Pawn (Ironclad Bodyguards 1)

by Molly Joseph

  “We hired him from Ironclad,” she said. “We asked for someone who spoke Arabic, who was willing to travel, and they suggested him. He’s worked as a bodyguard for years, and before that he was in the Army. He has absolutely no connection to Al Raji.”

  “How can you know that?” Fredrik leaned closer. “You know the type of money that’s involved in this match, especially with Al Raji and his towelhead crew.”

  “Wow, Fredrik. Nice slur.”

  “When you’re looking out at a sea of dirty Arabs in Dubai and wondering how Al Raji knows your strategies, I hope you’ll remember we had this talk.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Sam watches you all the time, while we’re talking, while you’re working out your games. He’s always on that fucking laptop, typing God knows what to God knows who.”

  “He has to write reports for work,” she snapped.

  “Reports about what? What we had for dinner? What we’re wearing? There’s nothing to report on. There are days we don’t even go out.”

  “He still has to send reports in case...in case something happens.” Sam had explained all this to her in as vague a way as possible. She still got the gist. “If anything happened, they’d analyze his reports to see if there was something he could have done differently. Something he missed.”

  “If anything happened..?” Fredrik narrowed his eyes. “If anything happened to you?”

  “You realize a lot of people are unhappy about this match, right? About a woman competing for the championship title? There are people out there who want to—” Beat me up. Kill me. “Stop me from playing,” she said instead. “He gets those reports once a week, so he has to document those too.”

  “He gets them from where?”

  “The State Department.”

  “The U.S. State Department?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, the State Department of Lichtenstein.”

  Fredrik blinked at her. She couldn’t believe this was news to him, but then he didn’t know what had happened to her in Russia. No one knew except Zeke and Krishna, and Sam. “The State Department is providing security when I travel, and for the match. Sam’s around to watch me the rest of the time. That’s all there is to it. It’s not a spying thing.”

  She could see Fredrik processing this, thinking how to turn it to his advantage. “He doesn’t need to be here. The house is secure. He should respect your privacy.”

  “He does.”

  “You live in this room together,” he protested. “How is that respecting your privacy?”

  “First of all, I have my own room over there.” She pointed to the bedroom. “He sleeps on the couch every night so I can feel safe in the privacy of my own room, which I think is pretty damn generous, considering he’s about six inches taller than the length of the bed.”

  “I offered to sleep up here. I’m shorter.”

  “You’re not my bodyguard.”

  “But I’m your friend. I’m telling you, Grace...” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t trust him. He watches you too much.”

  “He’s supposed to watch me,” she hissed back. “I’ve received actual death threats.”

  There was a knock at the door. Sam opened it and looked in at the two of them with an inscrutable expression. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” said Grace. “We’ll be back down in a sec.”

  Fredrik scowled at the door after Sam closed it. “See? He was listening to us out there. He’s always lurking around wherever you are. It’s not normal, Grace. That’s not what normal bodyguards do.”

  “It’s called close security. He’s supposed to be around me all the time.”

  Fredrik’s voice took on a softer, almost seductive note. “I’m around you all the time, and I understand what you’re training for. Why can’t I look out for you instead? You wouldn’t even have to pay me.”

  She had a feeling he’d want her to pay him, just not with money. Ugh. She couldn’t hold his gaze. She’d tried to be attracted to Fredrik, really tried, because he was the only man her age she saw on a regular basis, but there was nothing there. He was too intense, too absorbed in strategy and competition. He was too aggressive and demanding, and he acted possessive of her, like her chess talent was his own thing to manage. She appreciated her seconds, but at the end of the day she was a one-person chess team. When it was time for the match, she was the only person who’d be sitting across the board from Al Raji.

  “You’re not a trained bodyguard,” she said. “So I don’t know how much you could help if something serious happened. It’s that whole you-get-what-you-pay-for thing.”

  She meant to deliver a blow to his ego, but he waved off her comment. “I could defend you just fine if I had to. Anyway, what’s going to happen to you here in Helsinki? We’re trapped in this house, in a deep freeze.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe you’re the spy. You could be on Al Raji’s payroll with orders to kill me some night while I sleep.”

  His eyes bugged out. “What?”

  “You know the type of money that’s involved in this match,” she said snarkily, repeating his words from earlier.

  Some fury flashed in his expression, and she thought to herself, how well do I know this guy?

  She held out a hand to quell his anger. “Why don’t you just be my second, and let Sam be my bodyguard, okay? How about that? Let’s all play the parts we were assigned.”

  Fredrik stood up and pointed at her, not in a nice way. “I’m trying to be your second. But a second’s job is to watch their chess player’s back, and I’m telling you, something’s off about that guy of yours. I think his ‘close security’ might be a little too close. Be careful, okay? And don’t play chess with him again, for God’s sake. Sometimes I wonder if you’re even taking this seriously. But I’m taking it seriously.”

  The way he said it sounded ominous, almost threatening. She wished she could send him away and find a new second, but she was stuck now. Fredrik knew too much about her strategies for the match, too much about the games she’d been developing. She had to preserve their fragile friendship and keep him in Helsinki, or he’d be out there mouthing off to everyone about what he knew.

