01 Only Fear (17 page)

“Okay.” He’d said
when
he was ready, not
if
. She smiled. “Let’s go see what Becca’s into.”

Becca stood in the living room, hands on her hips, surveying Ethan’s meager DVD collection. “Just as I suspected. All action flicks. Don’t you get enough intensity at work?”

Ethan snagged the video she’d been looking at. “Gee, guess not. Or maybe my soft and cuddly movies are in the other room, along with my assortment of teddy bears.”

As Becca perused the titles, Maggie settled on the couch next to Ethan. The warm, spicy male scent of him filled her nostrils, mixed with the faint, tangy smell of beer. Tempted to lean closer, she crossed her legs under her and leaned away instead.

“Do you really have chick flicks in your bedroom?” she teased.

He arched a brow. “Wanna see?”

“No, she does not,” Becca said firmly, settling on the couch between them like a good chaperone. “We’re going to watch
Die Hard
.”

But as the opening credits disappeared, a happy tune intruded. “Shoot. That’s me,” Becca muttered, shifting her hips upward so she could dig in her jeans pocket for her ringing phone. She moved to the sliding glass door as she answered, then out onto the porch to talk in privacy. Ethan paused the movie, then rose and flicked a switch to turn the porch light on for Becca.

When he came back, he sat in the middle of the couch, closer to Maggie. She reached out and took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his and effectively bringing his attention from the frozen image of Bruce Willis on the screen to her. “Thank you for being there tonight, with my family. It…helped.”

His smile brought crinkles to the corners of his eyes, reminding her just how much of life this man, only a few years older than her, had seen. And endured. There were secrets behind those deep green eyes. “I liked them. And I’m glad it helped.”

She thought he might have leaned in to kiss her if the back door hadn’t slid open at that moment. Becca, who had apparently taken it upon herself to protect Maggie not only from serial killers and stalkers but also from big, bad Agent Ethan Townsend, would probably not like to see them cuddled together, hands entwined, on the couch.

But instead of the expected reprimand, Becca looked like a woman on a mission as she marched over to her purse.

Alarmed, Maggie asked, “What happened? What is it?”
Or, who is it? Please don’t let it be another dead body.

“Ethan, I have to go handle something. Can you manage without me?”

“What is it, Becca?” Ethan came to stand beside her, taking her arm. “You don’t have a car. It’s still at your place. I drove you tonight, remember?”

“Another SSAM agent is picking me up here. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Is that who called?” Maggie tried again. “Is it about this investigation? Please, I need to know.”

Becca’s distraught gaze met hers. “Yes. It’s about David. I didn’t want to tell you, but…” She met Ethan’s gaze and something unspoken passed between them.

“Damn it, what?” Maggie’s imagination was starting to run wild. “Is David dead?”

“No,” Becca answered, startled. Then she sighed. “But I didn’t want you running off to help him. The message our SSAM communications guy intercepted was off of your voice mail. David said he wanted to talk to you.”

Confused, Maggie rubbed at the ache that was starting in the middle of her forehead. “Why wouldn’t I help David? He’s a friend. And I had no idea SSAM was monitoring my messages,” she added as an afterthought.

Ethan took Maggie’s hand and squeezed to get her attention. “What Becca’s not telling you is that we don’t want you running off to meet with David because he’s on our suspect list.”

Maggie’s jaw dropped. “David? A suspect?”

“We didn’t want to tell you until we were sure,” Becca said. “Fearmonger would want to be near you, is familiar with campus, and it’s looking more and more as if Sharon knew her killer. David fits the profile.”

David?
Her
David? He’d always been so sweet and attentive. “But what about Owen? David was around when he called in. He couldn’t have called in as Owen.”

“He could have had an accomplice,” Becca pointed out. “And he’s a sound expert. He would know how to disguise voices, maybe even record them ahead of time.”

Maggie shook her head, not wanting to consider the possibility. David wouldn’t do such a thing. “He’d have been thirteen at the time of the other murders.”

