Fully Engaged Read online

  “Soon, kiddo.

  “Sure. It’s just…”

  He hated hearing the disappointment in her voice. He loved his kid, but better to make sure she had lower expectations than to let her down. “The job makes it tough for me to get away sometimes, you know that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you have important things to do.” Her laugh thinned. “You would tell me about them, but then you would have to kill me.”

  How could he know her laugh thinned? Maybe it was just some weird sentimentality on his part because the cell phone connection was so clear she could have been right here in the room with him as they made more small talk. He asked her about school. Thanksgiving break. Things that didn’t mean anything, but he should have already known about.

  “Was there anything else you needed, kiddo? Because if not, can we talk later? I have to cut this short.” Nola would be back any second now.

  “Sure, Dad. Whatever.”

  He couldn’t miss the forced cheer in her voice and wanted to kick himself—not that he could do that much damage with even the better of his bum legs. “I will call later.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “Goodbye, Lauren, I l—”

  She disconnected before he could even finish saying he loved her.

  Nola hesitated in Rick’s door, hating to pull him out of his reverie as he stared at his closed cell phone cradled in his hand. You’d never know he was injured the way he sprawled on his bed like any other guy lounging at the end of a long day of work. He’d changed into fresh sweatpants and a T-shirt stretching over muscles.

  His hand still clutching the cell phone.

  Who was Lauren? Not that it should matter to her. Logic told her if he had a serious girlfriend, he would be moving in with that woman rather than Nola.

  One weekend five years ago gave her no right to feel jealous.

  So why was she standing here with the cookies he’d forgotten in her hand feeling the need to close the door on that part of her life? Had she asked him to move in with her because she had some maniac blowing up things in her life?

  Maybe the whole move-in thing had been some spontaneous goof-up that he already regretted now that the Lauren person had called.

  Nola rapped her knuckles on the door, drawing his attention away from the phone and to her. “Did you mean it when you said you were going to move in with me?”

  “I never make promises I can’t keep.” His thumb moved back and forth over the small silver phone.

  “Never?” She inched into the room, unable to help noticing how stark it looked for a place he must have lived in for months. Whenever she’d spent even a week in the hospital, she’d brought pictures and a water fountain from home along with her helmet to serve as motivation to recover her health and her life. “It must be tough carrying around that much perfection.”

  He crossed his feet at the ankles, lounging in bed, a look she remembered as well as the errant twinkle sparking to life in his eyes. “When you have a mouth this big, you have to be right.”

  Laughter bubbled from her in a surprising burst.

  She smiled along with him. How could she not? And what a time to realize she hadn’t smiled this much in… She couldn’t recall how long. “That ego must be mighty heavy to tote around, too.”

  “You’ve spent enough time in the military to know it’s important to be able to make decisions quickly in the field. Once committed to the plan of action, see it through.”

  Except she wondered if he could still be in the military with the injury to his legs. That would have to chew at him. Attitude was so important to recovery. She wondered if she would have even made it without the hope of regaining her place in the cockpit again.

  Imagining his pain stole the smile from her face. She set the cookies on his bedside table. What a pitiful offering to someone who’d lost so much.

  He popped the lid off and pulled one out, waving for her to have a seat in the leather recliner beside the industrial hospital roller table. “Have you had any more thoughts on who would want to blow you up beyond that mystery stranger?”

  She sat, because then he would have an excuse to stay right where he was, all comfy on his bed, not because she wanted to stick around longer. Hah. Liar. “I lead a pretty benign life. The only people who want to blow me up are enemies overseas and it’s not a personal thing, ya know?”

  “Sure.” He couldn’t stop from asking, “You’re absolutely certain your ex-husband’s not the stalker type?”

  “The last thing my ex wants is to lay eyes on me again. Peter’s happily married with a pretty new wife living in Georgia. And yes, that stung for three frozen margaritas, a hangover and a week beyond that before I decided to move on.” She took a deep breath. “He has two baby girls and another kid on the way.”

  “That bites.”

  She jolted. She hadn’t expected sympathy. “Yeah. Far worse than losing the scumbag.”

  “My mom still seems to think I want updates on my ex’s dating life.”

  “God save us from helpful relatives.” Was that plural ex wives? Or just one? She was tempted to ask but that would put them on a more intimate footing before moving in together.

  Not wise.

  He toasted her with a cookie, chewing down two before he spoke again. “Who knew you were here?”

  She bristled. “Are you insinuating I didn’t tell the police everything?”

  “God, you’re a prickly thing. I was just wondering if you held back. Sometimes there are things we think sound silly or unimportant.”

  Her stiff spine eased. “You’re trying to help and I should be grateful. This whole thing just has me wound tight. I’m used to worrying on the job, but damn it, I treasured the safe haven of home to recharge between missions and now this stalker has encroached on that.”

  “Burnout bites, too, doesn’t it?”

  Burnout? He had his wires crossed there, but she wasn’t going to argue with the man. Better to change the subject. “I’m going to say this one last time. The second I asked you to move in, I regretted it. These are my problems and I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to you because of me.”

