The Rogue (13 page)

"Were you in the bus station itself?"

Susannah shook her head. "No. I'd just stepped off the bus. There was a row of ten buses parked under this huge roof, and my bus was farthest away from the building. I was the last one off the bus. It was very dark that night, and it was raining.
A thunderstorm.
The rain was whipping in under the roof, and I had my head down and was hurrying to get inside.

"This man came out of nowhere and began talking real fast to me. At the same time, he was reaching for my shoulder bag and pulling it off my arm. He was smiling and saying he'd like to help me."

"Was he acting nervous?" Killian asked, noticing that Susannah had gone pale recounting the event.

"I didn't realize it at the time, but yes, he was. How did you know that?"

"Because no doubt he spotted you as a patsy, someone gullible enough to approach,
lie
to, and then use your luggage—probably to hide drugs or money for a later pickup. But go on. What happened next?" Killian leaned forward, his hands around the hot mug of coffee.

Susannah took in a ragged breath. She was amazed by Killian's knowledge. She was so naive, and it had nearly gotten her killed. "He said he'd take my bag into the station for me. I didn't know what to do. He seemed so nice—he was smiling all the time. I was getting wet from the rain, and I was wearing a new outfit I'd bought, and I didn't want it ruined, so I let him have the bag." She flushed and looked down. "You know the worst part?" she whispered. "I was flattered. I thought he was interested in me. . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Susannah rubbed her brow and was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice came out hoarse. "He'd no sooner put the piece of luggage over his shoulder than I saw this other man step out of the dark and shoot at him. I screamed, but it was too late. The man fell, and I saw the killer move toward me. No one else was around. No one else saw it happen." Susannah shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. "The next thing I knew, the killer was after me. I ran into a nearby alley.
Í
remember thinking I was going to die. I heard shots—I heard bullets hitting the sides of the building and whining around me."

Closing her eyes, she whispered,
"Ì
was running hard, choking for air. I slipped on the wet street, and it was so dark, so dark. . ." Susannah opened her eyes. "I remember thinking I had to try to scream for help. But no one came. The next thing I knew, something hit me in the head—a hot sensation. That's it."

Glancing over at Killian, Susannah saw anger flash in his narrowed eyes. Her voice went off-key. "I woke up two months later. My ma was at my side when I came around, and I remember her crying."

"It was probably a drug deal gone wrong," Killian growled. He stared down at his hands. He'd like to wrap them around that bastard and give him back what he'd done to Susannah. "You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. There may have been drugs left in a nearby locker that the man who talked to you was supposed to pick up. Or the guy may have been on the run, using you as a decoy, hoping the killer wouldn't spot him if he was part of a couple." He looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry it happened, Susannah."

"At least I'm alive. I survived." She shrugged, embarrassed. "So much for my trying to become
more worldly
. I was so stupid."

"No," Killian rasped, "not stupid. Just not as alert as you might have been."

Shivering, Susannah slowly rubbed her arms with her hands. "
Sean.
. .the other night when I woke up?"

"Yes?"

"Please believe me. There
was
a man outside my bedroom window. I heard him. I saw his shadow against the opposite wall of my bedroom."

With a sigh, Killian shook his head. "There was no evidence—no footprints outside either window, Susannah. The grass wasn't disturbed."

Rubbing her head with her hands, Susannah sat there, confused. "I could have sworn he was there."

Killian wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he knew he didn't dare. Just her sharing the tragedy with him had drawn her uncomfortably close to him. "Let me do the worrying about it," he said. "All I need you to do is continue to get well."

Susannah felt latent power swirling around him as he sat tautly at the table. Anger shone in his eyes, but this time she knew it wasn't aimed at her; it was aimed at her unidentified assailant.

"I never thought about the killer coming to finish me off," she told him lamely. "That's stupid, too."

"Naive."

"Whatever you want to call it, it still can get me killed." She gave him a long look. "Would this man kill my parents, too?"

"I don't know," Killian said, trying to soothe her worry. "Most of these men go strictly for the target. In a way, you're protecting your parents by not being in their house right now."

"But if the killer got my address, he might think I was at my home in Glen, right?"

"That would be the first place he'd look," Killian agreed, impressed with her insight.

"And then he'd do what?"

"Probably discreetly try to nose around some of your neighbors and find out where you are," he guessed.

"It's no secret I'm here," Susannah said unhappily. "And if the killer didn't know I was out here at the homestead, he might break into my folks' home to find me."

"Usually," he told her, trying to assuage her growing fear, "a contract killer will do a good deal of research to locate his target. That means he probably will show up here sooner or later. My hunch is that he'll stake out the place, sit with a field scope on a rifle, or a pair of binoculars, and try to figure out the comings and goings of everyone here. Once he knew for sure where you were and when to get you alone, he'd come for you."

A chill ran up her spine, and she stared over at Killian. His blue eyes glittered with a feral light that frightened her. "All the trouble I'm causing. . ."

"I'm here to protect all of you," Killian said. "I'm going to try to get to the bottom of this mess as soon as possible."

With a sigh, Susannah nodded. "I felt it. The moment you were introduced to me, I felt safe."

