For Her Protection. Lauren Giordano
“You said we’d be in trouble if he saw us.” She made sure to hold the wheel in place when she turned, her glance seeking confirmation.
Luke’s eyes narrowed when he caught her troubled gaze. “And?”
“Well, he saw me looking at him in the rearview mirror.”
She sensed him stiffen in the seat beside her. “Are you sure about that?”
She nodded. “Very sure. It was just a tiny peek, actually. But his eyes met mine for a second before I could look away. It’s funny…he even looked familiar, but that’s rather impossible, don’t you think?” She felt the tension vibrating in him, felt it coil around her in the little car and felt her heart speed up in response. Her gaze left the road again. “Is that very bad?”
His face had gone tight, his features hardening like one of those ancient stone carvings her father’d insisted she study as a child. “Get off the highway at the next exit. Do it fast.”
“Look, I appreciate your concern—truly, I do. But it was a terribly small glimpse and I simply can’t afford to get sidetracked. I’m not exactly sure how far New Hampshire is and I need to get us all settled before I begin my new job.”
“Lady, you’re not goin’ anywhere.” He glanced over his shoulder, craning his neck to get a look out the rear window, but not before giving James a nod and a quick smile. Then he rolled down the passenger window and readjusted the side mirror.
“I don’t think you understand—”
“Here. Get off here.” When she hesitated, he shifted in his seat to face her and she nearly shivered at the expression in his eyes. The mesmerizing golden eyes had turned flat and cold. Luke now appeared ready for battle. He looked…deadly.
“I’m taking you into protective custody. You will do exactly as I tell you until such time that I deem it safe to release you.”
“But—”
“Here.” He jerked the wheel to the right. “Now move it.”
Luke couldn’t believe the streak of bad luck he was having. First, the bust had gone haywire for no apparent reason. There had been no screwups on his end, of that he was damn sure. But the vibes had been off from the beginning, starting when he’d woken up this morning. Something had gnawed away at his gut and it hadn’t been nerves. He was ready for this op. Hell, it was a piece of cake compared to some of the others.
He’d infiltrated Sloan’s group without a hitch. Everything had been building to this day. Every piece of evidence. Every witness. Every damn buy he’d been forced to make. It had been smooth. Maybe that was the hitch. Maybe it had been too easy. Easy that was, until the moment he and Murphy had heard the rumbling of the building coming down around them. Then they’d run like hell. He knew Murphy’d cleared the building, had seen him and the Assistant Special Agent in Charge running for cover—
His thoughts were jarred by the shrill cries of a baby. Oh, yeah. Baby Sarah had quite a set of lungs on her. He shook his head and tried to block out the sound. His butt was on fire. That had been the second thing to go wrong. It was bad enough the bust had gone bad, but then to get shot, and in the ass, no less.
He hobbled into the bathroom and swallowed three more Tylenol. Anything to take the edge off the throbbing pain. The bleeding had stopped, but the bullet was still in there. Had been in there for more than twelve hours now. It had to come out or he’d be in worse trouble. Soon he’d be forced to ask the harried-looking English chick for help. Oh, how he dreaded it.
He limped back out to the main room. Had they been the best of friends or a tight-knit little family, the motel room would’ve been much too small for the five of them. But they were virtual strangers. The room felt like a closet. He glanced over at Jillian. She was trying to soothe the baby, but her awkward, rocking motions seemed to be jarring Sarah rather than calming her.
“Here. Give her to me. I’ll try to shut her up while you make a bottle.”
Her glance was grateful, but laced with guilt. He winked at her to take the sting out of his words and was rewarded with a small, wan smile. Mary Poppins looked pooped. Still, she was surprisingly resilient. It couldn’t be every day she was waylaid by a federal agent and forced into hiding. So far she seemed to be making the best of it.
He couldn’t let them go…not until he knew for sure it was safe. And nothing about this op felt safe, at least not yet. His stomach still felt as though he’d had too much caffeine. He still hadn’t made contact with the rest of the team, hadn’t been able to reach his partner. Since the explosion, every number was relentlessly busy. Hell, they could be dead for all he knew. Very little was being said on the television news, but he knew for a fact the explosion had collapsed half the building.
Jillian turned to face the next set of clinging hands. Samuel was still awake and rarin’ to go. Luke watched in amazement while she settled the rambunctious three-year-old at the tiny kitchenette with a box of crayons that seemingly materialized out of thin air. James was busy mixing the bottle. He wondered about that. Did all kids that age help so much? James seemed far older than six years. Six going on forty. Then again, what did he know?
So far, in his thirty-two years on the planet, all he’d managed to achieve was one former wife. They’d never gotten around to having kids. Never had the chance, he corrected. If it’d been up to him, it would’ve happened eventually. If Linda had only waited.
His thoughts returned to Jillian. A pretty name, just unusual enough to be memorable. And if her name hadn’t caught his attention, her accent would have. He was surprised to learn she’d been born in the States. When he’d asked, she’d said Kansas. Of course, it had come out like “Cahnsus” and he’d thought for a second she’d been messing with him.
But her big eyes had gotten all wide and she’d said that no, really, she had been born there and moved back to England when she was two. She had pretty eyes, actually—a stormy gray-blue that seemed to change with her moods. He watched her smile at James and tussle his hair. She was lanky and lean, but in a careless, nonathletic sort of way. And she looked nothing at all like her three children, he realized. The kids could’ve been his, if genetics were based solely on their coloring. They were all blond, pink-cheeked cherubs with hazel eyes, while Jillian’s hair was long and brown and untamed.
“You’re good at this.” Jillian appeared again, testing the bottle on her arm. “She’s stopped crying. Have little ones of your own, do you?”
He smiled and continued to bounce Sarah. And wondered if she could see the regret he always felt when he allowed himself to think about it. “No. Just a lot of practice with my nephews.”
Her smile was genuine when she moved closer to stroke Sarah’s fuzzy head. “Perhaps you can give me lessons? I’m still learning all this.” She leaned into him, brushing his shoulder as she planted a kiss on Sarah’s cheek and lifted the baby from his arms. “Time for dinner, sweetheart.”
“I’d figure with three of them, you’d be a pro by now.” Man, she smelled great. A tantalizing aroma of something sweet and fresh washed over him and he had to consciously fight the urge to inhale her scent again. He ignored the tingle of current that shot down his arm, choosing instead to grope for a logical reason. Static electricity. That made sense. Or close quarters. Perfectly good reason.
That, or the fact that it had been a ridiculously long time since he’d been to bed with a woman. He took a long, slow breath. No chance of that happening anytime soon, not with a bullet in his ass. Not with a day-care center at ground zero of their musty-smelling motel room.
“They’ve only been mine for three days now,” Jilly admitted as she accepted the baby from Luke’s outstretched arms, unsure whether she wanted to delve into such a personal situation with a complete and utter stranger. Since she’d picked the children up at social services, there’d been one ordeal after another to deal with and an absolute mountain of paperwork.
“Wait a minute.