Body Guard

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Nicole's entire insides turned to ice as she stopped short. She turned back and took the telephone out of the receptionist's hand. "Chris? Who's been hurt?"

  "Nicki, it was George."

  George. Oh, God.

  "We had a complete snafu," Christine continued. "Several of the local teams weren't where they were supposed to be and during the gunplay—"

  "Is he dead?" George. Please God, not George. Nicole turned away from the receptionist, knowing she couldn't keep her anguish from showing on her face.

  "No, but he's in surgery right now and—"

  "Is he going to die?"

  Chris was silent for a little too long. "No."

  "Damnit, don't lie to me, McFall." Nicole kept her voice quiet and even despite the pounding of her heart.

  "He was shot in the leg. I don't even think it's broken, but the bullet hit a major artery and he's lost a lot of blood. So, yes, there's a chance he may not make it." Chris paused. "I'm calling you as a friend, not as one of your staff. I think if you've got anything at all that's been left unsaid, you might want to get up here."

  Nicole felt tears rush to her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. God help her if anyone in this office ever saw her cry. "That was part of the trouble, Chris. There was nothing left unsaid."

  She took a deep breath, hating herself for being so practical but knowing if she dropped everything and went to him, it wouldn't make a bit of difference. He wouldn't not die just because she was there. And her reputation for being as reliable and emotionless as a machine would be severely compromised if she went running off to sit by the hospital bed of the man who had left her. "I'll be back in a few days. Earlier if I can manage it."

  "Nicki, he needs you."

  "He divorced me. That seems to imply that he doesn't need me. Please let me know if there's any change in his condition."

  "Yeah, right," Chris said, frustration sharpening her voice. "I'll give you a ring if he dies."

  The line went dead, and Nicole handed the phone back to the receptionist, managing to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

  "You gave me your word," Alessandra couldn't keep her voice from quivering with anger. "You said you'd let me walkaway."

  "I am letting you walk away. I just happen to be walking away with you."

  Harry opened the front door to the car and all but pushed her inside. She opened it again as soon as he closed it. "I don't need your help."

  The moon was only a sliver and his face was completely in shadow. "Can we argue about this after I get in the car and start driving? I've been banking on the fact that Ivo's following one of the decoys I sent out the front door, but just in case, I'd like to get out of here without a hole in my head. Or yours."

  Alessandra pulled the door shut.

  Harry tossed their bags in the back and climbed carefully behind the wheel. He started the car. "Thank you."

  She stared straight ahead.

  He laughed quietly, the sound as velvety and soft as the darkness that surrounded her. "The silent treatment. That's very original. No one's ever done that before."

  He kept the lights off as he pulled onto a dirt road. It wasn't until he turned onto the state highway that he flipped them on.

  This car was just too small. She was practically sitting on his lap. The two bucket seats were separated only by a parking brake. Their shoulders were so close, they were almost touching. And Harry drove with his hand resting on the gear shift, his fingers mere inches from her knee.

  Alessandra couldn't believe she'd let him kiss her.

  Let him? Dear Lord, she'd done more than simply sit back and let him kiss her. She'd nearly inhaled him.

  Yes, she'd been seriously shaken by the violence, but that was no excuse. The sad truth was, she'd wanted to kiss him like that for days.

  Of course, that was before she knew he was a complete and total liar. Before she knew he'd do anything—sacrifice anything and anyone—to get his twisted, pathetic revenge on Michael Trotta.

  She'd kissed him thinking he was that rare animal, a completely honest and forthright human being. She'd kissed him thinking foolishly, childishly, that he was someone worth kissing.

  He shifted in his seat, reaching up to touch the bandage that had been wrapped around his chest, and she knew he was uncomfortable.

  "Were your ribs broken?" She couldn't keep from asking.

  "Just one." He glanced at her. "But one's enough."

  "I'm sorry," she said stiffly.

  He'd come back from the hospital knowing she'd already made up her mind. She was out of there, out of the Witness Protection Program for good. He hadn't seemed surprised when she informed him of that.

  He'd apologized again and asked her to reconsider several times. The fourth time she'd told him flatly that she was leaving Cow Pattie, New York, that very night, he'd made a few phone calls and changed into a pair of worn denim jeans and a plain black T-shirt.

  It was a very different look for him, much more in sync with his personality and looks than the wrinkled suits. The jeans were loose fitting, yet they managed to show off his muscular body. He wore sneakers on his feet and a baseball cap over his untamable hair. The fashion statement was completed by a lightweight distressed-leather bomber jacket. It worked. As angry as she was at him, she had to admit that he looked about as good as she'd ever seen him.

  Harry cleared his throat. "Here's the deal, Al. We're both on the same side. We've both got the same goal, although I know you're still mad at me, so you don't want to see that. But it's a fact. You want to stay alive, I want you to stay alive. What we need right now is for you to acknowledge the fact that I fucked up," he said flatly. "The whole agency fucked up. You're right and we were wrong. You should have been informed. You should have been allowed to decline the dubious honor of acting as bait to catch a scumbag." He glanced at her. "There's nothing I can do to change the past, but I can change the future. I'm going to take you to a place I guarantee will be safe, and I'm going to show you what you need to do so you don't stand out in the crowd once you get there."

