A Bodyguard to Remember (19 page)

“She worries me a little,” he said when his mouth was empty. “This rearranging reality to fit her ideas smacks of psychopathy.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Or it could mean I’ve been reading too many forensic psychology papers.”

“What does her counsellor think?” I asked.

“That I’m a scum bag and she needs to get over me.”

That struck me as rather unprofessional, the kind of thing that happened in sitcoms, not real life.

I changed the topic to tell Rick about my interview in the morning. He agreed to make sure the kids got off to school so I could leave early, and promised to pick them up at the end of the day. Just in case the meeting was late getting back, I gave him thirty bucks, told him they could order Chinese food and go ahead with dinner if I was late. I also told him there would be real trouble if I came home and there was none left for me.

On the few weekday mornings I have ever needed to go to Toronto, I am reminded why I moved out of the city. I thought I had left in enough time to get in early and go for breakfast before the meeting. I underestimated rush hour traffic. Then, I had trouble finding parking downtown and ended up paying a small fortune for it so I could reach my destination in time. I stepped up to the receptionist exactly on the hour, only to be told the appointment was cancelled. Something had come up.

“Mr. MacAllister left a message that he would be out your way in a week or so and will call you then.” She flashed a polite smile and added, “Sorry.”

I shrugged. What could I say? Sure, I wanted to slap the insincere expression off her face, but it wasn’t really her fault. As it was, she came through for me. MacAllister called a couple of days later. He apologized for inconveniencing me and arranged to meet in Guelph on the weekend.

Maybe he felt bad that he’d ditched me. In any case, MacAllister not only took me out for an expensive lunch, he offered me a contract at a slightly higher rate than usual. When he found out I had bussed downtown rather than fight to find a parking spot with the pre-Christmas shoppers, he offered me a ride home. Since it had been raining all day, I accepted. We stepped out into the cold damp air. No snow yet, but the rain and wind chill made the roads treacherous with patches of black ice. The sidewalk outside the café was generously sprinkled with pickled sand, but not so much the parking area. Yet, some idiotic woman in a white sedan gunned out of her parking spot and almost lost control as she sped out of the lot. The car swerved, narrowly missing a post and almost hitting MacAllister.

I grabbed a handful of his jacket and pulled him back, though I’m pretty sure the car would have missed him anyway. His briefcase hit me and a sharp pain went through my side. Meanwhile MacAllister let loose a stream of general profanity and particular epithets directed at women drivers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally noticing I was in pain. “Are you okay?”

I swear, if he wasn’t offering me such a good contract, I would have kicked him.

Despite the incident, I suggested the same café when Rick invited me out a few days later. He was trying to make peace with me after almost a week of hang-up calls from his ex. So much for her not being juvenile.

“This has been nice,” I said, as we prepared to leave.

“Next time I’m aiming for romantic.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Why not, Pru? You don’t have a secret lover or anything, do you?”

While I tried to think of an answer I was willing to give, I wriggled into my coat and wrapped my scarf around my neck. Then I side-tracked the issue by waiting outside for Rick to pay the bill and catch up. The small lot had been full when we arrived so his car was parked across the road. Behind it, I saw a familiar white car.

“I’m just going to get the paper before we head out,” said Rick, pointing to the paper box a little ways down the street.

“No. Wait—”

I couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

Rick started across the entrance to the parking lot. He half-turned to see what I wanted when the white car gunned its engine and cut across the intervening lanes, oblivious to traffic.

Horns honked, Rick looked around. I found myself running toward him, pushing him to the other side of the drive. I didn’t think about it. It was reflexive.

On the other side of the drive, a low wall separated the parking lot from the sidewalk. Rick leaped on top of the wall. I cleared the drive, but the car clipped my backpack. I was swung around and slammed into the wall. The top edge cut across my ribs. I had a moment of clarity before I felt the pain and slid down onto the sidewalk, winded and dazed.

It could have been worse. I could have been shot again.

