Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “The car the two guys jumped into was a navy blue Chevy,” Cord told them.

  Stacey’s face went chalk white.

  All-business, Cord said, “Sounds to me like your daughter needs some protection. It might not stop at this.”

  Something shadowy passed over Webb’s face. “I agree. We’ll go back to the police station this morning.”

  Cord was thoughtful. “Yeah, but the Canfield P.D. isn’t set up for this kind of thing.”

  “What are you talking about?” Stacey asked. He had to give her credit, her voice was low and even, he’d guess with great effort.

  “Some major cities have divisions equipped with officers trained to provide special protection,” Cord explained. “Like New York, where dignitaries and other important personnel often visit. Even in medium-size cities, like Rochester, the force has more police to assign to a case like this, and they’ve had training. Canfield has about thirty officers, but the department won’t be able to spare anyone to protect you full-time.”

  “We’ll have to get private help, then,” Gifford stated.

  “The police have names of agencies that handle surveillance and protection.” Cord scowled. “Unfortunately, none of these are located in Canfield. You’ll have to get somebody from out of town.”

  “In the meantime?”

  “Don’t let her go anywhere alone. Maybe the cops can provide some part-time surveillance. For a while at least.”

  A man used to getting his way, Gifford shook his head. “Maybe? I won’t let my daughter’s life rest on maybe.”

  Cord glanced at his watch. “Look, I’ve got to get home to my daughter.” Shrugging into his jacket, he tried not to wince at the pain in his shoulder. As he faced Gifford Webb, he said, “Watch her,” then turned to go.

  When he reached the door, he heard her voice. “Dad, I will not let some stranger follow me around.”

  “Yes, Stacey, you will.”

  “And what if I refuse?”

  Unable to stop himself, Cord pivoted. “Stacey?”

  She looked over at him, a curious mixture of defiance and vulnerability in her eyes. “What?”

  “Don’t refuse.”

  “Why?”

  “You could end up dead.”

  * * *

  AT ONE O’CLOCK that afternoon, Stacey watched Cord McKay stride into the conference room at the Canfield police station and immediately felt better. She was still angry, upset and frustrated, but somehow his presence calmed her—though it looked as if this was the last place he wanted to be.

  He’d shaved since this morning, and she could smell a clean soapy scent and woodsy cologne. He’d also changed into beltless, well-worn, white jeans and a black T-shirt. A large bandage covered his temple, a chilly reminder of the night before.

  Slipping his hands into his pockets, he leaned against the bulletin-board wall. Ignoring both Stacey and her father, he addressed Wayne Valentino. “What’s up?”

  “Mr. Webb and his daughter asked me to call you in.”

  He looked directly at her father. A silent message telegraphed between the two. It intrigued Stacey.

  “Why?” he asked Gifford.

  “Ah...” Gifford raked a hand through his thick hair. It was the first time she’d ever seen her father at a loss for words. Finally he found his voice. “I need your help.”

  Something was wrong here. McKay looked as if her father had just asked him to sacrifice his firstborn to the gods.

  “I asked for you to come,” she put in.

  “For what?” There was a hard look in his steely blue eyes.

  Gifford had regained his composure. “We’re having some problems ironing out what to do.” He turned to look at his daughter. Stacey had seen that expression many times in the past: when she insisted on skipping breakfast, when she’d wanted to try out for the boys’ lacrosse team, when she’d quit art school. “It seems my headstrong daughter doesn’t want any protection.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Cord faced her. “You don’t have a choice.”

  She straightened in her seat. “People always have choices.”

  Almost reluctantly, Cord glanced at Gifford. “Not always.”

  Again, Stacey’s sixth sense was alerted. Something was going on between her father and Cord McKay. But what? Gifford was a good ten years older, so they couldn’t have known each other in high school or college.

  “Stacey, McKay asked you why you’re balking.”

