Protecting Her Own

TWO

The softness beneath her cheek tempted Cara to surrender again to the dark void of sleep. She shifted, aches protesting the move. Slowly she raised one eyelid and stared at an unfamiliar chest of drawers.

Where am I?

The last thing she remembered was Connor coming into the clinic to check on her. At least that was what she thought. Or was it a dream? When she tried to think about the morning, everything blurred, as though she were looking through sheers into a room and not quite seeing it clearly.

Her head throbbing where she’d struck the refrigerator, she cautiously rolled over, opening both eyes to stare at a white ceiling. She searched the dimly lit room. The beige blinds were closed. Little gave away where she was. A hotel room? Still at Doc Sims’s clinic?

She eased up on her elbows to get a better look, conscious of not moving too fast. The room didn’t spin. Her world was stable. Then she zoomed in on a sound coming from her left. A rhythmic ticking. She glanced at the nightstand, which had only a lamp and a clock on it.

7:00? She glanced toward the window, muted light leaking through the slats in the blinds.

What happened to the past eight hours? Is Dad all right?

She jerked up straight in bed and immediately regretted that sudden movement. After the dizziness passed, she swung her legs to the floor and rose slowly, glad she was still dressed in her dust-covered jeans and a University of Virginia T-shirt that Doc had at his clinic. The room held nothing personal in it, only the bed, two nightstands on either side of it, a chest of drawers and a comfortable-looking maroon chair near the one window with a little round table next to it.

The room is void of any feeling—like my life of late.

Cara pushed that thought away. She had more important concerns than piecing her life back together. She needed to discover who wanted her dad dead. And that meant getting answers from the sheriff.

But first, is Dad okay at Sunny Meadows? She looked around for a phone since she’d left her cell back on her father’s kitchen floor. No phone.

Needing to find out where she was and call the rehabilitation center, she limped toward the door, the pain in her hip and head a nagging reminder of what had happened earlier. Out in a hallway of what appeared to be a house, vague memories of the past tugged at her. Seeing a bathroom door open, she slipped inside and washed off what grime was left on her face and neck then finger-combed her hair into a semblance of order. Cuts on her skin emphasized the ordeal she’d gone through.

She heard voices coming from her right. Heading that way, she soon entered a kitchen she had known all too well as a young woman and came to a halt when her gaze fell upon Connor Fitzgerald. So she hadn’t dreamed him. He had been at her dad’s house earlier, and she was at his grandfather’s now.

Connor fastened his hard, slate-gray eyes on her. The chill from that look went straight to her bones.

“I was getting worried about you, child.”

Cara shifted her attention to the wiry, old man with bright alert eyes. Mike Fitzgerald sat opposite his grandson. A warm welcome spread across his features as his assessing survey took her in. He rose, still thin with a fit body for his age and a full head of stark white hair. He moved a little slower than she remembered, but with the assurance she’d known, and enveloped her in a bear hug. She winced at the welcoming embrace.

“I’m so glad you’re okay and staying here. Me and Connor can keep you safe.”

Staying at Connor’s grandfather’s house? Did she forget something from the morning? All she could remember was lying on Doc’s examination table after he took some X-rays. Totally exhausted and hurting, she’d taken something to help her rest. Then Connor had come in and talked with Doc. When she’d closed her eyes, weariness pulling her down toward the dark, another voice, deep and gruff, joined the two men’s. Mike’s? He’d asked her something and she’d answered. Then she’d drifted off to sleep to the sound of their murmured voices, too tired to care.

What had been Mike’s question and my answer?

The scent of coffee floated on the air. She needed caffeine and her brain functioning at one hundred percent before she tackled the man across from Mike Fitzgerald.

“May I have some coffee? Actually, a whole pot full?”

“Sure, child. Anything I have is yours. You know that.” Mike wrapped his calloused hand around hers and guided her toward the table and a seat next to his grandson.

