One Good Man. Julie Miller
and the yard outside. Silhouetted against the waning sunlight like a dark sentinel, he created an ominous presence that should keep stalkers and murderers and madmen at bay.
But despite the heated interior of the pool house, Casey crossed her arms and hugged herself to contain a shiver of apprehension. She should feel safe having such an imposing protector on the premises. Instead, she felt more vulnerable than when she had learned of Emmett’s escape.
She’d felt safe with her bodyguard seven years ago. So safe that she never realized the perfection of Emmett Raines’s ability to disguise himself. Until it was too late.
Until she realized her bodyguard was Emmett Raines.
“Casey?” Frankie tugged on her arm, startling Casey from her silent study of Mitch. “Do you want me to swim it again?”
Fortunately, the girl had caught her staring instead of the detective. She wasn’t ready to explain her need to memorize identifying details about people, especially when the person in question seemed to delight in pointing out anything about her that seemed suspicious.
She apologized for her distraction. “Let’s pack it in for now. Building your endurance is important, but so is dinner.”
Frankie pulled on her nylon jacket, then leaned over to whisper to Casey. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”
The conspiratorial note in the budding adolescent’s observation about her interest in Mitch caught Casey in open-mouthed surprise.
“For an older guy, I mean,” the girl amended.
Casey pressed her lips together and formed an appropriate reply. “ Cute isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”
Intimidating, maybe. Compelling.
“Oh, c’mon. I’ve seen you watching him. Almost as much as he watches you.”
“What?”
Frankie shrugged, as if the explanation was simple and Casey was a dingdong for not catching on. “Besides Grandpa, he’s the only guy I’ve ever seen you hang out with.”
“I am not hanging out with him.” She tried to defend herself against a twelve-year-old’s philosophy.
“That’s right.” Mitch’s keen radar picked up that he was the topic of their conversation. His deep voice didn’t alarm Casey half so much as being captured in the cross-hairs of those ever watchful eyes. He invited himself to join them. “I’m just the hired help.”
She heard the challenge in his voice and wondered at its cause. He’d certainly made it clear he wasn’t interested in being her bodyguard, but it wasn’t her choice. Jimmy had dismissed every argument she made. She hadn’t been able to convince either man that she’d be safer on her own.
So why did he keep on pushing the point? She’d be just as happy if he did take his big, brooding presence and leave.
“Isn’t that right, princess?” he prodded.
Casey breathed in deeply, curbing her tongue in front of their rapt preteen audience. “Somehow I don’t think you’re referring to me as the heroine of a fairy tale.”
He swept his arm out in a broad circle. “If I told you this Gothic house of horrors would be a nightmare to defend, with its locked-up rooms and see-through walls and blind drives, would you come with me to a safe house?”
“No.”
Frankie chose that moment to add her own observation. “Did you know there’s a hidden stairwell from the upstairs down to the back of the kitchen?”
Mitch made a face that earned a laugh from Frankie. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
The girl was on a roll. “There used to be a tunnel, too, that ran from the main house out to the pool house. But Grandpa boarded it up since no one lives out here anymore.”
“It just keeps getting better and better.” He shifted his gaze up to Casey. “And you feel safe here?”
“I did.” Casey emphasized the past tense, letting her expression tell Mitch that he was the reason she felt threatened in her own sanctuary.
“What is it with you and cops? The commissioner said I had to be here, so I’m here.” He crossed his arms and edged forward, the bulk of his shoulders closing in like the granite walls of her estate. Casey stood as straight as she could, holding her ground against him.
“I have known cops and worked with them my whole life. I am not afraid of them.” She tipped her chin to meet the aggressive thrust of his jawline. “And despite what you’re implying, I am not some snob who looks down on them because I’m a judge’s daughter and you’re an officer who serves the court.”
“So why don’t you want me here?” he demanded, the tip of his nose nearly touching hers.
“Because I’m afraid of…”
Of what? Him? Men? What he reminded her of?
What he made her feel?
That he made her feel, period.
“What scares you, princess?” he demanded.
Casey clamped her mouth shut and tried to make sense of the emotions churning inside her.
This close, she could smell the faint spicy scent of his aftershave clinging to the shadowy stubble of his beard. With the fire of verbal battle still hot within her, that slightest of sensations sneaked past her defenses and awoke something that had lain dormant too long for her to immediately recognize it.
Casey zeroed in on the mouth that spoke such a challenge to her. Sexy. Firm and flat and as unerringly masculine as the breadth of his shoulders or the timbre of his voice.
An incredibly politically incorrect thought crossed her mind. He liked to argue. He seemed to bring out the worst in her red-haired temperament. Sparring with him made her feel strong. Opinionated.
What if he simply silenced her arguments with a kiss?
She hadn’t been kissed for so long.
“So you’re not going to answer me?”
Mitch eased back, tilting his head to the ceiling and releasing a deep breath that made her wonder if he’d been as caught up in the moment of fascination as she had.
Casey breathed again, too. The respite allowed her to clear her thoughts. But rational thinking gave way to an almost physical pain. She wanted to laugh at her absurd expectations. What could a man as vibrant and self-assured as Mitch Taylor see in a crippled recluse like herself?
The embarrassment that flooded through her scorched her cheeks and she turned away. Into Frankie’s told-you-so smile.
“Uh, excuse me.” Frankie pointed to the office. “The phone?”
Casey reprimanded her with a pointed glare and headed for the office, glad for the ringing reprieve from both Frankie’s idealistic romantic thoughts and her own self-condemning ones. But Mitch beat her to it. By the time she reached the desk, he already had his hand on the receiver.
“Mitch, it’s just—”
“No.” He jabbed his finger in the air to silence her. “Until I get surveillance equipment set up, no one answers the phone, door or intercom except me.”
In full protector mode, Mitch picked up the receiver and turned his back to her. “Taylor.”
Casey swallowed her offer to provide information with a smug smile. Frankie nudged her elbow and giggled.
“I see.” Mitch’s gruff voice maintained its crisp, professional tone, but the stiffness eased from his shoulders. “I’ll let them know.”
When he hung up, Frankie was ready with an explanation. “That’s Grandma’s private line from the house. There’s no outside connection here.”
Casey’s