Chapter Eight #2
She turned and left him sitting there, with his own harsh words echoing in his mind.
* * *
Kell was lying on his stomach in bed. His bruises were much more obvious now, and he was pale and weak from the surgery. She sat down beside him in a chair and smiled.
“How’s it going?” she asked gently.
“Badly,” he said with a long sigh. “Hurts like hell. But they think I might be able to walk again. They have to wait until I start healing and the bruising abates before they’ll know for sure.
But I can wiggle my toes.” He smiled. “I’m not going to prove it, because it hurts. You can take my word for it.”
“Deal.” She brushed back his unkempt hair.
“Your old boss came by last night,” he said coldly. “He explained what happened. I gave him an earful.”
“So did I. He’s back.”
“I’m not surprised. He was pretty contrite.”
“It won’t do any good,” she said sadly. “I won’t forget what he said to me. He didn’t believe me.”
“Apparently he’s had some hard knocks of his own.”
“Yes, that explains it, but it doesn’t excuse it.”
“Point taken.” He glanced past her toward the door. “You’ve got bodyguards.”
“Yes. Some of Eb Scott’s guys. They don’t like each other.”
“Chet has a chip on his shoulder, and Rourke likes to take potshots at it.”
“Which is which?” she asked.
“Rourke lost an eye overseas.”
“Oh. Dead-Eye.”
He chuckled and then winced. “That’s what he calls himself.
He’s got quite a history. He worked for the CIA over in the South Pacific for several years.
Now he’s trying to get back in. His language skills are rusty, and he’s not up on the latest communications protocols, so he’s studying with Eb.
Chet, on the other hand, is trying to land a job doing private security for overseas embassies. He has anger issues.”
“Anger issues?”
“He tends to slug people who make him angry. Doesn’t go over well in embassies.”
“I can understand that.” She frowned. “How do you know them?”
He sighed. “That’s a long story. We’ll have to talk about it when I get out of here.”
She was adding up things and getting uncomfortable totals. “Kell, you weren’t working for a magazine when you went to Africa, were you?” she asked.
He hesitated. “That’s one of the things we’ll talk about. But not now. Okay?”
She relented. He did look very rocky. “Okay.” She laid a gentle hand on his muscular arm. “You’re my brother and I love you. That won’t change, even if you tell me blatant lies and think I’ll never know about them.”
“You’re too sharp for your own good.”
“I’ve been told that.”
“Don’t stray from your bodyguards,” he cautioned. “I have to agree with them. I think Frank’s not planning to go back to jail. He’ll do whatever it takes to get even with you, and then he’ll try suicide-by-cop.”
“Jail would be better than dead, certainly?”
“Frank has anger issues, too.”
She flexed the arm he’d broken. “I noticed.”
“Don’t take chances. Promise me.”
“I promise. Please get well. Being an orphan is bad enough. I can’t lose you, too.”
He smiled. “I’m not going anywhere. After all, I’ve got a book to finish. I have to get well in order to do that.”
She hesitated. “Kell, he wouldn’t come here, and try to finish the job he did on you?” she asked worriedly.
“I have company.”
“You do?”
“Move it, you military rejects,” came a deep voice from the door. A tall, familiar-looking man with silver eyes and jet-black hair moved into the room, dressed in boots and jeans and a chambray shirt, carrying a foam cup of coffee.
“Kilraven?” she asked, surprised. “Aren’t you working?”
He shook his head. “Not tonight,” he said. “I had a couple of vacation days I was owed, so I’m babysitting your brother.”
“Thanks,” she said with a broad grin.
“I’m getting something out of it,” he chuckled. “I’m stuck on the middle level of a video game, and Kell knows how to crack it.”
“Is it Halo: ODST?” Dead-Eye asked. “I beat it.”
“Yeah, on the ‘easy’ level, I’ll bet,” Chet chided.
“I did it on ‘normal,’ for your information,” he huffed.
“Well, I did it on Legendary,” Kell murmured, “so shut up and take care of my sister, or I’ll wipe the floor with you when I get back on my feet.”
Dead-Eye gave him a neat salute. Chet shrugged.
“See you later,” Cappie said, kissing her brother’s cheek again.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“On a job interview,” she said gently. “Brenda’s boss might have something part-time.”
“Are you sure you want to move back here?” Kell asked.
“Yes,” she lied.
“Good luck, then.”
“Thanks. See you, Kilraven. Thank you, too.”
He grinned. “Keep your gunpowder dry.”
“Tell them.” She pointed to her two companions. “I hate guns.”
