“There was a woman. I’d rescued her from a faction of Islamic extremists and she was—” he hesitated for an instant “—grateful.” Gratitude was what he thought she’d felt, but that was something else he’d never be sure about. It could have explained the accidental way they’d kept meeting. Surely she’d made her interest clear. Or she could have been sent to destroy him. He’d last seen her two hours before the bomb had gone off. He had no way of knowing whether she’d been in the hotel.
“Did she die in the explosion, too?” Compassion warred with jealousy, and the latter was an unfamiliar, distasteful emotion. She didn’t want to hear Macauley say he’d loved this woman, that she’d been the only one to slip beneath his guard.
“I don’t know. Trey seemed to think that she may have arranged it.” His smile was self-mocking. “You could call it a going-away present for me. I never saw her again. I was Stateside shortly after leaving the hospital. But I found out later that she had a brother in the very terrorist group I supposedly rescued her from.”
“You blame yourself for trusting her.”
“Trust wasn’t a word I’d use,” he corrected her. “But I didn’t necessarily mistrust her. And that might have been my biggest mistake.”
He was a man who would learn well from mistakes, she thought. A man who would fight to avoid repeating them. “Did your superiors think you were at fault?”
“There was never enough evidence to prove who set the bomb, or why. It was accepted as just one of those things.” His mouth twisted. “Successes or failures weren’t measured in little things like the number of people who died. My job was to meet goals.” His voice dropped. “I was very good at my job.”
“So there is no one in the world who is blaming you for what happened at that hotel except yourself?” she inquired daringly. “Sometimes we’re our own toughest judge and jury.” She didn’t want to ask more, afraid of the answers she’d get. But the question that was burning inside her slipped out anyway, signaling her interest, and other emotions she didn’t dare share. “Did you love her?”
He heard the note of yearning in her voice and hated himself for being responsible for it. He walked toward her until he stood before her. He parted her legs with one knee and stepped between them. Putting a hand on either side of her, he lowered his face to hers. “Love had nothing to do with it,” he said huskily. “I didn’t care enough about her to worry about whether or not I could protect her and still do my job. But she was a distraction, one I couldn’t afford at that moment.” She was gazing at him mutely, and he wished he could read what was going on behind those wide eyes of hers. “I thought at the time that she was responsible for my reflexes being sluggish, my suspicions being soothed. But now I’ve met a lady who shoots the whole thought of objectivity to hell. One who could tempt a starch-collared priest. You should be running, baby. As fast and as hard as you can. Because a bodyguard overly interested in your body isn’t going to do you a whole hell of a lot of good.”
That pouty mouth of hers was trembling, and her lips parted slightly. Her eyes were fixed on his, and he knew that the glow of barely suppressed desire in hers was reflected in his own. His mouth was halfway to hers before his ears picked up a sound that shouldn’t have been there.
One second he was above her, mouth close to hers, and the next he was propelled into action. “Get inside,” he ordered. Without waiting for a response he gripped both her elbows and lifted her from the chair. He ushered her into the kitchen, and she heard, through the radio he’d left on the counter, a voice say, “Car’s coming up the drive at a pretty good clip, Mac!”
“Stay here,” he said firmly and ran down the hallway and out the front door. She obeyed for less than a minute. When she heard the shouts and squeal of car tires, she ran after him.
By the time she threw the door open, one side of her front porch was already engulfed in flames.
Chapter 12
Raine slammed the door and raced toward the stairs. Flipping light switches as she went, she stumbled into a spare bedroom and threw open the closet. She dragged down extra blankets, ran to the bathroom and threw them into the tub. The shower was turned on full blast, soaking the blankets thoroughly. Then she gathered them up, dripping wet, and ran downstairs. When she stepped out on the porch, she saw Macauley there with the two men who patrolled the property at night. One held a garden hose in his hand, and the steady stream of water he was spraying turned the flames to searing, hissing furls of steam. She dropped her load and shouted, “Help me with this.”
Mac turned to see her struggling with a large wet blanket. “I thought I told you to stay put,” he said frustratedly. Even as he spoke he took the blanket from her and began beating at the flames with it. The other man stepped toward her, picked up the second blanket and attacked another area of the fire. “We’ve called 9-1-1. You just need to go inside and stay there.”
She started to obey but before getting in the door turned to watch, numbness setting in as the men fought for control of the blaze. Just as they would conquer it in one area, flames would shoot up from another. Slowly, the men gained ground. When nothing remained but glowing embers, the tattered blankets were discarded. The man with the hose sprayed the porch and the surrounding area thoroughly, dousing even the most fervent sparks.
Raine stood staring at the soggy mess that used to be part of her porch. The flames had licked their way across the railing and left the porch floor charcoal. Smoke had blackened the white siding of the house in spots. The soot and grime on the once shiny paint seemed a perfect commentary on the turn her life had taken lately.
“You okay?” a voice rasped in her ear. She didn’t have to turn her head to know it was Macauley at her side. She didn’t answer.
