Savior in the Saddle (11 page)

Brandon stopped the elevator on the second floor. “It’s too risky to go into the main part of the lobby,” he told her.

So, they left the elevator and went into the stairwell. Brandon stopped long enough to look at the emergency exit route map that was on the wall. Willa looked as well and wasn’t pleased that the stairs ended so close to the lobby. They would still be in sight of the front desk and entrance. But hopefully not for long. There appeared to be a back exit just off a coffee shop. She prayed the door there wasn’t rigged with an alarm.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Brandon stopped and peered out through the glass insert in the door. “No sign of Shore or other cops,” he relayed to her.

That didn’t give her any sense of relief. Shore had gotten the jump on them before, and it could happen again.

They left the meager cover of the stairwell and stepped out into the back part of the lobby, which was just ten or fifteen feet from the coffee shop. They only made it a few steps before Brandon pulled her into a shallow recessed area that led to the ladies’ room. He maneuvered her behind him.

“Shhh,” he warned.

Her heart went to her knees, and she came up on her tiptoes so she could look over his shoulder. Willa dreaded what she would see.

There were several people milling around in the lobby and two hotel employees behind the check-in desk. She certainly didn’t see the apparent threat Brandon thought was there, but she had no intention of leaving their hiding place, either. She stood there waiting with her breath held.

Two of the people in the lobby picked up their suitcases and headed for the front exit.

That’s when Willa spotted the man.

He was on the other side of the check-in desk, partly hidden behind a massive plant.

Oh, God.

It was Martin Shore.

He was volleying glances between the elevator and the front door. And she recognized what he held in his hand.

Her PDA.

Willa clamped her teeth over her bottom lip so that her gasp wouldn’t be loud enough to draw anyone’s attention—especially Shore’s. How had he actually found them? Had Cash or Dr. Farris alerted him, or had Shore merely followed her PDA and guessed their location? His presence could be a fishing expedition, but it didn’t matter. He was there—so close—and that meant the danger was there again too.

The baby began to kick, hard, and since her belly was pressed against Brandon’s back, he no doubt felt it. He glanced over his shoulder at her but then nailed his attention back on Shore.

They couldn’t wait long in the alcove without someone noticing them, and it wouldn’t be wise to try to hide out in the ladies’ room where they would be trapped. Soon, if not already, Cash and the doctor would realize they were missing and would come looking for them. That would no doubt confirm to Shore that they were still in the building. Besides, she didn’t want anyone, including Cash and Dr. Farris, to find them. Willa only wanted to get out of there.

“We need to move fast when we get outside,” Brandon whispered.

Willa nodded and hoped that
fast
would be fast enough.

Part of her wondered if it was best just to have a showdown with Shore. Here and now. After all, Brandon was a cop. He knew how to take down a killer. But Shore wasn’t an ordinary killer. He wouldn’t give up without a hard fight, and that would mean bullets flying. Innocent people could be killed. And once again, her precious baby would be in harm’s way.

“Now!” Brandon ordered.

He turned, not abruptly though. He kept his movement unhurried. He also kept her in front of him so that he was between Shore and her. Brandon was protecting her yet again.

The dozen or so steps to the exit seemed to take a lifetime, but Willa knew it was only a few seconds. Brandon shoved open the door and got her outside.

The burst of cold air hit her in the face, but she didn’t take the time to catch her breath. Brandon got them moving, not across the parking lot where they could easily be seen. He led her toward the back of the hotel, and they hurried past the service and delivery entrances. There were men unloading boxes, but none seemed to pay any attention to them.

Brandon kept watch behind them and then stopped when they reached the corner of the building. There was about ten yards of wide-open space between the hotel and the next building, which was a one-story chain restaurant.

“Let’s move,” Brandon insisted, and they quickly got across to the back of the restaurant.

They repeated that process for three more buildings, putting some distance between the hotel and them.

Willa heard the sirens, but it only heightened her fear. However, Brandon paused and looked out as if he were considering the possibility of going to the responding officers.

