Body Guard

by Suzanne Brockmann

  "What about my promises to myself?"

  Alessandra wrestled her bag from the backseat. "Those are always the first ones that should be compromised—those promises we make to ourselves. Because God knows our motivation isn't always pure."

  "I have to go back to New York in a week or so."

  She slipped the strap over her shoulder. "Why wait? Leave today. Oh, and don't bother looking me up if you ever come back."

  "What are you going to do, walk back to town from here?" he asked, unwilling just to leave her there, unwilling to face the ultimatum she'd delivered. He didn't want to never see her again. But he had to go back to New York.

  "Yes."

  " It's farther than you think."

  "I'd walk to the moon before I got back into that car with you."

  "I'm serious, Allie. It's at least three miles, and there's no sidewalk."

  She gave him her ice-queen look. It didn't work so well with the teary eyes and the red nose. "So it might take me a while to get there. But I will get there. Unlike you, I don't just quit halfway when the going gets tough."

  "Oh, for christsake—"

  "Have a nice life, Harry."

  She slammed the car door shut and started walking toward the restaurant. He put the car in gear, following as he leaned over and opened the window.

  "So, what? You're going to get a job cleaning houses?"

  "It's not as if I have a lot of choices here." Even though she was walking away, she was still talking to him.

  Allie, wait. Don't walk away from me. But he couldn't say those words. It was too hard to do. It stripped him too bare. "You shouldn't be cleaning houses. You should be writing. You're a good writer."

  She stopped and looked at him. "And you know this from reading two lines from my journal?"

  Oh, shit. He tried to shrug, tried to hide the truth. "Well, yeah."

  She wasn't fooled, not for one second. "You read my journal." It wasn't even a question.

  "Just a little. Only ten pages."

  "Ten pages?"

  "That short story you wrote about Jane—"

  "That was private!"

  "It was good." He knew he was in the wrong here and it made him angry all over again—at her, at himself, at the entire goddamned world. He wanted her to stay, and he didn't want himself to want that. "You should be writing," he said again. "Cleaning houses—that's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

  She was so angry she was shaking. "Yeah, I'm not known for being supersmart. Just look who I chose for a friend. I couldn't have been more wrong about you, Harry. I'm glad I found out the truth before I did something really stupid, like fall in love with you."

  He couldn't respond to that. What could he possibly say? His anger instantly morphed into something colder, something harder. Something that hurt like hell.

  "I was, um, planning to give you some money," he told her, amazed he could speak past the pain in his chest. "You know, to get started, to make first and last month's rent on an apartment…"

  "I don't want your money," she said just as she began walking again. "I don't want anything from you."

  "But—"

  "I can sell my engagement and wedding rings. It's not like I need them anymore."

  "No, Al, please. Don't do that. I'll get you the money."

  She stopped walking and turned to face him. "I'm not your responsibility anymore," she told him. "Wow, that was easy, huh? You didn't even need to sign anything to get rid of me." She backed away from the car. "Just drive away, Harry. I don't need you. Just like Shaun said—I'm better off without you."

  She walked away, and this time Harry let her go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "It's getting late. Don't you need to leave pretty soon?" George raised his voice so that Kim could hear him from the kitchen.

  She stuck her head out the door. "I'm off tonight. I switched shifts with Paulette, so I'll be doing a double tomorrow."

  "Oh, shit," George said. Tonight was the night he'd finally convinced Nicole to come over to talk. It had taken her nearly a week to get back to him, and several days more to pin down a date that she was available and Kim was scheduled to work.

  She was due to arrive in a matter of minutes.

  Kim stuck her head back. "What?"

  "I hate it when you have to do double shifts," he covered quickly.

  "Poor baby." She blew him a kiss. "I'm making popcorn—want some?"

  "Uh, sure," George said, searching wildly through the papers and magazines on the coffee table for the cordless phone. He grabbed it quickly and punched in Nic's number, but her answering machine picked up after only two rings. He waited for the beep and then spoke as softly as he could into the phone. "It's me. Don't come here. Change in plans. Call me."