Connor’s coldness continued to flow from him and drape her in a blanket of ice. Mike set a big mug of black coffee, the way she took hers, in front of her. She cradled it between her hands to heat her fingers while she waited for it to cool down enough to drink.

“Well, I’ll leave you two younguns alone. I imagine you have some catching up to do.” Mike hurried toward the hallway as though he knew he needed to escape or risk getting caught in the cross fire.

She itched to drag Connor’s grandfather back into the chair on the other side of her, but he could move surprisingly fast when he wanted. Taking a sip of her coffee, she stabbed Connor with what she hoped was a piercing look. “Why am I here?”

“You heard Gramps. Until the person who sent the bomb is caught, you’re in danger. The sheriff asked me to watch out for you. Gramps and I brought you here after Doc gave his okay, so long as we kept an eye on you and let him know if there’s a problem.”

“His okay! How about mine?” Her voice rose as her temper did. “Maybe I’d rather stay somewhere else. Did you think to ask?”

“My grandfather did. You can’t stay at your dad’s house. The damage is extensive in the dining room, foyer and kitchen where part of the doorway and wall blew out.”

“You’ve been inside and seen it?”

He nodded and delved into his pocket, then presented her cell phone to her. “After the bomb squad okayed the premises, I accompanied the sheriff and ATF agents. I found that on the floor and saw it was yours.”

“What did they find?” She chanced a sip of the still hot coffee because she needed something to drive the fuzz from her brain. To deal with Connor she had to be clear-headed.

“It looks like a pipe bomb, and from the damages a large one. The ATF guys gathered evidence to analyze and will get back to Sean when they have anything to report.”

A large pipe bomb. Low-tech but it definitely could have killed her or her dad if they had been closer to it. Interesting, the logical, investigative part of her mind reasoned while the other wanted to shut down.

“Cara, who is trying to kill your dad—or you?”

“Me?” She didn’t want Connor involved in her life and certainly not protecting her. His nearness brought to the foreground everything she had run away from thirteen years ago. He’d wanted to smother her, do everything for her then. And in the short time they had been reunited, he was doing it again.

“Sean told me what you’ve been doing these past few years. We can’t totally rule you out as a possible target. I mean to find out what’s going on.”

She locked gazes with Connor and automatically her adrenaline spiked at the challenge—could she put their past aside to let him do his job—that she glimpsed in his depths. “Why? Because of our past?”

Connor rose and crossed to the stove to refill his mug. “Sean has asked for my help and I’m giving it. The origin of the bomb was in the dining room—the table. Do you know what the pipe bomb might have been in?”

Although she’d been forced to leave Nzadi under less than ideal conditions, she didn’t think anyone would have followed her to the United States to try and kill her—she hoped. “I don’t think I’m the target. My dad had been receiving birthday gifts from friends. The neighbor who had been collecting the mail brought them over yesterday morning. I had a stack of them on the dining room table from people around the world. He’ll be sixty tomorrow.” If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the Nzadi affair on the phone with Kyra, she might have been more suspicious about the black-wrapped gift. Although black wrapping paper was often used as a joke for a milestone birthday, anyone knowing her father wouldn’t have sent a gift wrapped in black paper. He wouldn’t be amused.

“Nothing seemed suspicious to you? Your dad wasn’t even home—hadn’t been for eight weeks.”

“But he had been due home this morning right before the last package, a medium-size box wrapped in black paper, was delivered.”

“Who knew about that?”

She shrugged, wishing she felt nonchalant. “Everyone in town.”

“But he didn’t come home.”

“It was a last-minute decision by his doctor at Sunny Meadows. He had a reaction to some new medication, and the doctor wanted him to stay there another day or so to keep an eye on him. I’d only been able to tell a few people I needed to cancel his birthday party. Sean was one of them.” She narrowed her eyes on him as he sat. “I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

“I do work for the Virginia CID.” He lifted his mug to his lips and took a long sip.