“Please tell me you’re not going out there,” she whispered.

“Not a chance.” He grabbed her arm again and got them moving farther away from the hotel and from those approaching sirens.

“Then where are we going once we get a car?” Willa demanded.

Brandon lifted her hand so she would have a reminder of what she’d written there. “You have to trust me a little longer, Willa. Because I’m taking you to the one place I know where I can keep you safe.”

Chapter Nine

They were
home.

Well, they were at
his
home anyway, Willa amended.

It was apparently the one place he knew where he could keep her safe. Maybe he felt that way because of the two dogs. The minute they turned into the gravel driveway that led to the isolated house, two Dobermans came racing toward them. Neither dog looked very welcoming, and they barked and chased the car.

It wasn’t exactly a friendly greeting.

The trek to his rural Crockett Creek house hadn’t been a friendly one, either. It’d taken them more than an hour to get far enough away from the hotel and to a pay phone he thought might be safe to use. He’d called one of his deputies, Pete Sanchez, a fiftysomething-year-old man who had arrived to pick them up in San Antonio, so he could then drive them out to Brandon’s place.

The drive had been long and tedious. Along with bathroom stops to accommodate Willa and the round about route the deputy had used to get them to the small Texas town, the trip was more than three hours. Willa was beyond exhausted, and that was probably a good thing because the exhaustion numbed some of the fear.

Temporarily, anyway.

The fear returned when she studied the house itself. Despite the barking dogs, it wasn’t a fortress, that’s for sure. It looked more like, well, a home.

Deputy Sanchez pulled to a stop in front of the porch and steps.

“Are you sure we’ll be safe here?” Willa asked, eyeing the cottage-style house.

With the iron-gray sky and the icy drizzle spitting at them, the house was the only spot of color in the winter landscape. It was a cheery shade of yellow and had dark green shutters and door. There were even flower boxes anchored beneath the windows. It wasn’t what she expected from a dark and brooding small-town Texas sheriff.

“The place was painted like this when I bought it,” Brandon mumbled, probably sensing her surprise. “Wait here,” he told her.

Brandon drew his gun, and just like that, the fatigue could no longer numb the fear. Willa sat there on the backseat of the deputy’s four-door black Ford and watched as Brandon got out. He didn’t say anything to the dogs. He merely lifted his left hand, and they both went silent. The pair followed Brandon up the steps and to the door he then unlocked. However, they didn’t go inside. The dogs waited for him on the porch.

“Please, don’t let there be anyone in there,” Willa mumbled. But she obviously didn’t mumble it softly enough because the deputy eased around in the seat and looked at her.

“Butch and Sundance wouldn’t have let anyone inside,” Deputy Sanchez drawled. “Brandon’s just being extra cautious. If the dogs are alive and kickin’, then no one got near the place and remained in one piece.”

Even though Willa didn’t like the idea of being around attack dogs, it was better than having no outside protection against a professional assassin.

Pete kept the windshield wipers on, and they scraped away at the sleety drizzle, smearing the ice on the glass.

“I’m assuming Brandon doesn’t need the dogs for security,” she commented. “Because I’d figured Crockett Creek was a safe town.”

“Don’t worry, it is. I think the dogs help Brandon make sure his privacy stays private. It’s probably why he lives all the way out here by himself. This place is a good ten miles outside of town.”

That said a lot about the man whose baby she was carrying. A private man. A man she trusted, she reminded herself.

A man she wanted.

Willa quickly tried to push that thought aside, but it flashed right back in her head. She huffed. Her memory was still a mess in parts, and yet she could remember in complete, agonizing detail every twinge of attraction she felt for a man who placed a high value on privacy and keeping secrets.

“So, who takes care of the place and the dogs when he’s out of town?” Willa wanted to know. It hadn’t occurred to her until now that Brandon might have a girlfriend.

“His neighbor’s boy does that for him.”

“Neighbor?” she questioned. Not a girlfriend. Though she didn’t see a nearby house or any other signs of a neighbor.

