The Doctor's Defender
“What are you looking for?” she asked, grimacing at how small her voice sounded.
“Trip wires.” He pushed the door wide. “Door’s not rigged.” He held up a hand. “Let me clear the place first.”
She blinked with alarm as he withdrew a gun he’d kept hidden at his back beneath the loose shirt. Now she better understood his garb. He dressed to conceal his weapon.
Probably made people underestimate him, just as she’d done when she’d first set eyes on him. He entered the condo with the gun held in front of him and disappeared from view while she waited in the hallway. Her gaze strayed to the elevators, half expecting some bogeyman to come bounding out.
Kyle returned, the gun out of sight and a grin on his handsome face. “Nice place.”
“Thanks,” she said automatically.
Though the idea of him entering her home and inspecting every nook and cranny left her feeling exposed. She never let anyone into her inner sanctum. But she didn’t have a choice. And that grated on her. Her unknown assassin had taken her options away. Anger stirred, mixing with the fear.
She placed her purse on the maple side table just inside the doorway. Since she’d worked a double shift at the hospital and had stayed the night there last night, the place smelled musty and hot after several days of being closed up.
She went straight to the window, drew back the floor-to-ceiling drapes and cracked the windows to let in some fresh air. They were fifteen floors up with an unobstructed view of Lake Michigan. The sight of sailboats gliding on the blue water made her smile. She wished she were out there, where the only thing she had to worry about was the wind and the rigging.
“This view is the reason I picked this building,” she explained. “I’m a little farther from the hospital than I’d prefer, but being this close to the lake and having this view makes the trek worth it.”
“Fantastic view, but a security nightmare,” Kyle commented as he moved to stand directly in front of her. He propelled her back several feet.
She cocked her head. “How can you say that? No building lines up directly with this one.”
“A sniper doesn’t need a direct angle.” He rocked back on the heels of the loafers he’d changed into earlier. “I could make the shot from the roof of the structure to the right, no sweat.”
She peered over his shoulder to the rooftop of the closest apartment building. Chills swept over her despite the humidity. Great. Now she had to worry about snipers, too.
He drew the drapes closed, shrouding them in a false sense of intimacy.
“I’m starved.” Kyle flashed a breath-stealing grin.
She didn’t know if she’d get used to that. He’d been a constant distraction all day. She’d had to force herself not to glance at him during her surgeries for fear she’d make a mistake and slice where she shouldn’t.
She normally didn’t have a problem concentrating while performing an operation. In fact her single-minded focus set her apart from other doctors who liked to talk or listen to music during a procedure. Not her. She needed the room quiet so the patient had her complete attention.
But today...though Kyle had remained quiet and out of the way near the door as promised, he might as well have been wearing a neon flashing light. The man disturbed her on so many levels.
“We can order in or there’s a good Thai place around the corner,” she said, glad for the neutral subject.
“Thai sounds good. Plus, we can talk about how this is going to work. Set some ground rules.”
“Rules?”
His grin widened. “Yep.”
Her stomach clenched.
Needing some space, she said, “I’ll change and we can go eat.” And talk about the rules. Oh, joy.
She retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom and closed the door, grateful for the momentary respite from his overwhelming presence. There was something about him, his energy and charisma, that made the air around him vibrate. It was exhausting. And thrilling.
She quickly changed out of her hospital attire and into casual clothes. She hesitated before stepping out of her room. How was she going to survive the next few days with that hunk of a man in the other room dogging her every step? Physical distance from him wasn’t possible. He was here to protect her, and that meant sticking close. But she could keep an emotional distance. She was good at that.
* * *
Kyle studied the professional portrait hanging over the gas fireplace in Brenda’s living room. The image captured a very stern-looking man—who Kyle guessed was Brenda’s father—a perfectly coiffed dark-haired woman—presumably Mrs. Storm—and Brenda as a young woman. Probably late teens, Kyle decided.
Her raven hair was gathered to one side by a thin ribbon, her face fuller, her smile uncomfortable, as if she’d posed for far too long and wanted to escape. Brenda resembled both parents in various ways. She had her mother’s brunette hair, her father’s slim nose. The shape of her eyes was more her father’s, while the color was a tad darker than her mother’s.
