01 Only Fear (7 page)

“Commercial break is about to end,” he warned through the intercom before moving back to his seat.

“I have to get back on the air. But this isn’t over.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “No, it damn well isn’t.” He paused and dropped his hands from his hips to his sides, fisting them. Maggie thought maybe he was going to reach out and touch her, but then he swore and spun on his heel.

She tossed a final comment over her shoulder as she sat back down. “And you owe Becca an apology.” The poor woman had been near tears when she’d left.

She scowled as Ethan walked out of the room, muttering something under his breath before he closed the door behind him. She could have sworn he’d said, “Therapists.” And not in a good way.

“Overbearing jerk,” she mumbled to herself before pulling the microphone in place. But even as she said it, she knew he’d been concerned. And why not? Her safety was his job, she reminded herself. She was nothing more that that. Any sizzles of attraction she’d imagined between them were better left to fizzle out.

There was one good thing about their argument, however, and that was that he’d made her forget her panic. His anger had fed her own, and she hadn’t had time to focus on the ache that had begun to build in her chest as she talked to Owen. Or Fearmonger.

That she could get angry was, in itself, a miracle. She’d spent so much time being afraid. Then, with the anniversary of her brother’s death and Owen—or whoever he was—stepping into her life, the fear had reared its ugly head again. Ethan helped her diffuse it.

Or at least gave her an alternate target for her anger.

“Welcome back,” she said, forcing her attention to her show. “We’ve been discussing depression tonight, and we’ve heard one person’s views on fear. Shame on you, Owen, for trying to scare us.” She conjured a good-natured chuckle. “He’s trying to prove his point.”

Sharon, Becca and David had returned and were now crowded into the production area. Still, Ethan’s anger seemed to fill up every empty space.

“But Owen’s wrong,” she said to her listeners as her gaze held Ethan’s. “We don’t thrive on fear. Perhaps animals do, but humans are beyond that. Yes, fear is the basis for many other emotions. Anxiety, for instance, can be thought of as the fear that something will or won’t happen. Or that we won’t be able to survive some perceived disaster in our life. But as humans, we have the power to find ways to cope with this, and to master our fears. Owen’s view is not the only view. Some people thrive on fear. Others thrive on love.”

As she closed out the show, her inner thoughts kept flashing back to Owen. She’d be damned if she was going to let him win. Been there, done that. She would not be a victim again.

The ending music swelled and Maggie pulled off her headphones and made her way to the production booth. “Good show,” David said, as he always did, and he quickly squeezed past everyone, making himself scarce as he disappeared across the hall to the break room. Sharon left close on his heels. She gave Maggie a wry smile before hustling away.

“Nice job,” Becca said, but the spark of excitement had been extinguished. Ethan had obviously chastised her. Maggie felt sorry for the energetic, carefree woman who’d accompanied her that night. She wondered if she’d get that inner fire back under Ethan Townsend’s grave tutelage.

“I’ll escort Dr. Levine home,” he said, glancing around as if unable to meet Becca’s eyes. Perhaps he felt bad about his earlier rebuke, after all. “I’ll touch base with you later.”

Becca nodded and, with a small, halfhearted smile for Maggie, she left the two of them alone.

“I really can get myself home.” She went back to her chair, gathering her notes and stuffing them in her satchel.

“Do you have a car?”

She’d forgotten about that. Becca had driven her here. She huffed out a breath. “No. Guess you got me there.”

He reached out and took her arm, his touch surprisingly gentle as he turned her to face him. “I’m just trying to do my job. Keep you safe.”

The air fairly crackled with his sense of chivalry and she sighed. How could a woman refuse when a handsome man wished to guard her with his life?

“Let’s get going, then. It’s been a long day.”

He walked her out and, for once, she didn’t feel the need to constantly survey the parking lot. Her bodyguard did that enough for the both of them. He kept a hand at her elbow, his heat at her side. Though she was taller than the average woman, his large frame made her feel almost dainty.