“Rare,” Ethan admitted, “but not impossible. We’re not saying David
is
Fearmonger. We just have to be careful until we check him out. And he’s resurfacing after we lost track of him for twenty-four hours, during which two murders took place. That looks more than a little suspicious.” He turned to Becca. “You’ll take backup with you?”

She nodded. “Of course. I’ll call David and suggest he meet me and Maggie at my apartment. Only, of course, Maggie won’t be there when he arrives. I’ll have backup within shouting distance just in case.”

“You’re not going to do anything to David, are you?” Maggie pleaded. “He’s been through so much. I’m sure he’s just been really upset about Sharon.”

“I plan to have a nice little chat with him, to find out what’s going on in his head.”

“We’re just keeping an eye on him,” Ethan said. “And that’s why I think Becca is perfect for this. He’s met her and they got along. She doesn’t come across as threatening. Maybe she can get him to open up.” He looked to Becca, who seemed to grow taller under Ethan’s words of confidence. “But don’t do anything without backup.”

Becca’s pressed her lips into a firm line. “I know how to do my job.”

“I know. I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think that. It’s just that if he happens to be our guy, he’ll do anything to lure Maggie out, including use you.”

“I’ll be ready for Fearmonger, whether it’s David or someone else,” Becca said, the tone of her voice more eager than afraid.

After Becca left with a fellow SSAM agent, Ethan checked the locks on all the doors and windows and settled next to Maggie on the couch again. “Want to watch the movie?”

She shook her head. “Somehow, I’m not in the mood to watch villains wreak havoc on helpless people.”

“At least the villain is destroyed in the end, by a guy who chose not to be helpless.”

“Too bad it’s only the movies.”

“Maggie, I’ve caught my fair share of bad guys. Believe it or not, the odds are against him.” He rubbed a thumb across her wrist. “And if it makes you feel any better, I don’t really think David is Fearmonger. We’re just covering all the bases. I want you to be safe.”

She gave a small smile, appreciating more than he knew the way he tried to comfort her. She laid a hand on his cheek, coarse with the beginnings of stubble. “I believe it. With you, here, I feel safe.”

His jaw hardened and he pulled away. “You shouldn’t get too comfortable. I’m not as safe as I seem.”

Startled, she longed for him to look at her, but he seemed intent on avoiding her gaze. “What do you mean? You’d never hurt me.”

A muscle in his jaw pulsed and she stared at it, mesmerized. “I’m not sure about that. I’m not sure I’m good for anybody right now. Haven’t been for years.”

“Why?”

He didn’t respond right away, and she began to wonder if he’d answer her.

“My dad was a cop. The only thing he valued in his life was the reputation he’d earned on the job—until a bullet put him on disability. He was never the same.” He’d never spoken to her of his father, she realized, but his bitter laugh told her volumes.

“I thought he’d notice me, be proud of me, if I had a career like his, in law enforcement. So that’s what I pursued. But I had to be the best, the one who guarded the most important people in the country. So I went into the Secret Service.”

But something had happened there. Something more than watching a colleague get gunned down.

“And my father? He never knew. He died while I was in college, just before I graduated and moved on to train for the Secret Service.”

She took his hand between both of hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it happens.” Though he shrugged, she could see the little boy in him was still suffering. He would never see pride shining in his father’s eyes.

“I was good at what I did.”

She didn’t comment on his choice of the word
was.

“I protected the Vice President and his family. But one time, I messed up.” And once was all it took to dent this man’s self-image. Because of his father, he thought he
was
his work. He was only as good as his success on the job.

“What happened?” she urged, knowing he had to be out with the bad feelings. Best to cut it out with a knife than to let the wound fester any longer.

As if he couldn’t look at her, he pulled away and stood. He began to pace the living room. “Three years ago, I was guarding the Vice President’s daughter Mallory.”

