One Night with her Bodyguard (4 page)

“Where
are we going?” Her main thought was not fear that she would be killed but fear
that she would have to go to a strange place with people she didn’t know—after
what had been a very hard day for her. She wanted the familiar comfort of her
home.

“To
the cabin. This person is not following us at the moment and will have no idea
that’s where we’re going.”

She
let out a breath. “Oh. Good.”

Her
father had a cabin in the desert—it was in the middle of nowhere and she
absolutely loved the feeling of privacy and peace it offered. When life
stretched her too much, she always went to the cabin to recover.

Michael
might not have chosen it because it would make her feel safe, but she
appreciated his choice anyway.

“It’s
safe enough?” she added.

“I
had the security system upgraded last month. It’s as safe as your father’s
house.”

“Okay
then. I’m fine with going to the cabin, but I’m going to get out of the car at
the next red light if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on.”

For
the first time, Michael’s mouth twisted with what looked like reluctance.

Sensing
he was caving, she persisted. “I’m not a child, Michael. And—despite what you
might think based on my behavior at social functions—I’m not psychologically
impaired.”

He
jerked slightly, as if she’d slapped him. “I’ve never though that,” he gritted
out. “And I don’t appreciate your implying otherwise.”

“Then
tell me what kind of threat my father got. It had to be bad to rate this sort
of overreaction, and I can’t help—I can’t do
anything
—if I don’t know
what it is.”

He
looked away briefly.

“Michael,”
she said, reaching over to put a hand on his arm. “I need to know.”

“I
know you do. I told your father we should tell you. But it’s ugly. And he
didn’t want it to touch you in any way.”

Claire
let out a long breath, her chest hurting a little as she thought about how hard
this must have been for her father. “So it’s ugly. I can deal with it. I’m
shy
.
I’m not weak, Michael.”

 “I
know you’re not.” He seemed almost to be speaking to himself, still looking out
the window. Then he must have decided his course of action because he turned
back to face her. “It hasn’t just been one threat two months ago and another
tonight. There has been a whole series of them.”

“What
are they?”

“At
first, it was a series of gifts sent to the house but addressed to you.
Seemingly romantic gifts but with something wrong with each one—like two dozen roses
with one dead one in the bunch or a box of chocolates with a dead mouse in one
wrapper.”

She
shuddered slightly at the image but just prompted, “What else?”

“After
that, there were photographs sent to your father. Of you. Photographs this
person should never have been able to taken.”

“Me
doing what?”

“Shopping
in the art store. Teaching at the Center. Walking into Maria’s building.”

She
swallowed hard. “So someone was stalking me?”

“
Is
stalking you. Yes.”

“What
does he want?”

“What
does a stalker ever want?”

“But
his insanity is directed at my dad, isn’t it? I might be the subject, but all
the communication has been addressed to my dad. Is my dad going to be all
right?” She felt a different sort of urgency at the thought of her father being
in danger, more intense than any fear about being in danger herself.

“He’s
fine. I’ve doubled his security.”

“But
you should be with him.” She shifted nervously in her seat. “Can you assign
someone else to me and go take care of my dad?”

“I’ve
got good men on your dad.”

“But
not as good as you. I’d rather
you
be with him.”

“He
wouldn’t have me. He’d send me back to you. And he’s the one who pays me.”

She
dropped her eyes and tried to reason herself out of her fear for her father. If
it hadn’t been for the party, she could have just stayed with her father
tonight, so their security wouldn’t be split. But Michael wouldn’t have left her
father unless he was sure he was safe.

Michael
waited for a few moments before he said quietly, “All signs indicate that this
person will go after you before your father.”

“Oh.
Okay. What happened tonight that worried you?” When he hesitated, she insisted,
“You have to tell me, Michael.”

Michael
had his phone in his hand, since he’d just gotten another call he didn’t answer.
Reluctantly, he pulled something up on the screen and handed it to her.

She
looked down at the high end smart phone. Saw a photo of herself at the party
this evening, sipping a glass of red wine and trying to pretend she was
comfortable there.  She slid her finger across the screen to pull over a second
photo—her leaving the anteroom with Michael. They almost looked like a couple,
since his hand was on her back. She dragged over the next photo—her laughing
with the Martins.

