The Bodyguard

by LENA DIAZ,

  Her hand tightened on his. “No. I’m glad you’re here. Would you mind...standing with me?”

  “Whatever you need.” He helped her to her feet.

  She was still wobbly and weak. She would use the wheelchair later, at the graveside service, but right now—with the coffin open—it was almost as if her husband could still see her. She knew it didn’t make sense, but she didn’t want to use the wheelchair here so she wouldn’t look weak in front of him.

  Luke’s strong arm was her rock to cling to as she slowly approached the coffin.

  She stared down at the man she’d married, and a shiver ran through her. Luke placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side. Somehow that action helped stave off her panic and allowed her to do what she really wanted to do—face the monster and say goodbye to the man the monster had once been, the man she’d fallen in love with.

  Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I’m sure to someone like you, just knowing about the awful things he did to me, you can’t imagine why I’d cry. But he wasn’t always the man you’ve heard about. When I met him, he was my savior. He took me from a life of poverty, from an unhappy home, and gave me a fresh start. He was so handsome, and strong, and his smile...I felt it all the way to my heart. I truly, deeply loved him, before...before he...changed.”

  Luke gently stroked her upper arm. “You don’t owe me, or anyone else, any explanations.”

  The lack of judgment and condemnation in his voice dramatically highlighted the differences between these two men. Where Luke treated her with respect and tried to build her up, Richard had only sought to break her down with his constant criticism and humiliating lessons.

  She blinked back her tears. Crying wouldn’t soothe the hurt deep in her heart, or heal the ache for the man he’d once been and the man he’d ultimately become. Only time would do that—or, at least, she hoped so.

  * * *

  LUKE STOOD WELL back from the group of mourners and security guards and police officers, the latter there mostly to keep the press from mobbing the graveside service. A dark green tent covered the casket and the thirty or so white folding chairs that were all occupied, with many mourners standing at the edge of the tent, spilling onto the green grass.

  Luke stood in the cover of oak trees, scanning the crowd, watching for anything that didn’t seem right. Normally he performed bodyguard services right beside the person he was guarding. Watching over Caroline long-distance didn’t sit well. It didn’t sit well at all. But, again, the guards with Stellar Security seemed to be doing a good job of keeping everyone back and keeping a ring of their men around Caroline. If the killer was here, and wanted to get at her, he’d have a tough go of it.

  Satisfied that Caroline was being well protected, he scanned the crowd to find Mitch. There, on the top of a knoll, separated from the closest group of media hounds by about ten feet, Mitch snapped pictures with a big grin on his face. Luke wryly wondered if Mitch had found his true calling in life. He certainly never looked that happy at the office.

  Using his binoculars to search the crowd, Luke located Alex and was surprised to see him standing beside Leslie Harrison. The two of them had no love for each other. Maybe Alex was trying to get in Leslie’s good graces to extract information from her.

  Screams sounded from the crowd. Luke focused on the tent. He couldn’t find Caroline. Panic squeezed his throat. But then he saw her being carried in the arms of one of her guards, with the rest of the guards circling her, guns drawn, ready for any threat. As soon as she was in the car, the caravan of security vehicles raced away.

  Another scream rent the air. Luke whirled around, urgently searching for the other people he knew. He located them, one by one—first Leslie, unhurt, running toward the parking lot. Then Alex, at her side, using his tall, muscular frame to protect her. One more person to find. He scanned back and forth over the area where Mitch had been just moments ago.

  A small crowd had gathered on a slight rise. Luke zoomed in, trying to see why they were all looking down. He sucked in a sharp breath. It was a body, deathly still, blood seeping through his shirt. A camera lay like a forgotten trophy beside him. Mitch.

  No! Luke drew his gun and tore off in a sprint, desperately offering up a prayer as he ran.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Caroline sat with Alex on one side of the table in the interview room at the police station, while Luke sat alone on the other end, stone-faced, pale, his lips drawn into a tight line. Cornell sat in the middle.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Dawson,” Cornell said.

  Luke gave him a curt nod.

  Alex clasped Luke’s shoulder, expressing his sympathy in silence before dropping his hand.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Caroline whispered.

  Luke’s dark gaze fastened onto hers. “I know. It’s not your fault.” His eyes narrowed. “You realize that, right?”

  She looked away.

  “Caroline?” he repeated, his voice raw but insistent. “You’re not the one who stabbed him. It’s not your fault.”

  She nodded, since he seemed to be waiting for an answer.

  “Did Mr. Brody have family we can notify?” Cornell asked.

  A pained expression crossed Luke’s face. For a moment Caroline thought he was going to break down. But, instead, he straightened his shoulders, as if to brace himself against giving in to his grief.

  “No. He was homeless when I met him. No family, no education to speak of. I’m all he had.” His last sentence came out a stark whisper.

  Caroline’s guilt nearly choked her. Luke had taken Mitch in and given him a new life. And now—because of her—his friend was dead. She twisted her hands together in her lap.

