Protect Me (11 page)

Hope
didn’t have any words left after their conversation. Her stomach was filled
with a churning mix of nostalgia, surprise, and regret. She stayed quiet and
kept her focus trained on the road ahead, no farther than that. Rick didn’t
seem to mind the silence, though she caught him sneaking glances at her all the
way home.

When
they pulled up, Rick got out of the car slowly.

“There’s
a…” he started.

“I
know,” Hope interrupted. “There’s a thing tonight. I’ll just… get ready.”

Rick
waved his hand dismissively and leaned up against the car, leaving careless
fingerprints on the spotless paint job. “No need to be fancy. It’s just a few
friends having a couple drinks.”

The
corners of Hope’s mouth turned up.

“I
wasn’t planning on changing my clothes,” she said, and bit back a laugh when
she saw Rick’s eyes widen in understanding.

A few
hours later, Hope wasn’t laughing anymore.

“I
thought you said this would be a few friends having a few drinks,” she hissed
in Rick’s ear, almost too worked up to be circumspect.

Rick
laughed and tilted his head back to down the rest of his drink. He wasn’t sober
enough to do either of these things well, so he half-fell into Hope’s side. She
felt her folding knife dig into her ribs under her jacket and was, for the
millionth or so time, grateful that she wasn’t one of the idiots that insisted
on packing heavy heat everywhere.

“Darling,
you should know better,” he said, and wandered off toward a table surrounded by
giggling women before Hope could ask him to clarify. She should know better
than what? To assume that Rick Stone was capable of throwing a half-hearted
party? To believe that he’d tell her the truth?

She
trailed him, hopelessly caught in his wake, not because she wanted to
participate in the festivities but because she was getting paid to keep an eye
on him. Every few minutes Hope glanced upward and felt a little smug about the
round mirrors she’d quietly had installed up there. Without Rick’s permission,
sure, but Trinity had okayed it, which was the important thing.

Trinity
had nothing good to say about the party. When Hope dropped by the kitchen
beforehand to see what she was cooking for the guests, Trinity laughed in her
face.

“I’m
cooking,” the woman glanced down at a pamphlet on the counter, “Luxury Living
Catering.”

Now
Hope understood why Trinity hadn’t been interested in attending in the least.
This was another scene for rich, pampered people to mill around and
congratulate each other.

Rick’s
words drifted into her mind, unbidden.
I’m trying to run a company, Lasser.
Got more people than me dependent on a paycheck.
The idea nagged at her.

Then
Rick shouted, “Catch!” and threw an expensive-looking bottle of champagne at a
man wearing a three piece suit. The man dodged it and the bottle smashed into
the wall; the group cracked up in laughter and left the foamy mess to drip down
the wall and bubble around the shards of glass.

Hope
grit her teeth and monitored the exits with grim determination.

At 1:45
Rick stumbled into a table, bounced off it, and fell across the laps of three
different women who seemed to be sitting on chairs solely for that purpose. One
of them seemed stuck on giggle mode; one of them had very accurate grab-hands.
One of them just patted Rick on the head and rolled her eyes (Hope assumed that
woman actually knew him).

 Hope
made an executive decision. She stalked over, grabbed Rick by the collar,
pulled him away, and dragged him out the door. She’d like to say that she did
it more gracefully than that, but it would be a lie.

"Where's
the fire?" Rick said, sounding remarkably coherent. He tugged away gently
from Hope's grasp but followed her willingly enough.

Hope
made a pointed effort not to grit her teeth. "You're drunk. Any one of
those women could have done whatever she wanted to you."

Rick
smirked and raised an eyebrow. "That's the point, babe."

Holding
back on facial expressions that might get her fired was becoming more difficult
by the second. "And I'm sure you would have a lovely time right until you
got killed. Or did you forget there are some very nasty people after your
blood?”

The
smile faded from Rick's face, though he still looked vaguely amused. They
climbed the garden steps together in silence. All the green and stone looked
lovely in the moonlight and Hope couldn't help but take a second to enjoy it,
though the warier parts of her mind reminded her that moonlight hid shadows and
shadows hid assassins.

They
reached the end of the garden and started to climb the stone spiral that led to
an empty bedroom a hallway down from Rick’s. Hope held her tongue on what she
really thought about that ludicrous addition. It was almost Rick, but not quite
- she had no doubts that Rick would install a staircase for only himself for
only those times he wanted to walk through the garden, but the stone was out of
place. 

Rick
was the kind of man she pictured using metal or glass. And he'd probably peer
over the builders' shoulders the whole time. The staircase would have a burn
mark smeared across its side where Rick had insisted on trying out welding for
himself. Hope suppressed a smile at the thought. It was silly, since she
clearly didn't know Rick as well as she thought she did. The stairs were made
of stone.

It was
silly for other reasons too.

"What's
that look you've got?" Rick wanted to know, still irritatingly aware when
he should have been passed out cold. His liver probably looked like a raisin.

When
Hope just shook her head, Rick looked at her - his eyes still curious even
through the haze of alcohol - but didn't push.

He
tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the evening
chill.

“It’s
been… Huh. It’s been fifteen years since the old man died. Tonight, I mean.
Fifteen years since, exactly,” he said out of nowhere.

Hope's
spine stiffened. She wasn't good with grief - not the grief of others, and
especially not her own.

"I'm
sorry," she said simply, hoping that would be enough. She was sorry, but
somehow it seemed inadequate. That was the awful thing about grief - it was so
much bigger than anything you could do. Action spoke louder than words, and
grief spoke louder than both of them. No amount of action could put back a
piece of your heart that was missing.