Her
hand trembled around the phone. “He was at the party.”

“Or
she. Yes.”

“How?”

“It
was one of the invited guests. Or one of the temporary staff. There was no
other way for someone to get on the premises.”

He
sat tensely, and she suddenly realized he was angry at himself for letting it
happen—for allowing someone into the fortress he was protecting.

With
an instinctive need to comfort him, she put a hand on his sleeve. “It’s not
your fault.”

“Yes,
it is my fault. You shouldn’t make any excuses for me if I’ve failed to do my
job.”

“You
didn’t fail. Both my dad and I are fine.”

“And
you’ll stay that way,” he promised. His eyes searched her face intently, as if he
could see into her mind. “Are you all right?”

She
nodded. She was anxious and restless, and she was horribly upset about the idea
of her privacy being invaded this way. But at least, if this stalker would
target her first, it would keep his attention away from her father.

She
glanced down automatically when Michael’s phone vibrated in her hand. He never
got this many calls.

To
her surprise, the screen flashed the word “Mom.”

She
handed him the phone. “Your mom’s calling.”

He
glanced at the screen but sent the call to voice mail.

She
frowned. “Is it your mom who keeps calling? You should take it.”

“I
don’t need to take it.”

“But
something might be wrong. You shouldn’t ignore her calls like that. Not for
me.”

He
looked briefly torn.

“I
don’t care what kind of ridiculous code of professionalism you follow. Call
your mother right now,” she instructed. Then she turned toward the car window
to give him as much privacy as was possible when they were in the same
backseat.

She
wasn’t looking at him, but she knew he’d made the call when she heard him ask
in a low voice, “What’s going on?”

There
was a long pause while the other person spoke. Then he said, “I can’t get away
tonight.” Another pause. “No, I really can’t. It’s an emergency here. Did you
try playing the Sinatra album?  That sometimes relaxes her.”

Claire
was starting to feel strange—since she was overhearing a private conversation.
Something was going on with Michael that she’d never known about.

“What
about the lemon balm tea?” She could tell his body was turned away from her, instinctively
trying to keep her from hearing. It couldn’t have been a serious attempt,
however, as it would be futile in such a small space.

“I
can’t get over there tonight,” he said again, his voice sounding slightly
stretched. “Can you put her on the phone? Maybe talking to me would help.”

There
was a longer pause, during which Claire stared studiously out the window.

Then
she heard Michael say, “Hi there. Ruth tells me you’re having a hard
evening…No, I don’t think that’s going to happen…Remember, I found that nice
room for you so you wouldn’t be disturbed by the loud teenagers.” His voice was
strong, relaxed, utterly reassuring. “We talked about this, remember? Sometimes
I have to be at work.”

Claire
listened with an ache tightening in her heart.

She
heard Michael inhale hoarsely. “I’m really fine, Mom. I don’t need that bike
anymore…I
am
happy. The bike was a long time ago… I
do
mean it.
I’m very happy. You don’t have to worry about me…I don’t work too hard…No, Mom,
I don’t want that bike anymore.”

After
a minute, the first person must have taken the phone again because Michael
said, “Just do the best you can with her. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

When
he hung up, Claire didn’t turn to look at him immediately. It felt like she’d
invaded his privacy, and she knew it would bother him.

After
a few minutes, when it felt like he’d relaxed beside her, she straightened in
her seat again. Still not looking at him, she asked softly, “Is your mom all
right?”

“Yeah.
She’s…it’s dementia. She’s mostly lucid during the day, but it gets worse at
night. I’m usually with her at nights, so I guess they’re having trouble
calming her.”

“You
work all day and then stay with your mom all night?” she asked, disturbed by
this piece of information.

He
gave a half-shrug and glanced away from her.

“You
should be with her now. Someone else can stay with me.”

“No.”

She
frowned at him, suddenly impatient with his obstinacy in a way she’d never been
before. “I’m serious. If your mom needs you, then she’s more important than me.
I’m sure there’s someone else who can take your place in my protection.” She
would feel a lot safer with Michael than with anyone else, but she wasn’t about
to be selfish about him.