He wondered what it had been like growing up with two parents. Two parents who cared.
He shook his head to dispel that mistruth. His mother had cared before she’d died. His father...not so much.
Thoughts of his past had no place in this assignment. He turned from the portrait and moved to look at more framed photos gracing the cream-colored wall leading to the hallway. Each photo was posed, with perfect lighting and perfect expressions. Not one candid shot among the lot.
In fact, he couldn’t remember seeing anything in the apartment during his security check that wasn’t perfectly arranged, perfectly ordered.
Very little to suggest someone actually lived here.
His gaze made a slow sweep over the condo. Except for her purse sitting on the little stand by the door, there was nothing personal in view. The place reminded him of a hotel suite.
Something was off here. From all accounts, Dr. Brenda Storm was a highly skilled surgeon sought after by the best hospitals in the world. She was paid well for her work and had prestige most would envy. Yet, she lived like a guest in her own home.
A door down the hall opened and Brenda emerged from her bedroom. She’d changed from the austere black outfit, which she’d put back on after discarding her operating scrubs, to a fitted navy skirt that showed off her curves admirably and white sleeveless blouse that made her look delicate. Her idea of casual?
A knock sounded on the door.
Kyle stilled, his senses at attention. “Expecting someone?”
Brenda shook her head, her eyes growing round. “No.”
Kyle motioned her back toward the kitchen. He approached the door from the side and peered through the peephole. An array of pink and purple flowers blocked the view. Whoever was on the other side of the door was holding a bouquet of flowers in front of his or her face.
“Know of anyone who would send you flowers?” he asked.
“No one.”
Kyle withdrew his gun.
Time to meet this threat head-on.
TWO
Kyle pressed his back against the inside wall next to Brenda’s front door. Nerves stretched tight, he regulated his breathing. Brenda’s life was at stake here. He needed to keep control of the situation. “What do you want?”
“Floral delivery,” came the muffled reply. “For Dr. Brenda Storm. Is she here?”
Wariness narrowed Kyle’s focus. She didn’t need to be home for the flowers to be delivered. He could have left them at the front desk. How had the guy slipped past the doorman?
Brenda moved forward. “Who—”
Kyle lifted a finger to keep her quiet. He waved her back again. She nodded and stepped closer to the kitchen archway. “She’s not available. Take them back.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a schedule to keep. My boss will have my head if I return to the shop without delivering them. Guy paid to have them delivered pronto.”
“Guy?” Kyle wasn’t sure he bought the story. “You have the name of who sent them?”
“Yeah.”
A heartbeat of silence passed. “Well, what’s it say?”
“You gonna open the door, or what?”
“No, you’re gonna tell me through it.”
“My hands are kinda full here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Obviously, he knew Kyle was watching through the peephole. If he were an assailant, he knew he wasn’t going to have an easy time of it today. “Leave the flowers on the floor and back up ten steps.”
Kyle watched through the peephole. The flowers were lowered. A man wearing a black fedora perched low over gray eyes stepped back. He was older than Kyle would have thought, given the job. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, making an odd contrast with his hat. He held a clipboard and flowers.
“I said flowers on the ground,” Kyle repeated.
The vase of the flowers lowered to the floor.
Cautiously, Kyle opened the front door, careful to keep his weapon at the ready yet out of sight. One wrong move...
The delivery guy moved closer.
Kyle countered with a step forward, drawing on the guy.
“Whoa! Dude!” He raised his hands in the air. Fear widened the man’s gray eyes. “I need your John Hancock on the last line.” He lowered the clipboard slightly.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” Kyle grabbed the clipboard and inspected the form. It looked legit. So did the flowers. The name of the flower shop was emblazoned across the top of the form.
“How long have you worked for this store?” Kyle asked.
The guy swallowed. “A few weeks. I’m lucky to have a job in this economy.”
True enough statement. The state of the job market had hit everyone hard. Kyle signed for delivery. “So who sent them?”