A clear picture of the girl came to Maggie’s mind. The press loved her, the darling of America, and reported on her as if all of the country was watching her grow up. Now fourteen, the young lady was about to enter high school. But what had happened to her three years ago that made Ethan beat himself up daily?

“She was going to a friend’s party. A birthday party. A group of eleven-year-olds having cake and soda and fun.” He continued pacing, unable to meet her gaze. Was he afraid he’d find judgment there? It was difficult, but she forced herself to remain seated, not wanting to interrupt his story. “You wouldn’t expect someone to pull a gun on a young girl, especially as she left a kid’s birthday party…” He paused, his throat working.

Finally, unable to keep from touching him any longer, Maggie rose and went to him. “But that’s exactly what happened,” she murmured, running a hand down his arm.

She remembered the story now. It had been all over the news, but the Vice President’s daughter hadn’t been hurt, and the story had been replaced by bigger news within a couple days. How could Ethan see his performance as a failure?

His tortured gaze finally sought hers, and he accepted her arms around his waist. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “There are all kinds of pain in this world. And all kinds of monsters.” Absently, his hand fisted in her hair, then loosened and he ran his fingertips through it. “That experience, and this job with Damian, has taught me that.”

She ignored the shivers his touch evoked and focused on him. “I know. Mallory was okay, though, wasn’t she?”

He nodded. “I tackled her when I saw the glint of the gun across the street, from the window of a passing car, but she was okay. Just a few scrapes and bruises. It was her friend, the birthday girl, who’d rushed out of the house because Mallory had forgotten her bag of party favors.” He paused and she felt the column of his throat move against her cheek as he swallowed. “She ran right into the spray of the bullets.”

“God.” Tears sprang to her eyes. If he couldn’t cry, she’d cry for him. “That must have been absolute hell for you.”

“I had to make a choice. I could have leaped up to grab the other girl—her name was Bethany—but that would have left Mallory exposed.”

“And you chose Mallory.”

He nodded, his throat working. He couldn’t seem to speak.

“You chose duty, Ethan, as you were trained to do.”

He pulled away, looking surprised that he’d shared all of that and survived. She kissed him then. One minute, he was looking into her tear-filled eyes. The next, she was pulling him down to meet her lips, coaxing a response that was already there, just waiting to be tapped. She gave him all that she had, opening to him in her eagerness to comfort him. And to seek her own comfort.

He breathed her name, pulling away enough to look into her face, then leaning his forehead against hers. “I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

Julia’s words at dinner had haunted her all evening. She’d said Maggie didn’t know how to live anymore since Brad’s death. And maybe she didn’t. But she wanted to. Right now, she wanted it more than anything she’d ever wanted before. She wanted Ethan.

“I think you’ve got that backward. You’re the one who just gave me a part of you. I think
I’m
taking advantage.” Her hands came up to frame his face. “So let me. I need this as much as you do.”

Her eyes searched his for several long seconds, seeing the war waged within. He was trying to be strong and resist, to live by his own code of honor while on the job. But she wouldn’t let him be noble. She wanted—no, as she’d told him, she
needed
—him to let her help.

When he released a breath and leaned toward her, she knew she’d won. Pulling his face to hers, she claimed another kiss. Vaguely, she was aware of long limbs bumping as they moved. He was walking her backward to the short hallway that led to his bedroom.

A thrill of anticipation coiled and struck through her belly. Her fingers moved from his face to his shirt, gripping the cotton fabric at his waist as she tugged the shirttails from his pants. Frantic fingertips fumbled with the buttons and he released a husky laugh into her mouth. As the backs of her knees met the edge of his mattress, his own fingers found the edges of her shirt and pulled it loose, his thumbs brushing against the skin of her abdomen underneath.

It was then that Maggie froze.

Sensing a change in atmosphere, Ethan pulled away. “What? What is it?” Her eyes were still luminescent from the tears she had yet to shed for him, her cheeks flushed with emotion and from their shared passion. Her breasts rose and fell as she caught her breath.

