She’d been so upset in recent weeks about the stupid article that she hadn’t allowed herself to remember the past. Now that omission came back to haunt her. What did she know about men, after all? One nasty encounter just after her parents’ deaths had put her emotions into deep freeze. She didn’t want to feel like a sexual being. Acknowledging such vulnerability scared her to death.
Though Larkin was here to protect her, some deep survivalist instinct told her he was dangerous. And yet, paradoxically, that very danger called out to her. Suggesting that she might abandon her lifelong persona as a good girl and throw caution to the wind.
The evening passed with agonizing slowness. She was uncomfortably aware of Larkin’s presence mere steps down the hall. So accustomed was she to being alone in the house at night, she was distracted by the novel sense of companionship. After a couple of hours of legitimate work, as well as sixty minutes of guilty-pleasure TV, she took a shower and prepared for bed.
Though she had not heard a single sound from Larkin’s suite, his presence was loud. She imagined him walking around the room…or reading…perhaps stripping off his clothes and letting them lay where they fell as he strode into the bathroom and ran water in the Jacuzzi. Imagining a naked Larkin Wolff was not conducive to sleeping.
It was a cool night with no air-conditioning needed. But her skin was hot to the touch, and perspiration dampened her pillowcase. Grumbling at no one in particular, she climbed out of bed and flung open a window, leaning out to inhale the fresh, scented night air. At last, with the lacy sheers swaying in a light breeze, she returned to her bed and fell into a restless slumber.
* * *
Sometime around 2:00 a.m. the gentle beep of the alarm at her bedside went off. She jerked awake, fumbling to glance at the readout. Probably nothing more than a bird or squirrel on a windowsill. It had happened before. But she always checked. Always. Because she knew firsthand what it meant to be scared and helpless. She’d made it through her own dark days unscathed. Thank God. And that deliverance gave her a moral imperative to pay it forward.
After shoving her feet into flip-flops, she grabbed her gun from its hiding place, tucked a small flashlight into her pocket and tiptoed down the hall. Larkin’s quarters were silent. No hint of light beneath the door. He was probably sound asleep.
For one brief moment, she contemplated waking him. After all, she had hired Larkin to deal with intruders. But the alarms were extremely sensitive and often went off for no good reason. It would take her only minutes to dash down to the safe house, do a quick reconnoiter and come back to bed. Besides, the thought of waking Larkin made her shiver. Seeing him all sleep-rumpled and sexy might be a temptation she’d rather not face.
She wasn’t stupid, though. If anything at all looked dangerous or out of place, she’d back off immediately and get him to help her.
The grass was chilly and wet against her toes. She moved quickly but silently, sure of the familiar terrain. Overhead, the Milky Way arced its way across the sky, peopled with a billion stars. It was a night for lovers and romance. But as usual, she was alone.
When she reached her destination, she slowed, listening intently. Only if someone actually opened a window or door would the residents be awakened. Otherwise, Winnie dealt with the nuisance of the very sensitive alarms. Once, a groundhog had begun chewing through one of the wires, and all hell had broken loose. Even now, she remembered in vivid detail the looks of sleep-muddled terror on the faces of women and children in her care.
She moved covertly, fairly certain no danger lurked, but taking precautions, just in case. As she neared the back of the brick house, a shadow melted into the darkness. She froze. Was she seeing things, or had someone actually moved?