Engaging Bodyguard Page 4

  “Not Jon. You.”

  “I’d already decided I wasn’t going to marry you. Telling you I was alive made no sense.”

  When he didn’t deny it, she said, “You think it was an easy decision?”

  “Which? Breaking the engagement or not letting me know you were alive?”

  “Both.” Celeste answered, allowing the bitterness to filter through. “You didn’t love me. The engagement was a mistake that I had no intention of compounding by involving you in this mess.”

  “Engagement or not, you shouldn’t have run from me.” This time the rage was there, simmering under every syllable, thickening the air between them. “You should’ve damn well run to me for help.”

  “And what could you have done that Jonathon hadn’t?” she asked with disdain, not waiting for an answer. Cain hadn’t denied her accusation that he’d never loved her. The realization made her throat ache. “One of these days you’re going to trip over your arrogance, Cain.”

  “Tread carefully, Gypsy. Because my arrogance isn’t what you should be worried about right now.”

  But it was too late for that. The fear, the injustice, the years of guilt converged on her in one fell swoop, overpowering any thought of prudence. She leaned in, wanting him to see what he’d stirred in her—how much she resented it. “You know why, you weren’t told? Why you weren’t brought in to protect me after Grams died?” Her finger hit his bicep with each question, not caring when she found steel beneath, her emotions no more under control than a runaway train.

  “No. Why don’t you tell me.”

  Determined to, she missed the flash of heat behind his eyes, the threat in his tone. “It’s because the mission was on a need-to-know basis. And for once, MacAlister, you weren’t on the list.”

  He jammed the brake, bringing the car to a dead stop on the roadside. The force threw her forward, then snapped her back like a rubber band. Before she could react, he’d hit the clip of her seatbelt, caught her shoulders in a vice grip and jerked her to him. Her heart slammed into her ribs, her teeth knocked together.

  “Damn you!” Then his lips hit hers, punishing. No love, no desire.

  A reckoning—to her, for the agony of what she’d put him through, and to him, for allowing himself to suffer.

  Not what she’d remembered, not what she’d realized she wanted. Desire bubbled, touched off by the heat of temper, like molten lava that had been waiting a century to awaken. With it, came the quakes of uncertainty, the tremors of fear.

  Don’t make it worse, she told herself. Don’t make it genuine.

  His mouth shifted, as if sensing the surge of emotion. The tempest settled into something deeper, but no less dangerous. Just more confusing.

  She wouldn’t struggle.

  As it turned out, she couldn’t.

  With a few strokes of his tongue against her lips, the confusion became curiosity, the curiosity, yearning. All within a heartbeat. Her mouth opened on a gasp as the hunger slammed into her emotions, hurling her off balance.

  Then he pushed her away. But not far enough for her to feel safe. She jerked back, crying out when her head smacked the window. She blinked, angry enough to say something, cautious enough to hold her tongue.

  He gunned the engine, taking out his rage on the ma chine. Without a word, she settled into her seat, aware of the nearness of his body, the deafening silence.

  The persistent sting in her scalp didn’t register until he turned onto the road. But she didn’t rub away the pain. Instead, she hugged her chest, tight—the ache in her heart hurting far worse.

  “HERE.” Cain reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew five quarters. “We were at Kate’s wedding reception. Jon had joined me on the hotel balcony to smoke a cigar just before he was shot.”

  “Brand new.” Celeste moved closer, hating the nervousness that crept in, and glanced at the backs of the coins. The State of Michigan. “All identical.”

  “All in an envelope inside Jon’s pocket. No prints, of course. Nothing but Mercer’s name. Laser printed.” Cain paused long enough to slide a glance her way. “These were a present from Jon’s killer.”

  Celeste nodded. “It’s his trademark. Which means Jon’s killer would’ve been at the reception disguised as a waiter, a guest. Anyone,” she reasoned aloud. “If the coins had been slipped into his pocket any earlier, Jonathon would have discovered them and would’ve notified me or taken better precautions.”

