To Love, Honor And Defend. Beth Cornelison

No. But maybe if she kept telling herself she had no reason to be worried, she would eventually believe it.

      He arched his eyebrow again, clearly unconvinced. “Seems to me this guy is another reason you should marry me.”

      She choked on her coffee. “What?” she sputtered.

      “I can protect you.”

      She thunked her mug down on the counter. “I don’t need protection. Besides, what about the potential danger you’d put yourself in?”

      Cal brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “I can take care of myself.”

      “So can I.” She ducked away from his hand. The mere touch of his finger against her cheek curled her toes, sent ribbons of pleasure swirling inside her. Damn it, spending any length of time with this man threatened her libido. And the shabby patchwork of her reconstructed heart.

      “What about Ally?” she asked. “Aren’t you worried about her being at risk from this guy?”

      “He’d have to come through me to get to Ally. Or to you. I would never let that happen. She’s at far greater risk as long as she’s living in that dump with Renee. That’s the problem I’m concerned with.”

      Cal slid warm hands over her shoulders and gripped her arms, pinning her with an intense blue gaze. “Please, Lib. Go with me to get Ally. It’s important to me that you understand what’s at stake.”

      She knew the stakes better than he did. To her heart. And to Ally. She’d lived it.

      The answer wasn’t clear-cut, black or white.

      As much as she wanted to tell him no, the incident on the stairs, her nightmare had rattled her more than she cared to admit. Maybe having Cal around would give her more protection. And a little peace of mind.

      But protection wasn’t justification for getting married. Especially not to Cal. Letting Cal back into her life posed a far more imminent danger to her heart. Her throat tightened. Damn it, he’d already made a riot of her emotions.

      “If I go…” she began, hating the seductive rasp in her voice.

      The smoky haze in his eyes told her he’d noticed, too. His gaze locked on her mouth, and she fought the urge to retreat a step. Or to lean in and kiss him. She cleared her throat before she went on. “If I go with you now, you’ll take my no for an answer and leave me alone?”

      “You won’t tell me no.” His grin was confident and disarming. “As I recall, you never could.”

      Libby scowled at his back as he sauntered toward her living room. Maybe the old Libby never could tell him no, but since he’d walked out on her five years ago, she’d changed.

      Chapter 3

      Nothing had changed at Renee’s apartment since he’d been by earlier in the week. Except perhaps a few more crusty dishes were piled in the sink and on the coffee table. A stronger stench of rotten garbage permeated the air.

      Cal watched Libby react to the scene. With her eyes wide and her stance rigid, she pressed a hand over her mouth and took in the chaos of clutter and filth.

      “You’re early.” Renee stumbled back from the door, tripping past the spot where her boyfriend Gary—or Jerry, or whatever the creep’s name was—lay passed out on the floor. Judging from Renee’s glazed expression, she was high again. Surprise, surprise.

      “Actually I’m not. It’s past nine. Where’s Ally?”

      “Asleep, I guess. Try her room.” Renee rubbed her face hard and winced. Black circles ringed his ex’s eyes, and baggy clothes hung on her rail-thin frame. She’d lost too much weight in the last few months. Cal’s stomach knotted. Renee had been vibrant and beautiful when they’d first met. Her mind had been sharp. He hated seeing her like this. If Renee took such poor care of herself, what did Ally endure?

      “Renee, look at this place. Don’t you understand that the authorities could take Ally away, put her in foster care, if you don’t get your act together?”

      Renee scoffed. “I’m her mother. They can’t take her from me. And neither can you. I have rights.”

      “They can take her away, and they will. What about Ally’s right to have a clean home? To have someone love her and take care of her?”

      “I love her!” Renee wobbled, and Cal steadied her with a hand on her arm.

      He mustered every ounce of his patience. “Then get clean. I’m not fighting for custody to hurt you, Renee. I’m doing it because I love Ally. I don’t want to see her suffer.”

      Renee pulled free of his grip. “She’s fine.”

      Grunting his disgust and frustration, Cal stalked toward the back of the tiny apartment and nearly collided with a scruffy man who came out of the bathroom, zipping his pants.

      “Look where you’re going, man,” the hoodlum grumbled, bumping past Cal on his way back to the front room.

      “Who the hell are you?” Cal followed the man into the living room and divided a glare between the man and Renee.

      “Who’s askin’?” The stranger gave Libby, who still hovered by the door, a suspicious look. “Hey, do I know you?”

      Cal tensed, ready to intervene if the scumbag took another step toward Libby.

      She raised her chin and appraised the man with a honed look, one that doubtlessly brought hostile witnesses to their knees. “Not unless you’ve had a reason to appear in court recently.”

      Cal felt a quick tug of pride. Libby personified strength under fire. Cool and poised. Other than two nights ago in the parking garage, when she’d been so uncharacteristically rattled, he’d only seen her experience meltdown between the sheets. During sex, she let go, burned hot and fast like a forest fire in a drought. When his libido pulsed to life, he firmly pushed thoughts of tangling limbs with Libby aside for another time.

      “That’s right.” The slimeball wagged a finger toward Libby. “You’re the skirt from the D.A.’s office.” When the disheveled man stepped toward her, Cal instinctively moved to Libby’s side.

      “So, you’re familiar with the prosecutor’s office, Mr.—” Libby tipped her head, tapping a finger to her lips as if trying to remember something. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”

      The bum flashed an oily smile. “You can just call me Roach, lawyer babe.”

      “Roach, huh? Interesting. Family name?” Libby parried.

      Roach chortled and flopped back onto the stained cushions of Renee’s couch. On the floor, Gary/Jerry/whatever-his-name-was, stirred, coughed then lurched for an empty glass as he retched.

      Cal felt Libby’s shudder only because he’d put his hand on her arm to guide her away from Roach. “Come on. Let’s find Ally and get the hell out of here,” he said under his breath.

      With a nod, she followed him back to the corner bedroom, where Ally’s toys littered the floor.

      The bed was empty.

      Anxiety flashed through Cal with the force of a backdraft. “Ally?”

      Darting forward, he ripped the covers from the bed, searching for his daughter, even though the girl clearly wasn’t there. He cut a sharp glance toward Libby, whose face reflected the same concern and confusion that knifed him.

      “Renee!” He stormed out to the living room, his body tense with fury, his stomach knotted with dread. “She’s not there! Where the hell is my daughter?”

      Renee clutched her head and slouched in her seat, curling into a tiny ball. “Don’t yell! Damn, my head’s gonna explode.”

      “Where’s Ally? She’s not in her