Soldier Protector Read online

  According to the intel Rhodes had given him, the players in the room were Rebecca Childress, Jonathan Petranski and Robert Vepp, all of whom answered to Caitlin Willows.

  Rebecca and Jonathan he’d met, but Robert Vepp had called in sick today, so he’d have to meet Vepp tomorrow. In his line of work, everyone was a suspect until they weren’t. He didn’t have the luxury of believing everyone was innocent until proven guilty. He figured that if a person was innocent, it would become apparent soon enough.

  Unless you were being framed by the government, like what’d happened to his buddy and former teammate Xander Scott, but that wasn’t your ordinary everyday, run-of-the-mill circumstance. Not that trying to save the world from extinction wasn’t extraordinary, but when you were fighting your own government, it just made everything that much more difficult.

  Good God, Zak was so glad that situation had worked out. It could’ve been a real shit-show if Xander hadn’t been a stubborn son of a bitch and his TL, even more so.

  A smile threatened but he squashed the impulse. Time to focus. His gaze roamed the room, picking up on the not-so-subtle looks Rebecca kept throwing his way. He made a point not to react and returned his focus to Caitlin, who was still absorbed in her work. A bomb could go off and she’d hardly notice. He envied that kind of concentration. Rhodes often lamented that wrangling the Red Wolf team was often like corralling a bunch of preschoolers, except the preschoolers had semiautomatic weapons, unhealthy coping mechanisms and inappropriate senses of humor.

  God, he missed his buddy Xander. He was always down for a good, really inappropriate joke at the worst possible moment. Like a fart joke at a funeral. But he didn’t begrudge Xander’s good fortune. Hell, if anyone deserved a fresh start, it was Xander. It wasn’t every day that a man uncovered a massive conspiracy deep within the nation’s capital, saved himself from a well-executed frame job and kicked a raging opioid addiction. So, yeah, “Good on ya, mate,” as the Aussies would say.

  Caitlin stretched for a brief moment, breaking her intense concentration, and he wondered what it was like to be in her head, to be scary smart like that. What’d high school been like for Caitlin?

  She was probably bullied, made fun of, picked on because she was different.

  He’d known someone else like that.

  Someone who might’ve grown up to do great things just like Caitlin.

  That familiar tightness squeezed his chest and he shifted against the feeling, hating that he’d let the door open a crack when usually he kept it slammed shut.

  Now was not the time.

  But then, as far as he was concerned, there was never a good time to think about Zoey. Not when every damn time it always seemed to hurt like a son of a bitch, no matter how much time had passed. Zoey was his hot stove.

  And he’d learned a long time ago to avoid things that scorched.

  Chapter 3

  Caitlin’s eyes burned as she fought against the yawn that forced her jaw open. It was late—everyone had long since left—but she was dreading having to face the real situation of her bodyguard accompanying her home.

  She never had male visitors.

  To be honest, she rarely had any visitors. She wasn’t exactly what anyone would call terribly social. She liked people—sort of—but she preferred the quiet of an empty house.

  But now, her empty house would have to accommodate a plus-one.

  There was something about interacting with people that always left her feeling more awkward than usual. And now she was supposed to play hostess to a man who not only made her uncomfortable but made her social deficits feel that much more pronounced?

  “How much longer are you going to be burning the midnight oil, Doc?” he called out from his sentinel post.

  Maybe she’d hoped that he would tire of waiting and decide to check into a hotel without her, but as the hour ticked on and he hadn’t budged, she’d ditched that hope for the realization that no matter what, Zak was stuck to her like glue. She didn’t know Zak at all, but what she did know was that he took his job very seriously. True to his word, he had trailed her every step the entire day. Not only was it unnerving, it was annoying, as well. She felt like a prisoner when she hadn’t done anything to deserve any punishment.

  “I’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes,” she answered, ignoring the strange flutter in her chest. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten all day, and as far she could tell, he hadn’t, either. She mentally checked her refrigerator at home and realized she had nothing to offer in the way of hospitality.

  Was she supposed to provide him with a beverage? What was the etiquette of this arrangement? She hadn’t a clue. “I should warn you that I am not much of a hostess and if you want food you will need to get your own.”

  Caitlin cringed at how prickly she sounded to her own ears. She knew how people talked about her behind her back. She pretended not to notice that no one asked her to participate in the office pools—not that she would anyway—but it was the principle that mattered. Rebecca seemed the only person who didn’t mind her less-than-social personality, but Caitlin didn’t feel right engaging on a personal level when she was Rebecca’s superior. So most days Caitlin ate her lunch at her desk, alone.

  And now, she was sniping at the man charged with keeping her safe. “I’m sorry,” she said, frowning around her own awkwardness. “I’m just trying to say I don’t know how to feed you.”

  He smiled as if he understood, but he couldn’t possibly. Caitlin was painfully aware of how she was often off-center when it came to social interactions. Most times, people just made little sense to her. They said things that were silly, did things that were equally so and engaged in activities that were perplexing in their uselessness. Yet, Caitlin had always secretly yearned to understand what she was missing. Sometimes her intellect was a cumbersome burden.