  "How can you guarantee that place is safe? And how do I know you're not just going to set me up again as soon as we're there?"

  He took the ramp onto Route 84, heading west. He eased the car into fifth gear and then turned to look at her in the dim dashboard light. "Because my children live there. You better believe there's no way in hell I'd lead Trotta's men to the town where my children live."

  "But what if someone else on your task force decides to let Michael know where I am?"

  "No one else is going to know where you are," he told her. "I'm sure as hell not gonna tell them."

  "But I thought you said your kids lived with your sister. She shouldn't be too hard for anyone to find."

  "She's my stepsister," Harry said. "Actually, she's not even really my stepsister. She was almost my stepsister. Her father and my mother lived together for about eight months. They were supposed to get married, but it didn't work out. Marge was twelve and I was seven, and… she was good to me. We stayed friends even though our parents didn't. After Kevin… after… you know… I needed someplace safe for Shaun and Emily to go. Marge was living out in Colorado, and she came through for me. Nobody I worked with knew about her. I've been careful, and the kids have been safe since then. Not even George knows where they are."

  Alessandra was silent for a moment. "And you don't feel compelled to report my whereabouts to your boss?"

  "Hey, I'm on vacation for the next month. I don't have to report anything to anybody."

  Vacation. He was spending his vacation helping her.

  He glanced at her again, as if he could read her mind. "I figure I owe you one," he said quietly.

  "I'm not sure I can trust you, Harry."

  He nodded. "I know. Let me get you as far as Colorado," he said. "I'll show you how to disappear, and once we're there, if you want to vanish, you can just vanish." He looked over at her. "Do we have a deal?"

  Outside
the windows of the car, the night was dark. Alessandra could see Harry's blurred reflection, watching her. She didn't exactly have a lot of options. She sighed, wishing he had been the hero she was looking for, wishing that ambush had been as much of a surprise to him as it was to her.

  "You still haven't tried to set the past behind us," he pointed out. "Why don't you go ahead and tell me what a sorry-assed son of a bitch loser I am, so we can start moving forward?"

  She glanced at him.

  "Come on," he said. "Let me have it. Full power."

  "You're… such a jerk."

  "What, are you kidding? Jerks cut you off when you're driving. They steal your parking space. They don't nearly get you killed. You can do better than that."

  "You're a…" She couldn't say it.

  "Start with bastard. I'm a bastard. Come on, Allie. The word's barely even offensive. Try it. Bastard."

  "You…"

  "… stinking sack of shit." He laughed at the look on her face. "Yeah, you're so polite, but I know you want to say it."

  "… hate you, you scum-sucking loser. Asshole. Dick-head. Multiple choice, Al. I'm making it even easier for you."

  "I thought you might be special." She finally forced the words out. "I thought you were better than the others."

  Silence.

  Harry stared at the road, all laughter gone from his face. "Yeah, well. You were wrong, huh?"

  She had been wrong. But he couldn't begin to guess how badly she wished she hadn't been.

  Chapter Ten

  As Harry got back into the car, Alessandra stirred. She'd been asleep for close to seven hours. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone sleep that ferociously in a car. He'd had to pull over to the side of the road two different times to take a leak—he didn't dare leave her alone in the car at a rest stop and it seemed a shame to wake her.

  But this phone call could no longer wait. He'd pulled the car as close as he could to the phone booth, so she'd be able to see him if she did wake up.

  But it wasn't until he squeezed himself back into the subcompact, jarred his broken rib, and swallowed a curse of pain that her eyelashes began to flutter.

  Harry put the car in gear and got back on the interstate, watching out the rearview mirror for many miles, still making sure Ivo wasn't following them.

  But there was no one in the mirror. They were completely alone on the road.

  Dawn was pushing up past the flat horizon behind them, and in the growing light, Harry let himself look at Alessandra. He'd been watching her off and on all night, in the light from the dashboard.

  Watching her sleep.

  Letting himself look at her—really look, without having to worry that she'd catch him staring.

  Amazed that she had kissed him the way she did.

  Listening to her snore.

  He liked that she snored. Liked that beneath her facade was a real, flawed human being. A real woman with a deviated septum.

  The motion of the car and the sound of the engine had put her back to sleep, but it wasn't a good, solid sleep. It was fitful, filled with movement and soft noises.

  Harry had spent half the night trying not to think about that way she'd kissed him, and the other half trying not to think about the fact that she wasn't likely to kiss him again, any time in the near future.

  But oh, God, her kiss had been seventeen million times better than his daydreams and fantasies. And he was no amateur when it came to fantasies.

  The ice princess thing was just an act. Beneath the snazzy hairstyles, designer clothes, perfect makeup, fancy perfume, and cool, polite voice was a woman with molten hot lava running through her veins.

  If he hadn't been part of the conspiracy that nearly got her killed, he knew he would've spent last night in her bed. He would've had sex again. He actually wanted, really, really wanted to have sex again. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted it before, he just hadn't really wanted it that badly, and it never seemed to be worth the effort.