  “There will be an autopsy, of course,” Cornell said. “But the cause of death is obvious. Someone stabbed him in the back. He bled out. As far as a burial—”

  “Give the coroner my contact information,” Luke said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Very well. I know this is a tough time, but did any of you see anything?”

  All three of them shook their heads.

  “Okay. We’ll examine the pictures from his camera. Maybe something will come of that. We don’t actually know if this is related in any way to Mr. Ashton’s murder, but I have to believe it’s a strong possibility. Mrs. Ashton, are you sure you’ve never met Mitch Brody before?”

  She glanced at Alex. He nodded, letting her know it was okay to answer.

  “Not until last Thursday, when I picked Dawson’s Personal Security Services out of the phone book.”

  “Okay. At this point I recommend that each of you be extra careful. Until we figure out what we’re up against, everyone is a suspect. Watch your backs.”

  Chapter Six

  Caroline paused at the front door to the mansion. A sense of foreboding swept through her. She couldn’t shake the horror of Mitch being killed earlier today. She hadn’t really known the man, but he’d been there because of her. His death was her fault.

  No. His death was not her fault. She had to stop blaming herself and putting herself down the way Richard had always done. The person to blame for Mitch’s death was whoever had stabbed him. She had to remember that. Richard had made her feel guilty for everything and had made her doubt her own sanity. No more. She was taking control of her own life, her own self-worth.

  Still, she hesitated to go inside, in spite of the puzzled looks the security guards and Leslie were giving her. All she could picture in her mind was how strong and virile her husband had been. It was almost impossible to accept that he wasn’t going to greet her at the door. She could easily imagine his outrage over her being so late in coming home, over her trying to escape. Of course, in front of others, he’d pretend to be happy to see her. He’d likely kiss her and hold her close. But in priva
te, once the bedroom doors shut, he’d be all too eager to teach her another “lesson.”

  She shuddered and protectively wrapped her arms around her middle, although it wasn’t even slightly cold in the humid heat that engulfed the house.

  Leslie put her hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

  Caroline stared at the woman she thought of as her friend, looking for some sign that she really wasn’t her friend, that she might have had something to do with Richard’s murder as Alex and Luke had theorized.

  “Caroline?” Leslie’s brows drew together.

  “No, I’m not in pain.” Caroline hated that she had these doubts about the woman who’d done so much to help her. “I was just...thinking.”

  One of the security guards opened the door and stood back for them to enter.

  She braced herself, then stepped into the foyer with Leslie at her side, only to be greeted by three maids and the cook. Or rather, they greeted Leslie and ignored Caroline. Which was just as well because she didn’t want to deal with their red-rimmed eyes and sniffles. Richard was beloved by the staff, and it looked as if they were taking his death hard.

  The security guards locked the door and melted into the house as they always did, somewhere out of sight but ready to help when needed—except, of course, when Caroline had really needed help, when Richard was around.

  The household staff gathered around Leslie, whom they’d all met on numerous occasions, and offered her their condolences, completely ignoring their employer’s widow, who just so happened to now be their employer.

  Suddenly it was all too much. The miscarriage, two severe beatings in two days, finally escaping Richard only to find him murdered, winding up in the hospital with sepsis and having emergency surgery, and then for young, innocent Mitch Brody to be killed at the cemetery—all of it had her nerves stretched to the snapping point.

  Someone was either trying to kill her or pin her for murder. And after everything she’d been through, it was so unfair. Well, she wasn’t putting up with “unfair” anymore. She’d taken a huge step escaping Richard. Now it was time to take another huge step, to set her house in order. Because now this house was hers. Not Richard’s. Not the staff’s. And it was high time they treated her with the same respect they treated everyone else—starting now.

  “Karen, Missy, Natasha, Betsy,” she said, enjoying the startled looks on the other women’s faces. They weren’t used to being addressed by her directly. They probably didn’t even think she knew their names. “I appreciate your condolences and that you all miss my husband, but life must go on. Your time is best spent performing your duties. Betsy, will you please arrange for my belongings to be moved out of the master suite into the main guest bedroom?”

  Betsy looked from Leslie to Caroline. “I, um... Ma’am, why would you want me to do that?”

  Caroline fisted her hands at her sides. She shouldn’t have to explain to this woman who’d treated her as if she didn’t exist for the past five years that her husband had repeatedly beaten and raped her in the master bedroom and she would never, ever step foot in that hated room again.

  “If you have a problem following my orders, then I suggest you look for employment elsewhere.” She looked in turn at all four women, who were huddled together as if they thought she was crazy. “That goes for all of you. Things are going to change, starting today. I refuse to be invisible in my own home any longer. I’m your employer. If you can’t live with that, you are welcome to leave.”

  She brushed past the women, her shoulders straight and her head held high, pretending a confidence she was far from feeling. She stepped through the nearest doorway, then abruptly stopped and pressed her hand to her throat. The enormous wood-paneled room at the front of the house looked out over the circular driveway. The view was unfamiliar because she’d only caught glimpses of it before. This was Richard’s office, a room he’d forbidden her to enter. She could look through the doorway, on those occasions when her husband needed to speak to her, but she could never step inside. She turned around, intending to leave, but Leslie and the others were in the foyer staring at her.

