Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “Small town.”

  “Yeah. So things like this aren’t supposed to happen.” Surveying the room, Stacey bit her lip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes came back to his. “Nothing.”

  “You bit your lip. What were you thinking?”

  She waited a moment. “I was going to ask you what you think happened. Was it a mugging?”

  “No, not with the car all set up. They were probably trying to kidnap you, though my guess is they were amateurs. They bungled it pretty bad.”

  Swallowing hard, Stacey clutched her hands together. She didn’t want to start shaking again, especially in front of him. “I was hoping it wasn’t so... premeditated.”

  “You suspected it wasn’t just a one-time attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Stacey told him about the other incidents, trying to keep her voice calm.

  Cord arched a blond eyebrow. “Any idea why someone would want to kidnap you?”

  “Daddy thinks it’s probably to get to him. There’ve been a lot of layoffs at the plant, for one thing, and this could be retaliation. Plus, in his position, he makes enemies for all sorts of political reasons. And he’s got money.”

  “Sounds pretty serious. You need to work with the police.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry you were hurt trying to help me.”

  “Yeah,” he said derisively. “Me, too.”

  Unexpectedly, he swung his feet to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What does it look like?” He swayed before standing on shaky legs.

  “You’re hurt,” she said as she stood. “You shouldn’t be up. The nurse said...”

  Cord wavered and reached for the first support he could get—her arm. He gripped it painfully. Bigger and stronger, he unbalanced her and they both tumbled to the bed, his body covering hers.

  His weight felt...strange. He was a lot heavier than he looked. She’d grabbed his shoulders when they fell and his muscles strained beneath her fingers. His legs were much longer than hers. Originally, she’d guessed him to be her father’s height, about five-nine. But he was closer to six feet. His chest was like a solid brick wall against her, except she could feel his heart thumping inside it.

  For a moment, he stared into her eyes, something akin to pain flashing through his. Once more, the look was gone before she could categorize it, and he eased off her to the side of the bed. “Sorry, I’m weaker than I thought.” Sitting back, he leaned against the wall a second time and massaged his shoulder.

  “That’s okay.” Stacey’s reply was a little breathless. She scrambled off the bed and into the chair. “Sorry about your shoulder.”

  He nodded and waved his hand absently.

  “So, you’re a hero again!” Both turned to see two uniformed policemen standing in the doorway.

  Joe Ferron, the officer who’d made the comment, was a former classmate of Stacey’s. He’d been the all-American boy in high school, but Stacey still found it hard to believe he was a cop now.

  Wayne Valentino, Canfield’s chief of police, took the lead. “How are ya, Cord?”

  “My head hurts like hell,” Cord said irritably.

  “Well, you’re just as ornery as ever, so you must be okay.”

  “Hurt the shoulder more?” Ferron asked.

  “Some.” His curt reply cut off any further concern from the men.

  Pulling out a pen, Wayne took Cord’s statement.

  While the chief was writing his report, Stacey made small talk with Joe. The young cop fidgeted like a boy at a high school dance. His too-wide grin and his puppy-dog eyes clearly revealed his crush on Stacey Webb. She thought it was cute.

  When Wayne finished, he called to Ferron, who turned to Cord. “Geez, you can’t help playing hero, can you?”

  “Just do me a favor. Keep it out of the paper this time.”

  “You kiddin’? The Leader’s already got the story. By tomorrow night, everyone in town will know about how you rescued a damsel in distress.”

  Cord moaned audibly and Stacey mimicked it silently. By tomorrow night, everyone in town would know that she’d almost been abducted.

  She sighed. Well, since keeping quiet about the other incidents hadn’t helped, maybe public exposure would do some good. She hoped so.

  Because for the first time since her mother, Helene, had left, Stacey was really afraid.

  * * *

  “WHAT TIME IS it?” Cord asked as he awakened in the dim, unfamiliar room and saw Stacey Webb sitting next to him.

  She blew her thick, chestnut bangs off her forehead. “Two in the morning.”

  “Why are you still here? They said I had to stay a couple of hours for observation, not you.” He didn’t try to control the edge in his voice. He wanted this woman gone.

  “Because it’s my fault you were hurt. I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” She scanned the cubicle. “I wouldn’t want to stay here alone.”

  “Why not? Afraid of the dark?”

  “Of course not,” she murmured.

  Her face was a dead giveaway. He’d only been with her a few hours, and he’d been dozing off and on, but already he could read her like a book. It gave him a slight twinge to think about how vulnerable she was. An innocent. Just like--he cut off the thought before it formed.

  “Where’s your father? Why isn’t he here after what happened to you tonight?”

  “Out of town on business. I didn’t call him.” They were silent again, then she broke it by adding, “Besides, you should be glad I’m here. You scared the hell out of all the nurses with your surly disposition.”

  “No sass, lady.” The edge slowly drained from his voice. Her pert features, scrunched into a mocking smile, were hard to resist.

  He studied her outfit.

  Tonight she wore hot-pink leggings and a long striped top, which emphasized her compact curves. She’d thrown on a purple jacket. She looked as if she’d just walked off the set of an MTV video, but he didn’t comment. Best to keep this as impersonal as possible.