“Bite your tongue!” Kilraven said in mock horror.
She made a face and went out the door, her two companions right behind her.
* * *
Bentley met them at the elevator. “Where are you going now?” he asked her.
She hesitated.
“Job interview,” Rourke said for her.
“You can’t leave the clinic,” Bentley said curtly. “I don’t have anybody to replace you yet!”
“That’s your problem,” she shot back. “I don’t want to work for you anymore!”
He looked hunted.
“Besides, Kell and I are moving back to San Antonio as soon as he heals,” she said stubbornly. “It’s too far to commute.”
Bentley looked even more worried. He didn’t say anything.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” she added.
“Dr. King’s filling in for me,” he said.
“Until when?”
His pale eyes glittered. “Until I can convince you to come home where you belong.”
“Please. Hold your breath.” She walked around him and into the next open elevator. She didn’t even look to see which direction it was going.
* * *
It was going up. She was stuck between two oversize men and two perfume-soaked women. She started to cough before the women got off. The men left two floors later and the elevator slowly started down.
“Wasn’t that heaven?” Rourke said with a dreamy smile, inhaling the air. “I love perfume.”
“It makes me sick,” Chet muttered, sniffing.
“It makes me cough,” Cappie agreed.
“Well, obviously, you two don’t like women as much as I do,” Rourke scoffed.
They both glared at him.
He raised both hands, palms-out in defense, and grinned.
The elevator stopped at the cafeteria again and Bentley was still there, smoldering.
Cappie glared at him. It didn’t help. He got on the elevator and pressed the down button.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Cappie asked him.
“On a job interview,” he said gruffly. “Maybe they need an extra veterinarian where you’re applying.”
“Does this mean that you’re not marrying me?” Rourke wailed in mock misery.
Bentley gaped. “You’re marrying him?” he exclaimed.
“I am not marrying anybody!” Cappie muttered.
Bentley shifted restlessly. “You could marry me,” he said without looking at her. “I’m established in a profession and I don’t carry a gun,” he added, looking pointedly at the butt of Rourke’s big .45 auto nestled under his armpit.
“So am I, established in a profession,” Rourke argued. “And knowing how to use a gun isn’t a bad thing.”
“Diplomats don’t think so,” Chet muttered.
“That’s only until other people start shooting at them, and you save their butts,” Rourke told him.
Chet brightened. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Come on,” Cappie groaned when the elevator stopped. “I swear, I feel like I’m leading a parade!”
“Anybody got a trombone?” Rourke asked the people waiting around the elevator.
Cappie caught his arm and dragged him along with her.
* * *
They took a cab to the veterinarian’s office. The car was full. The men were having a conversation about video games, but they left Cappie behind when they mentioned innovations they’d found on the Internet, about how to do impossible things with the equipment in the Halo series.
“Using grenades to blow a Scorpion up onto a mountain?” she exclaimed.
“Hey, whatever works,” Rourke argued.
“Yeah, but you have to shoot your buddies to get enough grenades,” Chet said. “That’s not ethical.”
“This, from a guy who lifted a policeman’s riot gun right out of the trunk of his car!” Rourke said.
“I never lifted it, I borrowed it! Anyway, everybody was shooting rifles or shotguns and I only had a .45,” he scoffed.
“Everybody else’s was bigger than his,” Rourke translated with an angelic pose.
Chet hit his arm. “Stop that!”
“See why he can’t get a job with diplomats?” Rourke quipped, holding his arm in mock pain.
“I’m amazed that either of you can get a job,” Cappie commented. “You really need to work on your social skills.”
“I’m trying to, but you won’t marry me,” Rourke grumbled.
“Of course she won’t, she’s marrying me,” Bentley said smugly.
“I am not!” Cappie exclaimed.
“No woman is going to marry a veterinarian when she can have a dashing spy,” Rourke commented.
“Do you know one?” Bentley asked calmly.
Rourke glared at him. “I can be dashing when I want to, and I used to work for the CIA.”
“Yes, but does sweeping floors count as a real job?” Chet wanted to know.
“You ought to know,” Rourke told the other man. “Isn’t that what you did in Manila?”
“I was the president’s bodyguard!”
“And didn’t he end up in the hospital?”
“We’re here!” Cappie said loudly, indicating where the cab was stopping. “And the ride is Dutch treat,” she added. “I’m not paying cab fare for bodyguards and stubborn hangers-on.”
“Who’s a hanger-on?” Rourke asked.
But Cappie was already out of the cab. The three men followed her when they settled their part of the fare.
