Accidental Bodyguard (11 page)

But she rejected Jack's theory. Carlos didn't think she was worthy of anything. Before he got all tangled up with hatred, maybe he'd once loved her in his own chauvinistic manner. But he hated her now. She knew that even if Jack had doubts.

“So why are they trying to broach the island?” she demanded.

Jack remained quiet for a moment. She could practically see his brain working.

Finally he said, “Maybe to have a conversation and reinforce the need for your silence. Maybe they planned on using a little pain for persuasion. Or maybe they did plan to kill you. But here's the thing, Claudia.”

Jack's deadly tone forced her to meet his gaze again.

“Once they realize they've lost track of you, they'll get nervous.”

“Makes sense,” she said.

“They'll be desperate to locate you again, use any method at their disposal.”

“Okay.”

“If they find you—and I'm not saying they will—they won't take any more chances. To make sure you don't testify against their leader, they'll eliminate you once and for all. Along with anyone else who gets in their way.”

CHAPTER NINE

“I
DON
'
T
LIKE
IT
,” Lola told Jack when he called her with details of his plan for moving Claudia.

“You ordered me to get Claudia Goodwin off the island, and that's what I'm doing.”

“I didn't expect you to go with her.”

“Hell, Lola. You've been encouraging me to use my vacation time for months.”

“I wouldn't call this a vacation. And you'll need backup. What's wrong with you, Jack?”

“I've got friends I can call on if things get hairy.”

After a long silence, Lola said, “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“That may be open to some doubt,” Jack admitted. “But I couldn't send any woman away to face a ruthless gang alone.”

“Damn Boy Scout,” Lola mumbled. “I still don't like it, but Brad will arrive at thirteen hundred hours to take over for you.”

“Well, at least I've made him happy.”

“I'm glad somebody is.”

Lola disconnected, and Jack clipped the phone to his belt. She'd get over it. He had weeks of leave time, and she was only angry because he'd screwed up her carefully laid out schedule. Lola didn't like anyone messing with her schedule.

He checked the time. Eleven hundred. He wasn't waiting for his replacement. Ike had proven to be a good man and could handle things for a couple of hours. The Warriors would be occupied tracking down Claudia's car, anyway.

He'd gone home, showered, packed what he needed and returned with his SUV to find Claudia cleaning the cabana as if she intended to use the space to assist a physician during open-heart surgery. He'd moved her luggage outside, placed it with his own duffel and sent her to take a shower. He listened to the water running, and the part of him that refused to behave like a professional ached to join her.

So he was going on a vacation—of sorts. The first one in years. A week ago he'd have laughed at the idea, although because of Lola's bitching he had been considering a fishing trip to the Keys. But a visit to check on his home in Dunnellon was overdue, and a remote structure surrounded by fifty acres of pristine north Florida forest was the perfect place to secrete a witness with a price on her head. The isolation would allow him to keep this three-week visit quiet. He wouldn't contact anyone unless circumstances demanded he ask for help. For sure he didn't plan on letting his crazy momma know he was back in town.

Claudia entered the living room, freshly showered and looking around like a dog who'd forgotten where she'd buried her bone.

“Who were you talking to?” she demanded.

“My boss.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just peachy.”

She made a face.

“Relax, Claudia. I've got everything under control.”

She plopped on the sofa and pulled a throw pillow into her lap. “I won't relax until we get out of Miami. Maybe not even then.”

“I haven't told anyone where we're going. You don't even know exactly where the cabin is, so there's no way we can be followed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I thought I'd figured out everything when I came here, too. Turned out I was dead wrong.”

Jack sat beside her. Tension vibrated off her body.

“You're not dead.”

She met his gaze. “Not yet.”

“Are you ready?”

She tried to speak, then cleared her throat. “Can't wait,” she croaked.

Jack knew soothing words wouldn't help Claudia at this point. Better to get their escape over with. Fast and clean.

“Come on, then.”

They moved outside. Jack clicked open the SUV. Claudia stared at the huge green plastic gun locker that took up most of the rear compartment. He'd removed all the weapons and placed them in the backseat covered by a blanket.

