Patricia Rosemoor: Someone To Protect Her

He fought, knowing his very life depended on it….

THUMPING…POUNDING…groaning…

Terrifying noises awakened C.J. from an already restless sleep. Heart lurching, pulse pounding, she sat straight up in bed. An intruder? She groped for the telephone, had the slender receiver in hand before remembering.

Frank Connolly.

Her heart thudded. What was going on in her living room? Was Frank fighting off the intruder once more? Half asleep, he would be vulnerable. He could be dead by the time the authorities arrived.

Dropping the phone and grabbing an empty vase, she flung open the door. Barely able to make out thrashing on the couch in the dark, she yelled, “Stop that!” and flew across the room.

“Huh? What’s going on?”

The deep-throated grumble replaced the more threatening noises and stopped C.J. dead in her tracks. Closer now, she realized Frank was alone. And asleep. At least he had been until she’d come charging in.

A lamp clicked on. C.J. blinked at the magnificent display of Frank’s naked torso, cast in gold from the lamplight. The very breath caught in her throat as she allowed her gaze to explore the planes and angles, the muscular perfection that begged to be touched….

“I must have been dreaming,” he mumbled, shifting on the couch so that the sheet dropped lower.

Not seeing a band of white—or any other color—along his hip, she wasn’t certain he wore anything beneath.

“Or h-having a n-nightmare.” The very thought of a naked man on her couch—especially this man—was disconcerting. “I, uh, thought you were in trouble.”

“And you were going to save me?”

Frank stared at her somewhat in wonder, as if he were really seeing her for the first time. His expression changed subtly. Heat creeping up her neck, C.J. set the vase on a table and shoved her hands behind her back.

“Tea,” she offered in desperation as he continued to pin her with his intense gaze. “I have a calming herbal if you would like to try it.”

“Sure. That would be great.”

Relieved for the respite from the odd tension he caused in her, she fled to the kitchen.

FRANK HAD PULLED ON a T-shirt and his jeans by the time C.J. returned to the living room.

“This should settle you down,” she murmured, placing a tray heavy with a porcelain teapot and cups and saucers on the table before the couch.

“I’m fine.”

Not appearing to believe him, she sat down on a chair opposite.

Frank watched closely as she poured the tea. Her hands were graceful, her ringless fingers long, her short nails glossy as if she’d just buffed them. She held out a cup on a saucer, and he suddenly realized the delicate set decorated with flowers and dragons was the only really personal item he’d seen in her apartment.

Even that vase she’d commandeered as an impromptu weapon was colorless, like the rest of the apartment. A furnished rental unit, no doubt. Bland, but easy. Still, he wondered why she’d done nothing to make the place her own. It was devoid of the little things he usually noticed in a woman’s place.

“Thanks,” he said, adding more sugar than was good for him—at least if he wanted to sleep.

She didn’t comment, merely raised one pale eyebrow.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m available.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” she murmured, her voice as soothing as she’d promised the tea would be. She took a sip. “But sometimes talking helps.”

“Talking can’t change anything, can’t bring someone back!” Frank said heatedly before catching himself. “Okay, so what’s the giveaway?”

“Other than you scaring me half to death in your sleep? Your eyes. You try to hide it, Frank, but when you’re not vigilant, they tell me that you’re troubled…haunted by your past.”

Certain she didn’t know about his background—how could she when she hadn’t even known who was coming for her—he said, “Perceptive as well as intelligent and beautiful, huh?”

She blinked at him and he could see that she was thrown. “I’m not beautiful—I’m a scientist.”

Frank started. Maybe she didn’t get many compliments of that sort, considering she hid behind lab coats and glasses and an unflattering hairstyle. But without the glasses, her hair tousled and brushing her shoulders, C.J. indeed appeared beautiful, if in a starched, stiff-upper-lip kind of way. Her body wasn’t encased in a lab coat now. Rather, satiny material drowned her curves. The peach-and-cream stripes of her pajamas complemented her honey-gold hair and flawless ivory complexion.

But again, she seemed to be hiding.

And Frank couldn’t help but wonder what he might find under the baggy garments.

Cup halfway to her mouth, C.J. hesitated. Their gazes locked for a moment, and Frank felt as if he’d just caught a doe in his headlights. He watched the subtle change in her expression before she hid that, too.

She took a quick sip of her tea, then rose, snatching up her saucer. “Since you’re not inclined to talk, anyway, I’ll just finish this in my room.”

“Something I didn’t say?”

But if his comment amused her, she hid it well.

Spine stiff, C.J. retreated to her bedroom.

“I’d rather not fly with an exhausted pilot, so try to let that tea work its magic on you,” she murmured, just before she closed the door.

And locked it. Frank was certain he heard the bolt slide into place.

To lock him out? he wondered.

Or herself in?

He swigged down the tea and set down the cup, too delicate for his big hands. But it was perfect for hers, he thought. He could see her cradling the fine porcelain, even after he turned out the light and closed his eyes.

For once it wasn’t Bosnia that kept him awake halfway through the night.

THE FIRST RAYS OF DAWN streaked the sky over Boulder Municipal Airport. Gilad had been lying in wait for nearly an hour. As always, he was patient.

And he really was more clever than the bungled attempt on the Pearl Street Mall indicated. He was still burning at that temporary setback.

He disliked failure. Disliked looking like a fool even more.

For that, he would require special payment.

Gilad knew all about Frank Connolly, ex-military pilot. His contacts were fast and thorough. Yes, indeed, he could easily imagine the bastard’s worst fears.

As he checked his watch yet again, just as he had been doing every few minutes, an addendum to his plan was already forming. Something that would give him infinite pleasure. A very special way to test his enemy’s true mettle…

Thinking about Connolly flying without benefit of either plane or parachute brought a smile to his lips.

But his fanciful musings were cut off at the sound of footfalls along the tarmac. Time to get down to work. He stepped out in clear view of the approaching man, who was stocky, of medium height and with burnished skin tone. His mustache was neat, as were his navy slacks, white short-sleeved shirt and tie. A laminated ID swung from his pocket protector.

“Vasquez?”

“Right. You Connolly?”

Gilad nodded.

“So where’s the horse van?”

“Not here yet.”

“Then why did you insist I get here an hour earlier than planned?”

“We have something to take care of.”

“What’s that?”

Gilad slipped the cold object from his pocket, saying, “Let me show you.”

C.J. yawned her way to Boulder Municipal. She’d barely fallen asleep before dawn. And all too soon, Frank had been pounding at her door.

To look at him, one would think he’d had a full eight hours’ sleep. She knew better. She’d heard him roaming around the living room for at least an hour after she’d locked herself in. What had been bothering him? she wondered. Something serious—at least the nightmare had made it seem that way. He hid his exhaustion well, though. She wondered what else he was hiding and why he thought it was necessary. Not that she should expect true confessions from a stranger. His past was his past, just as hers was her own.