Page 36 of A Tempting Seduction (Protectors of Jasper Creek #5)

Chapter Twenty-One

The wheels touched down at LAX with a bump that made me wince, not from the landing but from watching Ford's jaw clench as he gritted his teeth against what had to be serious pain.

Two days. It had been two days since Saturday night when those men attacked us at his house, and the stubborn man was still pretending he felt fine.

He didn't look fine. The knife wound on his upper arm had to hurt like hell. The cut had been deep enough to require seventeen stitches, and they’d even discussed surgery at one point, but decided against it.

More concerning was how much blood he'd lost during the fight. The doctor at Jasper Creek Medical had been very clear that Ford needed to take it easy. Getting on a plane did not fall under the ‘take it easy’ category.

But here we were, Monday afternoon, descending into Los Angeles because Ford Larson was too protective to let me face this alone. As soon as the flight attendant said we could unfasten our seatbelts, Ford got up and opened the overhead compartment.

“Don't even think about it,” I said as he started to reach for my bag.

Ford paused, his hand halfway to my suitcase. “Think about what?”

“Getting our bags. You lost enough blood on Saturday to make a blood bank stop advertising for a day. You're not lifting anything heavier than a coffee cup until we get home.”

“Ruby, I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.” I stood and blocked his access to the overhead compartment. “You're pale, you've been fighting a headache since takeoff, and I saw you grip the armrest during landing like you were trying not to pass out.”

Jase appeared beside us before Ford could argue further. “She's right, and you know it.” He pulled down both our carry-on bags with ease. “The lady wins this one.” Jase pulled a bottle of water out of his backpack. “Drink this,” he said passing it to Ford.

Ford's scowl would have been intimidating if it wasn't for the slight sway as he continued to stand. “I don't need to be coddled.”

“It's not coddling,” I said, slipping my arm through his uninjured one. “It's called not being stupid.”

Roan and Simon gathered their own bags behind us, both men scanning the other passengers with the automatic vigilance I'd grown used to over the past couple of days.

Simon had insisted all five of us travel together, and after Saturday night's attack, I wasn't about to argue with anything that kept Ford safer.

We filed off the plane with the other passengers, but the moment we cleared security, I spotted them.

Four people in dark suits standing near the gate, their posture and positioning screaming federal law enforcement.

Agent Isaacson stepped forward from the group, and I recognized him from the photos Simon had shown us.

“Miss Miller?” Isaacson was shorter than I'd expected, maybe five-foot-eight, with graying hair and sharp blue eyes that seemed to catalog everything within a fifty-foot radius. “I'm Special Agent Isaacson.”

“Ruby,” I said, shaking his hand. “This is Ford Larson.”

Ford's handshake was firm despite everything, and I caught the way Isaacson's eyes lingered on the careful way Ford held his left arm.

“Gentlemen,” Isaacson nodded to Simon, Roan, and Jase. “I understand we have some mutual acquaintances.”

“We do,” Simon confirmed. “Thank you for coordinating this.”

The other three agents formed a loose perimeter around us as we walked through the terminal. I'd never had a security detail before, and the attention made my skin crawl. Other travelers glanced our way, probably wondering if I was some kind of celebrity. Or criminal.

“Is this really necessary?” I asked Isaacson quietly. “All the agents, I mean.”

“After what happened in Tennessee Saturday night, yes.” His voice carried a grimness that made my stomach clench. “Someone escalated this situation significantly when they sent a kill team after you.”

Ford's hand found mine, his fingers warm and steady despite everything he'd been through. “How many people knew we were flying out today?”

“Too many,” Isaacson admitted. “Which is why we're taking extra precautions.”

I figured we’d go to the parking garage, but instead we went out to the pick-up area outside of baggage claim. There were five black SUVs waiting with their hazards on, blocking traffic.

Isaacson gestured toward the middle vehicle. “You'll ride with me.”

The drive from LAX took twenty minutes through typical Los Angeles traffic, even though we only had to go three miles. I watched the city roll past the tinted windows, remembering the last time I'd been here.

“You okay?” Ford asked quietly.

“Getting there.”

The hotel Isaacson had chosen was exactly what he'd promised.

Non-descript, forgettable, the kind of place business travelers used because it was clean and convenient rather than impressive.

A faded sign identified it as the Airport Plaza Inn, and the parking lot was full of rental cars and commercial vehicles.