  “Possibly.” For a moment, Cain’s gaze didn’t leave Celeste’s face, unnerving her. What did he think he’d see? Carefully, she schooled her expression.

  “Either way, the hit man was making a statement.”

  “No, not a statement,” she corrected, then took the quarters and examined them one by one in the light of the window. “The coins tell us that the killer knew I was in Michigan before he shot Jonathon. He was issuing a challenge.”

  “Lucky for him I’m listening then.”

  “It wasn’t luck, Cain. If I’m right, this guy knew exactly which buttons to push to bring you here.”

  “Then we’ll just have to start pushing back.”

  “Define we,” she countered.

  “We don’t need to be lovers, Gypsy. Or friends.” It was a statement of fact. Spoken bluntly. “We just have to be in agreement. Either I’m in or you’re out.”

  “Meaning?” She shifted, instantly alert, unwilling to be caught off guard again.

  “It would only take one phone call for me to arrange for your protection,” he challenged.

  “Which, defined by your terms, isn’t really protection, but more like…imprisonment,” she replied, her jaw clenched. Cain never threw out idle threats—the fact his taste still lingered on her lips was proof.

  “Can’t fool you. But then I’ve always said you were good at your job.” Cain downshifted to avoid a squirrel in the road, not surprising Celeste. “If I think it’s for your own good, I’ll have men here in less than an hour with an arrest warrant.”

  “I’m sure there’s a compliment somewhere in there,” she answered derisively, not willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing she caught the grin that played over his lips.

  Jerk.

  “Even if you could trust them, Cain, it would be impossible.” Having her arrested that quickly would take resources that Cain didn’t have access to—

  She jolted with the realization. Jon had only been dead a day, but it was still feasible. She’d heard the rumors, even before she’d left. Nothing overt, just the whispers. The great Prometheus. The only man who could take over the reins of Labyrinth when Mercer retired. “You’re the temporary director, aren’t you?”

  “The jury’s still out,” he answered, seemingly unsurprised by her comment. “Mine and theirs.”

  “You’ll take the job.” She moved away, suddenly needing the distance a few inches put between them. “And the truth is, you should become the new director. And Jon realized it.”

  “My coming here had nothing to do with being director and everything to do with Jon’s murder and you.”

  Cain maneuvered the Jag onto Shadow Point’s main street. The wind kicked up, rattling the wooden signs of the storefronts. Celeste caught sight of the white clapboard buildings, most painted the previous summer, some showing signs of movement inside.

  Not a surprise, even for Saturday night. For the last week or so, most owners spent hours after closing preparing for the Cambridge Charity auction, knowing the town would receive an early influx of tourists.

  “Do we have a deal?” His access to information made it impossible for her to object and they both knew it.

  “On one condition.” She pointed out the car window to the few people on the sidewalk. The residents’ easy acceptance, their unabashed friendliness, had soothed her shattered soul, then eventually, had won her heart and her loyalty. “See them?” Her index finger tapped the window, not caring that she left smudges on the glass. “There’s a good chance they’re in danger and don’t even
know it. I refuse to let that happen.”

  “It wouldn’t happen if we put you somewhere safe.” He parked in front of her store and shut off the engine.

  “No. He’d find me, Cain. Then other people would get hurt in the process.” You. Celeste deliberately faced Cain, her back straight, her jaw tight. “I want Mercer’s killer found. I want the guy who thinks he can take pot shots at me and get away with it caught. Then I want you far away from me as soon as possible. Agreed?”

  After a long, torturous moment, Cain punched a button and unlocked the door. “Agreed.”

  “Partners,” she muttered, not bothering to hide her annoyance as she followed him onto the pavement.

  “Not quite.” He slipped the keys into his pocket before giving them a careless jingle. “You’re not experienced enough.”

  “What?”

  His comment rankled. Or maybe it was stubborn line of his lips.

  “This isn’t up for debate.” He took in the damage to the Jag, then he pointed to the barely dented metal. “You’re still in trouble. If he knows where you run, he knows where you live.”

