Caitlin winced as she reached for the covers.
“Let me,” Mac said, and pulled them up to her waist, where she could adjust them to her satisfaction.
“Thank you,” she said, and heard Mac sigh.
“You’re welcome,” he answered. He’d started to leave when he stopped and turned.
“Caitie?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry…really, really sorry I made you cry.”
The tenderness was unexpected, especially from this man. And because it was so unexpected, she found herself unable to say much for fear of crying all over again.
“Yes…well, thank you,” she said, then turned on her side and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he walked away.
A short while later, as she was drifting in a haze induced by the painkiller she had taken, the phone rang. She burrowed deeper beneath her covers, knowing that, for the time being, Connor McKee was standing between her and the world. She didn’t bother to consider why that didn’t seem as bizarre as it once might have, or why her opinion of him had changed. All that mattered was that he was here and, for the first time in months, she knew she was safe.
The next morning she awakened to the sound of strangers’ voices and a lot of hammering and banging. Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, she grabbed her robe and house shoes and bolted from the room, to find Connor and two men in a tangle of boxes and wires.
“Connor McKee, what on earth are you doing?” she demanded, eyeing the pair of strangers and the mess on her living room floor.
Mac grinned. Her hair was tangled, the belt of her robe was dragging on the floor and the house shoes she persisted in wearing were nothing short of a joke.
“Installing your security system.”
“Well, no one asked
me,
” she huffed.
“Caitie, if you want to be taken seriously, you’re going to have to wear another pair of shoes.”
She glanced down at her puppy slippers and then up at him in disgust.
“There’s nothing wrong with my shoes.”
“You need the security.”
She sighed. “You should have warned me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Well, as long as it doesn’t happen again.”
“No, ma’am. It sure won’t.”
She twiddled with the end of her belt and then realized all three men were trying not to laugh. Disgusted with herself and with the male species in general, she pivoted sharply, and as she did, stepped on the ear of one of her puppy slippers. Staggering forward, she caught herself before falling.
“You all right?” Mac asked.
She wouldn’t turn around. It sounded like he was laughing.
“I’m fine,” she said, and stomped out of the room.
Seconds later she heard a choked, gurgling sound and then a soft guffaw. Damn them. Damn them all straight to hell.
She slammed the door, making sure that it echoed, and crawled back into bed.
Five
W
hen the doorbell sounded, Mac rushed to answer it before it awakened Caitlin. He knew who it was and why they were here, but they’d taken their sweet time in coming. He’d expected them to show before he and Caitlin had left the hospital. The men from the security company had long since gone, and it was almost noon.
Aaron had reported the fake doctor incident to the police. Knowing his brother’s penchant for dramatics, Mac figured he’d more than made his point that Caitlin Bennett was in danger and it was about damned time someone admitted it. With that thought in mind, he opened the door.
“Yes?”
Neil flashed his badge.
“Detective Neil,” he said shortly. “This is my partner, Detective Kowalski. I understand there was another incident involving Miss Bennett?”
“I suppose you could call it that,” Mac said. “Come in.” Then he stepped aside to let them enter and closed the door. “This way,” he said, and led the way into the living room, then paused, gesturing for them to be seated. “What took you so long?” Mac asked.
Neil took one end of the sofa, while his partner took the other. He waited until Mac had seated himself on the opposite side of the coffee table before speaking. “We had an emergency call to answer. Sorry.” Then he shifted mental gears and pinned Mac with a hard look.
“I was given to understand that Miss Bennett doesn’t have any family,” J.R. said.
“She doesn’t.”
“Then who are you?”
“My name is Connor McKee. I own McKee Security, out of Atlanta. Aaron Workman, her editor, is my stepbrother. He called me. I came.”
Neil made a couple of notes and then looked up. “Where is Miss Bennett?”
“Asleep. She’s still in a lot of pain, and I’d rather not disturb her. Besides, if you’re here about what happened at the hospital last night, there’s no need to talk to her.”
“Why not?” Neil asked.
“Because she slept through it. I’m the one who woke up and saw the man standing in her room, and I’m the one he spoke to.”