He drew her into the circle of his arm and led her toward the door. “Let’s get you inside. Smith, Anderson,” he called to the two men still standing outside. “I’ll need to talk to you in the office.”
Raine allowed herself to be led into the house, but once Mac got her to the front hallway, he didn’t seem to know what to do with her. He cocked his head. “Is that water I hear running?”
She didn’t move. “I wet the blankets upstairs.”
He lowered his head to gaze intently into her eyes. Bringing both hands to her elbows, he rubbed up and down her bare arms in a gentle caress. “Why don’t you go up and turn it off, honey,” he suggested. “Better yet, take a long bath and relax. It’s over.” She appeared to weigh his words solemnly for a moment before turning silently and climbing the stairs.
Mac observed her retreat with a worried gaze. She was too calm, too quiet and much too obedient. He knew the combination spelled possible shock. He’d have to watch her carefully.
Going to the office to confront his men, he demanded, “Well?”
“Looked like a late-model sedan, no plates,” Anderson told him. “I chased it down the drive, but once it hit the road it was gone. Two passengers in the front seat.”
“Both dressed in dark clothes and ski masks,” Smith put in.
Hearing sirens approaching, Mac and the men went to the porch.
“There’s glass all around here,” Anderson said.
“Probably bottle bombs,” Mac grunted.
“Pretty basic,” agreed Smith. “Pour in some gasoline, stuff in some cloth and ignite. Instant torches.” The man broke off abruptly.
Following the direction of Smith’s gaze, Mac turned and saw Raine standing in the doorway. Walking swiftly to her side, he ran a finger along the soot on her jawline. “Doesn’t look like you got that bath taken,” he said softly. When she didn’t respond, his arms went around her of their own volition. Cupping her head in one hand, he coaxed it to his chest. He bent his head, and rested his chin on her hair. He closed his eyes tightly, rocking a little. His hand swept up her bare back. It was chilled beneath his palm, despite the balmy temperatures outside.
“I wanted to be here when the police arrive.”
Her voice sounded a bit more normal and he felt fierce relief. She was recovering from the shock of witnessing someone trying to torch her house. No matter how often he witnessed it, he never ceased to be amazed at her strength. But he couldn’t help worrying at her surface calm. Some time when the shock wore off, she was going to crash. All he could do was be there for her when that happened.
The police car and the fire truck arrived simultaneously. When the two officers and the fire fighters joined them, Mac filled them in on the events of the evening.
“They were yelling at each other when they saw us coming,” Anderson stated. “I heard one shout, ‘She’s not alone.’ They were in a hurry to leave then.”
“I’m sure they expected her to be by herself,” Mac stated grimly. “No one had reason to believe otherwise.”
The firemen looked around and pronounced the area saturated enough to prevent any embers from igniting. The officers took notes, asked a few more questions, then joined the firemen in surveying the damage. After promising to pass the information on to Detective Ramirez in the morning, the officers took their leave. The squad car was followed down the drive by the fire engine.
Raine returned to the house and huddled in a chair. All of a sudden she was cold, as if she’d been caught in a draft. She rubbed her eyes, which burned from a combination of smoke and stress, and stared straight ahead. It had been a while since she’d felt this fear, but she remembered its effects well. Intense enough to cripple a person, it could make her afraid to engage in a normal day’s activities. She’d spent more than a decade working through that fear. She wondered bleakly how long it would take to undo all she’d accomplished.
That was how Mac found her. He didn’t immediately see her when he entered the family room, and he scanned the area sharply. She was in the corner, in such a small ball that only the color of her dress made it possible to pick her out. He immediately crossed to her.
“I’m cold,” she murmured plaintively.
Reaching down and picking her up, he turned and dropped into the chair, arranging her on his lap. His arms surrounded her, and her head went instinctively to the hollow of his shoulder. He didn’t question the wisdom of his move. She needed to be held, and maybe he needed this as much as she did.
“Probably shock, as much as anything,” he said against her hair. “You need a hot shower to warm you up, and a shot of whiskey to put you to sleep.”
She wrinkled her nose against his shirt. “No, thanks. Whiskey wouldn’t make me sleep, it would make me unconscious.”
He wasn’t so sure that wouldn’t be a good thing. If ever a woman deserved a few blessed hours of unconsciousness, it was her. He didn’t know how to make sure the scene tonight didn’t trigger a flashback when she finally did manage to sleep. Passing out just might be the answer to avoiding that particular problem. But he wasn’t surprised that she’d refused that solution. She wasn’t the type to hide from her problems in the bottom of a bottle.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Macauley.” Her voice was weary. “And I just keep wondering why. I can’t figure out what I did to elicit this kind of hatred from somebody.”
His arms tightened around her. “You didn’t do anything. You’ve been targeted by someone with a sick mind whose motives are clear only to himself. Don’t start blaming yourself for this.”
