Her Wild Protector (Paranormal Romance) (7 page)

Grabbing a magazine, Tara attempted to distract herself for a few moments. Whatever else happened, she had the feeling her life was not going to be the same after today. It might be a good idea to rest while she could.

True to his word, they weren’t in the air for long. The landing was bouncier than Tara remembered on a commercial plane. Marshall kept an eye on her and Tara kept a grip on the armrests, ready to bail out the door if necessary, but they coasted to a stop without incident.

“Where are we?” Tara asked as they descended the stairs. She looked around the runway. Deep blue ocean was on one side and a small cluster of buildings on the other. Palm trees swayed in the breeze and the smell of salt air and flowers combined to produce a deliciously aromatic scent. Though she lived in a subtropical area, there was nothing quite like being on an island surrounded by ocean. If someone could package that smell, it would be vacation in a bottle.

“We’re on Eleuthera, but don’t get comfortable—we’re going to the marina, then taking a boat to another island.”

“A boat?” Tara stopped walking.

Marshall turned around. “Yes, a boat. It’s like the plane only it goes slower, on water. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

“I don’t really do boats,” Tara said, still not moving.

“You do when you’re in a chain of islands and that’s the only way to get around. You were fine on that plane—the boat will be a breeze.”

“I get seasick.”

“Then you’ll just have to throw up.” Marshall resumed his stride.

She knew he was getting impatient with her, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t asked to be thrown on this island, and wanted to suggest they get back on the airplane and travel to their next destination. The look on his face, however, suggested he was not in the mood to argue, so she picked up her suitcase and trotted after him.

“How can you live in Florida and not get on a boat now and then?” Marshall asked, grabbing her suitcase and handing it to the captain. The craft rocked gently and a shudder ran through Tara. The few times she’d been on a vessel had not gone well. Granted, the boats were smaller, but she still recalled with dread the queasy feeling that overcame her.

“I don’t get out much.” That sounded lame even to her. The area around her home was beautiful and there were so many things to see and do. It was ridiculous to live like she had been, dragging her butt out of bed to go to work and staying home most of the rest of the time. She knew she had no one to blame but herself for her hermitlike existence. If she broadened her horizons a bit more there were plenty of opportunities to enjoy Florida, even without getting in a boat.

Marshall climbed aboard and held out a hand for her. She grasped it reluctantly and clambered onto the deck.

“Have a seat here. We won’t be on the water long. Try to relax and enjoy the scenery,” Marshall said, then headed to the front to talk to the captain.

The view really was gorgeous, Tara had to admit. Crystal-clear blue water surrounded them and a warm breeze blew, carrying the salty tang of the ocean. There were only a few puffy clouds drifting in a clear sky. It was a lovely day for a boat ride.

Until they actually got going. The craft bounced up and down a few times and Tara remembered why she never got on the water.

“Give me that bag!” She gestured frantically.

Marshall handed it to her and she bent over, retching into the opening. Thankful she’d only eaten the apple she’d snagged from her house, Tara gratefully took the bottle of water he pressed into her hand.

“Spit over the side of the boat. Don’t worry, I’ve seen girls spit and even vomit before.”

Utterly humiliated but too miserable to care, Tara rinsed and spewed, then took a long drink of the water.

“Here, put these on. I got them from the captain.” Marshall handed her a pair of colorful bracelets.

“You want me to wear jewelry? You think fashion accessories are going to make me feel better?”

“They’re acupressure wristbands. They help control nausea. Hang with me, we’re almost there.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Tara dutifully put them on, and her stomach calmed a bit.

“Where exactly is this island you’re dragging me to and why didn’t we just take the airplane there?”

“It’s a private island—there is no landing strip.”

A ripple of unease that had nothing to do with her queasy stomach rolled over Tara.

“Private? How private? Who else is on this island?”

“A caretaker couple lives there most of the year. Our physician will be along later today to examine you.”

“That’s all? No other people?” The boat lurched again and Tara turned to lean over the side but the wave of seasickness passed.

