Taken by Storm

He forced himself not to stare at her full, lush mouth. There was something about her mouth that reminded him of sultry vixen. A pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt made her appear small and fragile.

Rafe strolled across the room and extended his hand. "I'm Deputy Marshal Rafe Madison."

Simone stared at the large, well-groomed hand as if it were a venomous reptile. "May I please see some ID?"

"I can assure you that he is who he—" Keven Robbins's voice trailed off when Simone shot him a warning look.

"I was told by the U.S. attorney at the courthouse that I wasn't to trust anyone or assume they're who they say they are," she said quietly, glaring at the seemingly embarrassed federal officer. Her gaze swung back to the man who'd been assigned to live in her home while monitoring her whereabouts 24/7. Forcing a smile, she held out her hand. "Now, may I see your identification, Marshal Madison?"

Dark eyebrows lifted slightly in Rafe's lightly tanned face as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans for a small leather case. He handed it to Simone, who stared at his picture ID and badge for several seconds, then returned it to him. A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. "Are you convinced now?"

There was something smug about Raphael Madison's attitude that irked Simone. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I'll show you where you can put your things."

Keven cleared his throat. He wanted to tell Rafe that he would have his work cut out for him with Simone Whitfield. Although he'd found her very pretty, he detected a toughness in her that wasn't apparent at first glance. And she didn't scare easily. After all, she'd repelled Mitchell Fischer's attacker with pepper spray.

He winked at Rafe. "I'm going back to the courthouse." He nodded to Simone. "Miss Whitfield." Keven slapped Rafe's shoulder as he made his way to the front door. "Good luck, my friend," he said in a quiet voice. "She's a live one," he added sotto voce.

Rafe walked with Keven, closed and locked the door, then picked up his luggage. When he returned to the living room, he realized Simone hadn't moved. When his gaze met hers, he saw uncertainty in the brown-green orbs. Was she in shock? Had the enormity that she could've been murdered or seriously wounded finally set in?

But she hadn't been killed or injured because common sense and quick thinking had saved not only her life, but also that of a federal judge.

Simone blinked once, as if coming out of a trance. "Follow me, Mr. Madison."

Rafe stared at her back as she headed for the staircase. "We have to settle something straightaway, Simone." She stopped her retreat and turned to face him. "Since I'm going to be living with you for a while, I believe we can dispense with the formality of Mr. Madison and Miss Whitfield."

Her naturally arching eyebrows flickered. "How do we address each other?"

"Rafe and Simone will do. It'd be better for everyone involved if you don't advertise why I'm here."

If Simone hadn't been so traumatized by the day's events, she would've reacted to the tall man with a mane of dirty-blond hair and intense dark-blue eyes. He'd been blessed with the most exquisite bone structure she'd ever seen in a man. His perfectly symmetrical features made him almost a little too pretty. He was what her pastry chef cousin, Faith, would refer to as delicious or yummy. A lightweight black jacket was stretched over his broad shoulders and a pair of well-washed jeans hugged his lower toned body like a second skin. It didn't matter if he was easy on the eyes; she'd never been attracted to blond men.

"How do I explain you, Rafe?" There was a hint of facetiousness in her query.

"You can say I'm an old friend from college."

"How do you know that I attended college?"

Rafe's impassive expression didn't change. "I know everything—well, almost everything—about you," he said, correcting himself.

The Bureau had forwarded her biographical information, along with other data needed for the security, health and safety of their government witness. He knew when and where she'd been born, the schools she'd attended, her marital status and how much income she'd reported to the IRS.

"You do know that I don't want you here."

A slight frown appeared between his eyes. "What you want is unimportant to me. I've been assigned to protect you whether you like it or not. Now, please show me where I can put my bags, then we'll sit down and clear the air about a few things."

Simone decided she didn't like United States Deputy Marshal Raphael Madison. She didn't like his macho attitude and superciliousness.

She narrowed her gaze at him while crossing her arms under her breasts. "Why wait until later? Let's clear the air right now. I don't like you and I don't want you living with me," she said. "I only agreed to go along with this witness protection thing because of what that monster did to my neighbor and would've done to me if I hadn't pepper sprayed his ass. I am cooperating with the government because I believe he should be locked away where he can't hurt anyone ever again. But that doesn't mean I'm going to become a prisoner with you as my jailer. I have a business to run and that's not going to change just because you're here."

