Protect Page 2

  Once inside, she locked the doors and pulled out her phone to dictate every detail of what happened in the house, from the second she slipped in the front door until she'd been removed from the home, she recorded it all.

  Satisfied she'd included every infuriating comment and action, she read over the notes, tempted to add the brute being as good looking as he was dangerous. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin. Dark was her favorite color on a man, but there was something more to the attraction. Maybe his size? He did stand half a foot taller than her, and he could probably wrap his arms around her twice if that were possible. His shoulder span alone dwarfed her smaller frame, and even his trim waistline had her beat by several inches.

  The man was a giant and not a gentle one. She'd known too many men like him in her life, and they'd all turned out mistakes. He wouldn't be any different.

  With her notes safe on her phone, she started her car and pulled out onto the main road.

  Rebel was a small town with little to no traffic outside the town limits after dark. She'd be lucky to see another car until the party wrapped up. So, the headlights following in her rearview made the hairs on her neck stand at attention. For miles, the yellow glow trailed her down the empty highway. When she turned off the main road, taking the back way into town, they followed.

  Claire fumbled for her phone while keeping watch between the road ahead and the lights behind. She dialed Tate's number and hit the speaker button.

  "I think someone is following me."

  "Maybe someone else decided to leave the party early?" Tate reasoned after picking up and listening to Claire's explanation of the lights.

  "Why would anyone leave before dinner. The attendees paid hundreds of dollars to eat dry chicken. It doesn't make sense."

  Even with Tate on the other end of the phone, Claire's hand trembled on the steering wheel, and she grabbed it tighter to stop the shaking.

  "Good point. Don't go home," Tate's voice rang in her ear. "They want to get you alone. Come to my place."

  Tate's apartment was less than a mile away but secluded behind an old Victorian home on Main Street. Once Claire entered the driveway and drove past the main house, no one would see her if something happened.

  The lights of town glistened in her windshield, and Claire turned sharply onto a side street. The yellow glow followed. "I have a better idea. I'll text you in a few from Ruby's Diner. If you don't hear from me in ten, call the police."

  "Claire," Tate called, but Claire already had her finger poised to press the off-key, and she did before she could stop herself. At least now, someone would come looking for her if she went missing for too long.

  The notes in her phone would detail the evening and lead the authorities right to the bodyguard. They'd have her killer and the motive. Why did her brain always jump to the most morbid conclusion possible?

  Claire maneuvered into a spot in front of the diner. She collected her bag and phone and made a quick dash for the entrance before the lights of a large black SUV pulled into the space beside her car. She made eye contact with a waitress as soon as she walked in as if screaming out, "I'm here. See me," before taking a booth by the windows.

  Seconds later, the driver's side door opened, and a mountain dressed in all black appeared. It wasn't until he stepped onto the sidewalk and into the glow of light thrown off by the diner's windows that she recognized him as the same bodyguard from the party.

  When the waitress laid a napkin down on the table and asked if she wanted Coffee, Claire jerked to attention. She'd been so focused on watching outside she hadn't heard the young woman walk up.

  By the time she glanced back at the window, the bodyguard had disappeared.

  "Anything with that coffee?" The waitress tapped her pen on a paper pad. "We've got day-old pie half price."

  Claire forced a grin. "No, thank you. Just the coffee will be fine."

  "Make that two." The deep voice came from behind the waitress. They both turned to the man sliding into the booth opposite Claire.

  He'd thrown a black leather jacket over his suit, and his hair was pulled further back off his face like he'd run his hands through it a few times, but the same air of confidence rolled off him as had at the party.

  "Add some pie to that as well, "He glanced at Claire, "You a peach or apple girl?" When she didn't answer, he glanced back at the waitress. "Bring one of each, we'll figure out who gets what later."

  Claire waited for the girl to step out of earshot before speaking. "Why are you following me?"

  She laced her fingers around her car keys in her lap, ready to strike out a hand if needed.