  She fidgeted with the strap of her purse. “Does it matter? The police say they can only provide minimal protection. Daddy’s called several security agencies, and no one with any experience is available. So I think maybe we ought to just wait this out.”

  Cord scowled. “It’s hard to believe you can’t get someone from out of town.”

  “We tried, with money as no object,” Gifford answered. “The best people are booked. It seems there’s some big thing going on at the UN this month, and a couple of other events that require private protection in several large cities. Agencies in Chicago or Toronto could have sent one of their newer recruits, but I don’t want a rookie. Obviously, a little harassment case in Canfield, New York, is very low priority for any of these agencies.”

  “Maybe I can help.” Cord took out his cell phone. “Give me the number of Anderson Security.”

  As they waited, Gifford said, “McKay, that’s not the only problem. Stacey doesn’t—”

  “Thanks.” Cord scribbled something on the pad next to the phone, then punched the buttons again. “I’d like to speak to Tom Anderson.” He waited. “Cord McKay...Oh, hi, Gloria. Yeah, fine. She’s great. Yeah, loving small-town life...Okay... Hi, Tom. Look, I’ve got a problem here. Yes, Canfield has problems...”

  Stacey listened to Cord explain the situation. Obviously he knew these people, and she wondered what he’d done in the big city.

  “Not till then? Okay, okay, I know you would. You’re sure he’s experienced? All right, Saturday morning. You can contact the Canfield P.D. with the details. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. “Anderson Security from New York can have someone here in four days. That’s the soonest an experienced agent’s available.”

  “Good work, Cord,” Wayne said.

  “Just luck. Well, if that’s all...”

  Stacey stood. “That’s not all. Isn’t anybody listening to me? I don’t want this.”

  Cord crossed the few feet that separated them. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat. Your life is in danger. You don’t ignore slashed tires and potential kidnappings. Believe me, I know, these things can get messy.”

  Jutting out her chin again, Stacey said, “I’m not acting like a brat. I’m objecting to this imposition on my life. I have a say in what happens to me.”

  Cord stared at her, as if he’d gotten something he hadn’t expected. Good.

  “Smart people take advice from the experts,” he said tightly.

  “Oh, and you’re an expert?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I worked in one of those special divisions in New York for ten years.”

  Her jaw clamped shut.

  “That’s why you got some pull with Anderson’s,” Wayne observed.

  Cord nodded, his eyes never leaving Stacey. “Uh-huh. I worked with them and even did some training for their new people. So I know what I’m talking about.”

  Regaining her composure, Stacey took a deep breath. “All right,” she said finally. “I believe you. But I can’t live with some stranger dogging my every move.” She looked to Wayne. “Especially if he’s from out of town. Isn’t there someone here who could stay with me?”

  Wayne shook his head. “Sorry, Stacey. We just don’t have enough resources. I could probably release one guy from the midnight-to-six shift for a while, but that’s all.” He glanced at Cord. “How about McKay? He’s not doin’ anything since his injury, are ya, Cord?”

  The air in the room crackled. Gifford Webb’s jaw tensed and every muscle in Cord’s body constricted.

&n
bsp; “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cord said.

  “Hey, yeah, it really is,” Wayne went on, clearly oblivious to the tension in the room. “You got the experience, you’re in good shape, except for the shoulder, and you’re free.”

  Clearing his throat, Cord shook his head. “No, I’m not free. I can’t take on a case like this. It requires twenty-four-hour surveillance. I can’t work those hours.”

  Stacey studied Cord McKay. Despite his highhandedness, she kind of liked the idea of being guarded by him. He made her feel safe. He also pulled at something inside her—something decidedly feminine. “Why can’t you work those hours?” she asked.

  “I’ve got a little girl.”

  “Oh, yes,” Stacey said. “She lives with you and your mother.”

  “Maybe Nora could watch her till this is over,” Wayne suggested.

