Protector (15 page)

“Okay, buddy, enough tap-dancing around what you do. I get that your pal is with the NSA. Is that what you do? If not, what branch? You really can’t expect me to just keep going along with this on your say-so, while I’m kept in the dark.” Could he be CIA after all, in spite of what he’d said? Didn’t they take care of overseas cases? How did things get handled when somebody was in a top, top, top secret job?

Without a doubt, these people had unlimited technological resources at their fingertips— and they all spoke with American accents.

“I work for the good guys.”

“Oh, you’re into politically correct terms. Sure, I’ll call a spy an agent if it makes you feel better.” Why did he have to be the one to watch over her? His presence only served as an abrasive reminder of her gullibility.

“I work for the United States military,” he said simply.

“The military?” She scrambled to keep up with this latest surprise. “I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked. They have investigators and undercover guys like on that TV show, right?”

“That’s not exactly what I do, but basically, yes. And there aren’t as many walls between agencies as you would think.”

“You share information?”

“And toys.”

“Ah,” she said, a picture of how he worked beginning to take shape in her mind, of how he’d been undercover as a
blackjack dealer, fooling her the entire time, damn him. “I must have missed the episode where military agents plaster a kiss down my n—”

“Jolynn.”

“What?” She stomped her foot in frustration.

“Remember when we were in the car and I told you headquarters was listening to every word?”

“Yeah, you said you
lied
.”

“Not this time.” He tapped a finger along the edge of a framed reproduction of a Van Gogh self-portrait.

“Oh.” Jolynn deflated.

How much of what they’d shared over the past days had been overheard? He made it all sound so low-key when she’d seen firsthand today how it was anything but.

And all these agencies had come together with all these “techno toys” because of her father.

She shivered. Brushing past him, she peeked through the blinds at the street below. The casual pace of the locals trekking home from work or sitting on the front stoop for a smoke seemed too innocent to harbor the kinds of threats she’d experienced in a single day. The familiar beauty of rural Sicily, complete with the air of history and decay, cautioned her. She knew all too well the darker underside of her father’s world.

She’d protected herself the only way she knew how, by running to Dallas after college. Why had she been so stupid and returned? Her grip tightened until the wooden shutters dug into her palms.

“Jolynn, damn it, if you want to stay alive, you need to listen.” Scowling, he crossed his arms over his chest, betraying no lingering signs of the gentle scholar. “Stay away from the window.”

She let the wooden slat slip from her fingers. “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic,
Chuck
?”

His eyes narrowed. “How do your ribs feel after that little party onshore, hosted by your dad’s pals?”

Jolynn winced, more from his words than any ache in her side. “Okay, okay, I get your point.”

“You were lucky— this time.”

The air conditioner rumbled to life as she moved away from the window. Shivering, she rubbed her hands along her arms. The mud caked to her blouse prickled against her skin, an ever-present niggling reminder of how close she’d come to foolishly believing in Chuck Tomas— Tanaka. “I wish one of those two people downstairs would show up with our clothes.”

“Go ahead and shower.” He glanced up, as if only just realizing what he’d said. The air crackled in the silence following his loaded suggestion. “I have work to do.”

Her eyes widened ingenuously. “Oh, did you forget something for math class?”

Chuck turned away and rested his laptop computer on one of the ladder-back chairs at the simple wooden table set for two. He grabbed the lace tablecloth and gathered up the romantic place settings into a clanking bundle. He set it in the corner, then opened his Pentium on the scratched tabletop. “I need to check in.”

“I thought we already did that downstairs.” She took in the carelessly discarded pieces of china and the single rose bud vase. The symbols of romance seemed to mock her from across the room.

“You gave them your version, now I need to fill in the blanks with mine.” He kept his back to her as he knelt to plug in the computer.

“
Does that include telling them how you used me? How you made me talk by flashing your dimples?”

Chuck glanced over his shoulder, then dropped his gaze to the cord in his hands. “Get your shower.”

“Chatty as always, aren’t you.” Jolynn stared at his hunched shoulders, the three feet between them wider than the Mississippi. She should have been glad.

