Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “Forget about you?” she whispered. With her free hand she withdrew the Cossack dagger from the pocket of her sweatshirt and started sawing at the heavy rope knotted around Jamie’s hands. “That’s not an option. I’m going to cut you loose.”

  You can’t. He’ll see you... oh, my God... this is happening, isn’t it? You’re reading my thoughts. He wasn’t that surprised, India sensed. He’d known it was possible. He’d already accepted it in his mind.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But be careful. Don’t let Alden suspect anything. Just look straight ahead.”

  For God’s sake, India, don’t do this! Leave now, while you can. Get out of here!

  “No!”

  Why not? he shot back.

  “Because I love you.”

  There was no reply for a moment. She sensed amazement, joy, gratitude... and fear. He desperately feared for her life, even more than he feared for his own.

  India... if you love me, get out of here. If I’m going to die, I want to die knowing you’re safe.

  “You’re not going to die.” The dagger at last cut through the rope. India breathed a sigh of relief and untangled it from his wrists. “Do you still have your guns?”

  Just the snubby in my ankle holster. But I can’t get to it with my ankles tied like this.

  “Here.” She closed his fingers around the handle of the dagger. “I’ll create a diversion.”

  India—!

  His objections were silenced when she removed her hand from his, breaking their psychic link. On silent, sneakered feet, she made her way back up the row of shelving, then peeked around the corner. Alden, having emptied the last can, set it down beside the others. By craning her neck a bit, she could see Jamie clearly for the first time since she’d entered the warehouse. She sucked in her breath at the sight of his battered, bloodied face. Oh, Jamie...

  Catching her eye for a fraction of a second, he shook his head almost imperceptibly; he wanted her to leave. No, she mouthed. Alden turned his back to her for a moment as he reached beneath his sport coat, and India seized the opportunity to dart across to the stacks in back of him. She kept her eye on him as she stealthily crept down the row of shelves that separated them. The pungent smell of kerosene filled her nostrils.

  Alden withdrew a pack of Dunhills and placed one between his lips, then tucked it away and patted his pockets. “I do hope I haven’t forgotten my matches.”

  India saw Jamie stiffen, but he did nothing to give away the fact that his hands were unbound. “Let us go, Alden,” Jamie said. “Leaving us here when you torch this place would be cold-blooded murder.”

  Alden produced the matchbook and grinned, as if it were all a marvelous joke. India froze, her heart pounding wildly at the prospect of being trapped in this building when it went up. Fire was her worst nightmare, her most primal fear, and the urge to flee to safety was almost irresistible.

  Alden struck the match and lit the cigarette, then chuckled and blew it out. India exhaled shakily and kept going. That cigarette was as dangerous as the match—either one would ignite the kerosene on contact—but even if he meant to use it for that purpose, they might have a couple of minutes before he did so.

  “Shooting Darrell Finn was fairly cold-blooded,” Alden said, “but I assure you I haven’t lost a moment’s sleep over it. I’m afraid I don’t share your rather sentimental objections to murder. Given a good enough reason, it’s perfectly justifiable.”

  “No reason is good enough,” Jamie said. India knew why he was engaging Alden in conversation this way; he was trying to keep Alden from turning around and seeing her. She passed directly behind him, then kept moving in a direction parallel to the back wall, wanting to get as far away from Jamie as she could before she started making noise.

  Alden expelled a stream of blue smoke. “Keeping you and India and Tommy from identifying me seems like an excellent reason. And in the case of Tommy, I might even end up getting my bail money back, once they manage to identify his remains. I suppose they’ll have to use dental records—for both of you.”

  “How’s it going to look, two bodies found in the ashes? How are you going to explain that?”

  “I won’t have to explain anything, because I won’t be blamed for the fire. Tommy will, and he’ll be dead. It will no doubt be assumed that he set it and then couldn’t get out in time. As for your remains—” he shrugged and tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the floor “—perhaps you tried to stop him and, likewise, got trapped when the fire started. It’s really of no concern to me how it eventually gets explained away. I’ll be far away from here by then, sipping champagne on a beautiful white beach beneath fluttering palms.”

