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  A Need to Protect

  Copyright © 2014 by Diane Benefiel

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-673-1

  Cover art by Tibbs Designs

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  www.decadentpublishing.com/

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  A Need to Protect

  By

  Diane Benefiel

  ~Dedication~

  To Mom, who always believed in me.

  Chapter One

  Emma sat in her car, peering at the shadowed sign. In the twin shafts of light from the high beams, Hangman’s Loss Resort in red block letters appeared. Want cabin, fishing boat, or canoe rentals? This was the place for you. Emma heaved a deep sigh. She’d made it.

  She turned into the driveway and pulled to a stop. The headlights lit the main cabin that had served as both rental office and her grandfather’s living quarters. Now it would be her home. She stepped out of the car and stood, head tilted back, to take in the wonder of the Sierras at night. Tall trees formed spired shadows against a starry sky glittering in a brilliant display. She was used to the never-quite-dark nights of Los Angeles, but this blackness left her a little unnerved. She gave a shiver and tugged her collar snug to keep out the chill and stooped to rummage under the seat of her Toyota for her flashlight.

  Glancing at the clock on the dashboard display, she wished again the leaky fuel line hadn’t held her up in Bishop. Hopefully the power company had done their job. She’d called them on Wednesday and arranged to have the electricity hooked up. Clutching the flashlight like a lifeline, she killed the headlights. An iffy battery meant she couldn’t keep them on.

  Cold mountain air numbed her fingers and had Emma moving quickly to climb the porch steps. She tamped down on the niggling little thought that she could drive back into town and find a nice, cheery, lighted motel and then come back in the morning when the dark had been vanquished. But this was her grandfather’s cabin, darn it. This place had been her refuge from a chaotic life for those few golden summers she had spent with him. And while Walt Kincaid was gone, his home was now hers. She would stay put.

  She tugged the key from her pocket and slid it into the lock to open the front door. Reaching in, she felt for the switch and flipped it up, then down. Nothing happened. Up, down. Up and down again and still nothing. No cheery light, nothing to see with. Damn.

  Her hold tight on the flashlight, she walked in and cast the narrow beam around the room. The cabin held the musty smell of a long-closed building. The check-in counter stretched across the front of the room and her grandfather’s army surplus desk sat in a corner behind it. Rudolph, the stuffed deer head mounted on the far wall, reflected the beam in his glass eyes. That much hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here, the summer after she’d graduated from high school. But while back then she’d thought Rudolph kitschy, now he looked a little creepy. Get a grip, Emma told herself. You’re too old to be scared of the dark.

  The living quarters were in the back; she’d check them out before bringing in enough gear to get through the night. She walked down the little hall and peeked the bathroom. It was much as she remembered, dated fixtures and—

  She froze, ears straining. The crunch of tires on gravel sounded unnaturally loud. Someone had pulled into the driveway. Snapping off the flashlight, her mind raced. Crap, crap, crap. Who could be here this late in the evening? She was in an unfamiliar area, it was dark as a tomb, and if by some stroke of luck the area had cell coverage, her phone was in the car. She was on her own. Well, Emma figured, she’d been there before.

  Warily, she made her way through the front office. A car door slammed, echoing like a shot through the night. She edged along the wall to the front window and took a quick peek out. A dark shadow loomed large, thrown in silhouette by bright headlights. Taking a careful breath, Emma forced herself to think. She could try to make it to the kitchen door or—

  “This is the police, come on out.”

  Police! Clenching her teeth, Emma fought back a surge of unbridled fear. Stay calm, stay calm. Panic was not allowed; she was past that. She closed her eyes momentarily to try to find calm, to listen to that inner voice and not lose it.

  Okay, she told herself, there was a cop out there and not all cops were bad. That was rational. She wasn’t thirteen again, in a patrol car, paralyzed by terror. Dread gripped her at the realization she would have to trust this cop. Bracing herself, she tried to speak but a dry throat made her voice inaudible. Swallowing convulsively, she finally called, “I’m coming out.”

  Cautious, she eased into the doorway. She pushed open the screen, her grip tight on the heavy flashlight. She hesitated, blinded by powerful beam of his light.

  He stood in front of the porch, a shadow darker than the rest. “Stop. Lower your flashlight to the floor.”

  Emma paused, then obeyed. She crouched, reluctantly setting down her only weapon. Her voice sounded tight with dread. “This is my place. I can be here.”

  “We’ll figure that out.” When she’d risen again, he continued, “Put your hands behind your head and come down the steps.”

  Emma raised her arms, linking her fingers behind her head. Slowly she moved forward. That voice kept whispering in the back of her mind. He could be a rogue cop. He could rape and kill her, bury her body out in the woods somewhere and no one would even know she was gone. Poised to fight at just one wrong move from him, she couldn’t keep a hard shiver from racking her body.

