Julie Garwood: Guardian Angel

you to protect your back when you leave each night."

Monk took another drink, and snickered. "Pagan's a mite protective of his reputation. Your pretense must be turning his hair gray. He'll show himself soon enough. Why, I'll wager that tomorrow will be the night."

Caine nodded agreement. Monk, his gaze piercing with promise, always ended his nightly speech with the prediction that tomorrow the prey would show himself.

"You'll pounce on him then, Caine, like a duck on a bug."

Caine swallowed a long drink, his first of the evening, then tilted his chair back so he could rest his shoulders against the wall. "I'll get him."

The harshness in Caine's tone sent a shiver down Monk's spine. He was about to give hasty agreement when the door suddenly flew open, drawing his attention. Monk half turned in his chair to call out that

the tavern was closed for the night, but the sight standing in the center of the doorway so stunned him,

he could only gape in astonishment. When he was finally able to regain his voice, he whispered, "Holy Mother of God, has an angel come calling on us?"

From his position against the wall, Caine faced the entrance and had a clear view. Though he didn't

move or show any outward reaction, in truth, his surprise was just as great as Monk's. His heart started slamming a wild beat and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

She did look like an angel. Caine didn't want to blink, certain his vision would vanish into the night if he closed his eyes for just a second or two.

She was an incredibly beautiful woman. Her eyes captivated him. They were the most magnificent shade of green. The green of his valley, he thought to himself, on a clear, moonlit night.

She was staring at him. Caine stared back.

Several long minutes passed while they studied each other. Then she started walking toward him. As

soon as she moved, the hood of her black cape fell to her shoulders. Caine quit breathing. The muscles

in his chest constricted painfully. His vision was blessed with lush, auburn-colored hair. In the candlelight, the color was as brilliant as fire.

Caine noticed the pitiful condition of her clothing when she neared the table. The quality of her cloak indicated wealth, yet the expensive material had been shredded halfway up one side. It looked as though someone had taken a knife to it. Part of the green satin lining hung in tatters around her hem. Caine's curiosity intensified. He looked back up at her face, saw the faint bruises on her right cheekbone, the small cut below her full lower lip, and the splotch of dirt marring her forehead.

If his vision was an angel, she'd just been forced to pay purgatory a visit, Caine decided. Yet even

though she looked like she'd just lost the battle with Satan, she was still very appealing, too appealing

in fact for his peace of mind. He grew tense as he waited for her to speak.

She stopped when she reached the other side of the round table. Her gaze was now directed on the rose pinned to his lapel.

His angel was obviously frightened. Her hands were shaking. She clutched a small white bag to her

bodice and he noticed several faded scars on her fingers.

He didn't know what to make of her. Caine didn't want her to be afraid of him, though. That admission made his frown intensify.

"You're all alone?" he asked, his tone as brisk as the rising wind.

"I am."

"At this time of night, in this section of the city?"

"Yes," she answered. "Are you Pagan?"

Her voice, he noticed, was husky, whisper soft.

"Look at me when you ask your questions."

She wouldn't comply with his command but stubbornly continued to stare at the rose. "Pray, answer me, sir," she returned. "Are you Pagan? I have need to speak with the pirate. It is a terribly important matter."

"I am Pagan," Caine said.

She nodded. "It's said that you'll do any task if the price be enough. Is that true, sir?"

"It is," Caine acknowledged. "What is it you want from me?"

In answer to his question, she dropped the bag onto the center of the table. The drawstring tore open

and several coins spilled out. Monk let out a low whistle.

"There are thirty pieces in all," she said, her gaze still downcast.

Caine raised an eyebrow in reaction to that statement. "Thirty pieces of silver?"

She timidly nodded. "Is that enough? It's all I have."

"Who is it you wish to betray?"

She looked startled by that assumption. "Oh, no, you misunderstand. I don't want to betray anyone.

I'm not a Judas, sir."

He thought she looked insulted by his comment. "It was an honest mistake to make."

Her frown indicated she didn't agree. Caine vowed he wasn't going to let her get his temper riled.

"Then what is it you ask from me?"

"I would like you to kill someone, please."

"Ah," he drawled out. His disappointment was almost painful. She looked so damned innocent, so

pitifully vulnerable, yet sweetly asked him to murder someone for her.

"And who is this victim? Your husband, perchance?" The cynicism in his voice was as grating as a nail scraping down a chalkboard.

She didn't seem to mind his biting tone. "No," she answered.

"No? You're not married then?"

"Does it matter?"

"Oh, yes," he countered in a whisper to match hers. "It matters."

"No, I'm not married."

"Then who is it you want killed? Your father? Your brother?"

She shook her head again.

Caine slowly leaned forward. His patience was wearing as thin as the ale Monk watered down. "I tire

of having to question you. Tell me."

He'd forced a belligerent tone, certain he'd intimidate her into blurting out her full explanation. He knew he'd failed in that endeavor, however, when he caught the mutinous expression on her face. If he hadn't been watching her so intently, he knew he would have missed the flash of anger. The frightened little kitten had a little spirit inside her, after all.

"I would like you to accept this task before I explain," she said.

"Task? You call hiring me to kill someone a task?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

"I do," she announced with a nod.

She still refused to look him in the eye. That fact irritated him. "All right," he lied. "I accept."

Her shoulders sagged in what Caine surmised was acute relief. "Tell me who my victim is," he

instructed once again.

She slowly lifted her gaze to look at him then. The torment Caine saw in her eyes made his chest ache. The urge to reach out, to take her into his arms, to offer her comfort very nearly overwhelmed him. He suddenly felt outraged on her behalf, then had to shake his head over such a ludicrous, fanciful notion.

Hell, the woman was contracting him to murder someone.

Their gazes held a long while before Caine asked again, "Well? Who is it you want killed?"

She took a deep breath before answering.

"Me."

"Holy Mother of God," Monk whispered. "You cannot be serious, dear lady."

She didn't take her gaze away from Caine when she answered the tavernkeeper. "I'm very serious, my good man. Do you think I would have ventured out into this part of town in the middle of the night if

I weren't serious?"

Caine answered her question. "I think you've lost your mind."

"No," she replied. "It would be much easier if I had."

"I see," Caine said. He was trying to keep his temper controlled, but the urge to shout at her made his throat ache. "When would you like this… this…"

"Task?"

"Yes, task," Caine asked. "When would you like this task done?"

"Now."

"Now?"

"If it's convenient, mi'lord."

"If it's convenient?"

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you."