  Ignoring her question, he shed his jacket, reminding her how dominating he'd been at the party. "You won't believe I wanted to make sure you made it home okay."

  Claire shook her head.

  The waitress returned to fill two mugs, then gave Claire's guest a hard once-over. The low groan of approval she made while walking back to her station put a grin on his face.

  "Tell me the real reason you were at Forge's party, and I'll tell you why I followed you here."

  "I have a thing for rich men." She smiled despite his lack of reaction. "Tell me your name?"

  "Connor Blake. What's yours?"

  She could give a fake one, but in a town the size of Rebel Rapids, it wouldn't take long for Connor to find out the truth. "Claire."

  "Well, Claire." He leaned back into the booth and slung one arm on the headrest. "Before you showed up tonight, my biggest challenge was making sure reporters didn't get into the dinner."

  Claire swallowed hard on a sip of coffee. But there was no danger in his eyes or shift in his body language. He hadn't caught on to her being a reporter, at least for the time being.

  "And now," she ventured.

  He released a breath that made his upper lip puff out. "And now, You've got me in a tough spot. It seems my boss liked what he saw of you at the dinner, and now he wants me to bring you back to him."

  Claire's chest tightened. The thought of Henry Forge thinking of her as a plaything made the coffee she'd just drank come back up her throat. On the other hand, being liked by Henry meant getting close to the man in a way no one else could. She'd have more than an exclusive. She'd have the tell-all she offered the paper in exchange for a raise and assurance her job was safe.

  "What does your boss have in mind?"

  The waitress stopped by with the pie before Connor answered. "I'd rather you didn't find out."

  "What?" Claire squinted at him.

  "You heard me. I work for the guy. That doesn't make me his pimp. Stay away from him. You have no idea the kind of man you'll be dealing with if you don't."

  "What makes you think I can't handle myself?"

  Connor's eyes narrowed. He gave a sweeping glance over her entire body that made her skin heat.

  Ah. Claire got it. He didn't want her with Henry because he wanted her for himself. Fat chance, buddy. She'd long ago learned authority figures made for lousy bedmates.

  Connor may be attractive as hell sitting across the booth, brooding at her for questioning his authority, but she'd made it twenty-four years taking care of herself with very little help from anyone else. She didn't need his warnings to survive.

  Damn it to hell, why couldn't she just do as she was told and listen to him?

  Connor fought the urge to pick the woman sitting across the booth from him up and throw her over one shoulder.

  He'd march out of the diner with her kicking and screaming if he had too. He could lock her away in his apartment until he'd completed his investigation into Henry, and then he'd show her the man Henry Forge indeed was. The corrupt politician who wouldn't have an issue with hurting her or worse.

  When he came out of the deep thought and found Claire staring at him with wide eyes, he tamped down the anger. Saving people had been beaten into him during his military days. At all costs, the mission was completed, and the civilians stayed unharmed. That wasn't always the same for the soldiers.
He pushed that thought from his mind the second it popped up. Thinking about that last tour still got him into trouble.

  He stabbed at the pie in front of him and glanced at Claire. "I'm not saying you aren't capable of taking care of yourself. This isn't a challenge to see how strong you are. I'm telling you Henry Forge shouldn't be trusted with women. He sent me here to find and bring you back to him, and I'm telling you not to go. Would I put my job at risk if I didn't believe what I'm telling you?"

  Saying it out loud made his chest tight. Six months undercover and now a month away from breaking the case, if not sooner, and he'd blow his cover to keep Henry away from any young woman.

  Especially this one. Why? He couldn't put his finger on the reason. Maybe it was her confidence. Or, her lack of experience with men like Forge. He pushed the fact that his dick turned rock hard at the sight of her out of the equation.

  Claire leaned forward in the booth. She brought her face as close to his as she could manage with the table between them. "What if I told you I wanted you to take me back to him?"