“He spoke to you?” Trudy asked.
“Yes, but I think I surprised him. He came into the room sometime after three in the morning. When I stood up and asked him what he was doing, he gave me some cock-and-bull story that didn’t check out.”
“Exactly what did he say?” J.R. asked.
“He said his name was Dr. Frost and that he was looking for a Mr. Benton’s room.”
“That doesn’t sound out of the ordinary,” Trudy said. “The last names are pretty similar…Benton…Bennett. Maybe it was just a case of mistaken identity.”
“That’s what I thought at first, until I asked a nurse if there was a patient by the name of Benton on the floor. She told me there wasn’t, and then asked why I wanted to know. I told her a man identifying himself as Dr. Frost had been looking for his room.”
“And?” Trudy prompted.
“She said Dr. Frost is an OB/GYN. He wouldn’t have any male patients, no matter what floor they were on.”
“Oops. Looks like your intruder didn’t do his homework,” she said, then eyed him carefully. “But you did, didn’t you? What tipped you off?”
“Have you ever been hospitalized?” Mac asked.
Trudy nodded.
“No matter what time of night it is or how soundly you’re sleeping, when a doctor or nurse comes into the room, they always turn on the lights, don’t they?”
Trudy’s red curls bobbed as she nodded again. “A couple of years ago I had an appendectomy. Didn’t get a wink of sleep until I got to go home.”
“Exactly. But this man didn’t turn on the lights or make a sound. In fact, he was halfway to Caitlin’s bed in the dark when I stood up.”
Neil leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “And why were you there?”
“Protecting her.”
“How long have you known Miss Bennett?”
“A little more than three years.”
Neil took silent note of the way McKee answered—almost as if he was uncomfortable being on the receiving end of their questions.
“Have you always been in security?” he asked.
“No, I was with Atlanta PD for fifteen years.”
“Why did you quit?”
“Lost one too many partners. Watched one too many perps walk because of a legal technicality. You name it. I burned out, pure and simple.”
“Boy, do I understand that,” Trudy said.
But Neil wasn’t comfortable with the man’s presence and made it known.
“This is our investigation,” he said shortly. “We don’t need any vigilantes.”
Mac resisted the urge to smirk. “Miss Bennett will be pleased to know that you’ve finally admitted there’s something to investigate.”
The detective’s lips thinned in anger, but he kept his silence as Mac added, “I have no intention of investigating anything. I’m not a P.I. I own and operate a company that installs and upgrades security systems…period. I volunteered to stay with Caitlin until the man is caught, so the sooner you get your job done, the happier we’ll all be.”
“Can you give us a description of the man?” Trudy asked.
Mac frowned. “Not really. I only got a glimpse of him as he opened the door and slipped out. It was pretty fast, and I’d been asleep when he walked in. I do know that he was Caucasian, at least six feet tall. He had brown curly hair and a mustache, and was probably in his late thirties. However, if he was there to finish what he started, I would guess he was wearing a disguise.”
“Is there anything else?” Trudy asked.
“No.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” Neil said.
Mac shrugged. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
Neil’s jaw set as he handed Mac a card. “If you think of anything else, give us a call.”
Mac dropped the card into his pocket without comment.
“By the way, where is Aaron Workman?” Neil asked. “I expected him to be here.”
“He went to work. If you need to talk to him, he’s at his office.”
Neil stood up. “Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”
“So will we,” Mac said, and ushered them to the door, then locked it behind them.
The two detectives heard the distinct click of tumblers and grinned before heading to the elevator.
“I wouldn’t mind being guarded by a man like that,” Trudy said.
J.R. arched an eyebrow. “Well, well, Kowalski, you never fail to amaze me.”
The elevator opened. They walked in, then turned to face the door as J.R. punched the button to take them down.
“Why?” Trudy asked, as the car began to descend.
“I didn’t know you were into oversize thugs.”
“Just because he’s bigger than you doesn’t make him a thug,” Trudy said. “Besides, I was always a sucker for men with dark hair and blue eyes.”
