Between Love and Fear, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Acknowledgments
My thanks, eternal gratitude, and firstborn goes to Christine, as ever, for her immense help with this book.
You make me believe in myself, and that’s a rare and precious gift.
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Contents
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
RECEIVE UPDATES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY CATHERINE WINCHESTER
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Chapter One
* * *
As Elle stepped through the fire door and into the parking lot, she paused and closed her eyes, allowing the crisp night air to cool her overheated skin. A smile played at the edges of her lips as she recalled her set, which had gone perfectly!
If only they could all go so well.
Of course, tonight’s performance was just two songs for a small cable channel on a magazine-slash-chat show that aired at 11:00 p.m., but she had never cared about audience numbers. That was for the suits to worry about. She just loved performing. Hand her a microphone, point her to a stage, and she was in heaven.
She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the chilly air.
The sound of running disturbed her relaxing moment, but because they were in soft running shoes, she didn’t really notice them until they were close enough to hit her. A fist connected with the side of her face, making her see stars. Another blow felt like it went through her stomach, driving the air from her lungs and making her double over in pain. One quick push on her shoulder, and she was on the ground.
She felt something wet hit her face, blinding her for a moment, but when she finally regained a sliver of her wits, she lashed out with her right foot.
She connected, and it sounded like her attacker was cursing through clenched teeth and hopping on one foot.
As she frantically tried to wipe the liquid from her eyes, she heard him say something like, “Gonna flipping kill you, you flipping witch!” although it was probably nastier than that.
Like hell you are! she thought viciously. She had regained the ability to breathe and inhaled deeply, although she had no time to savor the air this time. She screamed at the top of her lungs.
She heard him swear again. Then the fire door flew open, and although she still couldn’t see properly, she had cleared enough of the liquid away to squint. She saw light spill out across the pavement before she heard those soft shoes run away.
“Ella, are you all right?” It was Marcus, kneeling on the tarmac, hands hovering over her and flapping uselessly.
She really didn’t know the answer to that; she wasn’t seriously hurt, but she definitely was not all right.
“Here.” He pushed a handkerchief into her hand, which she used to wipe her eyes. “It’s all right. I’m here now. You’re safe.”
Only he wasn’t the one she wanted to be here.
The door opened again, so fast it slammed into the wall with a resounding thud.
“Christ!” said her agent, and she instantly relaxed.
“David?”
“It’s me.”
She managed to open her eyes as he got down on one knee beside her.
“What happened? Where are you hurt?” He began pulling her clothing away from her skin, looking for something.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, her voice shaking.
“You’re covered in blood!”
The lighting out here was minimal, and what little there was was the dim orange of sodium lighting. She didn’t recognize what she was covered in, but with the fire door still open, she held the white handkerchief into the light from inside. It was dark red, like blood.
David had pulled his phone out and was making a call. “Yes, ambulance, please. I think my friend has been stabbed.”
“No!” She grabbed his arm. “He threw it on me. I’m fine.”
“He threw blood on you?” David asked.
She felt her stomach area, just in case he’d stabbed rather than punched her, but that felt dry. Her face and shoulders had received most of the fluid.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Okay, sorry. False alarm,” he said to the operator. “No, it looks like she’ll have one hell of a shiner, but she doesn’t need an ambulance. We’ll get her to a hospital.”
“No, really,” she pleaded once he’d hung up. “I just want to go back to the hotel and take a long shower!” She was starting to shake now, and she really just wanted to be alone so she could curl up and cry.
“Even if you are fine, you need a hospital report for the police,” David said sternly.
“I’ll take her,” Marcus offered.
David was silent for a moment, thinking quickly.
“All right. Thank you. Don’t leave her alone, do you understand?” David ordered.
“I won’t.”
“Which hospital will you take her to?”
“Um . . . my sat nav will know the closest.”
“Great. Text me and let me know which hospital. I’ll have the police meet you there to take a statement. I have some calls to make, so I’ll meet up with you at the hotel tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Marcus assured him.
Each man took an elbow, and they helped her to her feet. As she stood, she realized that there was a small crowd by the fire exit, watching the show.
Elle could feel her eyes filling with tears and blinked furiously to hold them back. She would not cry, not yet, not in front of people.
“She’s fine,” Marcus told the small crowd of observers as he led her over to his car.
“What about my driver?” she asked. A car service had brought her here.
“I’ll send him home,” Marcus said as they reached his car. “After a shock like that, you should be with friends.”
