For Her Protection Read online

  He hobbled into the bathroom and swallowed three more Tylenol. Anything to take the edge off the throbbing pain. The bleeding had stopped, but the bullet was still in there. Had been in there for more than twelve hours now. It had to come out or he’d be in worse trouble. Soon he’d be forced to ask the harried-looking English chick for help. Oh, how he dreaded it.

  He limped back out to the main room. Had they been the best of friends or a tight-knit little family, the motel room would’ve been much too small for the five of them. But they were virtual strangers. The room felt like a closet. He glanced over at Jillian. She was trying to soothe the baby, but her awkward, rocking motions seemed to be jarring Sarah rather than calming her.

  “Here. Give her to me. I’ll try to shut her up while you make a bottle.”

  Her glance was grateful, but laced with guilt. He winked at her to take the sting out of his words and was rewarded with a small, wan smile. Mary Poppins looked pooped. Still, she was surprisingly resilient. It couldn’t be every day she was waylaid by a federal agent and forced into hiding. So far she seemed to be making the best of it.

  He couldn’t let them go…not until he knew for sure it was safe. And nothing about this op felt safe, at least not yet. His stomach still felt as though he’d had too much caffeine. He still hadn’t made contact with the rest of the team, hadn’t been able to reach his partner. Since the explosion, every number was relentlessly busy. Hell, they could be dead for all he knew. Very little was being said on the television news, but he knew for a fact the explosion had collapsed half the building.

  Jillian turned to face the next set of clinging hands. Samuel was still awake and rarin’ to go. Luke watched in amazement while she settled the rambunctious three-year-old at the tiny kitchenette with a box of crayons that seemingly materialized out of thin air. James was busy mixing the bottle. He wondered about that. Did all kids that age help so much? James seemed far older than six years. Six going on forty. Then again, what did he know?

  So far, in his thirty-two years on the planet, all he’d managed to achieve was one former wife. They’d never gotten around to having kids. Never had the chance, he corrected. If it’d been up to him, it would’ve happened eventually. If Linda had only waited.

  His thoughts returned to Jillian. A pretty name, just unusual enough to be memorable. And if her name hadn’t caught his attention, her accent would have. He was surprised to learn she’d been born in the States. When he’d asked, she’d said Kansas. Of course, it had come out like “Cahnsus” and he’d thought for a second she’d been messing with him.

  But her big eyes had gotten all wide and she’d said that no, really, she had been born there and moved back to England when she was two. She had pretty eyes, actually—a stormy gray-blue that seemed to change with her moods. He watched her smile at James and tussle his hair. She was lanky and lean, but in a careless, nonathletic sort of way. And she looked nothing at all like her three children, he realized. The kids could’ve been his, if genetics were based solely on their coloring. They were all blond, pink-cheeked cherubs with hazel eyes, while Jillian’s hair was long and brown and untamed.

  “You’re good at this.” Jillian appeared again, testing the bottle on her arm. “She’s stopped crying. Have little ones of your own, do you?”

  He smiled and continued to bounce Sarah. And wondered if she could see the regret he always felt when he allowed himself to think about it. “No. Just a lot of practice with my nephews.”

  Her smile was genuine when she moved closer to stroke Sarah’s fuzzy head. “Perhaps you can give me lessons? I’m still learning all this.” She leaned into him, brushing his shoulder as she planted a kiss on Sarah’s cheek and lifted the baby from his arms. “Time for dinner, sweetheart.”

  “I’d figure with three of them, you’d be a pro by now.” Man, she smelled great. A tantalizing aroma of something sweet and fresh washed over him and he had to consciously fight the urge to inhale her scent again. He ignored the tingle of current that shot down his arm, choosing instead to grope for a logical reason. Static electricity. That made sense. Or close quarters. Perfectly good reason.

  That, or the fact that it had been a ridiculously long time since he’d been to bed with a woman. He took a long, slow breath. No chance of that happening anytime soon, not with a bullet in his ass. Not with a day-care center at ground zero of their musty-smelling motel room.