A flurry of activity followed. Witnesses rushed in. Someone ran past me, chasing the car perhaps. Someone went to Rick. A couple came over to see me. There was some confusion as to who was calling 9-1-1.

I called Merrick.

“Please leave a message at the sound of the tone.”

“Someone in a white sedan tried to run Rick down. Hit me.” I sounded awful, so I added, “I’m okay. I got a partial plate Alpha Echo Fox . . . foxglove? I can’t remember ‘F’—the next letter might have been a ‘P’ as in ‘I got a Pain’.”

Now I was starting to babble. I bit my lip and tried to take a deep breath. It hurt too much.

“I’m not sure about the last letter and I didn’t get the numerals.”

I remembered the other day and realized that Mac might pass for Rick in a bare-bones description.

“This might be a second attempted hit and run.”

The couple were fussing over me. Time to hang up.

“Call me,” I said.

A patrol car pulled up. One officer went to Rick. The other headed toward me. I could hear sirens, distant but coming closer.

Then nothing.

*    *    *

It took a lot of effort to wake up and I almost gave up on it a couple of times.

I was only a little surprised to find myself on a stretcher. I was more surprised to see Merrick looking down at me.

“Someone turned off the phone, didn’t they?” My voice was dry and raspy, like I’d been sleeping with my mouth open. “Did you send a task force?”

“Task force of one,” he said, a brief smile lightening his expression. “Parrino called. He assured me that the phone would be on and in your reach by the time you left surgery. Here you are. Here it is. Here I am.”

There he was. Even through the fuzz of anesthesia, I could see that he was exhausted. The face I associated with calm strength was careworn.

“Merrick, is there something you need to tell me? Are the kids okay? Is it my mother?”

He brushed a hand across his eyes. “You almost died.”

I tried to reconcile this piece of information with what I remembered and came up short.

“There was a pocket of infection—a fistula—the result of your wound last spring,” he explained. “It had been growing slowly. When you hit the masonry, the fistula was compromised, allowing some of the poison to enter your blood stream. In a way, the leak saved you. If it had continued the way it was going, the fistula would have burst and you might have died of toxic shock.”

I stared at him blankly, eyes narrowed in concentration. Blame it on the drugs, but I was still having trouble putting it all together.

“You have been excised, drained and transfused.” He sighed. “You were in surgery for a couple of hours. You’ve been out for—”

He choked up. He pressed his lips into a thin line, took a deep breath through his nose and blew it out. When he spoke, his voice was tightly controlled.

“We were afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

My body wasn’t responding to orders very well, but I managed to convince my hand to reach for Merrick’s. I then briefed him on my two encounters with the white sedan. The effort tired me out. The next thing I knew, the nurse was standing over me, asking me difficult questions like, what was my name and where did I live. I vomited all over her.

Could have been worse. It could have been Merrick.

The doctor on call visited and let me know how I was. In addition to the fistula, X-rays showed I had a greenstick fracture of the ribs and extensive bruising. According to the physical evidence, I hit the wall with my right side first, then the rest of me rolled against it. It created a nifty bruise pattern—or so I was told. I took the doctor’s word for it and warned him I might throw up again.

The nurse gave me Gravol for my nausea and sure enough, I dropped off to sleep again. Next time I woke, it was Rick hovering next to me.

“What am I to you?” he asked, taking my hand in his.

“Huh?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Sure.”

“What else?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“I’d like us to be more than friends.”

This was the stupidest conversation to have with a woman who was doped up with painkillers and anti-nausea medication. If I had the energy, I would have swatted him. Instead, I tried to gather my wits about me.

“When did this ambition occur to you?” I asked, trying to keep things light. “When I saved your life?”

“No. When you almost lost yours.”

Wow. There was a good pickup line if ever I heard one.

“The thing that concerns me is whether there’s room in your life for me.”

“You’re already in my life, Rick . . .”

I was going to bring up things like family connections, how well he got along with my children, not to mention the fact that he was living rent-free in my house. He raised my hand to his lips and I forgot what I was saying. Delicately, he kissed the tips of my fingers, my palm, my wrist.