  “Well, like I said before, seems as if we’re stuck with each other. So if you don’t mind a stubborn, bum leg bodyguard, I’m ready to sign on for the job. God knows I’d like to get out of this place and the last thing I want is one of the prison warden nurses watching over me 24-7.”

  “So you think I’m a pushover?”

  “Hmm. I guess I don’t really know you, do I?”

  She swallowed hard against the memory of the things they did know about each other, intimate things that heated the air like the lotion he’d rubbed all over her body the second day they’d made love because one night hadn’t been near enough. Leaving him had been more than difficult. She’d wanted more, so much more, but time had run out for her.

  Now here they were again. What was he saying? She needed to keep sharp around him or her mind would muddle up and she would do something impulsive like ask him to move in with her.

  “I may not know you, but I have decent instincts, and I believe you’ll be fair. Plus, you have a day job that will give me some breathing room.”

  “Breathing room is important to you.”

  She seemed to give him claustrophobia, because his gaze finally broke with hers, away, out the window to the sky he no longer sailed through, only him and his parachute. She imagined the clouds called to him. That she could well understand because the sky called to her as a pilot. She couldn’t imagine having her wings clipped.

  Finally, he looked back. “Breathing room is critical. Call it my cave time.”

  “A man who admits to Cro-Magnon traits?” She stuck a finger in her ear and twisted. “I can’t have heard right.”

  “What can I say? My ex made sure I understood myself well.”

  There he went mentioning the ex again. How recent was the divorce? Did it have anything to do with his injuries? He hadn’t been wearin
g a ring five years ago. Okay, she was thinking way too much about his personal life. “This whole moving in together sounds good, but…”

  “You’re having second thoughts about my coming to Charleston with you.”

  “I have some kind of maniac trying to blow me up and the last thing I want is to put somebody else in danger. Damn it. I should have thought this through.”

  “I’ve already told you, lady, you can’t shake me loose now. If you won’t let me in your house, I’ll be sleeping in a tent in your yard, and believe me, the cold air and humidity will play hell on the rods in my legs.”

  In spite of his humor, he was set on a path as steely as the metal in his legs. She could tell he wasn’t going to back off. She would just have to hope and pray the police protection around her house would be enough to keep them both safe.

  Rick had helped her before, and while it had only taken a couple of days, she couldn’t walk away from him while he was in need even if it took longer to help him through his recovery.

  As much as she chafed at the idea of playing to the he-man syndrome, she also walked in that world daily. She understood how much more it must chafe at him to have the props kicked out from under him.

  Men didn’t seem to get the fact their strength came from so much more than catapulting out of airplanes.

  All a moot point. Apparently he’d decided his redemption lay in protecting her. And he did need her, too. She owed him for that weekend five years ago. She might not have made it through without the confidence he gave her. So much of her survival depended on the mental.

  Something she could give him now.

  “All right, roomie. How fast can we spring you from this joint?”

  Through the café window, he watched the smoldering remains of her car in the lot, firefighters waiting, their foam caking and crackling like an over-baked meringue. Cops were long gone, having already finished their note taking and investigation.

  They never even saw him from his perch in the nearby greasy spoon where he inhaled the scent of frying hamburgers and humanity.

  If he wanted Nola Seabrook dead now, she would be six feet under. But he liked the hunt.

  She always used her remote starter for her car, so he’d known she would thumb the button rather than turn the key. The look of shock, the fear on her face when her car exploded had been well worth the risk of planting the device in open daylight. Of course the thrill, the rush, that’s what this was all about.

  Recapturing what he’d lost.

  She would die—eventually. He had his timetable, but it would be his. He was in control of his life again. He didn’t need his youthful body. He’d learned to dominate with his mind, his brain. Working his way onto the military hospital parking lot had been a rush.

  His street-smart wits combined with his warrior-honed skills made him indomitable.

  The fun was in the cat-and-mouse game. She owed him for the humiliation she’d caused. She wouldn’t get away from him this time.

  He started to leave, but reconsidered. He needed to eat after all. What better way to savor this victory than with a meal while he regrouped for the next stage of his battle plan?

  Apparently he wasn’t the only one watching the rehabilitation center with such interest long past what the burning vehicle warranted. A teenage girl stared at the medical building—the windows, not the SUV. She clutched her cellular phone in her hand, her too-tight jeans slung low on her hips with too many holes in them to be accidental. Why did these youths want to appear poor? He’d been poverty-stricken and it was not fun or trendy.

  She pocketed her cellular phone and sidled up to the linoleum counter. “I’d like an application for a waitress job.”

  The woman behind the cash register shook her head. “We’re not looking for any more after-school help.”

  The girl shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Please, I work really hard and it says right there you need help.”

  “Don’t want no troublemaking teenagers.” The woman—Jo Nell, her tag read—folded her arms underneath her well-harnessed breasts.

