Under His Protection (23 page)

One of the deputies spotted her and rushed
toward her, his face one of concern. “Blake Hewitt?”

She nodded. Her mouth opened but nothing
came out.

“Are you all right? Have you been injured?”
He stopped her from walking, his hands resting on her sopping wet
shoulders, his gaze intent as he studied her.

“No,” she croaked. “Where’s Mason?”

His thick, graying brows dipped down low and
he glanced back toward the house before meeting her gaze once more.
“Who are you talking about?”

“Mason. Agent Mason Russell.” She swallowed
hard, the tears still running down her cheeks, mingling with the
rain that splattered her face. “Is he okay?”

The deputy slipped his arm around her
shoulder and led her toward the ambulance. “Let’s get you checked
out, make sure everything’s all right.”

“I’m fine, I’m just cold.” Her teeth
chattered with the words. “I need to know if Mason is hurt.”

“I’m going to have you talk to the medic,”
the deputy said. Worry filled her, gnawed at her gut, making her
sway on her feet.

Something was terribly wrong with Mason. She
knew it, could feel it in her bones, especially since the deputy
didn’t want to answer her questions.

Oh God, what would she do without Mason in
her life?

She approached the ambulance, startled to
see another one arriving. A kind-faced female medic took over, her
smile soft and friendly, eyes a warm golden brown as she
approached.

“I’m not hurt,” Blake immediately told her.
“I need to make sure Mason’s all right.”

The medic’s gaze flickered and she stared
above Blake’s head, releasing a soft sigh. “They’re getting ready
to take him to the hospital now.”

“What? Is he in the ambulance?” She left the
medic and ran toward the ambulance, scrambled up through the open
door and the two medics already inside immediately asked her to
leave.

There lay Mason on a stretcher in between
them, his eyes closed, skin unnaturally pale. His shirt had been
torn open and they worked in the vicinity of his stomach. The
tattered ends of his shirt were soaked with blood.

“Oh, my God.” Blake covered her mouth with
her hand. Her head spun, a wave of nausea washed over her, making
her dizzy.

The medic who’d told her about Mason wrapped
an arm around Blake’s shoulders and led her to a bench that ran
alongside the interior of the ambulance. She sat heavily, as did
the medic, and the two men who worked on Mason glared at them.

“We need her out of here,” one of them said
through gritted teeth.

“She’s with him,” the female medic said,
nodding toward Mason.

“Where are you taking him?” There was no
hospital on the island, only a clinic and they wouldn’t know how to
take care of Mason properly.

“We’re taking the ferry back to Eureka.
He’ll be admitted to the hospital there.”

“Is it good enough, that hospital? How bad
are his wounds?”

“You need to calm down.” The woman smiled
gently. “He’s going to be okay. He’s been shot. Once, on his side
close to his stomach and he’s lost a lot of blood. But they don’t
think the bullet hit any vital organs so that’s good.”

Resolve stiffened Blake’s spine and she
drank in the man she loved lying unconscious. He looked near death.
“I need to call my father. I want him airlifted to the closest
hospital with the best care available. I want him taken to San
Francisco.”

“Are you his wife?”

Oh, didn’t that sound nice? Right now, she
wished that more than anything. “No, but I’m his—employer. He’s a
Secret Service agent.”

“Right.” The female medic nodded.

“And I’m the daughter of the vice president
of the United States. Blake Hewitt.” She rarely threw her name
around, thought it awfully pretentious but it was coming in handy
right now. “I demand that you take him to San Francisco
immediately.”

“Absolutely, no problem.” The medic smiled
kindly, giving Blake’s shoulder a gentle nudge. “Go talk to him. He
needs to hear your voice. He needs to know you’re waiting for
him.”

The male EMT closest to her moved out of the
way so she could crouch next to Mason. She studied his face, his
rain-soaked hair, the scruffy beard covering his cheeks,
surrounding his mouth.

He looked nothing like the man she’d first
met and everything like the man she fell in love with. She hated
that he was so pale, suffering and in pain because of her. Because
of his unrelenting sense of duty to take care of her.

