Protecting Her Own. Margaret Daley

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      “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.”

      “Since I’m not staying here, that won’t work. Besides, how are you going to protect me if you’re out investigating?”

      He raked his fingers through his short, dark brown hair. “You are good with twisting things around to suit you.”

      “That’s part of my charm.”

      “That’s a matter of opinion. I should just hand the case over to someone else.”

      “You won’t. I know you. Besides, I don’t want you to.”

      Both eyebrows rose, wrinkling his forehead in puzzlement. “You want me to work on this?”

      “I trust you’ll do a good job.”

      “You don’t know anything about me now.”

      “I know the man you were, and I doubt seriously that core of integrity and dedication to whatever you set your mind to has changed. Are you telling me it has?” She pushed to her feet, no longer wanting him to have a height advantage—or СКАЧАТЬ