Bodyguard Rescue Read online

  It didn’t matter Kate was the only woman he’d ever loved. It didn’t matter he’d already betrayed that love once to keep her safe. What mattered was that millions of people could die at the hands of a madman.

  Roman ran his hand through his hair and gave it a vicious yank. Another one of his nightmares had just become a reality.

  Chapter Two

  They’d found her.

  Tossing off the quilt, Kate MacAlister slid from the cushions onto her hands and knees, letting the overstuffed sofa shield her from the front window.

  How they’d found her so quickly, she would figure out later. If she lived.

  She heard no sound, spotted no movement, but she sensed the threat nonetheless.

  Her father would insist her Celt blood hummed the warning. Pure and blessed, it was. A gift passed down from their ancestors to a chosen few, he would say.

  A few that included Quentin MacAlister’s offspring.

  Whatever it was, remained a mystery to Kate. Yet she learned long ago to accept the warnings, to trust them—just as her brothers did.

  So when the fine hair on the back of her neck started to do a tap dance down her spine, it meant only one thing.

  Time to move.

  Blinking hard, she forced her eyes to adjust to the darkness that enveloped the cabin, keeping her panic at bay while things shifted into decipherable patterns. A solitary light glimmered from across the room as a few embers burned in the fireplace, their dim orange glow barely distinguishable.

  She concentrated on filtering out the noises of the night, straining to hear her enemies, waiting for confirmation on what her sixth sense already understood. They were close.

  Staying crouched below the back of the couch, Kate pushed the sofa pillows under the covers, then crawled across the room, army-style, her body tight to the floor. Her brother’s dark jersey blended well with the night, although it did little to protect her from the icy dampness of the hard wood. Tremors rippled through her, but from cold or fear Kate wasn’t sure.

  Please God, just a few more seconds.

  At the wood box by the door, she paused no more than a heartbeat, grabbed a slim log and inched up the wall before shrinking into the shadows.

  Blood pounded in her eardrums, its rhythm matching the fierce tempo of her heart. She wanted to claw at her ears to make it stop. Instead she made herself take a deep, calming breath. After the second breath, the hammering eased, yet the terror remained, cloaking her like a damp wool blanket.

  Soundlessly the door opened and a large, dark figure slipped into the cabin. She forced back a surge of panic and gripped the makeshift club tighter, disregarding the rough bark as it dug into her palms.

  What if there was more than one? How far would they go to get the formula?

  Stepping deeper into the shadows, she held her breath when the man’s shape passed within a few feet of her. His movements, silent and deliberate as he maneuvered through the room, reminded Kate of a stalking panther.

  Or a professional hit man.

  She searched his silhouette for a weapon.

  He had none. No gun, no knife, not even a rope. His hands hung indifferently at his sides, empty.

  Anger exploded in her head, destroying the knot of fear in her belly.

  Why did she think he would bother with a weapon? After all, he probably thought she was an easy target. Some egghead doctor he could knock off with his bare hands. Some weak-kneed nonentity who would die because she had no backbone.

  She glared at the man as he circled the room, obviously searching for her computer, unaware of the wrath he left in his wake. He wouldn’t find it—ever. She’d worked too hard on her research to let it drop into undesirable hands.

  Kate relaxed her muscles, then rolled her weight to the balls of her feet, offering up a brief prayer of thanks for her brother Ian’s insistence on teaching her the rudiments of self-defense. Using the shadows to cloak her movements, she slowly raised her makeshift club, then waited—and watched.

  This egghead doctor is going to knock you clear into Christmas, pal. Then you can go back and tell your boss to forget about his plans for the formula.

  With his back toward her, the man paused at the couch. She drew in a deep breath as he reached for the covers concealing the decoy. When he grabbed the quilt, Kate lunged. She swung the log hard, intent on striking the back of his head, only to have it disappear in an inky blur before she felt any impact.

  Twisting away, he caught the wood with one hand and jerked it from her grasp. In an instant he grabbed her and sent her flying over the couch like a bag of garbage. Her back hit the floor, cutting her scream off with a whoosh.

