Her Marine Bodyguard (15 page)

Not only had the vandal chipped away huge sections and slammed rebar into the head, he’d also systematically erased all the fine detail work. Hateful.

So hateful.

“We’re going to get a hotel room,” Brody said in his soft, deliberate voice. The one that demanded everyone pay attention. It worked, too.

Rousing from her misery, Shannon shook her head. “No.”

“Babe—”

She raised her hand, asking him to stop. “No. I’m not running. I’ve spent the last week scared and changing my life to accommodate this insanity. And now…someone has been shot, and he
destroyed
my work. He dragged me out of here…and even though I got away, he’s trying to take it away from me still.” Heart pounding, she gulped in a deeper breath of air. She would not cry, damn it. It didn’t matter she wanted to rail and to scream and to crawl into a hole—hell, she wanted to crawl into Brody. Let him take care of it all.

He would. He’d fight her battle, he’d deal with all the people, and he’d keep her as safe as she allowed him to. The son of a bitch who’d done this had violated her life, not once, not twice, but repeatedly.

“Shannon.” Brody closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around her nape. The motion offered comfort and support. God, she could afford to sink. Brody would never let her drown. But doing so wasn’t fair to him. “It would be
safer
for you.”

“Physically, maybe.” She didn’t disagree with him. “He destroyed them, Brody. He came in here, and he destroyed what I made. Maybe he didn’t rape me, but it…it’s pretty damn close. I ran away the last time this happened. And it’s still happening. It’s like it’s happening all over again, and nothing I do is stopping it. I can’t control him. I can’t control whatever the hell it is he’s doing, but I can control me. This is mine. He
can’t
have it.”

“The last time it happened?” Foster intruded into their moment. “You were attacked before?”

“Leave it alone.” Brody’s flinty tone was positively glacial, and he pivoted, facing the detective. All that masculine strength and determination in her defense took her breath away.

Foster’s expression darkened. From a purely aesthetic standpoint, the detective was a good-looking, if ruggedly handsome, man. But in the intimidation department, he had nothing on Brody. “If she was attacked before, it could be incredibly relevant to our case.”

“Leave her alone.” The muscles in Brody’s arm went taut, and Shannon pressed a hand to his chest.

“I was raped in college.” Sickness swam through her at the admission, but her anger painted streaks over the shame. “I don’t know by who, I can’t give you a description, and I never heard or saw him again that I know of. I was roofied….” Shaking with upset she refused to give into, she continued. “I woke up. I didn’t report it right away, and I washed away the evidence, so by the time I did, the cops had nothing to go on.”

“Give me the name of the cops you spoke to and where.” Foster’s tone gentled, and he wrote down the names and the dates. Shannon didn’t remember all their names, but the date remained permanently engraved in her memory. “What about who you were dating then?”

“Mostly hook-ups, you know guys I met in class or through the group of friends I hung out with. No one long-term, no one really one-on-one.” She knew a few names, but most were not men she’d even seen since before she retreated from the social scene.

“What about after college? Any relationships? Any dates?” Unlike his earlier questioning attempts, Foster seemed to be on her side.

“Jeanine and Henry tried to set me up a few times. They’d ask a friend to escort me, but I didn’t…I didn’t really like men being around me. I found it too hard to relax or even let them touch me. A part of me always wondered was this the guy who did it? Could it have been him? It didn’t matter I’d never met them, I don’t remember that night….” Oddly, the normal discomfort she experienced whenever she even thought about the horrible night seemed absent. Maybe she should have gotten angry sooner.

Brody remained vigilant at her side, and he still stood partially between she and Foster, but his expression encouraged her.

“Anything else you can think of? Any disagreements, arguments, disputes you have had with anyone? I don’t care if it seems trivial or silly. This,” Foster said with a wave toward the room. “This is personal. The anti-military mentions in the notes would seem to be a pointed reference to your relationship with Lieutenant Essex, the destruction of the work on your military pieces, even the attempted kidnapping…it’s very focused on you, and controlling you.”