  Sex with Alessandra would be worth the effort. After that kiss, he knew that for a fact.

  Sweet God, if this had played out differently, he could have been fast asleep right now, with his arms still around her, her perfect body tucked next to his, his face buried in her sweet-smelling hair. He could have been sated and truly relaxed for the first time in years.

  But no, instead, she hated him. She was never going to smile at him again, let alone touch him, never mind get naked with him. It wasn't going to happen, and the sooner he stopped thinking about it, the better.

  Alessandra made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a cry, and Harry glanced at her. She made it again—it was a fearful sound. Harry put his hand on her knee and shook her slightly.

  "Nightmare," he said. "It's just a nightmare. Wherever you think you are, you're not there. You're here, and you're safe."

  He glanced up at her face, and her eyes were open. She was still breathing hard, but she was awake. He squeezed her knee before he released it. "You okay, Al?"

  She looked around, looked at the car, at the endless flat highway stretching out in front of them forever, at the morning light streaking across the sky, at him. She drew in a deep breath and let it out very slowly.

  "I can't believe any of this is real."

  "It's not too late to go back."

  "Yes, it is." She closed her eyes. "I was dreaming about the dog. You know, I did it again."

  "Did what again?"

  She opened her eyes. They were almost colorless in the pale light. She didn't look at him. She just stared up at the hole in the fabric that lined the car's roof. "I sat there and waited to die."

  She was talking about yesterday. About when Ivo aimed his gun at her head.

  "It was as if I were five years old again, staring up at that attack dog." She turned and looked squarely at him. "I've decided I'm never going to let myself be that helpless again. That's why I can't go back."

  "And you're convinced you can hide yourself better than an organization that specializes in hiding people from bad guys?"

  "From what I've seen, yes. The Witness Protection Program didn't do a very good job of keeping me safe, did it?"

  "Whereas you will, yourself?"

  She lifted her chin defiantly. "There's obviously a lot I'll need to learn. But there's got to be some book in the library that will tell me what to do. How to hide."

  A book from the library? Harry concealed his laughter with a cough. She was going to get a book.

  "The setup was a complete goatfuck, I'll grant you that." He took a sip from a can of Pepsi he'd opened four hundred miles ago. It was warm and flat, but it contained caffeine. Christ, he was tired, and she was going to get a book. "Despite that, you're alive, right? Whatever we did wrong, we still managed to keep you alive. That's got to be worth something."

  "I'm alive because of you, not your task force, not the Witness Protection Program," she pointed out. "If you, Harry O'Dell, hadn't been there, I'd be dead right now."

  "Speaking of dead right now," Harry said, "George is out of intensive care. He's going to be okay. I just called New York."

  "Thank God."

  "Thank you," he said quietly. "You saved his life, Al."

  "I saved his life, you saved my life." Alessandra held open her hands in frustration. "That still doesn't make any of it okay. No one should have been shooting at us in the first place. If I had died, your task force would have been as responsible for my death as Michael Trotta."

  "Hey, as long we're slinging blame, you need to do a little inner soul-searching yourself, sweetheart. You made it pretty damned easy for Trotta to find you. We leaked your general whereabouts to him, but you did the rest. All he had to do was have Ivo ask around, see if any woman who looked like a supermodel had moved into the area."

  "I don't look like a supermodel."

  "A movie star, then." Harry shrugged. "You aren't the average, ordinary Paul's River farmer's wife, that's for sure."

  "But I didn't even
leave the house!"

  "You didn't have to. All you had to do was drive through town, the way you did, and pick up the keys to the house at the real estate office. You were in the backseat of that car looking like you'd lost your way to a power lunch at Schazti's on Main with your agent. People noticed you."

  Alessandra shook her head. "That's crazy. I was just sitting there."

  "How many people do you think noticed you that day?"

  Alessandra shrugged. "I have no idea."

  "Guess."

  She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know—two or three?"

  "Try twenty-five. At least. And of those twenty-five—and those twenty-five are the ones we know about, there may have been more—most of 'em mentioned you to some significant other or friend, who mentioned you to someone else. We found this out when we canvassed the area after the shooting at the Stop and Shop. The people in this town knew that someone incredibly beautiful had moved into the old Archer house on Devlin Road." Harry glanced at her. "And, for your information, even if only two or three people had noticed you, it still would have been too many. People in town still would have been talking about you." He gave her a moment to think about that. "Do you really want to stay alive?"

  She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

  "Then you have to become invisible, Allie. The clothes you bought when you went shopping with Christine McFall…" He shook his head. "They don't make you invisible." He looked at her outfit, a form-fitting black blouse, a pair of silky, flowing black trousers, high-heeled shoes. Christ. She should look rumpled from sleeping all night in the car. Instead she looked ready for a high-fashion photo shoot. "Did you pack all those clothes?"

  "Of course."

  "Where are they?"

  Alessandra blinked at him. "In my overnight bag. On the backseat."

  "Open it, will you?" Harry finished the Pepsi. They were going to have to stop soon to get some coffee. He was exhausted. On the other hand, all he had to do to stay awake was breathe. Every time he inhaled, his side felt as if it were on fire. He took a deep breath. Ouch.