The guy shrugged and gestured with his chin to the vase. “There’s a card.” He tried to peer over Kyle’s shoulder. “Is the doctor home?”
Shoving the clipboard into the guy’s chest and pushing him back another step, Kyle replied, “She’s not available.”
“You her boyfriend?”
Kyle narrowed his gaze on the man. “Time for you to go.”
The guy held up his hands. “Hey, man, just asking. Didn’t mean anything by it.” He retreated, going down the hall to the elevator, then disappearing inside.
Kyle stared down at the array of bright flowers. A small white envelope peeked out among the blooms. Squatting down, he inspected the water-filled, fluted clear vase. He scrutinized the blossoms, looking for anything suspicious. There didn’t seem to be any substance coating the petals. He didn’t see any hidden items that would suggest the flowers had been tampered with. He carefully ran a finger around the rim of the vase to check for wires or anything that would indicate the bouquet was rigged with an explosive device.
When he was satisfied that the arrangement wasn’t fitted to detonate, he lifted the vase and carried it inside the condo. Brenda stood stock-still in her kitchen, her hands gripping the marble counter, her knuckles white.
Her upset had his insides knotting. He wanted to ease her fears. “It’s okay. Guy’s gone.” He set the vase on the counter. “Nothing dangerous here but flowers.”
Wariness crossed her face. She backed away. “Who sent them?”
“There’s a note card,” he said. “Do you have a plastic baggie?”
She opened a drawer. Inside were neatly placed boxes of plastic bags. “Which size?”
“Sandwich.”
She withdrew one and handed it over. He tore off a paper towel from the dispenser near the sink and used the sheet to protect the tall plastic cardholder from his fingerprints as he lifted the thing from the flowers and set it on the counter. He’d worked long enough with several ex–law enforcement personnel to know how to be cautious and preserve possible evidence. Still using the paper towel, he removed the envelope from the prongs and flipped up the seal.
He slid the card-stock note out and read the scrawling words out loud. “Hope your day will be better now. Are we on for next Friday? It’s signed Sam.”
A frown pinched the space between Brenda’s winged eyebrows. “A doctor at the hospital.”
“Your boyfriend?” From the dossier he’d read on her, she wasn’t married, engaged or involved in a serious relationship that they knew of. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in her life. Kyle didn’t understand why the thought bothered him. Of course Brenda had to be seeing someone. A looker like her couldn’t be unattached. She probably had a dozen men clamoring for her attention.
She gave a vehement shake of her head. “No. Not even close. He’s too...not my type.”
Now why did that please him? And just what was her type? Not that the type of man she dated mattered. His job wasn’t to pass judgment or probe his protectee’s psyche. Though if they’d met under different circumstances... He gave himself a mental shake. Not. Going. There. “This Sam would like to date you, though.”
She sighed. “He’s asked. Often. Wants me to go to the hospital fundraising gala with him next Friday. He can’t seem to get it through his brilliant thick skull that I’m not interested.”
“The gala is out.” No way would he let her go anywhere near such a security risk.
She frowned. “I have to be there.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. Your boss will understand.”
Her lips pressed into a firm line. A sign of acquiescence? He doubted it. But that was a battle they could have at a later date.
To preserve the note, he slipped it into the baggie and then placed it into his shirt pocket. “What’s this doctor’s full name?”
“Samuel Johnson.”
“I’ll have a background check run on him.”
She drew back slightly. “Sam would never hurt me.”
“Maybe the doctor has someone in his life who’d like to get rid of the competition. I need to know the players in this game.”
“Game? This isn’t a game! This is my life!”
The outrage and fear in her face twisted him up inside. He held out a hand, palm facing out. “Sorry, didn’t mean anything by that. Just a figure of speech. You’re right, this isn’t a game. I take it very seriously.”
Her lovely features turned stony. She went into the living room and sat on a plush chair. “I hate this. Hate feeling scared and out of control.”
