Melinda Di Lorenzo - Undercover Protector

Worry hit Anderson like a truck.

He threw himself against the door, slamming it open so hard that he half expected it to shatter or at least crack. He didn’t stop to check if it did. He dived forward. He wrapped his arms around Nadine’s waist. And he pulled her out of sight and out of harm’s way a heartbeat before the navy car screeched through the spot where she’d just been standing.

Chapter 2

Nadine’s chest compressed and the air blew out of her lungs as her body flattened between Anderson’s solid form and the concrete pillar behind her. Vaguely she was aware that just ahead on the other side of the bushes where they now stood, a car had first careened to a halt, then peeled out. But, mostly, the man pinning her to the spot took her attention.

His arms were firm around her waist, his hands warm on her hips. If she’d been able to breathe, she might’ve demanded to know what he thought he was doing. As it was, all she could do was work to draw in a gasp of air as she glared up at him. His ocean-blue eyes stared back, no apology for the intrusion touching them. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed before how intense and stormy his irises were. She felt like she was being sucked in. Drowning. But maybe in a good way. If that was even possible.

After what felt like a lifetime but what really couldn’t have been more than few seconds, he finally released his hold on her. Physically, anyway. His gaze still held her.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he demanded gruffly.

She sucked in a trickle of oxygen, then managed to exhale a single-word reply. “No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She tried again. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Speak.

“How do you figure?” It was better, if only slightly.

“You snuck out of the hospital and—”

“Care center.”

“What?”

“It’s technically not a hospital.”

“So?”

“So if you’re going to throw around accusations, you should get your facts straight first.”

“Are you helping me argue?”

“Someone has to. Clearly.”

His mouth twitched just a little. “Okay. You snuck out of the care facility and—”

“Sneaked,” she corrected.

“Really?”

“Well. It’s the more correct word. Snuck is acceptable, but if you want to sound smart...”

“So I seem like I care if I sound smart?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Fine. You sneaked out of a care facility where you’re supposed to be on bed rest with IV fluids because you suffered a head injury. In the middle of the night. Does that cover my concern about the death wish?”

“I asked to be checked out days ago,” she replied. “And they were going to let me go until you talked them into keeping me. My leaving isn’t a death wish. It’s a preservation of my sanity.”

“In your attempt to preserve your sanity, did it slip your mind that it’s not safe for you to be walking around alone?” he countered.

“I live here. I need to be able to cross the street without a bodyguard.”

“Someone just tried to run you down, Nadine.”

“Accidents happen.”

His mouth set in a flat line for a second before he answered. “You really think that was an accident?”

Her heart fluttered nervously, but she brushed it off. “Of course.”

“It’s the middle of the night. The spot where you crossed was well lit. There were no other cars, no other people and no reason for whoever that was to come tearing through like that. Think about it for just a second.”

She swallowed. She’d been so wrapped up in her escape that she hadn’t been paying much attention to what was happening around her. Had she even noticed the car before it zoomed past? Would she have seen it at all if it weren’t for Anderson? And if she had seen it, would it have been too late?

And what about the most important question? added a pushy little voice in her head. Is Anderson right? Was the swipe in my direction purposeful?

Now that he’d put the idea forward, she couldn’t deny that it was a possibility. She’d seen what Jesse Garibaldi’s men—or one of them, anyway—was capable of. Her brother’s death was proof of the ruthlessness. And that didn’t even factor in the pipe bomb and fire that had killed her father and scarred her for life.

Unconsciously, she lifted her fingers and ran them over the puckered marks that followed the curve of her cheek. And unexpectedly, Anderson’s hand joined hers. She was too surprised to pull away. Even when he tipped her face up so that their eyes locked again, she didn’t move. Or maybe she couldn’t.

“Now that you’re thinking about it,” he said softly, “and you see that it might be true, do you understand why I might think you’re putting yourself in danger by running out like that?”

Nadine drew a breath. It annoyed her that he was right. It got her back up just enough that she couldn’t help but shake her head, and the motion dislodged Anderson’s grip. For a second, his hand hung in the air. Then he dropped it and shook his head, too.

“No?” he said. “Really? You can’t even acknowledge that staying here might be safer for you?”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re right or not,” she replied. “What matters is that I’m being treated like an incompetent invalid. I’m the one who found Garibaldi’s underground storage unit. Didn’t your partner tell you that?”

“Of course he did. Brayden told me—and the others—everything before he and Reggie left for Mexico.” He shot her a look as he said it.

She refused to be embarrassed. When “everything” happened, Nadine hadn’t known that Brayden Maxwell was an undercover detective searching for Jesse Garibaldi. All she’d been sure of was that Reggie Frost—a waitress at the local diner—had witnessed her brother Tyler’s murder. Nadine had just been protecting herself. So, yes. “Everything” might’ve included knocking Anderson’s friend on the head, a little bit of breaking and entering, and a small run-in with Reggie. But it also meant she’d kept her identity a secret, eluded a trained professional and only come forward because she wanted to.

Her reply came out strong. “So if you know everything, then why am I being kept tied to a bed in a hospital?”

He scratched at his chin, his face showing his frustration clearly. “Look, Nadine...”

“Yes, Detective?” There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her reply.

“It’s just plain safer for you to be in one spot.”

“My apartment is one spot.”

“Your apartment is also private.”

“Isn’t that better?”

“No. The hosp—care center, I mean, is full of people around the clock. Approaching you there would be a dangerous move for Garibaldi.” He spit out the man’s name with a grimace, then added, “We know that he doesn’t want to expose himself publicly, so staying here...”

“But for how long, Anderson? There are only fifteen long-term rooms here, and if I had to guess, I’d say you can only talk the doctors into believing I’m more injured than I am for another few days at most. And after that, you can’t expect me to just hide. The school is waiting for me to come back. People will start to talk. It’s not like it’s a secret that I’m here. You’re protecting me and exposing me at the same time.”

He had a funny look on his face, and she had a feeling he might’ve missed everything she’d just said.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

“Is there something you’d rather be called? You don’t look like much of an Andy, but if that’s what you want...”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You’ve been calling me ‘detective’ for a week.”