Sweet Caroline's Keeper (7 page)

"Nice earrings," he said, using any excuse to end the accelerating tension between them.

She took a deep breath. "Thank you. They were a twenty-first birthday gift and are favorites of mine. I wear them quite a lot."

I gave them to you, he wanted to say but knew he couldn't. He had no rights where she was concerned. None whatsoever. He could never be more to her than a bodyguard, an intruder into her private world.

"My room?" He looked right and then left.

"Oh, yes." She moved hurriedly, leading the way into the bedroom on the right side of the narrow corridor. "There are only two bedrooms finished up here. There are two more that I intend to eventually redo, but since I live here alone, I really don't need the extra. . . Forgive me. I'm rattling. A sign of nervousness."

"I'm sorry if I make you nervous, Ms. McGuire. Perhaps once you become accustomed to my being here, you'll feel more comfortable." He followed her into the spacious guest bedroom.

"You have your own bathroom and I cleared out closet space—" she indicated the closet by pointing "—and the top two drawers of that dresser—" she inclined her head toward the box-shaped, cherry dresser "—are empty."

"Nice room." He scanned the area hurriedly, taking note of very little except the color scheme of neutral shades and the uncluttered simplicity. He hoisted his bag up and onto the foot of the cherry sleigh bed.

"If you'd like to settle in first, we—"

"I'd prefer to check things out now."

"Yes, of course. Where would you like to start?"

"With your bedroom," he said.

She blushed again, and it was all he could do not to slide the back of his hand over her cheek and caress it the way he had her photograph on more than one occasion.

Roz had noticed the car following her about five minutes ago. At first she'd felt uneasy, since there weren't many cars on this lonely stretch of road at this time of night, but when she recognized the vehicle as a Ferrari, she relaxed. Caroline must have given Gavin Robbins his walking papers tonight. And who could blame her? Why would anyone want Gavin, hunk that he was, when a
hottie
like Mr. Wolfe was sleeping just across the hall? Of course, Caroline wasn't the type to make the most of propinquity. If the luscious Mr. Wolfe was guarding her body, Roz knew exactly what she would do. She'd invite him into her bed ASAP. Roz chuckled softly as she reached out to turn up the volume on the cassette player. She sang along with Faith Hill's latest hit and pressed her foot down on the accelerator.

She liked her music loud, her cars fast and her men hard. She'd bet her life that Gavin was pretty hard right about now. He might want Caroline, but he'd be willing to settle for what he could get. Roz figured that was the reason the VP of Peacekeepers International was chasing her along the back roads, like a hound after a fox. There had been a time when she wouldn't have cared, that it wouldn't have mattered to her that she was second choice. Hell, there had been a time when she'd screwed around indiscriminately and hadn't given a damn whether mutual respect or affection was involved. Odd how she'd changed gradually over the past few years, but especially during the last eight months since her breakup with Jason Stanley. She supposed she could blame Caroline's goody-two-shoes influence, but she'd be lying to herself if she attributed her changed-woman ways to her employer and dear friend.

"Lay the guilt where it belongs," she mumbled under her breath. "You've done something really stupid,
Rozalin
Marguerite Turner. You've let some man get under your skin. And not just any man."

She whipped her older-model Corvette into the drive at the side of her little house in a quiet neighborhood of other older homes, some well-kept and others a bit shabby. Her own place fell somewhere in between. It wasn't as if she owned the place and could fix it up herself. She'd signed a one-year lease eight months ago when she'd moved out of Jason's place in Easton.

By the time she got out of her car and made it to her front door, the sleek black Ferrari turned into her drive. She hesitated for a moment, then unlocked her door, reached inside and flipped the switch that turned on lights inside her living room. But she didn't go into the house. Instead she waited for Gavin.

He called out to her the minute he emerged from his car. "Roz, wait up."

She turned around leisurely, letting him know that she wasn't surprised to see him. When he approached her, she smiled. "Not driving back to D.C. tonight?"

"That depends." The dimples in his cheeks appeared when he grinned. "If a friend offered me a place to sleep. . ."

"I have only one bed."

"I don't mind sharing." Gavin moved closer, stopping when only inches separated their bodies.

And I wouldn't mind sharing more than a bed, Roz thought. Being celibate wasn't her thing and she'd gone without for eight months now. Besides, she could sure do a lot worse than Gavin Robbins. She'd bet the guy was a tiger in the sack.

