Protector (17 page)

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Her father’s going to jail.

The words pounded into Jolynn’s brain as she curled under the thin bedspread. Still recovering from heart surgery, her father wouldn’t be in any condition to withstand the stress of an arrest and trial. What would a stint in jail do to his health?

She swallowed back the bilious taste. Her own innate sense of justice told her she would condemn anyone else for such crimes, but every inch of her cried out for her daddy to be innocent.

Get real, Jolynn. You’ve known better for years.

She was such a mess, inside and out. Sore and exhausted and still aching to be with the man who’d haunted her dreams. Had she imagined everything last night, or had he really stroked back her hair and told her he wanted her, too, even though he knew it was wrong?

So very wrong.

A part of her hated him all the more for being honorable last night. If he’d been a jerk, she could have slugged him and kicked his sorry ass out of her bed. Now, she was still stuck in the purgatory of resenting Chuck and wanting Charles.

Jolynn pushed the pillow aside, groaning as every muscle in her body ached in protest.

“Morning after stinks, doesn’t it?”

She startled more fully awake and sat up, spread clutched to her chest. She blinked, but the middle-aged guy dressed
to look like the local fishermen she’d seen selling their catch on the street yesterday was still…

Wait. She narrowed her eyes. After a moment, she recognized the agent from the day before.

“Good morning, Agent Nuñez.” Jolynn swung her legs over the side of the bed, unable to stifle the wince of discomfort. “Where’s Chuck?”

She wondered why in spite of everything, she still sought the reassurance of his presence.

“Call me Mike.” The agent nodded toward the bathroom, the shower hissing in the background. “He’s cleaning up.”

Guess I’m on my own again.

Mike shoved a hand in his pocket and withdrew a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol with an American label. Snapping the cap, he selected two and extended his hand.

Jolynn tossed back the pills without water and prayed for their speedy effect. “Are you Chuck’s partner?”

“Not really. I’m NSA. He’s air force. We met on a job a couple of years ago. Situation called for us to work together again and here we are.”

On the job. She shuddered.

Her father’s going to jail.
“I need to let my dad know I’m okay. He may be just another criminal to you people, but to me he’s an old man with a heart condition.”

“Hold on. You don’t need to get defensive.” Mike set aside the camera around his neck— although Jolynn imagined it wasn’t a regular camera given all the toys around here. “I already figured that would worry you. One of our people will make sure your father believes you’re okay, just enjoying some time to yourself. He doesn’t know anything about Chuck, and we’d like to keep it that way. Chuck will just be calling into work sick.”

“What if I want to go back to the ship?” She would never
see Chuck again. God, she didn’t even know where he was really from.

“Surely you realize things have moved beyond that now.”

“I’m not so sure I do understand.” And she really didn’t understand the swell of relief over hearing she wouldn’t be saying good-bye to Chuck today. “For how long?”

“However long it takes. We can’t let you endanger the safety of our other operatives. The best place for you is with Chuck. You would have died yesterday had you been with anyone else.” Nuñez spread his arms. “Well, anyone other than Chuck or me, of course.”

“Nuñez…”

Jolynn jerked toward Chuck’s voice.

He stood in the open bathroom doorway, glaring. “This time you’ve gone too far.”

Jolynn pivoted on the edge of the bed and gaped at Special Agent Chuck Tanaka wearing orange Bermuda shorts, a cabana shirt, and cheap flip-flops.

A much-needed laugh bubbled up inside her, rising until she couldn’t contain herself. She held her aching side and let loose, tension flowing from her muscles. Giggles swept through her like a summer rain shower, cleansing away the tension of the past twenty-four hours. After the terror and disillusionment of the prior day, laughter felt good. She kept right on laughing until the sting of tears behind her eyes let her know how close she was to losing control.

Chuck scowled at his bare toes in the plastic aqua bargain-basement sandals.

Another laugh slipped free. “Ow!”

She touched her tender side.

“Serves you right,” he snapped, although he couldn’t hide the obvious concern in his eyes despite the words.

“Oh, it’s worth it, down to the last chuckle. Chuckle…
Chuck, chuckles, like your pal said when you thought I was asleep.”

