Serve ‘N’ Protect by Tee O’Fallon
Chapter Fourteen
Two weeks later, Cassidy and Markus had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Most days, they worked out together and even shared meals. True to her word to McMurray, she did all the shopping so Markus wouldn’t have to go out unnecessarily. She even helped him brush Ghost so he wouldn’t have to lean over and strain his injuries. When it was time, she’d removed his stitches. After that, he began walking on the treadmill while she worked on the rehab regimen he’d specially crafted for her. Gradually, her legs were getting stronger.
Before heading upstairs for the night, Cassidy checked her phone for a voicemail or email message from Walt Teedle or anyone else from Teedle Tech. Zip. She had the distinct impression they were ignoring her, which made no sense since Christmas was only a few days off.
Her phone, however, had blown up with messages from Brianna, Sean, and her dad. Since it was the middle of the week, the family had declared open season on her privacy. Maybe Markus had been right. Asking for a little space might be in order, after all.
She glanced at the latest list of stretches and exercises he’d given her, but it was the very first thing on the page that still both frightened and exhilarated her.
Deep. Tissue. Massage.
Since the first one he’d given her, she’d begun wearing thicker shirts, anything to avoid another one of life’s most embarrassing moments. If she could have worn a down parka without overheating, she gladly would have.
With all the workouts she’d been doing, she’d been drinking water like a fish. She went into the kitchen to refill the red plastic bottle with the Leonardtown Cycling Club logo imprinted on the front. She reached for the bottle but stopped. It was right where she’d left it after dinner, only now it was tipped over. A small puddle had leaked from the nozzle onto the counter.
She refilled the bottle at the sink then went to lock the kitchen door, finding that the latch hadn’t seated itself fully in the strike plate. Her hand froze on the knob. Had someone been in the house while she was out? No. Most likely, either she or Markus hadn’t completely closed the door after taking Ghost outside. She pushed it shut the rest of the way, twisting the lock.
After making sure the front doors were also locked, she grabbed her cane, turned off the lights, and headed upstairs. She took a quick shower, washed her hair, then changed into her pink PJ bottoms with the matching camisole. As she ran through the rest of her nighttime ritual, teeth brushing and moisturizing, the face staring back at her from the mirror was nothing like the person she used to be, not on the inside, anyway. That woman had been chock-full of thoughts of getting married and having kids. Now, what she looked forward to was her next workout.
And, much to her never-get-your-heart-broken-again chagrin, seeing Markus again.
Closing her eyes, she relived the almost-kiss they’d shared, wondering if it would happen again. Nothing happened. Except for him kickstarting something that he wouldn’t be around long enough to attend to. Her libido. Even Markus must have realized his mistake and stopped things before they’d gotten too far. If nothing else, he’d proven that part of her physiology wasn’t dead and buried after all.
She shut off the bathroom light and clicked on the TV, turning on The Weather Channel to see if snow was in the long-term forecast over the next few weeks. The only thing better than Christmastime was a white Christmas, with falling snow glistening in the sky and blanketing the trees and grass with big, sparkling white flakes.
The sigh that came from her throat as she leaned back against the pillows sounded pathetic, even to her. The last time Hugh had kissed her was two days before Christmas and exactly two hours and twenty-five minutes before the accident. Ridiculous that she remembered the chronology with such specificity. The snow had been falling then, too, landing on her nose and eyelashes as he’d kissed her outside the catering hall where they’d just reserved a date for their wedding.
Without meaning to, she automatically began comparing Markus to Hugh. Had Hugh’s kisses ever made her heart palpitate the way Markus’s almost-kiss had? Disturbingly, she honestly couldn’t remember.
But again, sooner or later, the Secret Service would get their man and then Markus would leave and her life would return to normal. Meaning, it would revert to being solitary and boring.
