Attracted to Fire Read online

  Meghan hid her amusement. What a motley crew.

  “Thanks, Pepper. Scottard said I could depend on you.” The VP nodded in her direction. “Once we leave here, we’ll not be returning until Dr. Sanchez assures me that Lindsay is ready to see us. He needs to have Lindsay’s confidence, and my wife and I are not in that circle. Agent Connors, I hope you’re able to influence her to make appropriate decisions for the future. Your past indicates success in many areas, and I hope this is one more. In addition, Dr. Sanchez is aware of the threats made on Lindsay’s life.”

  “I believe we’re all on the same page.” Ash handed him a printout. “This is an up-to-date report on the security plan—much tighter than in the past.”

  The VP turned the sheet of paper over and folded his hands. “I’ve shared everything with you in the hopes that you’ll better understand the seriousness of my daughter’s illness. Pepper, Dr. Sanchez, Ms. Bertinelli, you are excused. Ah, Ms. Bertinelli, I understand you’re sleeping in the same room with Lindsay tonight?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m a registered nurse.”

  “She can be difficult to handle. Do not hesitate to call for assistance. An agent will be posted outside the door.”

  The three left the room, bidding good night to those remaining. The stairs creaked, indicating their ascent to the second story.

  Meghan had used nutritional supplements, sound nutrition, and exercise for years and advocated them to family and friends. Her doubts about Dr. Sanchez subsided, and she allowed her suspicions to rest for a moment. She’d learned early on in her career to reserve her trust until a person proved worthy. It was a priceless commodity, and anyone could be bought for the right price.

  “And now I want to give you the latest information about the threats.” Lines deepened across the VP’s forehead—a time line of agony. “The threats against Lindsay have yet to be traced. I know you’re aware of the latest reports.”

  “Do you have a name yet?” Ash seated himself across from the VP.

  “Only that his origin is Colombia. Possibly a resurgence of the Medellín Cartel.”

  “But that was dismantled in the early ’90s.”

  “Some habits are hard to break. Millions of dollars flow through Colombia’s drug trade. But we’re on it.”

  Meghan studied the VP’s weary face. So much responsibility filled this man’s life. The president was dying, and that meant the Shield could soon be taking over the world’s toughest job. She had no doubts about his leadership abilities. His life consisted of one outstanding achievement after another. Currently, his peacekeeping efforts in the Middle East were obtaining worldwide recognition.

  She focused her attention on Ash. She didn’t see any animosity, only a deep concern for the vice president and his plight. Perhaps his detail-oriented nature was a plus to protect all of them—a possibility she hadn’t considered.

  Chapter 8

  Where am I? A hazy mist fogged Lindsay’s mind while she struggled to remember the last several hours, or was it days? Depression. Wanting to die. The hospital. Bright lights. Muffled voices. Sterile and medicinal. This felt different. Smelled fresh.

  Oh no, not another rehab.

  Blinking, she recalled slipping into a black hole that consumed her, urging her to leave this world behind. You’re worthless. No one loves you. She’d stumbled to her kitchen for a knife, then took it back to the bathroom. Staring at her wrist, she wanted so desperately to die and yet craved a reason to live. The veins seemed to pop up and taunt her, until she had no choice but to slice into them. The blood. Red and thicker than what she’d imagined. She forced herself to stand and write “I’m sorry” on her bathroom mirror in blood. So many other thoughts about her wasted life had flown in and out of her mind, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything meaningful, much like now. The last thing she remembered was sliding to the floor, her blood-coated finger trailing the y in sorry. She tried to add that she loved them, but her strength was fading. Weakness replaced the self-condemnation, and she basked in the relief. Soon it would be over. No one wanted her, and she couldn’t blame them. They were better off. She’d been a burden since the day she was born. So many mistakes . . . believed so many lies.

  “Lindsay.”

  Who was that? Not Mom. The voice had a low pitch. Lindsay turned to a gray-haired woman seated beside her bed. Must be a nurse or a new doctor.

