Undercover Protector

“Michael, tell me.”

This wasn’t a peppy little bedtime story with a happy ending. He didn’t want to share the details with Annie. Eleven years ago he’d been unable to face her, and it wasn’t any easier tonight.

Michael looked away, but he could still feel her gaze weighing on him. If he told her everything, her curiosity might turn to disgust. Brusquely he repeated, “We need to secure the downstairs.”

“I’ll go first,” she said. “You back me up.”

“I should be in the lead. You don’t even have your gun.”

“My injured wrist isn’t strong enough to hold it, much less aim with any accuracy. But don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

That hadn’t been the case in the parking lot outside her apartment. She’d been surprised and easily incapacitated by the assailant with the baseball bat.

Michael knew he hadn’t reacted fast enough to protect her in that situation. Every time he saw the adjustable cast on her arm, he felt guilty. Her injury was his fault. “Listen to me, Annie. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“You just don’t want me to be in control,” she said. “Just like when we were kids. But things are different now. I’m in charge.”

When she headed toward the front parlor, his only option was to follow. Muttering to himself about headstrong women, Michael took the backup position.

She moved cautiously, never stepping directly into the light, protecting her back, allowing her eyes to scan her surroundings before she proceeded. Though her nightstick and pepper spray were absurd weapons, she brandished them with confidence. It was obvious she’d done this kind of search before. She was a cop—cool under pressure, efficient, one hundred percent professional.

“I’m impressed,” he said.

“By what?”

“You really know how to do this—when to stay low and when to move fast. You’re good.”

“I’m not a rookie, Michael. This is my job.” They’d reached the guest bedroom. “Um, why don’t you button up that shirt. It’s chilly.”

His gaze focused on the V-neckline of her satin gown, which showed a hint of cleavage. Her nipples peaked against the satin fabric. “Are you cold?”

“Just—button up and let’s get this over with.”

Annie turned away from him. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and was glad for the semidarkness that hid her embarrassed blush. Her body temperature had begun to elevate when she’d crouched beside him in the foyer and he’d stared into her eyes with such intensity. Now she was flaming hot, and she wished he’d button that shirt. The quick glimpses of his crisp black chest hair and darkly tanned flesh were driving her crazy.

She faced the uncomfortable fact that he aroused her. Oh my, this was so different from when she’d known him before and had been too inexperienced to understand her own sexuality. Eleven years ago, her attraction to him had been like a dreamy fantasy, a girl’s imaginings of what it would be like to make love. When she looked at him now, her dreams were x-rated.

It was wrong for her to want him. Why had he come back after eleven years? There was more to Michael’s presence than the mere intrusion of an unwanted houseguest. He might also be a threat. He had been at her apartment the night she was attacked. Now, she discovered, he was in possession of a handgun. She felt sure that his presence in her grandpa’s house had far more significance than a simple urge to help out in a crisis.

She left him in the bedroom and went into the kitchen, where she took two flashlights from a drawer near the back laundry room. She checked them both. Only one was working. “I’ll take this and go into the cellar alone. I know my way around well enough that I won’t have to turn on the lights.”

“Wrong,” he said. “I’ll go into the cellar alone. I have the gun.”

“It’s a mess down there. You’ll never find anything.”

“At least I can protect myself. What are you going to do if there’s an armed intruder?”

She pantomimed whacking him with the flashlight and held the pepper spray up to his face.

Gently he caught hold of her wrist above the splint. His fingers encircled her arm. His grasp electrified her. Though he was careful not to hold too tightly, she could feel his hot steely strength.

“Annie, I’m sorry about this. About all of this.”

“What do you mean? What—”

“Stay here.” He yanked the handle of the cellar door and pulled it open. “I’ll be right back.”

He was halfway down the stairs before she could object, and it was just as well she didn’t attempt to speak coherently. Her brain seemed muddied, drowning her common sense. Every fiber of her body was pleasantly numbed. With one touch Michael had turned her into a trembling blob of vanilla pudding.

This had to stop! She sank into a straight-back chair and rested both hands flat on the kitchen table. Moonlight shone through the upper half of the windows between the gingham café curtains and the matching valance. Crickets chirped outside the windows. If she stepped outside, Annie would be gently bathed in starlight. If she stepped outside with Michael, if he took her in his arms…

The fingers of her left hand curled into a fist and she lightly pounded the oak tabletop. Why couldn’t she control her emotions? She shouldn’t care about him. When he ran away and left her, he’d branded himself a liar, someone who couldn’t be trusted. Michael wasn’t her lover or her boyfriend. If anything, he was a suspect.

When he emerged from the basement, his white shirt was streaked with grime. “Nothing down there,” he said. “The door leading to the outside was still barred shut.”

She remained seated, struggling to gather her senses. She had to find out why he had been at her apartment. “I don’t think we should search outside by ourselves. We should follow proper procedures.”

“Right,” he said. “We’ll call 911.”

“Why don’t you use your cell phone?” She rose and approached him so she could see his reaction in the dim light. “I know you have one.”

“Do you?”

“You used it four nights ago, remember? In the parking lot outside my apartment building.”

His dark-eyed gaze betrayed a total lack of emotion—a characteristic typical of a born liar. Calmly he asked, “How long have you known?”

“Why were you there, Michael?”

“I promise to explain.” He went to the wall phone in the kitchen and picked up the receiver. “First I’ll call the police station.”

“No,” she said. Her voice sounded firm in spite of the fluttering of her heart. She really wanted to believe in him, wanted him to offer a rational excuse. “I need an answer, an honest answer. If you’re going to stay here, there can’t be any more lies.”

“Lies? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A long time ago you promised you’d never leave me. Then you were gone. You betrayed me.” And it still hurt. “Now, after eleven years, you come back in the middle of another strange situation. You weren’t a good Samaritan, just a stranger passing by. You were in my parking lot for a reason. What was it?”

A stillness fell between them, separating them. The gentle sounds of night—the crickets and the groans of the old house settling on its foundation—seemed deafening. Annie could almost hear the seconds ticking, widening the gulf that divided her from Michael. If he lied to her now, she could never trust him again.

“I was following you,” he admitted.

He’d been watching her, and she hadn’t even known. Annie felt violated and strangely excited at the same time. “Why?”

“Off and on, I’d been tailing you for almost a couple of weeks—ever since Bateman got out on parole. I knew he had a vendetta against your grandfather. Since Lionel was relatively safe in the hospital, I decided I’d better keep an eye on you.”

“The standard procedure in such a situation is to follow the suspect—not the victim.”

He raised one eyebrow and a slow grin curved his lips. “I figured it’d be more fun to watch you.”