SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) (14 page)

She rolls her eyes at me and looks at the wall from her station on the bed. I walk over and sit on the corner of the bed, turned so that I can see her while we speak, even if she refuses to make eye contact with me.
 

"I really don't," I offer. "But I
am
worried about you. I want to make sure you're ok. Your well-being is the entire motivation behind my decision."

"I'll be fine, Dade…don't get fired over me." Her guilt is evident in her shaky voice.

"I'm the boss. No one here can fire me. The people in charge aren't here, and they like me too much. I'm too good at my job."

She shakes her head and looks at me again. "This is fucked up."

"Yes it is," I nod. "But one thing will not change, and that is me. I won't let anything happen to you. I 'll keep you close. Like I said, I'll see you through this."

A single tear trails slowly from her eye. She crooks her finger for me to come closer to her, and I bite back my panic. I could so easily get carried away with her, leaving all of us vulnerable. Still, the elation I feel at her relying on me is beyond description. Even if only for a small moment, Shelby wants me and needs me, and I have the opportunity to demonstrate for her exactly who I am.
 

I lay down next to her and she rolls to me, putting her cheek to rest on my chest. I wrap her up like I did earlier today, though it feels like a lifetime ago. This time, however, I untwist the knot of hair and let her tresses fall loose around my fingertips. This is intimacy in sweet, pure form.
 

I whisper words of comfort as best I can

"From the beginning I watched you like a hawk. Average surveillance wasn't enough," I tell her, being more honest with her then I expected I would. "And I haven't stopped. I've got you."

"A hawk," she whispers as she stretches beside me. "I guess that makes you
my
hawk."

I regard her with mild confusion. Her expression is indecipherable.
 

"Everybody has a bird," she riddles, a hint of her bitterness sneaking through. "Francis Dade Roarke, my hawk."

"Don't call me Francis," I say flatly as my fingertips gently grip around her in comfort. "Everybody has a bird? What does that mean?"

Shelby looks at me rather seriously then. "Ledger has his dove, Mason his phoenix, and Callen his nightingale. Jackson even called Emily his robin one day so they could play along."

"Now
you
want to play along?"

Shelby shrugs sadly. "I like the idea. You're protective and fierce."

I consider the concept and imagine myself soaring around her, watching protectively. I consider the concept for her, too. For Shelby, I would assign her the mantle of
love bird
. They are astoundingly beautiful, but bereft on their own.

We lay quietly for a few more minutes before she speaks one final time.
 

"Thanks for not giving up on me."

I smile softly. "I would never give up on you, Shel."

Shelby falls asleep in my arms.

I want so desperately to hold her until she wakes up, to prove I will be by her side, but the guys should not have to wonder why I'm holed up with our witness for hours behind closed doors. I can only imagine what they would assume, especially only a matter of hours after her closed-door tryst with our former colleague. I wait a few minutes to ensure she's in a deep enough sleep not to be roused when I move before I slide myself carefully away. The stress and heartache ease from her face as she sleeps, showing an innocent side to her beauty. Jesus, I have lost my mind, and I'll have to remain undistracted, no matter how difficult. If anything happens to Shelby, I'll be devastated…for every reason.

"Ok, guys," I say when I return to the kitchen. "As soon as your shift is over, I need you to finish supplying the house. Banks, you're on grocery duty, and pick up an Amazon card to get Shelby some new books. Shaw, go to my place and pack me some clothes, and include everything from pajamas to suits."

"Ok…," Shaw says, his face still displaying hesitation at the new arrangement. "But don't you think—"

"Done. You have your assignments."

Both men walk away shaking their head at me, and now I'm faced with letting my boss know about me moving in. This will not go over well, but I'm confident I won't be fired, at least not until this trial is over. There's too much riding on this, and I'm the best they have.
 

I take a deep breath and dial headquarters.

"What," my boss grumbles, still pissed off that we burned through a safe house and are occupying the back up. Our other security team doesn't currently have an active witness, so they will be setting up another house instead of going through their scheduled training.
 

"We're at the alternate house, and arrived without incident."

"Well at least something fucking went right today."

"Yeah, about that. There's one other issue you need to know about. It's nothing bad, but it's against protocol."

"We don't go against protocol," he growls. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm moving into the house," I say with determination.

"The hell you are!" he yells.
 

"This is happening, Dominic . Shelby's on the edge, and if we want to keep our witness sane enough to testify, she needs stability."

"That fucking
house
is her stability, Roarke," he fumes. "If she was so keen on keeping things steady for herself, she shouldn't have gotten so up close and personal with one of my agents. This entire fuck up is on her."

"But doesn't that prove exactly what I'm trying to tell you?" I reason with him. "She's a goddamn mess. She's my responsibility, and I will keep her safe, including her mind."

"You looking to get laid? fired? Demoted? Stuck on desk duty?" he asks, his voice belying frustration rather than anger. We argue back and forth, but he's wavering. Without question, I will be the victor in this conversation, even though I know the consequences of my actions are waiting for me at the end of Shelby's protection detail.
 