"Come on in," Roz said, giving him a come-hither gesture with the crook of her index finger.

Gavin followed her inside and didn't waste any time putting the moves on her. She had no sooner locked the door when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her backside up against his arousal. He was hard, all right. Hard as a rock. And ready to rumble.

"You know that whatever was between Caroline and me is over," he whispered against her ear. "You can sleep with me and still have a clear conscience."

"If I hadn't already known that Caroline didn't want you, I wouldn't have invited you in," Roz told him as she turned around to face him. "There's one thing I don't do and that's betray a friend."

Gavin nuzzled her neck as he delved his hands low and cupped her buttocks, lifting her up and into his erection. "I don't want you to think you're my second choice or anything."

Roz kissed him with a passion she forced, with a hunger she felt not for him, but for another man. But her wicked body didn't know the difference, didn't care who was kissing and fondling her. Their tongues dueled as Gavin removed her blouse. She broke free from the demanding kiss to help him take off her bra. When his mouth touched her nipple, she shivered.

"I don't mind being your second choice," she told him. "As long as you don't mind being mine."

He halted momentarily and glanced up at her. "Pretend I'm the freaking Prince of Wales if it'll help you get in the mood."

Just what she wanted to hear—that he was in this for an easy lay. No emotions involved. No commitment beyond tonight. As she led Gavin to her bedroom, an unwanted and totally unbidden thought passed through her mind. If she were with
him
right now, how would she feel? What would
he
say and do at a moment like this?

Roz finished undressing hurriedly and hopped into bed, then opened her arms and invited Gavin to come to her, to take her so completely that all thoughts of any other man would vanish from her mind. When he shucked off his clothes and came down over her, she lifted her hips. He delved deeply with one powerful thrust. As physical pleasure spiraled through her body, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

There would never be a moment like this with him, the one she really wanted. He would never want her. She knew she wasn't good enough for him, that he thought she was a tramp and probably always would.

Holding her shoes in one hand, Brooke tiptoed down the hall, hoping not to disturb her parents. Of course, this wasn't the first time she'd come home in the wee hours of the morning, and being well over twenty-one she hardly owed either her mother or her father an explanation of her whereabouts. The antique grandfather clock in the foyer downstairs chimed the hour. Three o'clock. She supposed she should have stayed the rest of the night with Fletch, but her mother enjoyed seeing her each morning at breakfast. And it had been for her mother's sake that she had sublet her apartment and moved back home. Like most children she supposed she had thought of her mother as invincible, but Eileen Harper's recent bout with breast cancer had proved that theory wrong. Although the doctors assured them that they'd gotten it all and her mother's chemotherapy and radiation treatments officially ended a few weeks ago, Brooke intended to live with her parents until she and Fletch married.

She hummed softly to herself as she reached out to open her bedroom door. Fletch hadn't proposed, at least not officially, but she knew it was only a matter of time until he did. After all, they'd been sweethearts since childhood, and even though each had experimented with other romances, they always came back together. They were two of a kind, whether Fletch realized it or not. Both born into old moneyed families, blue bloods by heritage. Former debutante mothers and wealthy, powerful fathers. And since Fletch intended to run for Congress next year, he would need the right wife at his side, someone who was part of the Washington crowd. What more could he ask for? After all, her father was his staunchest supporter, and with her dad's connections, Fletch would be a shoo-in for the party's nomination. "Brooke?"

She stopped when she heard her father's voice and turned to face him. With a smile curving her lips she greeted him. "What are you doing up at such an ungodly hour?" she asked. "I hope I didn't waken you."

"You didn't." He slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Sometimes old men don't sleep well."

"Dad, you aren't old. You're the youngest sixty-nine-year-old man I've ever known."

"Did you have a nice time tonight?" Oliver Harper asked.

"Yes." She nodded as she slid her arm around her father's waist. "We all stayed with Caroline until her bodyguard showed up. Roz and Lyle stayed and Gavin Robbins dropped by, too."

"What's this bodyguard Fletcher hired like? Did he seem capable?"

Brooke chuckled. No way could she tell her father just how very capable Mr. Wolfe actually looked. She suspected the man was lethal, even in small doses. Pity that all that machismo was wasted on Saint Caroline. Oh, she loved Caroline dearly, but after a while it became rather tedious having a friend who was so incredibly good. Just once she'd like to see Caroline screw up. Maybe then all the men in her life would finally take her down off that damn pedestal they had her on. Fletch included!