  Her gaze swept around the room. The Texas decor—antique furniture, framed art, a huge, rusty metal star on the wall. The Dancin’ Dust. Her stomach knotted at the thought. She’d stayed in this very room. Must have been Uncle Scottard’s idea. How long had it been since she visited here? Oh, it was the summer she turned fifteen, when Daddy wanted her away from a loser boyfriend. Nothing had changed, except now the loser boyfriend didn’t want her.

  “Lindsay.”

  She turned to the woman. “Who are you?”

  “Carla Bertinelli. I’m Dr. David Sanchez’s nurse and assistant. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been drugged.” Then she recalled the nurse in the hospital saying she was giving her something to help her sleep. Daddy and Mom hovering nearby. Tears from both of them. She’d failed suicide, too. “Leave me alone.”

  “I will in a few moments. Dr. Sanchez is waiting to speak to you.”

  “Who is he? Why am I here?”

  “Your parents thought this would be a good place for you to rest and recuperate.”

  Carla’s soft voice might persuade another addict to fight for her life, but not Lindsay. “I don’t have the flu. I tried to kill myself.” She held up her bandaged wrist.

  “We’re aware of the circumstances.”

  “I’m sure you were given a full report. The Dancin’ Dust is out in the middle of nowhere. Has it been turned into a rehab?”

  “We’d prefer to call this a time of reflection and an opportunity to regain your health.”

  Lindsay stared at the woman, who had more laugh lines than her mother. “Are you for real?”

  Carla leaned toward Lindsay. “I’m real, and I care about you. So does Dr. Sanchez.”

  “I hate fake compassion. Seen it all. I suppose you’re going to spout Scripture, too? That’s already been done by a priest who gave up.”

  “Forcing religious beliefs is not my style. Truth is my bandwagon, and you’ll always hear it from me. Whether you want it or not.”

  She’d heard the truth claim before too.

  Carla stood. “Dr. Sanchez is waiting to talk to you. Do you need to use the bathroom first?”

  “I’d rather sleep.” Weakness urged her to tune out the nurse and the doctor who awaited her. She preferred to drift away where she’d forget.

  “I’ll leave you two alone. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Pardon me while I gag.”

  Carla opened the door and a slender, dark-haired man entered. “Good afternoon, Lindsay. I’m Dr. David Sanchez, but I prefer to be called Dave.”

  This sounded like so many rehabs. “Don’t waste your breath. An addict has to want to be clean. What time is it?”

  “Three fifteen. You’ve slept since around nine o’clock last night.”

  “You drugged me, I’m sure.”

  He walked to her bedside and sat in the chair his nurse had just vacated. “I don’t use any kind of drugs. It’s not a part of my treatment plan.”

  “I do. I like how they make me feel.”

  “And that has nearly destroyed your life. My methods are different.”

  “None of the other methods worked, and yours won’t either. I’ve been through withdrawal more times than you can count.”

  “And you will again. Right here on this beautiful ranch. I’ve read your file, and I have an idea about your experiences. But this time, we’re treating your body with supplements.”

  Had her parents lost their minds? “Vitamins? You’ve got to be kidding. Are they shaped like little bears?”

  “I have a high success rate with conditions
like—”

  “Doc, I’m an addict. I snort coke and I drink.”

  “I’m glad you’re able to admit it.” He smiled. “Along with the supplements, you’ll be eating fresh organic foods every three hours, and as soon as we can get you out of bed, we’ll be adding exercise. I see there’s a lovely pool outside, horses, and acres to walk and meditate.”

  “How much did you take my father for? This is priceless.” Her stomach churned. The withdrawal symptoms had begun.

  “My fees are not what’s important. Restoring your health is.”

  “So I’m stuck here on this ranch, dancin’ in the dust.”

  “The length of your stay depends on your attitude.” He added a little edge to his words, but the smile remained intact. Must be Botox.

  “Is Ash here?”

  “He is, as well as five other Secret Service agents.”

  Panic twisted through her. Why had her father doubled the number of agents? Memories of what had happened in DC raced through her mind. She needed to sort them out and make a few decisions. “Is this also about the threats?”