God, he’d never wanted a woman so much. He was shaking from holding back. But something was obviously wrong.

“Tell me, honey,” he encouraged, sitting her down on the bed. He knelt in front of her, taking her shaking hands in his.

“I didn’t know it would be this difficult.”

“What? Talk to me.” He turned her chin until she met his gaze. “I opened up to you. You listened. Allow me to do the same for you.”

She sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly, averting her eyes despite his grasp on her chin. “I have…scars.” Her hands fluttered around her abdomen.

“Scars?” he repeated, confused. Following the vague motion of her hands, he swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. “Deborah Frame physically hurt you? I thought it was Brad who got hurt.”

“It was. She killed Brad.” Liquid honey eyes finally met his gaze. “I’d been treating her for months, primarily for schizophrenia. Her symptoms were getting worse, and she was behaving more strangely toward me, bringing gifts that I had to refuse. But I never thought she was harmful.

“Finally, after a lot of discussion, she was going to change from outpatient therapy to inpatient care at a state facility. I’d talked her into doing it so they could monitor her medication for a while and find something that worked better. She agreed to be admitted, as long as it was under her terms. One of those terms was she wanted one more session with me ‘on the outside,’ as she called it. She told me to rest easy, because she was ready for this change, especially if I would be there for her.”

Rest easy.
Like the card had said today. No wonder it brought back bad memories.

“Except something changed her mind,” Maggie continued. “The next week, when she appeared for her session, she saw Brad as he was leaving. He’d stopped by to tell me about his engagement.”

Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. “We were laughing. He kissed my cheek, and I guess she thought, in her skewed thinking, that I was betraying her.” She looked at Ethan then, and his heart broke at the pain and betrayal sparkling in her eyes. “I found out later she’d decided she was in love with me. When she saw me with Brad, she thought my attempts to send her to the state hospital were a way of getting rid of her to be with him. She shot Brad.”

“She shot Brad,” she said again, her tone one of bewilderment. “One second he was standing beside me, deliriously happy. In the next…” She paused to take in a breath and pressed a hand to her breastbone, where her panic was no doubt beginning to build.

Ethan wanted to stop her and pull her into his arms, to tell her it was okay and she didn’t have to relive it. But after he’d told her his story earlier, he understood how important it was to get the words out of your head. Like debriding a wound. Excise the bad tissue and clean it all out so it can heal.

“She brought a gun with her that day?”

Maggie nodded but her mind was clearly in another time. Another place. “She said later that she’d been carrying it around with her for weeks. For protection, she said. She’d been hearing voices on occasion, and sometimes thought it was actually another person. She’d never indicated to me that she was dangerous in any way. But she was.

“Poor Brad. One moment he was so happy. In the next moment, he was lying on the floor and she was coming after me, tackling me to the ground. She’d dropped her gun somewhere, but then she had a knife in one hand.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I didn’t feel the pain right away. I was too worried about Brad, even though I could see the blood pooling under him. He was dead, but I had to get to him. But I couldn’t. By then, she was on top of me, the knife slashing. She called me ‘Red’ and laughed, thinking it was a joke. That the blood was the reason for the nickname.”

Ethan squeezed her hands in his. “She
cut
you? With a knife?” She nodded and he swallowed another curse. Anger wouldn’t help her now. Hell if he knew what would, though.

“But I was lucky.”
Lucky?
“Help arrived before she could kill me.”

“Do you think she would have?”

“Without a doubt, in the state she was in that day. Every day, I see or feel those scars and remember.”

Moving from his kneeling position to sit on the bed next to her, he pulled her against him. His heart tore in two for her. He didn’t give a damn about physical scars, but she obviously did. Or maybe they were just constant reminders of her emotional scars. In that moment, he thanked Fearmonger for ridding the earth of such threats as Deborah Frame.

But Fearmonger was next. Ethan would make sure of it.