  Sam knocked a second time, and this time he came into the room. He gave Fredrik an apologetic look that Grace recognized as patently fake. “It’s getting late. I hope it won’t disturb you two if I stay on my side of the room. I have some reports to work on.”

  Fredrik turned back to her with a scathing glare that said, See?

  And yes, Grace saw that for all his wholesome, attractive looks, Fredrik was a paranoid asshole.

  Sam sprawled on the couch and opened his laptop, sending her a furtive look of collusion. She pressed a hand over her mouth so laughter wouldn’t burst out. Fredrik gave both of them one last damning look and stormed away.

  “Thank you,” she said after the door closed.

  “Happy to help.”

  “Do you really have reports to work on?”

  His smile widened. She drifted closer, just on the alluring appeal of that smile. She wished she had the courage to crawl into his lap the way she wanted, and put her arms around his neck and...

  God, she wanted so badly to flirt with him, but she was too brainy, too awkward and inexperienced to be of any use to him. He’d probably been with dozens of women who were sexier than her, dozens of satisfied, drop-dead-gorgeous sirens in his past.

  “I don’t like being alone with Fredrik,” she said instead, very un-flirtatiously.

  “I don’t like you being alone with Fredrik. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

  “Okay.” She took a step closer, then another. “He thinks you might be a spy.”

  “A spy? Me?” Sam considered a moment. “That would be a genius move on their part.” He shook his head, then sobered as he met her gaze. “Do you think I’m a spy?”

  “It would kill me if you were.”

  She meant to joke,
but her voice wavered halfway through. She stood frozen in the middle of the room, afraid that he must know everything, every secret longing she felt for him. His grave expression turned downright somber.

  “I’m not a spy,” he said.

  She stared at his mouth because she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I know.”

  His lips tightened, just a little. Her heart beat, thump thump thump.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  “Let’s try another question,” he said, watching her. “Would you tell me if everything wasn’t okay?”

  She was so stressed out, but she never realized it until moments like these, when she wished she could sink into Sam’s arms and unburden herself. She’d drown him with everything she kept inside.

  She shrugged and forced a smile. “I’d tell you. Yes.” There was a noise downstairs, perhaps a chess board knocked off a table. Sam turned his head to listen. Fredrik said something Grace couldn’t hear.

  “Well,” she said. “I better work a little more before bed.”

  “Okay.” He looked down at his laptop. “And I’ll do some more spying—er—reports, I guess.” He gave her a sharply comedic look. “Could you forget I said that last part, about the spying?”

  She burst into laughter. It was funny how he could cheer her up so easily, when he was only supposed to be her bodyguard. She had a panicked feeling of things slipping away, her feelings, her focus, even her friendship with Fredrik, however strained it had been. She wondered if she ought to send Sam away, if he was becoming too much of a distraction.

  No. She just had to stop thinking about him all the time, and keep her mind on the game.

  *** *** ***

  Sam talked to Zeke every few days, furtive, candid conversations whenever Grace went in her room. Sam told him all the things Grace was too self-conscious or too protective to mention about the goings on at 12 Huvilakatu. So really, Sam was a spy, but a spy on Grace’s side.

  “She told me Fredrik was a bad idea,” said the old man. “I should have listened.”

  “She can handle him. He just annoys her.”

  “She shouldn’t be annoyed. She should be relaxed, and concentrating fully on her game. Is she sleeping well?”

  Sam looked over at her bedroom door. “She hasn’t had any more nightmares. None that I know of.”

  “That’s good. Very good.” Zeke muffled a deep, ragged cough.

  “What about you?” said Sam. “Mrs. Ferlander looking after you?”

  “She’s about to drive me crazy.”

  “Good.” Hopefully she was looking into that cough.

  “How about you and Gracie?” asked Zeke. “Everything’s good?”

  Sam tugged at his lip. “Everything’s fine.” Except that I fantasize about her, and I’m not supposed to. “I wish...” I wish I could kiss her. I wish I could fuck her senseless. “I wish I knew how to help her relax.”

  Zeke coughed again, more softly this time. “You have to get her away from chess sometimes. It’s my one regret, that I didn’t force her to go out into the world more. I’m afraid she’s never really learned to enjoy life. I know it’s not your job, but as a favor to me, make her have fun sometimes. Has she had any fun since you’ve been in Helsinki?”

  “We’ve had a few snowball fights.”

  “Oh yes? Who won?”

  “Renzo. The man’s a machine.”

  “Perhaps you could throw a party for Gracie’s birthday next week.”

  “Way ahead of you.” Fredrik was the one who got that ball rolling, so Sam wasn’t sure he’d be invited. Of course, he’d be there either way.

  “She deserves to be happy,” said Zeke in a wheezy rumble. “This is the calm before the storm. When she gets to Dubai, things are going to get difficult. She should be enjoying these last peaceful days.”

  “If that’s the case, we should have gone to the Bahamas, not Helsinki.”

  He made an impatient sound. “She should be happy, Sam. Happiness breeds confidence. Confidence breeds strength.”