  There was a chance—a slim chance—that Nicki would check her messages on her way over.

  "Who're you calling this late?" Kim asked, carrying a microwave bag of popcorn and two bottles of beer from the kitchen.

  "Just—one of the cases I was working on. I tried calling one of the other agents, but… he wasn't home."

  Kim sat down next to him, handing him one of the beer bottles. "Is it the case you were working on when you got shot? The one about what's his name, the mob boss from the Island. Trotta?"

  George smiled as he tossed the phone back into the clutter on the table. "You know I'm not allowed to talk about that."

  "But it's so exciting. I mean, you could have been killed. Don't I deserve to know just a little bit about it?"

  "You already know too much from snooping in my office."

  Kim feigned insult. "I was not snooping! I just happened to see that file."

  "Liar, liar, pants on fire."

  She threw her leg over him and straddled his lap. "Pants on fire sounds like fun." She kissed him, and just like that, all playfulness was gone. When she pulled back to look at him, he knew exactly where they were heading.

  And he was dying to go there—but for the fact Nicole was about to show up.

  He touched Kim's face, trailing his fingers along the soft curve of her cheek. "Babe, you are wearing me out."

  She smiled, a very young, very shy smile that made his chest feel tight. God, when she looked at him that way…

  "Why are you so interested in Michael Trotta?" he asked.

  She looked away from him, her smile fading. "I don't know. I've heard stuff about him. He's dangerous. It scares me a little, thinking that he might somehow hurt you. Scares me more than a little."

  "And that's really it," he said. "No other reason?"

  She looked at him and took a breath as if she were about to speak.

  The doorbell rang.

  It was impossibly bad timing.

  "Shit," George said.

  "Are you expecting someone?" Kim asked.

  "No." Liar… He helped her move off him and reached down for his crutches.

  Kim ran for the door. "I'll get it." '

  "No!" he shouted, and she froze. At her surprised look, he cleared his throat. "I mean, let me. Please. I don't like you opening the door so late at night."

  "God, George, you always make me feel so safe." She peeked out through the peephole then turned to face him, surprise creasing her brow. "It's your boss."

  George made himself frown, made himself sound perplexed. "Nicole? What is she doing here?" Liar… He opened the door. "Nic, God, what a surprise." He raised his voice. "Yup, Kim, you were right. It's Nicole. What brings you out this way so late at night, Nic, when I wasn't expecting you at all?"

  Nicki looked good. Wherever she had come from, she was dressed in going-out clothes, not just work clothes. A black dress that actually made her look feminine, showing off the trim, athletic body she normally hid beneath boxy suits. Her hair was fancier than usual, all pouffy and styled and hairsprayed, and she wore perfume—a scent he used to love.

  She lifted one eyebrow lazily and shook her head in disgust. "Good thing I didn't use my key," she said barely audibly.
>
  George made a face of pain. "I'm sorry," he mouthed silently.

  Kim peeked cheerfully over George's shoulder. "Hi, Nicole. Good thing you didn't come five minutes from now, because we probably would have been naked."

  And George wouldn't have answered the door—and Nicki would've let herself in with her key. The key she hadn't given back after she'd moved out. That would've been awful.

  "Don't you look nice," Kim continued. "This can't be about work…"

  "Actually, it can," Nicole fabricated quickly. "I was in the neighborhood, and I saw your light on. I have a computer file I wanted to drop off—it's too sensitive to send electronically." She drew a small disk box from her handbag and opened it, handing one of the disks to George with a cool smile. "When do you think you'll get a chance to look at this?"

  "Tomorrow night," he told her. "Definitely. Kim's got a double shift that starts… What time, babe?"

  "Six-thirty."

  "Yeah, and goes until about two a.m."

  "Well, I'm not sure what my schedule's like," Nicki said, "but if I'm free, I'll… give you a call."

