Dark eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline. “Excuse me?”
He knew that wouldn’t go over well. He gestured toward the covered window. “Too many places a sniper could take a shot from. The outside hallway’s too tight. A perfect place for an ambush. If we needed to escape, all anyone would have to do is pick us off as we came out the door.”
A visible tremor worked over her. “I don’t know where we could go.”
“The dossier said your parents have a home in Forest Park. The house is armed with a state-of-the-art alarm system.”
She shook her head. “I would hate to put them in danger.”
“It will be safer there.”
“I don’t know...”
He’d hoped to ease into this over Thai food. “It’s already been arranged.”
Her eyes widened with outrage. “You’ve spoken to my parents?”
“Trent is thorough in our protection.”
She made a face. “Unbelievable.”
“We’ve been here long enough. Do you want to pack a few things?”
“What choice do I have?” Anger laced her words.
Empathy twisted his stomach in knots. He knew firsthand how upsetting, annoying and humiliating it was to have someone else calling the shots. “It’s for your safety.”
“Of course it is.” Though the words dripped with sarcasm, her posture was resigned. She returned to her room. A few minutes later she came out carrying a small suitcase. “I have some clothes already at their house.”
“Do you want to keep the flowers?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Let’s leave them in the lobby.”
He wondered briefly if it was the flowers themselves or the sender she wanted to leave behind.
He escorted her to his rental car, a black Suburban. The modern, everyday version of the layman’s tank. He did a quick sweep of the exterior before allowing her too close to the vehicle. Checked the undercarriage, made sure the doors hadn’t been tampered with. Standard operating procedure. When he was sure the SUV was safe, he helped Brenda into the passenger seat.
As he drove he kept a vigilant eye out for a tail. Nothing. A half hour later they arrived at her parents’ Forest Park home. Behind a gated community, which provided twenty-four-hour security, the Storms’ residence was a large, gabled brick house with manicured hedges, Astroturf green lawns and flower beds with a kaleidoscope of colorful flora and visually interesting plants. A magazine-worthy home.
“Nice place,” Kyle commented. A far cry from the double-wide prefabricated place he’d called home as a kid. “You grew up in this house?”
“No. My parents bought this home after I’d graduated from med school.”
“Where did you live as a kid?”
She opened the passenger door. “Evanston.”
“Did you go to Northwestern?”
“I did. The university was practically in my backyard.” She climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward the house.
Kyle grabbed her suitcase from the back and followed her to the front door. Humidity made his shirt stick to his back. He glanced around, noting the quiet street and the other homes visible over the hedges marking the property lines. The hedges weren’t exactly the best for security—too many places a bad guy could slip through undetected.
He would have preferred a fence or a rock wall. Better yet, barbed wire.
Brenda opened the door. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.”
The temperature change between the outside and the inside was drastic. The sweat from the late-September humidity outside chilled on Kyle’s skin. Brenda rubbed her arms as goose pimples appeared.
As they stepped around the entryway corner, a well-dressed woman hastily shoved amber pill bottles into the drawer of the side table. A gray-haired man lay stretched out in a recliner. He adjusted the blanket covering him over his torso and legs. If he was cold, why not turn down the air conditioner? The place was like a meat locker.
“You’re here early,” her mother said, her voice sounding strained. Her red eyes made Kyle think she’d been crying recently. No doubt upset by Brenda’s brush with death.
The photos in Brenda’s apartment didn’t do Mrs. Storm justice. Kyle could see the resemblance between mother and daughter. Mrs. Storm’s dark hair was cut short to frame her youthful face. If not for the silver streaks, Kyle wouldn’t have guessed she was old enough to be Brenda’s mother. “We weren’t expecting you until later this evening. Are you all right?” Mrs. Storm asked.
“I’m fine, Mom.” Brenda went to her father’s side and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Dad, are you okay? You look feverish.”
Mr. Storm shooed her away. His eyes were not quite focused. “Stop your fussing. You’re not my doctor.”
“Just a cold, dear,” Mrs. Storm said quickly, though she wouldn’t meet her daughter’s gaze. “You know your father. Nothing for you to fret about.”
Kyle’s chest knotted at the hurt in Brenda’s pretty eyes as she stepped back.
“Brenda, please introduce your guest,” Mrs. Storm said.
“Mom, Dad, this is Kyle Martin of Trent Associates, the bodyguard the hospital hired,” Brenda said.
“We’re so thankful you’ll be protecting our daughter.” Mrs. Storm offered a smile.
“I will do my best, ma’am,” Kyle replied.
“Please call me Maggie.”
Mr. Storm held out a hand to Kyle. The effort seemed to cost him energy. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Mr. Martin.”
Kyle grasped the older man’s hand, noting how thin and fragile the bones felt. The man’s grip was stronger than Kyle would have thought given how ill he appeared. “Mr. Storm, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Ned tells me you come highly recommended.” Mr. Storm’s gaze focused on Kyle. “Tell me what qualifies you to protect my only child.”
The man asked virtually the same questions as his daughter. “Ex–special operations, Navy.”
Releasing his hand, Mr. Storm gave an approving nod. “Excellent.”
One glance at Brenda told Kyle she wasn’t as appeased. He’d have some explaining to do. Came with the territory. “Glad we got that settled,” Kyle said. “I’m going to do a perimeter sweep.”
He lifted his right hand and gave a Cub Scout salute by touching his forehead with his index and middle fingers pressed together. He could feel Brenda’s gaze on his back as he walked out the front door. She’d have more questions. It seemed in her nature to be inquisitive. As long as she didn’t probe too deep, they’d get along fine.
* * *
“Something’s up with my parents. Dad doesn’t look good,” Brenda confided to Kyle later that evening when they were alone. Her parents had retired, leaving her and her bodyguard alone in the living room.
Here she was hiding at her parents’ house from some madman bent on hurting her, she had an annoyingly handsome protector by her side and her parents weren’t being straight with her.
She’d taken one look at her father when she’d arrived this afternoon and known he’d had a fever.
It was infuriating to stand by while her dad was sick and not be allowed to treat him. They’d spent tons of money for her to become a doctor,