He knew something was wrong as soon as he pushed through the neighbor’s bushes and spotted Harrison draped over the steering wheel. SDDU jokes about the Secret Service aside, no way would Harrison be sleeping.
Danny ran the rest of the way to the Lincoln, saw the blood on the man’s temple. He reached in through the driver’s-side window and checked the pulse—faint but steady.
He flipped open his phone as he dashed for the house.
“Daniel DuCharme. Officer down. Requesting backup and a bus,” he said, using the standard law-enforcement jargon for an ambulance, and gave the address.
The front door was locked from the inside. He went to the back, gun in hand.
A quick scan of the property showed it empty. Where was Green? Oh, hell. He spotted the man sprawled behind the large air conditioner unit. Danny crouched and felt for sign of life. None. Green hadn’t been as lucky as Harrison.
Waiting for backup never even crossed his mind.
The back door opened silently under the pressure of his hand. He stepped into the kitchen and stilled for a moment, listening. The house stood silent, lights still on in the kitchen and hallway, same as he’d left it. No sign of struggle.
“Congresswoman?”
All his senses were on alert as he moved from room to room then up the stairs. He hadn’t thought he was going to find Kaye Miller sleeping peacefully, but when he finally made his way into the bedroom, the sight of the empty bed was like a fist in the stomach.
She’d either been taken or there was a body somewhere else in the house. He hadn’t seen the basement and the garage yet.
He had lost her, damn it. He had lost her within hours of taking on the assignment. He sure as hell didn’t want to be giving that news to the Colonel. And the cold feeling that spread in his stomach went deeper than professional frustration.
Fury came in waves. He was mad at whoever had gotten in here and at himself, too, at least as much. He shouldn’t have left. He kicked at the bullet casings on the floor. No blood anywhere. That didn’t mean she was alive, just that they hadn’t killed her here. Still, as long as he hadn’t found the body there was always some hope.
Something thumped above, and he jerked up his head. What was that? Then it came again, the sounds of struggle. The attic. He knew just where the door panel was, had noted it on his first run-through of the house.
A jumble of clothes covered the closet floor. He trampled them without thought as he jumped for the edge of the opening in the ceiling. He pulled himself up and, flipping on the flashlight he’d carried on his belt, saw the two figures rolling on the floor in the far corner and ran for them.
“Stop! Hands up! Kaye?”
They went on as if they hadn’t even heard him.
He couldn’t shoot. They were too close together.
He dropped the flashlight so he could grab for the man. The guy’s head came up suddenly and smacked into his right elbow, making him drop the gun. He caught it with his left hand on reflex, shoved the man away from Kaye with the other hand and shot. The attacker was moving now, fast, tumbling away from them in the darkness.
“Kaye?” Why wasn’t she talking? She had to be alive. He’d seen her move just a few seconds ago.
He glanced back at her as he rushed after the man. She wasn’t getting up.
“Kaye?” He slowed, even though fighting instinct pushed him to go after his opponent, put him down until the man could no longer come up.
He squeezed off another shot at the silhouette that darted across the dark attic, then turned around and went back to Kaye. He picked up the flashlight and got the beam on her in time to see her sit up.
She was okay. He caught his breath. She was okay.
“I’m a little dizzy.” Her voice sounded hoarse, her hands coming up to rub her neck.
“Are you injured, Congresswoman?” He kept his back to her, shielding her with his body, his head half turned so he could keep an eye both on her and on anyone who might come at them.
She reached for his arm. “Somebody was in here. He was choking me.”
“I know.” He panned the attic with the flashlight but it was empty save for the two of them.
“He had a gun. It’s here somewhere.” She glanced around frantically. “I knocked it from him, but then I couldn’t find it.”
“You disarmed your attacker?” That would explain why the guy wasn’t shooting back.
He turned the flashlight at the floor and found the weapon hiding in the pink insulation. A Beretta with a silencer. He left it there for the crime scene team, not wanting to taint evidence. “Can you make it down from here?”
She was already standing and moving toward the light that came from below.
“Me first.” He jumped down. “Okay.” He braced his stance and caught her, then set her on her feet.
She wore silk pajama shorts with a slinky matching top. But far from enjoying the view, it filled him with hot anger. Her left shoulder was covered in old greening bruises, her neck and arms red with fresh abrasions, finger marks where the attacker had grabbed her.
“I should have been here.” What the hell had he been thinking? He’d made the mistake of underestimating the situation and overestimating the men who had guarded her. And his mistakes had nearly cost her her life.
