Protecting Her Own. Margaret Daley
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protector.”
“It’s okay to accept help, and whether you want it now or not, I’ll be helping you. This is my case, my problem.”
“I know. So where do we start?”
“We! There is no we in this. You’re the victim, not the investigator.”
“But—”
“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
His gaze zoomed in on her. “Are you hiding anything from me?”
“I promise you, no. I’ve told you all I know. I’ll get you that list of people.” But I won’t tell you about the woman in Nzadi. That had been the last straw for her. It was too painful to talk about, especially with Connor. She would not bear her heart to him. Nor with all that had happened between them in the past. “I won’t sit quietly by and not do anything. You know me. Won’t it be better if I help you, rather than go off on my own? That way you can ‘protect me.’”
A laugh escaped his lips, a half grin curling one corner of his mouth. “I was going to leave you here under Gramps’s watchful eye.”
“Since I’m not staying here, that won’t work. Besides, how are you going to protect me if you’re out investigating?”
He raked his fingers through his short, dark brown hair. “You are good with twisting things around to suit you.”
“That’s part of my charm.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I should just hand the case over to someone else.”
“You won’t. I know you. Besides, I don’t want you to.”
Both eyebrows rose, wrinkling his forehead in puzzlement. “You want me to work on this?”
“I trust you’ll do a good job.”
“You don’t know anything about me now.”
“I know the man you were, and I doubt seriously that core of integrity and dedication to whatever you set your mind to has changed. Are you telling me it has?” She pushed to her feet, no longer wanting him to have a height advantage—or rather less of one since he was half a foot taller than her five-nine.
“No, that hasn’t, but I’m not that same man. I’m no longer naive and love struck. You pretty well cured that thirteen years ago.”
“If this is gonna work, we have to agree to let the past go. I’m not the same. You aren’t, either.” She stuck her hand out. “Truce? Can we put it behind us at least for the time we’re together? Start fresh as though we’re strangers?”
He stared at her outstretched arm, then slowly closed his hand around hers and shook it. “Deal. We don’t need to fight each other and the person who sent that little present today.”
“Can you at least take me to pick up my car at the house? I want to drive it to the hotel on Main Street. I’ll get a room there. I won’t try to go inside the house until tomorrow, but I do need a change of clothing and I have a spare bag in the trunk. I was going to go work out after seeing Dad today.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later Connor pulled up in front of her childhood home. The almost full moon highlighted the large dark cavity with a heavy plastic sheet over it where the picture window in the dining room had been. She caught glimpses of the boards nailed over the opening. The realization of what had happened that morning slammed into her again. She’d thought coming back to Virginia would give her the sense of stability and normalcy she needed in her life while she tried to figure out what she wanted to do—continue working as a bodyguard or try something else. It hadn’t, and when she returned to Dallas she’d need to deal with that.
But right now she just wanted to stay alive and keep her father alive.
“Thanks for the ride. What time should I meet you back here tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll come by the hotel and pick you up at eight.”
“But I have my own car.”
“Together. Remember, Cara?”
“Fine. I’ll be in the lobby at eight.”
She hurried to her car. Behind her Connor followed. At the driver’s door she whirled to face him. “You don’t have to—”
“Before you get in, I want to check to make sure there isn’t another bomb attached to the car.”
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