  “They’ve only been mine for three days now,” Jilly admitted as she accepted the baby from Luke’s outstretched arms, unsure whether she wanted to delve into such a personal situation with a complete and utter stranger. Since she’d picked the children up at social services, there’d been one ordeal after another to deal with and an absolute mountain of paperwork.

  “Wait a minute. I’m confused. Aren’t these your kids?” The poor man seemed to be in agony. Luke hadn’t said much, but she could tell by the way he limped that he was in a great deal of pain. For a fleeting moment, though, his grim expression was replaced with one of confusion.

  “Well, they are now. I’ve already filed the papers to adopt them.”

  “You flew all the way over here to adopt kids? What made you do that?”

  Her gaze shifted to the corner of the room where James sat in a squeaky armchair, his eyes glued to the telly. In three days James hadn’t so much as mentioned his mum. But she knew Annie’s death had hit him hard. Good Lord, she was still reeling herself. But instinct told her he would speak of Annie when he was ready. Still a complete novice at the motherhood thing, she’d cautiously followed his lead.

  Luke’s gaze travelled to James before returning to settle on her. She hoisted Sarah awkwardly onto her shoulder. “M-my sister. She passed away two weeks—”

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” he interrupted, clearly uneasy. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

  The flash of compassion in his eyes nearly undid her composure. Her gaze still on James, she blinked back the tears that lately seemed to be too readily available. Lowering her voice, she continued. “I promised my sister I’d come over here and—”

  He held up one hand. “I get the picture. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  When she allowed herself to think about it, Annie’s death was like a raw gaping wound. Not that she’d had all that much time to think about anything. For once, she was grateful when Sarah began fussing. There was nothing like a hungry baby to get her mind refocused on priorities. She would have a lifetime to grieve for all she’d lost. A lifetime to wonder over what might have been. If she’d only come sooner.

  Crossing to the bed, she sat and slid across the spread to lean back against the headboard. She snuggled Sarah into one arm before slipping the bottle into her mouth. Her sweet little face unscrunched immediately as she began happily sucking. And Jillian sighed with relief.

  “She’s a noisy little thing, this one. I wonder if all babies are this loud.”

  “I wouldn’t be the right person to ask that question. But if I remember correctly, my nephews’ screams came damn close to shattering glass when they were hungry.” Luke sat hesitantly on the edge of a chair, wincing when his rear end made contact with the vinyl. “I guess that’s nature’s way of ensuring they get what they need.”

  “So what happens now, Mr. Gianetti? Have you made contact with your captain, or whatever he is?” Sarah’s eyes seemed to follow the sound of her voice and she giggled in spite of her exhaustion. Lord, she felt like a limp dish rag. No wonder Nanny Margaret had always been so foul come suppertime. After all these years, she finally understood why Nanny’s evening sherry had been such a sacred event. She’d probably been bloody worn out after endless days spent chasing around after her and Annie.

  “He’s called a SAC…not a captain.”

  “What’s a sack?” Leave it to the Yanks to abbreviate everything. Why did everything have to be shortened to initials? What was their damn hurry?

  “Not sack,” he answered patiently. “SAC—Special Agent in
Charge. He’s the boss. Then there’s an ASAC—Assistant Special Agent in Charge. Then way down the totem pole, there’s me.”

  “And what initials are you?” she interrupted.

  “I’m just an SA… Special Agent. Actually I’m a UCSA.”

  “A what?”

  A fleeting smile crossed his features. “An Undercover SA.”

  It was a code she’d have to break. Why, it would probably be even worse on a college campus. Kids today spoke a completely different language. With any luck, she’d be able to hide out in her library. Although she doubted it. She’d been thrilled to accept Dartmouth’s offer. Archiving one of the finest collections of eighteenth-century papers was a dream come true. But then Rosemary had gone and ruined it. Her mother’s catty reminder of their lineage had planted a niggling worry in her mind. Had they only wanted her because of who she was?