“We all have scars, honey,” he whispered against her hair. “I just showed you mine.” She was quiet, but Ethan could sense she was listening. He prayed for the right words. “There are all kinds of scars—physical, emotional. And mine didn’t repulse you. You’re beautiful.” His hands moved to her waist, and she didn’t push him away as they lifted the edge of her shirt again. He shifted so he could see her eyes. A tear spilled over and ran down her cheek, splashing against his hand. “Let me see you, Maggie. Let me love you.”

She stopped his hands. “Promise…” She swallowed, and started again. “Promise to be honest. After you see them, if you don’t want to…” Her breath hitched. “If you don’t want to continue, tell me.” Her eyes pinned him as she waited for his vow.

No way in hell would he ever let her push him away. But he had to convince her of that first. He nodded, then resumed removing her shirt as she waited, frozen.

He lifted the shirt up and over her head and arms. Her lacy white bra had him sucking in his breath before he looked further, his gaze moving to her abdomen. She stared at the wall behind him, probably thinking she’d see the revulsion clear in his eyes. But he wasn’t repulsed.

He was fucking
angry
.

Vicious pink ridges of scars rose up where the monster had carved an
X
across Maggie’s abdomen, marring the otherwise creamy white skin. Not deep enough to kill her, thank God, but enough to make her suffer—while she’d already been in shock from Brad’s death.

Becca’s warning flashed in his head.
Maggie’s been hurt before.
Yeah, she didn’t know the half of it.

He gritted his teeth against his anger, managing to bring it under control before he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her belly. Followed by another, and another. When he pulled back, she looked down at him, hope shimmering in her eyes. He took her hands and kissed her fingertips.

Sorry, Becca,
he silently apologized, not really sorry at all.

He didn’t want to hurt Maggie. God, that was the last thing in the world he wanted. But if he moved away now—if he stopped—she would see it as the ultimate rejection. And that would hurt her more. He had to show her how special, how unique she was. How much he wanted her, despite her scars—or maybe because of them. After all, they were a part of her.

And she was something special.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her with all the sincerity and honesty of an eternal vow. “I know you’ve been hurt in the past, but I’m your present.”
And your future.
The thought came at him like a lightning bolt, and it wasn’t at all unpleasant. It filled him with energy and hope. “I’m your here and now.”

On a sob, Maggie leaned forward to kiss him, pulling him against her as she wrapped her arms around him. He nudged her back on the bed, a palm spread over the obscene markings on her otherwise perfect body. It was still perfect to him.

It was Maggie.

His hand moved up to her heart, feeling it pound beneath his palm. He traced the flow of blood up to the pulse in her throat, then moved to place kisses there. His fingers brushed her breast, and she arched up to meet him, showing him what she wanted. Their mouths met in natural alignment, their tongues learning each other eagerly. But as his hand dipped lower again, over her belly, she stiffened.

He quickly moved his hand up to her face again, stroking her cheek. “It’s okay. I’m not pressuring you too much, am I?”

“No, it’s not you. It’s me. I thought I was ready.” She bit her bottom lip, stopping its trembling. “I want to be ready.”

She turned over on her side, her back to Ethan. He curved his body around hers and draped an arm over her waist, pulling her snugly against him. With one hand, he lifted the hair off her neck and nuzzled her, inhaling deeply of the scent that had become so familiar to him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re both exhausted, emotionally and physically.”

She was silent for several moments as they watched the darkness outside his bedroom window, lost in their own thoughts.

“I want to,” she said in a hushed voice. “So much.”

“I know.” His breath tickled the nape of her neck and she shivered in his arms. He leaned up on an elbow and looked down at her profile on the pillow. “I’ll wait, Maggie. You’re worth it.”

She turned enough to meet his gaze. “I hope so.”

“You hope I’ll wait, or you hope you’re worth it?”

“Both,” she murmured, turning away from him again.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said. “We don’t have to
do
anything.”

Maggie felt a rush of feeling and struggled to identify it.