  Dave nodded.

  Lindsay turned away from him. “They should have left me to die. Having me out of the picture would have solved everything.”

  “Taking your own life is never a viable solution. All problems can be worked out. Carla and I will help you talk through the issues that have sunk you into this depression.”

  “You mean the black hole?” She cut sarcasm into every word.

  “Sufferers refer to the depression accompanying addictions by many names—the shadow, a demon, or the monster.”

  She whipped her attention back to the doctor, who thought his textbook responses could make her world a peaceful existence. “You have no clue about any of this. I suggest you get as far away from me as you can get. Or all of you will end up dead.”

  Chapter 9

  Saturday morning, Meghan stood at the open door of Lindsay’s darkened room and watched the young woman sleep. In the shadows, she looked peaceful. So far she’d refused to eat or take the supplements. She’d been vomiting and hysterical. Meghan had seen it all before. She also had her doubts about Dr. Sanchez’s methods. In her opinion, supplements and proper nutrition were better adapted to a maintenance program than the struggles through withdrawal and counseling.

  Dr. Sanchez had expressed disappointment in Lindsay’s refusal to move forward with her treatment plan, but the ambitious psychologist would have to be patient. Surely Lindsay was not his first reluctant addict. From what Meghan had learned about her, she held her own on the stubborn scale. The doctor said Lindsay had type O blood. According to him, her stubborn and impatient streak came naturally, along with an insistence upon having her own way. He also claimed she could have a tendency to be lazy. He planned to discover those positive things that stirred her passion and work through them to build her self-confidence.

  Meghan wondered what A-positive blood meant, but she didn’t think she really wanted to know.

  She snapped on Lindsay’s dresser lamp. The two needed to talk, and Meghan was ready for the infamous abuse.

  Lindsay’s eyes fluttered.

  “Good morning, Lindsay. I’m Special Agent Meghan Connors, assigned to you from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.”

  Lindsay stirred, and her eyes were but slits. “At least you don’t talk to me in military time. Hey, that’s Ash’s shift. Where is he?”

  “Downstairs. He’ll work the late afternoon and evening shift.”

  “Four weeks on, two weeks off?”

  “Not for Ash and me. We’re here for the duration.” Meghan added a bit of lightness to her voice. She needed to be a friend so she could help this girl.

  “Aren’t you lucky.” She studied Meghan. “You brought down a shooter in Atlanta. Saved my dad’s life. Received special recognition.”

  So Lindsay was aware of the news. “That’s me.”

  “Were you assigned to me because of your good aim, or is Daddy hoping a woman can get me off the drugs?”

  “Both.” Possibly the candor would break the ice.

  “I’m used to Ash. He doesn’t talk much. We have a mutual hate/hate relationship.”

  “His shift is after mine. There’s a total of six agents.”

  “So I’ve heard. Are you afraid I’ll run?”

  “Possibly. There’s another reason I was assigned to you.”

  “I don’t care how or why you got this assignment.” Lindsay faced away from the window. “My head hurts, and I feel sick. The blinds are not keeping out the light. Do something about it.”

  “The blinds are already adjusted as far as they’ll go.”

  Lindsay cursed. “The light hurts my eyes. Makes going through this even harder.”

  Meghan wondered if she’d begun hallucinating yet. Alcohol withdrawals could be frightening.

  “Look, just get out of here. I’m getting sick.”

  “Do you need help to the bathroom?”

  “No, thanks. That might be against the rules.”

  “You won’t find anything sharp in there.”

  “Very funny. I need something to help me through this.” Lindsay swallowed hard. No doubt the nausea had teamed up with the irritability. “I’ve always been given meds for this in the past.”

  “That’s not my call, and I believe Dr. Sanchez has described his treatment plan to you.”

  “Vitamins and fruit smoothies. Yum.”

  “Think about it, Lindsay. What if he’s able to pull you out of the addiction? What—?”

  “Not interested, Agent. I like my life just the way it is.”

  “What if you find purpose and meaning?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “What if you can get out from under your dad’s thumb?”