She didn’t respond—probably too shaken.
When she reached for the light switch, he put a hand on hers to stop her. “Let’s not give anyone a target,” he said. “In case there’s someone out there.”
Her hand trembled in his.
“Come on.” He pulled her forward. “You need to sit down.”
He led her to the bedroom with his gun raised, walking in front of her. The room was empty. He was pretty sure the rest of the house was too by now. Unless the attacker was exceedingly stupid, he would have taken the fastest way out.
She sank onto the mattress, and he grabbed her robe from the chest at the foot of the bed then wrapped her in it. “Are you okay?”
“Are you going after him?”
He wanted to. More than anything, he wanted to catch the bastard and pummel him a little before he slapped the cuffs on. But leaving her wasn’t a good idea. Not until backup got here, by which time, of course, it would be too late. “I’m staying with you.”
She just about sagged against him.
“Thank you. And thank you for coming back in time.”
He said nothing, not happy with his performance. He hadn’t expected a second attack, and certainly not this soon.
She shivered next to him. The night was balmy, but the shock of the attack was probably getting to her. He picked up a light blanket that lay discarded on the floor and slipped it around her shoulders, spotted a small picture on the floor and picked it up. He rubbed his thumb over the bullet hole in the frame. The photograph looked old, showing two young, uniformed black men.
“Your family?”
“My grandfather.” She pointed to the man on the right. “And this one is Cal’s father.” She took the picture from him and set it on the dresser. “They were Tuskegee Airmen together.”
“No kidding? Is that how you and the Colonel know each other?”
“Cal is my godfather.”
His body was alert, his mind one-hundred-percent focused on the sounds of the house, on guard against any possible attack. But in a separate compartment somewhere inside him, something relaxed and opened.
“The Colonel is a good man,” he said.
“Yes, he is.” She clutched the blanket together in front of her, but the dark shadows of her bruises were still visible on her neck.
“Would you like some ice for that?” He pointed.
“It’s not that bad.”
It was. “When the paramedics get here, we’ll have them take a look at it.”
“Where is everybody? Where are Mr. Green and Mr. Harrison?” She looked up abruptly as if just now remembering.
“Harrison is injured. Green didn’t make it. I called for help when I got here. They should be here soon,” he said.
She turned toward him, her eyes round in the darkness, her lips trembling. “What do you mean didn’t make it? What happened to Mr. Green?”
“Shot.”
“Dead?”
She braced her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands, her hair falling forward. She didn’t say anything.
He wanted to put his arms around her, but it seemed wildly inappropriate. And it probably wouldn’t be adequate either. A man had given his life for her. He knew what that felt like and remembered the teammates he had lost over the years. She would need time to deal with the idea.
“He was doing his job. We all know what we’re in for when we sign up for an assignment,” he said, knowing he could take away neither her guilt nor her grief.
“Where is Mr. Harrison? Can we help him?”
“He’s in the car.”
She got up and went to the window. He pulled her back. “You can’t leave the house, and I’m not leaving you. From what I could tell he just got knocked out.”
He pushed her onto the bed gently and decided to do the only thing he could and try to distract her.
“Did you recognize anything about the man who attacked you? Body? Voice?”
She shook her head. “I was barely awake at first. Then we were up in the attic and it was too dark to see. The voice didn’t sound familiar.”
“As soon as the police get here I’ll have them dust for prints.”
“I want to know who he was and why he is doing this to me.” Anger stole into her voice. “What did Mr. Green die for? I want to know.” The last word was said on a restrained sob.
“You will.” He would see to it.
She was not leaving his sight again until the attacker was dead or in custody.
“WHY ARE we coming down here?” Kaye picked her steps with care on the steep staircase. “I don’t think we should—”
“The house is crawling with Secret Service and D.C. cops. It’s a good spot to be out of the way.”
Daniel DuCharme flipped on the light, and she stepped off the last step after a moment of hesitation. She hadn’t been down here in ages. Both the workshop half and the gym portion of the single large room looked eerie, like a forgotten kingdom of dreams.
There had been a time when she’d hated to come down because the memories the place brought were too painful. The basement had been Ian’s domain. It took more than a year, before she could look at his things without crying.
Now the place was just a room.
Her new bodyguard checked out the exercise equipment. She never used it, didn’t have the time. The stack of weights gleamed on the carpet. Her housekeeper kept everything dusted and vacuumed. She was a gem. Kaye pushed in one of the hand weights to bring it in line with the rest.