Controlling me?
  “Why would anyone want to? See, that’s the part I can’t wrap my mind around. I know there’re people who don’t like the military, and some who think
Her Marine
glorified war—those are two separate things.”

“Not when it comes to you, it’s not.” Brody frowned. Maybe he and Foster saw possibilities where she only found angles. An endless loop or a snake feeding on itself. Obsession had to be born somewhere….

“Before
Her Marine
, everyone pretty much dismissed my work except for some designers who wanted sculptures for gardens or larger downtown projects.” She’d actually paid for her loft out of those commissions. Critics panned her work as cold and emotionless. The same could not be said for designers who wanted classical works for their buildings or gardens.

Arguably, she’d taken fewer of those clients in the last two years. The showmanship in her work had earned her a fair bit of notoriety, and she hadn’t really paid much attention to it. The work—the love of sculpting and bringing life to the stone and infusing it with all the warmth and enjoyment she’d found in the male form again—had been
her
obsession.

“You’ve thought of something,” Foster said, pulling her attention back to the room.

“Not of anything specific.” The butterflies in her stomach stopped rioting, and she blew out a breath. “I’ve changed a lot of the work I do over the last two years, and I’m taking fewer commissions.” Pleasure, not business, drove her once more. “I like those changes. But I’m not going to run. I’m not going to be driven out of here. In fact, if you don’t mind, if all of you are done, I would like to clean up the mess.”

She wanted to get back to work, stake her claim once more. Flexing her fingers, she was grateful the shaking seemed to have stopped.

It still took Foster and his men another thirty minutes to clear out, but finally, she and Brody were alone. “You sure you want to stay? We can go get a hotel room, order room service, and you can have a break.”

“I’m sure. I’m done running.” With repetition, saying it became easier. She was done. “You’ve been halfway around the world dealing with God knows what. You shouldn’t have to deal with this right after you came home. This
asshole
has really ruined what should have been pure fun for us. He’s trying to scare me off what I love. I spent five years frozen away, too frightened to embrace what I loved. I became someone I didn’t like. I love who I am with you, who you reminded me I can be. I will be
damned
if I let him take it away from me…from us.”

“All right, we’re going to do a perimeter sweep. Double-check all the locks then we’ll go up and clean up. Together. Then we
eat
, and if you still want to work, you work.” They had a plan.

“Sir, yes—”

He interrupted her sass with a hard kiss that left her breathless. When he finally let her up for air, he pinched her ass, and she let out a startled laugh.

“I like this bratty side of you.” His mouth curved into a slow grin threatening to derail her earlier plans. “You did good today, babe. Real good.”

Riding high on his compliment, and his company, Shannon followed him to the doors. Only when he was satisfied, and the alarm engaged, did they retreat back up to the loft. They did a full sweep—checking the windows locks, and ensuring no one lurked in any closet or behind doors. A part of her wanted to tease him for his paranoia and thoroughness, but the confidence she experienced knowing they were secure was a heady relief.

They were halfway through cleaning the debris into crates Brody could haul downstairs later when the phone rang. She didn’t recognize the phone number, but the 703 area code said Virginia. “Hello?”

“Hello, I am trying to reach a Shannon Fabray?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.

“This is she.” She balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear, so she could open a bottle of water. Cleaning up the mess was sweaty work. Brody had paused when she answered the phone, but resumed work when she gave him an encouraging smile.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fabray. This is NCIS Special Agent Rowdy Easton, I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“NCIS?”

The faint twinkle in Brody’s eyes vanished, and a fresh strain tightened his jaw. All their hard-earned relaxation disappeared under a layer of tension. Alarm jangled through Shannon’s system.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m calling in regard to a Lieutenant Brody Essex….”

Something was wrong. Nothing in his face betrayed his thoughts, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she needed to be vague. “Is everything okay?”

“Is Lieutenant Essex with you, Miss Fabray?”

Brody crossed to her, but she didn’t give up the phone. Her gut churned. With everything that had happened, she refused to take chances. “I’m sorry, who are you again, and can you verify your identity?”