  She bit back the pain that exploded across her shoulder blades and rolled away from the couch, using the momentum to scramble to her feet. The man dived over the furniture, missing her by mere inches. A whimper of terror tore from her lips when she bolted toward the door, her lone chance for escape.

  Suddenly a hand snaked out and caught her ankle in a viselike grip, slamming Kate to the floor, chest first. Before she could recover, he was on her back, straddling her waist and locking her hands behind her.

  Enraged and frightened, she thrashed about, fighting the inevitable, her body heaving and kicking, trying in desperation to buck him loose.

  “Enough.” The command cracked through the room. Its echo bounced sharply off the wall, making Kate cringe.

  Exhausted and near collapse, she stopped struggling to lie still on the floor.

  “Get off me.” The low, guttural words exploded from her as she tried to gulp in oxygen while his weight crushed her lungs.

  “No way, Doc.” The fact he was speaking softly didn’t lessen the fury behind the tone. “Not before I get some answers. Capisce?”

  A flicker of déjà vu swept through her. Only one person owned a voice like that, husky and warm like her father’s favorite scotch. He was the only person who got away with calling her that name. And the last person she wanted to see.

  God, let me be wrong. Let it be a hit man on my back.

  Deftly he flipped her over and snagged her hands above her head. His body straddled hers in a position far more intimate than before, one her body was achingly familiar with.

  “Roman?” she gasped, her mind refusing to believe what her heart now recognized.

  He leaned down, putting his face inches from hers. His sharp, stony features were barely visible in the darkness, still it didn’t matter. At one time Kate cherished every angle, every plane, every…

  “I’m waiting,” he said, the impatience slicing through her thoughts.

  His tone sent a shock wave of old memories sweeping through Kate’s body—memories that aroused, then infuriated. He’s waiting.

  So what? She’d been waiting for two years, since the morning she woke up and found herself alone. No note, no explanation—nothing.

  Kate tried to laugh, but the sound was so weak it came closer to a sob. “Go to hell, D’Amato.”

  “I’m already there, Doc.” He laughed, too, the savagery in it making her stomach lurch. “So your suggestion is pointless.”

  “I…” Kate stopped as a wave of nausea rolled through her. Bile rose to the back of her throat and she gulped in order to keep it down.

  “Roman,” she whispered, the panic evident while she struggled for control. “Please.” With a snap, the dam burst down at the base of her spine and wave after wave of anxiety flooded her body. Oh God, oh God. Not a panic attack. Not now.

  “Let…me…go!” She screamed, her voice, thin and high with hysteria as she tried to break free of his suffocating hold. She was shaking violently now, almost convulsively, her hands and feet ice-cold. If she could reach the couch, she could curl up into a ball until the worst passed.

  Evidently Roman was way ahead of her. He tightened his grip and lifted her into his arms, then headed for the couch.

  “It’s okay, Doc. Just hold on,” he coaxed while he laid her across his lap. His unbreakable but oddl
y gentle grip pinned her to his body. “Let me help.”

  At first Kate ignored the words he crooned in her ear. Time held no meaning while she dealt with the emotional turmoil within her. It didn’t take long before her body, already weakened from the past twenty-four hours, gave out. Gut-wrenching sobs racked her, draining what little strength she had, finally, mercifully leaving her purged but exhausted.

  She turned into Roman’s chest and buried her face into the sturdy column of his neck, instinctively searching for a warm refuge from her fears. Under her lips, she could feel his pulse, strong and reassuringly steady. Kate moved her fingers over his heart trying to absorb its solid rhythm.

  Roman caressed her back. The strokes felt tender and soothing while he continued to murmur soft, unintelligible words into her hair.

  Gradually she drifted back to reality drawn by his voice, its husky timbre vibrating against her face. She could feel dampness on her cheek and realized it was from her own tears. How are you going to explain this, MacAlister?

