Protecting Her Own. Margaret Daley

to be a house, vague memories of the past tugged at her. Seeing a bathroom door open, she slipped inside and washed off what grime was left on her face and neck then finger-combed her hair into a semblance of order. Cuts on her skin emphasized the ordeal she’d gone through.

      She heard voices coming from her right. Heading that way, she soon entered a kitchen she had known all too well as a young woman and came to a halt when her gaze fell upon Connor Fitzgerald. So she hadn’t dreamed him. He had been at her dad’s house earlier, and she was at his grandfather’s now.

      Connor fastened his hard, slate-gray eyes on her. The chill from that look went straight to her bones.

      “I was getting worried about you, child.”

      Cara shifted her attention to the wiry, old man with bright alert eyes. Mike Fitzgerald sat opposite his grandson. A warm welcome spread across his features as his assessing survey took her in. He rose, still thin with a fit body for his age and a full head of stark white hair. He moved a little slower than she remembered, but with the assurance she’d known, and enveloped her in a bear hug. She winced at the welcoming embrace.

      “I’m so glad you’re okay and staying here. Me and Connor can keep you safe.”

      Staying at Connor’s grandfather’s house? Did she forget something from the morning? All she could remember was lying on Doc’s examination table after he took some X-rays. Totally exhausted and hurting, she’d taken something to help her rest. Then Connor had come in and talked with Doc. When she’d closed her eyes, weariness pulling her down toward the dark, another voice, deep and gruff, joined the two men’s. Mike’s? He’d asked her something and she’d answered. Then she’d drifted off to sleep to the sound of their murmured voices, too tired to care.

      What had been Mike’s question and my answer?

      The scent of coffee floated on the air. She needed caffeine and her brain functioning at one hundred percent before she tackled the man across from Mike Fitzgerald.

      “May I have some coffee? Actually, a whole pot full?”

      “Sure, child. Anything I have is yours. You know that.” Mike wrapped his calloused hand around hers and guided her toward the table and a seat next to his grandson.

      Connor’s coldness continued to flow from him and drape her in a blanket of ice. Mike set a big mug of black coffee, the way she took hers, in front of her. She cradled it between her hands to heat her fingers while she waited for it to cool down enough to drink.

      “Well, I’ll leave you two younguns alone. I imagine you have some catching up to do.” Mike hurried toward the hallway as though he knew he needed to escape or risk getting caught in the cross fire.

      She itched to drag Connor’s grandfather back into the chair on the other side of her, but he could move surprisingly fast when he wanted. Taking a sip of her coffee, she stabbed Connor with what she hoped was a piercing look. “Why am I here?”

      “You heard Gramps. Until the person who sent the bomb is caught, you’re in danger. The sheriff asked me to watch out for you. Gramps and I brought you here after Doc gave his okay, so long as we kept an eye on you and let him know if there’s a problem.”

      “His okay! How about mine?” Her voice rose as her temper did. “Maybe I’d rather stay somewhere else. Did you think to ask?”

      “My grandfather did. You can’t stay at your dad’s house. The damage is extensive in the dining room, foyer and kitchen where part of the doorway and wall blew out.”

      “You’ve been inside and seen it?”

      He nodded and delved into his pocket, then presented her cell phone to her. “After the bomb squad okayed the premises, I accompanied the sheriff and ATF agents. I found that on the floor and saw it was yours.”

      “What did they find?” She chanced a sip of the still hot coffee because she needed something to drive the fuzz from her brain. To deal with Connor she had to be clear-headed.

      “It looks like a pipe bomb, and from the damages a large one. The ATF guys gathered evidence to analyze and will get back to Sean when they have anything to report.”

      A large pipe bomb. Low-tech but it definitely could have killed her or her dad if they had been closer to it. Interesting, the logical, investigative part of her mind reasoned while the other wanted to shut down.

      “Cara, who is trying to kill your dad—or you?”

      “Me?” She didn’t want Connor involved in her life and certainly not protecting her. His nearness brought to the foreground everything she had run away from thirteen years ago. He’d wanted to smother her, do everything for her then. And in the short time they had been reunited, he was doing it again.

      “Sean told me what you’ve been doing these past few years. We can’t totally rule you out as a possible target. I mean to find out what’s going on.”

      She locked gazes with Connor and automatically her adrenaline spiked at the challenge—could she put their past aside to let him do his job—that she glimpsed in his depths. “Why? Because of our past?”

      Connor rose and crossed to the stove to refill his mug. “Sean has asked for my help and I’m giving it. The origin of the bomb was in the dining room—the table. Do you know what the pipe bomb might have been in?”

      Although she’d been forced to leave Nzadi under less than ideal conditions, she didn’t think anyone would have followed her to the United States to try and kill her—she hoped. “I don’t think I’m the target. My dad had been receiving birthday gifts from friends. The neighbor who had been collecting the mail brought them over yesterday morning. I had a stack of them on the dining room table from people around the world. He’ll be sixty tomorrow.” If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the Nzadi affair on the phone with Kyra, she might have been more suspicious about the black-wrapped gift. Although black wrapping paper was often used as a joke for a milestone birthday, anyone knowing her father wouldn’t have sent a gift wrapped in black paper. He wouldn’t be amused.

      “Nothing seemed suspicious to you? Your dad wasn’t even home—hadn’t been for eight weeks.”

      “But he had been due home this morning right before the last package, a medium-size box wrapped in black paper, was delivered.”

      “Who knew about that?”

      She shrugged, wishing she felt nonchalant. “Everyone in town.”

      “But he didn’t come home.”

      “It was a last-minute decision by his doctor at Sunny Meadows. He had a reaction to some new medication, and the doctor wanted him to stay there another day or so to keep an eye on him. I’d only been able to tell a few people I needed to cancel his birthday party. Sean was one of them.” She narrowed her eyes on him as he sat. “I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

      “I do work for the Virginia CID.” He lifted his mug to his lips and took a long sip.

      For a few seconds she watched that action, remembering a time when those lips had kissed hers. She looked down at her drink and tried to bring some kind of order to her chaotic thoughts. “You have no right to bring me here without my permission. I’m sure I didn’t give it.” She wouldn’t have because that meant she would be near Connor. There was no way she could deal with him on top of everything else. “The last thing I recall is lying on Doc’s examination table. He gave me another pill and that’s all. Did he drug me?”

      “He gave you pain medication. You went to sleep all on your own.”

      Which really didn’t surprise her. She had been functioning on only a few hours of sleep for the past four days, reporting to Kyra about her last assignment after escaping Nzadi then turning right around and coming to Clear Branch at midnight two days ago. Although she’d been to the rehabilitation center/nursing home to make plans to move her father to his house, she’d thought she could rest before having to deal with his situation.

      But