She was too shaken up to know what she wanted, so she simply said, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled warmly at her.
David scanned the gloomy bar until his eyes settled on a familiar form, the man he’d come here to find, Captain Robert Conrad.
He was far from the strapping young man David had taught, although his military training could be seen in the sharpness of his gaze. Conrad had been a cut above from the start, however, which is how he ended up as a captain in the Special Boat Service, the naval equivalent of the SAS—a British Navy SEAL, if you will. He might be well on his way to being drunk, but he hadn’t lost his edge. Good thing in a place like this too. It wasn’t exactly a licensed premises.
As soon as he moved deeper into the bar, the other man’s eyes cut straight to him, taking in his haircut (expensive), his suit (very expensive), his watch (don’t even ask), and his limp (the reason he’d left the marines).
His eyebrows rose slightly as David slipped into the chair opposite him, but he didn’t offer any greeting.
“You look like shit,” David said as an opening gambit.
Conrad just shrugged and sipped his drink. Probably bourbon or whiskey, unless his tastes had drastically changed.
“What do you want, Stephens?” he growled.
“I want to hire you,” he said.
“I’m not for sale.”
“Not what I heard,” David goaded him.
Conrad slammed his tumbler down hard enough for some of the liquid to slosh out, and he leveled a glare that would sour milk at his new companion. Clearly David had touched a nerve.
David knew that since Conrad had left the SBS, he’d been working for Blackwall, a private military group out in Afghanistan. Until recently, that is.
“And I’m a civilian now: I go by David.”
“Well, David,” he said, his words dripping with scorn, “take your offer and leave me be.”
David reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a picture of a young woman. He slid it across the table. Conrad only glanced at it, but as David hoped, his gaze was quickly drawn back to the beautiful young woman pictured.
“Who is she?” he asked with reluctance.
“The closest thing I have to a daughter.”
Conrad’s challenging gaze met his, but David didn’t flinch.
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Someone wants to hurt her.”
“You can protect her,” Conrad said indifferently.
“Fifteen years ago, maybe. Now I’m middle-aged, missing most of a calf muscle, and I was never in your league to begin with. Besides, I have a wife, a company, and two sons. She needs full-time protection from the best.”
“Why? Sweet-looking thing like that, who did she piss off?” Conrad asked cynically.
Instead of answering, David withdrew a sheaf of photocopied letters from his opposite pocket and unfolded them before handing them over. He’d helpfully highlighted the worst phrases:
cut you into pieces
feed your flesh to the dogs while you watch!
hack your lying neck off your pretty little shoulders and . . .
Conrad pushed the letters away.
“Since then, he’s broken into her home and left . . . well, he sprayed semen all over her bed and left another lovely love note on her pillow—”
“Can’t the police trace him from his DNA?”
“The semen wasn’t his, and honestly, the police aren’t very interested. I sent a sample to a private lab, which told me it was bull semen,” David explained grimly. “The police don’t have the manpower to take every threat seriously, and even if they did, they can’t provide round-the-clock protection, which is why she was attacked tonight, leaving a studio.”
Conrad’s eyes cut straight to his as he asked, “Studio?”
“She’s a singer, one of my artists, and she’s doing a promotional tour for her first single. Her album comes out in about five weeks, and she’s got TV shows, interviews, and events booked regularly for the next three months.”
“Tell her to cancel. A singing career isn’t worth her life.”
“Even if I suggested it, she wouldn’t. She’s not one to run away and hide when things get tough. Besides, the music company has invested too much money in her to let her quit. Until recently, she was a session singer. She’s never going to be able to buy her way out of her contract on that sort of money.”
“Why don’t you buy her out?” His gaze dropped to the fancy watch.
David took it off and passed it over to Conrad. The second hand ticked rather than moving smoothly. It was a fake.
“My wife and I are growing the business, which has left us rather . . . overextended.”
“Then how do you intend to pay me?” Conrad asked.
David withdrew a thick envelope from another pocket and passed it over, exchanging it for the fake Rolex.
“Why do you think I pawned the watch?” he asked as he put the fake back on his wrist.
Conrad counted the money and whistled. “She must mean a lot to you.”
“She does. Please, I’m asking as a friend, look after her for me?”
Conrad sat silently for a long moment, and then he picked up the photograph.
Elle was sitting on a large rock in a field somewhere, wearing loose, slightly hippy-ish clothes. Her black hair hung over her shoulders in soft waves, a guitar poised on her knee, and she smiled as she looked into the camera. She looked so sweet and innocent and just so damn nice! That shot had taken his breath away when he first saw it. It completely captured the essence of who she was. Of course, the record company went with something edgier and had moved her image from country girl to something sleek and sophisticated, but that didn’t change who she was at heart.