  “I won’t cause trouble. Besides, it doesn’t look to me like you can be picky.” The girl’s eyes stayed strong, defiant, but her voice had just a hint of desperation. “How about I work for a trial hour, with no pay? Then you can decide. Looks to me like you’ve got your hands full with all these gawkers trolling in from that car explosion…”

  The man working the griddle leaned into the pass-through window. “Jo Nell, quit your yacking and give the girl a chance. She’s right. Orders are coming faster than you’re filling them.” He pitched a pad and pencil her way before snatching up a spatula again. “Number seven coming up!”

  The teenager snatched an apron and hooked it over her neck. “Thanks a million. You won’t regret it. I’ve got hardworking genes.”

  Tennis shoes squeaking, she wound her way across the room with a single-minded determination that made him grin with memories he had not allowed himself in months.

  Pencil poised over her paper she stopped by his table. “Have you decided yet what you’ll have?”

  “I most definitely have.” He folded the menu closed. “What is your name, chica?”

  “Lauren, and hopefully that’ll be on my own name tag at the end of the next hour so I can work here near my dad’s hospital.”

  Once he finished placing his order, he smiled at the innocent child, thinking of his own family he’d lost because of Nola. “Good luck, little Lauren. And be careful in this big city. I would hate for bad luck to visit anyone as lovely as you.”

  Chapter 4

  Eyes gritty from lack of sleep, Nola turned the rental car into her dusty driveway and wondered what Rick would think of her little waterside bungalow on a barrier island outside of Charleston, South Carolina. The headlights sweeping the yard showed nothing disturbed. Her alarm system wasn’t blaring. Her nearest neighbor, ex-cop Malcolm Cuvier, had kept the lawn in order and watched out for intruders.

  All seemed right in her home at least.

  Moonbeams reached across the reedy water to illuminate her yellow clapboard house. One story, two bedrooms, with a long living-kitchen area that overlooked a porch along the bay. Not much space, but then how many square feet did a woman need who never planned to marry or have children?

  Car idling, she stretched in the leather seat, only to find Rick…

  Asleep?

  Some watchdog.

  Of course he was still recovering and this had to have been a long day for him, even for a fellow who appeared as vital as he did. They both knew he was around for show more than any actual protection he could provide. That had to grate on him. She remembered well her own frustration with how long it took to get back up to speed with simple tasks like cooking a meal without needing a nap—which then meant reheating the darn meal if the whole thing wasn’t ruined by the time she woke up.

  Rubbing the back of her neck, she threaded her fingers through her hair and shook it loose, relaxing in her seat and staring at her home through “Rick eyes.” What had once seemed a lovely hide-away now appeared dangerously isolated. A few lonely crickets chirped, even this late in November, hearty stock hanging around until Thanksgiving week, but nothing else, no one else, her nearest neighbor a mile away through thick trees filled with Spanish moss.

  She would be spending the holiday with a man she barely knew, even given the day spent in the car making small talk. Now she knew what fast food he liked—a Big Mac. And what kind of music he enjoyed—retro rock. Still, in her house out here in the middle of nowhere with no family, no love, she felt…vulnerable.

  Nola didn’t like that feeling much. The cancer nightmare had been rife with helplessness and while she’d tried her best to hold strong, nobody could make it through something like that without moments—hell, to be honest, much longer than moments—of gut-wrenching tears and fears.

  This stalker thing brought those feelings back to the fore at a time when she should have been able to put the wh
ole experience behind her. The bastard trying to scare her may not have harmed her, but he had stolen the beautiful sanctuary of her home.

  She’d bought the waterside cottage as a gift to herself once she’d begun to trust remission and wasn’t trucking it to the doctor every three minutes for some treatment or another. Solitude became a treasured rarity during that first year, her body out there for every doctor, nurse, aide and student to poke, prod and study.

  Hurt.

  The pain, the total loss of privacy, the tubes, everything had been beyond imagining. Nothing could have prepared her, and heaven knows she’d read and researched every last detail.

  Whoa. Back up. Dump that in the past. She didn’t want to go there ever again, especially now. Wasn’t seeing Rick again about moving ahead? She could help him even if she couldn’t help herself.

  “So,” Rick’s deep voice growled from beside her, “are we gonna sleep in the car or head inside?”

  Nola would have jerked clean out of her skin if it weren’t for years of military training. She turned the key off and pulled it from the ignition. “I thought you were already asleep.”

  “Nope. Just watching you through my eyelashes.” He straightened with a stretch and yawn, his bulging arms and body filling the confines of the vehicle, a bulk better suited to a larger SUV. “People give away more when they think people aren’t looking.”

  “What did you expect to find out about me from staring?” She hated the whole lab item under a microscope feel. “Sheesh, Rick, you could just ask.”

  “Right.”

  She didn’t like this at all. What had she given away about herself to this apparently too perceptive man?

  He opened the door and hauled himself out by holding on to the door frame, the moon casting shadows down the hard angles of his face. She couldn’t help but notice more hollows than before.

  Sympathy tweaked, chasing away her own insecurities. “Can I help y—?”