“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I mean, I’m really, really scared. It’s crazy, because not even the accident shook me up like this. Part of me stands back and observes all this as if it’s happening to a stranger. And then I realize with a jolt that this is
me
. It’s all happening to me.” She was silent for a while before she spoke again. “I was never afraid to stay here alone, you know? Once I had the house all set up so I didn’t have to worry about being caught in the dark, it was always my haven. As soon as I’d approach the driveway a kind of peace always settled over me. I’m afraid I won’t ever feel that again in my home, even when this is over.”
“You won’t be alone here while there remains any hint of danger,” he said. Her admission of fear echoed a silent one of his own. Fear for her, for her safety. If she had been alone tonight, if she’d been sleeping, this act could have resulted in her death. The whole house could have gone up in flames, with her in it. He felt sweat pop out on his forehead at the thought. He could have lost her tonight, so easily. The threats were getting too real, and they were escalating ahead of the preventive measures he was putting in place. Had the fence and gates been finished, tonight would never have happened. He hated having her afraid, and he knew what it took for her to admit it to him. He didn’t much care for the feeling himself.
Somehow objectivity didn’t seem to matter anymore. There was nothing objective about the rage he felt each time someone tried to hurt her. Emotion, an uncomfortable amount of it, had crept into this job at some point, and damned if he knew what to do about it. His instincts had always been his mainstay, and every instinct he had was screaming at him. This woman was more dangerous than any he’d ever encountered. Seductive because she saw through him, through the defenses he’d built for years. Alluring in her vulnerability, and in her curious strength. And too damn sexy to be out on her own.
Regardless of what people thought of him, Mac O’Neill did have a few scruples. That’s what had had him holding Raine at arm’s length, but those scruples were growing pretty tattered these days. The danger of her situation seemed to weave a cocoon of intimacy around them. His role as her protector drew him nearer, even as he tried to resist the pull. He didn’t know how much more of this she could take, and he was wondering how much more
he
could take.
One thing was sure—sitting like this with her was playing hell with the one remaining ethic he had. Everything in him demanded that he reassure himself she was all right, in the most primitive way a man could. He wanted to lay her down and run his hands all over her, in a tactile exploration that would lead to more than his recognition of her well-being. Danger was a powerful aphrodisiac, but his fear for her was an even greater one.
She stirred then, and her hip pressed against his groin. He stifled the groan that was on his lips.
Raine raised her head. “I think I’ll go up now and take that bath you were suggesting.”
He had to agree, since it had been his idea. But the image of her in the tub, bubbles spreading alluringly to allow teasing glances at sweet secrets, danced through his mind. “Good idea,” he murmured. “And then you’ll come down for that drink I mentioned. It doesn’t have to be whiskey.”
“Thank heavens for that,” she muttered.
“But it will complete the relaxation and help you get some sleep. Okay?”
She nodded, and he helped her to her feet. She walked from the room and only then did he move, almost painfully to the kitchen. She might not want a whiskey, but he’d never felt more in need of a drink. Unfortunately, he didn’t dare take one. He could afford to dull his senses. He shifted uncomfortably. Although he’d welcome dulling his awareness of Raine.
She lolled her head back in the tub and turned on the tap with her foot. When she’d replenished the hot water in her bath, she turned it off again. Macauley had been right, she thought lazily. For the first time all evening she could feel tense muscles lose a little of their stiffness. Not completely, of course. There was only so much hot water could do, after all. But being held in his arms had started the process.
Blocking all thoughts from her mind for a few precious moments, she engaged in the repetitive task of soaking the bath sponge in the water and squeezing it gently out again. Over and over her hands repeated the simple action, and she watched it hypnotically. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep in the tub, but there really was no danger of that. Her trancelike state was her mind’s way of escaping the events of the last few hours. She didn’t want to think about the fire or the threats, or the persons responsible for them. She didn’t want to wonder about their motivations. And she didn’t want to feel afraid anymore.
She didn’t feel afraid while Macauley held her. Those were the only times since the rape she could remember feeling completely and utterly safe. It didn’t make sense to feel that way with a man like him. She’d known from the start that he had a wall around his emotions. But she’d sensed so much more since then.
He was holding his desire for her at bay. It wasn’t ego that told her that. There had been too many times when she’d read his true feelings on his face. Or lower. Heat suffused her cheeks, and it wasn’t caused from the hot water she’d just added. Only a couple of short days ago Macauley had joined her in this room, and the mask of desire stamped on his features had been the most seductive sight she’d ever seen. She knew there was no chance he would happen in tonight. Macauley O’Neill assuredly never made the same mistake twice.
That was how he viewed their night together, she knew. A slip of the natural guard that was so much a part of him. She doubted he was aware that the control he exerted over his emotions served to remind others to curb their own around him. Doubtless, he wouldn’t care. Emotion wasn’t logical or reasonable or rational. All the words that described almost every action he took.
Except on those rare occasions when he was tempted to forget them.
She rose then, the water sluicing off her, and stepped from the tub. She reached for a towel and dried herself, slipping into a short, silky robe she’d brought in. She stopped, catching her reflection in the mirror. He would assume the high color in her cheeks was the result of the warm bath. Only she knew it had been caused by memories of him touching her.