Bulletproof Hearts

“Thank you.” She slid the calling card into her purse, disinclined to leave but knowing it was time.

“How long have you been in D.C.?” he asked.

“I got in the day before yesterday. Wait, I guess it was yesterday.” She shook her head. “My internal clock is turned upside down. I flew in from London and I don’t have my times figured out yet.”

“Do you live in the U.K.?” He took her elbow, helping her through the rain to the limo. The golf umbrella was huge, yet the swirling rain still found them.

“I do now…for the past three months. I’m a professor at SMU. This semester I’m guest lecturing on Southern Literature at Cambridge University while one of their professors is teaching English literature in Dallas. We swap apartments and everything.”

“What a fascinating way to see the world.”

“It is. I’ve done this in Italy and France, as well.”

“Where are you staying while you’re here?” They’d reached the limo and he helped her inside.

“I’m at Jason’s. I’ll close his condo while I’m in D.C. Then—” She stopped and stared hard at her wet right shoe before she took a deep breath. “I suppose I haven’t really gotten that far yet.”

She glanced up at him. “Can I give you a lift to your car?” She was reluctant to leave him now. Hearing him talk, she wouldn’t have cared if the Irishman was reading the phone book. She felt peaceful for the first time in four days, like she wasn’t going to jump out of her skin. It felt for some reason as if she were letting her last ties with Jason go.

He shrugged. “No worries, I took a cab.”

“Can I drop you somewhere? It’s raining so, please…get in.” She stopped again and blushed. “Oh, my, I’m not trying to pick you up at my brother’s funeral. Not that you’d be interest—”

She stopped and shook her head, wishing suddenly for the earth to open and swallow her up. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at all.”

She felt herself blushing, and suddenly she was back in Ms. Martin’s seventh grade class, stammering through her “How to Make the Perfect Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich” demonstration speech. On top of spreading peanut butter on her speech notes instead of the bread, she’d dropped and shattered the strawberry jam jar in front of the entire classroom. That day, she’d wished for the world to end, as well—for an entirely different reason.

SHAUN COULDN’T HELP BUT SMILE as she flushed again, a pleasant pink, to the roots of her hair. It was lovely. He hadn’t seen a woman who got embarrassed and blushed like that in a long time.

The part of his conscience that was still active was mildly bothered by the fact that he was deceiving a woman who had just buried her brother. That twinge of remorse surprised him. Intellectually he knew how she felt. But the remnants of his own grief and loss had been buried for so long, they no longer clouded his judgment.

Growing up in a country filled with centuries of violence had not produced an idyllic childhood, nor had losing both parents to “the Troubles” of his homeland in a bomb blast at the tender age of eight. Years of denial had worked in his favor at cementing a manhole cover of ice over that dark mental abyss. He shook off the old ghosts.

He hadn’t planned to introduce himself at the funeral and certainly not as Jason Trevor’s boyfriend. He’d been ordered to keep an eye on Abigail, possibly even protect her—as needed—from the background. He wasn’t supposed to make contact yet. Donner needed this woman’s cooperation but that wouldn’t happen if Shaun spooked her first. He’d considered the funeral as more of a scouting opportunity, but this seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

Getting her to lean on him, trust him was the job he’d been assigned. Abigail Trevor was clearly in pain. Plus, she was in an unfamiliar city with no family or friends close by. He’d been over and over how to play this the past three days. The problem was time and how little there was of it. Winning her trust in such a limited time frame called for a wee…creative manipulation of the truth. Such as concealing, for now, the fact that the female Trevor sibling was much more to his taste than her brother would have been.

Maybe he should have corrected Abigail’s assumption and told her that he was definitely not gay. But he had to insinuate himself into her life as soon as possible. So he let her mistake stand as the quickest way to get under her defenses.

Shaun was just grateful he worked for Michael Donner now, instead of his old boss at Storm’s Edge. He could trust Donner and his motives. In other words, he could lie with impunity.

There was certainly no one around to contradict him. No one knew him or could question whether Shaun had known Jason Trevor as a colleague, a lover, or if he’d never laid eyes on the man until today at the funeral home viewing.

Jason had kept his personal life extraordinarily private, and Shaun had seen the change in Abigail’s eyes when she thought she’d put it together, so he didn’t set her straight in any sense of the word.

Seeing Jason’s coworkers hurry past, most not saying anything to her due in part to the torrential downpour, he realized that right now was the perfect time to approach her. She was off balance, grieving. Not evaluating or thinking clearly. Any slipup he might make could be more easily covered. Letting himself be “talked into” a ride was the perfect setup.

Except when he felt that niggle of conscience and a real surge of attraction that was completely out of place here. Then she was talking and he almost missed what she was saying.

“…it’s just I don’t want to ride by myself and it seems a waste. I can drop you at a hotel in Georgetown at least. It’ll be easier for you to grab a cab that way in this rain.”

Shaun grinned. This would be okay. It would be splendid, in fact. “Sure and I’d be a fool to turn down a lift from a lovely lady. Just drop me at the nearest metro station. I’ll take the train home.”

What could be more ideal?

ABBY MOVED OVER AS SHAUN climbed in beside her. He was much bigger than she’d realized once he was seated beside her—at least six foot three. He wasn’t imposing exactly but he was built like someone who worked out a lot.

Jason, even from the grave you snag the most amazing-looking men. What is that about?

At that moment Abby had a pang of longing for her brother and all they had lost that was so intense, a tear trickled down her cheek mixing with the raindrops. She turned her head away to the opposite window and saw that the limo driver had provided a couple of towels for her to dry off with. She blotted her face and offered the other hand linen to Shaun.

“Jason would have adored this,” she murmured. “He dearly loved a good thunderstorm. They always scared me silly.”

The limo driver swung around the gates of the cemetery and paused a moment as a maintenance truck rolled past. The plan was for her to be driven back to Jason’s condo in Arlington. Zip Tech had made all the arrangements. She leaned forward to ask the driver to stop at a metro station.

Breaking glass and a soft svit sound thumped the leather seat behind her. The window beside her broke into a thousand tiny pieces, covering her back and hair.

“Get down!” Shaun tackled her, taking her to the floor-board. Suddenly she was facedown underneath two hundred pounds of heavily muscled male, her nose pressed into the taupe-colored carpet. All she could smell was damp earth from their tromp across the cemetery and the strange chemical scent of heavy-duty carpet cleaner.

More glass shattered.

“Damn it!” cried the driver, stomping on the brakes.

“Don’t stop!” shouted Shaun. He raised up on one elbow and for a moment she could breathe. “Someone’s shooting at us. We have to get away from here. Keep driving.”

The back window imploded and showered across their bodies as the car swerved wildly before righting itself.

“Whatever happens,” repeated Shaun, “don’t stop driving.”

“Which way do we go?” shouted the driver.

Shaun rattled off an address she’d never heard of in a heavier Irish brogue, adding to the surreal feel of everything.

Then he lowered his head again, covering her body with his and once again, she couldn’t get any air. His hair tickled her cheek, then his lips were right beside her ear. She was light-headed from the lack of oxygen—and more. It was chillingly bizarre, yet intimate at the same time.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

Words stuck in her throat. “No…no, I’m not. Why is someone shooting at us? Are they following us?”

“We’re going somewhere safe.”

He shifted his weight to pull out a cell phone and started texting.

“You didn’t answer my question. What’s going on?” Was this guy some kind of criminal that people were shooting at him in her car? “Why are they shooting at you?” She heard the rising panic in her own voice. “Abigail, I’m not the person they’re shooting at.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening here. What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m trying to get us some help.”