“I’m NCIS Special Agent Easton, ma’am. And if you’ll answer the door, you can see my badge.” The sound of the front door buzzer sliced through the silence.

“Hold it up to the camera,” she told him and crossed to the monitor in the kitchen. Though the camera had been disengaged when the power had gone out, it functioned fine. The man in the image held his badge up to the camera. He flipped it to the ID, then angled his face, so she could match him to the identification.

“Let him in….” Brody told her in a soft voice. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts.

“What if he’s…?” She couldn’t be paranoid when someone was out to get her, right?

“He’s NCIS. I know him.” So, a friend. Why then did Brody sound so damn sad? “Let him in.” He reached past her and pressed the buzzer.

“Come on up,” Shannon told the man on the phone. The agent let himself in, and the locks on the front door reengaged. The elevator hummed as it descended, and the call disconnected. “Brody, what’s going on?”

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, and gave her arm a squeeze.

“That’s not an answer.” What wasn’t he telling her?

The elevator hummed, and she followed him to the cage. The cage door opened, and the man who exited had the same hard cut look to him as all the other Marines she’d met. His perfect posture, neutral expression, and cool eyes demanded attention. A shoulder-holstered gun was visible beneath his suit coat, and he had a pair of handcuffs in one fist.

“Lieutenant Essex.”

“Rowdy—”

“Don’t, Lieutenant. We’re not friends here.” But they obviously knew each other, and the exchange seemed to be as much nonverbal as verbal. “You’re under arrest, Lieutenant.”

“What? No.” Shannon cut between them. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Brody put his hands on her shoulders and drew her out of the way. “Shannon, give us a minute.”

“I’m not going to say it again, Lieutenant. You’re under arrest. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.” The NCIS agent’s voice turned cold and remote.

“Don’t be a dick, Rowdy.” Brody matched him icy tone for icy tone.

“You’re telling me not to be a dick?” Anger seared the words. “You walk off your duty station, leave your men behind, and board a plane for the United States without clearance or leave. You go AWOL, and you’re calling me a dick? Criminals do not get to call me a dick. Now, hands behind your back.”

AWOL?
  Shannon forgot how to breathe, and violence electrified the air.

“Give me five minutes, Rowdy.” Brody raised one hand. “I don’t want to add an assault to the charges, but we may have to if you won’t listen to me.”

Brody took her place in front of the agent. Her thoughts spun wildly.
How had Brody gone AWOL?
  “He had leave scheduled. His team was reassigned, and he applied for leave months ago. He’s
not
AWOL.” He was one of the most honorable men she knew, he wouldn’t….

“I made a choice…a strategic response,” Brody said.

“You made a choice?” The NCIS agent’s voice grew colder if possible.

“Yes, a choice. Like the choices I made in Fallujah and in Baghdad.” Whatever language they spoke, both men seemed to know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck, Brody.” The agent shifted his grip on the handcuffs, and the tension-laced air relaxed. “This is serious.”

“I’m aware. I have no problem with facing disciplinary action—”

“Disciplinary action? You could go to jail. You walked off a base
in country
, disobeyed direct orders, and abandoned your post. You really think the Military Code of Justice won’t be used to ream you a new asshole?”

“I chose this,” Brody repeated, and he turned slightly, holding his hand out to her. She grasped it automatically. “This is Shannon Fabray. Look at her.”

Agent Easton frowned as he glanced at her, and his expression grew assessing. “What happened?”

“She has a stalker. Three nights ago, the stalker tried to kidnap her. He shot a woman named Katrina Bates, retired Army MP. Shannon got away because she threw herself out of a moving car.” Facts delivered in hard, staccato syllables. “He’s sent her threatening letters, he’s had access to her place, and he’s unstable or coldly sane. Either way he’s dangerous.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he sounded quite genuine. “Brody, I can’t let you go…I can’t let this go.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you for time. Let me make sure she’s safe, and then you can take me in.”

Shannon’s stomach flip-flopped. Arrested. “You could go to jail?” A blow she hadn’t seen coming.

Brody cupped her uninjured cheek and stroked his thumb across her skin with a gentle sweep. “It will be okay.”