The Protector: MAC: A Cover Six Security Novel Read online

  "Not like that." He heard sirens in the distance, the wail slowly getting closer. He turned back to Daryl, who gave a quick shake of his head.

  "Not me."

  Who had called 9-1-1? There was nobody else around, the dark country road vacant except for Mac's truck and Daryl's large SUV parked at an odd angle on the side of the road. Did someone hear the accident and report it? Did someone drive by and notice his truck sitting near the edge of the pond, its engine running and the door wide open?

  Or did the unknown driver himself call it in? And if so, why?

  Mac brushed the questions away and climbed into the back of the truck, settling TR on his lap as Daryl got into the front. The other man leaned over and cranked the heat all the way up as Mac reached under his seat and pulled out a heavy bag.

  Daryl grabbed it from him, rummaged through the contents as Mac shifted TR enough to shrug out of his soaking jacket and toss it to the side. He grabbed the straps of TR's gown and tugged, trying to pull it off. He needed to get the wet clothes off her, needed to get her warm. Tugging wasn't working so he grabbed the tool he had used to cut her seatbelt and sliced the gown along the side seam.

  Daryl pulled an emergency blanket from the heavy duffle, quickly unfolded it then handed it back to Mac. "What the hell happened?"

  Mac wrapped the lightweight blanket around TR, tucked it around her shaking body then pulled her even closer, trying to share what little body heat he had. "I'm not sure. I was following her home, to make sure she made it okay. A car came out of nowhere, blinding me. He must have hit her, pushed her into the pond."

  Daryl turned in the seat once more, his odd amber eyes boring into Mac for a long second. "What makes you think it wasn't an accident? Just some random drunk on his way home?"

  "Because my gut says it wasn't." He didn't elaborate—he didn't have to, not with Daryl.

  "Mac..." TR's voice, hoarse and groggy, more like a rush of soft breath than a whisper. He tightened his arms around her, pulled her closer as he leaned down and brushed his lips against her cold cheek.

  "Shh, babe. I'm here. I've got you."

  She said something else but the soft words were lost amid the wailing sirens. Closer now, the red and white strobe lights of the emergency equipment splitting the darkness. Mac glanced behind him, squinted against the bright lights as his own body started to shake. From adrenaline? From the cold?

  From the gut-wrenching fear that he had come so close to losing TR?

  He looked up, noticed Daryl watching him with eyes that were carefully blank, showing nothing. A dozen different questions hung in the silence between them, questions that wouldn't be asked. Not here. Not now.

  A fire engine pulled alongside Mac's truck, followed by a medic unit. Personnel in turnout gear approached them, their body language cautious, wary despite the adrenaline Mac sensed in them.

  Daryl gave him one last look then offered a curt nod. "We'll talk. Later. After you both get checked out."

  "I'm fine. TR's the one—"

  "Both of you." The order was issued in sharp tones that left no room for argument, no room for discussion. Then Daryl opened the door and slid out, his deep voice clipped and impersonal as he spoke with the emergency personnel.

  The backdoor opened and a woman in her late-twenties leaned in, her doe eyes assessing the situation with a professional coolness that would have impressed Mac if she hadn't reached for TR. He tightened his arms around her even more and shifted sideways, protecting her with his body. The woman hesitated but only for a second as her dark eyes met his.

  "We need to get you both into the medic unit, sir." There was no surprise in her calm voice, no hint of frustration or impatience. Mac nodded, shifted TR's shaking body in his arms, then slowly climbed from the truck. The second medic, a young man who looked like he was barely old enough to shave, reached for TR then quickly dropped his hand at Mac's low warning.

  "I have her."

  Yes, he had her—and he was never letting her go. Not now.

  Chapter Two

  Cold. So cold.

