For Her Protection: 1 (Personal Protection) (17 page)

A war raging in her head—a battle between the desire to slap
the traitorous bitch and a small voice that said we all fuck up and Joyce was
family—Charlize watched her cousin.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Joyce,” she said.

Joyce’s lips parted before she gave a tight smile. Silence
stretched and Charlize swallowed more wine then glanced at the clock on the
oven.

“Can I ask you something?” Joyce whispered.

“Sure.”

“Were you and Simon happy? I mean were you happy when you
were with him?” Joyce took the corner of her lip between her teeth.

Charlize studied her, looked for the telltale signs that the
illusion had already burst and her cousin now glimpsed the man Simon really
was. “I wasn’t. We were wrong for each other. It sounds stupid to say that I
was unhappy, given that I stayed, given I was heartbroken when our relationship
ended.” She leveled her gaze at her cousin and hoped the message hit home. “But
it’s easy, so easy to get stuck. So easy to wake up one day and not know how
you became so dependent, so caged in unhappiness that the only thing worse than
staying is the fear of leaving.” She set down her glass and leaned closer. “But
it’s not too late for you, Joyce. You haven’t been together so long. You still
have time either to get out or set the tone for how things are going to be. Don’t
let yourself be caged, that’s not love.”

Joyce blinked repeatedly and set her still-full glass next
to Charlize’s “I didn’t say anything was wrong with us.”

“Really? Tell me then, when was the last time you went out
with friends? Hell, when was the last time you had a telephone conversation you
didn’t have to feel guilty about or hide?”

Her cousin said nothing but her lips quivered.

Charlize continued. “Let me guess, it’s been what, nearly
four months now? I bet your friends are starting not to call anymore. I bet
about now he’s talking to you about dropping out of college?”

“He’s right, nurses work terrible hours…” Joyce touched her
mouth with her fingertips. “He wants to take care of me. He’s just protective,
that’s all.”

Charlize’s muscles contracted. “No he’s not—he’s possessive.
There’s a difference. One has confidence, the other is childish.” Her breaths
quickened and conviction shot through her nerves. “A real man doesn’t need to
prop up his ego by diminishing or controlling you.”

Joyce’s hand moved from her mouth to clasp the base of her
throat. She flinched.

Charlize softened her tone. “A real man can share you with
your friends, your family and your job…he knows his needs aren’t the only ones
that count. He sure as hell doesn’t need to be jealous, because he knows you’re
always coming back to him.” Her voice drifted off and Connor’s face swam in her
vision. “The one you want will do what it takes to keep you safe but can watch
you talk to another man without feeling threatened, because he damn well knows
he earned your heart and deserves to keep it.” Her chest warmed and she continued.
“He’s always got your back no matter what. He believes in you—even when you don’t
believe in yourself.”

Things he’d said, things he’d done, the box sitting quietly
in the bottom of her wardrobe, they all clicked into place. She knew what
Connor had been trying to show her all along. She didn’t need to be someone
else to be a success. The only expectations holding her back were her own. He
believed in her—the real her.

“You’ve just worked out the person you’re talking about is
Connor, haven’t you?” Joyce said.

Charlize’s vision focused and she saw the tears on her
cousin’s cheeks. “Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Charlize gazed down at her dress. “I’ll start by wearing
purple.”

Connor stood at the top of the steps of the grand entrance,
hands clasped behind his back and tension rippling through his shoulders.
Vehicles lined at the entrance. Couples emerged from cars like buzzing bees,
humming with chatter.

But no Charlize.

He should have picked her up instead of asking Jason to
drive her before taking the rest of the night off. A limousine moved forward
and a black car rolled up to the entrance. Jason’s car, thank fuck.

The door opened and Jason unrolled his oversized body from
the vehicle. He glanced up and raised a hand. Connor tipped his head in
response. Jason moved to the back door and tugged it open. People moved past
and Connor stretched, gaze fixed on that door. One high-heeled foot touched the
ground then another, the rest of her obscured behind the door and the man
holding it.

Then the door closed and she emerged.

Heat flared through his body, winding its way into his
chest. She walked to the bottom step. Violet fabric flowed over her skin like
liquid—made her hair shine blacker, her skin whiter, her lips redder. Then she
gazed up at him.

He saw her for the first time—Charlize. The woman he loved,
wearing the dress. The one he’d bought for her, the one her heart wanted. And
that, more than the stunning picture she made, froze the breath in his
lungs—made him tingle down to his fingertips. And damn if his throat didn’t
ache with emotion, as if he was watching his bride walk toward him.

In a way he was. Even if the dress didn’t tell him, the look
on her face did. No more hiding. No more holding back. They were all in. He
took the steps one at a time but his knees jerked. He reached the bottom,
reached her.

They stared at each other and all he could do was put his
hands on her waist, remind himself they were in public. She grasped the lapels
of his jacket and tipped back her head.

Her lips trembled. “I love you, Connor.”

She leaned up and kissed him, hard and open-mouthed and
heedless of who might see. He kissed her back, crushed her to him but kept hold
of the passion tempting him to give it to her in full view. He pulled away and
rested his forehead on hers.