He was watching her. She could see him from the corner of her eyes. She adjusted another weight and nearly knocked it off the rack. He was making her nervous. Ridiculous.
She turned to him. “Did you have more questions for me?” Better to face him than start acting like a jittery idiot.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was staring.”
Something had changed since last night, something she couldn’t put her finger on. There was another layer to what passed between them. What? What was different? Did he still feel guilty for leaving her?
He could join the club. Guilt was eating at her over Green and Harrison.
She watched Danny. Last night his mood had been as dark as the attic where she’d fought for her life. Not now, although she could still see some of the tension in him. But it seemed he had compartmentalized the events of the night so he could go on with his work. She’d do well to follow his example.
He bent his head then looked up with those breathtaking eyes. “You know, you’re the most famous person I’ve ever guarded. I’ve seen you on TV a million times.” His lips stretched into a semblance of a smile.
He’d watched her on TV. A lot of people did. No reason the thought should fluster her.
What was it with them this morning? Maybe the danger they had shared the night before had brought them closer. Maybe it was that he was the only person in the house she knew. All the agents upstairs were new to her case.
“Do you do this often? Work as a bodyguard, I mean.” She could have written the book on sounding and appearing composed and dignified. She could handle him.
“Most of my assignments don’t involve protection.”
What did they involve? Surveillance? Infiltration? Espionage? She didn’t ask. Knowing that he worked for Cal gave her a fair idea.
“Nice setup,” he said just before the silence became uncomfortable, nodding at the universal gym next to him.
“You’re welcome to use any of this.” Was that why he’d brought her here? To ask?
“Thanks.” He paused. “Actually, we’re here for you.”
That took her by surprise. “You want me to work out?”
Great. He’d brought her here to whip her into shape? She looked down on reflex then snatched her gaze up, feeling stupid. He wasn’t interested in the circumference of her thighs, for heaven’s sake. He probably thought she was too old to look at that way. He just wanted to help her take care of herself.
He leaned against the bench press. “I want you to learn self-defense.”
She glanced at him then away, feeling uncomfortable with the suggestion. She could have handled a couple of pushups, improving general strength and whatnot. Self-defense training involved touching.
“My security detail was just doubled. I’m not really good at this kind of thing. I spend most of my life behind a desk.”
She wasn’t a very physical person. The whole flight into the attic had been a fluke. She’d been able to do it because she hadn’t had the time to think about it.
“You fought off your attacker for several minutes, long enough for help to get to you. That was excellent. With some training, you could do even better should you need to next time.”
There can’t be a next time. She panicked at the thought.
He seemed to read her. “Two attacks don’t happen on a whim. Someone set a goal of taking you out and they’re working on achieving it.”
“We’ve been ill-prepared before. I think now—”
“Stand over here,” he said, and when she did, he grabbed her arm without warning and pulled her to face him.
Her heart hammered in her chest. In some recess in her mind she realized he was waiting for her to fight, to prove that she knew what to do. She couldn’t. She froze.
He let her go after a few seconds, and she stepped away, annoyed at him for testing her, mad at herself for not rising to the challenge. He’d taken her by surprise. And the whole thing felt too weird. Did he really expect her to hit him?
“What are my most vulnerable spots?” He stood with his feet apart, watching her closely.
Her gaze dropped to the fly of his pants then bounced back up. “The male organs,” she said. She was not going to let herself be rattled by this.
“What else? If you had to fight me off, where else would you hit me?”
All she knew about fighting was what she’d seen in action movies. “A right hook to the jaw?”
He gave her a lopsided grin that made him look even more handsome, and she felt a sudden unreasonable wish to be young again. She brushed it aside. She’d gone through all these years without making a fool of herself in the public eye. She wasn’t about to start now.
“That only works if you have the strength to put behind it. You’d just bust your knuckles.” He shook his head. “Think, Congresswoman.”
Given the circumstances, the formality between them seemed unnecessary. “Kaye. Why don’t you just call me Kaye?”
“And you’ll drop the Mr. DuCharme?”
Her brief nod brought another smile to his face. She steadied herself and answered his earlier question. “The stomach?”
“That’s good, especially if you have a weapon that’s hard enough to ram in there, or if you’re on the ground and can kick with your feet. Your thigh muscles are one of the largest in the body. You angle your feet right, and with your back braced on the floor, you can deliver a pretty good kick.”
Her number-one strategy for any kind of attack was to run like the wind. If she was on the ground, it meant things weren’t going well. Still, now that she’d been there, under an attacker who had tried to kill her in her own attic, she could value the advice.