  Such as right now. “I make poor food choices,” she admitted forlornly, unsure of how to proceed, gesturing to his well-defined musculature. “Something tells me you eat things like vegetables and lots of lean protein. I don’t have anything like that in my house. Unless you consider squeeze cheese a protein.”

  To his credit, Zak made a solid effort to hold back his grimace but it was written all over his face that he did not, in fact, consider squeeze cheese a protein, or even food at all. “How about we stop by the store on the way to your place?” he suggested.

  Caitlin was not excited about making a stop at the grocery store. Her routine was already woefully unrecognizable but she couldn’t very well expect the man to starve, could she? “I suppose that’s reasonable,” she said with a heavy sigh that bordered on sullen but couldn’t stop herself from adding, “I didn’t really plan on traipsing up and down the aisles after work. I’m tired and just want to get home.”

  He nodded, understanding. “I can make what you have work for tonight,” he said, conceding to her discomfort, and somehow that made her feel worse.

  “I do my shopping on designated days,” she justified, as if that would make her sound any less churlish at this point. “I prefer to stick to a schedule.”

  “Duly noted.”

  She cast him a gaze filled with suspicion. “Are you being condescending?”

  “Not at all.”

  Maybe she was being difficult—she supposed there was no sense in denying it—but why should she disrupt her entire life unnecessarily? Honestly, this whole situation was ridiculous. They had no actual proof that whoever the thief was had any interest in her. As far as Caitlin was concerned, likely they could give two figs about her. They had the sample. Why would they come after her? But no matter how she tried to phrase her rationale to her superiors, they kept flatly turning her down.

  In fact, her last conversation with Stan via email had been quite terse. Well, of course it was difficult to ascertain tone from an email but his response had seemed clipped.

 
Which meant she was stuck with Zak for now. Perhaps the hardest part to deal with was the fact that there was no endgame in sight. If Stan had come to her and said, “We need you under surveillance for the next twenty-four hours,” she could’ve handled that because there was a definitive finish. People could handle anything as long as they knew there would be an end. Open-ended details had a tendency to squelch morale.

  Unable to put off the inevitable, she finally shut down her computer and closed the office, moving past Zak with a frown. “I’m sorry but you’ll find that I am not the most entertaining hostess.”

  “I’m not here to be entertained.”

  Of course he wasn’t. Not that she would know anything about entertaining a man like him. He was so far afield from anyone she would ever have cause to date or even socialize with that she was at a complete loss as to how to interact with him at all.

  “I do have some frozen potpies,” she said, trying to sound less inhospitable. But he would discover soon enough that she was no Martha Stewart. “I’m a terrible cook. I’m sorry if you were expecting someone more accommodating.”

  “It’ll be fine,” he assured her, still waiting patiently for her to finish up.

  She bit back a sound of frustration. Was this how their interactions were going to go for the foreseeable future? Good grief, this was like talking to someone in customer service. She’d almost rather he showed a bit of personality and told her to stop being such a pill, but that would be unprofessional and he’d never do that.

  “Okay, fine. I’m glad we have that sorted,” she grumbled, hanging her lab coat and shouldering her purse as she locked up and exited the lab. Her short stride was nothing compared to his long, looping gait. Every three steps she took equaled one of his. By genetic standards, his DNA was superior to hers in that by comparison she seemed a stunted version of humanity.

  “You know, a hotel would probably be more comfortable,” she suggested as they approached her car. “My house is very small. I’m not even sure you’ll clear the doorframe.”

  “I go where you go.” He slid her a mildly sardonic glance. “But your concern is touching.”

  As they reached the car, he gestured for her to hand over the keys and she balked. “You’re not driving my car,” she said, shocked that he would even think that she wouldn’t drive her own car.

  Again, his patience was maddening. “I know this seems strange but I need to be in control of the situation. Tomorrow I will drive you to work, but for now, in order to get your car back to your place, I will drive your car.”

  Now she was losing her ability to drive herself? She wanted to stamp her foot. “This is getting ridiculous. Why can’t I drive my own car? I’m a very good driver, I’ll have you know. I obey all safety laws and I’ve never had a speeding ticket.”

  “You sound like a model driver,” he agreed, which told her that was not a point in her favor. “You don’t have defensive driving skills. If in the event someone tries to chase us I need to be able to get us out of the situation quickly and safely and that usually means driving in ways that you aren’t capable of.”

  Was she living in a James Bond movie? “Who would try to chase us? Who in the heck do you think is after me? I can’t believe this nonsense. Look, I know that Tessara is playing it safe but there is honestly no threat to my safety. All of this is a huge waste of your time. I tried to talk Stan into letting you go but he seems to believe that you need to be here. I disagree.”

  “The validity of your employer’s opinions is not my concern. My job is to keep you safe and I will do that through any means possible. Now, if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat on the passenger side.”

  He wasn’t going to budge. It was surreal. And she could tell by his expression that he would not change his mind. She wasn’t about to stand in the snow freezing her tail off, arguing the fact. She wanted to get home. She was tired and hungry, and the whole day had been one she’d like to forget.