“Better?” Marshall asked.

“I think so.”

He moved back up front to talk to the captain. Tara watched Eleuthera recede in the distance, fear and nausea competing for spots in her stomach.

* * *

The trip was mercifully short. Tara watched as they approached the small island, almost ready to leap from the boat and swim the rest of the way in. The captain reduced the speed as they got nearer.

“Why is he slowing down?” she asked Marshall.

“I always have them do that when we come in near land. There are a lot of marine animals that stay close to the shore. I don’t want to hurt them,” he said, almost too quietly for her to hear. He kept his gaze forward and didn’t look at Tara, almost as though he were embarrassed by his admission. Queasy though she was, Tara’s curiosity was piqued. “Is that what kind of animal you become? Are you a manatee? A stingray? That would be cool.”

“No,” Marshall said, in a tone she was beginning to recognize as one that ended a topic of conversation.

Men who cared about critters ranked high in her book. She gave a feeble smile in his direction to let him know she appreciated the gesture.

The boat finally pulled up to a scruffy-looking dock and Tara scrambled out of the craft, never so happy to see dry land in her life. She was so delighted to be standing on firm ground she paid little notice as Marshall hauled their luggage out of the boat and the vessel departed.

When the sound of the motor totally receded, the sudden stillness snapped her to attention. She was alone, on what looked like a deserted island, with a strange man. A very strange man. Not far up a path she saw a small house and behind that, she could make out another one-story structure and what looked like an outbuilding. Other than that, there was nothing in view except nature.

Island fever set in. Tara had the overwhelming desire to jump up and scream for that demon boat to come back and get her. She would happily vomit all day to return to civilization.

Marshall peered at her over his sunglasses. “You look a little green. Are you still seasick?”

“I’m better. There isn’t a boat anywhere here, on the island?”

“No, there is no boat.”

“What if something happens and we need to leave suddenly?”

“I can call and a vessel will be here quickly. We’re perfectly safe. We have food, water, electricity and internet access. What are you so worried about?” He grabbed his suitcase and started walking.

Tara gripped her own and rolled it along the uneven path. “I don’t know you, I don’t know who or what this so-called government agency is and I don’t appreciate being dragged from my home to come here.”

Tara wasn’t a whiner and generally despised people who did, but right now she didn’t care. If Marshall thought she was going to be a quiet, passive girl who did whatever he told her to, he had another think coming.

They reached the first house and Marshall led them to the kitchen. He rolled his bag to a corner, then made a call from the phone on the wall.

“We’re here,” he announced to whoever was on the other end, then hung up. He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.

“What are you doing?” he asked her. Tara had plopped her suitcase on the floor and was frantically digging.

“I need to brush my teeth. Now.”

“Bathroom’s down that hall,” Marshall said, pointing the way.

She located her toothbrush and paste and gave her mouth a vigorous scrub. Better. Her oral hygiene complete, Tara went into the small living room and took a look around. The couch, loveseat and easy chair looked old but comfortable. There was a television and stereo, a bookcase, a small desk and a few nondescript pictures. Several shells and other knickknacks decorated the room but otherwise it looked as impersonal as a hotel suite. She plunked down into the chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Can I at least call someone and tell them where I am?” Her bout of nausea had left her cranky. Marshall sat at the desk, his laptop open. He turned toward her.

“Tara, I don’t think you’ve grasped the gravity of this situation. No, you can’t tell anyone where you are, you have to keep hidden and you have to stay with me. I’m your best shot at staying alive. If we don’t figure out how you’re able to see the Metamorphs’ other forms and reverse that process, the rogues will keep coming after you until you’re dead. Your life is in danger. What proof do you need besides being attacked by a vicious cat?”

“I’d like to meet someone else from DOSA. Someone normal.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, Tara regretted them. Marshall said nothing, but his jaw tightened and his lips compressed.

“Dr. Freeman will be here shortly to examine you. Will that suffice?” His tone was cold as an arctic breeze.