Michael
narrowed his eyes, his voice growing slightly thick. “You can’t possibly think
I’m going to let someone else take my place. I wasn’t exaggerating about the
danger to you. There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave you tonight.”

She
was briefly hypnotized by his sudden intensity. She could tell he meant it, and
the knowledge prompted a surge of safety and excitement both.

But
she’d heard Michael’s voice earlier, when he’d been talking to his mother. She
knew it was really hard for him to not be there when she needed him.

“Where
is she?” Claire asked in a different tone.

Evidently
thinking she’d dropped the subject of his leaving her, Michael relaxed
slightly. “She’s at Rivercrest Home. It’s a very nice nursing home in Beverly
Hills. She’s taken care of well.”

Claire
leaned forward and rolled down the window into the front seat. “Roger, we’re
making a stop on the way the cabin. Can you go first to Rivercrest in Beverly
Hills?”

“Yes,
miss,” Roger said immediately, but she could see him look through the rearview
mirror to catch Michael’s eye. He was obviously waiting for the other man’s
permission before he acted.

Claire
glared at Michael challengingly.

“Your
safety is the most important thing,” he told her.

“How
is stopping by to see your mother unsafe for me? You’ll be with me the whole
time, just as you wanted. It’s not like the stalker could possibly predict such
an errand, and you said he’s not following us right now, so he’d never know we
were there. It’s not going to put me in any sort of danger, and I’m not going
to feel guilty all night about your abandoning your mom when she needs you.”

She
saw Michael let out a breath. Then he gave a brief nod in the mirror to Roger.

As
she was rolling up the window, she caught him giving her a frustrated look.

She
scowled. “I’m
shy
. I’m not a pushover. They’re two entirely different
things.”

“Believe
me. I know.”

Rivercrest was an
incredibly exclusive facility. It looked and felt more like a high class hotel
than a nursing home.

Claire
would have waited in the car, but she was afraid Michael would refuse to go in
unless she did, since he was so set on being with her at all times. So she went
with him to the fourth floor and then to a very nice corner room. She volunteered
to wait in the hall, but he rolled his eyes like she was being foolish and put
a hand on her back to nudge her into the room.

Pete
stayed in the hall to man the entrance.

Michael’s
mother was surprisingly tiny to have a son so large. She was obviously out of
it, tossing restlessly on the bed, talking incomprehensibly to the matronly
woman sitting nearby, and not even aware they had entered.

Feeling
a familiar wave of shyness at being confronted with people she didn’t know— and
compounded by the fact that she knew Michael was uncomfortable by her
presence—she retreated to a corner of the room by the window and sat down in a
straight-backed chair.

Michael’s
eyes scanned her for a moment, probably assessing that she was all right. Then
he walked over to the bed.

Claire
watched as he talked for a minute to the other woman, whom she assumed was
named Ruth and was the person he’d spoken to on the phone. Then he went to make
a cup of tea with an electric kettle and helped his mother drink it.

His
mother kept up a constant stream of disconnected conversation—much of it
revolving around a bike she was very upset about for some reason—and Michael
responded to it patiently. He wasn’t openly affectionate or even particularly tender.
He was calm and matter-of-fact, the way he normally spoke to Claire. It was
obvious to her how much he loved his mother, however, and Claire’s heart
softened as she watched him.

She’d
known Michael for six years. He’d only ever shown her the ultra-competent professional.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t known this side of him existed until tonight.

 After
about twenty minutes, his mother had calmed down quite a bit. And ten minutes
later Michael gestured to Claire in what she knew was a sign they should leave.

Claire
got up and went over to him. Gazed up at his strong, familiar face. “Are you
sure it’s all right to leave her?”

“She’ll
be okay, and I need to get you to the cabin. We shouldn’t have come here at
all.”

She
scowled. “Yes, we should have come.”

“Who
is this?” his mother asked from the bed, sounding surprisingly lucid.

“This
is Claire Kenyon.” Michael didn’t add any further information, and Claire could
understand why it might be difficult to explain her identity without worrying
his mother about the nature of his job.