"Mr. Wolfe came from the Dundee agency, headquartered in Atlanta," Brooke said. "I'm sure you can ask around and find out all you need to know about this man."

"I may do that," Oliver said. "After all, we don't want just anyone looking out for Caroline. She's practically family. . .or will be once you and Fletcher are married. And I owe it to Preston to be concerned about the girl. He was quite fond of her, you know."

"Odd, isn't it, about that letter Caroline found in the safe hidden in the basement of that old house where they lived when Mr. Shaw was killed."

"I had hoped Caroline would disregard the message," Oliver said. "It's apparent Preston was delusional when he wrote it. The poor man actually thought that someone intended to murder him because he had important secret information. I can't believe an intelligent girl like Caroline has bought into such a ludicrous fabrication."

"Then you don't think there's any chance that Mr. Shaw was involved in some sort of espionage?"

"Preston Shaw was no more a spy than I am." Oliver hugged Brooke to his side. "How about a brandy with your old man before you head off to bed."

"I can't think of anything I'd like better. But only one. I want to get some sleep before I have breakfast with Mama."

"You can't imagine how much it's meant to Eileen having you back home these past few months. You're a good daughter, my love."

"And you're the best father in the world."

Brooke considered herself fortunate, far more so than most of the women her age. Few of her friends and acquaintances had not only both parents living, but parents who were still married to each other. And being an only child, she had been the center of her parents' universe. When she and Fletcher had children, she hoped that they could be the kind of parents her own had been. But why shouldn't they be? They were the same type of people, weren't they? And as her mother had told her countless times—blood will tell.

Chapter 6

An
overcast sky veiled the morning sun, diffusing the light and cloaking the springtime warmth. Caroline loved it when the weather cooperated enough for her to have breakfast on the back porch as they were doing today. When she had followed Lyle to Maryland's eastern shore after the local Congregational Church hired him as their minister, she'd felt a sense of coming home. She found a serenity and beauty by the bay unlike any she'd ever known. And an unparalleled freedom. After college graduation, she had worked for another photographer in Richmond and then a couple of years later opened her own small studio. She always tried to stay within driving distance of wherever Lyle settled. He was the only family she had left and both he and she were determined to stay together and not allow too many miles to separate them. It was what Aunt Dixie would have wanted. She could almost hear her aunt's voice.
Blood is thicker than water.

"It's inadvisable for you to be out here," Wolfe said. "You're too accessible. Someone could come out of the woods or in from the bay and get to you. After this morning, all meals will be eaten inside."

"I realize that you know better than I what's safe and what isn't," Caroline said. "But I'm not sure I can live like a prisoner in my own house."

"I'm sorry." He stared at her over the rim of his tinted glasses, which had slipped down his nose. The moment he caught her looking directly at him, he shoved up the glasses and averted his gaze. "Let's hope we find what your key opens soon and put an end to the danger in your life. That way you'll be rid of me and can resume your normal activities."

"Mr. Wolfe, I have a career. . .a job, with clients depending on me. And I have responsibilities that can't be put on hold."

"Just Wolfe," he said.

"What?"

"Call me Wolfe, not Mr. Wolfe."

"Oh. All right. . .Wolfe." What was it about this man that repeatedly frustrated her? Was it the way he looked at her through those damn tinted glasses, as if while he remained bidden from her, he could see straight through into her mind and her heart? Or was it the way she felt in his presence— small and vulnerable and totally feminine? Or was it having a stranger know so much about her personal life? She realized that in order to protect her, his agency had to know a great deal about her, but she got the feeling that Wolfe knew a little too much.

Perhaps the problem was that she wasn't accustomed to his type of man. One who sits at the breakfast table wearing a hip holster. An aura of strength and danger surrounded her bodyguard, a man trained to protect others, with both defensive and offensive tactics. Has he ever killed in the line of duty? she wondered, and a shiver of apprehension shimmied along her nerve endings.

"You can go to work," Wolfe told her. "You can go anywhere that I feel isn't dangerous, anyplace where I can protect you. And if you're insistent on not changing your lifestyle, I can call in another Dundee agent as backup."

