Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

He lunged toward his father. A noise exploded the air. Pain shrieked through him, just as his beloved knife connected with flesh.

  * * *

  AS STACEY JUMPED out of the squad car, two attendants bent over a stretcher on the driveway. Another black-and-white—the one that had radioed that the perpetrator had been caught—was parked at an angle next to the ambulance. Stacey’s heart somersaulted as she raced to the supine form lying on the cot.

  Joe Ferron was just regaining consciousness and looked up at her. “I’m sorry, Stacey,” he said when she took his hand. “I got caught. I didn’t think...Is Cord okay?”

  “Don’t try to talk, Joe,” she managed to get out. “And I don’t know about Cord.”

  But she had to find out. Leaving Joe to the capable hands of the medics, Stacey whirled to go into the house just as a group of people appeared at the door.

  One of them was Cord.

  His bloodied shirt was ripped open, and huge bandages covered his right shoulder. A sling held his arm in place. His face was pale, his mouth set in a grim, uncompromising line as he talked to the uniformed officer with him.

  When he looked up and saw her, his expression transformed into something so intense, so relieved, her knees weakened. She flew to him; he caught her with his good arm, dragging her to him. She gripped his neck. “I was so worried.”

  His mouth in her hair, he said, “I’m all right.”

  “Actually, he’s not,” Wayne Valentino muttered beside them. “I think his shoulder needs stitches. He should go to the hospital, but he won’t.”

  “Damn it, Valentino, I said I’d go later if I needed to.”

  “Cord, you should listen to him,” Stacey said.

  Cord’s protest was forestalled as another police car pulled up to the curb. Her father, dressed in a black tux, was out the door almost before it came to a halt. Striding to them, he asked, “What the hell happened here?”

  Before anyone could answer, another stretcher appeared at the door. Cord and Stacey stepped aside as the attendants stopped to get around them.

  Stacey glanced down into the twisted face of Mark Dunn.

  He was strapped in and restrained, his shoulder bandaged, and his skin pasty. Bitter black eyes stared up at her.

  “Oh, God,” she said, burying her face in Cord’s chest.

  Grasping her with his solid left hand, Cord said, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s finally over.”

  A curdling laugh slithered up from Dunn, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “It’s not over, bitch. Ask your good friend Lauren.”

  “Get him out of here,” Cord bellowed.

  As Stacey stared openmouthed at the retreating backs of the medics, she asked, “What does he mean?”

  “Will someone tell me what’s going on here?” Her father stood rigidly by, his features tense, his hands fisted.

  Cord sighed heavily, then leaned against a pillar in front of the house. His face was ashen now. “We trapped Dunn.”

  “You what?”

  “I set it up earlier tonight with the police. I had a hunch it was Dunn. I went over to Lauren’s, guessing he’d be there tonight. I planned for my mother to call me there, ostensibly to get me to the hospital for an emergency with Megan. I hoped he’d be listening, see his shot at Stacey without me around and take it. The police gave me Ferron to help, and were going to send in a unit, if the plan worked. Even though they thought it was a long shot, I persuaded them.”

  “Why wasn’t I told about this?” Gifford’s expression was grim.

  “I didn’t want you to worry,” Cord told him. “And besides, you’d already left when I decided to do this.”

  “How did Joe get hurt?” Stacey asked.

  “He went outside to check out the alarm. Dunn jumped him there.”

  “So that’s how Mark got in?”

  “No, Stacey, he had a key to the door of your suite,” Cord told her.

  “Where did he get it?” Silence. “Cord?”

  “Who had a key to that door?” Gifford asked.

  Stacey’s eyes widened. “He stole it from Lauren.” She scowled. “Cord, what did he mean about Lauren?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Not exactly?”

  “I think we should all go talk to Lauren,” Cord said, his gaze locking with her father’s. Some silent message telegraphed between them. Stacey let it go, her concern about her friend taking precedence. Lauren had to realize by now that Mark had been involved somehow.

  Gifford nodded. “All right. I’ll drive. But for the record, I think this was a pretty dangerous thing to do.”