“I don’t like having my fate in someone else’s hands. I prefer to make my own decisions and I’m tired of you bossing me around.”

“And you know what? I’m tired of being your babysitter. I should be out hunting for Denzel. I could find him and convince him that if he doesn’t back off and keep the other rogues off our backs, we’ll make sure he never sees a dime of the money he’s supposed to get. Instead, I’m stuck keeping track of you and hiding out on this island.”

“Then just take me home and go find that big cat.”

“Those are not my orders. Besides, do you really want to go back to your apartment? Have another rogue break down your door?” Marshall rose and he went into the kitchen. He opened then slammed the refrigerator door closed.

“I wasn’t going to go to my house. I can stay at a hotel.” Her voice quivered, much to her disgust. Tara had really had enough of this arrogant man and his condescending attitude. She was tired, scared, and the thought of someone
babysitting
her was just too insulting.

“For how long? I know your funds are limited. What, you’re shocked we’re aware of this? I know you made a bad investment…” he began.

She leapt to her feet. That was the last straw.

“No,
I
didn’t make a bad investment, my husband did.
I
made a bad decision, trusting him.”

Marshall turned to her and his expression softened slightly. Maybe he could tell she was at the end of her rope. “We know a lot about you and so do the rogues. They’ll find you wherever you are. This is where you’ll be the safest and it’s not the worst place in the world to spend time. Try to trust me, just a little bit. ”

She stood glaring at him, her hands in fists. Anger and shame filled her heart, as it did whenever she thought about her last days with Karl. He’d assured her that the deli he wanted to sink money into was a winning proposition. The woman he’d partnered with knew what she was doing, he promised. But within six months all their money was gone and the creditors were knocking at the door.

Tara could have forgiven Karl for that. Everyone makes mistakes. What she could not overlook was coming home sick from work one day and finding her husband in bed with his ex-partner.

Tara had left him. The asshole had never even apologized, declaring the affair was her fault because she had been such a ball-buster and did not give him enough support. He’d carried the pathetic routine all through the divorce proceedings, and although they had little property left to fight over at that point, he’d ended up with most of it.

Trust him indeed. It would be a long while before she trusted any man again.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your bedroom. I need to work on the computer for a while, but then you can use it, if you’d like, as long as you don’t send out personal information. We have television and plenty of books here. Dr. Freeman will be along in a few hours.”

As soon as Tara saw the bed, an overwhelming desire to lie down washed over her. The sheets smelled freshly laundered, even from across the room. A light breeze blew through the open window and somewhere in the distance a bird chirped. She rolled her suitcase to a corner and let it fall with a thump.

“I think I’d like to take a nap,” she said.

“That’s a good idea. You know where the bathroom is, if you need to use it. There are towels on the shelf. Help yourself to anything else you need. You saw where the kitchen is located.” Marshall turned to leave. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I know you didn’t ask to be put in this situation,” he said, his back to her. “I appreciate you working with me.” He closed the door gently behind him, and Tara’s last thought before sleep claimed her was that the view of her protector was as nice from the back as it was from the front.

Chapter Five

“Wake up, Tara.” Someone shook her. Tara started awake and sat up abruptly. Marshall stood by the side of her bed. “I didn’t mean to startle you. The doctor is here. Take a few minutes if you need to, but come out soon. He wants to return home before dark.”

Marshall left the room and Tara stretched and yawned. Judging by the position of the sun, she’d been asleep several hours. Feeling slightly more refreshed than she had earlier, she dug her cosmetics from her suitcase and padded to the bathroom. Face washed and a smattering of makeup applied, she decided she was ready to face whatever torture was next on the agenda.

Dr. Freeman looked harmless enough. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, of medium height and build. He had a pleasant but totally unexceptional face. If she’d seen him on the street, she would never guess he worked for a secret organization. Was he a Metamorph, too? He’d unpacked his bag on the dining room table and was chatting with Marshall when she came in. He shook her hand as Marshall introduced them.