  Kate didn’t want to think about explanations or make any decisions, so she pushed the question away. She’d forgotten how comforting it was to be held in a man’s arms, in Roman’s arms.

  Strange how it had always been that way. From the first time they’d held each other to the last time, Kate had responded to Roman on more than just a physical level. From the moment their souls connected, she was lost. She’d never wanted another lover after he’d left because she knew deep down no man would ever reach her as he did.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Then, unable to stop herself, she moved her mouth softly against his neck, relishing the familiar musky taste of him on her lips.

  A soft hiss brushed past her ear, and his body tightened against hers. He cupped the back of her neck, bringing her face up. His warm breath fanned her lips in a light caress. A shiver of desire skittered down her spine. She squashed the feeling of betrayal that threatened to surface and closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss, her mouth parting with an eagerness that surprised her.

  A muttered “hell” was the only warning she got before he slid her from his lap onto the cushions of the couch. She blinked, stunned, as he wrapped her in the discarded quilt and stood.

  “Try to relax, Doc. I’m going to stoke the fire, then find us something hot to drink—or if I’m lucky, something strong.” She tried not to blanch at the coolness in his voice. It was apparent the man was not happy to see her again.

  The sharp sting of humiliation traveled down to the core of her being, but thankfully she was too numb to care.

  Almost.

  KATE GAZED into the fireplace, watching the flames lick greedily around the new logs Roman had tossed there. She tucked her bare feet under the quilt as a shiver danced over her. Even with the extra fuel, the fire did not drive away the coldness seeping into her bones.

  The wind howled outside the cabin, and its agitation echoed her unease. Ignoring Roman’s order to rest, she draped the quilt over her shoulders and forced herself off the couch toward the window. He wouldn’t be happy, but she didn’t care. While the panic attack had left her feeling drugged and unstable, she refused to succumb to the aftereffects. Experience had taught her that immobility only delayed her recovery.

  Her legs wobbled but supported her well enough to get her across the room. Once there she peered into the pitch-black beyond the cabin, careful to remain concealed behind the slightly parted denim curtains. How much time did she have before they found her? Were they out there now, watching, waiting?

  The faint clatter of pans reached her from the kitchen, and reminded Kate of her unwanted company. What was Roman D’Amato doing here? More important, how was she going to get rid of him? Or did she want to? As much as she disliked the man, she wasn’t sure she dared risk his safety. She sighed and adjusted the edges of the curtains together. Placing another human being in jeopardy, even a questionable one like D’Amato, went against her nature.

  She hugged her arms tight to her chest, knowing she wasn’t in any shape to do any more strategizing tonight. Under the quilt she rubbed her arms with her hands. In the few minutes by the window, the tremors had stopped, leaving her legs feeling quite a bit steadier, but the iciness still lingered deep within her joints. It would, she was sure, until her nightmare ended.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Kate stiffened at the militant tone. He’d missed his calling when he’d chosen computer consulting over the Navy as a career. Well, she wasn’t a subordinate he could order about. Relaxing her features, she planted a wide smile on her stiff lips and swung around.

  “Looking outside,” she said, being deliberately obtuse.

  The light from the kitchen flooded the living room, allowing her to see every harsh, irritated angle of his face. Her smile almost faltered.

  Up to an hour ago no one had ever seen her fall apart, not even her family. She would be damned if she let it happen again.

  Roman walked toward the couch, a coffee mug in his hand, his eyes narrowing as they took in every detail. The dark brown of his irises reminded her of tarnished copper, flecked and ringed with gold she knew turned molten amber with anger or desire.

  Now they glinted with suppressed annoyance.

  “You look like hell, Doc.” Deftly he placed the mug on the end table, and in two strides he was standing in front of her.

  She had a good idea what she looked like. She’d caught a glimpse of her image in the rearview mirror of her sports car, right before she deliberately drove it into a ravine. The dark smudges. The pale skin. “Thanks, I wish I could return the compliment,” she retorted, not trying to hide her sarcasm.