  Trouble she could handle. Cain, she wasn’t so sure about. Celeste eyed the minor dents and scratches. Obviously, he’d told her the truth about the car having reinforced plating. Just like its owner. Celeste watched him for a moment. “How did you know to find me at the lighthouse?”

  “I followed you.” The negligent lift of his shoulder seemed almost too casual. “Which is why we’re going to relocate you.”

  “I’m not leaving my home. I have responsibilities.”

  Cain froze, his eyes murderous, startling her. With a long glance at her stomach, he asked, “What responsibilities?”

  Chapter Five

  “What? You think I have a baby?” The quiver in her belly stayed out of her voice, just barely. Celeste couldn’t deny that in those first weeks, she’d hoped, even prayed for what might be.

  Then later she’d dreamed, knowing it would never be.

  “Relax, Cain. My responsibilities include the feline kind. My cat, Pan.”

  “A cat is portable.”

  “My antique business isn’t.” He raised an eyebrow. She quirked hers right back.

  Diana Taylor had taken pride in not being tied down to anyone or anything until she’d met Cain. She’d lived from hotel to hotel, never forming roots. A gypsy, he’d called her until it had become an endearment.

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t, but that’s okay.” She jabbed her thumb at the Jag’s back window. “Shouldn’t we move the car to the alley?”

  “No,” he said, not bothering to follow her gaze. “If anyone asks, tell them a flock of irate seagulls attacked us.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She folded her arms to keep from shaking him in frustration. The man was turning her into a loon. “No one’s going to believe that.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether they believe it or not.” He tugged on her coat sleeve, pulling her along the sidewalk. “It’s time to eat and talk.”

  “Fine.” She clutched her collar together, giving in to a sudden need to protect herself. “You eat. I’ll talk.”

  “I believe, Gypsy, we’re finally communicating.”

  “If you think this is communicating,” she copied his dry tone, pleased with herself when she succeeded. “We’re in for a rough time.”

  DIANA had changed. And the evidence proved to be her business, Cain decided.

  The sun had lost its intensity, sliding farther toward the horizon. Within an hour it would be dark. Already heavy with the promise of snow, the evening breeze tugged at their coats and nipped at their ears.

  Diana’s store stood alone in a two-story building at the end of town. Only the whitewash and green trim showed any similarity to the other stores which stood in a long curvy tail bordering Main Street.

  Cain noticed the sign first, only because of the squawk of the hinges as it swung in the wind. “A Touch of Serenity. Is that just your store’s name or a goal?”

  “It’s my home.”

  A home, he knew, she struggled to keep. It had taken very little effort to pull her financial records. Within hours, Roman had given him a detailed report of her bank accounts—which held barely enough for her to live on.

  A line of benches marched along the boardwalk, all black wrought iron with green slats of wood, all flanked by sandstone flowerpots and all strategically separated by matching garbage containers.

  Except in front of Diana’s place. Her porch was subtly different. Cozy came to mind, startling Cain. With a bay window for its backdrop, a swing bench hung to the right of the door while two rockers sat on the left flanked by wooden barrels, big enough to hold a morning coffee or a set of feet for a lunchtime nap.

  “A little cold to be sitting outside, don’t you think?”

  “I like to rock.” She glanced at the bench before putting her key into the lock. “On a good night when the stars shine, I like the cold, too.”

  Cain almost grinned at that, remembering a time when the slightest breeze would send Diana into a fit of shivers. A woman couldn’t change that much.

  It only took one glance at the inside of her store to prove him wrong.

  If cozy described the porch, the warm, Victorian charm of the store put cozy to shame.

  He’d known it was an antique store, and he’d been in many, shopping with his mother, dragged along by his sister. Both were antique fanatics. But Cain had never seen one like Diana’s.

  Couches and chairs—some in pastel florals, others in jewel-colored velvets in blue, green and gold—crowded the floor, setting off the dark grain of the hardwood. Groomed and overstuffed, each piece set to draw the eye to the softer tones of vintage oak, mahogany and cherrywood furniture nestled nearby. Fragile lace throws and hand-crocheted doilies covered every piece.