His head whipped around, his eyes narrowed.

Her laughter faded.

Reality crept over her. Or maybe it had something to do with the somber expressions plastered on the two men’s faces. This was big-time, serious stuff. Life-and-death stakes for them from here on out.

Yesterday, too, for that matter.

Chuck snatched the plastic bag dangling from the doorknob. “Wait until you see what Nuñez brought for you. He’s already grinning like the Cheshire cat so I imagine it’s going to be a winner.”

“Thanks,” she said curtly, sifting through the sack. “Wow, they’ve even included matching flip-flops. Your boss is some kind of big spender.”

Digging farther, Jolynn nibbled her bottom lip. Nuñez was obviously out to cause trouble. Jolynn eased free a tiny wisp of floral cotton.

“Good thinking, Nuñez,” he gloated. “She’ll need a scarf to cover her hair.”

Mike smiled. “Oh, that’s not a scarf. It’s her shirt.”

“Shirt?” Chuck’s smile flattened.

“A bandeau to match her sarong. I believe I have the terminology right for the garb. That’s what my Anya calls them.”

Jolynn sifted through the bag and pulled out another scrap of clothing not much larger than the first.

Chuck tugged the silky fabric from her hands. “Won’t her bruised ribs show? And what the hell happened to keeping a low profile? There’s no way she can fade into a crowd in this.”

He held up the floral outfit, a piece in each hand.

Uh-oh. He did have a point. Ready to demand differ ent clothes, she glanced at the silky wisps again and reconsidered. Perhaps resurrecting a bit of her Venus de Milo facade might not be such a bad idea.

She wanted him. He wanted her. If they spent more than a couple of days cooped up here, the attraction could easily fire out of control. So why not take a gamble where she would be the one in charge? She’d never wanted a man the way she wanted him, and with a ready-made time limit on the relationship, she wouldn’t let it spiral out of control.

Nuñez waved aside Chuck’s scowl. “Calm down. If we have to move you, the two of you will look like the rest of the tourists blowing through town. Throw a camera around your neck, wear a hat, have her put on big diva sunglasses, and play around with your accent. You’ll be fine. I will make sure of it.”

Clutching the clothes to her chest, she backed toward the bathroom. “Mike, if this is the way you treat your friends, remind me to stay on your good side.”

Something flashed in his eyes, something dark replacing the warm and fuzzy guy who’d been chatting her up earlier. She saw the undercover facade peel away. She saw the kind of man Chuck worked with. The kind of people sent to take down her father.

Nuñez blinked and just that fast he was a regular fisherman again. “Just immerse yourself in the character you’re playing. The rest will come.”

Chuck quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve already made it rather difficult to fade into the background.”

“Okay”—Nuñez shrugged—“these were the best I could do on short notice. Later this evening, I’ll have something more practical to cover the body armor when we transfer
you. Meanwhile, this will get you through the day in case you have to leave here and anyone sees you. Now, chill.”

She forced a ragged breath to steady her pounding heart. Chuck had saved her out there on the water. She needed to remember that and hold on tight. Even if she resented needing his protection, she was dependant on him until… Hell, she wasn’t sure when. The ship might not be safe. And Texas was a long way away.

She didn’t want to fall victim to her father’s business like her uncle had. She was here now, with Chuck, and while he might not be the Charles of her dreams, he was what she needed to keep her safe.

And on a deeper, more physical level as well.

She clutched her “tourist” garb to her chest. “I should go change.”

“That’s my cue.” Nuñez adjusted his leather hat on the way to the door, his expression changing until he looked ten years older. He stopped half in, half out of the door. “Whatever will the two of you do alone in this room all day?”

*  *  *

By midafternoon, Jolynn stared down Chuck in an intense battle of wills. His expression gave no quarter as he sat a mere hand’s reach away. Tension snapped between them so hot and tangible she could almost hear it crackle along the air.

Jolynn tilted her head back, her nostrils thinning as she weighed her options. Take him on? Or retreat, end it. God, how she hated to simply quit. Too many times in her life she’d simply folded to pressure, afraid to press her luck. She was just about to lose her nerve when… she saw the droplets of sweat bead on his forehead.