Neil shook his head in pretend disgust as the door opened. They exited into the lobby, their strides equally matched in spite of their difference in size.
“When we get to the hospital to check out the story, maybe I’d better have your blood pressure checked, too.”
Trudy hesitated, staring at him in disbelief. “You’re jealous!”
“You’re full of shit,” J.R. said as they crossed the lobby toward their car. “And I’m driving.”
“Good. I don’t like to drive in snow.” J.R. grinned. “That’s because you were raised in Mobile. Your blood’s too thin, Kowalksi. When I was a kid, I had a paper route and delivered papers in all kinds of weather. It was snowing the day I had my first driving lesson.”
She grinned at him as she got in on the passenger side of the car.
“Yeah, and next you’ll be telling me you cut your teeth on icicles and made your first snowman before you could walk.”
J.R.’s smile widened, but he refrained from comment. He knew Trudy well enough to know that she wouldn’t stop until she had the last word, even if it was wrong. He started the car and pulled away from the curb into traffic.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the hospital. Maybe a security camera caught something we can use.”
“Good idea.”
“Yeah, I know,” J.R. said.
Trudy snorted lightly. “You are such an egotist.”
“But I’m good.”
Trudy rolled her eyes and laughed.
Caitlin opened her eyes and then groaned at the squall of a passing siren. Instinctively she started to stretch, then winced as sore muscles reminded her not to make any drastic moves.
“Oh God,” she muttered, pushing a hand carefully through her hair, then feeling the stitches above her eyebrow. They felt like thorns.
Her tummy growled as she rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. Her body was at odds with her pain. It didn’t seem possible that she could be hungry when everything hurt, but she was. Without making any sudden moves, she shuffled toward the bathroom, pausing to look at herself in the mirror. The bruises looked worse, but the swelling in her lower lip seemed better.
“One thing at a time,” she muttered, and turned away.
A few minutes later she came out, her face carefully washed, her hair combed and caught at the back of her neck in a bright pink scrunchie. She paused at the foot of her bed for her robe, knowing she would need all her defenses to keep Connor at arm’s length, including proper clothing. Even though her pajamas were sensible blue flannel, a robe seemed in order. Stepping into her slippers, she made her way to the kitchen and found Mac standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot.
“That smells good,” she said. “What is it?”
Startled by the sound of her voice, he banged the spoon on the side of the pot as he turned around.
“I didn’t know you were awake. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to get up,” Caitlin said. “Is that soup?”
“Yes, are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll bring you some, just please sit back down.”
Caitlin sighed. “I’m not that fragile.”
Mac’s eyes were dark and unreadable, but the husky tremor in his voice gave him away. “You could have fooled me,” he said. “Have you looked in the mirror?”
She made a face at him and then grimaced. “Oh, that hurt,” she muttered as she eased herself into a kitchen chair, refusing to admit he’d been right. Her legs were shaking.
“Then don’t try to bite the hand that’s going to feed you. Literally.”
Caitlin rested her chin in her hands and settled for a glare at his backside as he reached into the cabinet for a plate and a bowl. As she watched, it occurred to her that the last time she’d been in this kitchen there had been little in the way of food to eat.
“Did you buy groceries?” she asked.
“Aaron did.”
She nodded. “Aaron thinks I eat like a teenager.”
Mac gave her a curious look. “Well, do you?”
Caitlin’s gaze caught and held on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and forgot what he’d said.
“Caitlin?”
She blinked. “Hmm? What?”
“Do you eat like a teenager?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. How does a teenager eat?”
“Whatever is handy that’s salty or sweet and full of fat, ready in a minute or less, and comes in bulk.”
“I don’t put Pepsi on my cereal,” she said, without admitting to anything else.
Mac laughed aloud. “That’s a start.” Then he set the soup before her and handed her a spoon. “Eat up while it’s hot.”
His laughter caused a funny twinge in her stomach, which she chalked up to hunger. The idea of making friends with this man made her think of trying to tame a tiger, and she wasn’t that stupid. Instead, she leaned over the bowl, inhaling the aroma as her mouth watered.