Trusting the Enemy

Twenty-Three

Tilting a bottle of whiskey to his lips, he cursed fate. Why couldn't anything go his way for a change? The burning liquid sloshed in his mouth and ran down his throat.

He growled and kicked the tire of his truck. Cory Ross was supposed to die. He'd watched and waited for the exact moment to push the detonator on the bomb he'd made. No way did he want his precious Meggie to be remotely close to the boat when the bomb went off. Trying not to pat himself on the back, he figured he'd done a great job.

So why then didn't the Private Dick die? Perhaps there weren't enough explosives. Well he'd make sure he did better next time.

Next time... what could he do next time? He'd have to sit, watch and wait to see what happens now. How unfortunate Hank had been around to help Taylor take the injured man to the cabin.

His gut clenched. To think his little Meggie had been teary-eyed and followed behind like a lost puppy.

No! He couldn't let this happen again. That was his daughter and his woman in the cabin with the double-crossing jerk... a jerk who should have died many times by now.

Well, there would only be one more time to try to kill Cory Ross and this time he'd succeed. Taylor and Meggie needed him, and with the bodyguard in the picture, that wasn't going to happen soon.

But he needed it to happen soon. His heart couldn't take any more rejection. He couldn't let Taylor keep putting him off like a forgotten, old pair of shoes. Time to step up to the plate. Time to get what he'd wanted for many years now.

Time to make sure he killed Cory Ross... for good.

* * * *

It had been a day from hell.

At least he didn't have any broken bones. The cuts and small burns, along with the gash on the side of his head, would heal but not as fast as he wanted. His muscles screamed in protest every time he tried to do something. What kind of bodyguard did that make him now?

Not a very good one.

For the rest of the day, he pushed himself to the limit, and only stopped when he couldn't take any more torture. Thankfully, Taylor agreed to stay in his sight and not go anywhere without him.

That evening as he relaxed on the porch swing, Taylor and Meggie played in the yard. The weather had turned cooler, and although both wore jackets, their noses and cheeks were a bright pink. Autumn's wind had picked up, rattling the limbs of the trees and bushes much more now, which made him more alert with everything going on around him. He brought the binoculars to his eyes several times, studying the length of the road and the woods around him. So far, nothing looked out of place. Perhaps the motorboat explosion was an accident?

He doubted it. Too coincidental. Why would the thing explode at that precise moment, when Meggie was far enough way as not to be injured, but he was still close enough that the blast could have killed him. As soon as he was strong enough, he'd inspect what was left of the boat.

Although his mood soured since this morning, watching Meggie run around the front yard with her mother helped soften his heart. The little girl had a hold on him whether he wanted it or not. Fishing with her had been the highlight of his trip. Not to mention the kiss he and Taylor shared and the way his body burned for her love.

Little Meggie had been so much fun. He took her fishing with him only because she'd followed him out to the boat that morning. How could he say no to those big blue eyes that pleaded with him? Yet, she was the one who did most of the teaching. It looked as if Taylor had taken her daughter fishing more times than Cory's own parents had taken him as a boy.