  India estimated her distance from Alden at about fifty feet, and decided that was far enough. Reaching up, she pushed a few heavy books off the shelf in front of her and heard them tumble onto the floor. There was a moment of silence, and then Alden murmured, “Well, well, well...”

  India moved farther up the aisle, watching his image flicker in and out of view behind the stock on the shelves as he approached the scattered books. He held his gun—Jamie’s gun—in one hand, the cigarette in the other. Right now, India considered both extremely lethal weapons. “It appears we have company. If I had to guess, I’d say the lovely India has decided to join us. What a delightful surprise.”

  India pushed a small box onto the floor. It landed with a thud and crashed open; Alden turned toward the sound, the gun outstretched. She continued making her silent way up the aisle, praying that Jamie was using this time to get free.

  “Delightful for me, that is,” Alden said as he slowly walked toward her, peering into the stacks. She held perfectly still, watching him through the gaps between the shrink-wrapped books on the shelves. “Your presence here provides a certain entertainment factor I hadn’t counted on.” He stopped, close to where she stood; she could see part of his face. Evidently he couldn’t see her, but he had to know she was right on the other side of the shelves. He took a slow drag on the cigarette. “What do you suppose would happen if I tossed this over to your side? Let’s find out, shall we?”

  She looked down at the kerosene-drenched floor beneath her feet. Grabbing a steel strut in each hand, she braced a foot on a shelf and hauled herself up, just as Alden’s cigarette soared gracefully overhead. Turning, she saw it land right in the middle of the kerosene trail. There was a heartbeat’s pause, and then flame blossomed and spread in either direction.

  India felt a wall of heat at her back, and heard Jamie scream her name. Don’t panic! Swiftly she climbed to the top of the shelving, only to find Alden standing directly beneath her, aiming the gun at her head. She ducked as he fired, and the shot went over her head.

  “Drop it! Now!” That was Jamie’s voice. She looked up and saw him striding toward Alden, his snub-nosed revolver aimed at the older man. Behind him, Tommy was using the dagger on the rope around his legs. Good. He’d be able to get out on his own.

  Wheeling toward Jamie, Alden squeezed off four quick shots. Jamie grunted and went down.

  “Jamie!” India screamed as she scrambled along the top shelf toward where he’d fallen. Crackling rivers of fire coursed through the warehouse, and smoke began to rise toward the ceiling, but she forced herself not to think about what might happen if she couldn’t get out. Jamie groaned and struggled to rise. Get to Jamie... help Jamie.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Alden pivot toward her, the big pistol gripped firmly in both outstretched hands. Again she dropped, flattening herself to the steel shelf, but this time he anticipated that move and lowered the gun to keep her in sight. “Goodbye, India,” he said calmly.

  India flinched at the dull crack that rang out. It took her a second to realize she hadn’t been shot. Alden sank to his knees, looking vaguely surprised. He started to raise a hand to the gunshot wound on his head, and then his eyes rolled up and he toppled sideways to the floor. He lay perfectly still, blood trickling from his mouth. “Goodbye, Alden,” she
whispered.

  Jamie, who had levered himself off the floor just enough to make the shot, met India’s gaze for a fleeting moment, and then groaned and collapsed onto his back. His trench coat and suit jacket gapped open, revealing a dark stain on his white shirt, another on his left thigh. “No,” India whispered hoarsely.

  Turning, she climbed halfway down, then jumped the rest of the way when she found the contents of the lower shelves on fire. “Jamie!” She ran to his side and took him in her arms. Immediately she saw a flickering black-and-white image of herself, her eyes wide with concern... her incredible eyes... the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. She felt his relief that she was safe... his pain... his certainty that he was dying.

  He touched her cheek, and then his hand fell to his bloodied chest. “Go,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “No way.” He’d taken those bullets trying to protect her; she’d be damned if she was going to leave him now. She moved behind him, hooked her hands under his shoulders, and pulled, grunting with the effort. He was heavy, a couple of hundred pounds of deadweight.