  "I'd have to know why."

  "Why is none of your business."

  Her eyes sparkled, and her lips smiled, but he didn't miss the tremble of her hand on the table. She could fake bravado all she wanted, but he scared her. He could use that weakness to his advantage.

  "I'll make you a deal. You tell me why meeting Forge is so important to you, and I'll set something up with Forge in the morning. I will be there to make sure things go smoothly for both of you."

  "Why would I need to do that?" Her smile deepened, and her head angled to the side. "You said yourself he's interested. If I show up at his front gate, he won't turn me away."

  Connor lowered his arm and leaned in to meet her. "You'd be on your own with him. That wouldn't bother you?"

  She shook her head and slowly parted her lips to say, "no."

  No one dealt with Forge alone. The man was a lying snake, among other questionable qualities. Claire had more going on than an attraction to his money.

  "Forge isn't the kind of man who wines and dines. He does exactly what he wants, knowing he's above the law."

  "That's what I find most interesting about him. How does someone get to the point where the rules don't apply to them?"

  "And that's the exact attitude that will get you hurt. Forge doesn't like people who ask too many questions." In fact, the last person Henry employed as a bodyguard, died from a bullet to the forehead, but Connor still lacked enough evidence to prove the murder happened. He hated to think what he could do to a woman. Knowing what he did about torture, the thought turned Connor's stomach.

  "From where I'm sitting, you're more dangerous than your boss." Claire slid the tynes of her fork into her apple pie and pulled off the small tip of the wedge. "You've had your hands on me. You've followed me. You're sitting here now telling me what I can and can't do.

  Connor threw his hand in the air. "Fine. I'm the bad guy. I came here to warn you, but I can't make you listen." He pulled his wallet out and dropped a twenty on the table along with one of the fake Blake Security cards the police department had made for him. "You get in over your head, don't be afraid to call me." He tapped his finger on the card and looked square into Claire's eyes.

  "And you will get in over your head. And you will call me."

  Giving her a lifeline she'd need later was the only thing he could do if she didn't want to trust him. He just hoped he'd be able to get to her in time when she called.

  He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, leaving her to make up her own mind, and praying with every fiber of his being, she made the right choice.

  3

  Claire settled into her cubicle and turned on her laptop. After a weekend of researching Henry Forge, she knew as much about the man as she had a week ago. As far as the public records were concerned, Henry Forge didn't exist.

  Every lead turned into a dead end. The man had no past. No school pictures, old drivers licenses, arrest records, speeding tickets.

  "Any luck?" Tate placed a paper coffee cup from their favorite shop on her desk and took the chair beside Claire's. As long as Jacob wasn't in the office, Tate could wear her headset around to answer calls, which meant she could spend most of her day at Claire's desk.

  "Nothing yet. A whole weekend wasted finding out the man doesn't exist."

  "He must have a record if he is running for political office."

  "If only I knew someone with access to a criminal database who could find what I'm not finding and why."

  "You could ask Jacob. He's got a contact in the police department."

  "I could." Though keeping Jacob in the dark for as long as possible would assure she'd keep the exclusive on Henry for the paper. She couldn't risk being taken off the story because she hadn't found anything to lead with yet.

  "But you won't." Tate stood and picked up the small ceramic poodle Claire kept on her desk and examined it carefully. "You never ask for help. The trademark of a hard-headed reporter. No wonder Jacob likes you."

  "He doesn't," Claire said louder than she meant to. She took the poodle from Tate's hand and put it back on her desk. "And don't mess with that."

  Tate smiled. "You are a mystery, Claire Wilson. One day I hope you find someone who has the key to unlock everything you keep hidden."

  Tate took her coffee cup and made her way back to her desk on the other side of the office.

  Tate always wanted her to open up. To be more friendly. Hang out after work or on the weekend. Go to the spa together. Tate just couldn't understand girlfriends were a foreign idea for me. Claire took up her poodle and examined it. She'd paid a dollar for it the day before her mother's birthday, wrapping it in newspaper and giving it to her after school the next day.