She stepped into the bathroom and nudged the door shut with her hip, wincing as the motion jarred her ribs. Her side hurt, even though the doctor they’d brought in assured her nothing was broken. Jolynn squashed the self-pity. Her father’s rib cage had been cracked open, for heaven’s sake, and she was whining over a few bruises.

How much did her father know about the afternoon’s events? Was he worried? In spite of his cool treatment, she knew he would never tolerate someone threatening anything of his. And what if anger made his heart condition worse?

Why couldn’t life be simple?

She hooked her toe in the back strap so she wouldn’t have to bend over and eased off her sandals. She ached inside as well as out.

She shimmied her shorts off her hips and down her legs, the muddy cloth rasping along her calves on the way to the floor. She kicked them aside. Grasping the blouse at the bottom, she began to raise her arms. The cry of pain slipped past her lips before she could think to stifle the noise.

Chuck crashed through the door as the echo faded. Face-to-face with Jolynn, he exhaled, leaning against the wall. His guarded eyes traveled down and back up her half-clad body.

Standing in front of him wearing nothing but a muddy silk shirt and pink bikini underwear, Jolynn wondered how
much more torment could be packed into a single day. She felt bone tired and soul weary.

Her knees buckled, and Chuck slid his hands under her arms. His gentle touch belied his reserved gaze, nudging aside the last brick in Jolynn’s crumbling wall of self-control. He helped her sit just as the tears flooded down her face.

“I can’t get my blouse over my head.” She knew her voice sounded pitiful, and she simply didn’t care.

For years, she had tried being strong and independent, yet her life was a mess. She’d finally trusted someone and almost ended up dead.

“Okay. Let’s get you out of this.” His controlled voice rumbled in the small bathroom. Chuck tugged the shirt on her uninjured side and helped slide her arm through. “Duck your head.”

He slipped the cotton blouse free and let it fall down her other arm. Their breaths entwined as Jolynn sat, wearing nothing but a pink lace matching underwear set.

A part of her longed for Chuck to make a move, come on to her so she could label him as scum for taking advantage of their position. This would only offer more proof that he was the kind of man who would use her to get to her father.

Another option, that he might be too honorable to act on his impulses, unsettled her. She didn’t want him to be a nice, decent guy after all. Then she would have to analyze her own feelings for him, and that scared her to her toenails because then he could hurt her. So much.

The most painful scenario of all seemed the most obvious answer. Without the glitter of her carefully constructed facade, he didn’t want her.

All three choices sucked. She felt all of twelve years old again, gawky and unattractive, unwanted and unloved.

She tore her gaze from his, lifting a hand towel off the counter. She dabbed her flushed cheeks before pressing it against her chest while she waited for him to unhook her bra. He leaned forward, bringing her face level with his chest until she could smell him, feel his heat.

See his pupils widening with unmistakable desire. An answering heat seared her veins as she realized she hadn’t imagined the attraction after all. He may have been lying about everything else, but not that.

Chuck reached behind her, his touch tingling along every nerve until her breasts tightened in response. He pulled away, and the straps of her bra loosened, slipping down her arms.

She pressed the towel closer to her chest, holding it firm in counterpressure against the latest ache— an intense longing to ditch her clothes and lose herself in out-of-control sex with this man. “I think I can manage from here.”

He cleared his throat, stepping back. “Call out if you have trouble again.”

“Just go away. I don’t need your kind of help anymore.”

*  *  *

Chuck eased the door closed and slumped against the wooden panel. He struggled to will away the throbbing drive coursing through him. His hands clenched in white-knuckled fists.

The angry bruise staining her skin below the ridiculous hand towel was a mere scrape compared to the horrors Chuck had seen during his years of undercover work. He could envision with graphic clarity the atrocities men and women inflicted with unthinking ease upon someone under their control. But that didn’t ease the guilt he felt for putting the bruise on her perfect skin.

