Deceived (21 page)

“You’ll be protected by me. Unless … ” He puffed his cheeks out. “Are you morally opposed to cohabitation?”

Chapter Sixteen

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have a better plan.”

Driving away from the airport made it official. I’d never see Pixie again.

“What?” A tear slipped from my eye. I wanted to stamp my foot. What would Pixie’s parents think when they called to check in on her and found her in California? I tried to remember her taking a call from her mom and couldn’t. I knew, without a doubt, my father would blow a gasket.

“You have to stay with me until I can make better arrangements. I’m sorry about that. My team’s working on it. It won’t be forever. They know … ”

Wait. My brain reversed through his words. What did he say? The alarm on his face frightened me. I breathed on the cool glass window inside the vehicle and watched it blush in response. Aimlessly, I doodled swirls and patterns in the steam. My mind wanted to reject the entire evening, from start to finish. It simply wasn’t real. I didn’t want to look at him.

“I know it’s nothing like home, but since you don’t sleep anyway.”

“I miss my mom.”

Silence.

“She was in some kind of accident on her way home from work one night. Dad’s never been willing to give me any details. He pretty much forbade me to ask years ago.” I was unable to stop. “It never sat right with me. All this craziness with the Reaper and a stalker and you has me dwelling on things I don’t understand. I get these feelings I can’t explain. Like déjà vu but obviously not.” I blinked out a tear and scrubbed it off my cheek.

Something about the anxiety of the night, and losing Pixie, made me feel raw, exposed. A geyser built in my heart. “It was probably a good thing I didn’t have more ammunition.” I stroked my fingertips again through the steam on the window. “I know myself well enough to know I’d have used every detail to punish myself. I’d try to picture it, her death, if I had details. I’m a master at self-imposed torture.”

Something tugged at me. A tear slid down my cheek. I rubbed it off with my sleeve.

We pulled into his driveway sometime after midnight. He went ahead of me, into the house, turning on lights and securing the area. He had a large black duffle over his shoulder. One he’d moved from the back of his Jeep at the airport. Inside, he took me from room to room, showing me the details, the light switches, where to find the land line, and then instructed me never to use the land line. He gave me a new cell phone and disassembled mine. I went to the kitchen to make coffee. When I got back, he was hauling blankets and pillows from the bedroom.

I followed after him to thank him for doing that for me. When I got to his room, the bed was still made. I did a double take. My pillow was on top of the bed. My toiletries were on the nightstand and a duffle of my things sat on the dresser.

“Are you making coffee?” The scent made its way through the house.

My hands trembled. I needed it. Shame heated my cheeks. I’d helped myself. Faced with the decision, I’d rather be a rude coffee snatcher than have him know how much I needed it. Plus, the absence had given him time to make up his room for me.

“Yeah, but you can go to bed. I won’t keep you up. I just … I don’t sleep well.”

“Why is that? You’ve never said.” The look on his face was so full of concern that I folded. Even with a serial killer on the loose, he wasn’t on his laptop working. He was worried about my rest.

“Um, I have nightmares. Well, one nightmare, every night, or most nights.” I looked up to see how he’d react.

He sat on the bed.

I sat, too.

“What about?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid. Whatever is happening isn’t totally clear. I know I’m in danger or someone I love is in danger. The panic’s there, but the reasoning isn’t. It’s like in a scary movie when the maniacal music begins, but you don’t see the danger yet. You just know something’s wrong, and you’re afraid for the girl. In my dream, I’m the girl.”

Without saying a word, he reached out for me and pulled me sideways under his arm. He held me without speaking, and I was at ease. After too short a time, he released me. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”

He led me back to the living room. “Keep talking.”

I took one very deep breath and blew it out slowly. This was it. “I can’t really say when the dream started. It feels like it’s always been a part of life for me, but I know that’s not true. I lost my mom when I was young. That’s what triggered the dream, I think. A child really isn’t equipped to deal with that sort of loss, you know?”

I looked up. Nicholas retrieved some mugs from the cupboards in the kitchen. I snuggled into the soft cushions of the couch.