  She still had it safely wrapped in her sweater inside her bookbag when the social worker showed up at school to take her to the first of many foster homes. Over the years, the poor little poodle had been her only constant, and now it sat on her desk as a reminder of how far she'd come.

  "Wilson." Her name rang through the hallway.

  Claire poked her head up above the wall of her cube to see the mail guy making his way to her desk.

  "Someone dropped this off at the front desk for you. Told the guard it was urgent."

  "Thanks." Claire examined the letter-sized envelope. No name. No markings. She bent the fasteners holding it closed and pulled out a black and white photo taken through the diner window with her and Connor sitting at the table.

  She flipped it to the back and a note:

  He's not who you think he is. The hundred block of Sycamore Street behind the grocery store dumpster at midnight.

  Claire flipped the photo over again and checked inside the envelope for more. Anything that hinted at who sent the picture.

  Who wasn't who she thought he was? Forge? Connor?

  Stunned, she sat back down and let the photo drop to her desk.

  She didn't know much about Henry Forge, but she had to admit she knew even less about the man who'd followed her to the diner. A quick search in the newspaper database could fix that.

  She searched her bag for the card he'd given her and typed in his name, amazed at the impressive list of articles that populated. Connor is BDUs. Connor in dress blues. Connor on crutches. He'd been a military man before coming to Rebel. He'd been honorably discharged with an injury.

  Her gaze landed on the next article headline, and her mouth fell open. Connor had been a prisoner of war.

  That explained his temper, but not why a man who'd risked his life for his country work for a man like Forge.

  She shut her laptop and slid it in her bag. She'd known there was something more to Forge than another slimeball running for government office, and Connor had mentioned him being above the law.

  She'd blow the roof off the paper if she exposed not only a crooked politician but also had the proof.

  "Claire," Tate called from her desk as she whizzed by.

 
"Tell Jacob I'm out on a lead. I'll call him in the morning with an update."

  "Where are you going," Tate yelled, but Claire didn't stop. She had a man to find and follow.

  If Connor could stalk her, two could play that game. And she had a perfect idea where she could find him.

  "Any intel we need to know about?"

  Connor sat opposite Detective Mitch Kilpatrick in the small interview room at the Rebel Rapids police department, giving his weekly debriefing on Henry Forge.

  "Same old, same old." Conner leaned back and propped a foot on the conference table. Being out of uniform in a department building made him too comfortable. Soon he'd have to remember how to behave again, but for now, he'd enjoy the lax attitude of being undercover.

  "How much longer do you think it will take Nashville to track the contacts you gave them last month?" Kilpatrick asked.

  Connor smiled. "They already found one of Forge's dealers in Mexico. His head was several feet from his body."

  Kilpatrick sucked in a sharp breath. "You're losing leads like water from a crack in a bucket. Do you think he's got someone on the inside who knows who you are? Could be tipping someone off."

  "Doubt it. Forge is smart, but he's not the mastermind behind this organization. He's only after the campaign funds added to his bank account each month. He doesn't care where they come from. Someone's killing to show they own this area of Tennessee."

  "Makes sense." Kilpatrick stood. "Let us know what we can do to help. I'm the only one in the department that knows you're a cop, but the boys have wanted to take Forge down for months. They won't hesitate to back you up, even as hired security."

  Connor stood to shake Kilpatrick's hand. "There is one thing." He toyed with the idea of asking about Claire since he'd walked in the department an hour ago, but had waited until they got the essential details out of the way. "There's a girl."

  "There always is. "Kilpatrick smiled.

  "This one is more of a pain in my ass. Claire Wilson? Short, brown hair, dark eyes, a death wish."

  Kilpatrick made a grunt in his throat. "She's a loner. New in town. She hasn't made many friends except within the newspaper office. Why?"