Reaching out, she rested her hand on top of
his head, smoothed it over his soft, dark hair. She trailed her
fingers down the side of his face, curved her hand around his cheek
and she bent forward, brushing a soft kiss to his parted lips.

“Stay strong, Mason,” she whispered in his
ear. “I need you too much to let you go now. Please. For me.”

He was completely still and she refused to
look past his chest. She didn’t want to see the white gauzy
bandages that draped across his stomach, hiding his wound from her
eyes. But she could hear the steady beating of his heart and that
offered some comfort.

“We’re getting ready to leave,” one of the
medics said.

A deputy sheriff appeared by the open back
door. “Is Blake Hewitt in here?”

They all turned to look at her. “I’m Blake
Hewitt,” she offered.

He nodded toward her. “We need to talk to
you, miss. About what just happened?”

“I didn’t see any of it.” She glanced down
at Mason, then back up at the deputy. She didn’t want to leave
Mason, not like this.

“He’ll be okay,” the female medic said,
giving Blake’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He’s in good
hands.”

Blake leaned over Mason, pressing one kiss,
then another to his yielding lips. His breath wafted over her,
proof the life inside of him was strong and steady and she blinked
back tears.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I won’t lose
you.”

Drawing herself up, she exited the
ambulance, watched as complete chaos exploded around her. Rich was
laid out on a stretcher, being installed into the other ambulance,
a grieving Suzanne by his side. The rain had let up, turned into a
fine mist and deputies milled about all over the property. Yet
another car pulled up, this one unmarked and three men in dark
suits spilled out.

The suits headed straight toward her, their
faces grim, their mannerisms reminding her of Mason.

“Ms. Hewitt?” One of them asked and she
nodded her reply. “We’re from the Secret Service. We’re here to
escort you home.”

“Back to the cabin?” She couldn’t go back
there. She wanted to go with Mason and make sure he was all right.
And besides, didn’t the deputy want to question her?

What was going on?

“We’re taking you back to Washington, to
your father.”

“No.” Blake shook her head vehemently,
backing away from them and right into the deputy. “I’m not leaving.
I need to be with Mason.”

“He’s going to the hospital, Ms. Hewitt.
There’s nothing more you can do for him.” All three of the agents
stared at her, impassive expressions on their faces. “You’re needed
back in Washington. Your father is asking for you.”

“We need to talk to her first before she
leaves,” piped up the deputy from behind.

“You’ll get your chance right now. Fifteen
minutes, maximum. We fly out in forty-five minutes.”

“I’m not leaving.” Blake wanted to stomp her
foot but she restrained herself. “At least, I’m not going back to
Washington. I need to go to San Francisco and make sure Mason is
all right.”

The ambulance containing Mason had already
pulled away and the second one just pulled out onto the road,
taking Rich and Suzanne with it. Blake glanced at the deputy.
“What’s going to happen to him?”

“He’ll be treated for his wounds and
ultimately released. And when he’s released, he’ll be arrested.
Kidnapping is a federal offense.” The deputy shifted on his feet.
“That’s why I need to talk to you, Ms. Hewitt. I need to understand
what exactly Richard Bentley did to you and the role Amber Bentley
played in this.”

Blake nodded. “Okay.”

“And we need to talk to you as well, Ms.
Hewitt,” one of the agents said. “An immediate investigation will
be underway regarding Agent Russell’s handling of this entire
situation. We will need your full cooperation.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment,
desperate to gather the strength she’d need to handle all of
this.

They were going to try and paint Mason in
the absolute worst light for getting her into this situation. And
she refused to let them. She would do whatever it took to protect
the man she loved.

No matter what.

Chapter Sixteen

Six weeks later

“Blake! You look positively...stunning.”

She smiled politely at the gentleman who
stood in front of her, his beaming wife close by his side. “Thank
you. We’re so glad you could attend tonight.”

“We wouldn’t miss your family’s holiday
party for the world. Especially since this might be the last one
here for a while.” The man’s expression turned serious and he
leaned in close, as if about to share a great secret. “We were
devastated when they lost the election.”