"Listen Dominic, you know I can read these situations better than anyone, which is why I'm team leader. This is the right move. If it makes you feel any better, consider this a new protocol."

"God damn it, Roarke," he grits out through his teeth. "Hell to pay. There will be fucking hell to pay when this is over."

"I'll count on it," I say, glad to finally have unofficial approval.
 

I hang up and take a deep breath. All I can do is wait for Shaw to come back with my clothes so I can get out of this damn shirt and tie. A pair of jeans and a henley sound pretty good to me. I introduce this house's den to our multitude of files while Shelby sleeps. We have the house nearly completely set up during the few hours Shelby rests.
 

In the morning, bleary-eyed but seemingly calmer than before, the lady of the house comes to the kitchen. I point silently to the coffee pot as she yawns and nods a wordless thank-you. She takes a few sips right there by the counter before she finds a seat at the breakfast bar on the kitchen island, at the opposite end from my stool.
 

"You sleep ok?" I ask after she has a chance to sip a few more caffeinated pick-me-ups.

"Yeah. Sorry for nodding off like that."

"It's ok," I say before reminding her of the safety protocols. She listens dutifully in spite of the fact she knows all of this already. I ask if she needs reminders of the social side of her situation, which is only answered with a scowl. At least my point was made.
 

"How much longer until I testify?"

"Friday, as it stands now. Crosby will be here Wednesday and Thursday evenings again to go over all your answers and your verbal testimony."

She nods again and gulps the rest of her coffee. I reach for her cup, and she hands it to me, her eyes still on mine. I offer her a small smile and get her a refill. She's still eyeing me when I hand her the mug.

"Thank you," she says hesitantly.

"You're welcome," I say simply. Life doesn't always have to be complicated.

Our new standard routine goes on all the way through her testimony coaching Wednesday night. I do my job as best I can while trying not to focus on my personal feelings. Shelby seems more at ease with her situation, but her hurts are many and deep. I don't expect a sunny disposition from her anytime soon. At the very least, though, she has stopped whining.
 

By the end of Thursday night's session with the assistant prosecutor, she has the body language of a person defeated. We all say good night to Crosby, but I pull Shelby to the breakfast nook.
 

"Talk to me," I tell her.
 

"I don't want the spotlight," she sighs. "I don't want any of this."

"I know," I say. "But this will be over soon. After your testimony in front of the grand jury, the trial will start and you'll be in the home stretch."
 

She nods but doesn't look up from the floor. She mumbles a thanks and heads to her room for the night. I nearly sigh before I retire to the guest room. Like I have for the past few nights, I lie awake for too long, rolling too many thoughts through my head.
 

The strongest two thoughts remain the same: Shelby's safety and the knowledge she's lying down only a room away from me. One single wall separates us. Unfortunately, that wall might as well be a concrete, steel-enforced barrier.
 

I fantasize too much of her slender, feminine form lying so close. Moving with her body, caressing her flawless skin…tasting her lips…

I shake my head in an attempt to clear those errant thoughts, but the fantasy remains. I imagine my fingers and my tongue tracing the lines of her tattoo, all while I whisper of her beauty and the perfect match between her ink and her soul.
 

The blush of her skin under my touch would burn into my vision, and any single sound of pleasure from her lips would soak into my memory so beautifully. I want her so damn badly.
 

I know she's anxious for the trial to end. I may be more so.

The other fantasy I entertain is her wanting me in return. I see her looking. I've experienced her advances. I sense tension between us. If I understand her as well as I think I do, she's attracted to me strongly. My hope rests that my ability to read her is accurate.
 

I am absolutely certain that staying together nearly every hour has brought her closer to me. She stays in close physical proximity, clinging to the stability I offer. My professional goal to keep her mental health stable has played out how I wanted, and I believe my personal need to keep her close has drawn her to me in the way I desire.

I clench my jaw as my fantasies tease at my consciousness. Unable to sleep and going insane at the thought of having Shelby, I scuff from the bed and downstairs to the kitchen.
 

The night shift marshals greet me. I nod in return.
 

"Can't sleep?" one of them says with obvious innuendo.

I scowl. "Stay professional."

It's taking everything I have to follow my own advice, no matter how far from
professional
I've already strayed.
 

"Right," he says with sarcasm.

"Watch it," I glare. "Sit-rep?"

Appropriately chastised, he answers. "All quiet. Security sweeps show nothing abnormal. Video surveillance clear. Neighborhood activity is standard."

"Good," I nod.
 

I talk shop with my colleagues for nearly another two hours before sleep finally seems possible.
 

"Roarke," Shaw calls to me, coming out of the video surveillance control room. "Do you know who set up the house?"

"Another team, that's all I was told. Why?"

"I wouldn't have chosen it. Trees are too big. There are too many blind spots in the line of sight for the cameras. Plus, don't you think the place is too big? Since when do we choose houses with basements?"

"I don't know. Sometimes we have to take what's available. Are all the entries still secure?"

"Yeah, the structure is solid. It's just not ideal."