CARRIE'S PROTECTOR (5 page)

“—is a hostage.”

“Which is my fault. And the men who snatched him hurt Patrick.”

“Carrie, none of this is your fault. You were just doing your duty as a citizen. What were you going to do, let them blow up the U.S. Capitol and pretend you hadn’t heard anything?”

When she started to protest, Wyatt reached for her and pulled her close, pressing her face to his shoulder. “We have two jobs here. The first one is to keep you safe. The second is to get your dad back.”

“What if I think that’s the wrong order?” she asked in a strained voice.

“It’s not. And we
will
get him back.”

“How?”

His tone was soothing as he rubbed her back. “We don’t do it by running off without a plan. We’ve got to consider all the angles and proceed carefully.”

He kept his arms around her, rubbing her neck and shoulders, and she leaned into his strength as she thought back over the awful conversation with Patrick. Thank goodness she hadn’t been alone. If Wyatt hadn’t stopped her, she would probably have told Patrick where she was, and the terrorists could be on their way to the motel already if they’d been listening.

“They can’t find us through the phone?” she murmured.

“We didn’t speak long enough for them to trace the call. But I want to get rid of both our phones so they can’t use the GPS.”

She nodded against his shoulder.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?”

He managed a low laugh. “I’m fine.”

“You were shot a little while ago. You were resting when I got ahold of Patrick.”

“I’ve been hurt before, a lot worse than this.”

“That scar on your chest.”

“Yes.”

“And you were in the hospital, right?”

“I said it was worse than this.” He eased away from her. “We need to get a couple of prepaid phones so we can use them and throw them away.”

“Okay.”

He gave Carrie a direct look. “You trust Patrick?”

“Of course!”

“Who else is at your house?”

She thought for a moment. “There’s Inez, our maid.”

“How long has she been with you?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Does she need money?”

“Everybody needs money.”

He nodded. “Who else could have heard you talking to your father about your plans to hide out?”

She felt as if she was being interrogated, but she knew he needed to know the answers. “There’s a gardening crew that comes by a couple of times a week. They could have been eavesdropping.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not on a regular basis.”

His eyes narrowed, and she could see he was considering contingencies. “I don’t want to leave you here, and I don’t want to take you to the store, but I think that sticking together is better at the moment.”

She nodded, assuming he was probably afraid she’d call Patrick if he left her.

He carried the cell phones to the bathroom and crushed them under his heel, then stuffed the pieces into his pocket.

She winced, thinking about the contacts and the pictures he’d just destroyed.

He glanced at her, apparently reading her expression. “You can get a new one later.”

“Right.”

“I’m going out first.” He opened the door and looked out, then crossed to the car and motioned for her to follow.

As she got in the car, she asked, “They couldn’t have found us here already, could they?”

“Probably not, but I didn’t think they would show up at the safe house before we got back there. It appears that this operation is bigger and better organized than we assumed initially.”

“Oh, great.”

Minutes after they’d entered the motel room, they were back on the road.

This time, Wyatt took the driver’s side. She wanted to protest that he should be resting, but she was pretty sure he wouldn’t pay any attention to the suggestion. Obviously he was the kind of man who wasn’t going to let a woman drive him unless he was incapacitated.

As he drove, he tossed away the pieces of the phones, then turned to her. “I have Patrick’s bio. He’s been with you for twenty-five years, right?”

“Yes.”

“And does he have any reasons to dislike your family?”

“Why would he? My father did everything for him. He treated him like a son, actually. He had a bedroom down the hall from me. He ate all his meals with us. My father sent him to the same private school I went to. He paid his tuition at Ohio State.”

“So he was a good student?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ever give your father any trouble?”

“You mean like rebelling?”

“Yes.”

“He and I did a couple of stupid things—like borrow my dad’s car when we were both fifteen.”

“What happened when your dad found out?”

“He didn’t. We covered for each other.”

“You like him?”

“He was as close to me as a brother.” Memories flooded her. “We hung out together, because Dad was usually busy. You could say he was the kind of father who didn’t have a lot of time for his kids, but I knew he loved me.”

“We were talking about Patrick, not your dad.”

“I was trying to explain why Patrick and I were so close.”

“And he loved Patrick?”

She hesitated. “That might be too strong a word. I know he’s fond of him. And he’s certainly come to rely on him.” Again she paused before continuing. “Patrick didn’t have to come back and work for Dad, but he did that on his own.”

“Okay.” Wyatt checked the rearview mirror. “What about your mother?”

