Protecting Her Own (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 3

  A large pipe bomb. Low-tech but it definitely could have killed her or her dad if they had been closer to it. Interesting, the logical, investigative part of her mind reasoned while the other wanted to shut down.

  “Cara, who is trying to kill your dad—or you?”

  “Me?” She didn’t want Connor involved in her life and certainly not protecting her. His nearness brought to the foreground everything she had run away from thirteen years ago. He’d wanted to smother her, do everything for her then. And in the short time they had been reunited, he was doing it again.

  “Sean told me what you’ve been doing these past few years. We can’t totally rule you out as a possible target. I mean to find out what’s going on.”

  She locked gazes with Connor and automatically her adrenaline spiked at the challenge—could she put their past aside to let him do his job—that she glimpsed in his depths. “Why? Because of our past?”

  Connor rose and crossed to the stove to refill his mug. “Sean has asked for my help and I’m giving it. The origin of the bomb was in the dining room—the table. Do you know what the pipe bomb might have been in?”

  Although she’d been forced to leave Nzadi under less than ideal conditions, she didn’t think anyone would have followed her to the United States to try and kill her—she hoped. “I don’t think I’m the target. My dad had been receiving birthday gifts from friends. The neighbor who had been collecting the mail brought them over yesterday morning. I had a stack of them on the dining room table from people around the world. He’ll be sixty tomorrow.” If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the Nzadi affair on the phone with Kyra, she might have been more suspicious about the black-wrapped gift. Although black wrapping paper was often used as a joke for a milestone birthday, anyone knowing her father wouldn’t have sent a gift wrapped in black paper. He wouldn’t be amused.

  “Nothing seemed suspicious to you? Your dad wasn’t even home—hadn’t been for eight weeks.”

  “But he had been due home this morning right before the last package, a medium-size box wrapped in black paper, was delivered.”

  “Who knew about that?”

  She shrugged, wishing she felt nonchalant. “Everyone in town.”

  “But he didn’t come home.”

  “It was a last-minute decision by his doctor at Sunny Meadows. He had a reaction to some new medication, and the doctor wanted him to stay there another day or so to keep an eye on him. I’d only been able to tell a few people I needed to cancel his birthday party. Sean was one of them.” She narrowed her eyes on him as he sat. “I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

  “I do work for the Virginia CID.” He lifted his mug to his lips and took a long sip.

  For a few seconds she watched that action, remembering a time when those lips had kissed hers. She looked down at her drink and tried to bring some kind of order to her chaotic thoughts. “You have no right to bring me here without my permission. I’m sure I didn’t give it.” She wouldn’t have because that meant she would be near Connor. There was no way she could deal with him on top of everything else. “The last thing I recall is lying on Doc’s examination table. He gave me another pill and that’s all. Did he drug me?”

  “He gave you pain medication. You went to sleep all on your own.”

  Which really didn’t surprise her. She had been functioning on only a few hours of sleep for the past four days, reporting to Kyra about her last assignment after escaping Nzadi then turning right around and coming to Clear Branch at midnight two days ago. Although she’d been to the rehabilitation center/nursing home to make plans to move her father to his house, she’d thought she could rest before having to deal with his situation.

  But ever since she stepped through the doorway into her childhood home, memories had bombarded her from all sides. She’d spent most of the past two nights prowling the house, trying not to dredge up memories from the last time she’d been there and the fight she and her dad had had. That memory had kept her away for thirteen years.

  “And I’ve been here for how long?”

  “Since before noon. As I said, Gramps did ask you about coming here.”

  “And I answered?” Memories of earlier began to leak back into her mind. She remembered the deep, gruff voice saying something to her. Then, because her ears were still ringing, Mike had written something on a piece of paper. The blast must have affected her more than she thought if she’d agreed to come here.

  “Yes. Gramps and I brought you here.”

  “How?”

  “I carried you to the car and then to the house.”

  That was what she’d been afraid of. Her heartbeat sped at the thought of being in Connor’s arms, cradled against him—twice in one day. Another memory of being in his arms cloaked her. Of him kissing her. A lifetime ago. “I don’t need to be protected. I didn’t thirteen years ago, and I don’t now. I’m not the one in danger.” At least she didn’t think so, and she would do her own checking into that. “My dad must be. I need to call the center to see how he is.”

  She flipped open her cell and punched in the stored number of Sunny Meadows, then asked to speak to the nurse on duty. When she came on the line, Cara asked, “How’s C. J. Madison doing? This is his daughter.”

  “Cara, this is Kathy. Your dad is fine, but the doctor wants to keep him at least through tomorrow.”

  “Is the deputy sheriff with him?” she asked, vaguely recalling Sean writing something to that effect on a piece of paper.