  She straightened her spine. “Leslie, are you coming or not?”

  “Um, yes, of course.” She clutched her purse and followed Caroline into the room.

  Caroline raised a brow at the women in the foyer.

  They scurried away, like chickens running from a fox. She grinned, pleased with the image. It was nice to be the fox for a change, instead of the chicken. She shut the door with a decisive click.

  Her smile died when she saw the look on Leslie’s face. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

  Leslie set her purse on a decorative table and sat on the couch in the grouping at one end of the room. A massive walnut desk sat on the other side, next to the wall of windows. Caroline steered clear of the desk and sat in one of the leather wing chairs beside the couch.

  “Not wrong, exactly,” Leslie said. “I just don’t think you should bait the staff and talk about changes so quickly after Richard was killed. You’re still on the potential-suspect list. We wouldn’t want anyone to get the idea you were glad Richard is dead.”

  “Is that what you think? That I’m glad he’s dead?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  She thought back to Alex’s warning to keep everything the same as much as possible, to flush out anyone who might act out of the ordinary. But in spite of his recommendations, she couldn’t pretend to be sorry. She was tired of being invisible in her own house.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to be afraid anymore. That’s what I’m glad about. But I would never take comfort in someone’s death, not even Richard’s.”

  “Admirable of you, my dear. Just be careful not to give anyone the wrong impression.”

  Caroline bit her lip. “I suppose I did come on a bit strong.” She shook her head. “No. I’m not sorry I took charge. I’ve been living like a turtle afraid of its own shell for too long. I’m determined not to live that way anymore. I’ve been given a second chance. I’m not going to waste a single minute of it.”

  She crossed to Richard’s most prized possession, his sacred desk. She plopped down in the leather chair that practically swallowed her up and crossed her arms on top of the meticulously polished surface. Unable to suppress a childish urge, she pressed her palm against the dark wood, leaving a smeared print.

  Leslie’s brows rose and she crossed to sit in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “This sounds ominous. What do you intend to do, exactly?”

  Caroline laughed, and because it felt so good, she laughed again. “I don’t know. I suppose, to start, I just might fire the security firm that Richard hired. Yes, I think I will.”

  Leslie’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that?”

  She clasped her hands tightly together on the desk, her mood plummeting as the recent past pressed down upon her.

  “I haven’t told you half of what I went through living here with Richard. And I have no intention of sharing those details. But suffice it to say, I was a prisoner, and the security company was my jailer. They reported every movement I made.”

  “I understand your resentment, but again, I don’t recommend that you be hasty. There are a great many Ashton properties the security company takes care of, and numerous businesses.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Of course not. You aren’t used to the world of finance and business. There’s a lot to consider.” Leslie took some stapled papers out of the side pocket of her purse and set them on the desk. “If you’ll sign the first and last page, I can take care of the details for you, and all you’ll have to worry about is what kind of clothes you’d like to go shopping for or what kind of vacation you might want to take.” She smiled brightly and set a pen on top of the papers.

  Caroline picked up the
pen and read the heading on the first page. “‘Power of attorney’? I don’t understand. Why do you need this?”

  “Just a formality. It allows me to continue to conduct business for Ashton Enterprises without you having to sign papers every week.”

  The doubts that Alex and Luke had planted in her mind about Leslie suddenly became too glaring to ignore. Something wasn’t right.

  “But Richard signed papers every week. He didn’t give you one of these forms, did he?”

  Leslie waved her hand. “No, but we both know how controlling he was. It was entirely unnecessary for him to sign papers all the time when I could have done it for him. You can avoid all that by simply endorsing this one. I’ll have Linda put her notary stamp on it back at the office to save you a trip.”

  Had this been Leslie’s goal all along? While Caroline couldn’t see her friend as a murderer, she wasn’t blind to the ambition and greed the lawyer never bothered to conceal. Had Leslie planned to get Caroline to sign over control of a billion-dollar enterprise? Had she planned on Caroline being in jail and desperate at the time, so that she wouldn’t think twice about signing?

  Caroline set the pen down. She glanced past Leslie to the closed door, every muscle in her body going tense. She forced the safe, blank look onto her face that she’d used so many times when trying to hide her feelings from her husband.

  “This is all new to me, like you said. And I want to make sure I get everything right. Will you bring me up to date on all of the Ashton holdings so I know what’s what?”

  Leslie frowned. “Why on earth would you want me to bore you with those details? I’ll take care of everything for you.”

  Caroline clenched her hand beneath the desk and glanced at the door again. She forced a smile. “Have I done something to annoy you, Leslie? You sound...aggravated.”

  Leslie’s frown smoothed out and her lips curved into an answering smile. “Of course not. I’m just worried about you. If you want to dig into the boring details of the businesses, then by all means. I’ll gather the necessary reports to bring you up to speed.”