  Cord’s jaw set. “Stacey was at the police station, well-guarded.”

  “I didn’t mean for Stacey,” Gifford said softly, shaking his head. “I meant it was too dangerous for you.”

  Tears clouded Stacey’s eyes. Her father’s comment stayed with her as they climbed into the car and drove to First Street.

  They reached Lauren’s house in ten minutes. No lights shone from the front, but her car was there, parked in the shadows. Stacey worried as they pulled over to the curb. How would Lauren react when she learned she’d inadvertently given her boyfriend access to Stacey? Mark must have stolen her key after he’d overheard Cord’s staged conversation with his mother. Her friend cared so much about her. Stacey would have to be sure to be there for her.

  Gifford rang the doorbell as Cord held tightly to her hand. No answer. He rang several more times before he tried the door. Unlocked, it creaked open. The house was scary-story dark; and it was still, except for voices coming from the rear.

  “What’s back there?” Cord asked.

  Stacey frowned. “Lauren’s bedroom is off the kitchen.”

  “This feels...odd,” Gifford remarked.

  The three of them entered the foyer, switching on the overhead light. They made their way carefully to the back of the small house; the lilt of voices became increasingly louder. “They sound familiar,” Gifford noted.

  Slowly, the three of them skirted furniture and approached Lauren’s bedroom. The door was ajar. Cord pushed it aside so Gifford and Stacey could see in.

  Candles lit the room, casting an unearthly glow around Lauren’s serene face. She sat quietly on the bed, legs crossed, surrounded by what looked like scrapbooks, an open box of memorabilia, a journal. She was staring at the TV. Stacey tracked her gaze and froze. Flicking across the screen were scenes of Stacey’s youth--a birthday party, a soccer game, graduation from high school. Stacey shivered. Her father must have felt it because he put his arm around her and stepped farther into the room.

  The motion distracted Lauren. Her eyes swung to them, but rested on Gifford. A delighted smile broke out on her face. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Lauren?” Stacey said.

  It was as if she hadn’t spoken. “I knew you’d come, Gif. I knew that if I did all the right things, you’d finally come to me.”

  “What do you mean, Lauren?” Her father’s voice was hoarse.

  “Eventually, I knew you’d see.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “But it didn’t work out like I planned.”

  Cord stepped in front of Stacey, as if to protect her. She edged out from behind him. “What didn’t work, Lauren?” he asked coldly.

  Still staring at Gifford, she picked up a picture. “This is when you won that skiing championship. You were thirty-five and you beat out all those younger men.”

  “Lauren, what didn’t work out?” Gifford reiterated Cord’s question.

  “And this?” She held up some faded gift paper. “Do you remember the necklace you gave me for graduation? It was wrapped in this.”

  Stacey’s heart began to beat faster. “Lauren, what’s going on here?”

  “I did it all for you, Gifford.” Lauren clasped her hands in her lap. “All of it.” She scowled. “But Mark got carried away. I paid him just to grab Stacey for a little while—maybe a day or so. Then I was going to lead you to her, and you’d—” she smiled again at Gifford “
—you’d be so grateful that you’d finally, finally see me as a woman.”

  Stacey’s knees gave out. Cord and her father grabbed her from either side. “Oh, God, no, Lauren, you weren’t in on this whole thing?”

  Speaking as if she and Gifford were alone, Lauren said, “Helene was a horrible woman to betray you. With that boy. I’ll never betray you, Gifford. I’ll love you forever.”

  Stacey blinked back tears. “I can’t believe this. Lauren, you wouldn’t...you didn’t...you’re my best friend.” Stacey covered her mouth with her hand, fearing she’d be sick. “You, too,” she whispered. Then she glanced at Cord and her father, seeing the concern and sorrow in both their faces. Her eyes went back to her friend, her very sick friend sitting on the bed surrounded by remembrances of her father. “Not you, too.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  STACEY STARED OUT the window of the library as the workmen settled the big black cover over the pool, blanketing it for the winter months ahead. The mid-September sun challenged their actions, but she could feel the nip in the breeze that blew through the open window, testifying that it was time to pack up for the winter.