  Cord rounded on him. “No, definitely not. I came back to Canfield so I could raise Megan right. I’m not going to turn her over to my mother because of some job.”

  Gifford rose. His face was ashen and a muscle in his neck throbbed. “I’d like to speak to Mr. McKay alone, Wayne, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ah, sure, I... I’ll wait outside.”

  Turning to his daughter, Gifford said, “You too, Stacey.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Do as you’re told.”

  “Daddy, I’m not--”

  “Honey, please! Try being cooperative for once in your life.”

  Stacey nodded, startled by her father’s unusual criticism, though it was probably warranted. Somehow, she was always more petulant around him. It was something she wasn’t proud of. She crossed to the door, but glanced over her shoulder before she left to see Gifford and McKay squaring off like boxers about to enter the ring.

  * * *

  CORD SAT IN the Webb driveway trying to keep himself from sputtering. He was mad, mostly at fate, for dragging him back to this house, and to these people. How the hell had he let this happen?

  But he knew the answer to the question. He could still see Gifford Webb standing in the suddenly too-small office, his features a study in conflict…

  After Stacey and Wayne had left .the room, Cord had turned to Webb. “We have nothing to say to each other.”

  “Since my daughter’s safety is at stake, we have a lot to say.”

  “I’d have thought you wouldn’t want me in the same room with her.”

  Gifford sucked in a deep breath, then said, “I don’t, really. But I don’t have much choice.”

  Raking a hand through his hair, Cord shook his head. “Of course you do. Someone will be here Saturday from Anderson’s.”

  “And until then?”

  At a loss for an answer, Cord retreated. He stepped away and turned his back on Gifford, facing the chalkboard which spanned the length of one wall. Sometimes it hurt just to look at the man and remember all that had happened.

  “All right, I’ll admit I was shocked to see you in my house this morning. And I have to say that I’ve still got a lot of raw edges from eighteen years ago. But I’ve also come to see some things a little differently since then.” Stacey’s father spoke in halting words. “But that’s beside the point. I have to do what’s best for Stacey. And it looks like you’re what’s best for her. At least temporarily.” When Cord remained silent, he added, “Of course, I’ll pay you whatever you want. I’m sure you can use the money, now that you’re off the force.”

  “What about Stacey? She doesn’t know anything about me and—”

  “No,” Gifford interrupted. “And I don’t want her to.”

  Cord wrestled with the situation. A deep, abiding sense of guilt had lodged somewhere inside him eighteen years ago and had never left. How could he refuse to do something for a man he’d hurt so badly?

  As if Webb had read Cord’s thoughts, the older man spoke in a tortured voice. “You owe me, McKay...”

  Oh, yeah, Cord thought now as he looked at the Webb home through the truck windshield, guilt is the reason I’m here. With controlled viciousness, he yanked open the truck door and stalked to the front of the house. While he rang the bell, he assessed the surroundings with a practiced eye. The hedges would have to be cut—they were too tall and full and could hide an intruder. The lighting needed to be improved. He glanced at the garage. The glass window in the center would have to be boarded up because it probably wasn’t connected to the alarm. Impatient, he leaned on the bell.

  In seconds, Stacey whipped open the front door.

  “Don’t do that,” he growled.

  Her face went blank. “What?”

  “Did you check to see who was at the door?”

  “No, Daddy’s expecting you.”

  “But it could have been the guy who’s after you,” he said harshly. “You’ve got to use more common sense.”

  Stacey’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks turned pink. “Don’t yell at me like I’m some child. I’ve never been stalked before, and I don’t know all the rules yet.”

  “Well, you’d better learn them fast or you could end up dead.”

  She blanched at his bald statement.

  Very deliberately, he gentled his voice, though he was no longer a gentle man. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  She shook her head, her chocolate eyes wide and bright. “No, you’re right. I should be more careful.” Then she stepped aside to allow him in. “Daddy’s in the library.” Her shoulders still tense, she led him through the large house.