“It’s the most tragic kind, I think, losing your mother. I was too small to really understand.”

Nicholas had his back to me.

“That’s actually just a theory of mine. The argument I have against my theory is I’m no longer a child. I’m more than able to understand the loss, but it doesn’t stop the dream.”

“What are you doing about it?”

“Well, I’ve adjusted.”

He chuckled.

“No amount of therapy seemed to be effective in remedying the problem, and I’ve had my fair share of therapy. So, I took a new approach.”

His eyes widened.

“I decided if I couldn’t exorcise the thing, then I’d have to live with it. In about ninth grade, I started to treat the dream like a disease, a treatable illness. Dreams can’t kill me, so I chose to endure. I accepted the fact I’ll never get the recommended eight hours of rest. My nerves will forever be on edge from caffeine and sleep deprivation. I ditched counseling and picked up an expensive coffee habit.”

“Cheers.” He handed me a large green mug.

“I think if I knew what has me running for my life every night, maybe I could confront it.” I shrugged, sipping the coffee. “I’m not a confrontational person, but I’m willing to do anything for a little sleep. The dream is my nemesis. Other people my age sleep.” I made a face.

Nicholas smiled. The effort didn’t make it to his eyes.

“My phone. My dad,” I gasped. The light bulb in my head must’ve been on a delay switch.

“All calls to your old number will ring on this phone. I added a few dozen songs, so you have some to start with. Add anything you like.” He twisted my new phone in his hands. He’d anticipated my reaction before it hit me. “My number’s in there.” He set the phone on the coffee table. That nugget helped sell me on the phone a little more than the first explanation.

“Oh.”

“That’s my mother.” He looked at the frame I held in my hands. “As if it’s not obvious.”

He was right. They looked alike. I looked nothing like my dad.

“Are you worried about your father?”

“Yeah.”

No, I was thinking about how much I missed my mother, though I didn’t remember her. Change the subject. “So, you always wanted to be a Marshal?”

“No. I didn’t know what I wanted to do for a long time. I knew it would be something like this because of my legacy.”

He had a legacy?
I didn’t know any of my relatives, other than Dad. I didn’t really know him either. In a way, being in witness protection would be an easy transition for me. I already had nothing to leave behind.

“When I turned eighteen, I followed the path of every other Austin man and went into the military. Unfortunately for me, it was war time.”

“When you got out, you became a Marshal?”

“Yeah. Being a veteran helped a lot. Plus, it’s always good to know people.”

“Your family.”

“Yeah.”

“What about you, Elle. What do you want to do?”

“I’d like to go to law school.” It was my standard answer. Truthfully, I’d like to be a mother. If I couldn’t have one, I thought I’d appreciate being a mom more than most women did.

“Have you always wanted to be a lawyer?”

“No.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the tears fell anyway. How many times had he seen me cry this week?
Ugh
.

“Hey, listen, it’s okay to be afraid. That’s normal. This is all new to you. It’s scary. I get that, but it will be okay.”

I blinked away a few tears.

“This guy is elusive, but he’s not unattainable.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s been fourteen years. That has to count for something.”

“It’s made him overconfident. He’s bound to trip up.” Something was off in his expression. He continued a little too quickly. “He began fourteen years ago, but from the best we can tell, he hasn’t murdered anyone in a decade, so he’s out of practice, too.”

“Or he’s really improved. What was he doing all those years?”

Nicholas walked back to the kitchen for a refill, but I’d hardly seen him take two sips from his mug. He appeared to be hiding something.

“Nicholas? Do you know what he was doing?”

“Yes.”

He turned at the waist. His eyes avoided mine. He
was
hiding something. My pulse picked up speed. I followed after him. I laid a hand on his arm.

“Stalking.” His voice came in a hoarse whisper. His breath reached my face and my knees went weak.

I closed the small distance between us and stretched up onto my tiptoes. Nicholas leaned into the counter. I faced all six-and-a-half feet of him. Timidly, I trailed my hands up his chest, over his soft tee, and beyond his shoulders. I wasn’t positive what I expected to happen next. Boldness and I weren’t close. What I wanted and what I expected rarely lined up. More than anything, I wanted to be safe. Nicholas was safety. If he held me, nothing could hurt me. I stretched further.