For a few seconds she watched that action, remembering a time when those lips had kissed hers. She looked down at her drink and tried to bring some kind of order to her chaotic thoughts. “You have no right to bring me here without my permission. I’m sure I didn’t give it.” She wouldn’t have because that meant she would be near Connor. There was no way she could deal with him on top of everything else. “The last thing I recall is lying on Doc’s examination table. He gave me another pill and that’s all. Did he drug me?”

“He gave you pain medication. You went to sleep all on your own.”

Which really didn’t surprise her. She had been functioning on only a few hours of sleep for the past four days, reporting to Kyra about her last assignment after escaping Nzadi then turning right around and coming to Clear Branch at midnight two days ago. Although she’d been to the rehabilitation center/nursing home to make plans to move her father to his house, she’d thought she could rest before having to deal with his situation.

But ever since she stepped through the doorway into her childhood home, memories had bombarded her from all sides. She’d spent most of the past two nights prowling the house, trying not to dredge up memories from the last time she’d been there and the fight she and her dad had had. That memory had kept her away for thirteen years.

“And I’ve been here for how long?”

“Since before noon. As I said, Gramps did ask you about coming here.”

“And I answered?” Memories of earlier began to leak back into her mind. She remembered the deep, gruff voice saying something to her. Then, because her ears were still ringing, Mike had written something on a piece of paper. The blast must have affected her more than she thought if she’d agreed to come here.

“Yes. Gramps and I brought you here.”

“How?”

“I carried you to the car and then to the house.”

That was what she’d been afraid of. Her heartbeat sped at the thought of being in Connor’s arms, cradled against him—twice in one day. Another memory of being in his arms cloaked her. Of him kissing her. A lifetime ago. “I don’t need to be protected. I didn’t thirteen years ago, and I don’t now. I’m not the one in danger.” At least she didn’t think so, and she would do her own checking into that. “My dad must be. I need to call the center to see how he is.”

She flipped open her cell and punched in the stored number of Sunny Meadows, then asked to speak to the nurse on duty. When she came on the line, Cara asked, “How’s C. J. Madison doing? This is his daughter.”

“Cara, this is Kathy. Your dad is fine, but the doctor wants to keep him at least through tomorrow.”

“Is the deputy sheriff with him?” she asked, vaguely recalling Sean writing something to that effect on a piece of paper.

“Yes. In fact, after the sheriff came a while ago and told your father what happened, he got quite upset at the news. It took us a while to get him settled down. Doc had us give him his sleeping pill early tonight. I think he’s down for the night. Are you all right? Everyone heard what happened at the house.”

Cara had known Kathy in high school and was glad she was one of the nurses looking after her father. “I’m fine. So you don’t think I should come see him tonight?”

“No. Get a good night’s sleep and come tomorrow morning.”

Cara snagged Connor’s gaze while she said goodbye to Kathy. “I may have agreed to come here because Mike asked, but I’m not staying here, Connor.”

He surged to his feet and strode to the sink to pitch the rest of his coffee. “I tried to tell Gramps and the sheriff you wouldn’t want this, but they were sure you would see the wisdom in being here in an environment a little bit easier to control than a hotel. They just don’t remember how pig-headed you are.”

“Well, then I’ll have to tell them after you take me to the house.”

“No can do.”

“What do you mean? I need some clean clothes. You can’t keep me here against my will. I’m not in any danger. Besides, I know how to take care of myself.” Her training and survival instinct had gotten her out of the kitchen before more of the ceiling had come down on top of her.

His smile tilted up the corners of his mouth, but that was all it did, as though he was trying valiantly to be patient. “It’ll be dark before we can get to your house, and there’s no electricity. It’s not safe at night.”

Again he was making decisions for her. “Haven’t you heard of flashlights?” Standing, she gripped the edge of the table with both hands then leaned into it.

“Haven’t you heard of patience? Oh, I forgot that was never one of your strong suits. You always wanted things right then and there.”