“Yes, we all were.” Her cheeks hurt from
keeping the smile in place and she let it fall, her facial muscles
sending her a silent message of thanks.

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember
the name of the man who stood in front of her. A senator perhaps,
one of her father’s old cronies, he was terribly familiar as was
his wife. But not familiar enough.

Watching them walk away, she grabbed a glass
of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, gulping the cold, crisp
liquid down in three swallows. Bubbles tickled her throat and she
glanced about the crowded room, wishing she were anywhere but
here.

It had been the longest six weeks of her
life—because she hadn’t seen Mason.

She knew he was recovering at his parents’
home in Virginia but that was all. Her father had forbidden her to
contact him for fear of what the media might do if they found
out.

Or even worse, if Mason’s superiors
discovered they’d been in contact with each other.

Blake had been whisked off the island that
fateful day, after dutifully answering the deputy’s harried
questions. She’d flown back to Washington, arriving late that night
at her parents’ home. They’d hugged her so tight when she came
through the front door, she’d burst into tears.

But she’d cried more for the loss of Mason
and the idyllic time they’d spent together than anything else. His
injuries hadn’t been as bad as originally thought, though it had
taken him some time to recover.

She’d spoken to him twice when he was at the
hospital in San Francisco, sneaking the calls in since her parents
refused to let her out of their sight until after the election. It
had been so good to hear his voice, to talk to him and listen to
his reassurances that everything would be all right.

The investigation into Mason’s behavior had
started the moment she boarded the plane with the three
intimidating Secret Service agents. She’d fought for him tooth and
nail. Attended what felt like endless questioning sessions where
they badgered her over every fine detail of the near three weeks
she spent with Mason on the island. She spilled much but not all,
not wanting to risk Mason’s career. He’d never been at fault for
what happened. She was the one who pursued him, who snuck out of
the house without telling him.

She was a mess. Everything that happened was
all her fault.

Her father had been devastated by the entire
ordeal. She reassured him again and again she had nothing to be
ashamed of, but he wouldn’t hear it. She’d disappointed him yet
again, and with a man he’d trusted beyond measure.

It didn’t help that they’d lost the
election. Luckily enough, they’d kept the Whitney Island kidnapping
incident down to a dull roar—how she wasn’t quite sure. The
national news networks had picked up the story then dropped it,
thanks to the closed mouths of the local island residents and the
media’s overzealous focus on the new political party coming into
the White House.

Now it was almost Christmas, and her parents
were putting on their perfect public face, holding their annual
holiday party. Most of Washington DC was in attendance, wishing the
Hewitts farewell.

Blake hated every moment of it.

Her mother had dressed her, picking out the
scarlet red gown to “put some vibrant color back in your face,
dear”. The dress was gorgeous, with delicate pale gold embroidery
trimming the bodice. Slim through the waist before it flared at the
hips into a full skirt that swished and danced when she moved.

It felt false, wearing such a beautiful
dress when she was so sad. Her makeup had been professionally done,
the red shade on her lips matched the color of her gown perfectly.
Her mother’s stylist had shaped Blake’s hair into an intricate
design, swept up and dotted with the occasional miniature red rose
or sprig of ivy.

She was a pretty little holiday princess
doll put out on display.

“Smile, dear. The frown lines around your
mouth are becoming more pronounced,” her mother murmured close to
her ear.

Blake startled, hadn’t even heard her mother
approach. She did as requested, curving her lips into a stretch
that could almost pass for a smile. Her mother nodded her
approval.

“Much better. It’s the holiday season.
You’re supposed to look happy, not dreary. Especially with that
gorgeous color you’re wearing.” Her mother sighed and tapped an
index finger against her pursed lips. “And that dress is to die
for, dear. You look like a dream. I hope you let the photographers
standing by take some photos of you.”

“I went outside already with Dad.” Her
father had forced her, made her walk out and face the media with
him. She’d clung to his arm, smiling and waving, looking every inch
the responsible vice president’s daughter.