Rafe struggled not to lose his temper. "Either you deal with me, or you'll find yourself in federal detention charged with obstruction. I can assure you that I won't interfere with your personal life or your business, but I want you to remember one thing. Where you go, I go. Those are my orders."

Simone inhaled deeply in an attempt to relieve the constriction in her chest. She felt helpless, vulnerable, but she wasn't going to let her bodyguard know that. "Okay. But try and stay out of my way." Turning on her heels, she headed for the staircase. "Now that you understand where I'm coming from, I'll show you to your room," she said over her shoulder.

Pressing his lips together, Rafe swallowed his sarcastic reply. If Simone Whitfield thought she was going to set the ground rules for what he hoped would be a short-term involvement, then she was quite mistaken. There was one thing of which he was certain, and that was he was very good at what he'd been trained to do.

From the time the Witness Security Program was authorized by the Organized Crime Control Act of 1970 and amended by the Comprehensive Crime Control Act of 1984, no program participant who followed security guidelines had ever been harmed while under the protection of the Marshals Service, and he wasn't about to let Simone Whitfield become the first victim. Not on his watch.

His gaze was fixed on the profusion of corkscrew curls floating down her back. Simone's face and hair reminded him of his sister's favorite doll, which she'd refused to play with because she claimed she hadn't wanted to ruin it. The doll sat in a chair year after year until Rachel Madison packed her away the year she'd turned sixteen. It was the same year that all hell broke loose in the Madison household when Rafe relocated his mother and sister from Kansas and California.

Following Simone up the stairs and down a wide hallway, he pulled his thoughts back to the present. "Do you have an attic or basement?"

"No. There's just the first and second floor."

Rafe smiled. It was the first time she'd spoken to him civilly. "I need to check all of the windows and doors to make certain the locks are in working order."

"The house is wired and monitored by a security company."

"I'm still going to check everything," he insisted.

Simone slowed her pace, stopping at a bedroom at the end of the hall. Shifting slightly, she stared up at Rafe. "I always sleep with my bedroom window open regardless of the weather."

He shook his head. "You can't continue to do that. What you don't want is to make it easy for someone to get to you."

There came a pause as a flicker of fear swept through her. "What makes you think someone is going to get to me? Isn't Ian Benton locked up?"

There was another beat of silence before Rafe said, "Yes, he is. And I doubt whether he'll be granted bail. But there's also the possibility that he may have had an accomplice."

Her eyes grew wide as she mulled over the marshal's words. What if Ian Benton hadn't acted alone? What if someone had paid him to kill the judge? "Are you saying someone paid Ian Benton to murder Judge Fischer?" she asked, voicing her concerns aloud.

"I don't know," Rafe lied smoothly. What Simone didn't know was that Ian Benton had been added to a domestic terrorist watch list after he'd stabbed a federal prosecutor to death in a Dallas courthouse parking lot. It'd been one of three attacks on federal officials marking the first anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. Undercover agents had reported the subsequent attacks, like the bombing, was to avenge the Waco siege and Ruby Ridge killings.

The agents had also gathered evidence that Benton was a professional hit man for supremacist groups targeting lawyers and judges involved in the prosecution of hate crimes. However, after his l996 release following the mysterious disappearance of a government witness, Benton dropped out of sight, only to resurface more than a decade later, this time in the Northeast. If convicted, he would be sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

Simone exhaled a soft sigh. She didn't want to think or talk about Ian Benton. She wanted to believe she'd imagined everything that had happened to her, that she'd had a bad dream, that when she woke she would be living alone and she wouldn't have to share her house and life with the marshal who'd become her bodyguard.

Opening the door to the room she'd chosen for Rafe, she gave him a level stare. "This will be your bedroom."

"Where's yours?" Rafe asked.

"It's the one on the right at the top of the stairs."

"I can't sleep here."

"And why not?" she countered.

"It's too far from your bedroom." He didn't want to lose time getting to her in an emergency. "I'll take the bedroom across from yours."

"Whatever," Simone mumbled under her breath. She'd chosen the room as much for its spaciousness as for its southeast exposure. If Rafe wanted to sleep in a bedroom with embroidered sheets, lace panels at the windows and frilly pillows, then she didn't want to hear any complaints from him.