“You better prepare yourself when this thing’s over and I
take you home. It’s going to be out-of-control.”

She laughed softly. “You mean the other times haven’t been?”

“Not like this will be.” He straightened and rubbed his
thumb against her chin. “I love you, Charlize, like nothing I ever have before.”

Her chest rose and she smiled so wide he could count her
teeth. He fell harder.

She linked one arm through his and whispered, “Let get this
thing over with then.”

* * * * *

Charlize looked through the crowded room and caught sight of
Connor chatting to—how predictable—the security. Not in a way that made her
worry something was wrong, his movements were light and friendly. Perhaps he
was doing some schmoozing of his own. Crap, it only made her love him that much
more.

The way he’d let her do her thing, talk to who she had to,
without needing to keep a hand clamped around her arm, without getting pissy
that she didn’t speak only to him. He caught her eye every now and then and let
her know he was around—he was there if she needed him, if she wanted him.

A throat cleared behind her. She turned then smiled. Bob
handed her a glass of champagne. She took it and he raised his glass to her.

“To change,” he said.

She raised her glass to clink against his. “To change.” She
took a gulp. The fizz left a tangy coating on her tongue, a little too bitter
for her taste.

“I’m surprised you didn’t let me in on your announcement
today, I could have backed you up,” he said.

She didn’t miss the bristle in his undertone.

“I’m sorry, Bob. I thought with everything going on it was
best to keep the information to myself. Not give anyone time to try anything.”

Bob took a sip from his glass. “And the auditor? You say he’s
just looking at staffing?”

She sighed. She’d offended him, not what she’d meant to do.
He’d been the only man at Halifax to offer his support. “No he’s a forensic
accountant. He’s looking into what we spoke about. But the police said I should
keep it completely private.”

Bob’s pale skin seemed to grow a shade lighter, his lips
bloodless. “And the police are involved? That sounds serious.”

She took another sip without thinking, swallowed back a gag
at the horrid taste and held her champagne out to a waiter collecting glasses. “God
that’s horrible.” She turned back to Bob. “I’m hoping Gregory was the only one
involved. If that’s the case, we can move forward.”

“I certainly agree it’s time to move forward.” His voice
held a flatness she wasn’t used to hearing.

Her stomach churned. “I’m sure there are those who don’t
agree—Frank being one.” She glanced around. “Where is he anyway?”

“I have no idea.”

Her stomach rolled in a sick, I-just-ate-an-old-hotdog way.
Odd. She’d hardly eaten all day. “Excuse me, Bob,” she said. She caught Connor’s
gaze then indicated with her head toward the bathrooms.

He nodded and went back to his conversation but his gaze
never quite left her. She walked down the hall and the walls shifted.

The bathroom was only a few steps away. She quickened her
pace and stumbled into a stall. Her stomach cramped and she leaned over the
bowl and gagged. Nothing happened yet the urge to vomit remained. Dammit.
Better to get these things out. She slid two fingers to the back of her throat,
removing them just in time to empty her stomach into the toilet.

She heaved and gagged then flushed and went to the sink.
Bitterness coated her throat and tongue and her head grew foggy. She rinsed her
mouth and gazed into the mirror. She froze at the sight of the pale skin
shining back at her.

Holy
shit
…

When was her last period? Sure she was on the pill but no
contraceptives were foolproof. Could it be?

She covered her face with her hands.
No
,
not
now
.
Not when—for the first time in her life—things felt so right. She couldn’t give
up everything just yet.

I
need to get out of here
…

She smoothed her hair and stepped out into the hall. The
area seemed darker than before. Light flashed at the far end. She squinted and
caught the slight silhouette exiting the door into the ballroom—Bob? Her vision
swam.

A hand clamped over her mouth. The smell of tobacco on skin
triggered instant recognition and she reacted instinctively. Even with her
senses dulled she moved fast, drove her elbow into a soft middle, her heel into
the top of the foot behind hers and twisted free. She turned and ran.

She reached a door at the end of the hall and pushed through
it. Cold air hit her. Blank expanses of brick stretched in front of her. She’d
just taken an exit into an alley.

Shit,
Charlize
,
could you be any more like
a tragic, horror-movie victim
?

No. The thought pulled certainty out of her soul. She’s wasn’t
a victim. The door opened and Gregory stumbled out.

“I knew I’d have to do this the hard way.” His hand moved to
his jacket.

For a weapon? A gun or a knife…? She didn’t want to find
out. Her insides rolled but she pulled herself together. She’d only get one
chance. She lunged, down a little then up, slammed the side of her hand into
his windpipe, put her whole body behind the blow.

Gregory gasped, his hands clutched his throat. He collapsed
to the ground. She scrambled around him back inside. Light burst at the end of
the hall and the body that entered took up all the space. Her vision went white
for an instant and she leaned against the wall. Connor ran toward her, calling
her name.

He reached her, grasped her shoulders. “Are you okay? Talk
to me, Charlize, are you hurt?”

She smiled a little maniacally. “See? I can take care of
myself.”

“Of course you can,” he whispered and touched her face. “What
happened? Are you hurt?”