“Dad never talks about her.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

She thought for a moment. “When I was maybe six. I went into her room, and she was packing.” The pain and confusion of that long-ago moment came zinging back to her again. “She said she loved me, but she needed to leave. She said she’d be back to see me, but she never came back.”

“Why?”

“At the time I thought she’d abandoned me. Now I think my dad kept her away. I heard him and his lawyer talking once. Dad said that he’d given her a lot of money, and he wasn’t springing for any more.”

“Why do you think she left?”

“I think Dad was more wound up with his work than he was with her.”

“Like with you and Patrick?”

“Yes.”

“Could she be holding a grudge? Could she be angry enough to...try to hurt him?”

Carrie turned her head toward Wyatt. “Wait a minute. What are you trying to say? That my father wasn’t kidnapped because of a terrorist plot?”

“I’m trying to look at every angle. Were you ever romantically involved with Patrick?” he asked.

The question startled her. “What business is that of yours?”

“I’m trying to understand the family dynamics.”

“Patrick and I were never close that way,” she clipped out, hoping he’d drop the subject, but apparently, he wasn’t ready to do that.

“Did he ever try anything—and you rebuffed him?”

She sat perfectly still, remembering.

“From the look on your face, I take it the answer is yes.”

“Once, at the pool, he came up behind me and put his arms around me.”

“What did you do?”

“I swam away.”

“How did he take that?”

“He never...tried again.”

“How old were you?”

“We were teenagers. Would you drop it now?”

“Okay,” he said, although she gathered from the tone of his voice that he wanted to keep interrogating her.

* * *

T
HIRTY
MILES
AWAY
, things were unraveling for a key player in the unfolding drama.

The phone rang. And the caller ID said the number was unpublished.

Just let it ring,
an interior voice advised. But that could turn out to be worse than picking it up.

Still, the hand that lifted the receiver wasn’t quite steady.

“Hello?”

“You know who this is?”

“Yes.”

“You’re late on your payment.”

“I’ll have it in a few days.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I swear I’ll have it.”

“You can’t keep relying on our goodwill.”

The line went dead, and the hand that replaced the receiver was shaking so hard that the instrument rattled.

Was there any way out of this? There had to be.

Chapter Five

“Tell me why someone else besides the terrorists could have kidnapped my father,” Carrie said.

She watched Wyatt heave in a sigh and let it out before answering.

“It’s all over the news. Someone could have taken advantage of the plot to go after him when he’s vulnerable.”

“Why?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. What do you know about his enemies?”

She didn’t like the way he’d put that. He’d flat-out assumed that there were people who wanted to hurt her father.

“He didn’t talk to me a lot about his business.”

“But you do know something.”

“He and a guy named Quincy Sumner had a pretty public fight over a piece of land they both wanted.”

“And your father won.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll put Sumner on our list. Where does he live?”

“Fairfax, Virginia.”

They had arrived at the drugstore. This time they went in together. After buying four cell phones, Wyatt took Carrie on a quick run through the cosmetics and toiletries departments, where they bought some of the basics that they’d been forced to abandon at the safe house. He also bought her a sun hat. When he’d removed the tag, he put it on her head, pulling it down firmly to cover part of her face.

As they returned to the parking lot, he turned to her. “I’m going to call Patrick back, but I want to do the talking.”

“What if I want to talk to him?”

“Let me deal with him. I’ll put on the speaker so you can hear.”

She gave a little nod. She didn’t like it, but it was probably the best course, given the state of her emotions.

On the prepaid phone Wyatt dialed the Mitchell house.

Patrick picked up immediately.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

“Getting phones. Tell us what happened.”

“Is Carrie there?”

“Yes,” she answered, then forgot all about letting Wyatt handle the call. “When did you find out I was in trouble?”

“Your dad got a computer alert about a shoot-out in the Federal Building. He turned on the television, and we were both watching, so we didn’t hear anything until armed men appeared in his office and threatened to kill him.”

Carrie moaned. “Was he all right?”

He repeated what he’d said earlier. “I told you I was on the floor at the time. I couldn’t see much, but he walked out under his own power. They said they’d exchange him for you.”

“Surrendering to them would be foolish,” Wyatt snapped.

“Then what are you going to do?” Patrick asked.

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

“If you come home, we can work together on this.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Wyatt said. “You just told me that they strolled into the house. It’s not safe for Carrie there.”

Patrick made a frustrated sound. “I guess you’re right.” Then he asked again, “Where are you?”

“It’s safer if you don’t know. What if they came back and tortured you for information?”