She walked into the veterinarian’s front office, where Kate Snow was still holding down the job of receptionist. She was twenty-four, tall, brunette and had soft green eyes and a pleasant rather than pretty face. She smiled.
“Hi, Cappie,” she greeted. “Come to visit your old stomping grounds?”
“Actually I’m here to apply for something part-time,” she replied.
“Brenda said that, but I didn’t believe her,” Kate replied, stunned. “You just moved to Jacobsville.”
“Well, I’m moving back.”
“I’ll buzz Dr. Lammers,” she said, and pressed a button on the phone. She spoke into the receiver, nodded, spoke again and hung up. “He’s with a patient, but he’ll be out in a minute.” She looked past Cappie. “Can I help you?” she asked the three men.
“I’m with her,” Rourke said.
“Me, too,” Chet seconded.
“I’m applying for a job, too,” Bentley said. “I thought you might need an extra vet.” He smiled.
“Who are you?” Kate asked, surprised.
“He’s my ex-boss,” Cappie muttered.
“You’re Dr. Rydel?” Kate exclaimed. “But you have your own practice in Jacobsville!”
“I do, but if Cappie moves here, I move here,” he said stubbornly.
“We might move here, too,” Rourke interrupted. “I can inter-view for a job here, too. I can type.”
“Liar,” Chet said. “He can’t type.”
“I can learn!”
“All you know how to do is shoot people,” Chet scoffed.
“Sir, it’s illegal to carry a concealed weapon,” Kate began nervously.
Rourke gave her his most charming smile. “I’m a professional bodyguard, and I have a permit. If you’d like to see it, I’ll take you to this lovely little French bistro downtown and you can look at it while we eat.”
Kate stared at him as if he’d grown horns.
“There’s a guy stalking her,” Chet told her. “We’re going to catch him if he tries anything and turn him over to local law enforcement.”
“Stalking you?” Kate stammered.
Cappie glared at the two men. “Thank you so much for making me an employment liability!”
Rourke made her a bow. Chet just glowered. Bentley beamed.
“I don’t mind employing you. Not one bit,” Bentley said. “These two can work for the groomer and we’ll protect you.”
“I’m not grooming anything,” Chet told him bluntly.
“Okay. Then you can deal with surly clients,” Bentley compromised.
Chet gave him an appreciative look.
“Actually I know how to groom things,” Rourke said. “I once shaved a monkey.”
Cappie hit him.
“There you are!” Brenda exclaimed, coming out of the back in a green-and-blue polka-dotted lab coat. “I talked to Dr. Lammers, but he said we’ve already got more part-timers than we can spare. I’m so sorry,” she added miserably.
“What’s your address?” Bentley asked. “I’ll send you flowers.”
“I thought you wanted to marry her,” Chet pointed at Cappie.
Brenda’s eyes widened. “Who are you?” she asked the dark-eyed man.
“I’m a hired…”
“…assassin,” Rourke finished for him.
“I don’t kill people, I just shoot them!” Chet growled.
“I only wound them,” Rourke added. “Are we going back to Jacobsville, then?”
“Who are these men?” Brenda asked again.
“Well, these two are my bodyguards—” she indicated them “—and that’s my ex-boss.”
“Why is your ex-boss here?” she asked, all at sea.
“He was going to get a job here, too, but there are no openings for part-timers or vets, so I guess we’re all going back to Jacobsville,” Cappie said miserably. “That is, if Frank doesn’t shoot me first.”
“Nobody’s shooting you,” Rourke assured her.
“You can bet on that,” Chet said.
Brenda smiled at them. “Thanks. She’s my best friend.”
Cappie hugged her. “Thanks anyway, for trying. I’ll call you. See you, Kate!”
Kate waved as she picked up the ringing telephone. Her eyes were still on Rourke, who grinned at her.
“Come on, let’s go,” Cappie told the men.
“How’s Kell?” Brenda asked, walking them out.
“He’s going to make it. We won’t know if he can walk for several days, though.”
“If you have to go home, I’ll visit him for you.”
“I can’t leave just yet,” Cappie said. “Not until we find Frank.”
Brenda stared at Bentley, who was all smiles. “Aren’t you going back to your practice?”
“When we find Frank,” he commented pleasantly.
“You’re not part of this bodyguard unit,” Chet reminded him.
“I am now,” Bentley assured him. His eyes smoothed over Cappie. “I’m in it until the end.”
Cappie hated the rush of pleasure that comment gave her. So she disguised it by hugging Brenda and promising to keep in touch.