  Something was wrong, she shouldn't be this cold—

  Memory slammed into her and she bolted upright, fighting against the panic that clawed at her. She couldn't breathe, she was drowning—

  "Easy, babe. I've got you." Strong arms wrapped around her, more comforting than the low words brushing against her ear. Tabitha "TR" Meyers blinked, fought against the dizziness of the disorientation, blinked again as her gaze finally focused on the man holding her.

  Mac.

  She closed her hands around his arms, holding on as if afraid he'd leave. Her breathing calmed enough for her to study her surroundings. The faded blue curtain hanging from the metal track suspended from the ceiling. The machines clustered beside her bed. The metal railing pulled up on one side and the multiple layers of white blankets covering her.

  She sucked in several deep breaths, fighting the sensation that each one would be her last. The air was stale, dry, off somehow and she slowly realized that it wasn't air she was breathing but rather oxygen, coming from the tubing wrapped around her face. Panic tore at her and she reached for the tubing, tried to pull it off, suddenly convinced it would suffocate her, strangle her.

  Mac's hand closed around hers, stopping her. "TR, you need to leave it in—"

  "I can't. Get it off. Please." She hated the pleading in her voice, hated the weakness but was unable to stop it, unable to do anything except suck in deep breaths, each one faster and shorter than the one before it.

  "TR, look at me."

  She struggled to pull her hand free, to yank the tubing from her face, her nose. "No. Get it off—"

  "Look at me." There was a command in his soft voice that she was unable to ignore. It cut through her panic, oddly calming. She moved her head, her gaze meeting his dark eyes. Those eyes held her in place, silently reassuring her. Calming her.

  "Just focus on me, babe. That's it. Nice and easy." He squeezed her hand, his gaze never leaving hers as he reached up and gently stroked her hair. Over and over, until her breathing slowed and the panic ebbed. "Better?"

  She closed her eyes and nodded, swallowed back her disappointment when he stopped stroking her hair.

  "Do you remember what happened?"

  She shook her head. Nodded. Shook it again even though flashes of memory danced in front of her. The New Year's Eve party at the Senator's house. Mac's arms around her, pulling her against him as he kissed her. The feel of her hand wrapped in his, so large and strong and warm as they drove back to the large warehouse that served as the main office for Cover Six Security.

  Awareness of Mac, anticipation of the hours ahead when he insisted on following her home. Would he walk her to the door? Yes, of course he would. But would he accept her invitation to come in? Her invitation to stay?

  She had been preoccupied during the drive back to her apartment, thinking of ways to convince him to stay, of ways to break through his hesitation. Yes, he had kissed her—a searing hot kiss that made her heart race and her toes curl. A kiss that heated her from the inside out and made her want to crawl inside him.

  Made her want, period.

  But could she convince him to give her more than a kiss, when it had taken nearly a year to get that? That's what she had been pondering when bright lights slashed across her vision, blinding her. She felt something hit her car, saw an explosion of white and then...nothing.

  Not until she had come to and felt herself surrounded by water, icy cold and dark. Felt it closing over legs and her chest as she struggled to get free. Felt it closing over her face and her nose as panic set it—

  "Easy, babe. I'm here. Everything's fine. I'm here. Deep breath. Relax." Mac's voice, soft and calming, his breath warm against her ear. She nodded, pulled in a shuddering breath, nodded again then opened her eyes.

  "I—I'm fine. I'm good."

  Mac's dark gaze penetrated hers, giving away nothing. She nodded again and moved back the slightest bit, suddenly n
eeding to put distance between herself and the burning intensity rolling off him.

  She lowered her gaze, her eyes skimming the network of scars covering his lower face and the shadow of scruff covering his jaw, the corded muscles of his strong throat, down to the stretched-out collar of his faded sweatshirt. She frowned. Gone was the elegant tux that had draped his large body, the fit perfectly accenting his broad shoulders and chest, his thick arms, his strong thighs. In its place was the thick gray sweatshirt, the edges of the collar stretched and worn. Faded denim hugged his legs, the fit loose and relaxed.

