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Cate shook her head. “No. Whatever you want to listen to is fine with me. You’re the one driving.”
After that she lapsed into silence. She didn’t say another word until they drove into the entrance of the base. She was so quiet and still, if Liam wasn’t so attuned to her—to everything about her, including the way she breathed—he would scarcely have known she was there. Although he was focused on his driving and listened to NPR with a fraction of his brain, the rest of him wondered about that. About why she didn’t talk the way most women did, needing to fill the silence between themselves and the man they were with. About why she kept herself so motionless. Then it came to him. Cate didn’t want to draw attention to herself...in any way. She wanted to be invisible.
* * *
They settled into their seats across the aisle from one another in the very rear of the Beechcraft C-12 Huron twin-engine turboprop plane that would take them to Colorado. The plane was only half-full, but Liam wanted distance between the four officers who were also taking this flight and the woman he was guarding, so he’d steered Cate into the back of the plane. He hadn’t missed the marked interest on the faces of the other passengers, all male, as they passed through. Cate’s natural beauty—which she did nothing to enhance—meant she would always draw male attention wherever she went. And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. Not a damned thing I can do about it, either, Liam told himself. Except keep the wolves at bay as best I can. Keeping the wolves at bay might turn out to be an even tougher mission than keeping Cate alive.
* * *
They’d been flying for nearly half an hour and Cate hadn’t spoken one word. Liam hadn’t either, other than to ask her if she was comfortable, to which she’d nodded. Then she’d turned her face to the window, effectively shutting him out.
He knew he should respect her right to privacy. Knew he shouldn’t try to force the issue. But he wanted to know her better. Needed to know her better. And since she wouldn’t volunteer information, that meant he had no choice but to ask. He searched for an opening, one that would be innocuous enough to start with, and he settled on, “Tell me about your cousin. About growing up with her in Zakhar.”
Cate turned away from the window to look at him. “Angelina?” Warmth colored the one word, and her lips curved in a reminiscent smile. “Angelina was wonderful. Like a big sister. I adored her. I still do.”
“She’s what? Five years older than you?”
“Almost. When I was little I wanted to be like her. But then I knew I couldn’t—she was so much smarter than me, you see. So I decided to do something else.” Her breathing quickened, and she turned away to stare out the window in silence, and Liam knew somehow she’d gone down a path in her mind she didn’t want to talk about.
Feeling as if he was treading in a field of land mines, Liam asked, “What’s your earliest memory of your cousin?”
At first Cate didn’t answer, then she turned toward him and said, “I must have been about three. Angelina would have been eight, I guess. We were in the park, and she was rolling this large ball for me to chase. I wasn’t very good at it, but she didn’t mind. Now that I look back, I see she was very patient with me, always. Very protective. This huge dog came rushing up to me, barking—wanting to play, I imagine—but he scared me and then knocked me down. I started crying. Angelina was like a whirlwind. She chased the dog away, then picked me up, dusted me off and soothed away the tears. Then she bought me a big red balloon to distract me.” The reminiscent smile was back. “It probably cost her all the pocket money she had, but that didn’t matter to her. She tied the string around my wrist, tucked the ball we’d been playing with under one arm, took my other hand and walked me home.”
Cate glanced at Liam, her eyes bright. “I have not thought of that day for years. Thank you for making me remember a good memory.”
“What other good memories do you have of your childhood?”
“Oh many. Too many to recount. But looking back, remembering how protective Angelina always was, it’s easy to see why she went into her line of work. When she told me she began her career as a prosecutor, then joined the Zakharian National Forces when the king opened them up to women, I was surprised at first. Not that being in the Zakharian National Forces isn’t an honorable job,” she quickly explained, “but a prosecutor—even starting out—makes more money than a soldier. Even when she was selected as one of the queen’s bodyguards, that job still wouldn’t have paid as much as her starting salary as a prosecutor.”