"Well," Killian growled, rising to his feet, "I'd still stay alert. Paranoia's a healthy reaction to have until I can figure out if you're really safe or not," he said, setting the cup and saucer in the sink.

Grimly Killian placed his hands on the counter and stared out the window. The blue-and-white checked curtains at the window made it homey, and it was tempting to relax and absorb the feeling. He'd been so long without home and family, and he was rarely able to go back to Ireland to visit what was left of his family—Meg. Sadness moved through him, deep and cutting. Being here with Susannah and her family had been a reprieve of sorts from his loneliness.

"Sean, I really don't feel good about going back to town, back to my house, knowing all this." Susannah stared at his long, lean back. He was silhouetted against the dusk, his mouth a tight line holding back unknown emotions, perhaps pain. Overcoming her shyness, she whispered, "Now that I know the real reason you're here, I'll take you up on that offer to stay with me at night. If you want. . ."

Slowly Killian turned around. He groaned internally as he met her hope-filled gaze, saw her lips part. The driving urge to kiss her, to explore those wonderful lips, was nearly his undoing.

Susannah took his silence as a refusal. A strange light burned in his intense gaze. "
Well.
. .I mean, you don't have to. I don't want you to feel like a—"

"I'll stay," he muttered abruptly.

Nervously Susannah stood and wiped her damp hands down her thighs. "Are you sure?" He looked almost angry.
With her?
Since the assault, she'd lost so much of her self-esteem. Susannah found herself quivering like jelly inside; it was a feeling she'd never experienced before that fateful night at the bus station.

"Yes," Killian snapped, moving toward the back door. "I'll get my gear down at your folks' place and bring it up here."

Feeling as if she'd done something wrong, Susannah watched him leave. And then she upbraided herself for that feeling. It was a victim's response,
according to the woman therapist who had counseled
her a
number of times when she'd come out of the coma but was still at the hospital.

"Stop it," Susannah sternly told herself. "If he's angry, ask him why. Don't assume it's because of something you said." As she moved to the bedroom next to her own, separated by the only bathroom in the house, Susannah felt a gamut of insecurities. When Sean returned, she was determined to find out the truth of why he'd been so abrupt with her.

"Are you angry with me?" Susannah asked Killian, the words coming out more breathless than forceful, to her dismay. He'd just dropped his leather bag in the spare bedroom.

Turning, he scowled. "No. Why?"

"You acted upset earlier. I just wanted to know if it was aimed at me."

Straightening, Killian moved to where Susannah stood, at the entrance to his bedroom. Twilight had invaded the depths of the old house, and her sober features were strained. It hurt to think that she thought he was angry with her. Roughly he said, "My being upset has nothing to do with you, Susannah."

"What does it have to do with, then?"

He grimaced, unwilling to comment.

"I know you didn't want this assignment from Morgan. . . ."

Exasperated, he muttered, "Not at first." Killian refused to acknowledge that Susannah appealed to him on some primal level of himself. Furthermore, he couldn't allow himself to get involved emotionally with the person he had to protect. And that was why he had never before accepted an assignment involving a woman; his weakness centered
around
those who were least able to protect themselves—the women of the world. Emotions touched him deeply, and there was little he could do to parry them, because they always hit him hard, no matter what he tried to do to avoid them. Men were far easier to protect; they were just as closed up as he was, lessening the emotional price tag.

Susannah wasn't about to let Killian squirm out of the confrontation. "I learned a long time ago to talk out problems. Maybe that's a woman's way, but men can profit from it, too." She lifted her hands and held his scrutinizing gaze, gaining confidence. "I don't want you here if you don't want to be, Sean. I hate thinking I'm a burden to anyone."

The ache to reach out and tame a strand of hair away from her flushed features was excruciatingly tempting. Killian exhaled loudly. "I wish you weren't so sensitive to other people's moods."

She smiled a little. "Maybe it's because I work with handicapped children who often either can't speak or have trouble communicating in general. I can't help it. What's bothering you, Sean?"

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and studied her tautly. "It's my nature not to talk," he warned.

"It does take courage to talk," Susannah agreed, gathering her own courage, determined to get to the root of his problem with her. "It's easier to button up and retreat into silence," she said more firmly.

His mouth had become nothing more than a slash. "Let's drop this conversation."

Susannah stood in the doorway, feeling the tension radiating from him. He not only looked dangerous, he felt dangerous. Her mouth grew dry. "No."

The one word, softly spoken, struck him solidly. "I learned a long time ago to say nothing. I'm a man with a lot of ugly secrets, Susannah. Secrets I'm not proud of. They're best left unsaid."

"I don't agree," Susannah replied gently. She saw the terror lurking in the depths of Killian's eyes as he avoided her searching gaze. "My folks helped me through the worst of my reactions after I came out of the coma. They understood my need to talk about my fears by writing them down on a piece of paper when I couldn't speak." She blinked uncertainly. "I couldn't even cry, Sean. The tears just wouldn't come. The horrible humiliation I felt—still feel even now—was lessened because they cared enough to listen, to hold me when I was so scared. At least I had someone who cared how I felt, who cried
for
me when the pain was too much for me to bear alone."