The Doctor's Defender (Protection Specialists Book 3) (4 page)

He stretched out on the queen-size bed with every intention of relaxing. But his mind wouldn’t shut off. He kept reliving the moment upstairs when Brenda had sighed. Such a small sound, hardly worth noting. Except she’d been staring at him with such yearning on her pretty face, his ego had ripped the curl. He’d wanted to explore what that sigh meant. He hadn’t. And told himself he couldn’t. That wouldn’t be professional.

Giving up on sleep, he rose and dug through his “to-go” bag, double-checking his weapon and ammo. His hand brushed over the photograph he always kept with him. He didn’t need to see the image to recall the picture of him, his twin sister, Kaitlin, and his parents. Before his mother had taken ill. Before his world came crashing down in a fiery flame of heartache. He zipped the bag closed.

A high-pitched noise pierced the quiet of the night.

His heart jolted.

The house alarm had been tripped!

THREE

K
yle palmed his SIG P226. As he opened the bedroom door, a rush of adrenaline sucked the breath from his lungs. Leading with his weapon, he stepped out into the hallway, prepared to face any intruder and do his job and protect Brenda. No matter what.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness. The alarm continued to blare, noise ricocheting off the wall and assaulting his ears. He moved quickly toward the staircase. Muted light from outside streamed through the wide-open front door. Dread flooded him.

One thought reverberated around his mind—he had to get to Brenda.

Please, God, don’t let me fail her.

The silent plea tore from him as it did every time he was responsible for another’s life.

Sudden light flooded the stairwell. Kyle blinked as Brenda ran down the stairs, nearly colliding with him as he hurried up. At the sight of her, a surge of relief loosened the knot in his gut. He snaked an arm around her waist to halt her forward motion. Her bare knees knocked against his below the loose basketball shorts he wore. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Her small hands gripped his biceps. “Why’s the alarm going off?” she yelled above the shrill ringing of the house alarm.

“Don’t know.” Her body trembled against him, making him acutely aware of how adorable she looked in plaid shorts and a green tank top that hugged her curves.

Her hair hung over her shoulders, making her appear young and vulnerable. And in need of protection. Protection not just from the bad guys but also from him. He set her away, needing some distance so he could focus.

Moving so that Brenda was behind him, he approached the front door, careful to keep them out of the line of sight in case a sniper lay in wait, ready to pick them off.

Motioning to the alarm pad on the wall, he said, “Take care of that.”

With quick fingers, she punched in the alarm code. Blessed silence filled the house. Kyle peered around the doorjamb to the front walkway. Two figures huddled together on the driveway.

“Stay put,” he ordered Brenda before venturing out the door, his gun raised and sighted.

He reached the porch stairs as recognition flooded his brain. He lowered his weapon. Brenda pushed past him. He reached out with his free hand to halt her. “I said stay put.”

She sidestepped his reach and ran down the drive. “Mom? Dad?”

Kyle growled in frustration and hurried after her. He halted beside the older couple. Sweat beaded Mr. Storm’s brow and soaked through his cotton nightshirt. Mrs. Storm held on to his arm as if he might fall if she let go.

Kyle’s gaze searched the grounds. He didn’t see any threat or danger. But that didn’t mean one wasn’t out there. “Let’s take this inside.”

“Sorry about the alarm. I forgot to unarm it,” Mr. Storm said, his voice strained. “I needed some fresh air.”

Brenda touched her father’s forehead. “You’re burning up again.”

He captured her hand. “I’m fine. I just took some ibuprofen.”

“Dad—”

“Enough, Brenda.”

Mr. Storm’s sharp tone raised Kyle’s defenses and brought back memories of his own father. The harsh, cruel way he’d spoken to both Kyle and his sister. The way Kaitlin would cower, retreating behind a wall of silence until there was a time Kyle feared she’d never speak again.

It had been up to Kyle to protect his sister. He’d failed her. He wouldn’t fail Brenda.

He took a half step forward before he realized he had moved. Reason slammed into him. He shoved his SIG into the waistband of the basketball shorts he slept in and fisted his hands. It wasn’t his place to intervene between his protectee and her parents unless they posed a physical threat.

Hurt flashed in Brenda’s eyes, but she didn’t back down. Good for her, Kyle thought. She was as tough as she was prickly. “Mom, run a tepid bath. We need to cool him down.”

Mr. Storm growled. “Brenda—”

Mrs. Storm nodded, looking relieved to have her daughter taking over, and hurried back inside.

