A Time to Die

He knew how she had acquired her small fortune, but unless he wanted to explain to her how he knew, he figured he’d better at least act as if he were curious. “What did you do, win the lottery?”

She shook her head. “I was involved in a work-related accident—” she tapped her cane on the floor “—and my mother and stepfather sued my employer. We settled out of court to the tune of three million dollars.”

Deke faked a surprised expression, then walked farther into the loft and looked around. “How many bedrooms?”

She followed him toward the living room. “Two bedrooms, and two and a half baths.”

He studied the layout of the apartment. “The bedrooms are side by side, there on the left.”

“That’s right. I didn’t want the bedrooms or baths open, so when we closed them off, my contractor and I thought it best to partition off one side of the loft for them.”

“No connecting door between the bedrooms.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No, there isn’t. Why?”

“How many windows in your bedroom?”

“Two.”

“Does either open up onto a balcony?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You’re thinking about security, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s my job.”

“The fire escape connects to the balcony, which is accessible only through those three sets of French doors there.” She indicated the doors in the living room. “The only way someone could reach the windows in the bedrooms would be if they could climb walls or had a five-story ladder.”

He nodded but didn’t speak. As he walked through one room and into another, studying the layout and grunting now and then, Lexie watched him with those big blue eyes of hers. He tried his best not to look directly at her unless it was absolutely necessary. Logically, he understood that she had no idea who he was, but on a primal gut level, he feared she might somehow know him, know what he’d done to her.

Stop worrying. She doesn’t know who you are, he told himself.

She had no idea that the Dundee agent assigned to protect her was the man whose bullet had crippled her ten years ago.

Not long after the assassination of Babu Tum, Deke had resigned from the army, leaving the Delta Force and his career behind him. Less than three months later, Geoff Monday had parted company with the SAS, and joined Deke and several other former Special-Ops warriors to form their own team of mercenaries. During those renegade years, he’d kept track of Lexie Murrough’s slow, painful recovery. The bullet she’d taken in the back had not been fatal, and the paralysis it had caused hadn’t been permanent. But because of the delay in getting her to a hospital and starting her on steroids to control the swelling in her spinal cord, the injury had worsened. It had taken over a year before she could walk again, and then four more years of physical and psychiatric therapy had followed.

Once she’d resumed a normal life, he had lost track of her—over five years ago.

“This is my bedroom,” Lexie said.

She swung open the door to reveal a pristine blue-and-cream room. A king-size bed with a blue-and-white checkered cloth headboard and matching stool at the foot dominated the large space. A photograph of the sky—blue and white and pale gray—hung over the fireplace mantel. Floor-to-ceiling blue-gray silk curtains hung from the two windows, and two blue-and-white print chairs flanked a small decorative table. Although the room was not excessively feminine, the bouquet of blue violets on the nightstand and the crystal candy dish on the table, as well as the blue-and-white floral room-size rug, indicated that this was a lady’s bedroom.

“You should be comfortable in the guest room. It’s not as large as this one, but there’s a queen bed, and I believe it’ll be long enough for you.”

She led him to the next door, opened it and gestured for him to enter first. The walls were cream, the windows bare except for dark-brown wooden blinds. Two dark-walnut bedside tables flanked the bronze metal bed, and a Craftsman-style walnut bench rested at the foot. A quilt in a rusty-red and beige color scheme had been folded across the back of the bench. Clean lines. Not fussy. Pretty much unisex in decoration.

The lone sepia-toned photograph hanging over the bed caught Deke’s attention. The bronze frame held a landscape that he recognized immediately. A serene pool surrounded by towering trees. An oasis in the desert a few miles outside Gadi’s capital city.

A tight knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you like the photograph?” she asked.

He swallowed hard.

“Who took the photo?”

“A man named Marty Bearn.” Her voice lowered to a mere whisper, the tone reverent and slightly melancholy. “He was a cameraman for UBC. He died in Gadi ten years ago.”

“And he was a friend of yours?” God, how could he act as if he had no idea who Marty Bearn was or what his connection to Lexie was? With every breath Deke took, every moment he was with her, he was lying to her.

“Yes, he was. I’m godmother to his daughter.” Lexie sucked in a deep breath. “She was born six months after Marty was killed.”

What could he say? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He shouldn’t be here. When Geoff had given him the chance to escape from this hell he was now in, he should have taken it. He should have gone with Cara Bedell and let Geoff guard Lexie. But instead of doing the sensible thing, he had demanded this assignment. And why? Because something deep inside him had given him no choice.

For ten years he had lived with the guilt and remorse, although after Lexie had resumed a normal life, he had tried to stop punishing himself. He and Geoff, both of them heading into middle age, had gotten out of the mercenary business. Geoff first, and after he’d gotten a job with Dundee, he’d talked Deke into joining him.

“We’re overqualified,” Geoff had said. “But it’s the perfect job for a couple of old warriors. And the pay is damn good.”

Standing here, alone with Lexie Murrough, Deke felt as if his life had come full circle. Maybe fate had thrown him and Lexie together again so that this time he could take care of her instead of nearly kill her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“I’ve asked you twice if you’d prefer soup and sandwiches or soup and salad for supper.”

“Sorry,” he replied. “I was thinking about something.”

“Why don’t you get your bag and settle in?” Lexie suggested. “I want to freshen up, change into my jeans, and then I’ll get supper started. Sandwich or salad?”

“You don’t have to fix anything,” he said. “We could order in.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

“Sandwich. And I like a lot of meat. More meat than bread.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

When she smiled at him, so pretty and feminine and sweet, he wanted to grab her and kiss her. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to drag her over to the bed, strip off her clothes and screw her.