  “What if a bullet gets to me first? Or . . . ?”

  “Or what? You’re a smart girl. The jerk who threatened you has the US government breathing down his neck. Who is he?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me. I’ve seen the worst of characters.” Meghan regretted peppering her with questions. Hadn’t worked with Shelley either, and Lindsay had tuned her out. Maybe . . . “Wouldn’t you like to prove them all wrong?”

  When Lindsay hesitated, Meghan knew she’d gotten through on a minuscule level. She left her alone, hoping that somewhere in Lindsay’s confused state, rebellion would become her best ally.

  At noon Meghan took a break and picked up a sandwich—hoping neither the ham nor the cheese was loaded with jalapeños. Lifting the top slice of whole wheat bread, she pulled off the pepper jack cheese with its little green additives. Although she was a Texas gal, the hot peppers were not a three-meals-a-day treat.

  She added a spinach and strawberry salad and joined Ash in the operation room, while Dr. Sanchez counseled Lindsay and shared lunch. She longed for another agent to fill the awkward silence. Bob worked the front of the house. Victor and Rick, who had the graveyard shift, were sleeping, and Wade was in the stables with the Leonards. Mealtimes had become a battleground between Pepper and Ash. Meghan almost felt sorry for him. He had three women driving him nuts. At least today, she’d not stick around any longer than it took to finish eating.

  She checked the news on her BlackBerry and caught a glimpse of the USA Today headline: “Lindsay Hall giving NBC a live exclusive on the evening news.” She lifted a bottle of water to her lips. Did Ash know this? The announcement had been made less than ten minutes ago.

  He sat across from her eating a sandwich, not really frowning but not smiling either. Why not take a chance?

  “NBC is hosting Lindsay tonight. They must be running the previous show.”

  His forehead crinkled like an old man laboring over a checker game. “Redundancy wastes time and energy.”

  “Sir, calling a matter of importance about our protectee to your attention is not redundant but merely an indication of an agent who is diligent to her job.”

  Shock registered in his baby blu
es. “Good call, Connors. You don’t take my junk.”

  Instead of biting into him, she took another bite of her sandwich. Too bad she didn’t know any vampires to send his way. Maybe an exorcist would do a better job. Ah, those weren’t good thoughts. She’d win him over yet.

  “I need a report in two minutes about where the Leonards attend church.”

  “Excuse me?” Ethan and Chip aced their background checks. They were ranchers with a solid work ethic. No priors. But this was Saturday and tomorrow was church—an important day for Ethan.

  “You don’t like your orders, Connors?”

  “My opinion or preferences are exactly that: mine. I’m on my lunch break, and my shift hours are assigned to Lindsay. Her counseling and lunch are nearly finished.”

  He glanced at his watch. “One minute, thirty seconds.”

  The news continued. She doubted the VP would respond to the latest report. He preferred not to comment on his daughter’s shocking exploits. His restrained method had worked in the beginning, gathering support from those within his party and a large majority of independents. But lately the media claimed he didn’t care what happened to Lindsay, and his silence proved it. Meghan remembered the day before the shooting in Atlanta, when she’d overheard Burnette advise him to ignore Lindsay’s bikini-clad photo on the front of People magazine—as he’d done in the past. Emotion nearly overcame the VP.

  Meghan hoped God was hearing this family’s cry for help.

  Realization crept over her, sending chill bumps up her arms. Why hadn’t she considered this angle of Ash’s resentment? When she stopped the shooter in Atlanta, the VP commended her quick thinking. Ash probably learned about the VP requesting her for the VPPD once this assignment was completed. Only one position was available on that team, and Special Agent Ash Zinders wanted that slot too.

  “Fifteen seconds.” Ash’s gaze bored into her face.

  She stared back. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. What had happened in his life to make him such a miserable human being? She’d do a little asking around to see what surfaced.

  Meghan stood and pressed her palms against the table, not once taking her eyes off him. “Three, two, one.” She smiled. “Your report is on my screen, and I’m going back to my protectee. Have a good afternoon, sir. You have mayo on your face.”