"I'm sure you're costing Fletch a small fortune. I can hardly expect him to pick up the tab for a second bodyguard." Caroline shook her head. "Let's give it a try, doing things your way, and if I find that to be too confining, I'll pay for the second bodyguard myself."

Wolfe nodded. "Before I drive you to your studio, do we have time this morning to discuss the reason you believe someone tried to kill you?"

"I thought you already knew." She spread strawberry jam on her toast, then offered the jar and knife to him. He declined the offer. "From some of the things you said last night, I assumed you knew everything there was to know about me."

"No one knows everything there is to know about another human being."

"You're right." Caroline sighed, realizing that no one would win an argument against this man, especially not her. He was far too logical in his thinking, whereas she usually acted on pure emotion. "What do you want to discuss?"

"I want to see the letter you found in your stepfather's safe and I'd like a better look at that key." He eyed the chain hanging around her neck. "Fletcher Shaw has given us permission to go through any personal files that he has in his possession that once belonged to his father. I'd like your permission to have a copy of the key made and sent to our lab in Atlanta."

Caroline lifted the chain and grasped the key in her hand. "No." She shook her head. "I don't mean to be uncooperative, but I'm not willing to allow copies of this key to be made. The copies could fall into the wrong hands."

"And just who do you suspect would wind up with the copies, Ms. McGuire?"

"I don't know." Caroline scooted back her rustic wooden chair and stood. She tossed her napkin on top of the table and walked away, down the steps leading out into the backyard, which faced the shoreline.

He immediately followed her, catching up with her quickly, before she had a chance to go more than a few feet. He grabbed her arm to halt her. She turned on him, a protest on her lips. A tingling sensation radiated up the entire length of her arm from where his big hand held her.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate all of this?" she asked him. "For nearly fifteen years I've believed that an intruder, a burglar, killed my stepfather. Now I know better. Now I have the proof, in his own handwriting, that someone assassinated him because he was in possession of some damaging information. Someone ordered Preston Shaw's execution and someone carried out that command." She fingered the chain around her neck. "This key is the only weapon I have against those people. I won't let it out of my possession."

"Then we have no choice but to use trial and error to try to find out just what your key opens." Wolfe tugged on her arm. "Don't run away from me again, Ms. McGuire. Your life could well depend upon my being at your side."

And my sanity might well depend upon putting some distance between us, she wanted to say, but didn't. "Are all the Dundee agents like you?" she asked as he led her back to the porch.

"All the Dundee agents are highly trained professionals," he said. "Their former professions vary somewhat—military, law enforcement and government agents, mostly. Ages vary, too, as do personal histories."

"What description would fit you?" What did it matter? she thought, the moment she asked the question. This man is a temporary fixture in your life. Here today, gone tomorrow. You shouldn't get personal with him. He isn't here to be your friend.

"If you've finished breakfast, let's clear away the dishes and get you back inside," he said.

"Oh, I see. You get to know all about me and my life, but I'm not supposed to ask you any personal questions. Is that how this works?"

"Something like that." He stacked their dishes, laid the silverware crossways atop the plates, then handed them to Caroline. He removed the butter and jam from the table with one hand, then picked up the blue linen napkins and stuffed them into his pants pocket.

"You really think someone is going to appear out of nowhere and try to kill me on my own back porch?"

"It's been known to happen." He nudged her into action, keeping step with her as she walked into the kitchen.

She set their dirty plates and silverware in the sink, then turned to face him and held out her hands to accept the butter and jam. Their hands touched in the transfer, a momentary brush of flesh against flesh. An electrical current sizzled through her. Frozen to the spot by her reaction, she glared at him and found him looking right at her, as if he had been shocked by the same surge of energy.

"Is it against the rules for me to see your eyes?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically breathy.

He hesitated, then with a slow, precise movement reached up and removed his glasses. But he didn't allow their eyes to meet. Not immediately. She waited, heart thumping in an erratic rat-a-tat beat, as he lifted his gaze from where he had focused on the floor and stared straight at her. The cold, hard glimmer in his daring green eyes paralyzed her momentarily. There was no warmth, no sympathy, no understanding in his gaze. Not one shred of human emotion, almost as if he were a robot. She could not control the involuntary quivering that shook her body from head to toe.