  “Yes. In fact, after the sheriff came a while ago and told your father what happened, he got quite upset at the news. It took us a while to get him settled down. Doc had us give him his sleeping pill early tonight. I think he’s down for the night. Are you all right? Everyone heard what happened at the house.”

  Cara had known Kathy in high school and was glad she was one of the nurses looking after her father. “I’m fine. So you don’t think I should come see him tonight?”

  “No. Get a good night’s sleep and come tomorrow morning.”

  Cara snagged Connor’s gaze while she said goodbye to Kathy. “I may have agreed to come here because Mike asked, but I’m not staying here, Connor.”

  He surged to his feet and strode to the sink to pitch the rest of his coffee. “I tried to tell Gramps and the sheriff you wouldn’t want this, but they were sure you would see the wisdom in being here in an environment a little bit easier to control than a hotel. They just don’t remember how pig-headed you are.”

  “Well, then I’ll have to tell them after you take me to the house.”

  “No can do.”

  “What do you mean? I need some clean clothes. You can’t keep me here against my will. I’m not in any danger. Besides, I know how to take care of myself.” Her training and survival instinct had gotten her out of the kitchen before more of the ceiling had come down on top of her.

  His smile tilted up the corners of his mouth, but that was all it did, as though he was trying valiantly to be patient. “It’ll be dark before we can get to your house, and there’s no electricity. It’s not safe at night.”

  Again he was making decisions for her. “Haven’t you heard of flashlights?” Standing, she gripped the edge of the table with both hands then leaned into it.

  “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 rather less of one since he was half a foot taller than her five-nine.

  “No, that hasn’t, but I’m not that same man. I’m no longer naive and love struck. You pretty well cured that thirteen years ago.”

  “If this is gonna work, we have to agree to let the past go. I’m not the same. You aren’t, either.” She stuck her hand out. “Truce? Can we put it behind us at least for the time we’re together? Start fresh as though we’re strangers?”

  He stared at her outstretched arm, then slowly closed his hand around hers and shook it. “Deal. We don’t need to fight each other and the person who sent that little present today.”

  “Can you at least take me to pick up my car at the house? I want to drive it to the hotel on Main Street. I’ll get a room there. I won’t try to go inside the house until tomorrow, but I do need a change of clothing and I have a spare bag in the trunk. I was going to go work out after seeing Dad today.”

  “Okay.”

  Twenty minutes later Connor pulled up in front of her childhood home. The almost full moon highlighted the large dark cavity with a heavy plastic sheet over it where the picture window in the dining room had been. She caught glimpses of the boards nailed over the opening. The realization of what had happened that morning slammed into her again. She’d thought coming back to Virginia would give her the sense of stability and normalcy she needed in her life while she tried to figure out what she wanted to do—continue working as a bodyguard or try something else. It hadn’t, and when she returned to Dallas she’d need to deal with that.

  But right now she just wanted to stay alive and keep her father alive.

  “Thanks for the ride. What time should I meet you back here tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll come by the hotel and pick you up at eight.”

  “But I have my own car.”

  “Together. Remember, Cara?”

  “Fine. I’ll be in the lobby at eight.”

  She hurried to her car. Behind her Connor followed. At the driver’s door she wh
irled to face him. “You don’t have to—”

  “Before you get in, I want to check to make sure there isn’t another bomb attached to the car.”

  THREE

  The next morning, Cara paced in front of the Clear Branch Hotel on Main, waiting for Connor to pick her up. She glanced at her watch. 7:55. She’d come down early because she hadn’t slept. Her body had protested every position she’d lain in. Finally she decided staying in the room one more minute would cause her to run down the hall stark raving mad.

  Another sleepless night. Images of a killer stalking her father flitted in and out of her mind the whole time she lay in bed and stared at the light from the hotel’s sign dancing across the ceiling as it swung in the breeze. Although her relationship with her father had been rocky, she didn’t want anything to happen to him. She still hoped to feel accepted by him one day. No matter how much she tried not to care, she did.

  Her car had checked out. No more bombs had been planted there. Although she didn’t think she was the target, as a onetime investigative reporter she knew that she couldn’t totally dismiss the idea that she was the one the bomb was meant for. What if something she’d done had brought danger to her father? She had enough self-inflicted guilt, no need to add more on top of it.

  Her instinct, which had served her well in the past, told her that her father was the target. In his line of work, he’d made some powerful enemies. But knowing all that didn’t mean she would let down her guard, especially since she felt this wouldn’t be the only attempt if they didn’t discover who was behind the bombing.

  What was she going to do when the doctor released her dad from Sunny Meadows? After escorting her to her hotel room the night before, Connor had left her with that question and an invitation for both of them to stay with him and his grandfather. The picture of all of them in the same house—yes, a large Victorian, but not big enough for her and Connor—plagued her the whole time she got ready for bed. She would be near him all the time. That realization she couldn’t squash long enough to rest her exhausted body and mind.