The Protectors: Defending His Own / Guarding Jeannie. BEVERLY BARTON
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“What makes you think anybody else is involved in this case?” Charlie picked up the envelope from his desk, glancing at it casually as he turned it over.
“Buck Stansell has the drug market cornered in this county. And if Corey Looney’s death was drug related, the DEA is already unofficially involved.” Ashe dropped the hand he’d been holding out to Deborah.
She glanced back and forth from Charlie’s flushed face to Ashe’s cynical smile. The big boys? The DEA? No one had told her that Corey Looney had been executed because of a drug deal.
“What are y’all—” Deborah began.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Charlie laid the envelope on his desk, rested his hand on the back of his plush leather chair and looked Ashe straight in the eye.
“My boss is a former agent,” Ashe said. “All Sam Dundee had to do was make a phone call. I know everything you know, Blaylock. Everything.”
“Stop it, both of you!” Deborah jumped up, slammed her hands down on her hips and took a deep breath. “I have no idea what y’all are talking about, but I’m tired of you acting as if I’m not in the room. I’m the person whose life is in danger. I’m the one who should know everything!”
Ashe grabbed her by the elbow, forcing her into action as he practically dragged her out of Charlie’s office. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know at lunch.”
“Whatever I need to know!” She dug in her heels in the hallway.
Ashe gave her a hard tug. She fell against him and he slipped his arm around her. “It’s a beautiful fall day. Let’s pick up something and take it down to Spring Park for a picnic.”
Deborah jerked away from him. She couldn’t bear being this close to him. Despite their past history, she could not deny the way Ashe made her feel—the way no other man had ever made her feel.
“What was all that between you and Charlie?” Deborah stood her ground, refusing to budge an inch, her blue eyes riveted to Ashe’s unemotional face. “For a minute there I thought he wanted to take a punch at you.”
Ashe glanced around the corridor, listening to the sound of voices from the adjoining offices. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
“Just tell me this, is the DEA involved in this case?”
“Unofficially.” Ashe grabbed her by the arm again. “Come on. We’ll get lunch, go to the park and talk.”
“All right.” She followed his lead, outside and into the parking lot.
She didn’t resist his manhandling, macho jerk that he was. Ashe’s brutally masculine qualities had fascinated her as a teenager. Now they irritated and annoyed her. Yet she had to admit, if she was totally honest with herself, that she couldn’t imagine any other bodyguard with whom she’d feel more secure.
There was a strength in Ashe that went beyond the normal male quality. It had been there, of course, years ago, but she recognized it now for what it was. Primitive strength that came from the core of his masculinity, the ancient need to beat his chest and cry out a warning to all other males.
Deborah shivered. Everything male in Ashe called to all that was female within her. If he claimed her, as he once had done, would she be able to reject him? A need to be possessed, protected and cherished coursed through her veins like liquid fire, heating her thoughts, warming her femininity.
When he opened the passenger door of his rental car and assisted her inside, she glanced up at him. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Ashe hesitated just a fraction of a second. He looked at her lips. She resisted the urge to lick them.
“Where’s a good place to get take-out close by?” He shut the door, walked around the hood of the car and got in on the driver’s side.
“Stephano’s on Sixth Street has good food.” She clutched her leather bag to her stomach. “It’s on the left side of the street, so you may want to turn off on Fifth and make the block.”
When she returned home this evening, she’d tell her mother that this wasn’t going to work, having Ashe as her bodyguard. Even if he kept her safe from Buck Stansell, another few weeks of being near Ashe would drive her insane.
Ashe picked up a couple of meatball subs, colas and slices of sinfully rich cheesecake. Gazing down into the bag, Deborah shook her head.
“This is too much food. I can’t eat all of this. I have to watch my…” She left the sentence unfinished. She’d been about to tell Ashe McLaughlin that she had to watch her weight. Of course she had no need to tell him; he could well remember what a plump teenager she’d been.
“Splurging one day won’t spoil that knockout figure of yours.” Ashe kept his gaze focused on the road as he turned the car downward, off Sixth Street, and into the park area beneath the hill.
He thought she had a knockout figure? Was that the reason he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her all morning? Why he watched every move she made at the office? The thought of Ashe approving of her figure sent pinpricks of excitement rushing through her. Idiot! She chastised herself. You shouldn’t care what he thinks. You shouldn’t care what any man thinks, least of all Ashe. He didn’t want you when you were a plump teenager, and you don’t want him now. So there.
Liar! Good or bad. Right or wrong. You still want Ashe McLaughlin. You’ve never wanted anyone else.
“Is there a woman in your life back in Atlanta?” She heard herself ask, then damned herself for being such a fool. How could she have asked him such a question?
Ashe parked the car in the shade, opened his door and turned to take their lunch bag from Deborah. “No one special,” Ashe said. “Women come and go, but there’s been no one special in my life since I left Sheffield eleven years ago.”
Whitney, Deborah thought. Her cousin had been the only special woman in Ashe’s life. Jealousy and pity combined to create a rather disturbing emotion within Deborah. Both feelings constituted an admission that she still cared about Ashe.
And she didn’t want to care. God in heaven, she didn’t dare care. He had taken her innocence, broken her heart and left her pregnant. What woman in her right mind would give a man like that a second chance?
But then, Ashe hadn’t said or done anything to indicate he wanted a second chance.
“This place hasn’t changed much, has it?” Ashe looked around Spring Park, a small area of trees, playground equipment and picnic tables surrounding a small lake fed by an ancient underground spring.
“It’s a bit lonely this time of day and this late in the season. Most of the activity takes place over there—” Deborah pointed to the south of the park “—at the golf course.”
Ashe chose a secluded table on the west side of the park, near a cove of hedge apple trees, their bare branches dotted with mistletoe. The spring’s flow meandered around behind them on a leisurely journey toward Spring Creek. Laying down the paper sack, Ashe removed the white napkins and spread out their lunch. He handed Deborah a cup and straw. She avoided touching his hand when she accepted the offering.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, swinging his long legs under the picnic table.
Deborah sat across from him, gripping the plastic container of food as she placed the cola on the concrete table. “Why should I be afraid of you? You’re here to protect me, aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t asking if you were afraid that I might physically harm you. We both know that’s ridiculous. I’m asking why your hands tremble whenever you think I might touch you. And why you have a difficult time looking directly at me. Your eyes give you away, honey.”
She undid the plastic covering her meatball sandwich. “I feel awkward around you, Ashe. I guess I’m just not as sophisticated as the women you’re accustomed to these