Protector in Disguise, page 3
Questions raced through her head. Wiping away the evidence of a crime scene was the stuff a hit team would do or someone in organized crime. It didn’t make sense. If someone wanted her dead, they could have waited for her to get home, taken a perfect shot with a .22 and a silencer to keep the sound to a minimum and driven away, changed cars a few streets over and have been long gone by now. Heading into the house added risk. From what she’d seen, nothing besides the lasagna had been taken. Which meant they were after people, not things.
She shook her head at her detailed assessment of the best way to kidnap or kill her. Old habits never died. It bothered her that such an analysis was necessary. She hid in the bathroom and called Meaghan. They’d left text messages back and forth, but hadn’t connected otherwise.
Meaghan answered on the first ring. “Are you okay? Is Matt okay?”
“We’re both fine. Matt hid under a bed and only came out when I went looking for him. I might have a black eye from the assailant’s punch to my face, but he’s worse off. I stabbed him with a ballpoint pen in the leg before he escaped.”
“That’s insane. Were you in heels?”
“Seriously? That’s what you want to know?” She shook her head.
“It would be wicked hard to take out a guy in heels and if you did—damn, girl.” She paused, then said more seriously, “Who was he?”
“No idea. But that’s not the weird thing. I’m sure there was blood on the kitchen floor when I left. When I entered again with the police, the whole kitchen was immaculate. Like someone had scrubbed the scene. There’s no way he cleaned up the kitchen on his way out the door, but someone did. I looked like an idiot to the police.”
“Sounds like one of your novels. Do you want to come over?” The offer was wonderful, but someone might want to hurt her, and she couldn’t drag Meaghan into it too.
“Thanks, but we’re okay for right now. Matt’s already asleep. I might stop at your house tomorrow morning for some coffee or maybe a Bloody Mary. You can help me pick out an outfit for the book signing next Saturday.”
“You’re not going after all of this.”
“I’ve planned this for months. I won’t let my fans down.”
“Your fans? What about your stalkers?” Meaghan asked.
“I’ll be better off doing something to keep my mind from obsessing over this, and I’ll bring Matt with me so he isn’t at the house alone.”
“Fine. I couldn’t change your mind anyway. If you’re going to be stubborn, I’ll go to keep an eye on your son while your fans worship you.”
Fiona laughed. “I bet he’d love your company.” Matt enjoyed hanging out at Meaghan’s house. She was the only person Fiona knew who could kick Matt’s ass in Call of Duty. She’d been lucky to find a neighbor like Meaghan. A person she could share her parenting worries with even though Meaghan wasn’t a parent. She’d also made an awesome babysitter when Matt had been younger.
Fiona hung up and sat on the toilet, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Remnants of her date makeup had smeared together, giving her face an impressionistic look. The wave in her hair had flattened into something that looked as though she’d woken from a ten-year nap. Not her best look. The whole evening had been one disaster after another.
Dressing up to meet her readers had always brought her joy, but going out on dates? Not so fun. Especially when that date had been George. At thirty-eight-years-old, she preferred nights at home reading to going out to meet new people. She could hear George’s voice in her head snickering over the sex scenes she’d written. The life of a spinster seemed far preferable to having the companionship of the wrong man. Spinster had once been a pejorative word, but now, it was more of a badge of honor. When a woman happy in her own existence chose to spend time with someone else, that someone else had to be extremely special. George was not special. He was more the kind of guy who expected a single woman to be grateful for whatever crappy treatment he was willing to give her. Fiona didn’t have the desire or the ability to kiss the ass of an ass.
It was all Jason’s fault. He’d been too perfect, and truth be told, he became more perfect with each passing year. His flaws diminished and his personality took on superhero attributes. If he walked into her room at that exact moment, she would be putty in his hands. Hands that were large and strong, but so gentle when they needed to be. Her body heated up at the thought of his touch. She stood up and rinsed her face with cool water. This was not the time to get all hot and bothered over the ghost that haunted her dreams.
She found a nip of Bombay Sapphire in the minibar. A bit of ice would make this the perfect nightcap to an otherwise crappy day. She grabbed the key to her room and slipped into the hall. On her way back from the ice dispenser, the door next to hers opened and a man stepped out in a tweed coat. He seemed like a young professor who spent his free time competing with the football team for time in the weight room. Lost in thought, he barely acknowledged her.
Fiona glanced into the man’s room, never one to ignore her surroundings. Another man, tall, dark, muscular, calmly stood up and disappeared into the bathroom as the professor type closed the door. She dropped the ice bucket. Ice scattered across the hall. She didn’t care. The man in the room looked exactly like Jason.
It was impossible. Jason was dead. She remained frozen staring at the closed door.
“Are you all right?” the other man asked, kicking the scattered ice to the side of the hallway. His demeanor softened as he picked up the ice bucket and handed it back to her.
“This has been a long day. I should just go to bed.” She waved and turned back to her own door. It had been a very long day.
