Bodyguard Daddy (27 page)

The guy was nearly as miserable as he’d been when he’d thought Amber and their son were dead. Nick had interfered then, too.

“You haven’t seen your son?”

“I’ve seen him,” Milek said. “I’ve had Stacy pick him up for me, so we could hang out.” His lips curved into a slight smile.

At least he hadn’t cut himself off from his son—just from the woman he loved.

Milek glanced down at the commendation again and his smile faded. “You need to retract this press release,” he said.

“It’s too late.”

“It’s a lie.”

“It’s the one thing about you that’s actually the truth,” Nick said.

Milek shook his head. “No, it’s not. I’m nobody’s hero.”

“You saved Amber and your son,” Nick said. “You even saved the woman who tried to kill them.”

“She didn’t try to kill herself like Brad Jipping,” Milek said. “I didn’t save him.”

“He was already gone,” Nick said. That was why he’d grabbed Amber and pulled her from the motel room. He’d known Jipping hadn’t intended to leave that room alive. “I was there when you found Mrs. Schievink holding a weapon on your son.” He’d entered the house right behind Milek. And he’d seen and heard everything through the sliding door Milek had left open. “You could have pulled the trigger and nobody would have questioned you doing it.”

Nick would have backed him up. He’d nearly taken the shot himself when he’d seen that barrel pointing toward the little boy. He couldn’t imagine how Milek had managed such control.

“She wasn’t going to shoot him,” Milek said.

“She’d terrorized him and his mother,” Nick said. “Another kind of man might have killed her and considered it justice.”

Milek sighed. “I’m not that kind of man.”

Finally he’d said what Nick wanted to hear. “No, you’re not.”

Milek glanced up from the commendation and met Nick’s gaze. His voice full of realization and wonder, he murmured, “I’m not...”

“No, you’re a hero,” Nick said. “Just like that commendation says.” It wouldn’t have mattered if the press release convinced the rest of River City Milek Kozminski was a hero if the man didn’t believe it himself.

If he wasn’t able to believe in himself...

“Not everybody will believe what that says,” Milek said. He was still worried about Amber’s career.

“Your record speaks for itself,” Nick said.

“I killed a man.”

“You saved your sister’s and brother’s lives,” Nick reminded him. “You’re a hero. Your stepfather was twice your size. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed you.”

“I lost it,” Milek said. And all the guilt he’d been carrying for all those years was laid bare in his silver-gray gaze.

“You were scared,” Nick said. He had been there himself—as a marine and on the job. But he had never been as scared for his life as he’d been for his heart.

He suspected that was what was really holding Milek back. He was scared Amber was going to hurt him. “Don’t let fear rule your life,” he advised his friend.

Those words echoed in Nick’s head as he drove to his place. So he was distracted when he unlocked his door—so distracted he hadn’t noticed someone else had already unlocked it.

And that person waited inside for him—in the dark. He snapped on the light and cursed. Frank Campanelli was dead. But there was a ghost in his apartment.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admitted. “You’ve been missing for months...”

So many months that nobody had thought it possible the man had survived his last mission with the marines.

Gage Huxton leaned back in Nick’s recliner and groaned. “The rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated.”

“Son of a bitch...”

“I didn’t come here for you to call me names.”

No. He’d probably come here to call Nick names—if he knew what Nick had done with Annalise, how he’d crossed the line that never should have been crossed. Gage had been like his brother, so Annalise should have been like his little sister.

But she wasn’t his sister.

“Why are you here?” Nick asked. “Shouldn’t you be with Annalise?” She’d been so worried about Gage—so distraught.

Gage shook his head and flinched.

Whatever hell he’d been through had come back home with him; the man wasn’t healed yet. Physically or emotionally. “I can’t see her like this.”

“You can’t let her think you’re dead.”

“I told her I’m alive. She just doesn’t know I’m here.”

Which was probably good—for Nick.

“You can stay as long as you like,” he said, figuring that was what his friend wanted.

Gage lifted his chin. No matter what he had been through—it hadn’t hurt his pride any. “I don’t want a handout, man. I want a job.”

