Free The Protector by Marliss Melton

system combined Doppler technology with a passive infrared sensor that did a fair job of distinguishing between human and natural intrusion. If anyone had dismounted from the vehicle to hoof it up his mountain, he would be alerted. Digital images would be forwarded wirelessly from strategically positioned cameras to his laptop. But there was no intrusion; no reason for his heart to beat so unevenly.   
     
    Damn Stanley for reminding him of the war he’d walked away from! The Blue Ridge Mountains were as different as the ragged peaks of South Eastern Afghanistan as day was from night, and that was how Ike preferred it. He’d deliberately kept the radio off, refused to buy a television, and avoided surfing the Internet for news. But whenever he went to town, the headlines jumped off the magazines and papers, letting him know that the war raged on without him. Plus it had taken on a new expression of homegrown terrorism.
     
    The golden sense of security Americans enjoyed within their borders would be shattered if these new terrorists weren’t stopped.  
     
    But that wasn’t his problem. Some other sniper could thin the ranks of Taliban and al Qaeda and do a better job of it. Homeland Security and the FBI could deal with the homegrown threat. They didn’t need him to win this war.
     
    Oh, really? Then why is Eryn running for her life?
     
    He pushed his cold hands into his pockets, determined not to think about it.
     
     
     
    **
     
     
     
    “Our asset doesn’t recognize the kid from the UPS store,” Brad announced, his voice disembodied in the dark motel room.
     
    A minute ago, his cell phone had awakened him and Ringo —but not Jackson, who’d just returned from a morning run. Fourteen years in the Marine Corps had conditioned the jarhead to roll out of bed before dawn and run five miles.   
     
    That’s because the kid’s not a terrorist, Jackson wanted to say, only why get on Caine’s bad side first thing in the morning?
     
    “What about the guy pretending to be Pedro?” Ringo asked, stifling a yawn. “Did the asset recognize him?”
     
    “Couldn’t see enough of his face,” said Caine , who’d begun to sound perpetually pissed off.    
     
    “Pedro hasn’t shown up yet?” Jackson already knew the answer; he just wanted to make a point in a roundabout way.
     
    “Not yet.” Caine swung his feet out of the bed he’d claimed for himself, forcing his subordinates to share. He reached for his laptop to consult the tracking program. “Our client’s still on the mountain.”
     
    “What time is it?” Ringo asked.
     
    “Seven thirty,” said Caine . “If Town Hall opens at eight we’d better get moving.”
     
    For whatever good it would do them. Jackson didn’t comprehend Caine’s need to identify McClellan’s soldier. If the man was as highly skilled as Jackson suspected, they weren’t ever going to get her back. She was as good as lost to them. And he hated to say it, but that was probably the best thing for her.
     
     
     
    **
     
     
     
    “There’s no hot water.”
     
    Hearing a quaver in Eryn’s voice, Ike turned from the window to realize she wasn’t showering before their trip to town, after all. Her hair fell in a riotous, unruly mass that had defied her attempt to tame it with the comb in her purse. Her bloodshot eyes were rimmed by dark circles, and her eyes were watering.
     
    Stressing or detoxing ? he wondered. She looked like she was barely holding it together. Empathy, unwanted and inexplicable, caught him off-guard.
     
    “Let’s just go,” she said. “Maybe the water will be warmer in the afternoon. I’ll shower then.”    
     
    He wanted to shrug off his pity for her, but it wouldn’t leave him. Princesses didn’t do cold showers, obviously. They shouldn’t have to.    
     
    God damn it. “Wait here,” he said.
     
    Going outside he found the big tin cauldron he used for his trainees to dunk their canteens in. Carrying it inside, he set