Without saying a word, Wolfe put his glasses back on, then stepped away from Caroline. This time he was extra careful not to touch her. That was when she knew he wasn't as immune to her as he wanted her to believe.

Gavin Robbins was not one of his favorite people, so listening to him brag about his recent sexual conquest didn't go well with Ellison's morning tea. The man was every bit the cocky bastard he'd been fifteen years ago as a young recruit, but he possessed something the Peacekeepers prided themselves on—loyalty to the organization. Robbins had proved himself to be a top-notch agent time and again, and despite Ellison's personal dislike of him, the man didn't have one black mark against his record. When the second-in-command position came open at the unexpected death of the former VP from a heart attack, the other agents had immediately recommended Robbins. When the vote was counted, Robbins had been elected to the position by a landslide. If there was one thing Robbins did almost as well as he did his job, it was kiss ass.

"So, even if things are over with Caroline, I can still keep close enough to her to be apprised of everything going on in her life. Now that I'm bonking Roz Turner, she'll keep me updated on what's happening."

"And using Ms. Turner as an unknowing informant was your sole reason for instigating an affair with her?" Ellison lifted the china cup to his lips and sipped the imported tea that was blended in a small London shop specifically for him.

Gavin chuckled. "Hey, a man does what a man has to do. Right? Besides, it's not exactly a hardship. Roz is one talented lady, if you know what I mean."

Ellison heaved a deep sigh, signifying his displeasure, but the subtle gesture escaped Gavin's attention. Robbins was like many men of Ellison's acquaintance. Self-absorbed. Overly confident. And a bit of a braggart. He dreaded the day when he would be forced by old age to relinquish the reins of Peacekeepers International to a man more suited to the military than diplomacy. His personal choice would have been Aidan Colbert. But the man known as Aidan Colbert was dead.

"So, have you found out everything we need to know about Caroline's bodyguard?" Gavin asked as he plopped down in the chair directly across from Ellison's desk. "Is he somebody we can trust?"

"My sources tell me that Mr. Wolfe is as trustworthy as they come." Ellison took another sip of the delicious tea, then placed his cup on the saucer atop his desk. "Caroline McGuire is in good hands."

"Yeah, well, I'll bet Aidan Colbert is taming over in his grave at the thought of some young stud sharing a house with Caroline. If you ask me, Colbert had a sick obsession with our Ms. McGuire."

"There was nothing sick about Aidan's concern for Caroline. He was a man of principle, a man with a conscience. He deeply regretted that she'd practically been a witness to her stepfather's execution."

"Colbert let his conscience get in the way sometimes," Gavin said. "In my opinion, he'd be alive now if he hadn't tried to get that group of grade-school kids out of the way before that bomb went off. The guy's own actions screwed him."

"I didn't ask you."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. I know the guy was a favorite of yours and you were priming him to take over your job one day, but face it, Ellison, Colbert never really had what it took for our line of work."

"Until I tell you otherwise, you will now and in the future refer to me as Mr. Penn." Ellison eased back his chair and stood. "Only my family and friends call me Ellison and you, Gavin, are neither."

"You've made your point,
Mr. Penn.
So, how about a look at whatever information you have on Mr. Wolfe?"

"The information I have on him is right up here." Ellison tapped his right temple. "All you need to know is that if Caroline finds this so-called evidence Preston Shaw supposedly hid away somewhere, we can count on Mr. Wolfe to see that only the proper authorities will have access to the information."

"I'd like to know how you can be so sure of Mr. Wolfe."

"Suffice it to say that I am sure." Ellison skewered Gavin with a deadly glare that issued a silent warning for his subordinate to back off immediately. He realized that he risked piquing Robbins's curiosity with his evasiveness, but he wanted to postpone sharing any vital information about Wolfe with a man he didn't completely trust.

Photography by Caroline was located in a renovated building in downtown St. Michaels. The waiting area resembled an old-fashioned parlor, with turn-of-the-century reproduction furniture. Two college-aged gofers acted as receptionists and hostesses, booking appointments, welcoming clients and serving coffee and tea as well as pacifying crying babies and entertaining restless children. The pale cream walls in the parlor boasted a lineup of brilliantly photographed babies, children, brides and families. Wolfe knew that Caroline had become a renowned portrait photographer, but until seeing her work today he hadn't fully comprehended how truly talented she was. In each picture she had captured the very essence of her subject.