“It shouldn't be for more than an hour,” Jack said. “Two at the most.” He narrowed his eyes, evaluating Claudia. Wetting her lips, she looked away from his scrutiny. She clutched her purse as if it were a life raft.

“You told me you weren't claustrophobic.”

“I'm not—usually.”

“This is the safest way to get you away without being seen,” Jack told her.

“How will I breathe?”

“The locker isn't sealed, and I don't plan to lock it.”

“But I won't even be able to see if something goes wrong.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong.”

Claudia rubbed her hands on her shorts. “Right.”

“What happened to that trust we talked about? I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

She closed her eyes. “I want to believe you. I really do, but I feel so...out of control. Helpless. I'm not good with helpless.”

Jack almost relented at the terror he read in her haunting blue eyes. Shit. He'd hate this escape plan just as much. By trusting him, she was losing all control, blindly placing her life in his hands. And she didn't know him. Not really. But any other method could alert the Warriors.

A body under a blanket would be obvious to anyone watching.

He wished he'd had time to secure a burner phone. With one, he could keep her aware of where they were, what was going on, alert her to any problems.

“You can always climb out if you have to, but I don't recommend it while we're underway.”

She nodded.

He handed her a plastic water bottle. “In case you get thirsty.”

“Thanks.” She placed the water inside the purse and looped its strap over her shoulder.

“And here's a flashlight.”

“So I can read?”

“I thought a little light might make you feel better.”

She grabbed the small light, dropped it in a pocket, but made no attempt to get inside the SUV.

“Can you do this?” he asked.

She curled her hands into fists, then released them. After a deep inhalation, she nodded once and hoisted her leg to climb inside his vehicle. Jack wanted to hug her when she crawled into the empty gun locker. He could only guess how much courage that took.

She curled up on the blanket he'd provided, staring back at him. He stepped forward to touch her cheek to reassure her.

Claudia grabbed his hand and squeezed, her gaze searching his.

“Promise you won't turn me over to Carlos,” she begged.

“I promise.”

“And no government safe house.”

“No feds. I promise. Are you ready? It's going to be dark, but there'll be plenty of oxygen.”

She nodded. “Go ahead.”

Feeling like a jerk, wishing there was another safe way, he pulled his hand from Claudia's fingers and stared into her wide, frightened eyes as he slowly closed the lid, making sure air could get inside the compartment.

* * *

C
LAUDIA
BLINKED
WHEN
the
lid of the locker closed.
Oh, God. So dark.

She fished out the flashlight and clicked it on, but immediately turned it off. She should conserve the battery just in case.

She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her purse to her chest. Better to just pretend she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. She concentrated on slow, deep breaths, and waited for something to happen. The blanket beneath her felt like plush velvet, soft and comfortable. The locker smelled of gunpowder and the oil used for weapons.

The engine ignited, creating a steady vibration beneath her. Lying in a fetal position on her right side, Claudia's body shifted as Jack pulled forward, so she braced herself with her feet. They motored smoothly for maybe five minutes and stopped. She opened her eyes and realized the brake lights provided an eerie red glow around the edges of the locker. Not much illumination, but something.

She heard muted voices, but couldn't make out words. They must be in line for the ferry. She pressed into the floor with her feet, lifted her buttocks to reposition onto her back and then pulled out her arm to read her watch. The ferry was scheduled to leave in five minutes, so they wouldn't have long to wait before boarding.

She tried to make her mind go blank. If only she could fall asleep. Maybe she should have taken a sedative. No. She needed to stay alert in case Carlos's thugs found her and attacked. She wasn't helpless. She had her gun, but what good would that do her if they fired into the closed gun locker?

But they didn't know where she was. Of course they didn't. They couldn't possibly.

Unless Jack worked for them. Maybe he was taking her to them.

Stop it, Claudia.

She reached inside her purse for the water Jack had provided and lifted her head to take a sip. Cool liquid slid down her throat, helping to calm her crazed ramblings.

Claudia pictured Jack behind the wheel of his SUV mere feet from her position, and that image was strangely comforting. When Jack accelerated, her body shifted again. The road noise beneath her changed as they drove off concrete and onto the ferry's metal deck. She heard more muted voices, clanging, and then Jack shut down his engine. The boat's motor roared to life, and Claudia sensed a difference in the vibration when the boat left the dock.