He followed her and squatted beside her. “That’s understandable. And you’re doing great.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how I’m doing by the time this is done.” She scoffed and shook her head. “I can’t imagine living in fear for very long. Always wondering if the next knock at the door might be a deranged killer. Who knows what else this crazy person will try. Or who might get hurt because of me.”
“That’s why you have me. I’ll protect you. You might not believe it, but I’m very good at what I do.”
Her dark eyes searched his face. “Why do you do this? Work as a bodyguard, I mean?”
Uncomfortable with the focus turning to him, he rose. And deflected. He was good at deflecting. “Guy’s got to make a living.”
“There are other ways to make a living.” The studied way she peered at him made him think of microscopes and petri dishes. He wasn’t some bacterium she had to try to understand. “Less dangerous ways.”
A shudder worked its way through him. “Yeah, boring ways.”
He had no doubt that, being a surgeon, she saw the aftermath of dangerous careers and hobbies alike, which gave her a different perspective. She could never understand the inherent need to live life on the edge, to push as close to danger as possible, to risk life and limb to feel alive, to feel...something.
“Ah, you’re a thrill seeker, then.” There was just the barest hint of censure in her tone.
He grinned, undaunted by the disapproval. It wasn’t the first time a woman said that to him. It wouldn’t be the last. “Always looking for the next gnarly wave to come rolling in.”
“Gnarly, huh? You’re a surfer?”
“That obvious?”
A slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. He had the sudden longing to see a full-blown smile, to hear her laugh, to see her relax. So not what he should be concentrating on. Her physical well-being was his priority. Not her mental health.
“Yes, it is,” she admitted. “But I can’t imagine there’s much surfing in Boston. You must not have grown up there.”
“No, I didn’t. Southern Cal. On some of the best beaches in the world.”
A momentary bout of nostalgia hit. He missed the California sunshine and the smell of the Pacific Ocean. The Atlantic smelled different. Brinier. “There’s always windsurfing in Massachusetts. You can be at a great surf spot within two hours from downtown Boston.”
He remembered the last time he’d been out on the Atlantic Ocean planing across the tips of the waves, catching enough speed to loop. “Not quite the same rush as traditional surfing...but still fun.”
“How did you end up in Boston?”
She was full of questions, and that wasn’t a tale he cared to share. Revealing his painful past wasn’t part of his job description. He kept his life under wraps. Better that way. He’d hate to see the look of pity or judgment or both in pretty Brenda’s eyes if she knew how he’d ended up where he was. “Life. Funny how it works out sometimes.”
“Did you move there because of a wife or girlfriend?”
He arched an eyebrow. She was fishing to see if he was attached. Interesting. “No wife, no girlfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back.
She hesitated. “I’ve been focused on my career.”
“Ah. But someday you hope to get married?” He wondered what kind of man would snag the doctor’s heart.
“Don’t you?” she countered without answering his question.
“No,” he stated with certainty.
She studied him. “Why not?”
He thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t sure where his reluctance to relationships stemmed from. Maybe it was his parents’ rocky marriage before his mother’s death. Or maybe the way his high-school girlfriend, Anne Tucker, had stomped all over his heart when she’d gone to the prom with his best friend because Kyle hadn’t the money to pay for their ticket. She’d ended up pregnant that night. Kyle knew he’d dodged a bullet, or rather a situation that he wouldn’t have been able to handle. A kid at seventeen? No way.
Better not to get too involved with any woman and avoid such a sticky and permanent situation.
Realizing the doc was waiting for an answer, he went with the easy one. The one he knew would keep her at arm’s length. “I like playing the field. Keeping my options open.”
She stiffened. The corners of her mouth tightened. “What training do you have? How do I know my life is safe in your hands?”
Appeasing her curiosity and reassuring her he could protect her were two different things. He held his right hand up, his index and middle fingers in a V shape. “Cub Scout promise. I had my Bobcat pin within the first three months. Had it turned right side up by the next day.”
Irritation crossed her face. “I have no idea what that means.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re a girl. Only boys can be Cub Scouts.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give a straight answer?”