Brenda nudged her way beneath her father’s arm and wrapped her other arm around his waist.

“What are you doing?” her father demanded.

Ignoring his protest, she said, “Come on, let’s get you upstairs. Kyle, a little help, please.”

Kyle moved around to Mr. Storm’s other side.

“I’m not an invalid. It’s just a cold,” Mr. Storm groused.

They helped Mr. Storm into the house and up the stairs to the master bedroom, where they eased him onto the edge of the bed. The sound of water filling the tub came through the open door to the adjacent bathroom.

“Kyle, stay with him. I’m going to see if we have some juice. He needs to stay hydrated,” Brenda said and left the room.

“I don’t want her to see me like this,” Mr. Storm said, his voice shaking. He seemed to have deflated in the past couple of seconds.

“You’re sick. And it’s not a cold,” Kyle stated, watching the man closely. Would he keep up with the pretense?

Mr. Storm shook his head. “Cancer.”

The word struck Kyle in the gut. Empathy squeezed his lungs. Images of his mother’s final days played in his head. She’d been so weak and in pain. Only ten years old, Kyle hadn’t understood. Now he did. And he wouldn’t wish what his mom had been through on his worst enemy.

“I’m sorry. You need to tell Brenda.”

“No! I don’t want to burden her with this.”

The noise coming from the bath stopped.

Kyle stared. “She’s going to find out eventually. It would be better for her to hear it from you.”

“She has enough to deal with right now.”

Mrs. Storm entered the room and sat beside her husband. Taking his hand, she said, “He’s right, Andrew. You have to tell her. Everything.”

“There will be time enough later.”

“Tell me what?” Brenda asked as she entered the room, holding a glass of orange juice. She gave the glass to her father. His hands shook as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank.

* * *

Concern arced, making Brenda’s chest ache. “What do you need to tell me?”

Brenda hadn’t wanted to admit even to herself how much her parents had aged since she’d last seen them, nearly a month ago now. Her father’s hair had thinned, the gray more noticeable now. Her mother’s drawn expression, the tired lines around her mouth and eyes, spoke of sleepless nights and stress.

Her parents exchanged a look. Her father gave a negative shake of his head. Her mother nodded with intensity.

Anxiety tripped up Brenda’s spine. Whatever they were keeping from her wasn’t good. That she’d already come to understand. But just how bad?

She braced herself. “Please.”

Her father’s shoulders sagged. He lifted his gaze. The look of sorrow shadowing his eyes caught her breath. He father had always been so strong, so vibrant. To see him looking so vulnerable tore at her, tilting her world even more out of balance. As if it wasn’t already totally skewed with some madman wanting her dead.

“Dad? Mom? What’s wrong?”

Her father looked away.

“Sweetie, your father is very ill.”

She’d known they weren’t being straight with her about his cold. She swallowed. “Go on.”

“Colon cancer. Stage three.”

Brenda mentally recoiled. Everything inside of her wanted to deny her mother’s words. Not her father. He couldn’t be sick. Agony ripped her insides to shreds. She struggled to take a breath, finally managing to ask, “A, B or C?”

“A.”

That was something at least. A better survival rate. “When was the diagnosis made?”

Guilt flashed across her mother’s face. “Two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks,” Brenda repeated, feeling as if she’d taken a blow to the gut. “You’ve known for two weeks, and you didn’t say anything?”

“We didn’t want to worry you, dear.” Tears streamed down her mother’s face.

The daughter in her wanted to cry right along with her mother, but the doctor in her kicked in, shoring up her emotions so she could deal with this crisis.

“Who are you seeing?” Brenda directed the question to her father.

When he didn’t answer, her mother did. “Dr. Krember.”

“He’s one of the best.” Brenda was thankful for that. “Surgery?”

“Scheduled.”

“How soon?”

“Next week.”

“That’s unacceptable. I’ll talk to Dr. Krember. He’ll get you in tomorrow.”

Her father’s gaze whipped to her. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“But Da—”

“No. You’ll stay out of it. This is another reason why we didn’t tell you. You’ll want to take over, be in control like you always do. You have enough to deal with. This is my problem. Let me deal with it my own way.” He stood, wobbled a bit, but then gained his balance. “Good night.”

Hurt pierced her. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Her heart felt as if it was cracking down the middle. Her father didn’t want her help. He wanted her to stay out of his problem. They didn’t think she could handle her job and her worry.

Didn’t he understand how much she loved him? How much she wanted to be able to take care of him? When would she be good enough?

