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He nodded and slid the marshmallow he’d just toasted onto a graham cracker, then smooshed it with a piece of chocolate. He handed it to her. “Think this will help?”
“S’mores? Always.” She shot him a small smile, and a flash ofsomething deep and sweet glinted back at her before he dropped his gaze and snagged another marshmallow.
She bit into the sweetness and let the taste coat her tongue. Unfortunately, she was too distracted to enjoy the treat and set the uneaten portion on the small plate next to her. She could feel Vince’s eyes on her but refused to look at him. He wanted to help. And frankly, she wanted to let him.
But fear held her back.
Flashes from her past were coming fast and furious, keeping her silent. Afraid. Locking her words in her throat. Finally, she glanced at Vince while he talked with the others. He was a good man. A kind man. A man who would do battle for her if she’d let him. A man she often pictured by her side when she thought about the future. However, before she could do anything, lethimdo anything, she had to make sure that her past had no path into her present.
But if what she’d seen tonight held any truth, her past might very well be steamrolling right into her present.
Which meant she had to keep Vince at arm’s length.
For his own safety.
????
Monday, just after lunch, Vince found himself sitting at his desk, computer open, case file in front of him—and his mind on Raina Price. Every minute he had time to stop and think, he thought about her. And the fact that he was falling for a woman who wouldn’t talk to him. Wouldn’t trust him enough to confide in him no matter how much she might want to. And it was obvious she wanted to, because he’d been watching her closely. So closely. And yet, she continued to stiff-arm him.
He should have his head examined. Then again, she’d let him make her a s’more. The thought didn’t help much. As much as she loved s’mores, she probably would have taken the sweet treats from just about anyone.
But she’d sat in the chair he’d pulled out for her and he didn’t think it was just because she was polite. She’d acted like she wanted to talk but couldn’t find the words.
Was he a fool to grasp onto the hope that produced?
Probably.
“Yo, Vince. You ready to go?”
He snapped his gaze to his partner, Charlie Maxwell. A former linebacker, Charlie never had gotten out of the habit of a daily workout, and he carried his muscle well. He stood with a nod. “Ready.”
They were taking a shift at the hotel, guarding a witness with a hefty hit on his head.
The FBI had somehow convinced a top member of the Russian mafia to turn on his boss with stolen evidence and a verbal testimony. The trial was next week, and Vince and Charlie were part of the team tasked with making sure the man lived to testify.
So far so good, but there’d been rumblings that there was going to be an attempt on the man’s life. As a result, they were moving him every twelve hours, and Vince was about ready to take the guy home with him and lock him in his basement.
Which would be an undeserved vacation for the dude, but at least Vince would know, one, where the guy was, and two, exactly how secure the place would be. Vince never said much about his home’s security, but he did take it seriously and had no doubt he could protect Pavel Fedorov just as well—or more likely, better—than he could locked up in some hotel room.
But the powers that be would never go for it and he didn’t blame them. He didn’t want the guy in his home anyway.
“I’ll drive,” Charlie said.
Vince had already grabbed everything he needed and was heading for the elevator.
Thirty minutes later, Charlie pulled into the hotel parking lot. When they got to the top-floor suite, the two marshals on duty nodded toward the other room.
“All’s quiet for now. But be ready to roll.” They were always ready with a plan B, but right now Vince felt like they’d already reached plan Z, and if something didn’t change soon, there was no plan double A.
“’Bout time you two got here,” Fedorov said, coming out of his bedroom and into the main living area. “I’m starving and those jerks said I had to wait for you two before I could order.”
If the man had gotten out of bed at a reasonable time, he could have had his food by now, Vince thought.
The twelve-hundred-square-foot area was set up more like an apartment than a hotel room. And wasn’t nearly large enough when Fedorov entered the space.
“We’re here,” Vince said. “I’ll order for you now.” Vince didn’t care for a lot of the people he protected but made sure he kept his dislike covered with a layer of professionalism. That included Fedorov.
The man grunted and rolled his eyes, thrusting a piece of paper at Vince. “Here’s what I want. Say it just like I wrote it. I don’t want it messed up.”