Her mouth curved in a smile of victory. “Hit me.”

Chuck sailed the card across the scratched pine table. A nine. Damn.

“Busted.” Jolynn scribbled the latest score on the notepad. Perspiration trickled down her spine.

“That’s supposed to be the dealer’s line.” Chuck spread the cards facedown and mixed them around in a smooth card washing before gathering them up for a normal shuffle. He swiped a muscular forearm over his brow. “I wonder how much longer we’ll have to wait for the air conditioner repairman?” He directed his voice to the bugged Van Gogh reproduction. “Did you catch that? We’re melting in here.”

The day spent with Chuck, both of them wearing next to no clothes, hadn’t done much to improve her already irritable mood. When Chuck had suggested cards, putting a table between them had seemed like an inspired idea. Except it wasn’t a very big table. Of course, a picnic table wouldn’t be large enough. Jolynn brushed her fingers over her brow, the moisture caused by more than a broken air conditioner. Opening a window put them at risk, so they were stuck with a rickety old fan.

“Get ready for the next hand.” Chuck resumed shuffling, although the cards, clammy with humidity, proved more sluggish than his normal handling. “Aw, to hell with it.”

Chuck smacked down the deck. He whipped the cabana shirt over his head, muffling his voice until the shirt cleared his face. Was it her imagination, or had the table just shrunk?

She couldn’t seem to look away from his sculpted chest. The man was totally ripped. As he tossed aside his shirt, each muscle flexed and moved. Sweat glistened on his skin, adding a sheen to an already smoking-hot, touch-me body.

The gun strapped to his waist cast a dark slash across his washboard abs. Her belly knotted. Then she realized how long she’d been staring. She glanced up quickly.

Chuck stared back. His chest rose and fell faster, his brown eyes turning smoky with an answering desire. She’d wanted to make the most of her time with him, and it appeared the time might have come. Still, making that first move was always a risk.

With a will of its own, her trembling hand reached across the small table. Her fingertips trailed a light path over his chest, snagging on the end of his silver chain before continuing downward. His muscles tensed in response, and she smiled, the age-old feeling of a primitive feminine power coursing through her.

The listening device offered her a degree of security in the exploration. Nothing further would happen between them with his NSA buddy in earshot and a guard in the hall.

Skimming her knuckles down the middle of his chest, she savored the texture of his damp, bristly hair. His heat simmered into her, bringing an answering flame that rivaled the sweltering room. She swirled small circles along his skin, lower and lower still until the table stopped her path. Leaning back, she brought her hand to her mouth, lightly tasting the salty flavor of him lingering on the pad of her finger.

His arm snaked across, gently imprisoning her wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss against her palm and replaced her hand on top of her cards. She couldn’t move.

She didn’t understand him. She certainly didn’t need a man she couldn’t trust. But after the past twenty-four hours had flayed her emotions raw, her body simply wouldn’t listen to her head.

Chuck stared at their joined hands, his brow furrowing. What rattled around inside his mind beneath his lushly thick hair?

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, then grabbed the pencil. After scratching a few words across the page, he pushed the pad across with one finger.

I never meant for you to get hurt.

He had heard her words the night before after all. She wanted to cry. If she looked at him, she knew she would.

Chuck retrieved the pad for another note, then passed it back. What else would he have to say? How much more could she take?

I’m sorry.

The words immobilized her in a way no lengthy speech could have. No one had apologized to her, ever. Not in any meaningful way. Even her father had sent her away without a word of explanation, much less apology.

Jolynn squeezed her eyes shut against the tears threatening to spill free. Eventually, the roaring in her ears dwindled, and she heard the rhythmic click of Chuck dealing the next round.

He dealt the hand with lightning speed in spite of the sticky cards, his gaze carefully avoiding hers. She reached for the pencil, and he nudged it just out of reach. She found his action almost more telling than words. He wasn’t comfortable with emotional diatribes. That made his apology all the more touching.

“You’re really good at that.” Slightly breathless, she stumbled over her words. What happened now? She wasn’t sure she could handle another night with so much need churning in their small room.