“With the FBI? You need to talk to Lynch—not me.”

Gage snorted. “Not talking to Lynch. I don’t want to be an agent anymore. I want to be a bodyguard.”

Maybe Nick was just getting disillusioned with the politics of cleaning up River City, but the job sounded good to him, too. “I’ll talk to Payne Protection.”

Chapter 25

F
ury gripped Amber as she reread the article about Milek Kozminski. He’d been awarded a commendation from the mayor and hailed a hero.

“Bullshit!” she said as she pushed her way through the door to his studio in the back of the warehouse.

He glanced up from the canvas he was painting. But he didn’t look at her; he looked past her.

“I’m alone,” she said.

Obviously he’d wanted to see their son—not her. He’d been seeing Michael, while he kept avoiding her. Stacy apologized every time she picked up her nephew for a playdate with his father.

He hadn’t tried to see her since the day she’d let a crazy woman kidnap their son. Knowing he probably blamed her, she’d moved out of his condo immediately. She was staying in an apartment now—until she could find a house for her and her son.

She hadn’t really been looking, though. Maybe because she’d been hoping Milek would come for them again—that he would bring them home with him as he had the day he’d rescued them from that overturned van. From the hotel...

He had saved her life and Michael’s so many times. Just as the article claimed. But it hadn’t told the entire truth.

He returned his attention to the canvas. She could see only the back of it leaning against a giant easel. She couldn’t see what he was painting as he moved the brush. More spatters dotted the concrete floor like brightly colored raindrops.

She slapped the newspaper against the back of the easel. “This is a lie,” she said.

“I agree.” His voice calm, he didn’t even glance up again.

“You’re not a hero at all.” Now she was the one lying—not the paper. But she was so mad. So hurt he’d let her leave...

“I told Nick that,” he said. “But he insisted on the commendation and the press release.”

She knew Milek had had nothing to do with it. He wouldn’t have sought out accolades. Because if that was what he wanted, he never would have stopped painting.

But he was painting again.

Or maybe he’d never stopped.

She didn’t know. He’d shared so little of himself with her. And she’d come to a conclusion about why he hadn’t. “You’re a coward!”

He chuckled. “I’ve never been called that.”

“You are,” she said. But he wasn’t the only one. She had been a coward, too, or she would have asked her next question five years ago. “Why else did you break our engagement?”

“It wasn’t because I’m a coward,” he said.

“Is it because you don’t love me?” She braced herself for his reply. Because if that was the reason, she had no argument. She had nothing.

“It’s because I love you too much.”

Her breath caught in her lungs, as hope burgeoned in her heart. He loved her?

Was it possible?

She shook her head, refusing to believe him. “You don’t love me,” she insisted. “Or you wouldn’t have hurt me like you did.”

Losing him had nearly destroyed her. It might have if she hadn’t had Michael—who was a little piece of his father. The best piece.

“If you loved me,” she said, “you wouldn’t have broken our engagement.”

“It would have hurt you more if I’d married you,” Milek said. “It would have ruined your chance of ever furthering your career. You’d never be elected district attorney.”

“What are you talking about? Five years ago I was lucky to be an assistant district attorney.”

“You had higher goals than that, and the brains and talent to take you wherever you wanted to go,” Milek said.

She should have been flattered. But she was confused. “What makes you think I wouldn’t have achieved those goals as your wife?”

He pointed toward the paper she still held. “That’s the first good press I, or anyone in my family, have ever had. My reputation would have brought you down. Evelyn Reynolds just told you that.”

She waited, knowing there was more.

And he continued, “Gregory Schievink told me the same thing five years ago.”

“When he claimed to be Michael’s father?” How had she never realized her boss had been obsessed with her? Because he’d been careful to never cross the line far enough that she would have been able to press charges for harassment. Just as he’d been careful to never get caught for corruption.

“He told me before I found out you were pregnant,” he said. “And I knew he was right.”

“He was a creep.”