His
mother looked at Claire for a minute. Then closed her eyes, visibly exhausted.
She murmured, “I’m so sorry you can’t get the bike, Mikey.”

Michael
leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I’m perfectly happy without the bike,
Mom. Please don’t worry about it. You get some rest, and I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

Then
he nodded toward the door with a jerk of his head, and Claire left the room
with Michael a step behind her.

When
they’d gotten back in the car, Claire studied Michael’s face and knew he was
self-conscious about her meeting his mother.

“What
was the bike she kept talking about?” Claire asked, since someone had to say
something.

He
gave a half-shrug. “Just something from when I was a boy. She gets hung up on
things and thinks they just happened.”

“She
obviously loves you a lot.”

He
inclined his head in what was supposed to be a nod.

 “The
home seems really nice. How long has she been here?”

“Almost
two years.”

“What
about your dad?”

“He
died about six years ago.”

“You
don’t have any brothers and sisters?”

“No.
It’s just me.”

She
thought about that for a minute. “Was she the reason you left the Rangers?
After your father died?”

He
looked out the window. “Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Overwhelmed
by a wave of affection, she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek before
she’d even thought it through. Despite having shaven twice today, his skin was
already bristly again under her lips.

He
stared at her, and she saw that look in his eyes again—the one that made her
breath hitch. “What was that for?”

“That’s
because you’re a really good son.”

Her
voice was hoarser than usual, and she felt a shuddering emotion in her chest
and in her belly.

She’d
never met anyone she admired as much as Michael. She’d never met anyone she
wanted as much.

His
lips seemed to soften as she watched him, and she leaned forward instinctively,
sure he was going to kiss her, desperately wanting it to happen. Without
thinking, she lifted one of her hands to his chest.

Then
something changed. Michael stiffened and his expression cleared to its typical
stoic demeanor. Very gently, he lifted her hand and put it back in her lap.
“You might want to get some rest,” he said. “We have a couple of hours until we
get to the cabin, and I know it’s been a long day for you.”

Just
this morning, he’d put her in the pantry in her bra and panties because someone
had snuck into her building. It seemed like ages ago.

Just
this morning, she hadn’t realized how close to Michael she felt, how much she
wanted to be even closer.

But
that was obviously not going to happen. She let out her pent breath and told
herself not to be disappointed or embarrassed.

This
was Michael. He’d met her for the first time when she was just nineteen. A year
later, he’d caught her behind the pool house with Brandon’s hand down her
pants. Just this evening, he’d found her having a panic attack about attending
a cocktail party.

He’d
seen her at her worst, and he wasn’t likely to think she was a very good catch.

Besides,
he might already have a girlfriend. If he did, she must be the most
understanding woman in history, since he seemed to be busy both day and night,
barely leaving him enough time to sleep.

“Yeah,”
she murmured, leaning down to take off her heels and then slouching in the seat
to get more comfortable. “I’m kind of tired.”

***

Claire started to wake
up but couldn’t do it all the way.

She
was in that half-sleeping state where she was slightly conscious but not enough
to actually open her eyes. After a few minutes, she realized she was lying down
in the backseat of a car.

But
her head wasn’t on the seat. It was resting on something warmer and firmer.

She
shifted slightly, enjoying the pleasure of sleeping awareness without the
pressure of having to wake up. She was curled up on her side, and she shifted
to get more comfortable, bringing one of her hands up toward her face.

Her
palm rested on something she vaguely recognized as fabric.

She
relaxed again and must have drifted into a state of unconsciousness for an
unspecified amount of time.

The
next time she eased into awareness—still not prepared to wake up all the
way—she realized a hand was brushing her hair back from her face in a gentle
caress.

It
felt good, so she just enjoyed it for a long time.

Whatever
her own hand was resting on seemed to be bigger and harder than before. She
liked the feel of it, so she rubbed her palm against it with a long sigh.

Her
firm pillow shifted a little—which was strange but not strange enough to blow
away the cobwebs in her mind. Then the hand that had been stroking her hair
wrapped around her wrist and very gently removed it from what she’d been
rubbing.

She
readjusted, pulling her arms in toward her chest. She was suddenly aware that
she could open her eyes, but that idea seemed so painful she didn’t dare to try
it.