  With each passing moment her discomfort grew, but she was out of options. She handed over her keys with little grace and stomped over to the passenger side, saying, “You’d better not put a single scratch on my car. It’s a lease!”

  * * *

  Zak had never met a more irascible woman. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you’re a little OCD?” he said, making conversation as they pulled out of the parking lot.

  She stiffened. “I’ve never had an official diagnosis but if you’re asking if I like things done a certain way, yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Because people with control issues usually are.”

  “I don’t have control issues,” she denied, her scowl deepening. “Just because I don’t want to be squired around like Jessica Tandy in Driving Miss Daisy doesn’t mean I have control issues.”

  “It’s not an insult,” he tried to smooth her ruffled feathers but it was a little entertaining to see how easily she was riled. “The world needs obsessive people. Keeps the rest of us organized.”

  “Well, there is something to be said for being organized,” she said with a small sniff. “Okay, so I’m going to take a guess that you’re disorganized and chaotic in your everyday life? You probably wash your colors and whites together.”

  He didn’t deny it. “I like to live dangerously.”

  A derisive snort followed as she said, “And you probably have more than a few pairs of pink socks in your dresser drawers.”

  “It happens. Good thing socks are cheap.”

  “If you separated your whites from your colors you wouldn’t have that problem.”

  “Yeah, but who has that kind of time?”

  He was baiting her, not sure why. Normally, he wouldn’t chat up someone he was guarding but she was so damn stiff that he couldn’t help testing just how rigid she was willing to remain. He wanted to see if he could coax a smile out of her. Maybe it was because, on the surface, the job was seemingly easy that the challenge of breaking through Caitlin’s shell was enough to keep his mind engaged, or maybe he just liked the idea of seeing her smile. Either way, he should’ve just kept his mouth shut but he didn’t.

  “So you’ve never accidentally thrown in a black sock with a load of whites?” he asked. Her horrified expression was answer enough. He chuckled. “Been there, done that. I don’t recommend it. I had to buy a bunch of new T-shirts. Hazards of bachelor life, I guess.”

  She didn’t respond, not that he expected her to, exactly, but he thought she might’ve shared some of her own laundry mishaps, maybe to break the ice. He should’ve known better. Instead, Caitlin did the opposite of inviting more conversation by turning her gaze out the window, effectively shutting him out for the duration of the car ride.

  They arrived at her house and after he did a quick perimeter search—which Caitlin handled with more sourpuss expressions—they walked into the small cottage. “You weren’t joking, your place is small,” he said. “But at least I can clear the doorframe, so that’s not an issue.”

  He’d hoped for a smile but she was ten times more nervous now than in the car, which he hadn’t thought possible. She was practically vibrating with anxiety and he knew he had to find a way to get her to trust him or else this detail was going to be a nightmare for them both.

  “Very cute, though,” he said, trying to appeal to her pride of ownership. “It has a very warm vibe, comforting. I bet this is your sanctuary.”

  “It was,” she grumbled beneath her breath but then realized she was being rude and amended her comment, admitting, “I’m not exactly a social person. Being around a bunch of people is very uncomfortable for me. My home is where I know I can be myself and just relax.”

  “Except now I’m in your space and it’s freaking you out,” he finished for her and she simply nodded. At least she was honest. “Look, I get it. I’m a stranger. I wouldn’t enjoy it, either, if someone came into my private space and hung out, unless they w
ere expressly invited. But believe me when I say the threat to your safety is real enough that I can’t blame your employers for taking precautions.”

  “You really think the threat is real?” she asked.

  “I think that no employer would be willing to pay the kind of money they are paying Red Wolf to keep you safe if they didn’t believe the threat was credible,” he answered.

  He didn’t want to freak her out more than she already was, but he needed her to understand that the danger was real and if putting up with a little discomfort was the cost of her safety, it was something she’d have to accept.

  Caitlin’s unhappy frown spoke volumes as she admitted with frustration, “I don’t know how to act with you here. As I said, I’m not a social person and I don’t entertain. So having you here...it’s just awkward. It feels like the world’s worst blind date.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “Been on many blind dates?”

  Caitlin paused before she confessed, “No, but the ones I have been on were excruciating. The concept has always baffled me.”

  “I’m not one for blind dates, either. I prefer to know what I’m getting myself into before I get to the restaurant. Surprises of that nature have a tendency to end badly.”

  Curiosity must’ve gotten the best of her because she asked, “You date much? I mean, in your line of work, isn’t dating difficult?”

  Damn near impossible. He shrugged. “I’m married to the job and she’s a jealous mistress.”

  “Right, of course.” Caitlin must’ve realized they’d somehow wandered into territory that was outside of her comfort zone, for she abruptly disappeared into the kitchen. He started to follow, when she reappeared with a bag of pretzels and an orange juice. “So, um, it’s late. I’m going to, uh, decompress in my bedroom. I need my alone time.”

  He’d already determined her bedroom was secure. “That’s fine,” he allowed, ignoring the faint scowl on her part because he understand it was probably involuntary. “I’ll just poke around the kitchen, if you don’t mind. See what I can scrounge up.”