  “What’s your name, and what are you doing here?”

  Not sure why, Emma found the low timbre of his voice helped calm her. They probably taught the technique in cop school. She tried to see beyond the blinding light but couldn’t make out his features. “My name is Emma. This is my property.” She paused, “Can I put my hands down?”

  The cop ignored her question and moved behind her. She tensed as he gripped her wrists with one warm hand and conducted a quick pat down with the other.

  “Is there anyone with you?”

  Her heart beating so hard it was a wonder she didn’t pass out, Emma conducted a fast in
ternal debate whether to admit there was no one else but realized she had no choice. She was alone. “It’s just me.”

  She felt acutely aware of the unyielding presence behind her. The creak of the leather cop belt, the hiss of his radio, even the scuff of his boots on gravel brought back flashes of memory and served to reinforce that she was at his mercy. And that this could go very, very badly for her. To the depths of her soul, Emma hated feeling so vulnerable.

  He released her clasped hands and moved to stand in front of her. Angling the flashlight so it wasn’t shining directly in her face, he stood back, watchful. A stillness settled over him. He stared at her, making her aware of the pull of his gaze. After a long, arrested moment he seemed to gather himself.

  “You can lower your hands now. I want you to sit on the steps.” He pulled the radio off his belt, reported his location and situation, and then strode back to his vehicle to open the rear door.

  Sinking onto the porch steps, Emma watched as he leaned inside to retrieve something, then moved to the driver’s door to reach in and flip off the headlights. His radio buzzed and he paused to respond. He had the sure, economical movements of someone very self-confident.

  The dome light of the SUV lit the cop from the side, showing a strong profile. His eyes were on her but he was a good forty feet away. He responded to the buzz of the radio and took his gaze off her and leaned into the vehicle.

  Watching him warily, Emma thought briefly, insanely, of running. She could do it. Just slip into the darkness and be safe from him. But that would be madness. So far he didn’t appear threatening and she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had a right to be here but she sure didn’t feel safe.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Emma jumped, looked up to find him staring at her across the distance. How had he known what she had been thinking?

  She shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere,” she muttered. It would have been pointless anyway. With that determined look about him, she got the feeling if she ran, he’d just chase her down and then her problems would be compounded. Cops didn’t like civilians who resisted. She comforted herself with the thought that if he did have some deviant plan, he wouldn’t have checked in with his dispatcher. Small comfort, but logical.

  The vehicle door slammed and he returned with a lantern. He switched it on and set it on the step next to her where it lit them both. With his composed movements, his focus on the job, Emma could feel herself settle. The fluorescent bulb put out a white glow and she got her first good look at him. In addition to his height, he had a lean build with broad shoulders under a heavy jacket. Kinda sexy if he wasn’t a cop.

  His eyes remained shadowed and Emma couldn’t tell the color. He wore denim jeans and his jacket sported a patch on the shoulder and Chief Gallagher embroidered on the front. Chief? Did that mean he was the chief of police? Wasn’t that a desk job? Would the chief be checking out possible trespassers this late in the evening?

  An eyebrow winged upward as he caught her scrutiny, and Emma shifted nervously, blowing on her chilled fingers. “I’m Brad Gallagher, police chief of Hangman’s Loss.” His intense focus made her squirm. “I need to see your identification.”

  Yep, he was the chief, Emma thought dispiritedly. Not some beat cop but the top guy. And didn’t that just put a nasty end to the day that was supposed to start of her brand-new life?

  She made to stand but he held up a hand. “Stay put. Tell me where your ID is.”

  Emma blew out a frustrated breath. “In my purse, in the passenger seat of the car.”

  He shot her a look that told her not to budge before he turned and walked to the car. Back a moment later, he gave the purse contents a quick scrutiny before he set the bag on her lap.

  With fingers made clumsy by the cold, Emma fumbled for her wallet. She opened it and pulled out her driver’s license, thrusting it at him before crossing her arms in front of her in an attempt to keep warm. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

  He examined her license, then cast his gaze over her face. “So what is Emmaline Kincaid of Los Angeles doing in Hangman’s Loss?”

  Wary, she held herself still. Why did she have the feeling he’d recognized her? “Emma Kincaid is minding her own business.”

  The cop rubbed a hand over his face, beard stubble making a rasping sound. She wondered if he’d had a long day, too.

  “You’re going to have to explain yourself, Emmaline. Unless you want to take a ride to the station where you can stay until I run a background check on you. To me it looks like you’re trespassing.”

  “It’s Emma, and you don’t need to run a background check.” Crap, she didn’t want to sound defensive. “This was my grandfather’s place. He left it to me in his will.”

  What looked like anger flashed across his face. “You’re Walt’s granddaughter. Why the hell weren’t you here when he was dying?”