She had to stop her obsession with her husband. She’d thought she’d seen him a hundred times since his death. But he was dead. And the man next door wore his hair in a long ponytail, not the crew cut from his last family photo. That sliver of his profile, however, displayed Jason’s best features, the nose, broken only slightly from a college football incident that never healed quite right, and intensely alluring lips. Lips that fit hers so perfectly, they could kiss for hours, all night long, and never be sated.
Shutting the door, she sat on the edge of her bed. If Jason had been home, the pen in the intruder’s leg wouldn’t have been the worst thing that happened to him—he’d probably be dead at the hands of a very competent army captain. But Jason had died in Colombia. The military claimed it was an accident, although her research through her government connections revealed questions that no one could answer about the incident. The military handed her son a folded American flag at his service. His ashes were over her fireplace mantel in a wooden box inlaid with black onyx.
She’d made her peace with his death years ago. Yet, seeing his doppelgänger threw her memories back to the last time they’d seen each other. He’d been playing soccer in the backyard with Matt, never letting him win, because in Jason’s opinion, Matt had to fight to beat him or what was the point. He hugged her and their son before he grabbed his gear and headed to his car. Matt didn’t cry. His dad left all the time. For him, this was another goodbye with a reunion guaranteed in a few weeks. But he never returned. Matt had waited by the window for months, just staring. Fiona restored Jason’s car, a 2000 red Mustang convertible, adding a few more safety features like a back-up camera and integration with Matt’s phone. They drove it around town and on brief trips to the mountains. Eventually, she wanted to give it to Matt. It wouldn’t bring his father back, but might provide a connection to a man who would have been such an amazing influence in his life.
She took a sip of gin and savored the taste. As of tonight, she had to step up her security. There were too many loose ends from her past that she’d taken for granted. Trying to hide from what she’d done only placed Matt more at risk. She downed the rest of the glass and poured herself some Jack Daniel’s, staring at the wall to the next room as though she could see through it. Without seeing his entire face, she no idea who that man was. She took a sip, then another. She had to scrub any thought of Jason’s potential resurrection from her brain.
Her obsession with seeing Jason again had led her to create his resurrection in her last book. For months she’d written about a beautiful world where a military mission gone wrong had left her heroine’s husband unable to remember who he was. Although they thought he was dead, he was very much alive. When his memory returned, he rushed home to be with his family. It was a complete fiction, more of a fairy tale. She wanted to understand why her husband never returned home. Her government contact had shared classified details on Jason’s death that the military had left out of the story they’d given her. He’d been delivering military aid to the Colombian government, the truck was ambushed, everyone died. She rewrote that story, changing some details, but having her hero survive an ambush and eventually reunite with his family. The hardest part of the story was typing “The End” and leaving her hero behind to begin a new book.
Yet, this entire line of thought was ridiculous. Obsessing about Jason coming back to her only exacerbated the heartbreak she couldn’t escape. Her son needed a strong presence in his life, not a grief-stricken parent who couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. Perhaps a few more dates with men who weren’t George would provide some solace to her broken heart. Doubtful, but why turn down an orgasm from some handsome and generous soul? She smiled. Maybe a five-year dry spell was long enough.
Matt stretched his arms over his head and turned his face toward the pillow, his arm resting over his ear. She was so proud of the way he’d handled the whole situation. He’d remained calm, found a safe place and called the police. At the police station, Matt had recapped the entire incident step-by-step three times to three different officers. He had a good mind for details, like his dad.
Swallowing the last of the whiskey, she leaned against the pillow, grateful he’d come out of this unharmed and that she had a mere bump on her nose and the beginning of a black eye. Now if she could only figure out the identity of the intruder and what he wanted with them.
* * *
Jason clenched his fists to keep from slamming them into a wall. Of all the bad moments for Fiona to leave her room, she had to choose the exact time when Noah left theirs. This whole situation was a nightmare. He’d spent the last five years hiding himself as close as he could to Fiona and Matt. Too close and he would trap them inside his nightmare. Too far and he’d have missed the attempt on Fiona’s life. Now he needed to find out why she was a target and if it was related to the ambush in Colombia.
He should have had Steve keep an eye on his family at the hotel, but it was Jason’s family. While Steve had been understanding of why he’d hidden his identity, that didn’t stop his anger toward Jason for placing the rest of the team in a dangerous situation by not giving all the facts of the assignment. It would take time to earn his trust again, if ever. So far, however, Steve remained on the job. Jason didn’t know how he’d make it up to him, but he would. Jason had met Steve when some loser at a restaurant had hit on his wife and wouldn’t back down. Jason stepped in and blocked the idiot from ruining Steve and Olivia’s anniversary dinner. They invited him to join them for a drink to thank him. They’d been friends since, which made the deception even worse.
They didn’t have the chance to tell the rest of the team that the secret client who paid to keep Fiona and Matt safe was Jason himself. By withholding that key information, he had placed his team at a disadvantage protecting them. That one omission could implode the whole organization. Trust was the keystone of everything they did, and Jason had blown that right open.