  Sarah gurgled, catching her attention, and Jilly was content to let her suspicions slide away. Rosemary wouldn’t ruin this for her. She would prove to Dartmouth—and to herself—that they’d made an excellent choice.

  “So, SA Luke, were you able to reach any of your initial friends?” She tore her gaze from Sarah and glanced around their meager room. The furniture was threadbare and probably decades old. And the overriding scent was one of mildew. The smell reminded her of the ancient castles her father had dragged his daughters across the continent to visit. Every school holiday had been spent “appreciating” another dreary estate. The only difference now was the temperature. The castles had been cold and dank. Here in the States, it was warm and far too humid for her taste.

  “When can we leave this fine establishment?”

  “I still don’t know yet.” Agent Gianetti’s tone was clearly defensive.

  “We simply can’t stay here indefinitely.” She raised one eyebrow when Sarah belched indelicately. “Well, excuse you, young lady.”

  That got a smile out of Luke. “She’s not half bad. With a little practice, she just may have a future.”

  “Mr. Gianetti, please. Sarah is going to wear dresses and have tea parties, not learn to burp and spit.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now, please tell me what’s going on.”

  “The good news is that we’re safe—temporarily.”

  “Safe? From what? You said no one followed us.” He settled back in his chair and then sucked in a sharp breath of pain. “Are you all right?”

  He gritted his teeth and nodded. “I’m okay.”

  “You don’t look okay,” she persisted.

  “I just need to stand up.” His eyes glazed with pain, he grasped the table and hoisted himself from the chair. “The bad news is that I haven’t reached anyone on the team. It’s like the call won’t even go through. All the circuits are down, or some damn thing. And my cell phone isn’t working.”

  “You don’t think that man will actually look for us, do you?”

  How much did he risk telling her? For the moment she was calm, rational. And Luke wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he needed was a hysterical woman on his hands. Hell, yes, Sloan would be looking for them. He was probably searching right now. Sloan abided by the drug dealers’ creed. No witnesses.

  “Until I’m positive it’s safe, we’re not going anywhere. As soon as it gets dark, I’ll try to contact my partner from the pay phone out front.”

  Luke was not operating from a position of strength. He had to come up with a plan. They were all dangerously vulnerable to Sloan and his gang of rent-a-thugs. He was saddled not only with the sexy Jillian, but with her three children—babies, actually. A fast escape would be out of the question, so he had to make sure they wouldn’t need one. A quick inventory had already confirmed he didn’t have much cash and until he connected with his partner and found out what had gone wrong, he wouldn’t risk using a credit card. Even his undercover card would be too easy to trace.

  He had no surveillance. No survival equipment and only one gun, and even that wasn’t a good one. It was a street piece, no serial number—exactly what a small-time dealer would use to protect himself, to delude himself into thinking he was safe. Luke hated being without his pistol, but his government-issue was too easy to spot. Drug dealers were a very suspicious lot.

  If Sloan had made Jillian’s car, they were in it even deeper. And they wouldn’t have much time before the goons came searching. If Luke’d had more time, he could’ve lifted another car, but Jilly’s station wagon had been packed to the rafters. It would have taken half the night to move her stuff. He would feel a whole lot better with another hundred miles between him and Sloan. The bastard was way too close for comfort, but Baby Sarah’s shrieks of protest had put an end to their travels. He shook his head in memory. The kid’s voice could’ve registered on the Richter scale.

  He’d finally settled on this dump because it was off the main road. He’d parked the station wagon around back. The gravel lot backed up to a tobacco field. No one would be able to see the rental car without skulking around to find it. Visibility from the room allowed him a full hundred and eighty degrees. He’d see anyone coming in.

  If Sloan was on to them, he’d already be scouting the highway, knowing that was the easiest escape route. He would already have found the rental company and—

  He’d already know Jillian’s name. “Jill—what address did you use on the car rental application?” He felt her hesitation, watched her frown as though he’d asked her to solve an algebra problem without a calculator.