Rick
shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s not a big deal. I didn't know
either of my parents all that well, to be honest. I spend a lot of time talking
about the old man for the board and investors, but truth is he was gone so much
I barely remember him."

A
picture of a small boy surrounded by toys but no people filled Hope's head and
tugged at her unwilling heart. "I'm... I'm sorry," she repeated. She
had no idea what else to say. The last time someone had confided in her like
this she'd been fourteen, and it had been the whispered name of a crush, not
flat, inescapable truths about the holes worn away in a heart after the stretch
of a grown man's life.

He must
have heard the distress in Hope's voice, because Rick immediately turned and
grinned at her, the usual liveliness coming back into his expression.

"Don't
be," he said cheerfully. "I had many beleaguered nannies, so don't
you worry, I wasn't lonely. My folks did the best they could. No
poor-little-rich-boy syndrome here."

In
spite of herself Hope felt a tiny smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

"It
certainly doesn't seem to have hurt your self-esteem," she murmured.

Rick
threw his head back and laughed delightedly. "Is that a joke?" he
exclaimed. "The ice queen is melting."

Hope
knew that he was drunk, and that nothing was settled between them, but her
heart lifted anyway at the words.

“I
never joke,” she said solemnly. “It’s actually in my contract that I am not
allowed a sense of humor.”

“You’re
great,” Rick said, no preamble at all, just grinning at her with a completely
open expression. Hope felt her eyes widen like she’d been slapped instead of
complimented. Rick reached for her and she stumbled back, less graceful than
she’d been in a long while.

Rick
fixed her with a quizzical expression. He looked at her for a long while, and
Hope stared back until he finally dropped his gaze and sighed.

“I
can’t figure you out,” he finally said, raising his head again to give her a
rueful smile. Hope didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t think she knew much
more than he did. “I can’t tell if you’re waiting for me to kiss you, or if
you’ll punch me in the face for getting to it first, or if you really just
don’t want me near you at all.”

The
bottom of her stomach dropped out. It felt like the first time she’d jumped out
of an airplane. Like the entire world was rushing up to hit her and she didn’t
know how to react; didn’t know if she wanted the sensation to vanish or
intensify. Hope shifted her weight from foot to foot and tried hard not to bite
her lip, or give any other silly tells. Theoretically he was crossing a line
and attempting to involve her beyond professionalism’s reach. She should tell
him that. She should.

“I
wouldn’t punch you in the face. You’re a client,” she said finally.

Rick’s
eyes narrowed, far too sober and too canny for anyone’s good.

“What
if…” he started to say, and then a glint of light in the midst of the bushes -
where it didn’t belong - caught Hope’s eye.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Behind
me,” she snapped, cutting Rick off in the middle of the sentence. Some distant
part of her mind registered regret at not knowing the rest of what he’d wanted
to say, but there was no time for that now. “Someone’s out there.”

“What?”
Of course Rick made no motion to take cover, but it didn’t matter, Hope had
anticipated that and was blocking him with the bulk of her torso. She put a
hand on his lower back to urge him forward.

He
stumbled, which was perfect, actually.

Hope
put her mouth close to his ear. She didn’t whisper, because whispers carried,
but she spoke low and fast. “I think somebody’s out there in the garden. We need
to get you inside so I can figure out what’s going on. Follow my lead. Act
drunk… -er.”

“I can
manage that, darling,” Rick said, voice distractingly close against her ear,
the sweet sour of liquor on his breath. If she hadn’t been so worried, she
would have rolled her eyes and told him he was a cliché. He would laugh, she
knew.

But
there was no time.

Rick
slung an arm around her shoulders and the two of them moved toward the glass
doors at the top of the stone balcony. She was impressed at the way he used
stumbling footsteps to lengthen their stride and pull them toward the door
faster. It was useful.
He keeps his head in an emergency,
Hope thought,
and felt proud before she could stop it.

“What
now?” Rick said in her ear as he fumbled with the door. That was legitimate; it
looked like it had been a long time since anybody had used the door and though
it wasn’t locked, it was practically sealed shut with rust and disuse.

Hope
turned her head and rested it against his shoulder for a second so that she
could get a better look behind them. Her heart thudded staccato in her chest
and her nerves started to buzz, a slow, familiar, almost pleasant build.

She
shifted her head again to whisper but kept her eyes on the figure in black
creeping closer to the stone stairs. Idiots. It didn’t matter if ninjas and
secret agents wore black; if it didn’t blend in, you shouldn’t use it.

“Now
you hurry the hell up if you want to keep your hide intact,” she hissed into
Rick’s ear.

She
caught a fleeting glimpse of a grin at the edges of Rick’s lips. He gave the
doorknob a final wrench and the door swung open.

“In,
in,” Hope said, caring less about subtlety the more time passed by. The guy in
black was creeping closer and closer. His foot touched the first stair and Hope
shoved Rick through the door.

“Whoa!”
Rick didn’t seem to object so much as debate being sick, but they didn’t have
time for either. Hope grabbed him by the arm and made her way unerringly
through the unlit room.

“How do
you know where you’re going?” Rick managed to get out as they made it into the
hallway. Hope shut the door behind them. Anything to give them an extra second.

“I do
recon. Always. Now,” Hope turned to him, assessing quickly how much he was
capable of (not much), “You need to hide. The lab, under your room. Panic room
is too far. C’mon, I’ll take you there.”