Donna Young – The Bodyguard: Protecting Plain Jane (страница 8)

She didn’t so much as blink at the offhand compliment, and offered not even one flicker of a smile at his teasing. “Max weighs twenty-five pounds.”

“My apologies.” Okay. So he wasn’t making any points with Alex’s eccentric friend. Better swallow his guilt and stick to police work. Her eyes followed every movement as he plucked his badge from beneath the broken crate, dusted it off and clipped it onto his belt. Trip sank back onto his haunches on his side of the aisle. “Could you at least tell me if any of that blood on your coat is yours?”

Finally giving him a break from that accusatory glare, she glanced down at the stains on her sleeves. With a stiff, almost frantic effort, she rubbed at the reddish-brown spots, turned her hand over to grimace at the slickness that clung to her fingers. With both arms, she pulled the dog up into a hug and choked back a sob. But when her eyes nailed Trip again, there were no tears—only sorrow and distrust. “It’s Richard’s blood. Maybe yours. I’m not hurt.”

“Good.” So the woman had been scared spitless, but she hadn’t been physically harmed. He was so not the negotiator on his team. Give him something to blow up, break into, fix, and he could handle it just fine. But talking a woman off a mental ledge like the one Charlotte Mayweather was apparently teetering on? Ignoring the tweak at his conscience that he had as much to do with putting her on that ledge as her dead friend and an unknown assailant did, Trip focused on the things he could handle. He straightened enough to sit on the edge of a table and reached up to his shoulder to tear off his right sleeve. “Did you see the killer? Is that why you were hiding?” He paused midrip. “Ah, hell. You thought I was him, didn’t you. Is that why you attacked?”

Her eyes were tracking his movements again. “I know that assaulting a police officer is a really bad thing, but—”

“You have a knack for not answering my questions.”

“—to be honest, I didn’t know who you were, and after seeing Richard and all the blood, and the noise, and he knew my name—”

“Who knew your name?”

“The man on the phone. The man who called me on Richard’s phone. The killer knew my name. He was taunting me.” She hugged the dog tighter, and the pooch turned his head to lick her jaw. “He pounded on the door. The calls and the pounding reminded me of … he knows things about me.”

“Charlotte … I mean, Miss Mayweather.” He’d never seen a person pull herself into such a tight little ball of terror and uncertainty. He didn’t understand pounding and calls and what exactly those meant to her, but he wanted nothing more than to brush those dark gold curls off her cheek, wrap her up in a hug and prove that he was nothing like the man who’d frightened her into such a state. “He won’t hurt you,” Trip vowed, wisely busying his hands by going back to work on a makeshift bandage by breaking the last threads and peeling the sleeve down his arm. He had a feeling that touching her, or even moving closer, would send her into another panic. “As long as I’m here, nobody is getting to you. And I’m not leaving until Alex Taylor and the people you know and trust get here. Okay?”

After watching her eyes lock on to his without any real relief registering there, Trip looked away to check his watch. Surprisingly, only a few minutes had passed since he’d answered Alex’s call—and, he suspected, only a few minutes longer would pass before Alex and the rest of his SWAT team arrived to deal with this off-the-clock rescue. But Miss Hug-the-Dog over there was looking at him as if she’d been sentenced to a night of terror with the beast from some gruesome fairy tale—and he’d been cast in the starring role.

It was hard on a cop’s ego, and humbling to any man, to be perceived as the villain—especially when he was used to doing his job and saving the day. He needed the diversion of the pain that made him wince when he pressed the wadded-up fabric against the cut on his forearm to stanch the bleeding there.

The wind outside caught the door again. Trip didn’t know if it was the startling noise or him standing that made her eyes widen like saucers. But he figured an apology was useless and strode over to pull it shut.

After wedging a shim of wood between the door and frame to keep it closed, he faced her again. Yep, those suspicious eyes had followed every move he’d made. “Did you know this outside door had been jimmied open?”

“No.”

“Then the perp was in here.” He perched on the edge of the table again. “You were right to hide. And attack.”