  Another odd sense of disorientation swam over her and she shook her head, trying to dislodge it. The feeling only grew worse when she looked down and noticed her own gown was gone, the silky black material replaced by the faded cotton of a hospital gown.

  Yes, she was in a hospital. That much had been obvious when she saw the curtain surrounding the bed, saw the machines next to her and felt the tubing against her face, her nose. But how long had she been here? Hours? Days? She glanced at her wrist, frowned when she saw only skin where her watch used to be.

  "It's a little after ten." Mac must have seen her confusion, sensed her unasked question because he added, "In the morning. The accident was last night."

  The disorientation faded and she squeezed his hand in silent thanks then looked around once more. She finally noticed the sounds coming from the other side of the curtain: the rush of hurried steps, the moans of patients and clipped tones of a nurse or a doctor, the beep of other machines, the muffled call over an intercom. Not a private room, then. The ER? Probably. Did it matter? No, not when she was ready to leave, to go home and curl up and just...forget.

  "How long do I need to stay here?"

  "Until the results of the last blood draw come back."

  TR looked down at her arm, noticed the IV line attached and resisted the urge to pull it out. "Blood test for what?"

  Mac shrugged. "Oxygen levels. Blood gases. Probably a few other things before they decide if you can be released or if you need to be admitted."

  "Admitted? I don't need to be admitted. I feel fine."

  Mac leaned forward, concern flashing in the depths of his intensely mesmerizing dark brown eyes. "You almost drowned, TR. You had the beginning stages of hypothermia. You could have died. I don't care how you think you feel, if they want to admit you, you'll let them."

  She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him again that she felt fine and wanted to go home, but there was something in his deep, gravelly voice; something in the depths of his eyes, some emotion she couldn't read, that kept her quiet. She pressed her lips together and looked away, suddenly tired.

  Drained. Exhausted.

  She rested her head against the flat pillow and closed her eyes, Mac's hand still holding hers. Strong. Warm.

  The next time she opened her eyes, the room was empty. That frightening and unaccustomed panic strangled her but she fought it off, refused to give into it. There was no explanation for the terrifying weight on her chest, no reason for the need to suck in deep breaths of air, as if each one was going to be her last.

  No reason...except that she had nearly drowned and almost died.

  TR closed her eyes, forced herself to inhale slow and deep, held that breath for a count of five. She made it to three before that suffocating sensation squeezed her lungs, taunting her.

  Stop it.

  The command did little to calm her so she repeated it again, more forcefully this time. There was no reason to panic, not now. She was very much alive, in the hospital where she was safe. Mac was on the other side of the closed curtain, talking to someone in a low voice.

  Yes, she was perfectly safe. Mac wouldn't let anything happen to her.

  She kept her eyes closed and tried to make out what he was saying but his voice was pitched too low. It didn't matter—he was probably talking to the doctor or maybe a nurse. That idea struck her as odd. Weren't medical personnel not supposed to talk to anyone other than family? They shouldn't be talking to Mac, not if she hadn't given them permission. She would have if they had asked, but nobody had—that she remembered. If the doctors were talking to anyone, it should be her mother—

  TR sat straight up, another kind of horror washing over her. Her mother! Had anyone called her? She'd be frantic with worry, demanding to know exactly what was going on, demanding that someone find the reckless driver who had nearly killed TR and to do it now or else...

  TR gave herself a mental shake. Of course nobody had called her mother. They—whoever they were—probably didn't have her contact info. That was just as well because TR didn't want her mom to worry. She was fine and her mother couldn't possibly even know about the accident. There was nothing her mom could do in any case so better to tell her after the fact.

  If TR told her at all.

  The curtain slid open and the greeting TR had been ready to give to Mac died on her lips. It wasn't just Mac standing there. Flanking him were two other men, both of them almost as large and intimidating as Mac. Neither one was a doctor and they both looked vaguely familiar.