After
a minute, the hand started to caress her hair again, the touch delicate, almost
tender. It made her feel safe. It made her feel treasured. She rested in the
knowledge and soon lost the ability to open her eyes.

The
next thing she was aware of was her hand being moved again. She must have
brought it up again to the nice, firm thing.

This
time, she tried to resist since it didn’t seem right for her body to be moved
that way. She should be able to touch whatever she wanted.

But
the hand around her wrist couldn’t be resisted, and the effort finally woke her
up all the way.

She
shifted, suddenly aware that she’d fallen asleep in the back of her father’s
car on the drive to the cabin, and her head was resting in someone’s lap.

With
a jolt of realization, she opened her eyes and saw the fabric of a dark suit.

Michael’s
suit. Michael’s lap. She turned her head and blinked up into Michael’s blue eyes.
There wasn’t much light in the car, so maybe that was why his expression looked
different. Softer than she was used to.

“Oh.”
With a wave of self-consciousness, she sat up in rush, moving so quickly her
head spun.

“Okay?”
he asked. His voice sounded strange too, but she wasn’t oriented enough to
recognize its timbre. He adjusted in his seat as if he needed to get more
comfortable.

No
surprise. She’d just been sleeping in his lap.

“Yeah.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep all over you. I mean…” She trailed off, blushing
a little, hoping she hadn’t done anything too embarrassing like talk in her
sleep.

“It’s
fine. You were tired. We’ll get to the cabin soon.”

“Oh.
Good.” She rubbed her face, trying to wake up and trying to push past her
self-consciousness. “Is my dad all right?”

“Yeah.
I heard from him about twenty minutes ago. Nothing happening there.”

She
let out a breath and stared out into the night.

It
had been a lot easier when she’d just thought about Michael as familiar,
obnoxious, and pushy.

But
she was afraid she’d never think about him so simply again.

***

The cabin was
definitely not primitive, but it was not large or particularly luxurious. The
small living and kitchen area with simple, rustic décor was familiar and
comforting when she stepped in through the front door.

Pete
was checking the perimeter of the property, and Roger was parking the car in
the unattached garage after dropping them off at the front, so Michael and Claire
were alone as they came inside.

Claire
had a sudden vision of coming to this cabin with Michael for an entirely
different reason. Spending a leisurely weekend with him. Spending passionate
nights with him. Seeing him let go of the professionalism he always hid behind.
Touching, knowing,
being
with the real man at last. For a minute, she
wanted it so much she couldn’t breathe.

“Are
you all right, Claire?” he asked, when she’d stopped in her tracks without
explanation.

She
suddenly realized he’d been calling her Claire today, when he never had before.
Maybe—maybe— he was experiencing the same feelings of closeness and attraction
that she was. “Yes.” Her voice cracked on the one word.

When
she dropped her eyes, he reached out and lifted her head with one hand. His
palm remained on her face, cupping her cheek. “Everything is going to be fine.
I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I
know. It’s just…” She trailed off, finding it impossible to articulate what she
was feeling, what she wanted from him. She leaned her face into his warm hand.

“Just
tell me what I can do for you, and I’ll do it.”

She
loved the gravel in his voice. It triggered sensations that rippled down her
spine. She opened her mouth, but no words came out this time.

“You
can tell me if something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide, Claire.” His eyes
were so deep she could drown in them. “Not from me.”

She
didn’t want to hide. She wanted him to know her all the way.  And she wanted to
know him just as deeply.

But
the thought of telling him that—of stripping herself so completely naked—was
simply too much for her to handle.

She
dropped her eyes again in a wave of self-consciousness, and she felt him
release her face. She shut down for a few seconds, trying to restore her
equilibrium and composure.

When
she looked up, Michael had on his professional face. “Did you need anything
before you go to bed?”

She
shook her head, strangely crushed at having lost the moment of closeness.
“Thanks. I’m fine. I’m going to take a bath and turn in.”

“Okay.
I’ll be out here all night.” He gestured toward the living area. “Pete will be
outside. The security system I had installed last month is top of the line. There’s
nothing for you to worry about.”