  "That'd be fine," George said. "Because, you know, as long as Kim's not home, I won't be having any wild sex, so you won't be interrupting anything." Now, why did he say that? He'd promised himself he was through tormenting Nicki. And he didn't want to alienate her—he wanted her to come over. He had to talk to her.

  "Gee," Nic said dryly. "That's so much more than I ever wanted to know." She smiled tightly at Kim. "Good night. Sorry to have disturbed you."

  George slipped the disk into the pocket of his shirt then closed and locked the door.

  "Didn't that strike you as being just a little too coincidental?" Kim stood with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed slightly.

  "Um," George said. "No?" Pants on fire…

  "She just happened to be in the neighborhood," Kim mused. "Just happened to be all snazzed up, and she decides now's the time to drop off some computer disk?"

  George smiled weakly. "Yeah, well, you know… She works all the time. That's why she's the boss and I'm not."

  "No," Kim said decisively. "This is more than that. You know what I think?"

  George held out his hands in surrender. "What do you think?"

  "I think she's hot for you."

  George choked. "That's crazy."

  "No, I'm serious. I think your boss wants to do you. I've seen the way she looks at you. And how many bosses would go all the way upstate just to visit one of their employees in the hospital?" She shook her head. "No, George, I'm pretty sure. You better watch out for her. She's dying to catch you alone in the elevator."

  "I don't know," George said, using his crutches to maneuver his way back to the couch. Kim had absolutely no clue that at one time he and Nic had been married, and the sparks she thought she saw were from anger, not lust. Well, maybe a little from lust. He and Nic had always had their best time in bed right after a fight.

  "I think she came over tonight hoping I would be out."

  "And I think you're wrong," he lied.

  She turned toward him suddenly. "Liar, liar, pants on fire!"

  George started guiltily. "What? I'm not—"

  "That's where we were before we were so rudely interrupted." Kim smiled sweetly, cluelessly, thank God. Her smile turned wicked. "I believe you were about to set my pants on fire?"

  "There he is again!" Mrs. Gerty stood peering out her front window. "It's one of those little Japanese cars. Maroon. And the driver looks like a real hooligan."

  Alessandra didn't have to go to the window to know who was sitting in the car outside Mrs. Gerty's house, but she looked anyway to appease the elderly woman. "That's just Harry."

  He'd been following her around now for close to an entire week.

  "He's stalking you," Mrs. Gerty insisted. "No, don't touch the curtains. He'll know we've spotted him."

  "He's not a stalker. He's kind of like… a bodyguard." Harry never got out of his car. He just slouched behind the steering wheel, following her wherever she went.

  Her days had fallen into a pattern. She woke up early, left her tiny furnished apartment above the Yurgens' garage, and walked over to the Merry Maid's office. The owner, Natalie MacGregor, had the good fortune of being overwhelmed by client requests, and the tiny office was in a permanent state of uproar.

  Allie spent about half an hour each morning organizing the work orders by proximity, and making sure the trucks were stocked.

  Then she went out in one of the trucks and worked her butt off, hustling from one assignment to the next until she went home at about seven, showered, and collapsed into bed with a book. And tried like crazy not to miss Harry.

  In the past week, he hadn't approached her, hadn't said so much as a single word to her. He just followed her.

  She was still furious with him. When she'd first spotted him trailing her, she'd dared to hope that since he was still in town he was trying to work things out with his kids. But she'd run into Marge in the supermarket, who'd told her Harry wasn't staying with them. He hadn't stopped in, didn't call, didn't come by. He was staying at the motel up by the interstate.

  Except Allie knew he wasn't really staying there, because he was sitting in his car outside her house when she went home in the evening, and he was still there, in the exact same place, when she woke up the next morning.

  His single goal seemed to be to make absolutely certain that Alessandra was safe. He'd apparently been serious when he'd signed the papers giving up custody of his children.

  As mad as she was at him, she missed him terribly. She missed his ceaseless conversations, his raunchy sense of humor. She even missed his foul language.