  Her brain finally kicked into gear and with it, recognition: Daryl Anderson and Ryder Hess, two of the men Mac worked with. She had briefly met Daryl last year, just long enough for a quick introduction. Ryder, she had met only last week, when her car had been broken into at Penn Station.

  Had it only been a week? She frowned, thinking. No, less than a week. How was that even possible?

  Over that came another question: what were the two men doing here? And why were all three of them looking at her as if she had just risen from the great beyond?

  She pulled the blankets higher around her, trying to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way the three men were watching her. TR was ready to ask them what was wrong when a fourth man appeared and stepped around them.

  Not a doctor—a police officer.

  TR shot a nervous glance at Mac then looked back at the police officer when he introduced himself. Then he started rattling off questions, jotting down notes with each of her stuttered answers.

  What happened?

  Did she know what kind of vehicle hit hers? Color? Make? Model?

  How fast was she going? Did she know how fast the other car was driving?

  Had she been drinking?

  TR sat up a little straighter, her jaw clenched at the last question. Mac stepped forward, taking a spot directly next to her before reaching down for her hand.

  "She wasn't drinking. I already told you that. I also gave you all the other information."

  Daryl stepped forward, his brows lowered over deep-set amber eyes that were focused solely on Mac. He shook his head, just once, in Mac's direction. A warning? For what? And why? Was Mac in some kind of trouble?

  Was she?

  The police officer flipped the notepad closed and met Mac's unflinching gaze with his own steady one. TR felt like she was watching two alpha dogs squaring off for top position and nearly laughed, choking it back at the last second with a strangled cough.

  Did anyone else notice? Yes, Ryder must have because the corner of his mouth twitched in a quick grin. Maybe Mac had noticed, too, because his hand tightened around hers for the briefest second.

  The police officer simply told them he'd be in touch and left. Then, before TR could ask what that had been about and why the other men were here, Mac turned to her with a stony expression that contradicted the burning fury in his eyes.

  "They cleared you to go home. We're leaving."

  Chapter Three

  "You missed the exit."

  "No, I didn't."

  TR pointed out the window. "My apartment is that way."

  "I'm not taking you to your apartment."

  "But—"

  "No buts."

  TR pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders then shifted in the seat to study Mac. His left arm rested against the door frame and his right hand clenched the steering wheel. A mus
cle jumped in his jaw as he focused his gaze straight ahead on the empty lanes of I-83 stretching in front of them.

  TR clenched her own jaw against the chilled shiver that swept over her and briefly wondered if it was because she was still cold—it felt like she'd never be warm again—or if it had anything to do with Mac's eerie silence. He'd been quiet for the last hour, ever since he told her she had been cleared to leave. Not a pensive quiet, or a thoughtful quiet, or even a tired quiet. This silence was edgy, filled with a tension that filled the cab of the truck and made her want to curl up in a corner and disappear. Mac was angry and she didn't understand why, had no idea what had happened to cause the anger.

  It was wearing on her nerves, creating an answering tension inside her that was both unexpected and unwelcome.

  "If you're not taking me to my apartment, where are you taking me?" Impatience laced her voice, making the words come out sharper than she intended. Maybe that's what she should have done when they left the hospital thirty minutes ago because Mac finally looked over at her, surprise flashing in his eyes.

  "I'm taking you back to my place."

  Now it was her turn to be surprised. "Why?"

  "Why? Because you nearly drowned, TR, that's why."

  "What does that have to do with you taking me back to my apartment?"

  Mac sighed, the heavy sound laced with impatience. "You could develop pneumonia. There could be other complications. Somebody needs to keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours. At least."

  "So then take me back to my apartment and I can call my mom. She'll keep me company."

  "No."

  The finality of the word robbed her of speech. No? Was he actually refusing to take her home? She opened her mouth then immediately closed it again, not knowing what to say or how to respond. No? Seriously?

  She glanced out the window, saw the exit for Belfast Road whizz by, and suddenly realized she had no idea where Mac lived. Not that it mattered because his place wasn't her place—