  She looked away. She didn’t want the self-reproach to show on her face. When she turned back, she said, “There were reasons. I would have been here if I could.”

  “I sure hope they were good reasons because your grandfather needed someone at the end.”

  She forced back the sudden tears. No way was she going to let him see her cry. The cop was quick to judge but he was right, she should have been here for her grandfather. As always throughout her life, her mother had put her needs first, sucking Emma in. Trudy Kincaid had been sick, really sick, but even after Emma had arranged care so she could visit Walt, her mother had still found a way to keep her from leaving. She should have come anyway, not given in to the guilt trip. Phone calls just hadn’t been enough. And then Walt Kincaid died and it was too late.

  She looked up at the man standing in front of her, face shadowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit my grandfather, but I can’t change that now. A lawyer contacted me a couple of months ago and told me I had inherited this property. So here I am.”

  “Do you have any proof of that?”

  Steadier now, she nodded. Why did they make cops so big? She wished he wouldn’t tower over her. “Yeah. There’s a box in my car with files in it. I have letters from the lawyer and copies of everything I signed.”

  “Show me the file.”

  He followed her to her car, and Emma opened the back hatch. She shoved back a duffel to reach a large plastic bin with a hinged lid. Before she could pick it up he reached around her to lift it and carried it to the porch steps. He raised the light so she could see into the bin.

  With him standing behind her, Emma pushed through the files until she found the one she wanted. She pulled it out and handed it to him.

  He didn’t take it from her. He closed the lid of the bin to make a flat surface and motioned for her to set down the file. “Open it and show me what you’ve got.”

  Emma could barely resist rolling her eyes. She pulled out the copy of the title transfer and, smiling sweetly, handed it to him. “Is this sufficient, Chief?”

  He scanned it before giving a brief nod. “For now.” After she replaced the file, he handed her the light and hefted the bin. “I’ll take this in for you.”

  Emma frowned at him. “Just to make a point, I’m quite capable of taking it in myself.”

  He looked back at her. “I guess you are. I’ll take it in just the same.”

  She moved ahead of him to open the screen door. Cold and tired, she desperately wanted him to leave so she could unroll her sleeping bag, snuggle in, and close her eyes.

  After he had set the bin on the check-in counter, he picked up the light and handed it to Emma. “Here, keep this until you get the electricity on.”

  She wanted to tell him he could keep his fancy light but the idea of stumbling around the cabin if her flashlight batteries died held little appeal. She took the light.

  “I really was more prepared than it might seem. I called the power company last week and ordered service. They told me it would be on by today.”

  “Call them in the morning. It’s a lo
ng shot but they might come out on the weekend. Do you have a cell phone?”

  She nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He hesitated, and Emma wondered why he appeared reluctant to leave. He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a card and a pen, flipping the card over to write on the back. “Here’s my cell number to put in your phone. I live close by if you have any trouble.”

  Emma shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”

  He gave her a long look, and then set the card on the reception bar. “Take it anyway.” He gazed down at her thoughtfully. “The Bluebird Motel has rooms available, you know. You could get a good night’s sleep and then come back in the morning.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

  He shrugged, then lifted his hand in a half salute before walking outside to his SUV. The driver’s door slammed, and Emma watched the big vehicle back up and turn along the dirt driveway to the highway. When his taillights disappeared from view, she shivered. She didn’t like cops. She really didn’t. But she sure hadn’t felt so alone when he was with her.

  Pulling onto the narrow highway, Brad fought against the need to go back and make sure Emmaline Kincaid was settled. He probably took his responsibilities to serve and protect too far, but it went against the grain to leave a woman alone in an unfamiliar area without electricity. An idea which, no doubt, would incite his mother and sisters to clobber him. But still.

  The inside of his truck smelled like the burger and fries he’d picked up at the diner. His rumbling stomach let him know too long had passed since his late lunch. He turned right onto the gravel road that was his driveway, pulling in behind his garage as the motion lights blazed on. He waited for the garage door to raise, his thoughts on Walt Kincaid getting sicker and sicker and still trying to run that rental business. Like other folks in town, Brad had tried to visit him regularly. The old guy had sure liked talking about his granddaughter. Brad still remembered the uncomfortable jolt the first time he’d seen that photo of Walt and Emmaline. She’d been about eighteen or nineteen, wearing a broad smile and a fishing hat perched on her head, an arm wrapped around her grandfather’s waist. Those smoky gray eyes laughing at the camera had drawn him in. Seeing her just now, he’d felt like he’d been sucker punched. He hadn’t needed to look at her driver’s license to know she was Walt’s granddaughter. He eased the SUV into the garage, thinking as pretty as she’d looked in the photo, the real deal was a whole lot more potent.