  “Zeke.” Sam’s voice rose to cut him off before he could work himself into another coughing fit. “What should I get her for her birthday?”

  “Agh. Something fun. She likes candy and Marie Antoinette. Use your big brain to figure something out.”

  His big brain? Grace was the one with the big brain. He saw the light go dark beneath her door. In a moment she’d crack it open. Since the first night, she’d slept with the door open so she could see him from her bed. “I gotta go, old man,” he said. “It’s late here. Not to mention freezing.”

  “It’s freezing here too,” Zeke groused, but he let him go. Sam hung up and burrowed into his pile of down comforters. The house was quiet, slumbering through a Helsinki winter, and on the other side of her slightly open door, Grace was quiet too. Asleep. In bed. Alone.

  Just...no. Don’t think about it.

  But he did think about it, all the damn time. He thought about all the things he could do to her, his stressed out, slightly eccentric roommate who didn’t seem to have much experience with men. He could help her build up that experience, and take the edge off her stress in the process. Hell, he’d be happy to do it. He wondered what it would be like to have sex with a genius-level lover. Probably pretty fucking fun.

  He’d be gentle with her in the beginning, of course, and take things slow. After her Russian experience, she’d be scared of anything too intense. He’d earn her trust, ease her fears, and then he’d fuck her to shreds while she screamed his name in ecstasy. She could spend all the cold Finnish nights in bed with him, sighing and clinging to him, and running her pretty lips and delicate tongue over his hard, upstanding...

  He rearranged his cock in his gym pants. Jesus Christ.

  The bad part about sleeping on the couch rather than a private bedroom was that he had no place to masturbate aside from the bathroom. He took a lot of showers, which sucked when it was -5 degrees outside. He had a feeling Fredrik knew why he showered so much. Renzo too. Krishna was oblivious. Dubai was three weeks away, but it seemed ages away to Sam, an eternity to ache and smolder in this ice-ridden city.

  He pulled the covers up to his ears and willed himself to stop thinking about her, but then he fell into dreams about life-size chess pieces and spies. Grace was a queen and one of the knights was trying to trample her. No, Sam yelled, barging onto the chess board. That’s an illegal move.

  He heard his name in the darkness and sat up on the sofa bed. He wasn’t dreaming anymore. Grace stood ten feet away, shivering in a tee shirt and polka dot sleep pants, a wide-eyed ghost in the night.

  “Sam,” she said again. Her voice was strained and quiet. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  From deep sleep, he went on alert. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing safety wise.” Her shoulders slumped. “Never mind. I’m sorry.” She turned to go.

  “Grace.”

  “No, I’m sorry I woke you up. This isn’t your job, to comfort me when I’m upset.”

  Oh, but, baby…I want to comfort you. I want to comfort you so bad.

  “It’s okay,” he said in his best businesslike bodyguard voice. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “It’s Fredrik,” she said, and that tremble was back in her voice. “I realized this yesterday. Something’s not right. He’s angry with me. He possibly hates me.”

  Her words fell over each other as she stood shivering in her pajama pants and tee. He took over one of his blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You’re under a lot of stress, Grace. You’re having stressed thoughts. It’s normal. No one here hates you.”

  “Fredrik does, and it’s not just that. It’s everything. I can’t sleep. I dream about bad things.”

  “What kind of bad things?”

  He wished he could touch her. He wished he could embrace her and take all the bad things away. No, you’re the bodyguard.


  “It’s just…things feel wrong right now,” she said. “I can’t explain.”

  She stared at his bare chest. He wanted to rip off her clothes. The bed was right there, the goddamned sofa bed.

  “Try to explain,” he said. “I’d like to help.”

  “You can’t help, that’s just it.” She walked away from him. “That’s why I should have let you sleep. I got myself in this situation. It’s my fault, all of it.”

  He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. “What situation? What exactly is your fault?”

  “All of this. Everything! Why is everyone so angry with me? People want to hurt me and kill me. Maybe I should just stop. Go home and be with Zeke. Zeke is coughing. He’s sick.” She pulled the blanket closer around her. “Nobody wants me to do this, so why am I doing it? I could just go and do something else with my life, and forget all this.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sam walked over to the armoire and pulled on a sweater. “Grace, please, calm down. Don’t let the pressure get to you.”

  “It has nothing to do with pressure. Everyone hates me,” she cried. “Are you even listening?”

  “I’m listening,” he said, feeling his own frustration snap. “But you’re making zero sense.” He went back to her and made her face him. She looked so different without her glasses, so young and fragile. “I know you’re under a lot of stress, but listen to what you’re saying. Everyone hates you? What about Krishna and Renzo? What about Zeke? What about all the people at the State Department who are working for you? What about all the people following this journey and cheering for you?”

  She stared at him, her eyes twin pools of pain. “I’m going to let all of them down,” she said. “I know it.”

  “Grace—”

  “I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. Doesn’t anybody understand that? I’m not the person who should be doing this.” Her voice rose along with her panic. “It should have been someone else.”

  “You’re the only one who can do it.”

  “But I don’t want to. I don’t want everyone to hate me. I’m not a bad person.”

  “No, you’re not.”