“We've used this place before,” Isaacson explained as we walked toward the main entrance. “Management is cooperative, and the layout works for our purposes.”

The lobby was small but clean, decorated in neutral tones that wouldn't offend or be remembered by anyone. Isaacson handled the check-in while the other agents maintained their perimeter. I noticed how they positioned themselves to watch the entrances and monitor the other guests.

“Room 247,” Isaacson handed Ford a key card. “Agent Martinez will be in 245, Agent Chen in 249. Call if you need anything, but try to stay in your room unless it's an emergency.” He provided Roan, Jase and Simon separate rooms across the hall. All in all, we were surrounded. It was perfect.

Ford pocketed the key. “What time tomorrow?”

“Eight AM. We'll leave here at seven to be the first customers when First National opens.” Isaacson's expression was serious. “I hope whatever's in that safety deposit box is worth all this trouble.”

“It will be,” I said, though my stomach twisted with uncertainty. Dad had believed whatever he'd hidden would be enough to stop Horace Waters. I just hoped he'd been right.

We took the elevator to the second floor, our protective detail spreading out to secure the hallway before allowing us to proceed to our room. The key card beeped, the lock clicked, and Ford pushed the door open to reveal a standard hotel room that could have been anywhere in America.

Two double beds dominated the space, separated by a nightstand with a lamp that had seen better days. A small table and two chairs sat near the window, and a television mounted on the wall faced the beds. The carpet was clean but worn, the walls were painted an inoffensive beige.

“Well,” Ford said, surveying our accommodations. “It's not the Ritz.”

“It's perfect.” I set my purse on the dresser and motioned to the two beds. “Though this is going to be a bummer.”

Ford grinned despite his obvious exhaustion. “Actually, it's a good thing. Means we get to snuggle closer.”

I pulled the room service menu from the bedside table and studied the options. “I'm calling in our dinner order, then I want the first shower.”

“What sounds good to you?”

I read off my selections, then grabbed my toiletry bag and some clothes.

The shower felt amazing after the long day of travel. The hot water helped wash away the stress and fatigue, and I took my time washing my hair and letting the steam work on my tired muscles. When I was done, I slipped into my underwear and applied moisturizer to my arms and legs.

I grabbed the hair dryer and wrapped a towel around my damp hair.

I looked in the mirror. Shit, I hadn’t brought a sleep shirt in with me.

My underwear was kind of… well… sexy. There was no way I was going to just strut out there in front of Ford wearing black lace and satin.

I looked around and found another bath towel.

I wrapped it around my body then opened the bathroom door.

“You can have the shower now,” I called to Ford, who was lying on the bed closest to the door. “It’s going to take a long time to blow dry my hair.”

Ford sat up and looked at me, his expression shifting from drowsy to something much more alert. “No way. The food will be here shortly, and there's no way I want any of the FBI agents to see you looking like that when you open the door. My shower can wait.”

I giggled at his protective tone. “Ford, I’ll get dressed before I answer the door,” I assured him.

“Maybe, maybe not. I’m not taking the risk.” His eyes traveled from my towel-wrapped hair down to my bare legs. “That’s too much for federal agents to see. Why do you have a towel around yourself when you already have underwear on?”

I glanced down at myself, realizing how silly I must look. “Because.”

Ford's eyebrows rose. “That's not a good reason.”

“It’s perfectly logical and it's the answer I’m sticking with.”

Ford laughed, then got off the bed and prowled toward me, his movements careful but determined. “Let me help you with that logic problem of yours.”

Before I could protest, his hands found the edge of the towel wrapped around my body and tugged it free. The terry cloth pooled at my feet, leaving me standing in the middle of the hotel room in nothing but black lace panties and a matching bra.

“Ford!”

“My arm hurts,” he said, his voice taking on a rough quality as his eyes traveled over me. “I deserve a treat. Don’t you agree?”

“Well sure. We’ll order dessert.”

He shook his head slowly. I think my treat should be something beautiful to look at.”

I scoffed, but the heat in his gaze made my skin warm. “That's a terrible excuse.”

“I'm serious.” He stepped closer, his good hand reaching up to cup my cheek. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How perfect?”

The sincerity in his voice stole my breath. I could see the truth of it in his eyes, the way he looked at me like I was something precious and rare. Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine, soft and sweet.