For a moment by the catacombs, he’d let his guard down, and damn it all, he knew better. While Jolynn was
not
the bitch who’d lured him in with sex, then tortured him for military secrets, she was a distraction all the same. Acknowledging his culpability in the events on the riverfront didn’t bring him any peace. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. One fact shone clear, and Chuck embraced it.

He would not fail again.

Resolute, he pushed away from the door and crossed the room, attempting to ignore the canopied bed dominating the honeymoon suite. He settled behind the computer and lost himself in routine. He clicked through codes and layers of encryption until he’d logged in to their security system on the
Fortuna
. He tried to tell himself he could keep her safe if he regained his control, his objectivity.

Work drew him in as he followed up with Berg on the encryption program he’d run on the odd series of repeating numbers that had generated from a few of the slot machines. Now if Berg could cross-check the timing on those patterns with old surveillance footage of the casino floor…

Chuck barely noticed Nuñez arrive with coffee, but consumed half a pot of the rich brown blend of Arabica and Robusta anyway. Even through his intense concentration, he registered the purity of the Italian brew as he e-mailed the first of his reports.

Absently, he reached to turn on another lamp, the meager light filtering through the shutters having faded with the crappy day. As he shifted back to the computer, his gaze locked on Jolynn silhouetted in the bathroom doorway.

“Hi.” She tossed her damp hair over her shoulder.

Damn.
“Hi.”

Suggesting the shower, he’d imagined her returning enveloped in a voluminous terry cloth robe, her allure
masked by yards of thick cotton to her ankles. Instead, the hem of her silky robe stopped midthigh, leaving a long expanse of leg bare. Her hair hung in a wet spiraling mass just past her shoulders. Water dulled the vibrant red to a deep crimson.

Jolynn, decked out in all her bold colors, clunky jewelry, and alluring body, was temptation enough. Jolynn, with her face scrubbed free and her toes curled against the hardwood floor, made the other vision pale to insignificance.

“Do you need me to brush your hair?” What the fuck? He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Your side must make it tough to reach.”

“I’d rather wake up with a tangled rat’s nest. Thank you all the same, Tomas-Tanaka.” She clutched the plunging vee of the robe closed, her eyes betraying not the least hint of forgiveness.

“You’re welcome.” He didn’t bother to respond to her taunts. The last thing either of them needed was for him to add to the tension already tunneling through the room.

“Do you have to be the one to stay here with me?” She eased on to the corner of the bed, her mouth tight.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“I hate it when you say that.” She punched the mattress. “You spit the single word out like a wise old parent.”

He shrugged. Jolynn was right. He’d never been one for lengthy speeches. Why waste the words? “I’m responsible for you. It’s that simple. You can’t just dial in a delivery order for the protective service of your choice.”

“Thank you for explaining the complicated rules to simple little old me.”

She batted her eyelashes and donned that vapid smile he’d already learned she used against dolts.

“Cut the airhead act,” he snapped, frustrated with himself, with her, and with the whole damned mess. “I’ve seen your file all the way down to your college transcripts.”

“That’s right.” She perched on the edge of the bed, her robe gaping as she leaned forward. “You know all about me now. But I don’t know anything about you, do I, Secret Agent Man, College Student Chuck Tomas-Tanaka? You lie for a living.” Anger radiated from her like an expanding storm cloud.

“Jolynn, I work for the air force, not the mob.” He kept his voice calm in spite of his rising irritation with himself for botching his dealings with her. “I only did my job.”

“The air force?” She blinked in surprise. “Okay, that’s a surprise.”

“How so?”

“I would have guessed army or marines because you’re so… uh… pumped.”

After the surgeries he’d endured to repair his broken bones, he’d worked out nonstop, needing every bit of muscle strength to accommodate for bone and joint weakness. And yeah, maybe he’d needed to let off some steam, punch back at a world that had dealt a near knockout blow to him. “If you’re insinuating that the air force and navy guys can’t kick butt in a PT test, you’d better keep that to yourself around my pals. Especially Vapor. He’s this big-ass scary biker dude with a shaved bald head—”

But she wouldn’t be meeting his friends. What the hell was he thinking? She stared back at him curiously, waiting.