  “You really should leave,” he said gruffly. “You should get some rest.” Again, the worried frown marred her face. “Isn’t anybody home at your house?”

  “No. Lauren, my best friend, was supposed to spend the night, but she never showed up at Cutter’s.”

  “So you’re afraid to go home by yourself?”

  Her chin lifted. “Of course not.”

  “Sure.”

  She sat up straighter. “I’ll admit that I don’t particularly like being alone in that big house, but I can certainly handle being there on my own when I have to. You don’t have to be so sarcastic about it.”

  He lifted the ice pack to his temple. “Look, my head hurts like hell and my shoulder’s sore. You’re right. I’m a grump. Actually, I’ve got a knack for sending women scurrying at the best of times.”

  “That’s not what I heard.” Her full lips twitched. “Seems you had quite a reputation as a lady’s man before you left Canfield all those years ago.”

  His hand froze, and at the same time, sweat broke out on his forehead. She couldn’t know, he told himself, or she wouldn’t be this civil to him. He forced himself to relax the way he did every time he’d faced a criminal at gunpoint. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  As he closed his eyes, fatigue washed over him. How bizarre, he thought. He was a big believer in irony, but being thrown together like this with Gifford Webb’s daughter was a colossal example of the fates at work.

  Images whirled through his brain. At the moment, he was trying very hard to block out thoughts of Megan. If he didn’t make it home soon, she’d wake up this morning and not know where he was. She’d cry, until his mother calmed her with hot oatmeal, just as Nora McKay had done for him on those many mornings when he’d awakened missing his father. And worrying about the old man’s safety. At four years ol
d, Meggie’s concern would be nebulous. But by thirteen, thoughts of what could happen to her dad would be terrifying for her. He knew because his own father had been a cop and Cord had experienced the fear. He’d come back to Canfield so that Megan would be spared all that.

  I will not dwell on Megan, or the Webbs.

  What was the old joke—trying to clear your mind of unwanted thoughts was like trying not to think about a pink elephant?

  An hour later he dozed, and Stacey was resting in the chair next to him, when the harried doctor reentered. He checked Cord’s vital signs, then said, “Well, looks like you’re okay. I think you can go home now.”

  “Good.”

  This time, Cord eased himself to the edge of the mattress, rose slowly and let his equilibrium adjust.

  He reached for the jacket that had been thrown over his bed, then looked at Stacey. “Ready to go?”

  She stood and stretched. He caught himself noticing the way her top strained across her breasts. Hell!

  “I guess,” she answered. “You need a ride somewhere?”

  He stared at her. “Level with me, Stacey. You don’t want to go home alone, do you?”

  Averting her eyes, she picked up her purse.

  “Is it because of what happened tonight?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, but didn’t look at him.

  “Most women would be nervous.”

  Her head whipped toward him, sending her short hair falling in soft curls around her face. “I’m not like most women. I’ve never been like most women. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’ve had to grow up fast and deal with a lot of things on my own.”

  “Easy.” Cord was stunned at the vehemence of her statement. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “Come on, I’ll take you to your truck,” she said, forestalling further analysis. “It’s still at Cutter’s. We left it there when the ambulance came. I followed you here in my car.”

  Ten minutes later, Cord started his truck as Stacey maneuvered her little sports car away from the curb. He’d known all along what he was going to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. Cursing himself—and fate—he followed her across town, toward The Hill, the name given by town residents to Canfield’s most upscale neighborhood.

  They turned left onto Woodview Lane. She drove up to a house, and he pulled into the driveway behind her. His heart hammered in his chest as he took in the huge, brick home, with its big white pillars and a row of tall birch trees standing guard on the lawn. In the shadows, the place loomed before him like a ghost from his past. Gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, he willed away the memories.

  Stacey was at his truck before he had time to panic. Pushing open the door, he got out.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I came to make sure you’re safe.”

  From the halogen light over the three-car garage, he could see her skin pale. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes widened. “They wouldn’t be stupid enough to try again, would they?”

  “They might. I’m surprised the police didn’t follow you home.”

  “They were short on officers, just like the hospital, because of the highway accident earlier.” She glanced at the dark foreboding house and shivered. “All right. Since you’re here, maybe you should come inside with me. I’ll check the alarm—make sure it’s still on. You can leave after I get in and reset it.”

  A strong drive to protect her and an equally powerful urge to run like hell battled within him as he trailed her to the double front doors. Unlocking the dead bolt, she stepped into the foyer. He followed like a man going to the gallows. Memories swamped him, but he pushed them back and tried not to take in his surroundings.

  After Stacey dealt with the alarm, she turned to him. The foyer was dimly lit, casting her face in shadows. Her smile was genuine and it tugged at his heart. “Thanks,” she said. “I feel better now that I’m inside. I’ll be okay.”

  Cord glanced to the left into the mammoth living room, then to the oversized dining room on his right. Everything was black and silent.

  Jamming his hands into his pockets, he sighed heavily. “Listen, my mother lives with us so she’s with my little girl, and it’s 3:00 a.m. Why don’t I just stay here for the rest of the night?”

