful. I threw a couple of potatoes and steaks on the grill with corn on the cob boiling on the stove. We ate on the deck and talked about movies and music. After dinner, I showed Katie to one of the guest rooms and we bid each other good night. I retreated to my room and stood under the shower as Katie’s face and her laugh and her touch invaded my senses. My balls tightened and I pictured Katie on her knees, looking up at me with a sly grin as I jerked off.

  KATIE

  I wasn't tired.

  I'd unpacked my clothes after saying good night to Anthony. I went through all my gear, ensuring I had everything I needed to work on my documentary. I debated setting it up but realized I needed a table. I didn't have one in my room and I wasn't going out to the common area. If I went out there, I was sure to end up in Anthony's arms, demanding we finish what we started with that kiss.

  The kiss. My lips still tingled and my body heated with the memory. When his lips touched mine, it was like the power switched on. My body vibrated as the current flowed through me, curling my toes. My little fantasies of how Anthony would feel pressed against me paled with the real thing. His hands splayed on my back, one near my ass, leveraging to bring our cores together; the other skimming up my spine to grip my neck and fisted my hair molding me where he wanted. I gave him control as my knees gave out under the onslaught of his kiss. He smelled like pine and lust and I breathed him in. Surrounded by the fields and trees, this was his territory and he was claiming me as part of his land. Oh, how I welcomed him to explore his discovery.

  By the time he pulled back, I was a hot mess inside. My fantasies would not be enough to appease me. He'd awakened my body and it craved more. This was bad on so many levels. We stared at each other, heaving, trying to tame our mutual desire. He wanted me, but it crossed a line with his job, a forbidden lust. I wanted him, but under my rules, which meant just sex. Satiate the biological need only. I don't do relationships. But how do you keep that separate when sharing a space twenty-four seven?

  Our walk showed me another side of him; the wide-eyed child juxtaposed with the fierce protector got me all hot and bothered again. As much as I wanted Anthony to provide me the physical release my body yearned, I knew I should keep my distance. I didn't want to lead him to think there could be more between us.

  I'd taken a shower, hoping a little me action would pacify my pulsing pussy, but I felt unsatisfied even though I'd finished. And anxious. For the first time in almost two days, I was alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that reminded me of the killer who invaded my home, who was out there, right now, searching for me, waiting to try again. So now I was pacing. What I needed was a drink. A little bourbon to help me relax and maybe I could sleep.

  I hadn't heard Anthony moving around for a while, so I snuck to the kitchen in the dark, poured two fingers into my glass, then stood by the picture window overlooking the meadow while I sipped the spicy beverage, feeling the warmth spread as it slipped down my throat. The moonlight reflected off the dewy grass making the field sparkle. It was so peaceful out here; I was jealous that Anthony got to spend his summers here. Part of me didn't want to leave. When I finished my drink, I returned to my bedroom and crawled under the covers, fretting a bit until I envisioned Anthony lying next to me; his arms wrapped protectively around me, promising nothing could harm me.

  It was just a fantasy, just something to help me sleep; it didn't mean anything more.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KATIE

  The doorknob shook in the wood. I had to get that fixed. It had been loose for a while, but I always had more important things to do. The doorknob only shook like that when someone was trying to unlock the door. There was a trick to it. You had to lift the knob a little so the lock could disengage. Otherwise, the pressure on the door wouldn't let you open it. I got good at jimmying it, but Annie never could figure it out, always pounding on my door to let her in, even though she had a spare key. I wasn't expecting anyone, and Annie was the only person who had a key, except me. Annie stopped trying the knob weeks ago, now just yelled at me.

  So who was trying to open my door?

  My hair stood on end.

  Not anyone I wanted in my house.

  I had to hide or find something to defend myself, but I looked around and the room was empty. Strange, it wasn't just orderly; it was completely empty. Where was my coffee table, my sofa, or pictures of my college friends? I used to have a vase, blue bubble glass that I kept on the off chance I decided to get cut flowers. That would be extremely handy right now. I could bash my intruder over the head with it. But I looked and it's not on the shelf by the TV; the TV isn't even there.

  If I can't defend myself, then I need to hide. I run toward my bathroom, but the door won't open. Neither will the door to my bedroom or the sliding door to my balcony. I'm trapped. I hear the telltale sound of the lock disengaging and the door swinging open.

  Oh My God! I'm going to die.

  I scream as loud as I can and hope someone comes before he gets to me, but it's no use. The masked man is back and he's shaking my shoulders. I'm trying to break free as I continue to scream. Then I hear a sound far away. Anthony is calling my name.

  "Anthony! Help!' I cry out.

  "Katie, I'm here. You're safe. No one can hurt you." Now it's not the masked man, but Anthony, who has me by the shoulders and tears
run down my face as I throw my arms around him.

  "Shh, Katie. It was just a dream." His hand is rubbing my back, calming my shivering body. He pulls me into his arms as he lies beside me and continues to rub my back. I drift back to sleep in moments.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning I wake to an empty bed. Was any of that real? Or was it a dream within a dream? I'm groggy and need caffeine. I stumble out of bed and walk dazed into the kitchen, fill up the coffee pot with water and grounds, turn the machine on and stare at it while it brews.

  "Rough night?" Anthony's husky voice chuckles from behind me, and I spin around, catching his gaze as it roams over my body, heating me like the brew behind me. The coffee pot dings and I use the excuse to turn away from his gaze. Filling my mug, I reach for a second mug, "would you like some coffee, Anthony?"

  "Sure," he sputters, sounding uncomfortable.

  I glance over my shoulder, Anthony quickly training his eyes out the window, almost the same spot I'd been standing last night. I brought the mug over to him.

  "Thanks." He took a sip and turned sharply to me.

  "What?"

  "This has milk and sugar in it?" He said it like he was questioning me.

  "Yeah, I added two spoonfuls of sugar. So?"

  "How did you know I took my coffee with sugar?"

  How did I know? Do I tell him I've memorized everything about him since I first saw him in the coffee shop, where he'd ask the barista to add simple syrup to his latte? That's borderline stalker stuff. Probably best not to say.

  I shrug it off and go back to sipping my own, as I walk back to my room to shower and get dressed for the day.