  Almost forty, Roman was in better physical condition than most males half his age. The man oozed masculinity, not that it surprised her. His broad shoulders, well defined under his dark T-shirt, tapered to a lean, narrow waist. A worn pair of blue jeans sheathed his muscular thighs. Her eyes followed the snug fit, setting off a heat in Kate’s stomach. Uncomfortable, she forced her gaze back to his face.

  He kept his dark, curling hair longer then she remembered, with the ends brushing casually against his shirt collar. The thick mane now showed signs of silver shimmering in its depths, but instead of detracting from his looks, it added to the rugged hardness of his features.

  Distracted, she missed the determination reflected in those same features until it was too late. Before she realized his intention, she was off the floor and against his chest.

  “Stupido,” he muttered over her head.

  Stupid. Nobody called her stupid. She tried to escape his iron grip, but the covers acted as a cocoon, thwarting her attempts. Furious, she resorted to verbal abuse, calling him every vile name she’d learned from her brothers over the years.

  “Shut up.” The words were clipped, their sting sharp enough to cause her to flinch. “I can’t believe you kiss your mother with that mouth.” He dumped her onto the couch and stood away, his hands on his hips. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  She blinked. Ate? When was the last time she ate? Long before the phone call from Marcus…

  “Never mind.” He let out a sigh and shoved the cup toward her, forcing Kate to drop the quilt to grab it. The warmth from the ceramic felt good against her cold hands.

  “Drink.” He squatted in front of her. “It’s canned, but it’ll do.”

  Irritated, she hastily sipped the warm broth, not really tasting it. “I’m—”

  “All of it,” he commanded, placing his hands over hers before lifting the mug to her lips again. Inwardly seething over his high-handed approach but afraid he would notice her hand trembling beneath his, Kate drank most of the soup in one gulp.

  It slid down easily. So easily in fact, she disregarded the vague, bitter taste it left behind on her tongue. Vegetable. She should have guessed. Cain was addicted to vegetable soup.

  The warmth filled her stomach, then slowly mushroomed through her body, diminishing some of the hollowness and leaving her
strangely comforted. She smothered a yawn.

  With a soft grunt of satisfaction, Roman stepped away. He took the iron poker and stoked the fire. “What are you doing here, Doc?” he asked, glancing her way.

  She paused, just a fraction. The lift of his eyebrow indicated he saw her hesitation. The man was too perceptive. With a shrug, she managed to say, “Taking a break from work.”

  Roman regarded her, his gaze burrowing into hers. Seconds ticked away while Kate, refusing to fill the uncomfortable silence, waited with what she hoped was a blank look. He could wait until the next ice age as far as she was concerned. It didn’t matter Cain trusted this man. It didn’t matter that her parents loved him. She wouldn’t. Ever.

  “Let’s try again.” He returned the iron to its stand and leaned against the fireplace brick. “What are you doing here?”

  She wasn’t fooled. His tone was friendly, even mildly pleasant, but the man was angry. Not seething, but infuriated enough to harden his jaw. Why?

  “I’m on vacation,” she replied, shocked at how easily the lie slipped over her tongue. “I wanted time to myself and decided to use my brother’s cabin. When I called Cain, his secretary said he was out of town indefinitely.” She waved a hand in the air. “Some overseas business complication.”

  “So you decided to come anyway, is that it?”

  Kate glared down the censure in his eyes. “That’s it.”

  “What about the attack?”

  “What about it?” she returned, covering the defensiveness by setting her mug on the end table and gathering the covers around her. “My nerves are shot from working too hard, and I certainly didn’t expect to be scared out of my mind by you creeping around.” She eyed him shrewdly. “What’s your story?”

  “The same, it appears. Cain loaned me the cabin because I wanted to relax and do some fishing, since I’m in between projects.” One shoulder rose in a negligent motion. “I thought you were some local kids trying a hand at vandalism.”

  “Quite a coincidence,” she murmured. What were the odds? It went against her nature as a scientist to believe in coincidences.