“Why me?” Conrad skimmed a finger along the curve of the woman’s cheek, his eyes still on the photo. He set it down again, distancing himself from the temptation to play hero to the innocent face he saw. He wasn’t anyone’s hero.
“Because you’re the best . . . or at least, you used to be.” The man before him still seemed sharp, but he’d lost . . . something. “What happened to you?”
He knew some of it. The disillusionment that came with having been sent into an illegal war in Iraq. The horror of seeing war-torn towns shot to pieces. The civilian casualties, the women and children maimed and wounded . . . and they were the lucky ones! The body count increased daily, and the people responsible for those deaths resided thousands of miles away, happily giving kill orders from behind the safety of a desk.
Only, from what David had heard, Conrad hadn’t enjoyed civilian life and had soon returned to the Middle East, this time paid handsomely by one of the civilian-military operations as a mercenary.
“Don’t ask,” Conrad answered, then downed the rest of his drink.
David recognized the haunted look in his eyes. Almost everyone he’d ever served with had that look. What caused it differed, but he knew better than to pry. The warrior’s code never really left them.
“She’s not some spoiled brat, is she?” he asked, reluctantly drawn back to the photo. His eyes narrowed as he stared almost accusingly at the woman in the picture.
“No, she’s as sweet as she looks.” A slight smile ghosted over David’s lips.
“So what happened at the studio?”
“As she was leaving, someone attacked her. When I got to her, she was covered in blood. I thought he’d stabbed her, but she said he’d thrown it on her. Probably animal blood, but I think he landed a couple of blows before he was chased off.”
“She okay?” He grunted the question abruptly.
“She says so, but I know she’s shaken up. I had the record label executive take her to the hospital to get checked out, and they released her about an hour ago.”
“So she’s alone?”
“No, the executive from Sonic Music is staying with her until I can get there.”
Conrad sighed as if he should know better, shaking his head. He did know better, but he was going to do it anyway. He gritted his teeth.
“Give me the address. I’ll meet you there in the morning.”
David already had it written out and handed a slip of paper over.
“She’s staying at a hotel for her London commitments. I’ll book you an adjoining room.”
“Don’t,” Conrad warned as he pocketed the paper. “I’ll handle the accommodations.”
“Get a shave and wear something that looks like it’s been ironed, please,” David implored.
“Yes, Mother.” Conrad flashed a wry smile.
David reached for the copies of the threatening letters. He didn’t want the story getting out, but Conrad was faster.
“I’ll keep those. They’ll give me an idea of what we’re dealing with.”
David relaxed. Conrad might have issues, but his game was still strong.
Conrad hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was sorry to hear about your leg. I meant to call, write . . . something.”
David waved away the comments, his expression saying it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing, but he understood why Conrad, and so many others, had been silent after his run-in with an IED. For athletic alpha males, of which the armed forces attracted more than their fair share, injury and especially disability were frightening things. He’d behaved the same way a time or two when not knowing what to say had kept him silent, so he could hardly rake Conrad over the coals for the same crime.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” David said as he got up from the table and headed out. He paused by the door, pleased when he saw Conrad putting on his jacket rather than ordering another drink.
Elle stared at the nasty shiner. The swelling was mostly confined to her cheekbone, but the bruising had extended to under her eye. Still, she’d been getting so little sleep recently that the purple circle under her other eye was nearly as dark.
She didn’t need a mirror to see the bruise forming on her stomach, but that didn’t hurt as much. It was more of a dull ache. Her cheekbone, on the other hand, was very tender to the touch, and she could feel it throbbing in time with her heartbeat, which was faster than it should be.
She knew David was keeping the true extent of the threats from her, and part of her loved him for trying to protect her, but she wasn’t some wilting wallflower. If someone was coming for her, she wanted to know as much as she could. Ignorance was no preparation, but David was adamant that he could keep her safe and handle it. She just needed to focus on her singing.
Well, getting killed will probably boost my sales, she thought with a wry smile.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door, and she jumped, then shook her head in exasperation.
“You okay in there?” Marcus called.
He’d been really good to take her to the hospital and stay with her last night, but she did wish she could be alone for more than a few minutes!
She really would have liked to return to her little cottage in Essex and curl up in her own bed with her own things, but she needed to stay local for all her engagements.
