Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

“I’m not a little girl, Cord. You can pretend that I am, all you want, but it won’t change things.”

  When he just glared at her, she asked, “What’s the matter, did I hit a nerve?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why don’t you want to talk about the women in your life? Do you have some deep dark secret in your past?” When he didn’t answer, but his face paled, she blurted out, “Are you sleeping with Eileen Martin now?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  A needle of pain pricked her heart. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot. I just have an adolescent crush on my bodyguard. His sex life isn’t any of my business.”

  “You got it.”

  “Well, I want to know, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  So I can torture myself with images of her having you. When she realized that was exactly what she’d do, Stacey stood abruptly. “Oh, never mind. This is a stupid conversation.”

  “I agree. And from now on, I’d appreciate it if you kept your cute little nose out of my personal life.”

  “Fine, McKay. And you can stay my bodyguard, but you can stay out of my private life, too.”

  “Suits me.”

  Furious at the tears that threatened, Stacey whirled and fled to her own room. She yanked back the covers, and climbed in bed.

  Her companion, jealousy, was cold comfort.

  * * *

  THEY WERE STILL snapping at each other eighteen hours later. Cord sat in the reception area outside her office ready to spit nails. She’d been in a mood all morning and he knew why. For the same reason he’d bitten her head off when she wouldn’t practice some self-defense moves with him before work...

  “Why are you dressed for the office already? It’s only seven o’clock.”

  “I have a heavy schedule today. I want to go in early.”

  “What about our morning workout?”

  “I don’t want to practice today.”

  “Well, tough, you don’t have any choice.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Don’t act like a spoiled brat, Stacey.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t treat me like a child just because I do or say something you don’t like. You tried that last night and it didn’t work.”

  “Is that what this is all about? Last night?”

  Turning from him, she’d walked to the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “This is all about the fact that I have a lot of work to do today. And since you’re employed by my father, you’d better be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. I’ll be having coffee in the kitchen.”

  At noon, in the CGW building, Cord was still flaming at her treatment of him. Rising, he walked to the door of her office. He leaned back against the jamb and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her. She was all trussed up today in a navy blue suit with a row of military-style buttons and red trim around the hem and sleeves of her jacket. Still, it couldn’t disguise the fullness of her breasts. He wondered for the thousandth time what they would feel like in his hands.

  “What do you want?” Stacey’s voice was February-afternoon cold.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “So, go eat.”

  “Come with me. I’d like to get out of here for a while.”

  “I don’t want any food.”

  “Come with me, anyway.”

  “No.”

  “Stacey, stop acting like—”

  Unexpectedly she rose. “Don’t start that again, Cord.” Brown eyes shot fire at him.

  He glared at her, then turned and left, muttering under his breath.

  She had every right to be angry at him. He’d tried to send her a message by bringing Eileen to dinner, as if Stacey were some adolescent girl he could manipulate. Then, he’d spoken to her as if she were a child when they’d talked afterward.

  But God, he’d had no choice. When she’d been across the room with Matthews before dinner, and the man had touched her, Cord had wanted to jerk her out of her fiancé’s embrace, throw her over his shoulder and stalk from the room.

  And in his thirty-six years, he couldn’t ever remember feeling like that about a woman.

  She’d only intensified how he felt by the way she’d handled Megan. When Stacey had come out on the patio, she’d erased all of Megan’s youthful anxiety, and cheered up his daughter in a way he hadn’t been able to do. He’d wanted to sink to his knees and thank her.

  But when she’d returned to the party in the blue sequins, he knew he was doomed. The dress hugged every female curve, scooped low in the back and skimmed her knees. He’d gotten so hard he thought he might embarrass himself...

  Plopping down in front of the phone at an empty desk, Cord pulled out the directory, and looked up the number of Canfield’s one pizza parlor.

  Maybe food would soothe his overactive libido.

  But he doubted it.

  Later that afternoon, Cord prowled around the office making sure everything was still secure.

  After that, he got out his laptop and worked on the stalking. He had software from his days on the police force that helped solve cases like this—predicting next moves, drawing up psychological profiles, even guessing suspects from information entered on who the victim knew. Cord was updating the statistics, when Stacey strode out of her office. “I have a meeting upstairs with the financial staff.”

  “It wasn’t on the daily agenda you gave me.”

  She faced him squarely. “No? Must be I had other things on my mind and forgot to fill you in. Oh, and I made an appointment after work to get my hair cut.” She jabbed at the elevator button.

  Her dismissal irked him. Coming up behind her, he said, “Why the hell did you do that?”

  Dark, sensitive eyes glanced at him before they turned ice cold. “Make the appointment?”

  “Yeah. To cut this?” He reached out and captured a lock in his fingers before he realized what he was doing. Her hair was as soft as velvet, its reddish highlights more vivid now that it had grown some.

  “It’s a mess. I never wear my hair this long.”

  “I like it.”

  One of the elevators arrived so Stacey stepped onto it. “Your point?”