“What else?” He pushed on.
“Legs? Hook the legs from under him?”
“Might work. If you can come at him from above, a good kick at the knee might break it backward, too. You’d be surprised how fast that’ll stop someone.”
Her brain immediately supplied what that would feel and sound like, and she flinched.
“No rules, no limits,” he said. “You’ll do whatever you have to. If you’re close enough, rolling on the floor like last night, you can go for the eyes. Especially if anyone has his hands around your throat.” He stepped closer and placed his thumb gently in the inside corner, right by her nose.
His skin was warm and he didn’t press, but still a shiver ran through her. Could she do that?
“No rules,” he said again as he dropped his hand. “Trying to pry off an attacker’s fingers won’t work. Remember, you’re getting less and less oxygen, getting weaker and weaker. Anytime there’s any injury to the eye there’s a powerful reflex to protect it. You shove your thumb or finger into the man’s eyes, his hands are going to come up on instinct. It’ll give you a chance to breathe, knee him, hit him, maybe inflict enough pain to get away.”
She nodded hesitantly. The things he was saying made sense. And he wasn’t trying to get her to do anything fancy, just a few simple moves. Still, she felt uncomfortable. She was ready to go upstairs and get out of the intimate seclusion of the basement.
He had not been threatening, rather the opposite, but he had paid closer attention to her, touched her more than any man had in a long time. She wasn’t ready for it.
“The windpipe is a good spot, too.” He lifted his chin to show her the exact place. “If you get a chance to punch it or kick it hard enough to crush the thing.”
Uncomfortable or not, she had to pay attention. Her life might come to depend on it. She tried to picture herself whacking someone in the neck. Could she do it? Would she remember it if the moment came? The struggle in the attic flashed into her mind, cold fear squeezing her heart. She hoped she would.
“Okay then.” Danny rolled his neck. “Let’s practice. Let’s pretend you’re trying to get out of here. What do you do?”
She moved toward the stairs. He blocked her way. He was half a head taller than she, not massively muscled but wide-shouldered with an easy fluidity to his strength. When she tried to go around him, he blocked again. She lifted a hand, but couldn’t make up her mind exactly what to do with it.
“Go ahead, you can push me,” he said.
She did. Fast. She didn’t dare hesitate and notice the way his chest felt under her palm.
The next second she was spun around, her back pressed to the very chest she’d been trying to ignore, both of Danny’s arms locked around her. She froze again, just like the first time. She’d had all kinds of security details before, but nobody had ever manhandled her like this.
“Now what?” he said next to her ear.
She brought an elbow back and touched it tentatively to his chest.
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, flinching at how stupid that sounded.
“We’ll take the chance.” His tone was laced with humor, his grip tight.
She brought her elbow back with more strength and met a solid wall of muscle.
“Not bad. Now this time do it as if your life depended on it.” He tightened his grip and pressed against her, his hot breath on her neck.
And she could feel again the way the man in the attic had pressed her into the uneven floor. She felt the panic of the dark. She jammed her elbow into his ribs as hard as she could, then the other one in a rapid second strike. She tried to bring her heel up to kick him where it counted, but there wasn’t enough room.
He loosened his grip, but not by much. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” His voice wasn’t exactly strained, but his tone wasn’t as flippant as it had been earlier. “If his head is directly behind yours, you can try smacking your skull into his face. You might break his nose,” he went on.
“Gross.”
“You turn squeamish, even for a second, and you’re dead. You’re not going to get a second chance.”
She nodded.
“Good. So you break his nose. Then you could lift both arms to the side and drop your weight. Do it as suddenly as you can. If you’re on the ground when you get free, roll to your back immediately and kick the testicles, hold nothing back. When he doubles over, kick the head—chin, nose, anything is good. Use maximum force.”
She dropped as he’d said and succeeded, although she was pretty sure he’d let her for the sake of practice. She ended up in a crouch at his feet.
“If you come out like that, step forward as you move up to give yourself some room. Don’t waste time on trying to turn around fully, just turn your head. Bring your right foot up, heel into the groin. Again, when he bends over, kick his head hard. The second he’s slowed down, run as fast as you can.”
She moved forward as she stood, turned her head.
“Let’s not waste each other’s time. Do it like you mean it,” he said.
Fine. She kicked as hard as she could.
He blocked it effortlessly, but doubled over to give her a chance to practice the follow-up kick. She did her best. He moved out of the way in the last fraction of a second.
“Okay, now I’m going to show you what to do if someone grabs you face to face, and a couple of other things. Then we’re going to practice them.”