  She spent most of her days and all of her nights completely alone. Except for the fact that she was working hard, the lack of company was much as it had been when she was married to Griffin. He'd been gone during the day, and when he was home at night, they talked very little. He spent much of his time reading or watching TV. If they spoke at all, it had been about social engagements and his work schedule.

  Yes, she'd spent seven years with very little conversation, and certainly no debating or arguing. It was funny that after only such a short time, she should miss it so much, that she should miss Harry so much.

  But she was not—was not—going to approach him. If he wanted to come to her and apologize, well, that would be one thing. But for her to go to him… No, she wasn't going to do that. She was strong enough not to do that, strong enough to know that as much as she missed him, she didn't need him in her life. She was better off without him. He had far too much emotional luggage attached—anything more than the most casual of friendships would be a complete disaster. And before she'd walked away from him, Allie had been well on the verge of blasting past all pretense of casualness.

  She would not let herself love him. Absolutely not.

  "I bought some butter cookies from the bakery." Mrs. Gerty opened a tin of cookies that was nearly as large as she was, as Alessandra finished washing her dishes. "You need to eat about forty of 'em—fatten you up a little."

  "Oh, no, thanks," Allie said. "But I can't. I'm…" Allergic. She wasn't supposed to tell people she was allergic to milk and butter. "Not hungry," she finished lamely.

  Mrs. Gerty didn't believe her. "I'll put some in a baggie for you to take. I can't talk you into coffee today, can I?"

  "I'm sorry, no. But thank you anyway." Alessandra finished cleaning out the sink and took off the rubber gloves Mrs. Gerty insisted she wear to save her hands. She had to run to the next job and then to the next, or she wouldn't get home until after eight tonight.

  She felt bad for not being able to stay and keep the elderly woman company, though. Clearly Mrs. Gerty wanted someone to talk to as much—or perhaps even more than—she wanted someone to clean her house. She paid for service four times a week. Allie had been there three times this week already, and the place was immaculate.

  "I guess I also can't talk you into taking a w
alk with Hunter and me." Mrs. Gerty sighed.

  "I'm sorry, no."

  Mrs. Gerty was about eighty pounds, four feet eight and birdlike. Her enormous dog, Hunter, weighed nearly twenty pounds more. And while Allie didn't know his exact breed, he was definitely of the attack-dog variety.

  She had to walk past his fenced-in yard to get to Mrs. Gerty's door. The first time she'd come over, she'd stopped short at the sight of him. She would have turned around and had another of the Merry Maids assigned to this house, but she knew that Harry was watching her from his car.

  She had to be strong and tough. She had to prove that she could do things that were difficult. She had to show him that she wasn't a quitter. Like some people she knew.

  So she'd held her breath and she'd walked past Hunter, and she'd survived. She'd survived seven times now. Four trips into the house, and three trips out. And while she knew it wasn't the same as letting a dog lick her face, it was a major step for her.

  "Mrs. Gerty, I'm going over to a friend's house for dinner tonight. Marge Novick, do you know her? She teaches English at the college. We were going to order pizza and salad and then maybe rent a movie. I bet she'd be thrilled if you joined us."

  The elderly woman turned away, pretending to be completely engrossed in trimming imaginary dead leaves from her African violets. "Oh, I couldn't just…"

  "Sure, you could." Alessandra knew what it was like to be lonely. "I'm not taking no for an answer. I'll pick you up around seven." She'd have to borrow the Merry Maids truck, but she'd done it last night to get groceries, and Natalie had had no problem with it. It meant walking home from the Merry Maids parking lot after dark, but with Harry following her, she'd be perfectly safe. "Is it a date?"

  Mrs. Gerty actually had tears in her eyes. "It sounds… lovely. Thank you, Alice."

  "My friends call me Allie," she said. "See you at seven."

  She let herself out, and as she went past Hunter's yard, she forced herself to stop and look into the dog's eyes. They were deep brown and filled with intelligence and possibly… friendliness? He cocked his head inquisitively, trotting close to the fence and wagging his stubby tail.