“Zach Grange,” the deputy provided. “He raised the dogs from pups, and he’s about the only one other than Brandon that they trust to get near them. I figure Brandon likes having ’em around. He worked canines for a while in Special Forces, you know.”

No, she didn’t know. That was another of the secrets he hadn’t been ready to volunteer.

Brandon came back out and returned to the car so he could open her door and take her overnight bag. The wet, cold air came right at her, sending a chill straight through her clothes. Brandon thanked his deputy, and the man tipped his Stetson and drove away.

“Will the dogs bite?” she asked, eyeing them as they went up the steps. Even though it was freezing, literally, she didn’t hurry because she didn’t want to alarm them.

“They won’t bite you.” And he aimed a glance at both, one that was effective because the two remained docile on the porch as Willa went past them and into the house.

Her first impression was that the place was toasty warm. Thank goodness. And everything was neat and orderly. There were no clothes lying around, no clutter. The living room had been painted a soft cream color that complemented the slate-blue sofa and recliner. He had a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace.

Other than the winter weather outside, there were no signs of Christmas here. Like her place in Austin. Hard to concentrate on the holidays when their lives were on the line.

“The kitchen’s through here,” he explained, pointing through a doorway.

Willa looked inside. Neat and orderly there, too.

“The bathroom’s over there.” He pointed to the first room off the hall that fed off the living room.

“Is it okay if I take a shower?” she asked.

“Of course.” He handed Willa her overnight bag and walked into the kitchen. “Then I’ll fix us something to eat, and you can get some rest.”

All three of those—a shower, food and rest—sounded heavenly, and Willa headed to the bathroom. But then, she stopped.

“I want the truth,” she told him, turning back around to face him. “Will Shore come here looking for us?”

Brandon had been about to open the fridge, but his hand paused in midair. He looked at her and then crossed the room toward her.

“He might,” Brandon confessed. “The dogs won’t let him get close, but he could try to neutralize them.”

Neutralize.
What a benign word for
kill.

“I have a security system wired to all the windows and doors,” Brandon continued. “It came with the house, and even though I’ve never had an occasion to use it, I will now that you’re here.”

“Good.” And she heard herself repeat it several times. Because she suddenly felt shaky, Willa placed the bag on the floor and held the doorframe to steady herself.

Brandon caught onto her. “Are you okay?”

She managed a nod. “I’m not very good with this whole trying-to-kill-us thing.”

“Few people are good at that,” he mumbled. He pulled her into his arms. “And you don’t want to be around them if they are.”

Since that sounded, well, personal, she eased back and met him eye to eye. She’d done that so she could see his expression when she asked him what he meant by that. But the question faded from her mind when she stared at him.

Mercy.

There it was again. That damn attraction. An itch, some people called it. Willa just thought of it as an itchy nuisance. It was clouding her judgment and drawing her to a man she should be questioning. Instead, she was falling for him.

“What?” he asked.

She had no intention of telling him what she was thinking. A man like Brandon would likely turn and run—after he made sure she was safe, that is. He was a natural protector. An alpha male. And she instinctively knew that a pregnant woman falling hard for him would take him right out of his very narrow comfort zone.

Willa shook her head to try to blow off his question, but she found herself leaning in closer to him. Why, why, why couldn’t she just back away?

Because she didn’t want to.

Because she wanted Brandon.

He reached to brush a strand of hair off her face, but he didn’t pull back his hand. His fingers stayed, touching her cheek.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said as if that explained the coil of heat that was simmering inside her.

She made a sound of agreement and leaned in. Willa only intended to touch her mouth to his. Just a taste of what her body was begging her to have. But Brandon made a sound of his own.

Not of agreement.

The husky sound rumbled in his throat, and his hand went from her cheek to the back of her neck. He snapped her to him.

And it wasn’t just a touch.

BRANDON FORGOT ALL ABOUT the danger. About the fatigue. About all the other things he should be doing. However, he didn’t forget about this need inside him. A need that only Willa seemed capable of satisfying.