Earlier, the daytime temperature had risen high enough that now, even after the relief of the brief but intense rain and the cover of dark, steam rose from the puddles left on the ground, reflecting orange in the glow of the parking lot lamps. The smell of rain still permeated the thick air, increasing the feeling of intimacy surrounding them. And yet, she knew next to nothing about the man to whom she was entrusting her life.

“You were Secret Service before, right?”

At her quiet question, his head whipped around to face her. It was a moment before he answered, returning his attention to their surroundings as they approached his car. “Yes.”

A man of few words. They were usually the most interesting type, and a challenge this particular mental health professional couldn’t resist. She prodded him. “Why did you leave?”

He opened the passenger door of his car and motioned for her to get in. She waited until he was settled in the driver’s seat beside her, but he still didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road, away from her.

Maggie liked to see a client’s eyes when they spoke. That was one thing she missed now that she was on the radio. Nonverbal cues provided a valuable subtext to the words one spoke. Still, he wasn’t her client. She didn’t really have the right to pry, though something urged her on.

“Is it too painful?”

He shot her a grin that took her by surprise and made her mouth go dry. “You don’t give up, do you? Like a pit bull.”

“I’ve heard more flattering analogies, but no, I don’t give up.” Her voice softened. “Not when it’s evident there’s something there, under the surface, that needs to come out.”

His jaw clenched, the easy grin gone now. Perhaps she’d pushed too far. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Doctor.”

“I wouldn’t dare. We don’t have enough time,” she added, arching a brow at him.

His short laugh surprised them both. “No, you probably don’t.” His smile died away again as he looked straight ahead. “You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it, though.”

“I can respect that,” she murmured, her heart going out to him as he nodded briefly. The therapist in her longed to help him. And so did the woman in her.

As her home was illuminated by his headlights, the dread inside Maggie grew. She’d angered Owen again tonight. What price would she pay this time?

Ethan seemed to read her thoughts. “Noah’s had an unmarked police car patrolling the neighborhood all evening.”

She shot him a grateful glance. “That was thoughtful.”

He shrugged. “Fearmonger seems to be targeting you. You’re our best bet for catching him.”

Ouch.
So she wasn’t the center of everyone’s world. She knew that. How indelicate of him to point it out, though. In this whole insane mess, she was well aware that her pride mattered little.

He walked her to her door and waited as she disengaged the alarm, then turned on the inside lights. She froze, unable to go any further. But Ethan was already stepping past her with a quick hand signal to wait there for him. He took his gun from its shoulder holster and held it with both hands. And then he was gone.

Several moments had passed when she heard a thump, followed by a crash as something shattered within the depths of her house. A groan and a muffled curse met her ears. Worried, she took a step into the small foyer.

“Ethan?” As her breath caught in her chest, Maggie forced air into her lungs and mentally counted to avoid giving in to panic.

“It’s okay,” he finally called.

She’d only had to count to five. She blew the breath out when he reappeared in front of her, holstering his weapon.

“All clear.” He grimaced. “But you’ll need a new bedroom lamp. Maybe I was wrong about enlisting Sigmund as an attack cat. He jumped out at me from under the bed and wrapped his claws around my ankle. Surprised the hell out of me.”

“He’s been through a lot.” Her words retained a tremor of the fear she’d felt.

Ethan’s gaze was piercing as he examined her face, probably noting her paleness. He reached out and laid a palm against her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing the corner of her mouth. She trembled under his delicate touch. “So have you. But you’re okay now.”

She caught a whiff of laundry detergent along with Ethan’s masculine scent, no doubt heightened by the humid night air and the dampness of his clothes. Thinking of the dampness reminded her that this man had run through the rain to get to her earlier. Because he’d been concerned for her safety. She felt herself leaning forward, as if drawn by some unseen force. Her gaze flickered to meet his, and she sensed a war being waged within.

“It’s okay. You can kiss me,” she whispered.

He stilled, his palm warm against her cheek as she brought her arms around his waist and held on, feeling his muscles bunch and tense beneath the wet shirt at her fingertips. She imagined the warm skin that lay there, just under the thin cotton fabric.