  “Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Relax. I’m only trying to help. I’m not coming on to you.”

  Stacey’s chin lifted. “Of course you’re not. I’m engaged.”

  To Preston Matthews. “I know.”

  “Small town again?”

  “Something like that. Look, just grab me a blanket and pillow. I’ll bunk on the couch in here.” He tilted his head to the left.

  Stacey bit her lip again, then whispered, “Okay. I guess I am a little afraid.”

  Giving him a half smile, she disappeared upstairs. He walked into the living room. Same high ceilings. Different carpet. Same silk couch and chairs. The wood smelled familiarly of furniture polish. He stood stock-still, staring at the walls. Before the memories suffocated him, Stacey returned with a fluffy pillow and two blankets.

  Carelessly, he tossed them on the couch, then kicked off his battered Dock-Siders. “Go to bed, Stacey.”

  She stepped back and crossed her arms over her breasts. “All right. I just wanted to say thanks again. For saving me—and for this. Seems you’ve got a real hero complex.”

  “Don’t give me credit for things I’m not.”

  Her expression was puzzled, but she turned and left the room without further comment.

  Some hero, he thought as he pulled his T-shirt over his head and sank onto the couch. He closed his eyes to block out the house that reminded him of how wrong she was.

  Four hours later, Cord was startled out of sleep by the angry rumble of a man’s voice. Through bleary eyes, he looked into the mottled, enraged face of Gifford Webb. “What the hell are you doing in my house again, McKay?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  CORD STARED BLANKLY at Gifford Webb, the man who hated him with a long-standing passion. Though Webb was now forty-six, he looked fit and trim and even youthful. His suit was rumpled, yet its designer quality was evident, as always. But there were subtle changes—more than simply the gray at his temples. No, the real difference was in those eyes that were so much like Stacey’s. There were creases of suffering etched around them.

  “I asked you what you’re doing here, McKay.” Webb’s skin stretched across his aristocratic cheekbones, belying the calm that filtered his voice.

  Cord rose from the couch. Had he always been taller than this man? “I heard you. Maybe you’d better sit down for this.”

  “You bastard,” Webb said with quiet venom. “If you’ve hurt Stacey, I’ll...”

  “Calm down, Webb. I helped her out.”

  Fists clenched at his sides, Gifford said between gritted teeth, “Tell me.”

  “Somebody tried to grab your daughter last night.”

  “Grab her?”

  “Abduct her.” Cord scowled. “Happened outside Cutter’s.”

  Gifford paled and grasped the edge of a table. “Who did it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His eyes narrowed on Cord. “How’d you get involved? You’re off the force, aren’t you?”

  Nodding, Cord hid his surprise that Webb had followed his activities since he’d returned to Canfield. “I was outside the bar around ten when somebody jumped her from the alley.”

  “You stopped him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Shoulders slumping with the news, Gifford relaxed his grip and sank onto the sofa. “Tell me every single detail.”

  Cord sat down again. He recounted the event in five minutes, finishing just as Stacey appeared in the doorway.

  “Daddy!” She launched herself into his arms.

  Gifford stood just in time to catch her. His eyes closed as he held her in a hammerlock. “Honey, are you all right?”

 
; She nodded. Cord tried to tear his eyes away from the reunion, but he couldn’t. Stacey was about six inches shorter than Gifford, but his muscled frame dwarfed her. The zebra-print nightshirt she wore peeked out from under the hem of a short, shiny purple robe.

  Her father hugged her a minute longer, while she buried her face in his chest. Cord had a sudden image of Megan all grown-up. Then it was juxtaposed with a vision of Nathan McKay, who had never once held his only son in any kind of embrace. It wasn’t the way men behaved.

  Finally, Gilford stepped back but gripped Stacey’s arms as he looked at her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes.” She glanced over his shoulder at Cord. “I was just scared, that’s all. Mr. McKay stopped those men, then offered to stay with me so I wouldn’t be alone.”

  “You won’t be alone again until this is settled,” Gifford said, his tone stern.

  Stacey’s unlined forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Daddy...”

  Gifford glanced from her to Cord. Stacey’s eyes focused on him, too. She stared at his bare chest so long that Cord became self-conscious and reached for his T-shirt. He pulled it over his head and found his shoes. He was struck by the contrast in her behavior. She’d seemed almost girlish around her father and yet she was all woman when she looked at him. Thrusting aside the observation, he picked up his jacket. “I suggest you get in touch with the police.”

  “We will,” Gifford said.

  “You shouldn’t ignore this like you did the other incidents.”

  “Stacey told you about those?”

  “Yes. Slashed tires, someone following her and strange phone calls should all have been reported.”

  Webb’s shoulders stiffened. “Thanks for the advice. We’ll handle it. I’m well aware of the fact that there are reasons—because of my position at Canfield Glass—that someone might want to kidnap my daughter.”

  Cord looked at Stacey. Her mouth was pinched but it couldn’t disguise the fullness of her bottom lip.

  On a hunch, Cord asked, “What color was the car that was following her?”

  “A dark sedan.” Webb’s voice was strained by a father’s worry.