  “It was out of Raleigh.”

  “Why’d you go way up there?”

  “Well, I needed a flight fast and everything out of London to the east coast was already booked. Raleigh was the closest city I could get to South Carolina. I wasn’t exactly sure how far I’d have to drive to pick up the children. It turned out to be quite a distance after all.”

  Luke rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. The woman spoke in absolute riddles and he was beginning to suspect the language barrier had nothing to do with it.

  “So, what address did you use on the rental app?”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “Right, of course. Your original question. Let’s see, I wasn’t quite sure of my address in New Hampshire, so I used my old address in England. Was that all right? The rental place didn’t seem to mind.”

  “No…no. That’s good.” Sloan would spin his wheels tracing her back to England and then he’d come up empty-handed unless he found someone there who had her new address. He sighed as he gingerly eased onto a vinyl-coated chair with far too little padding and winced at the now familiar ache.

  Problem number two: what to do about the slug? It was still lodged in his right thigh. Extremely upper right thigh. Obviously, it hadn’t hit anything too important because he hadn’t bled to death yet. He’d barely bled at all from what he could see. Of course, not being a sideshow contortionist, he hadn’t been able to see much.

  If he only knew for sure they were safe, he could check into a hospital. An agent shot in the line of duty. He was legit. But he still hadn’t raised Murphy. Hadn’t reached his SAC—or any of the rest of the team. Another bad sign that something was seriously wrong. Which meant no hospital. But the pain would only worsen until he removed the bullet. It had to be soon. He couldn’t risk an infection, not with four people’s lives in his hands.

  It was his fault they’d seen Jillian. The blast had caught him off guard, otherwise he never would’ve jumped in the car of an innocent bystander. She’d done remarkably well, all things considered. It couldn’t be everyday that a wild-eyed stranger hijacked her vehicle at gunpoint. Come to think of it, she’d probably remained calm because of the kids. She’d been praying he wouldn’t hurt her children.

  Still, she’d had the guts to ask him to lower his gun and to chastise him for cursing in front of James. Luke shook his head, hiding his sudden smile. Oh, yeah, Lady Jillian was an English rose and she had some thorns to her, too. He wondered how wide her eyes would get when he asked her to remove the bullet from his ass. />
  Chapter 2

  “You want me to do what?” Jillian continued backing up until she was all the way in the corner, and still he followed her. Mother of God—he couldn’t be serious.

  “I know you heard me the first time.” Luke’s eyes were deadly serious.

  “I can’t possibly…I don’t know the first thing about—”

  “Look, we don’t have a choice,” he interrupted. “The bullet’s got to come out. It’s already been in there too long. I explained why we can’t risk going to a hospital.”

  “Can’t you try to reach your friend again? I mean—” She swallowed hard. “Maybe he got your message. Maybe he’s on his way…”

  “He’s not on his way. He would have contacted me.”

  His tone was clearly exasperated, but she didn’t give a damn. This was simply too much to ask. Perform surgery? Agent Gianetti was stark raving mad. No way in hell was she going to attempt to get a bloody bullet out of his behind. Her stomach roiled at the mere thought. Out of sheer desperation, she glanced around the room. She needed a diversion. Why couldn’t Sarah cry now?

  “B-but you said your cell phone wasn’t working properly. It’s probably bodged up. I think you should try the pay phone again.”

  “I’ve already taken too much risk. That phone out there can be traced in a heartbeat.”

  She took another step back and was cornered. Literally. The wall was at her back and a glaring Agent Gianetti stood towering over her. “Are you sure they’ll search for us? I mean, I only saw that man for a moment. I don’t know that I could identify him.”

  He gentled his voice at her obvious confusion. She didn’t want to believe him. Heck, her safe little world had just been blown wide open. A dangerous drug dealer and his pack of thugs were looking for Mary Poppins and her three charges. He’d be fighting it, too.