“I wouldn’t talk.”

Wyatt answered with a mirthless laugh. “Everybody talks when they’re in enough pain.”

“I have to know Carrie’s going to be okay.”

“I am,” she answered, the response automatic. She wasn’t okay, but she was still alive, thanks to Wyatt Hawk.

Patrick’s voice was an unwelcome counterpoint to her thoughts.

“You need more protection,” he said.

Before she could answer, Wyatt jumped back into the conversation. “Like I said, that didn’t work out so well last time.”

“We need to discuss this,” Patrick countered.

“There’s nothing to discuss. You’re not in charge of keeping Carrie safe.”

“I could fire you.”

Wyatt laughed. “I work for Douglas Mitchell, not you, and we’re getting off now.”

“Wait. When will I hear from you again?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if the kidnappers call?”

“Tell them to email me.” Wyatt gave an email address.

“I may need to get in touch with you.”

“You can use the same method.”

“I may need to have quicker access.”

“I’ll keep checking my mail.”

He clicked off before Patrick could ask another question.

Carrie closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. “If you’re guessing wrong, they could kill my dad.”

“I don’t think they will.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“I’m sorry. We can’t be absolutely sure of anything—except that they want you dead, and they’ll try any method to get to you.”

“My dad’s health isn’t that great. I was already worried that the stress of my being in danger would give him a heart attack or a stroke.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “My job is protecting you, and taking you home isn’t the way to do it.”

She gave him a direct look—and the only answer that made any sense. “I understand.” After a moment, she added, “You said Patrick could email you, but you left your laptop back at the safe house, and you can’t get mail on a cheap disposable phone, can you?”

“No, but I’m going to get another computer now. Then we’ll pick up some clothes.”

She could see he was thinking several steps ahead, while she was just trying to keep her nose above water.

Their next stop was one of the big computer and appliances chains, where Wyatt bought a midpriced laptop, using the credit card with the fake identity. Nearby was a discount department store where they each bought underwear and a couple of changes of clothing. He also bought Carrie a pair of sunglasses.

“This is costing you a lot,” Carrie observed.

“Your dad can add it to the bill when we get him back.”

She didn’t bother saying she wasn’t positive of that outcome.

By the time they were finished with the shopping expedition, Carrie was feeling worn-out. And she couldn’t imagine how Wyatt was holding up. His wound might not be life-threatening, but it should have been more than enough to slow him down.

“We should eat something,” he said.

She wasn’t hungry, and she’d been feeling tense the whole time they were in the department store.

“We should call Patrick again,” she said.

“I’d rather communicate by email.”

“You said these phones can’t be traced.”

“Someone could have tapped into the phone system at your father’s house. I’d rather not give them any information.”

She sighed. “You have to set up that computer before you can get mail.”

He nodded. “We can pick up dinner and eat in the room. That will save time. What do you want?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to think about food.”

“But we both need to fuel up, with something simple and basic.”

He drove to a fast-food burger chain and ordered loaded burgers, French fries and milk shakes for both of them. After getting the food at the drive-through window, they headed back to the motel, where he made a survey of the parking lot before pulling into the space in front of their unit.

She was still feeling wired, but she knew she needed to eat. After unpacking the food, she sat at the table, nibbling on the burger.

“Drink the milk shake,” Wyatt advised. “You can use the calories.”

She took a dutiful sip and found that she wanted more. Wyatt sat down across from her, interspersing eating and sipping with setting up his computer.

The room had a flat-screen television, and she picked up the remote and turned on CNN. The content of the broadcast gave her a shock. It was all about Carrie Mitchell.

She watched in fascination as they showed the Federal Building where the ambush had taken place, then old pictures of her and even some of her friends talking about her.

One was Pam Simmons, who had ridden in horse shows with her. Another was an editor who’d bought some of her nature photos.

She studied the pictures of herself. Most of them were old. And in all of them her hair was different from the way it looked now, which was good. A shot of her standing with her father made her heart squeeze. She must have made some kind of sound, because she looked up to find Wyatt watching her.

“I’m a celebrity.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I had no idea I would attract so much attention.”

“The shooting’s big news. Bigger than the original terrorist plot.”

“Why?”

“You foiled the plot, making it a nonevent. The shooting’s the real deal.”

She sighed.

“You really want to keep watching that?” he asked when a shot they’d seen before flashed on the screen again.