  “What was that sigh for?” Her father came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

  Stacey took a sip of her steaming coffee, hoping it would warm her. “I hate to see the pool close.”

  “So did your mother. She used to stand here just like this and watch them end the summer.”

  Turning to look up at her father, Stacey said, “I’m more like her than I ever knew.”

  Fleeting shadows skittered across Gifford’s face, but he managed a grin. “Yes, honey, you are.”

  “Does it hurt, Dad?”

  “That’s a better question for you.”

  Stacey pivoted back to catch the men dismantling the diving board. “Yes, it hurts. But I’m learning to deal with it.”

  “This counselor? Is she helping you?”

  Stacey nodded, thinking of Melissa Fox, who had saved her sanity at the end of August. After the initial numbness had worn off, Stacey had been immobilized by Lauren’s involvement in the kidnapping attempt. Though it came out later that she hadn’t participated in the stalking—Mark Dunn had literally flipped out and acted on his own—Lauren’s defection still hurt. “I don’t know what I would have done without Dr. Fox,” Stacey told her father. “She helps to sort things out.”

  Ruefully, Stacey smiled at the understatement. First, there had been the denial, the refusal to accept the fact that the three most important people in her life had let her down. Then there had been the anger. Stacey had offered to pay for the small vase she’d broken when she stomped around Melissa’s quiet office on the Parkway and raged at all of them. Now, she was working on acceptance.

  Staring at the men hosing down the deck, Stacey asked, “What are you doing at your desk?”

  Gifford’s grip tightened on her shoulders, signaling that he knew she was trying to change the subject. And, in his consistent effort to treat her like the adult she was, he let it go. “I was looking over the hospital’s report on Lauren.”

  As always, Stacey hated to hear the strain in her father’s voice when he talked about Lauren. She turned and faced him squarely. “Dad, don’t blame yourself. Lauren’s sick. The people at St. Joe’s said she should have had help as a child. It’s not your fault.”

  “I know that here,” Gifford said, tapping his head. It’s here—” he indicated his chest “—that I can’t get it.”

  “Paying for the sanitarium and not pressing charges is a good way to make any amends, and help you to accept it here.” She pressed lightly on her father’s heart.

  Smiling at her, he asked, “When did you get so smart?”

  An arrow of pain shot through Stacey as her father’s question recalled other softly whispered words. “ How did you get so smart for someone so young?”

  That remark had led to a challenge and a kiss that had changed her life.

  Stacey no longer tried to banish all thoughts of Cord. Melissa had urged her to let the feelings come, stuffing them away would only delay the pain and roadblock the healing. And above all, Stacey wanted to heal.

  “Have you seen him lately?” she asked her father.

  With his usual perceptiveness, Gifford gave her a knowing look and went to sit behind the desk. “Yesterday.”

  “How is he?”

  Gifford’s forehead creased.

  Stacey walked over, leaned on the edge of his desk md prodded. “Is it his shoulder?”

  “No, his shoulder is good—as good as it will ever be after a severe dislocation and a deep knife wound from that maniac.”

  Mention of Mark Dunn still sent chills through her.

  “Don’t, honey,” Gifford encouraged. “He’s locked up, and it will be a long time before he sees the light of day. We need to focus on that fact.”

  Rubbing her arms for warmth, Stacey agreed. “What about Cord? The truth. Like you promised, Dad.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. All right—he looks like hell. He’s lost weight and I’d be surprised if he sleeps four hours a night. Of all of us, I think he’s suffering the most overwhelming sense of guilt. Next to how you were hurt by this, I feel the worst about McKay.”

  Stacey swallowed hard. “I don’t want him to hurt. I want him to go on with his life.”

  “Funny, he told me almost the same thing about you. After he asked how you were.”

  “Well,” she said, “at least he accepted your offer to back him in his new security business. I saw the storefront yesterday.”

  “Yeah. It looks great. We’re hiring someone to do the lettering on the plate glass. Know anyone with artistic talent?”

