Protecting His Witness (Red Stone Security Series) (10 page)

“You plan to teach again?” He hadn’t even touched his food.

The way he was watching her was almost unnerving. She hated that he’d gone from sensual, teasing Vincent to being unreadable. He didn’t look angry or anything, but it still jarred her. “Yes. I love it.” And there wasn’t anything else she’d ever had a drive to do. When she’d been in college getting her degree, she’d thought she wanted to teach younger kids but after her time in New Mexico she realized high school was the right age range for her.

“There are plenty of teaching jobs in Miami,” he said casually before turning all his attention to his plate.

She blinked at him, unsure how to respond. He didn’t seem to expect one though as he practically inhaled his food, so she followed suit and started eating even though butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach at his statement.

Vincent was basically implying exactly what she’d hoped for in the deepest part of her heart, but hadn’t been willing to admit even to herself. It sounded like he wanted her in Miami. That was good, right? It had to be. Still, it was a huge decision.

“Food not good?” Vincent’s soft voice cut through her thoughts and she realized she was just pushing the southwestern style eggs around her plate.

“No, it’s great. I’m just thinking.” Something she didn’t really want to do. Making so many decisions about the future made her head hurt.

“About what?” Now the sensual tone was back and it sent a shiver of awareness curling through her. He’d turned in his chair, swiveling toward her and giving her the full view of that magnificent chest. Sweet Lord, the man was trying to drive her insane.

Food forgotten, she set her fork down and slid off her chair, covering the distance between them in seconds. She could see the faint surprise in his gaze the moment before their lips touched, but it was gone before lust took over.

Grabbing onto his shoulders, she moaned into his mouth as he dragged her between his spread thighs. His hands moved with ridiculous ease as he expertly untied her halter dress and bathing suit top. As both pieces fell down around her body, baring her breasts, he cupped them in a possessive gesture that made her melt.

Arching her back, she pushed into his grip, savoring the feel of his big hands—then a low rumble seemed to almost shake the building. Like a sonic boom or something.

They both pulled back at the same time, but Vincent was tense, his expression hard. “Stay here,” he ordered.

Blinking, she frowned as he hurried out of the kitchen toward the hallway. What the hell? She hurriedly started securing her bikini top, then her dress. Moments later he returned carrying a gun. Her eyes widened, not because of the gun—the man was always carrying a weapon—but because she couldn’t figure out why he needed one. “What’s going on?” she whispered, even though it was just the two of them.

“I don’t know, but stay put.” His expression was still stony as he hurried to the sliding glass doors. His movements were cautious as he stepped outside, scanning the pool area down below.

When he came back inside, he shut the drapes and started for the hallway. Panic started to hum through her at his tenseness. What the hell was he worried about? Following him, she knew he was aware of her in the hallway because he let out an annoyed growl.

At the front door, he didn’t turn around, but muttered a “stay
here
,” before he eased the door open. Weapon drawn, he moved outside with a liquid grace, leaving the door only half open.

Quietly, she moved up behind him, but paused when his entire body went rigid and he let out a guttural curse. A raw, almost burning scent teased her nose. Since she couldn’t see anything, she ducked down and peered around his body.

And froze.

In the parking lot below them, dark smoke billowed high into the air above a burning car.
Her car.
Thick orange flames danced along the underbelly and the windows had all been blown out, leaving hideous gaping holes. The stench of burning rubber filled the air, making her feel nauseous. She felt glued to the spot as she stared at the carnage and tried to wrap her mind around what she was seeing.

“My car…”

“Someone blew it up,” he said, matter of fact as he propelled her back inside.

For a moment she started to struggle, but he put firm hands on her shoulders and pressed her against the hallway wall. “Jordan, someone blew up your car. I’m not letting you outside. For all we know that was a setup to draw you out. I doubt it, but I’m not taking any chances. We’re calling the cops—though I’m sure they’ve already been alerted—and I’m getting you the hell out of here. And I want to talk to your fucking handler because this kind of attack is personal and it was aimed at you. If there’s something they didn’t tell you, we’re going to find out today.” He was practically shaking as he spoke, the anger emanating off him potent and dangerous.

She knew it wasn’t aimed at her though. A tremor snaked through her body and she was vaguely aware of the sound of sirens in the distance as she nodded. Had her WITSEC handler kept something from her? Jordan didn’t want to believe it. But it was possible that her handler had missed something. Okay, more than possible. Now it seemed almost probable. “I’ll get the number.”

Terror settled deep inside her at the thought that this was somehow connected to Curtis Woods. There was no doubt the man was dead, but what if the Feds had screwed up and his brother wasn’t? Or what if this had nothing to do with her testimony against him at all? Any option was terrifying because she was basically fighting an unknown threat. And she’d unknowingly dragged Vincent into it with her.

Chapter 8

Vincent couldn’t remember ever being so angry. Forcing himself to remain calm, he leaned against the doorframe in Jordan’s room as she retrieved her cell phone from her nightstand. Her hands shook as she picked it up and that only further enraged him. He hated seeing her scared.

Whoever had destroyed her car was clearly targeting her and he was going to keep her safe, no matter what it took. And make her would-be attacker pay. He was certain that violent fire bomb attack last night was related to her car exploding. There was no way it was a coincidence and even before the police confirmed it, he knew that explosion wasn’t an accident. So that left a hell of a lot of questions.

Jordan closed the distance between them and started to hand her cell phone to him, but then snagged it back, her expression pinched. “Her name is Edith Clark, but…I should call her first, explain what’s going on.”

Nodding tightly, he waited as she scrolled through her numbers then pressed
send
on one of the names. As she held up the phone to her ear he snagged it from her hand, not caring how forceful he was being.