He called Noah, who answered on the first ring.
“Did Fiona say anything to you?” Jason asked.
“Nothing of importance, but at one point, she stared past the door into our room. From the look on her face, something spooked her, and it wasn’t me. Maybe if you stopped dressing as one of the Hell’s Angels, you wouldn’t get such a drastic reaction from women. She’d just fended off an attack by a thug in a black T-shirt. It would make sense that she’d fear another guy in a black T-shirt in the room next to her.”
“Are you sure she saw me?” he asked, but knew damn well she had.
“I’m sure of it. You were on the bed, then walked over to the bathroom.”
If Jason was lucky, it wasn’t his identity that concerned her but the black T-shirt, as the intruder was wearing black as well. He returned to the exact spot he’d sat on the bed when the ice bucket went down. An image of his face in the window reflected back at him, not super clear, but enough to give a good indication of his facial features. And she’d have seen his profile when he walked to the bathroom. What the hell was he thinking? He should never have come over here.
“Next time, I’ll wear a golf shirt.”
“Something with color to bring out that sparkling personality of yours.” Noah’s voice dripped with sarcasm, which was fine. Jason gained more insight into their cases when everyone could speak freely. Ass-kissing only led to unimaginative teams and lots of conflict between employees. The team was a family, trusting each other in life-and-death situations. Except Jason hadn’t done his part to protect them. Once they found out he’d hidden his identity from them, the trust and camaraderie he’d built up over the years would disappear.
“Point taken. See you back at the office in the morning. Ask Steve if he can replace me. I need to get out of here.”
“On it,” Noah replied and hung up.
After a few minutes of beating himself up, he had to shut down the urge to go to Fiona and comfort her after such a long, hard day. She’d remained so strong over the past five years and here she was caught up in the middle of a nightmare. If the attacks continued, he’d gladly sacrifice himself to keep Fiona and Matt safe. For now, he had to understand exactly why she’d become a target. He opened the hotel door, standing half in the hall, half in his doorway. If someone approached their room, he’d be there. If she opened her door again, he could step inside before she saw him. Steve had better get his ass over here soon.
* * *
Fiona woke to the television blaring across the room. “What the...”
“Sorry, I didn’t know the volume was so loud.” Matt turned the television off and sat on the bed. Half his hair stood straight up and the other half pressed into his skull.
“Don’t worry about it.” She stretched but didn’t sit up. The sun was already awake, offering a sliver of light from behind the curtain. “What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“I never sleep this late.”
“You were up late talking on the phone.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard you.”
“You did?”
“You aren’t exactly quiet when you talk to Meaghan.”
He was right. Meaghan and Fiona got on so well, their voices increased with the enthusiasm for whatever topic they were on. Meaghan was the sister Fiona never had and the family she needed after her tiny family unit had broken apart. She also provided Matt with an adult in his life who didn’t carry parental expectations. She loved him exactly as he was and didn’t care what he did with his life as long as he was happy. Fiona was different. She wanted him safe, financially secure and able to find a partner who would care for him the way Jason had cared for her.
“We should head out. I want to make sure the police closed up and locked the house after they left. Then I need to get some work done.”
“We have time.” Matt tended not to worry about anything, although after last night, his brows remained furrowed as he packed up his things. Should she take the day off and let them rest on a mental health day, or should she plow on with her schedule? The slightest smile appeared on his face as he texted a friend. It would be okay. Maybe it would be best to carry on without focusing on what had happened.
She headed to the bathroom. “Let me wash my face, and we can eat breakfast at Meaghan’s.” She paused and before she shut the door, she turned to him. “Is that okay?”
“I guess. Am I going with you?”
“I would prefer it. Last night freaked me out.”
He nodded. “Me too. Okay, I’ll go.”
“That’s what I love about you. You’re the best kid ever.” She ruffled his hair until he pulled away. The furrow over his eyes disappeared during their interaction, and mild amusement took its place.
An hour later, they sat in Meaghan’s kitchen enjoying freshly baked blueberry muffins and omelets. Meaghan, all five feet ten of her, had dressed in cargo pants and a white tank top. Not her usual wardrobe. She typically wore tailored pantsuits and had her hair just so. Not this morning. Her hair was up in a ponytail and if Fiona didn’t know better, she’d think Meaghan was headed into battle. She bustled around the kitchen, looking at her phone, her watch and even scanning the windows now and then. No doubt the break-in next door also upset Meaghan’s sense of security.
“You spoil us,” Fiona said to break the tension.
“It’s nothing. Besides, I feel bad I wasn’t here last night.”
“Why would you feel bad for working? It’s not like you’re paid to wait by the phone for my panic calls.”
Meaghan sighed and took a sip of her coffee. “Do you want me to go with you to your house?”
Fiona waved her request away. “You have a million things to do today—you told me yesterday before I went on the date from hell. Go. We’ll be fine, won’t we, sport? It’s broad daylight. I doubt someone’s waiting in the closet for us.” She brushed back Matt’s hair.
