The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 1 (10 page)

              He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck, running down his spine to pool in the small of his back. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Looking in the rear view mirror, he watched as a patrol car turned out onto the street behind him, creeping down the dark city street, growing closer with each passing second. He didn't speed up, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He was so close now, his dream almost accomplished. It had taken him so much time, so much effort, waiting for the perfect opportunity to come along.

              The police involvement had thrown him, making it more difficult to move around without being noticed. He couldn't go to her, not like he wanted; it was just too risky. If the others should find out, that they were in love, that they were to be together, then everything might fall apart. No, he thought, he needed to wait until the time was right, when he could be with her, away from the prying eyes of the others, somewhere secluded, just the two of them.

              He had seen her leave the pier today, her triumphant shout as she jumped behind the wheel of her car, turning up the volume on the radio and racing off into the setting sun. She looked so beautiful, so powerful, and he had wanted, needed to be with her on that celebratory journey. He knew where she was going, where she always went after a long day of shooting: to the office.

              He had waited, hidden in the shadows, for several hours while she was upstairs in her crystal palace. He had watched her through the illuminated windows of her office, sitting cross-legged in her swivel chair, sipping a glass of wine as she focused on the tiny screen of her laptop. He was patient. He would wait for the perfect opportunity.

              It had come when he saw her heading for the stairs. He positioned himself in the darkest of the shadows, away from the puddles of amber light. He had watched her emerge from the stairwell, pausing momentarily, looking around for danger. Did she see him, waiting for her there in the dark? Did she know that it was time, that he had come to rescue her, take her away from all this craziness?

              He smiled, love welling up in his chest as he reached out, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her to him, at last. He held her close, savoring the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body, the soft mew of her cries, as he put her in the trunk of the car.

              She was still screaming, pounding on the inside of the trunk. He wiped the sweat from his face, turning off the main road, onto a side street, darkness enveloping the car. He watched in the rear view mirror as the police cruiser continued along the main drag, heading farther downtown. He could hear her muffled cries, even over the loud music. This wouldn't do. He needed her to be quiet. If someone heard her, found her, then they could not go off together like they had planned.

              He pressed the accelerator, speeding along the dark street, then slammed on the brakes with both feet, bringing the car to an abrupt stop.

              The noise from the trunk went silent, and he smiled as he pulled back out into traffic.

              “You're okay,” he said, stroking her hair softly. Her head pounded, pain screaming through her with each tender touch of his fingertips. She swam into consciousness, dizzy and disoriented as she struggled to open her eyes.

              She was lying in a strange bed, the white pillowcase beneath her head scratchy against her skin. A humming sound, as if from a florescent light bulb that was at the end of its life, irritated as it grated the inside of her skull. The warm smell of a burning candle came to her. The soft glow of a bedside lamp made a circle of light on the ceiling, the amber tint reminding her of the safety lights of the parking garage at the office.

              The parking garage, she thought, her eyes flying fully open. She had been taken, she was in the trunk. The monster was stealing her away somewhere. Thrashing, panic welling up inside her, she found that her hands and feet were bound, tied to the bed with cloth strips, holding her tight, immobile. She whimpered, her body too broken, too weak to scream, and fell back onto the pillow, defeated.

              Rick sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes warm and caring as he pushed the hair back off her forehead. “You're okay,” he said again, his voice soft, almost whispering, as he caressed her bruised and battered face. He leaned over, pressing his lips gently against her forehead, his lips warm against her chilled skin. “You're going to be okay.”

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