“Not if I can help it.” He understood she wanted to know what made him tick, what made him qualified to protect her, what made him who he was. That was only natural. But he needed her to trust him without knowing the answers. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me.” He made the Cub Scout sign again. “I promise.”
Her mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “What choice do I have?”
He grinned again. “Now that’s the spirit.” He sobered as he approached the next subject, prepared to do battle. “We need to figure out a more secure location for you.”
Dark eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline. “Excuse me?”
He knew that wouldn’t go over well. He gestured toward the covered window. “Too many places a sniper could take a shot from. The outside hallway’s too tight. A perfect place for an ambush. If we needed to escape, all anyone would have to do is pick us off as we came out the door.”
A visible tremor worked over her. “I don’t know where we could go.”
“The dossier said your parents have a home in Forest Park. The house is armed with a state-of-the-art alarm system.”
She shook her head. “I would hate to put them in danger.”
“It will be safer there.”
“I don’t know...”
He’d hoped to ease into this over Thai food. “It’s already been arranged.”
Her eyes widened with outrage. “You’ve spoken to my parents?”
“Trent is thorough in our protection.”
She made a face. “Unbelievable.”
“We’ve been here long enough. Do you want to pack a few things?”
“What choice do I have?” Anger laced her words.
Empathy twisted his stomach in knots. He knew firsthand how upsetting, annoying and humiliating it was to have someone else calling the shots. “It’s for your safety.”
“Of course it is.” Though the words dripped with sarcasm, her posture was resigned. She returned to her room. A few minutes later she came out carrying a small suitcase. “I have some clothes already at their house.”
“Do you want to keep the flowers?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Let’s leave them in the lobby.”
He wondered briefly if it was the flowers themselves or the sender she wanted to leave behind.
He escorted her to his rental car, a black Suburban. The modern, everyday version of the layman’s tank. He did a quick sweep of the exterior before allowing her too close to the vehicle. Checked the undercarriage, made sure the doors hadn’t been tampered with. Standard operating procedure. When he was sure the SUV was safe, he helped Brenda into the passenger seat.
As he drove he kept a vigilant eye out for a tail. Nothing. A half hour later they arrived at her parents’ Forest Park home. Behind a gated community, which provided twenty-four-hour security, the Storms’ residence was a large, gabled brick house with manicured hedges, Astroturf green lawns and flower beds with a kaleidoscope of colorful flora and visually interesting plants. A magazine-worthy home.
“Nice place,” Kyle commented. A far cry from the double-wide prefabricated place he’d called home as a kid. “You grew up in this house?”
“No. My parents bought this home after I’d graduated from med school.”
“Where did you live as a kid?”
She opened the passenger door. “Evanston.”
“Did you go to Northwestern?”
“I did. The university was practically in my backyard.” She climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward the house.
Kyle grabbed her suitcase from the back and followed her to the front door. Humidity made his shirt stick to his back. He glanced around, noting the quiet street and the other homes visible over the hedges marking the property lines. The hedges weren’t exactly the best for security—too many places a bad guy could slip through undetected.
He would have preferred a fence or a rock wall. Better yet, barbed wire.
Brenda opened the door. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.”
The temperature change between the outside and the inside was drastic. The sweat from the late-September humidity outside chilled on Kyle’s skin. Brenda rubbed her arms as goose pimples appeared.
As they stepped around the entryway corner, a well-dressed woman hastily shoved amber pill bottles into the drawer of the side table. A gray-haired man lay stretched out in a recliner. He adjusted the blanket covering him over his torso and legs. If he was cold, why not turn down the air conditioner? The place was like a meat locker.
“You’re here early,” her mother said, her voice sounding strained. Her red eyes made Kyle think she’d been crying recently. No doubt upset by Brenda’s brush with death.
The photos in Brenda’s apartment didn’t do Mrs. Storm justice. Kyle could see the resemblance between mother and daughter. Mrs. Storm’s dark hair was cut short to frame her youthful face. If not for the silver streaks, Kyle wouldn’t have guessed she was old enough to be Brenda’s mother. “We weren’t expecting you until later this evening. Are you all right?” Mrs. Storm asked.