Protective Custody. Debra Webb

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СКАЧАТЬ of her building. Only three stories, each floor of the old building housed just two apartments. The place was definitely small compared to the others in this neighborhood, but it was clean and well kept. And quiet. How could it be anything else? she mused. In the five years since she’d moved in, more than half the other apartments had always been vacant. Like now.

      The sound of a dog barking on the next block reminded Nicole that she was wasting time. She glanced up at her unadorned, second-story balcony. On the first floor, the only other tenant’s terrace contained an assortment of flowering and green plants. Nicole was never home long enough to care for plants or pets. She shrugged listlessly. People like her didn’t have time for such distractions.

      The pool shimmered like a tranquil lagoon in the full-moonlight as she hurried past it and around to the front entrance. A slight breeze whispered through the leaves of the surrounding trees. This lovely courtyard had been the main selling point for the place in Nicole’s opinion. With one more look to either side of her, she slid the key into the lock and entered the deserted stairwell.

      Nicole paused to listen for sound. The answering silence soothed her frazzled nerves. Okay, she assured herself, everything is going to be fine. She had done this plenty of times before. But no matter how she fought it, the memory of her car exploding right before her eyes kept replaying in her head. The connection could no longer be denied, she realized as more images reeled through her tired mind. The director’s telephone exploding while he sat at his desk. The death-dealing explosion at Agent Daniels’s house. The letter bomb that had exploded in her mail carrier’s bag just before he reached her apartment building’s mail station. The single shot she knew deep in her gut had been meant for her in that shopping-mall parking lot. Then her rental car. Nicole shook off the lingering images before her next memory could take form. She had to focus. Even without the warning letter she had received from Daniels two days after his unsolved murder, things were all too clear now.

      Someone knew their secret.

      Slowly, silently, Nicole climbed the two flights of stairs that seemed to go on forever. The white walls and absolute quiet allowed other images and voices she didn’t want to hear or see to creep into her thoughts. Ian’s cold, hard look when he had come face-to-face with her in Victoria Colby’s office. The soft, sensual whispering of his voice as he made love to her. Nicole forced away the vivid memories. Fear gripped her heart when her errant mind replayed the scene outside Ian’s town house when he had been shot. She thanked God again that he hadn’t been hurt worse.

      What a fool she was for seeking him out and dragging him into this mess. She would do this alone. She had thought it through. She could do it. And Ian would be safe. Last night had opened her eyes to the truth she had wanted to deny for three years now. No matter what happened to her, Nicole could not bear to take a chance on Ian getting hurt again—physically or emotionally.

      Distraction was a dangerous risk. One neither of them could afford to take. Nicole would do her job to the best of her ability…alone. And Ian could live his life the way he deserved without her interference. He had a posh job, a great house. And probably lots of women, a little voice added. Nicole clenched her teeth and refused to consider Ian’s social life. She was an even bigger fool for not stopping to think that he might even be seriously involved with someone. He was, after all, incredibly good-looking, and that voice…

      Just thinking about the sound of his voice made her insides quiver. Nicole paused as she reached the landing outside her apartment. Get a grip, Reed, she chastised silently. That line of thinking is hazardous to your health.

      She listened outside her nondescript gray door for what felt like half an eternity before she inserted her key into the lock. The only sound was her heart thudding in her chest. Willing herself to calm, she reached beneath her jacket for her weapon. Nicole pushed the door inward, spilling light into the dark foyer. She stepped inside, hit the switch for the overhead light, and with one foot eased the door closed behind her.

      She scanned the darkness beyond the foyer for any movement, while listening intently past the hush of the central unit. Nothing. Relieved, she reached behind her and locked the door, then stepped soundlessly toward the living room. Every nerve ending on alert, she eased quietly into the room. Holding her breath, she leaned down and turned on the table lamp. A soft, golden glow lit the center of the room. The far edges remained in shadow. Years of training not allowing her to relax her guard until she had checked every nook and cranny, Nicole moved cautiously around the perimeter of the room.

      After giving her bedroom and bathroom the all clear, Nicole finally took a deep breath. She silently retraced her steps down the hall and slipped into the kitchen, caution still restraining her. The light from the hall glinted against the array of stainless-steel pots and pans hanging from the rack over the island bar. White cabinets and countertops reflected the minimal light reaching out to them.

      Paranoia could be a good thing, she told that lingering sensation that made the hair on the back of her neck continue to stand on end. But enough was enough. There was no one here. The place was as quiet as a tomb.

      “Poor choice in words, Reed,” she muttered as she lowered her weapon. She was starved. Beyond starved. She frowned—she was so hungry she could actually smell food. Nicole closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of the scent her imagination had conjured. Chinese. Wouldn’t it be nice if she could take time to drop by Won’s on her way back to the airport? Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

      “God, I’m starved,” she said aloud then flipped on the overhead fluorescent.

      “Eating is essential to survival, Nicole.”

      Nicole’s pulse jumped, her heart rocketed into her throat. She whirled toward the sound of Ian’s voice in the far corner of the kitchen, her weapon instinctively leveled on the target. She blinked twice to adjust to the bright light. Drinks and containers of Chinese takeout—Won’s no less—sat in the middle of her kitchen table.

      He’d remembered.

      Nicole almost smiled as she lowered her weapon, and relaxed her fire-ready stance. Her attention shifted to Ian’s left hand as he pushed one container forward, then to his right where he held a weapon trained expertly on her. Uhoh. Slowly, she lifted her reluctant gaze to his ever-unreadable one.

      “I want answers, Nicole.” He leaned back in his chair. “And I want them now.”

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