Secret Intentions. Paula Graves
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and her new husband were flying to Spain for their honeymoon the next morning, but they’d made plans to spend the night at a hotel in Birmingham. “You should hire Cooper Security to provide them with protection. Spain isn’t unreachable. And the hotel is probably vulnerable.”
“I’m taking care of it,” her father said flatly. “Your mother wants to talk to you.”
After a brief pause, her mother came on the line, her voice tight with tears. “Baby girl, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she assured her. “Really.”
“I can’t believe all of this is happening.” Her mother’s voice was dark with dismay. “First Edward Ross, then what happened to the Harlowes and now all this—”
“We’re going to figure it all out,” Evie said firmly.
“Here’s your father again.”
Her father came back on the line. “Let me speak to Cooper.”
Evie held out the phone to Jesse. “He wants to speak to you.”
Jesse took the phone, looking unperturbed. “General.” He listened a moment, glancing at Evie. “I can’t do that, sir.” He hung up the phone.
“Did you hang up on him?”
“He ordered me to take you home to him.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Ordered you?”
“He’s worried about you. And probably feeling guilty about the danger you’re in.” Jesse shot her a considering look. “He should feel guilty. I know he’s trying to protect you all, but he’s going about it the wrong way. I wish he’d let us provide protection for your family.”
“He’s never going to do that. It would be like admitting he was wrong about you, and you know how he hates to admit he’s wrong.” As Jesse started to move toward the sofa where she sat, she pushed to her feet, putting distance between them. She felt vulnerable and needy at the moment, and letting Jesse Cooper anywhere near her when she was in that condition was asking for a disaster. “I think I’d like to lie down awhile. You probably have more calls to make, right?”
His dark eyes narrowed as if he were seeing right past her excuses to discern the motives behind them. She crossed her arms in front of her, feeling suddenly naked.
“Okay,” he said. “Call me if you need me.”
“Will do,” she said over her shoulder as she retreated to the bedroom.
But she wouldn’t call him. Because the last thing she ever intended to do again was need Jesse Cooper.
* * *
T HE SAFE HOUSE was eerily silent, offering no distraction from the maelstrom of images racing through Jesse’s mind. He was a twelve-year veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps, had seen combat on three different continents and had killed more than one enemy soldier during his time in uniform. He’d made peace with what he’d been called upon to do by remembering his sacred duty to protect not only his countrymen at home but his brothers-in-arms fighting in the trenches with him.
So why couldn’t he get the chaotic sounds and images of the recent ambush out of his head?
Because it was Evie Marsh they’d been gunning for.
Jesse rubbed his jaw, his mind fixed on the sight of her pushing open the door of the dead security guard’s SUV and racing through the hail of bullets to reach Jesse’s position. Her blue eyes had been wide and scared, but she’d run without hesitation, trusting him to lay down cover fire to get her safely out of harm’s way.
As vulnerable as she’d looked, barely clad in the ruins of her rust-colored dress with her fancy hairdo falling around her face in a messy cloud, her courage had been a sucker punch right to his gut.
Hearing a door open in the back of the house, his hand went automatically to the pistol holstered at his hip. He relaxed when, a moment later, Evie emerged from the hallway looking soft and sleepy-eyed.
“What time is it?” she asked.
He glanced at his watch. “Around nine forty-five. You slept awhile. You hungry? Not much here except canned stuff, but I could heat up some soup or something.” He’d had soup and crackers for his own dinner.
She shook her head and sat on the sofa beside him, her body radiating warmth. “Any news while I was playing Rip van Winkle?”
“All quiet.”
She pulled her bare feet up to the sofa, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “I suppose it was too much to hope they’d nab those guys trying to leave the state.”
“I doubt they’ve tried to leave the state.”
Evie’s gaze slanted up to meet his. “No, they’re not exactly the type to retreat when their mission doesn’t go right the first time, are they?”
“They’re probably already ticked off about losing the Harlowes last month. Especially without getting the general’s part of the code out of any of them. They need a win.” Jesse tried to study Evie’s appearance without her noticing his scrutiny. She looked tired but the swelling and redness around her eyes and nose had gone down considerably. By morning she’d have few signs of her run-in with the pepper spray.
There was a faint purple bruise on her cheekbone, however, that might look worse the next day. He brushed his fingertips against the blemish before he could stop himself. Her gaze snapped up to his.
“You have a bruise.”
She backed away from his touch. “Must have banged my face on that box when they were pushing me inside.”
“Are you sure that’s all it was?”
“Nobody hit me. Believe me, I’d have told you.” Her lips curved in a wry, humorless grin. “Though I’d take getting socked in the face three times a day over being shot at.”
Something in the tone of her voice made his gut ache. “Did you have a nightmare about it? While you were asleep?”
She looked away. “I don’t remember.”
She did remember. Vividly. He could tell by the look on her face, the tense set of her shoulders and the white-knuckled grip of her clasped hands.
“I used to have combat-related nightmares all the time. Still do sometimes.”
“So they don’t go away?” Despair tinged her voice.
“They usually soften with time. Sharp edges dull, sounds mute.” Blood didn’t run as freely or as crimson-dark after a while.
“I don’t know if Wilson had a family,” she murmured after a moment of tense silence. “I don’t even remember if he wore a wedding ring.”
“You didn’t get him killed, Evie.”
“He wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t been guarding me.”
“He wouldn’t be dead if those men hadn’t shot him. That wasn’t your doing.” He slid his arm across the back of the sofa, letting his fingers brush against the curve of her shoulder. “First rule of engagement—remember who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy.”
“No, the first rule of engagement is to be courteous to everyone but friendly to no one,” she countered.
He smiled. Should have known he wouldn’t get that one past the daughter of a Marine Corps general. “You’d have been a good Marine.”
The wistful look she gave him caught him off guard. “I wanted to be a Marine. Did you know that?”
He shook his head, surprised. “No. Why didn’t you?”
“Mother didn’t want another Marine to have to worry about. And Dad agreed.” She rested her