Anger? Maybe a bit. She was tired of Deborah’s actions having such power over her.

Frustration? Yes, definitely a healthy dose of that. After all, she had the ideal man snuggled against her, desiring her, and she was too scared to let him make love to her.

She was tired of feeling incapable of taking what she wanted. And now her fears had changed the tone between them. He was being noble again. She didn’t want noble. She wanted to heal. She wanted to live—fully, no-holds-barred.

She rolled over in his arms, her chest tingling as it brushed his through the lace of her bra and the open
V
of his unbuttoned shirt.

“You’re wrong.” She held his gaze. It was important that he knew she’d made a decision she wouldn’t regret. “Not only do I have to do this, I
want
to.” She stretched her body against the long, hard length of his like a cat waking from a nap. Still, he kept his hands at his sides. “I want you.” She nipped his bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re sure?” The huskiness of his voice indicated he wasn’t the unaffected male he was trying to project. His green eyes were intent on her, watching for any sign of hesitance or doubt.

Slowly, her smile widened. “Very,” she said against his lips. “Touch me. You can’t break me.”

On a groan, his arms came around her and crushed her to him. His lips, tasting faintly of the beer he’d had earlier, teased her own and she opened to him, reveling in the pleasure he could arouse with just his mouth.

His hands skimmed the sides of her breast as they stroked across her ribs. Unwilling—or unable—to relinquish the kiss for even a few moments, they explored each other with hot mouths and frantic hands. She shoved his shirt from his shoulders and he shrugged out of it, the movement rubbing his bare chest against her hardened nipples and making her gasp. She weaved her fingers through the thick dark hair at the nape of his neck, glorying in the silky feel of it as it slid through them. But her greedy hands weren’t content to stay in one place. Once given permission to touch, they ran over the sculpted planes of his chest, the flat hardness of his abdomen. His breath hissed against her lips as he laughed.

“It’s been a while,” he said on a groan, moving one of his hands to keep hers against him, guiding it back up his chest before he nipped at her fingertips.

“Good. That makes two of us.” She reached for his mouth. But he dodged her and pulled away, examining her face for traces of uncertainty. She met his gaze levelly. “I mean it, Ethan. I want this. I want this with
you.
Now.” Seeing the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, she leaned forward to place a kiss there.

“Okay. Okay. But we take it slow. If you want to stop,” he swallowed again, and she knew he was holding on to his restraint. She loved him for it. “If you want to stop, tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me.”

“Yes. I will.” She tried to pull his head down to hers but he ducked away again, this time with a grin that made her heart skip a beat.

“I said we’ll take it
slowly
.” He scooted downward, his lips trailing down her neck to the place where the edge of her bra met skin. His wicked tongue trailed into the valley that led between her breasts. She twisted to the side, wanting the same contact on her nipples. On her stomach. God help her, she wanted to hold his head against her and never let go.

He chuckled, the huff of breath tickling the damp spot where he’d kissed her and heightening her arousal. “Anticipation never killed anyone. I think,” he added.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Her words ended on a gasp as he finally kissed her nipple through the lace at her breast. Pleasure shot through her to her core as she arched, her body begging him for more.

It had been a long time since her last sexual encounter. In fact, her boyfriend from med school had become a distant memory. And the man she’d been dating when Deborah attacked had run for the hills without a look back. She’d never felt like this with either of them. Their fumbling getting-to-know-each-other times had never filled her with such a sense of rightness. Of womanly power.

“You’re so warm and sweet,” he breathed as he unclasped her bra with one hand and nuzzled against the exposed skin of one breast. “So responsive.”

Part of her recognized his words as his attempt to build her confidence, and she loved him for it. She shut the analytical part of her brain away and simply luxuriated in how he made her feel.

As he distracted her with the attention he laved upon her breasts, a hand slipped lower, until it was pressed against her belly, under her slacks. The tips of his fingers slipped under the waistband of her lace-trimmed panties, and she sucked in a breath at the warm pleasure.