  “Dad, I’m not sure I need that kind of proximity to him.” Stacey remembered the sharp stab of emotion that lanced through her when she’d accidentally bumped into Cord at the Labor Day parade, at the market, and then again at the video store. She couldn’t see him, look at his mouth or his hands, without remembering what those firm lips felt like on hers, or the grip of those strong fingers anchoring her hips when he thrust inside her.

  “Well, think about it. And remember, Megan’s at the office a lot. You’d get to see more of her than the occasional visits you allow yourself.’’

  “You fight dirty, Dad.”

  “I’m on your side, honey, I always have been.”

  Stacey smiled, then set her mug down, effectively ending the talk. “Are you going up to the cabin today?”

  Gifford nodded. “What about you?”

  “I’m going to get my hair cut. Then, I’ve got a date tonight,” she said firmly, attempting to convince herself as well as her father that this wasn’t a colossal mistake. “Joe Ferron and I are seeing a movie.”

  “Ah. Well, have a good time.”

  Smiling with false bravado, Stacey said, “I’ll try.”

  * * *

  IT WAS A colossal mistake. Cord knew it as soon as he walked into Cutter’s with Eileen Martin hanging on his arm. It was apparently too soon to start dating.

  In the flurry of activity following Lauren’s confession, Cord had weakened and had to be taken to the hospital, after all, for stitches. He’d lost a lot of blood and Dunn’s knife had caused severe muscle damage. During his convalescence he had become more and more morose as he became more and more certain that he didn’t deserve Stacey. Twice now, he’d torn her life apart.

  He shouldn’t have come here tonight, he thought, as he and Eileen slid into a booth in the crowded bar. Even though this hadn’t been his idea. When Eileen had stopped by the office today, he’d agreed to a few drinks between friends.

  “What’s that grim expression for?” Eileen asked after a waiter brought popcorn and took their drink order.

  “Um...I think I wrenched my shoulder hanging drywall today.” He reached up and massaged the phantom ache.

  “How is the business shaping up?”

  “Great. As a division of Anderson’s of New
York, we have a reputation already established.”

  “Are you going to be able to do actual bodyguarding with that shoulder?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll handle all the administration and training and hire the security people. I’ll also be offering sessions to the Canfield Police Department.”

  “Hi, everybody. Small world isn’t it?”

  Speaking of the cops. Cord looked up to see Joe Ferron standing at their booth, his left arm casually draped around Stacey’s shoulders.

  The breath left Cord in a whoosh. He was pole-axed. Stacey peered down at him, biting her lip.

  “Hi, Joe,” Cord finally said. “Hi, Stace.”

  “Hi.” She cleared her throat. “Cord, Eileen.”

  Eileen nodded. “Out for the night?”

  “Yeah, we went to see the new Costner flick at the mall.”

  I think you’re much more attractive than Kevin Costner.

  As if she’d spoken the words from long ago, Cord heard them echo above the low murmur of the bar’s patrons. A quick glance at Stacey’s face told him she did, too.

  Ferron looked around at the people packed three deep at the bar, and jammed at the tables. “Geez, it’s hoppin’ here tonight. Mind if we join you?”

  Cord felt every muscle stiffen; his heart constricted and his mouth went dry. He couldn’t be with her, close like this.

  “Of course,” Eileen said diplomatically.

  Cord began to rise, intending to move to Eileen’s side of the booth. Ferron, who’d never win any awards for perceptiveness, missed the maneuver and plunked down next to Eileen, forcing Stacey to slide in next to Cord.

  All at once, he was painfully aware of her closeness. Her slight form next to his big one; the way the top of her black dress accented her breasts; the downy hair visible on her nape of her short, short haircut. Most of all, the scent of lemons and baby powder and that fresh after-bath splash she used almost overwhelmed him.

  “So, how’s the new business going?” Ferron asked after a waitress took their drink order.

  “Ah, good, good,” Cord answered, struggling to keep his voice neutral. He was a wreck, his emotions careening out of control every time Stacey moved: when her arm brushed his, when her thigh rubbed against him, when she accidentally kicked his foot. He thanked God when Ferron asked her to dance.