“Who?” I let the warmth of my breath coat his skin.

He lifted his chin high, looking over the top of my head. Defeat fell into the pit of my stomach. He rejected me, until all at once, he didn’t. His face turned downward without warning, and our lips connected like two magnets drawn together. Whatever held us apart before had snapped without warning. Nicholas had let go.

I felt small in his arms. He towered over me, his shoulders twice as wide as mine. The contrast of us sent chills down my back, and the smallest sound I ever heard escaped my lips. He tightened his hold on me in response, pulling me closer still, kissing me with a passion I’d never imagined. I’d seen a thousand kisses, in life, on television, but they hadn’t prepared me. Blood boiled and raced beneath my skin. I was fevered and frenzied. His hands moved over my back, into my hair and clutched softly. I did the same in response. I held on for fear he’d disappear.

As my fingers wound tightly in his soft brown hair, he pulled his lips away, kissing me softly once on the cheek and then resting his head against the top of mine. His scent enveloped me—soap, musky cologne, minty breath. A deep sigh blew free from his chest. His heart beat hard beneath my ear. His hands splayed over my lower back and they covered the width of me. All the tiptoeing had pulled my sweater away from my jeans enough for his fingers to land on bare skin.

With caution, I raised my face, seeking his. I had to know his reaction. How had he responded to the kiss that overshadowed every single experience I’d ever had?

“I’m sorry.” His eyes were closed.

“I’m not.”

“I’m supposed to protect you. I can’t seem to get that right. I’m failing at this assignment, and your life depends on me.” He tightened his hold of me.

“I’m making this harder.” What began as an attraction to his incredible face had morphed entirely. I wanted to be with him, near him. He was suddenly my best friend, my confidant, and my makeshift family.

I loved that he had a family he appreciated. I loved the respect he showed them, me, and everyone I’d ever seen him come in contact with. He was a guardian, my protector. His kindness contrasted strangely with his military training and the gun wedged in his waistband.

“Yes, infinitely, yes.”

I frowned.

When his eyes opened, they sparkled. “Ugh, Elle. I’m losing it. You can’t imagine the struggle I’m having, the struggle I’ve been having.” His eyes looked wild, like Pixie’s when she got really amped up about something.

“I need to turn this case over to someone who’s not in … ” he trailed off for a moment, “ … volved with the subject, but I can’t. I can’t trust your safety to anyone else because I need to know you’re safe, every minute, and I need to be with you for that. It’s wrong to stay, but I can’t leave.” He stroked my hair behind my ear. “I won’t leave you, Elle.”

“There are a number of reasons why I need to keep my hands to myself.” He used his business voice. “It’s unprofessional, extremely distracting, and
illegal
. Would you forgive me if I kept a distance until we capture the bad guy? I have to try to focus.” His lopsided smile sent a shiver over my arms.

“I make no promises.” That was the best I could do. “Living here will make things more complicated.” I liked the way it played out in my head.

“Slightly.” He raised his hands from me. I took one baby step away. He rubbed his face, and I smiled.

“I won’t leave you, Elle, and it’ll be okay.”

“You can’t know that.” I hoped somehow he could.

“I believe it.” He snapped back up beside me.

“How?” My heart spiked. Life was not a fairy tale. I found it hard to believe in happy endings.

Nicholas looked adorably mischievous. His deep green eyes sparkled. His enthusiasm was contagious. He made everything seem easier.

“I need to keep my head straight and you’ll be safe.” Then he nodded and winked.

I blushed.

He rubbed his face some more.

I reached for his hand. With all the bravery I could muster, I let my fingertips trace the lines of Indian ink peeking from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt. He lifted the sleeve with his free hand and hooked it over his shoulder, allowing me to explore one of his secrets.

“An armband of barbed wire.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the number mean?” The lines coiled and twisted over one another, most ending in sharp points, while a few morphed carefully into dangerous-looking numbers.

“My men.” He pulled me to him and told me things I longed to hear. He wanted me to know him.