  He followed but thought best not to respond. When the doors closed, Cord noticed the interior of the elevator was half torn apart. The drywall had been removed, and insulation showed in between the beams set about twelve inches apart. Even the ceiling had been ripped out and replaced by the newly required trapdoor. “I wonder when they did this,” he mused aloud.

  She tapped her foot. “Must be today be—” Suddenly, the entire car jolted and stopped. Unbalanced, Stacey tumbled back against the wall, banging her skull on an exposed beam. “Damn,” she said, raising her hand to rub the spot.

  “Let me see.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

  Ignoring her, he tugged her close and threaded his hands through the heavy brown mass. Curls surrounded his fingers, and despite the circumstances, he luxuriated in their silkiness. Then he felt for the bump. “You’ve got a little goose egg.” His voice was husky, as if they’d just kissed.

  He was so frustrated he might have kissed her if the elevator hadn’t jolted again and resumed its motion. He stepped away from her, trying to contain the furnace blast of heat that suffused him.

  Disgusted by his reaction, he studied the elevator. “Don’t take this one again. I don’t like the feel of it.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with sarcasm that could have cut through granite.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  At six o’clock, he was still pacing. He’d spent most of the day out of her sight, but close enough to protect her. He went to her office again. “Stacey, I have to talk to the guard downstairs before we leave for the night. If you want to get to that hair appointment on time, we’d better go now.”

  She glanced at her watch, then looked up at him. Dark circles smudged the skin under her eyes, and fatigue lines bracketed her mout
h. She’d been working hard all day, and probably hadn’t gotten much more sleep than he had last night.

  “I can’t go yet,” she told him. “I’m waiting for a long-distance call from our office in Washington State. There’s only a four-hour window when I can talk to them because of the time difference.”

  “Sorry, Stacey, you have to come with me. I’ve really got to check out something with Hank,” he said, referring to the security guard downstairs.

  Clearly exasperated, she blew the bangs out of her eyes. “Can’t you do that without me? I’ll come right down—” Just then, the phone rang. “Yes?” she said after she picked up the receiver. She slapped her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Washington. I’ll be down in ten minutes. Then we can leave for my hair appointment.”

  He shook his head.

  “Cord, please. I can’t take another round with you today.” From the lines of stress in her face, and her too-bright eyes, he believed her.

  “All right. But if you’re not down in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you.”

  She didn’t answer and he left.

  Ten minutes later, he said to Hank, “Call her, would you?”

  The gray-haired security man smiled. “She sure is a handful. I wouldn’t want your job.”

  Cord smiled back, but it died when Hank’s wrinkled forehead creased even more. “No answer.”

  Fear sliced through Cord. After trying her cell, with the same results, he strode to the elevators and pushed the button. Then he glanced up. Three was lit for both cars. And neither was moving. He jabbed the buttons mercilessly. Still no movement.

  His heart thumping, Cord raced for the stairs. He yanked on the heavy metal door. It wouldn’t budge.

  Hank came up behind him. “What is it?”

  “This door is locked.”

  “Nah, it’s been sticking lately. But the repairmen came today. Let me give it a try.” He pulled on the door.

  Though older than Cord, Hank had bulk and muscle. Still, the door didn’t open. “That’s strange,” he said. “I thought it was fixed.”

  “Hank, was the elevator repaired today, too?”

  “Yeah, by the same company. But they were called off the job before they could finish.”

  “Listen carefully. I think Stacey’s stuck on that elevator. How else can we get up there?”

  The older man scowled. “There’s only the stairs and the elevators. Ain’t no other way up. Not unless you sprout wings.”

  * * *

  THE MINUTE THE elevator stopped at the third floor, the interior lights went out. Stacey huddled back into the corner and gripped the handrail. Pitch blackness surrounded her. With every ounce of strength she had, she forced herself to bite back a scream. Or a whimper. Instead, she breathed in deeply as Cord had taught her to do in their daily exercises.

  If you’re really scared, take a deep breath until you’ve got your wits about you. If no one is threatening you, think of something pleasant.

  She conjured up the image of Megan trying on all Stacey’s necklaces last night. When Stacey’s breathing was normal again, she raised her hands to the wall and felt her way along it. The paper covering the insulation was rough, and the Fiberglas poked through in places, scratching her hands. She sneezed twice, but kept moving. She found the control panel with her fingers, but couldn’t see it. She tried to visualize where the emergency button was. She pictured the rows of buttons that went to the floors of the building. She remembered seeing the red Emergency button about six inches below. Groping, she found it and pressed. It rang like a school bell, but to her, the echoing sound was like chimes from the angels. Now someone would know she was stuck.

  Cord will know, anyway, you jerk. He’ll come. Just wait it out. She sank to the floor. What was happening? Was the elevator just stuck, or...was the stalker involved?

  Don’t jump to conclusions. This elevator was under repair. It was just stuck. If only she’d listened to Cord and not used it.