“Just like Evelyn Reynolds, he was right,” Milek insisted. “If you’d married me, my reputation would have ruined yours. That’s why I broke our engagement. I didn’t want to be the reason you never reached those goals of yours. You would have resented me.”

He wasn’t the man she resented. But she was angry at him for listening to other people—for making the decision for both of them instead of discussing it with her.

She held up the paper and the article she’d called bullshit only moments ago. “This tells the real story. You’re a hero.”

“Nobody believes what they read.”

She remembered what else she’d found in this room—besides the heartbreakingly beautiful portrait of their child. “If that’s true, why did you keep the review of your last art show?” she asked.

His broad shoulders rippled as he shrugged. But his body had tensed, his square jaw clenched.

“That was over five years old,” she said. Right around the time he’d broken their engagement. “Why would you have kept it if you didn’t believe it?”

“A person’s art reveals a lot about them...”

The rage. That was what he’d worried about—the rage the reviewer had worried about him unleashing someday.

“It wasn’t just my
reputation
you were worried about hurting, was it?” she asked.

“Counselor, you’re badgering the witness,” he said with a faint smile, as if he was only joking. But the seriousness was in his voice and the darkening of his silver eyes.

“You believe that garbage one reviewer wrote?” she asked. “Some bullshit about you having all this rage? Everyone says you’re the easiest going of the Kozminskis.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Ever since that day I killed a man, I’ve had to work hard,” he said. “So I would never lose control like that again.”

“You had every reason to lose control that day,” she said. Her friend had had nightmares for years over what her stepfather had nearly done to her—what he would have done had Milek not stopped him. “You were protecting your sister—your brother. If you hadn’t done what you had, he would have hurt you all more than he did. He might have killed you.”

He shuddered as if he was remembering the awful day. That was why she’d never really asked him about it. She’d known how traumatic it had been for Stacy; she hadn’t wanted to bring up the nightmare for the man she loved. And she’d thought he’d made peace with it. He had seemed at peace. But maybe it had just been that control for which he’d fought so hard.

“Is that why you broke our engagement?” she asked. “Why you refused to acknowledge your son until now? You’re afraid you’re going to hurt us?”

The answer flashed in his eyes—the fear.

“Oh, Milek...”

Something in her voice must have affected him, because he finally moved around the easel that had separated them. He finally stepped close to her—close enough that she could touch him.

She stroked her fingers along his tightly clenched jaw. “You are the sweetest, gentlest man I know. You would never hurt us.”

He caught her hand in his and held her fingers tightly. “I force myself to be gentle with you,” he said. “I fight to stay in control...”

She shuddered now—imagining how hard that must have been for him. And suddenly she understood his artwork. “It wasn’t rage that reviewer saw,” she said. “It was passion—passion you’ve been holding back from me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t...” Not now that she knew it all. And she believed he hadn’t broken their engagement because he didn’t love her but because he did.

He shook his head. “I wish I knew...”

She knew.

“Find out,” she said.

He stared at her intently, his gaze questioning. “How?”

“Lose control,” she said. And she reached for him. She skimmed her hands down his chest to his belt and lower. She rubbed her palm over the erection already straining against his fly. And she dared him, “Lose control!”

“Amber...” The hesitation was in his voice and in the tension in his body. He didn’t trust himself.

But she trusted him. She stepped back.

And disappointment flickered in his gaze. He thought she was changing her mind. But she had no doubts about him. She lifted her sweater and pulled it over her head. She dropped it onto the paint-spattered floor. Then she undid her jeans and kicked them down her legs, pushing her panties down with them. She unclasped her bra next and let it fall, too.

Milek’s breath hissed out between his teeth. “Amber...” His voice had gone gruff with desire.

“Milek...” She stood before him totally naked, totally vulnerable. But then she made herself more vulnerable. She touched herself—with him watching. She touched her breasts.

He groaned. “You’re killing me...”

Then she moved her hand lower.

Instead of reaching for her, he reached for his shirt. He tore the T-shirt from the hem to the collar so it fell off. His chest heaved with his deep pants for breath.