“I guess not.” She flicked off the television, then switched her attention to Wyatt, studying his face for signs that he was in pain and seeing what he probably wanted to hide. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s been better.” He went back to work, and she watched him from under lowered lashes. He was competent and efficient. She’d seen that from the beginning. She hadn’t understood his level of commitment to her. Or was that just part of the job? She hoped it was more than that.

“I can get my mail now,” he finally said.

She waited, feeling her heart rate accelerate, while he accessed the mail system.

“There’s a message from Patrick. Marked
urgent.
”

“What does it say?”

“‘The terrorists contacted me. They said—’”

Before he could finish, she grabbed the laptop and turned it toward her.
“‘—ask Carrie Mitchell if she wants to be responsible for her father’s death.’”

* * *

T
HE
WORDS
BURNED
into Carrie’s mind and soul. She leaped up and charged around the table, heading for the bag with the phones.

Wyatt was on his feet seconds behind her, stopping her as she grabbed for one of them. He took it out of her hand before she could switch it on. “Don’t.”

“I have to call him.”

“That’s what they want. That’s why they set this up. It sounds like the phone at your father’s place is almost certainly tapped.”

“I can’t stand by and let them kill him.”

“They won’t.”

She gave him a fierce look. “You keep saying that, but he’s not
your
father. He’s mine, and I’m not going to be responsible for killing him.”

“You won’t be.”

The stress of the day was suddenly too much for her. She’d held herself together until this moment. Now she felt hot tears well in her eyes.

Wyatt saw them. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to one of the beds, leaning over to lay her gently down. When she saw him looking at her, she rolled away from him, curling into a ball, embarrassed that he was seeing her go to pieces.

He muttered something she couldn’t hear. She felt him ease onto the bed and reach for her. Turning her toward him, he took her in his arms.

She hated crying in front of him, hated this whole situation, but she was too stressed out to contain the sobs that wracked her body.

Carrie had learned not to show her emotions. When she’d cried in front of her father, he’d gotten angry or annoyed and told her to “grow up.” His attitude had pushed her away. She’d tried to act like she didn’t need him, which was perhaps why she felt so devastated by his getting kidnapped. Maybe she was feeling guilty because their relationship had never been filled with the warm, fuzzy father-daughter moments that she saw in sitcoms. Or maybe nobody had that, and it was simply a Hollywood illusion.

And speaking of illusions, what about the way she felt in Wyatt’s arms now? Warm and safe. Perhaps even cherished. Or was she making that part up because of the way he held her and stroked her?

She didn’t move away when her sobs subsided. Neither did he. He kept her close, stroking his hands over her back, brushing his lips against her hairline.

The light kiss stunned her. This man who had held himself aloof was trailing his lips against her face.

For most of their short acquaintance, she had told herself that she didn’t like Wyatt Hawk, that she didn’t need him. But everything had changed with the first blast from the man pretending to be a security guard at the Federal office building.

Wyatt had shot him dead. He’d gotten her out of the car and into the building, under fire. And that had only been the first time he’d saved her.

Now she felt emotions rushing through her.

They flip-flopped as he eased away from her, then stood, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate,” he said.

She didn’t know what to say. Was it? Or had she invited intimacy without realizing it?

She took her lower lip between her teeth. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was doing her a favor by getting off the bed, although it certainly didn’t feel like it at the moment.

“We should try to figure out who blew the whistle on your meeting,” he said.

“Who do you think it is?”

“I’ve got an idea where to start.”

* * *

D
OUGLAS
M
ITCHELL
’
S
EYES
blinked open. He couldn’t see much because he was in a darkened room. But he knew he was lying on a narrow bed, like something in a child’s room, only not as comfortable.

He felt disoriented, but that was nothing new. He’d been feeling this way for the past six months, hiding his fuzzy thinking because he didn’t want to admit anything was wrong with him.

He moved his left hand, tugging at the cold metal around his wrist. When he tried to move his arm off the bed, something stopped him. A rope, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure in the dark.

He closed his eyes again, trying to breathe evenly, trying to calm himself. If he got too upset, his blood pressure would go up, and he might have a stroke. That wouldn’t do him any good—or Carrie, either.

He took blood-pressure medication and a whole bunch of other pills. He didn’t think the men who were holding him captive had brought his pills.

But why would they? They were going to kill him anyway.

That thought sent a frisson of fear rippling through his mind.

He fought to calm himself.

Think!

Could he get away? Trick them somehow?

He didn’t know, but he had to try. For Carrie.

His heart constricted when he thought about his daughter. She was so brave. So together. He’d never told her how much he loved her or how much he admired the way she’d taken charge of her life. Now he might never have the chance.