What she needed was a good night’s sleep and to wake up refreshed and with a realistic view of things. And to stop thinking about how good Markus smelled, all woodsy and sexy and—
A sexually frustrated groan rose in her throat as she clicked off the TV and snuggled under the covers. If only she could stop imagining what would have happened if Markus had actually kissed her. If only she could eradicate the erotic image that came next.
The two of them. Naked, in bed, with his muscular body straining over hers as he thrust deeply.
Cassidy bolted upright, uncertain what had awoken her. The room was dark, the glowing red numbers on her bedside table clock indicating it was only 1 a.m.
Wonderful. Usually, when she woke up in the middle of the night for no reason at all, it was nearly impossible to fall asleep again.
She shut her eyes and began counting bottles of beer on the wall. By bottle number fifty-four, she gave up and eased her legs over the mattress, feeling every minute of yesterday’s workout in her sore muscles. Using her feet, she dug around on the rug for her fuzzy purple slippers. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well make good use of the time by either finishing her Christmas Cookie Week shopping list or crunching more numbers.
With her cane securely in hand, she headed for the stairs. She’d been about to flip on the lights when a soft scuffling sound came from somewhere downstairs—the living room if she had to guess. The noise sounded exactly the same as when a bat had once flown down her chimney then flown around for hours before finally figuring out that she’d left the door open for it to escape.
Tiptoeing as much as one could with a cane, she made her way quietly downstairs. That bat had hunkered down in a tiny space on one of the bookshelves, and she hadn’t known it was there until she reached for a book and screamed her head off. Hugh had told her the best way to catch one was by flipping on the lights so you could follow its flight path and see where it took refuge.
At the bottom step, the scuffling sound came again, louder this time. She froze. Unless a small bear had sprouted wings, there was no way that sound had come from a tiny bat.
Her heart began beating so fast she felt the pounding of her pulse at her neck.
Someone was in the house. A human someone.
She tightened her fingers around the curved part of her cane and listened. The tiny white lights on her Christmas tree put out enough light to cast shadows against the walls. One of those shadows moved.
Running upstairs and locking the bedroom door so she could call 911 would be the best option. If only she could run. Fat chance of that.
Her other options were to remain perfectly still and hope the burglar took what he came for and left, or flip on the lights and beat him over the head with her cane.
What if he has a gun? What was with all the gun action lately?
Speaking of deadly weapons, a quick glance through the window to the house next door told her Markus was still awake. Lamplight glowed faintly through the upstairs window she knew was his bedroom.
She could scream to get his attention, but he might not hear her. Then again, she could scream pretty damn loudly when she wanted to. Her experience with the bat had proven that. But what if the burglar shot her first? There was no way she could get past him.
Her heart beat louder, faster, and she could no longer breathe through her nose. The best option was a hasty retreat.
She began turning when the step creaked. Oh, crap. That big shadow bolted toward her. Cassidy spun and did her best, such as it was, to run back up the stairs. She’d gone three steps when he grabbed her ankles, yanking her down.
The cane slipped from her hand, then she was falling. Her chest hit the stairs first, followed by her chin whacking against one of the steps. She grabbed for the handrail, trying desperately to haul herself upright, when he began pulling her down the steps on her belly.
Oh, Jesus. He’s going to kill me, or rape me, or both.
No. Way. After what she’d survived, giving in to some random burglar wasn’t how she planned on ending her life.
By the time he’d yanked her down to the living room floor, her camisole was all the way up to her breasts. When he flipped her onto her back, she kicked him, getting in one solid strike to what might have been his groin. She couldn’t be sure. Either way, score one for the chick with the cane.
“Fuck!” he hissed, and released her legs.
Cassidy reached up and flipped on the light switch. The man glared down at her, his eyes and bared teeth visible through a black ski mask. She took a deep breath and screamed.
She lunged for her cane, which had slid down the stairs and sat not a foot away, but he beat her to it and kicked it away. Closing her eyes, she screamed again. When she opened them, the last thing she saw was a gloved fist aimed directly at her face.