After what she knew was only ten minutes—but felt like an hour—the boat's motor stopped. They'd reached the other side. Now they'd drive north to the prearranged stop in Pompano Beach where Jack would release her from this dark hole. She'd get into the front seat of his SUV where she could ride like a normal passenger. He would take her to Dunnellon, and he'd keep her safe.
Safe?

She closed her eyes as the doubts and the questions pounded inside her skull.

Why was Jack doing this for her? He gained nothing from helping her. How could she—how could anyone—possibly believe he was just a super nice guy doing his civic duty? Carlos had taught her no one ever did anything for free; everyone always had an angle. So what was in it for Jack?

For that matter, what was Carlos's angle? Jack believed he had some mysterious reason for keeping her alive. Could he have instructed his thugs to keep her from testifying but not to kill her? Did her ex still want her? If so, why hadn't he contested their divorce? Why hadn't she heard from him in over a year?

Damn Carlos Romero. She hated how her brief time with him had made her suspicious of everyone's motives. Now she was even questioning her ex's reasoning, for God's sake. As if he were reasonable. She sucked air deep into her lungs, telling herself that this would all be over soon. Carlos's trial was only three weeks away.

But would it all be over after that testimony? How long would she be looking for bad guys in the rearview mirror? For the rest of her life?

As the car accelerated, probably onto I-95, she stared into the dark void around her. She knew better than to trust anyone. Look at the mess she'd gotten herself into by trusting Jack. Her car had been driven into a canal and she was stuffed into a gun locker hiding from the world. Painful pressure built in her chest as her heart raced.

She needed to see the sun.

With asphalt rushing beneath her, she reached out to touch the top of the locker. She stroked a soft felt lining rather than the expected plastic, which reminded her of a coffin. Would this small cavity be her final resting place? If someone rear-ended this vehicle, she didn't even have a seat belt. If Jack rolled the SUV, she'd be flung outside.

Her head pounded. She struggled to inhale. Why had she agreed to climb into this tomb?

Recognizing panic, she shifted onto her side and used her hands to press out against the lid. It opened easily and she could see the taillights. Cool air brushed against her skin.

Sweat ran into her eyes, stinging them, and she blinked it away, aware that her clothing was now damp. Why was she sweating so much when this hellhole wasn't even hot?

She needed to crawl out of this coffin, but she was hurtling down the road at a hundred miles an hour. She didn't dare climb out. She could startle Jack, cause an accident, injure him and other people. She needed to think about something else—anything else other than where she was.

She squeezed her eyes hard, took deep breaths and forced herself to remember why this was happening, why she was torturing herself. She'd married a man who wasn't what he seemed, a man who killed people. She was going to ensure he never hurt anyone else ever again.

Right, she was doing her civic duty, just like Jackson Richards.

But if Carlos had turned into a monster, why couldn't Jack? Hadn't she even turned into someone she didn't recognize anymore? She'd become a paranoid, frightened victim who had to fight off panic attacks. Who was that person?

I'm not that woman
, she told herself.

“I'm not that woman,” she said out loud.

Her voice sounded raspy, weak. That wouldn't do.

She raised her head and took a long pull from the water bottle. She clutched her purse to her chest. The loaded Glock inside reassured her. She found her flashlight and turned it on.

“I'm not that woman. I'm not that woman.” She repeated the words over and over like a mantra.

* * *

J
ACK
PULLED
INTO
the exit lane for the Homestead Service Plaza and applied the brakes. Time to transfer Claudia to the front seat.

He wondered how she was doing, and shook his head. Probably totally freaked out. He'd never forget the cornered look in her eyes when he'd situated her inside the small compartment. She'd barely fit, and her terror had haunted him the whole drive south.

He prided himself on being able to catch a tail, and knew with certainty no one had followed him from Collins Island. Once on the Turnpike he'd set the cruise control at the speed of fifty-five—twenty miles per hour slower than the rest of the traffic, and remained in the far right lane. Vehicles zoomed up on his rear, then swerved around him, often with an impatient honk. Sometimes with a middle finger salute.