  Please, God, let it be just stuck.

  She tried to picture the inside of the elevator again. Maybe there was some other way to start it, or—oh, God, yes, there might be a phone. She felt her way back to the controls once more. Down about a foot was a small compartment. She opened the door and grasped a phone. She picked up the receiver. It was dead. Her heart rate tripled.

  Sliding back to the floor, she rested her head on her knees. She had to make plans. If the stalker had done this, what would he do now that he had her stuck on the third floor? Or was she between floors? If she was on the third floor, would he open the doors and grab her? What would she do if he did? What weapons did she have?

  There was a can of Mace in her purse. Cord had insisted she carry it. On hands and knees, snagging her panty hose and abrading her palms on the skid-proof flooring, she searched for her purse. She found it in a corner against the wall. Frantically, she opened the zipper and fished around inside until she found the small cylinder. Closing her hand around it, she sat back in the corner and prayed.

  Suddenly, she felt the entire car shimmy. There was a loud thump on the roof of the elevator. She looked up. Though she couldn’t see anything, she pictured the ceiling of the elevator and the mandatory trapdoor that had been installed. Oh, no, someone was coming through it.

  When a sharp sliver of light pierced the darkness, she stilled.

  And waited for her attacker.

  From the well-lit elevator shaft, a figure leaped into the car and poised above her. She raised her can of Mace. He blocked out the light so she could only see his silhouette. But God, she’d know those shoulders anywhere...

  “Cord.”

  Dropping inside the car, he sank to his knees and she dropped the Mace and crawled into his arms. She buried her face in his neck. His hands gripped her waist, then one banded around her. Another locked on her neck so tight it hurt. She could hear his heart was thumping in his chest and felt a shiver go through him.

  “I was so scared,” she mumbled into his skin.

  “I was, too.”

  “I’m sorry I was such a bitch today.”

  “I’m sorry I was such a bastard.”

  “I was jealous. From last night.’’

  He gripped her tighter. “I was, too.”

  Stacey’s heart skidded to a halt with Cord’s first, real admission that he cared for her. “Take me home,” she whispered, “and stay with me.”

  “You can count on it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  WHEN THE NIGHTMARE came six hours later, Cord was holding her. She jerked awake in a sweat, startling him out of sleep, too. His strong arms encircled her—and she knew he hadn’t let go of her all night. He wore sweatpants and she had on long red cotton pajamas. Both had changed when they’d gotten home after the elevator incident, and she’d asked him to stay with her until she fell asleep. With a light left on in the corner of the room, they’d settled on top of the covers, and slept soundly.

  He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head, securing it under his chin, close to his chest. “Another dream?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Do you remember any of it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Tell me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Stacey, maybe it will help.”

  There was a long silence. Then she said, “It was about my mother.”

  Cord stiffened. Stacey felt it all through him.

  “I was at the cemetery. I was really little, and I was crying.”

  “It’s probably what happened when she died, sweetheart.”

  Burying her face in his skin, breathing in the maleness, she said, “I guess. It seems that lately—since the stalking stuff—I’ve started to remember all sorts of things about Helene. Things that happened when I was around Megan’s age.”

  “You were around Megan’s age when Helene died, weren’t you? Maybe that’s why.”

  “Well, something’s got these memories coming back like an old fil
m clip.”

  If possible, Cord’s muscles tightened even more. “Cord, does this bother you so much because of your father?”

  He didn’t answer right away, but finally asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Well, every time we talk about Helene, you freeze up. I thought maybe it reminded you of your relationship with your dad.”

  “Maybe it does. I don’t like to talk about him.”

  “Like you said, it might help to tell someone.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t want to change the subject from your nightmare. I think you should get it all out.”

  “I will, if you tell me about your father.”

  “Okay.” His chest heaved under her cheek. “It’s the classic cobbler-whose-kids-had-no-shoes story.”

  “How?”

  “He was the best cop Canfield ever saw. Worked miracles with juvenile offenders. But he was never home, never had time for me. When he was there, he was a tough sob. Cops and teachers are usually stricter with their own children because of their experience with kids in trouble. But knowing that now doesn’t help.”

  “Is that why you left Canfield when you were eighteen?”

  His hand stopped making lazy circles on her back. “Partly.”

  “And it’s why you didn’t want to leave Megan and take this job protecting me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes “

  “But you did.”

  “For you.” His voice was gravelly.

  “Maybe your father had some of that same need to protect people.”

  “Over and over again?”

  “No, probably not. But maybe there were extenuating circumstances for him, too, that you don’t know about. Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt. Like you told me to do for Helene.”

  Cord’s pause was meaningful. “How’d you get so smart for somebody so young?”

  “I’m not that young, Cord.”

  Slowly, she lifted his hand from around her waist and brought it to her breast. “I’m a full-grown woman.”

  His fingers flexed on her flesh, without his conscious consent, she guessed. Their weight and pressure against her created a buzz of sexual excitement. She felt his heat through her pajamas.