Guardian by Catherine Mann Page A

Lowell’s—my husband. And he’s my boss. Geoffrey’s helping Brice with pitching.” She flicked a fingernail against the edge of a folder, the repeated clicking growing louder. “As much as I try, there are some things I can’t do for my son.”
    “I understand that too well.”
    “Adults are supposed to take care of kids.” She slapped a file into her briefcase, slammed it closed. “I guess that’s what frustrates me most about this trial. Damn it, why doesn’t someone own up to hurting that boy? Why isn’t anyone responsible for harming Ricky Vasquez?”
    She walked around her desk with heavy, angryfootsteps until she stopped just in front of him. Her head came to just under his chin. She tipped to meet his gaze straight on. Height didn’t matter. She could have faced down a mob without any backup.
    “Ricky shouldn’t have to question each second of every day and wonder if grown-ups have done their job. It’s my responsibility to make sure he’s safe, to make sure Brice never gets hurt again by someone too caught up in his own selfish needs to think about his son.”
    Brice?
“You mean Ricky?” he asked gently.
    Her eyes widened. She pressed the back of her wrist over her mouth. “
Ohmigod
.”
    “Sophie.” He reached for her arm.
    She snatched it away. “No. I need to…”
    “Give yourself a minute.” He cupped her shoulder, only her shoulder, careful not to spook her. But he couldn’t stand by and do nothing to comfort her. He’d heard about Lowell Campbell’s accidental death. The guy wasn’t military, but any aviation accident in the area was going to warrant attention from the base.
    The man had been a damned fool.
    “No, I…” She blinked fast, her eyes sparkling topaz.
    “It’s okay.” David squeezed her shoulder, rubbing like he would for anyone else. Right? Just until she calmed down.
    Sophie didn’t relax, but she didn’t push him away, either. She didn’t cry or rage. She merely stood, stiff and unrelenting, while he patted her shoulder.
    This was
not
smart, touching her, but he couldn’t make himself step away. He could hear the occasional catch in her slow breaths, could feel her restrained emotion.
    Then she turned to look at him and he caught the scent of her hair, a flowery perfume like the jasmine in his home state of South Carolina.
    Jasmine? He was thinking of flowers, for God’s sake? He was screwed. Totally screwed.
    Sophie blinked once, swallowed hard, the composed counselor returning. He would have thought she was completely unaffected, except she refused to look at him.
    She crossed to her desk and braced her hands on the edge. “If you’ll see yourself out, I have some other files to gather.”
    The lady wanted space? Fine. He needed space from her. Perfect combination. But first he had a couple of things to say. “I also came here to talk about Captain Tate.” He dug into his flight bag and pulled out a stack of papers. “These are copies of his flight training records, all the way back to the beginning of his time in a simulator. Perfect scores. Perfect performances from the start. Just look at them. And if you’ve seen them already, look again. I highlighted some praise by his former instructors that you may not have fully grasped.”
    “Fine, Berg.” She met his eyes full on again, her barriers clearly in place. She extended a hand that trembled. “I’ll review them tonight.”
    He passed over the printouts and should have been pumped over getting the hell out of her office.
    Yet even when he turned away, he couldn’t shake the image of her French twist pulled up to reveal a vulnerable neck with those butterfly bandages over her cut. Five minutes in her office, and he’d forgotten all his reasons for staying away from her
and
her son.
    Damn straight. He was so screwed.
    *    *    *
    She turned her car off outside her home and didn’t even consider going inside. The house was dark anyway, withonly a low light on in the kitchen, the