Her words hung in the sudden quiet for several long seconds before she felt his exhale of breath against her face. “I can’t.” A look of regret clouded the dark green depths of his eyes and he dropped his hand from her cheek. She removed her hands as well and took a step back, struggling to hide her disappointment.

“I can’t,” he repeated, his voice thick. “It’s not…”

God, he was going to make stupid excuses that she didn’t want to hear. She forced a smile. “No problem. I understand. This is, after all, a job.”

“You’ve been through so much.” She couldn’t stand the softness in his voice. The understanding. The
pity.

She stood by the door with her hand on the knob, both dreading the moment he would leave her in this house alone, and welcoming it so she could recover from her embarrassment. She’d practically lain down at his feet. But then, Ethan was a sexy man. He was probably used to stepping over women who threw themselves at him.

And there was always the possibility someone waited at home for him. But he had the appearance of a loner. No, she doubted this man had anyone with whom to share his burdens.

“Noah and I are just a couple quick phone calls away.”

She swallowed and avoided his gaze. “Okay, then.”

“You’ll be okay,” he said, and again she had the uncomfortable feeling he was reading her thoughts. “Noah’s got an officer stationed in a car across the street. Get some sleep. We both could use some. Neither of us is operating on all thrusters.” Great. Now he was making excuses for her behavior. “I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.” He turned to go.

“What about Becca?”

“She’ll be otherwise engaged.”

Poor girl. She was trying so hard to impress Ethan and Damian. And it really hadn’t been her fault that Maggie had provoked Owen. “It wasn’t her idea for me to engage Owen in conversation. She didn’t expect any trouble. And there wasn’t any.”

He had crossed the threshold of the door and turned back. At her words in Becca’s defense, he shook his head. His whole demeanor seemed to darken somehow. “But you couldn’t have known that. Usually the worst harm comes when you least expect it.” The shadow that seemed to pass over his face mingled with the night’s true darkness as he turned. He walked across the porch, calling back over his shoulder, “Set the alarm.”

She closed the door behind him and took a split second to compose herself, to shake off her reaction to the raw pain she’d seen in his expression. Exactly what had happened to Ethan Townsend? She made a mental note to find out.

Sigmund wove between her legs, meowing his standard greeting. At least she wasn’t completely alone. A small voice, one that had been growing louder in recent weeks, told her that living for her job and her beloved pet wouldn’t be good enough.

Not for much longer, anyway.

The blade of his bowie knife flashed in the moonlight, setting off an answering flash like gunpowder igniting in his blood. The energy of it pumped through him, her fear driving it.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

He didn’t expect an answer from his victim as he showed her the knife. Her mouth was bound with duct tape the same silver of his blade. But he saw the fear screaming in her eyes.

That was satisfying. Soon, he’d remove the tape and hear her screams.

That was always even more satisfying.

And dear Maggie would know what it was to fear. Truly fear. That would be the ultimate satisfaction.

He looked with disgust at the prey before him. She wasn’t Maggie. She was only a teaching tool and always had been a means to an end. But someday…someday it would be Maggie. She would no longer doubt him or question his wisdom.

He’d have her respect.

For now, however, he had to settle. He shrugged. Might as well perfect his craft before the ultimate prize was captured. And giving Maggie something to think about would heighten the final pleasure. He grew hard thinking about it, about sinking the knife into Maggie’s creamy flesh.

She would be his. Soon.

“I’m going to dial,” he told his present student. “When she answers, I’ll remove the tape. And I want you to scream like you mean it.”

His victim’s wide blue eyes filled with hope. She thought she’d be able to yell for help. That she had a chance.

He smiled, running a hand over her glossy brown hair. The blossoming of hope always led to the greatest screams—when they realized all of that hope couldn’t trump fear.

He dialed Maggie’s home number, waiting impatiently as it rang. She’d better be home, or this next victim’s life would be a prolonged hell. Of course, it was four in the morning. Where else would sweet, solitary Maggie be?

“Hello?” Her voice, husky with sleep, aroused him further. He imagined it screaming for mercy.