“No I just feel really funny. Gregory’s outside. I hit him
in the windpipe.”

His stared at the door. “Okay, baby, I think you might be in
shock.”

The lights brightened and footsteps rushed closer. Bob
reached them. “What happened?”

“Gregory’s out there, Charlize seems to be in shock.”

Bob glanced at the exit. “You go after him, I’ll stay with
her.”

Connor squeezed her shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll be right
back,” he said then sprinted to the exit.

Bob put an arm around her. “Come on—let’s find you somewhere
to sit.”

“Connor said stay…” She breathed.

“We’re not going far.”

Her limbs moved, obeying as if in a dream.

Connor exploded into the alley. His gaze flew over every
surface but only emptiness greeted him. The drone of cars from the street, the
faint tinkle of music only made the silence in the alley more ominous. As if it
stood apart from the rest of the world.

He stalked the alley toward the road. Patches of light from
the streetlamps turned the area into a matrix of shadows. Connor sidestepped
piles of dirt and rubbish. Gregory couldn’t have run far, not with a hit to the
windpipe. Connor moved with hardly a shuffle of sound. His body was a mass of
adrenaline. It twitched in his muscles, filled him to bursting. Blood, rage,
fury and fear drove him. In that moment was he was more animal than man.

He’d tear Gregory apart with his hands, wouldn’t even
hesitate. The thought should repel him but all he could see was the delirious,
wide gaze of the woman he loved, the woman that creature tried to hurt—twice.
Connor slid past a dumpster. The slightly sweet scent of rot coated the air.

A shuffle against metal froze him to the spot. He crouched,
listened.

Silence.

Then a soft scrape. He rose beside the dumpster, felt twice
his height. A rat? No…his gut told him another kind of rodent hid inside. One
that wallowed in filth—one that was made of filth. He put one hand around the
dirty rim of the dumpster, a foot against the side and leaped.

His feet landed with a
boom
against the bottom. A
pile of cardboard twitched in the corner. The fucking coward hid in the
rubbish.

“I’m only going to say this once—get up or I’ll fucking get
you up.” His voice sounded as rough as a broken bottle.

The pile quivered but didn’t rise.
So fucking be it
.

He plunged his hand through the cardboard until he met the
heat of a body. He curled his fingers against fabric and pulled. The round face
broke through the surface at the same time as a hand. The glint of steel caught
his eye and he heard a click. He moved and in a flash and the gun was his.

He spun the pistol in his hand and shoved it in the back of
his pants.
Too fucking easy
… He’d mastered the art of disarming his
opponent by age thirteen, thanks to Judo. He dragged the body to standing. A
crackling sound hissed from Gregory’s mouth. His chest heaved, whistling with a
screeching sound of air he tried to suck in.

Raw satisfaction curled through Connor. That’s my girl… A
hit to throat—exactly as he’d shown her. She’d done a good job too, done damage
just as he knew she could. That was the hardest thing to teach a woman, teach
any gentle person—to move past the fear of actually causing damage. When they’re
attacked, most people don’t even realize how much they hold back in their own
defense because of some built-in abhorrence to violence.

But you only get one shot to fight back and you’d better
damn well do it as if you’re fighting for your life—if you want to stay alive.
He studied the pathetic figure, beaten, cowering in his grip. Gregory didn’t
know it yet but Charlize had just saved his life. The murderous thump of Connor’s
blood dulled.

So maybe he wouldn’t wring the life out of an injured man
but he’d get justice.

Connor discovered it wasn’t as difficult as he’d thought to
drag two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of injured asshole out the dumpster or
through the building. Adrenaline gave him extra strength. He glanced down the
empty hallway, looking for Charlize. She’d most likely snuck off, gone back to
doing her thing with her work face on. He’d hoped she’d listen for once and
stay put but he should’ve known better. She never gave up or gave in—god love
her. He deposited Gregory with security.

They could deal with the scumbag, he needed to find
Charlize. He scanned the ballroom, walked around the perimeter, searched out
every hint of violet, every flick of dark hair and came up empty. He checked
the unoccupied rooms, the fucking ladies’ bathroom—nothing. He called her
phone. It rang for slow, agonizing minutes in his ear before going to
voicemail. A heavy dread like an anvil dropped straight on his chest. He
sprinted back to security then slowed. Smug prick Frank backed away from the
office just outside the main function area where Gregory was held.

A sliver of realization hit him. Security had insisted the
side exit was always locked—someone let Gregory in. He strode to Frank and
tapped him on the shoulder. Frank turned, a frown wrinkling his nose. Connor
closed his hand around Frank’s throat and slammed him against the wall with a
thud.

“Where is Charlize?”

Frank’s eyes bulged. Connor backed off just enough to let
the man speak.

“I don’t know.”

“Like fuck you don’t.” He squeezed again and shook the neck
in his fist. His chest heaved as if he was the one being choked.

“Hey,” a man called and then hands were on Connor, dragging
him back.

Frank bent over and gasped. Connor flexed his arms. He could
break free of the two security guards and pummel the shit out of Frank before
they’d be able to drag him off again. But that wouldn’t help Charlize.