“Because I left Clear Branch? I didn’t want to stay here and settle down. There were things I wanted to do before I married.” If she ever married. After seeing her parents’ marriage, she wasn’t sure that was something she should do. That opinion hadn’t changed in thirteen years.

For a few seconds something flickered in and out of his gaze. Hurt? It was gone so fast and quickly replaced by anger that Cara couldn’t tell.

Connor’s jaw set in a hard line. “You can rummage around in the house tomorrow at first light if you want. I’ll even take you now that I’m working the case. The crime scene guys have processed the scene.”

Dread rose in her. “Why do you want to work the case? Aren’t you here for a visit like I am?”

“Yes, but I’m going to because Sean asked me to help and I’ve already cleared it with headquarters. So sit and get comfy.” He waved his hand toward the chair behind her. “I have some questions for you. Then if you want, I’ll take you to the hotel. The house isn’t an option for tonight. Personally, I didn’t want you here, but Gramps and Sean just might have a point. We don’t really know what’s going on. Who the target is.”

His words hurt, and she tried not to feel that. She didn’t love him anymore. She was a totally different person from that twenty-one-year-old who’d left Clear Branch to travel, try her hand at reporting like her father. She’d seen the world, and it had chewed her up and spit her out. Few people knew what had really happened in Nzadi near the Congo River in Africa—only what was splashed all over the news for a day and minus her name connected to it—but she did and she had to live with it.

“I’ll try not to trouble you for too long.” Cara sank onto the seat, exhaustion deluging her. She needed at least another twenty-four hours of sleep.

He remained at the sink, lounging back against the counter. “So as I asked before, in case you’re the target, who would want to kill you?”

“I’ve irritated a few people through the years.” Riding to the airport after the attempt on client’s life had been the longest thirty minutes of Cara’s life. All the crowd gathered at the airport had known was that the woman who should have died was alive in the limousine and Obioma Dia, who they revered, was dead in her place.

“I’m not surprised.” He chuckled.

The sound, a familiar one from her past, eased the tension that left a trail of knotted muscles along her shoulders and neck. “Where should I begin?”

“Just how many do you think there are?”

“We could start with the president of Nzadi. Although he would deny it, he was the one who had me kicked out of his country.” Along with the businessman and his wife.

“Yeah, I’ve read about the riots in Nzadi. All Americans were asked to leave. Let’s start closer to home. Who have you ticked off in the U.S.?”

“Besides you?”

An eyebrow arched. “Yeah.”

“I’ve been responsible for putting some people behind bars. I may not be a law enforcement officer like you, but I’m good at my job. I’ve prevented several people from being hurt and apprehended the person behind the threat. Someone could be upset with me over that.” She tilted her chin up a notch. “If you want my cooperation, it will be a joint investigation.”

Ignoring her statement, he scowled and said, “I’ll need a list of those people you helped put behind bars.” His hands flat on the table, he leaned across it. “Why are you visiting now? I know there isn’t any love lost between you and your dad unless things have changed since I last saw you.”

They hadn’t, and in fact they had gotten worse between her and her father, ever since she quit being an investigative reporter. But the unfounded accusation in Connor’s voice caused her to straighten her shoulders and stiffen her spine. “There might not be any love lost between my father and me, but I will protect my own. Contrary to what you think, I’m not heartless.” The trouble was her heart was filled with too many emotions, laid shattered by all that she’d seen around the world while doing her job, first as an investigative reporter, and then as a bodyguard. The incident in Nzadi sent her home to the States to piece together what little was left of her life. She couldn’t keep running away from what was really eating at her: the failure to stop her mother from killing herself when Cara was nineteen years old.

He sighed. His vehement expression evened out into a neutral one. “I never said that, Cara. I know too well what you and your dad were going through right before you left. Remember I had wanted to help.”

“Your help only riled Dad more. I told you then I fight my own battles. I don’t need a 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.”