“Vincent,” she snapped, but he turned away from her and strode down the hallway toward the living room as it rang. Stretching his legs released a fraction of his pent up energy, but not much. Beating the shit out of the bomber was the only thing that could do that.

“Hey, Jordan, I was just thinking about you.”

“This isn’t Jordan. My name’s Vincent Hansen and I’m sure you know who I am.” As Jordan’s handler, this woman would know everything about Jordan’s life pre-WITSEC and that definitely included him. Not to mention he was pretty sure someone had helped her out in locating him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you calling from Jordan’s phone? Where is she?” The woman’s soft voice instantly became hard, the change immediate.

“She’s right next to me and what’s wrong is that someone tried to fire bomb her and me last night and then this morning, her fucking car exploded. Now why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on? Did Curtis Woods have more friends or relatives you idiots forgot to tell her about? This isn’t some random act of violence and I want to know every fucking thing about the Woods’s case. Now!” He was full on shouting, unable to contain his anger any longer. He knew he should be a hell of a lot more diplomatic instead of pissing this woman off, but he felt like a powder keg. Keeping his cool and staying in control was never a problem—unless Jordan’s life was in danger.

“Is Jordan all right?” There was real concern in the woman’s voice.

It was the only thing that tempered Vincent’s anger. “She’s fine, though she’s glaring daggers at me right now.”

Jordan leaned against the outer kitchen counter, watching him restlessly pace along the tile floor.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened? Are the police involved?”

“We made a report with Detective Leon Hough of the Key West Police Department last night, but then I was operating under the assumption the firebomb was a random act. A driver on a moped threw a Molotov cocktail at us. Her car, however, was just bombed or rigged to explode about five minutes ago. We’re holed up in a condo and not leaving until the police have arrived and cleared the area.” And he was armed. He already had one weapon tucked into the back of his pants but he’d also retrieved another one and had strapped it to his ankle. “Jordan was under the impression that Curtis Woods and his only living relative were dead. Is that not the case?”

There was a slight pause. “We didn’t conduct the investigation of Corey Woods’s death. That was done by the Abilene PD and we had no reason to believe their assessment was wrong.”

Vincent snorted. “Clearly you guys missed something because someone wants Jordan dead. Two violent attacks in a twenty-four hour period—not a coincidence.”

“I’m going to personally check with the Abilene PD and I’m also sending someone to pick Jordan up until we figure this out.”

“Over my dead body. She’s not going anywhere with you.” Unless she agreed, there was no way they could force her into custody either. Vincent kept his gaze on Jordan as he spoke, daring her to defy him. He would kidnap her to keep her safe if he had to. He’d lost her once, he wasn’t doing it again.

Jordan swallowed hard and didn’t respond. And damn it, he couldn’t get a good read on her emotional state. Her hazel eyes were filled with worry and fear, but something else he couldn’t define.

“Mr. Hansen—”

“Save it. As soon as we’re able, I’m getting her out of here and we’re headed someplace safe. Call her if you need to, but she’s not going anywhere with you.”

The US Marshal was silent for a long moment. Finally she spoke, her words clipped. “I’d like to speak with Jordan. I need to know she’s safe.”

Though he didn’t want to, he handed the phone to her.

At least her hand wasn’t shaking when she took it. Almost resignedly, she put it up to her ear and started talking. Even though she was clearly upset, Jordan stood by what he’d said and told her former handler that she was staying with Vincent.

The knowledge that she wasn’t fighting him, that she was willing to stay, soothed something primal inside him. No one would protect her like he could. First, he needed to get her the hell out of here. Then he was calling in for backup.

The second she ended the call, Jordan turned to face him and he could see an argument building inside her before she’d even spoken. “I can’t bring any more danger on top of your head, Vincent. I told her no, but Edith is right. Maybe I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he snarled, covering the short distance between them. He didn’t want to hear it. Gripping her slim hips, he tugged her close so that they were toe to toe.

She spread her hands over his chest, the worry in her gaze tearing him apart. “I’d die if anything happened to you because of me.” Her words were a bare whisper of agony.

Instantly, the anger that had been building inside of him eased. She was worried about his safety. He couldn’t get mad about that. “I know how to protect both of us. I’m taking you someplace safe so we can regroup and come up with a game plan.” One that didn’t involve hiding or running back to Miami. Not until they figured out who they were up against. “Go pack your bags. Get everything together because we’re not coming back here.”

“Vincent…” For a long moment it seemed as if she might argue, but she just leaned up on tiptoe and lightly brushed her lips over his. “Thank you,” she murmured before hurrying down the hallway.

He started to follow after her when there was a hard knock on the door. Before he’d taken two steps, someone said, “Police, open up.”

Vincent had known the cops would be talking to everyone in the building, he just hadn’t expected them to reach their condo so soon. After peering through the peephole, some of his tension eased. He opened to door to Detective Hough and a uniformed policeman.

He nodded once. “Detective.”

The older man looked past him, down the hallway. “When I got the address of the bombing, I headed over. Recognized it as the complex where Ms. Alvarado was staying.”

Vincent glanced down at the parking lot to where firefighters had the blaze almost extinguished and the police had cordoned off the entire area with yellow tape. There were at least a hundred onlookers across the street and people from the condos had stepped out onto their front balconies and were staring at the scene in horror and curiosity. “It’s her car that was bombed. We need to talk. Alone.” He looked pointedly at the uniformed officer, who frowned in response.

But one look from Detective Hough had the man backing down. Hough nodded and stepped forward. “Let’s talk.”

“You want some coffee, Detective? It’s already made,” Vincent said as he shut the door behind him.