Her parents disappeared into the bathroom. The door shut firmly with a snap.

Brenda closed her eyes. Tears leaked from the corners. She forced back the pain with practiced precision.

A hand touched her shoulder. Kyle.

She couldn’t take his sympathy or his irreverent humor at the moment. She felt too vulnerable, too needy, and she hated that.

She needed to be alone. Needed to come to terms with this devastating news on her own. Needed to get out where she could gather her control.

She whirled and ran from the room, feeling as if her world had imploded and would never be the same again.

* * *

Kyle closed the master-bedroom door behind him. The Storms needed their privacy. His heart ached for them. He understood all too well the pain they were dealing with.

He also understood how Brenda was feeling. More so. He’d been shattered when his mother had finally confessed she was dying. The trips to the doctors’ offices and the hospital hadn’t cured her of the disease robbing her of life.

He could remember sitting in the waiting room while his mother had treatment after treatment, not understanding the severity of her condition or the probable outcome. Not realizing that their time together was running short.

Hoping to offer her some comfort, he walked down the hall to Brenda’s closed bedroom door and gently knocked.

She didn’t answer. “Brenda?”

Still no answer. She had a right to her privacy as she dealt with the horrible news she’d heard. Yet, he hesitated to leave without checking on her. Some elemental instinct compelled him to take action. He tried the knob. Unlocked. He pushed the door open, half expecting to find her weeping on her bed. But she wasn’t on the queen-size bed or sitting on the wingback chair in the corner. She wasn’t in the room at all.

Alarm spiraled through his system. Not knowing where his protectee was at all times left her open to attack. He bolted down the stairs. Not in the kitchen. Nor the living room. He checked the guest room just in case she’d sought refuge in his space.

The front door was closed. The green light on the alarm indicated it wasn’t set. He ran for the front door. No sign of her in the driveway or the lawn. He sprinted around to the back of the house. Not there, either. Apprehension urged him back to the front of the house and out into the street.

The houses of the residential neighborhood were dark and quiet. The street was empty except for a car parked four houses down. Trees lining the sidewalks obscured the view. Kyle wished he had night-vision goggles with him.

On the other side of the street, between the trees, the silhouette of a person caught his attention. Brenda. She was walking at a fast clip along the sidewalk. Faint snatches of moonlight caught on her hair, making the dark strands glisten like jewels against velvet.

The ping in his veins turned to pounding. He ran to catch up with her. “Brenda, wait,” he called in a stage whisper.

She halted, her arms wrapped around her middle.

When he caught up to her, he snagged her elbow. “Let’s get something straight right now. I don’t care what’s going on, you cannot go off alone.”

She didn’t say anything but stood frozen in place. Sympathy infused him, making his heart ache for her. She’d been delivered a shocking blow. One he would imagine was doubly difficult, considering she was a doctor and knew what the diagnosis entailed. Still her life was in danger. They couldn’t get careless. He placed an arm around her shoulders and steered her back toward the house.

“Why did they keep this from me?” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

A flippant remark about parents being from another planet, playing by different rules, rose, but he squelched it. She needed his compassion, not his wit. Too bad he didn’t have a reason to give. “I’m sure they thought they were doing the right thing.”

“By keeping something this important from me?”

“I’m not saying they were right.” He didn’t know how to help her come to terms with the news. Dealing with a protectee’s emotions wasn’t normally part of his job description, beyond the occasional reassurance. Most of his protectees preferred to have their protection detail be a silent but visible deterrent. But in Brenda’s case, that wasn’t an option.

He needed to stick close to her, become a part of her everyday world, until they caught the person threatening her life. Opening up about his own life seemed to be a prudent choice. One he hoped would help her trust him. Trust him enough to listen to him when it came to her security. “When my mother was sick, my parents never said a word until the end.”

Brenda stopped and turned to face him. “You lost your mother?”

The sympathy in her tone revived some of the old pain. He’d rather relive the worst of SEAL training than experience losing his mom again. “I was ten when she passed.”

Brenda touched his arm. The point of contact created an epicenter of warmth that spread up his arm. “I’m so sorry. What did she have?”

Emotion clogged his throat. Even after all this time, he still got choked up. He tucked Brenda’s hand around the crook of his arm and walked back toward her parents’ house. He kept his eyes trained on the shadows, his senses alert for any threat. “When my mom was about five, my grandparents’ house burned down. They all got out unburned, but the house was full of asbestos. They’d breathed it in. They all had problems after that. My grandparents died before I was born.”