“It’s not right to hurt somebody else like that.” She tucked the swath of curls behind her ear, exposing a flash of a big white-daisy earring. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know you were a police officer. I get a little … stuck in my head sometimes.”

Trip dabbed at his wound again. “I’m not pressing charges.”

“You’re not?” She sat up a little straighter, confusion mellowing the distrust on her face for a few moments. But then he could see her gathering her thoughts as she swiped the crystalizing tear streaks off her cheeks. “You’re not pressing charges against Max, either, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Thank you.” A long silence, muffled by the cocoon of rain falling outside, followed as Trip tore off a strip from his sleeve and continued to doctor his wound. Maybe as long as he stayed calm, she would, too. He even thought he saw her hands reach out to help him as he used his teeth to help tie off the pack on his forearm. But as soon as he spotted the gesture, she pulled away and curled her fingers into the dog’s fur. “You’re Alex Taylor’s friend?” she asked instead.

“I work with him at KCPD. We’re on SWAT Team One together. Special Weapons and Tactics.”

“Alex is … a sweet guy.”

“If you say so. I call him shrimp when he annoys me. But I can count on him to have my back.”

Half a smile curved her full lips. She was testing the option, as if unfamiliar with the idea of relaxing and sharing friendly conversation. “He counts on you, too, I think. He speaks highly of Captain Cutler and your team. I’m friends with Audrey Kline, Alex’s fiancée. Audrey is with the district attorney’s office. We went to high school together.”

“I know the counselor.” Trip had a feeling there was no problem with Charlotte Mayweather’s mental faculties, but he could see her waging a battle to keep the panic she’d shown earlier from swamping her again. He hoped he didn’t say anything that would screw up the tenuous peace between them. “My name’s Trip. Don’t know if you caught that while you were bustin’ up my face and arm.”

“Joseph Jones, Jr., Triple J or Trip.” If she’d relax just a fraction more, that’d be a real smile. Please let her smile. “Audrey told me. And please, it’s Charlotte. ‘Miss Mayweather’ sounds so spinsterish.” She touched her slim red glasses on her face. “And I’m already battling that stereotype.”

“Thanks … Charlotte. Audrey mentioned you, too. Look, I’m sorry I scared you. If you’d have just answered me … I had no way of knowing if you were stuck inside that closet with the perp—or if you’d been injured. I had to get to you.”

She stroked the dog and nodded. “My brain knows that. But sometimes I—”

A cell phone rang in the closet behind Trip, and Charlotte pushed herself straight up that wall. She hugged her arms tight around her waist. It rang again, and he could see any hope of coaxing a real smile or a little trust out of her had passed.

When it rang a third time, Trip was on his feet, digging through the mess in the closet to put a stop to the ringing. Cripes. She’d said the killer had her number. That he’d called to torment her somehow.

He snatched the phone off the floor and answered. “Trip Jones, KCPD. Who is this?”

“Trip? It’s Audrey.” He could hear the siren on Alex’s truck in the background, heard him on the radio to the other members of their team. “We’re a minute away. Did you find Charlotte?”

Trip immediately regretted snapping into the phone. No wonder Charlotte was afraid of him. “I found her. She’s …” Unpredictable. Frightened out of her mind. Unexpectedly charming. “… she’s safe.”

He glanced over to see a woman whose jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. That wasn’t right. No one should have to cope with that kind of fear churning inside her.

Trip looked her straight in the eye to reassure her. “It’s your friend Audrey.”

Although Charlotte nodded her understanding, she didn’t say anything until the dog dropped Trip’s hat and stretched up on its hind legs, resting a paw against her thigh. Looking down into the dog’s tilted face, Charlotte’s fingers immediately moved to scratch behind a tattered, scarred-up ear. “Good boy. Mama’s fine. Good boy.”

What was it about this woman that kept getting under his skin? Guilt that he hadn’t gotten the job done he’d been asked to do tonight? Frustration that he couldn’t make her feel any better, but the dog who’d stolen his hat could?

Or was it something about those haunted gray eyes that triggered all the protective instincts he possessed?

As if she was even interested in being protected by him.

“You can’t get here soon enough,” Trip admitted, turning back to the phone. “I don’t know what to say to her.”