They did. He wouldn’t let her stop until her T-shirt was soaked with perspiration and she was gasping for air.
“Your stamina needs work, too,” he said with arms folded over his chest as he watched her, looking as rested and relaxed as if he’d been an observer for the past hour instead of an active participant. “You should get on the treadmill when you have some time.”
She took a deep breath and said, “I need a shower,” instead of biting out the retort that burned her tongue.
He’d shown her an area of incompetence and she didn’t like it. She liked knowing what she was doing. She enjoyed being the best. In politics, she’d worked hard, sacrificed whatever she had to, to get where she was. She wasn’t used to feeling inadequate.
But he was right. She did need a lot of work when it came to self-defense. He was right, and she was grateful that he cared enough to tell her things she didn’t want to hear. In her position, that didn’t happen a lot. He was here to save her life, not to make her feel good. She would do whatever he said.
She moved toward the steps, but once again he blocked her way, shaking his head.
“You’re going to have to get through me,” he said with a cocky smile.
She was irritated enough to fight him as if she meant it. He blocked every punch, every kick. In a flash of frustration, she brought her heel down on his toes with full force, letting loose a cry that was downright savage.
God, that was embarrassing.
They both went still.
“Good. I didn’t teach you that. You remembered the no-rules rule. You’re learning.” He grinned and stepped aside to let her by.
“You don’t work like the other agents,” she said as she walked up the stairs, feeling foolishly proud of herself all of a sudden.
He watched her with a calculating look. “As far as the new men are concerned… How do you feel about cutting back a little?”
“You don’t think we need this many?” She stopped to look at him. “Mr. Green was killed and Mr. Harrison is in the hospital. The two of them weren’t enough, so I don’t think four is overdoing it.”
His facial muscles tightened. “Four men, five with me included, might scare off the attacker.”
“Isn’t that the point?” It definitely sounded like a good plan to her.
“It’ll be just a delay. He tried twice, the last time with two Secret Service agents on duty. I think he’s serious about this. More security is not going to put him off. He’ll wait. When Secret Service decides the threat is gone and pulls back, he’ll come again and get you. Bringing on heavy guard now will do nothing but delay the next attack.”
“You think I should hurry it?” Was he crazy?
“Get it over with and catch the bastard. Make him think he has a chance and grab him, take care of him once and for all. A trap.”
She liked the sound of failsafe-extra-security, bad-guy-getting-nowhere-near-her much better.
“You want to use me for bait?”
He kept his keen gaze on hers. “Something like that,” he said.
“Cal and I talked about a safe house this morning.” Cal had brought it up, and she had said no, but now she wanted to know how Danny felt about it.
“A safe house would be great, but eventually you’d have to come home. What then?”
“Maybe by then he would be caught.”
“Maybe.” He hesitated. “I went to see your car earlier. There’s very little to go by. Some smears of black paint, that’s all.”
“And the gun?”
“Unregistered. Impossible to trace. Not a fingerprint in the house either so far.”
“So there’s nothing?”
“There’s always something. CSI is still working all possible angles.”
“But you think a safe house would be a temporary solution.”
“Unless we get a sudden breakthrough, this could turn out to be a very lengthy investigation. I’m not trying to talk you out of it. A safe house might be the best idea. You have to decide.”
What would you do? The words were on her tongue, then she realized the obvious answer so she didn’t ask. He wouldn’t hide. Of course, he knew how to take care of himself. She didn’t.
“If I went someplace safer, would your job… Would you come?”
“Yes,” he said without thinking.
It made her feel immeasurably better.
He tilted his head. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” She drew a deep breath to bolster her courage. “Let’s draw that slimeball out into the open and end this once and for all.”
He grinned. “You’re tough.”
“I have to be. I’m in politics.”
“Tougher than that,” he said. “It’s one thing to stand up to arguments and negative campaigns. Standing up to a loaded gun takes a hell of a lot more guts.”
The compliment felt ridiculously good, even if she didn’t feel all that brave, only a woman with a limited number of choices.
“Kaye?” he said as he stepped closer. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
And there it was again, that acute awareness between them that made the air too thick to breathe. In the narrow staircase, his face was close enough to touch, his blue-grey eyes deep and luminous enough to fall into.
She could still feel his touch on her body as he’d guided her from move to move earlier.
I can’t think like this. I can’t feel like this.
“Thank you for the lesson,” she said as she turned to run up the stairs.
When he called after her, she pretended not to hear it and kept going.