  Gifford Webb sat behind a huge oak desk in front of a set of French doors. Cord had only seen this room once or twice, and it looked unchanged. Rising, Stacey’s father came toward him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Cord nodded.

  When they were all seated, Stacey turned to Cord.

  “I really don’t understand what made you change your mind. I thought you didn’t want to leave your daughter.”

  “I won’t be away from her for too long. I’ve arranged for the police to do sporadic coverage during the evening and overnight so I can still see Megan before she goes to bed and when she wakes up. And it’s only for three days.”

  “She could come and visit,” Stacey suggested.

  “No, she can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” Stacey glanced at Gifford and gave him a smile full of love and understanding. “Megan’s lucky,” she said, still looking at her father. “She’ll have that special relationship with you all her life. It’s a wonderful thing for a girl to have.”

  Cord coughed, uncomfortable with this personal glimpse into their father-daughter relationship. “I’m going to inspect the property right now,” he said, “and make a list of everything that needs to be done to increase the security. First, there are some things we’ve got to get straight.”

  Cocking her head, Stacey said, “All right.”

  “You have to do everything I tell you. No sass.”

  “Are you always this rude?” she asked.

  “Kindness doesn’t catch kidnappers.” Damn, she looked frightened. But better that than she do something stupid and pay for it with her life. “I’ve got to have your full cooperation.”

  “You’ll have it,” her father stated.

  “I want to hear it from you.” Cord addressed Stacey directly.

  Stacey squared her shoulders. “Yes, you have my cooperation. You’ve scared me enough that I believe I’m in danger. Since the decision’s been made, I’ll do whatever I have to.”

  For thirty minutes, they discussed the schedule of the week’s activities, who would be where when, then took a quick tour of the house. In the finished basement, Cord commented on the state-of-the-art workout machines. “You use this stuff?” he asked Stacey.

  “Of course. So does Daddy.”

  By midafternoon, they were done with the tour and the briefing. Back in the library, Stacey turned to her father. “Dad, you’d better go. You’re going to be late for your four o’clock meeting.�
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  He shifted uneasily. “I thought I’d cancel it.”

  “Don’t you dare. It’s on the new processing-system figures. You’ve got to be there. Besides,” she said, crossing to him and linking her arm with his, “that’s why you’re paying Cord all this money, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. All right, if you’re sure.”

  “Go ahead. She’ll be fine,” Cord added.

  Gifford kissed Stacey’s forehead, and glanced at Cord. He walked slowly to the doorway, then turned to face them. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m in good hands.”

  A look of such intense pain crossed Gifford Webb’s face that Cord had to turn away.

  “Did he?” Stacey asked as she leaned against the desk after her father left.

  “Did he what?”

  “Pay you a lot of money?”

  “Enough. I’ll put it away for Megan’s college tuition.”

  “Hmm...”

  “You work at the Glass Works, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m an accountant.”

  Cord checked his watch. “Aren’t you going in today?”

  “No, I took the day off.”

  “What do you usually do on your days off?”

  “Relax, read. Spend time with my friends.”

  “What do you do to relax?”

  “I bake.”

  He remembered Helene, standing at the counter, mixing batter, saying, I hate to bake. But Stacey loves when we do it together.

  “How do chocolate chip cookies sound?” she asked.

  “Good.”

  In the kitchen, Cord pulled out a chair and tried not to remember how many times he’d sat at this scarred oak table. Instead, he turned his attention to his charge, and watched her put softened butter in a bowl and mix it with sugar. He had to force back a grin at the difference in how she was dressed now and what she’d worn to the police station. There she’d had on a demure peach suit, with pearls and sensible shoes. It had made her appear conservative and professional. Now, she looked wild and sexy—in cutoff denims with a sleeveless top made of sparkling gold. There were matching gold sandals on her feet. When she reached for a bowl from the cupboard, the shorts rode up to the top of her thighs.