Licensed To Marry. Charlotte Douglas
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wasn’t with you in the building?” Kyle asked.
Laura shook her head. “He was meeting with the governor.”
The sudden careful stillness on Kyle’s face frightened her. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He was gone only a couple of minutes before he returned. “Come with me. The governor’s in the sheriff’s command center.”
“And my father?”
Kyle didn’t answer. With a protective arm around her shoulders, he threaded them through the teeming, sometimes hysterical crowd to the edge of the lot. He knocked on the door of what looked like a huge recreational vehicle except for the lettering and insignia that clearly marked it as the sheriff’s command center.
An officer opened the door and offered his hand to Laura to guide her up the stairs. Kyle followed. Inside, Governor Haskel, a bandage around his head and his arm in a sling, pushed up from his chair and approached her. For once, his smooth, political smile was absent, his charismatic face grimly set.
Laura whipped her head around, searching for her father.
He wasn’t there.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked the governor. “Was he hurt? Have they taken him to the hospital?”
Harry Haskel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Laura. Your father…he was killed in the blast.”
“What?” Everything took on a surreal aspect. She saw everything through a muted haze. The handsome, sympathetic face of Kyle Foster, whose strong arms kept her from falling. The silent sheriff’s deputies who manned their posts without looking at her. The pained expression of the governor.
“There must be some mistake,” she pleaded in desperation. “Have you checked the hospitals?”
The governor’s expression didn’t change, and when he spoke, his usually booming, hale-and-hearty voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, Laura. We’ve confirmed it. Your father’s dead.”
The last thing she remembered was Kyle Foster catching her as she fell.
KYLE STOPPED the night-duty nurse as she came out of Laura’s hospital room. “May I see her now?”
The stout woman nodded, but fixed him with a stern stare. “Don’t stay long. She’s had a terrible shock and needs her rest.”
Kyle hesitated before entering, wondering if he was doing the right thing. At the hotel, where he and the other agents had showered and changed after long hours of investigation and conferring with the other authorities, he had debated whether to visit Laura or not. He knew she was grieving, that she probably wanted her privacy, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
In the bombed-out building that afternoon, he’d heard her long before he’d met her. He’d caught the clear, pure notes of her soprano voice leading the children in song, guiding the rescuers to them. And when he’d seen her, her long dark hair framing her pale face like a midnight cloud, her startling blue eyes calm and bright, he’d been amazed by her composure. She’d stripped away her blouse to bandage the boy’s wound, but she’d exhibited no false modesty. In fact, she’d been so centered on keeping the children calm, he would swear she’d been totally unaware how provocatively gorgeous she’d looked, clad only in a short skirt that emphasized her slender hips and revealed slim legs, and a wispy piece of lace that did little to hide her small, firm breasts.
She’d been an angel to those children. Without her assistance, he doubted he and the others could have moved them from the building as quickly.
And after all her bravery and help, she’d lost her father.
Damn. Life wasn’t fair.
Encountering no one else in the waiting room and observing no one except the nurses coming and going from Laura’s room, he decided she needed a friend. Taking a deep breath and warning himself not to screw things up and upset her even more, he stepped into the room.
She lay propped against pillows as white as her flawless complexion, eyes closed, with long lashes lying dusky against her cheeks. Someone had brushed the dust from her luxuriant hair, spread like a dark halo on the pillow. And someone had washed the grime from her lovely face, its only shortcoming now the paleness in her cheeks. He’d touched the soft silkiness of her cheek in the corridor of the ruined building, and he was consumed now with a desire to touch her again.
He moved beside the bed, and she opened her eyes.
“I came by to check on you.” He silently cursed himself for his awkwardness. She needed comforting, but he couldn’t find the words.
She curved her lips slightly in a smile of recognition. “I’m not very lucid. I think they’ve pumped me full of tranquilizers.”
“You’ve had a terrible shock. I’m sorry about your father.”
Tears welled in her magnificent blue eyes. “My mother died when I was born. I don’t have brothers or sisters. Daddy’s been my entire family….”
He sat on the side of the bed and gathered her long, slender fingers folded atop the coverlet into his own. Her hands were cold, and he rubbed them gently to warm them. “I wish I could help.”
She blinked away tears. “You did help. You saved my life. Are you a firefighter?”
He shook his head. “Just happened to be in town. I work at the Lonesome Pony Ranch near Livingston.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “With C.J. and Frank Connolly?”
“That’s right. Frank’s gone to get C.J. Figured you’d want her here with you.”
He’d be glad when C.J. arrived to stay with her. C.J. was one of the top researchers at the Quinlan Research Institute owned by Laura’s father. A couple months ago, Frank had saved C.J. from kidnapping by Gilad, a member of the Black Order terrorists anxious to learn what the British scientist knew about biological weapons and how to stop them. Frank had fallen in love with the beautiful researcher and married her.
He remembered C.J. telling him that since assuming her post at the research lab several weeks ago, she had become close friends with Laura Quinlan. Not so close, however, that C.J. had divulged to Laura or anyone else at the facility the true nature of the work at the Lonesome Pony Ranch. As far as the Quinlans and the other scientists were concerned, C.J. had married a cowboy, not an undercover agent.
Laura closed her eyes, and her fingers squeezed his tightly.
Poor kid, he thought, then corrected himself. Not a kid. Laura Quinlan had to be in her late twenties, according to what C.J. had told him.
Laura opened her eyes. “Nobody will talk to me, except to say I’ll be all right. Please, tell me what happened to my father.”
Kyle swallowed hard. He wasn’t about to cause her more anguish by describing the gruesome extent of Josiah Quinlan’s injuries. “He died quickly. I doubt he felt anything or even knew what happened.”
He could tell from her expression she was in total denial of her father’s death, and her next words confirmed his fear. “Everyone else in the building was evacuated. Daddy must have been, too. Maybe he’s lost his memory and is wandering the city somewhere. Has anyone looked for him?”
“Laura, the governor was in the same room.” Kyle was firm but empathetic. “He identified your father’s body.”
Yanking her hands from his grasp, she propped herself on her elbows, eyes blazing like blue fire. “Why?”
With patience he’d learned from dealing with his strong-willed daughter, Molly, Kyle grasped her shoulders and gently pressed her back against the pillows. “Promise you’ll stay calm, and I’ll answer all your questions. Otherwise, Nurse Godzilla will throw me out of here on my ear.”
As if all the strength had gone out of her, Laura sagged against the pillows. “Why didn’t