  “Nice place, Gypsy.” An oversize stone fireplace stood to the right, waiting patiently with fresh logs to light.

  Celeste threw the dead bolt, punched in her ten-digit code, and waited impatiently for the red light to beep. “You sound surprised.”

  “Considering that only a few years ago, the idea of staying more than a month at one particular hotel got on your nerves, yes, I am surprised,” he admitted.

  “I told you before, that was Diana, Cain. Not me. I enjoy collecting pieces of the past for my customers.”

  Simple solution, for someone who has to live without one, Cain thought. “You got the full security package, didn’t you? Motion, heat, the debugging sensor. Not top of the line—not even close—but workable.”

  “Jonathon insisted on the security.” Her voice remained even. “I insisted that it wouldn’t be one of your systems.” She flipped on the overhead track lights. They cast a soft, easy glow across crystal decanters and stained-glass lamps, leaving one’s mind with a nostalgic sense of the past. “If our killer shows up, we’ll know it.”

  Cain caught the light scent of rose and talcum that was Diana’s grandmother.

  Another deliberate reminder?

  She yanked off his coat and tossed it onto a hundred-odd-year-old oak chest. Her mouth thinned. “I’ve brought home a guest, Pan.” Eyes a few shades lighter than Diana’s own blue ones studied Cain from the top of an eight-foot-tall antique library shelf.

  The sleek black cat yawned in response, a full, wide yawn that allowed his pink tongue to unroll leisurely from his mouth.

  Celeste smiled wickedly at Cain. “He doesn’t seem impressed.”

  “That makes two of you,” he mused. “Had him long?”

  “Since I moved in. He came with the place. I found him in the storage room while I was unpacking.” She held out her arms and Pan jumped into them. “I realized soon after that I enjoyed his company.” Cain watched intrigued as Celeste rubbed her cheek against the cat’s head, then whispered something soothing in his ear.

  Pan jumped from her arms and she laughed. “My company he takes in small doses.” For a moment, she watched Pa
n relocate on the bay window’s overstuffed cushion and stretch out. “He has his own entrance through the stock room for his midnight prowls. An old dryer vent near the floor. It’s no bigger than his head, so I don’t worry too much about someone else squeezing through.” With a shake of her head, she said, “Sometimes I really envy his independence.”

  For a response, Cain sauntered over and scratched Pan between the ears. “Hello, cat.”

  With a long, lazy purr, Pan flipped over on his back and started batting his paws at Cain’s hand.

  Celeste frowned over the male bonding.

  “Any other…friends I should know about?”

  “You never used to play games, Cain. I’m sure within seconds after locating me, you had Roman do a background check.”

  Cain straightened, ending his game with Pan. “Only what we could find out through data bases.” Cain’s tone was tolerant as he eyed a small musical figurine on a nearby lace-covered table. The statuette was of a young woman rocking a small, sleeping boy, his head snuggled against her shoulder. He picked up the figurine and wound the key. The low tinkling of a lullaby filled the air. “I like this.”

  Handcrafted in Italy, the figurine was a favorite of hers too. Actually, she loved it. So much, she’d been tempted to keep it herself. But why did the fact he liked it too suddenly anger her?

  “There’s no special person in your life right now?”

  “No one.” Her chin tilted enough to show off the stubbornness. “Loving someone would only risk their life.”

  A yowl mocked her from across the room. “Shut up, Pan.”

  Cain cleared what might have been the beginning of a laugh from his throat. “I take it he doesn’t want to be excluded.”

  “Most likely,” she lied, conscious of the flush that invaded her cheeks.

  Cain studied her for a moment but Celeste didn’t back down. She had nothing to hide when it came to relationships. The fact that she’d wanted to ask him the same thing, but couldn’t without being obvious, only added another layer to her frustration. “Do you want to hear about this killer or not?” she asked, becoming downright angry when the bite in her question only raised an amused eyebrow.