Okay, I had a moment of weakness. Rick was very tempting to a woman suffering from acute romantic frustration. Even so, I was preparing to extricate myself before I heard the dramatic throat clearing.

“Ahem.” It was Walter. He was carrying a pot of pansies. “Perhaps you should let Prudence rest, Court.”

Rick gave Walter a cheerfully unpleasant smile. “Perhaps you should mind your own business, Jensen. However, I’ll let you chat a few minutes alone with Pru while I take a short stroll.” He turned and gave me a wink. “I won’t be long.”

“That man is . . .” Walter started.

“A member of my family.”

He pressed his lips together. If that’s what it took to keep his thoughts to himself, it was fine with me.

“Thank you for the flowers,” I said, “They’re lovely.”

“We can plant them in the garden and they’ll bloom again in the spring,” Walter said, just a bit stiffly.

After a brief silence, he asked how long I’d be in hospital.

“Probably a week. Maybe longer.”

“I can’t believe you got caught up in Court’s mess. It’s unconscionable.”

I would have laughed if I didn’t know it would hurt. More like poor Rick got caught up in my mess.

“It’s not his fault.” I don’t think I sounded too convincing.

“Maybe. Maybe not. It seems to me your troubles started about the same time he showed up.”

“It started with the body in my living room. Rick wasn’t around back then.”

“He’d been by the house before then.”

I wriggled up in bed so I could see Walter better. “When?”

“He picked something up from your mailbox a week or so before the incident. But I think I’ve seen him before that.”

Puzzled, I tried to work out why, last January or early February, Rick was going into my mailbox. I couldn’t think of a reason but I didn’t want to admit that to Walter. “Tax information! Seth must have asked him to pick it up for him. I’m sure if there were other times, they were equally innocent.” I wasn’t sure of anything any more.

After few more minutes of stilted conversation, Rick returned with my nurse on his heels. My nurse politely kicked Walter out, telling him he needed to change my dressing. Since he ordered Rick out as well, Walter shouldn’t have taken the order so personally, but my neighbour was so out of sorts, he huffed and stomped out, without even saying good-bye. To be honest, it didn’t bother me much.

Rick returned about twenty minutes later. The next day he was back, showing every sign of being glued to me until Parrino showed up with Kallas in tow.

“My replacement?” Rick asked, stretching. “Not that I want to leave you, honey, but I haven’t had a shower or a decent meal in days.”

“Not
your
replacement, buddy,” said Parrino, handing me an ET Capp, “Pru’s. Or hadn’t you noticed that you were the target?”

Rick chuckled, then realized Parrino wasn’t kidding.

“That was the second attempt on your life,” I said. Then I told him about the first incident with the white sedan. “I think MacAllister was mistaken for you. He’s around your height, has similar colouring and, from a distance, his build would be close enough to mistake for yours. Anyway,” I concluded, “I’m reasonably certain that it was the same white car.”

“You’re getting good at this,” Kallas said, grinning at me.

I returned a half smile.

“Practice.”

Rick had segued from lethargic to agitated and was pacing the room.

“Nonsense. This isn’t about me. I’m just an obstacle in the way. You’re the one in danger, Pru.”

I gave as close as I could get to a shrug without causing myself undue pain.

“Maybe, but no one wants me dead . . . at the moment.” I waved a hand at the hospital equipment surrounding me. “All this notwithstanding, all my injuries are collateral damage. Before I’m accidentally killed, you need to move out.”

“You’re going to turn me out into the cold?”

I nodded yes.

“Kallas is going to help you move into a room in the university residence,” said Parrino. “Don’t worry, it’s private. You only have to share the kitchen and common room.”

Rick looked from me to Parrino and back again.

“You couldn’t have pulled that off this fast,” he said, bewildered and angry.

“Seth used his connections,” I said, as gently as possible. I didn’t mention that I also asked Kallas to get Parrino to throw his weight behind my machinations. “This is the safest course for you and my family.”

I could see the anger drain away, pushed aside by concern.

“And you?” he asked.