Protection Detail. Julie Miller

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter Two

      Why had she reached for Thomas’s hand?

      Jane scooted the au gratin potatoes around in their dish, wondering if she could stomach another bite to justify ordering the special side with her barbecue brisket. At least she’d had the good sense to pass on the dessert that everyone else at the table had ordered.

      She’d turned her hand into Thomas’s this afternoon because she was a frightened fool who’d dealt with the past three years on her own for so long that clinging to the strength and compassion he’d offered had given her a rare respite, and the first taste of normal relations with a man she’d known since her life had been turned so completely upside down that it wasn’t her own anymore.

      But normal wasn’t truly an option for her since she’d been put into WITSEC and transferred to Kansas City. Until the man who’d murdered her federal agent husband—and believed he’d murdered her, too—could be captured and she could finally testify against what she’d witnessed that horrible night her home had been invaded and Freddie had been taken from her, she needed to remain unattached, alert, able to stand on her own two feet. She had to be strong enough to stand alone.

      Most of the time, she was. Her training as a critical-care nurse required her to be able to make quick decisions and handle problems that arose on her own. She no longer worked in a hospital setting as she had back in DC, but her new career as a private nurse demanded she function independently—that she rely on her own experience and skill set to deal with whatever her patient needed. She kept contact with coworkers to a minimum, and with friends even less. She wasn’t going to risk the man who carved up her husband finding her through even a casual conversation or picture that could end up posted online. She was already on emotional thin ice by developing a bond with Seamus. He reminded her so much of her own grandfather that she knew she hadn’t kept herself as professionally distant as she should, and that gave her a weakness, leverage that sociopath wouldn’t hesitate to use against her if he ever found her. It would be far too easy to lean against a man like Thomas and surrender to his strength and authority. Once she did that, however, she’d be completely vulnerable. Easy prey for the stalking skills her husband’s killer possessed.

      She couldn’t drop her guard like that again. Ever. No matter how the fear and loneliness wore her down.

      She’d have to be more careful. Jane slipped a glance over at the tall, powerfully built man sitting across the table from her, forcing herself to take another bite of the cold potatoes when she saw him watching her, his eyes narrowed with an unspoken question. Thomas Watson seemed gentle and unassuming at first, a mature man at ease in his own skin—a police officer, former military man and single father used to command, used to taking action and fixing problems, even if they weren’t his own.

      That man had eyes in the back of his head. Or ESP. Or the training to read people and know when something was off, just as her late husband had when he’d worked with the violent crimes unit at the FBI. She curled her fingers into her palm beneath the table, remembering how the simple touch of his hand had grounded her, calmed her for a few precious seconds. Thomas generated the kind of heat she hadn’t felt since that last morning she and Fred had embraced and each had gone off to their respective jobs in Washington, DC. She missed that kind of contact—a hug, holding hands, a kiss. But she couldn’t give in to that kind of need anymore. She had to stay strong. She had to survive. She owed Freddie that much.

      Even as Thomas ordered four decaf coffees from the waitress, his moss-colored eyes managed to make contact with hers, silently asking for the umpteenth time if anything was wrong. Jane gave up the pretense of having any appetite and set down her fork.

      Fortunately, they had the buffer of Millie’s chatting and Seamus’s determined responses to keep Thomas from following up with any more pointed questions about the messages she’d been receiving. Some of the calls were friendly checkups from one of her husband’s friends at the Bureau back in Washington, DC. Levi Hunt wasn’t supposed to know where she’d relocated after leaving DC. She supposed he had the reputation as a skilled investigator for a reason. And as a member of her husband’s former violent crimes team, he felt personally responsible for making sure she was okay. But her goal had been to leave that whole life, and the dreadful night it had ended, behind her. The fact that he was able to contact her might mean others from that period in her life—when she’d been Fred Davis’s wife—would try to contact her, too. More of the messages had been routine checkups from the one man who was supposed to know about her new life in Kansas City.

      And it was that last text from Conor Wildman that had her delicious barbecue dinner sitting like a rock in her stomach. Had something broken on the investigation? Had her new identity been compromised? Had the killer left another victim with a badge carved in his chest?

      At your old house. Come see me. Urgent.

      She’d texted back when she’d left the hospital and gotten into the back seat of Thomas’s crew cab truck. With the family. At work. Can’t get away.

      Conor had been quick to answer. He’s surfaced. Can’t go into detail on phone. Must meet.

      WITSEC had a code word and a visual signal to alert her to a sighting of a man matching the suspect’s description near her location. Then there was an escape protocol in place. Since Marshal Wildman hadn’t used the coded alert in his text, that meant she wasn’t in imminent danger of being discovered. Typically, she’d been taught to lie low and not draw any attention to herself, even when there was a new development on the case. The whole idea behind witness protection was for her to disappear off the world’s radar. But words like urgent and must meet indicated the threat level had increased for some reason. That meant she needed to be more on guard, too. But against what? Who?

      A deep-pitched laugh from Seamus pulled Jane from her troubling thoughts. He held up a forkful of cobbler and toasted Millie. “Not as good as yours. But good.”

      Millie’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink as he stuffed the peach cobbler into his mouth. Jane felt the beginnings of a smile relax the strain around her mouth. Her patient was an unapologetic flirt. When he was feeling good. When he wasn’t—either physically or mentally—Seamus could be a pain in the behind. And dear, sweet Millie—she ate up the attention when offered, and didn’t put up with any guff from Seamus when it wasn’t. One trait she’d noticed about all of the Watson family: the strength of their commitment—to the people they loved, to a cause they believed in. She believed that, despite his age, given enough time, Seamus would make a significant recovery. Some of the damage the bullet and stroke had done to his brain would never heal, but eventually he’d be able to live independently, and he’d have a good quality of life.

      She was certain Thomas would see to it.

      Personality-wise, father and son couldn’t be more different. While Seamus liked to tease, Thomas was as serious as a heart attack. She supposed some women might describe him as stodgy or maybe even boring, compared with his outgoing dad. But she couldn’t imagine anything more attractive than a man who put his family first, a man who was rock solid in his strength and demeanor, a man who noticed much, said little, did whatever needed to be done without much СКАЧАТЬ