  “Please, India!” He coughed. So did India. The warehouse was filling with dark, acrid smoke. She felt the heat of the fire that swept through the kerosene-soaked stacks, leaving only the perimeter of the enormous room untouched. “There’s no time. You can still make it if you go around the side.”

  She pulled again, dragging him mere inches. He was right; there was no way she could get him out of there before the warehouse was consumed. “Get up!” she yelled. “Walk! You can do it!”

  He shook his head, his eyes half closed; he was losing consciousness. “Can’t walk,” he mumbled. “Love you. Go.”

  She shook him. “Jamie.” She shook him harder. “Jamie!” Her eyes burning with tears, she screamed his name louder. “Jamie, please! Please open your eyes! Please get up! Please!” No response. She pressed two fingers to his throat and felt a weak pulse; he was still alive.

  A hand on her shoulder made her shriek.

  “It’s me—Tommy.”

  Tommy. She could barely see him through the haze of smoke. He hadn’t left, although he’d had the chance. He’d stayed to help. “Tommy!” she rasped, her throat constricting from the smoke. “Can you—?”

  “Move aside.” Coughing hoarsely, Tommy grabbed Jamie under his arms and lifted. “You take his legs.”

  Between them, they managed to pick the big man up and carry him. “This way,” India directed, choking on the words. The smoke all but blinded her, and every halting breath burned her lungs. “Hurry! Keep low, and stay against the wall.”

  Even with Tommy’s help, Jamie’s limp form was a burden, making their progress around the edge of the large room excruciatingly slow. The fire raged like hell itself, roaring in her ears and blasting her with its heat. Sweat coursed from her in rivulets, and her whole body quivered with the strain of carrying on. She gagged and choked, thinking, We’ll never get out of here. We’re going to die here. We’re going to burn to death. The alternative—dropping Jamie and making a run for it—was unthinkable. She loved him. She couldn’t leave him.

  “The door!” Tommy gasped.

  India reached out a hand and felt blindly. It was the door! Thank God! She fumbled for the doorknob and twisted.

  The door flew open. She and Tommy crumpled to the ground, gulping lungfuls of air as smoke billowed out of the warehouse, darkening the dawn sky. Dragging Jamie, they crawled across the parking lot until they couldn’t crawl anymore, and then they collapsed onto the cold pavement, chests heaving.

  Tommy sat up first. He was covered with soot and sweat, as was Jamie, and India herself. When he spoke, his voice emerged as a breathless croak. “I’ll go find a phone... call 911.” He struggled to his feet.

  “Tommy...”

  “Yeah?”

  “You—you didn’t have to do this. Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t be a badass all the time.” He stumbled off, hacking raggedly.

  India laid Jamie out carefully on his back and took his pulse again; it was faint, but it was there. She tore at the bullet hole in his trousers to examine the wound to his thigh, finding a clean entrance and a jagged exit. The bleeding could have been worse.

  She tried to unbutton his shirt, but her fingers trembled so badly that she finally just grabbed it and yanked it open, sending buttons flying. The wound was on the right side of his chest. It was small and neat, and appeared to have stopped bleeding—externally, at any rate. She knew that a wound like this could cause massive, life-threatening internal bleeding and damage to important organs; she hoped the ambulance came soon.

  She lifted his head and cradled it in her lap, watching with a sense of unreality as the warehouse burned, its dark, reeking smoke staining a spectacular orange-gold sunrise. Using the hem of her sweatshirt, she wiped some of the soot off the uninjured parts of Jamie’s face. His nose and one eyelid were badly swollen, and he was deathly pale. He moaned and mumbled something she couldn’t make out.

  “What’s that, Jamie?”

  He opened his eyes, amazingly blue against his soot-darkened skin. “I said I dreamed you were tearing my clothes off.”

  She chuckled. “I was.”

  He tried to laugh, but it deteriorated into a coughing fit. “Can’t get enough of me, eh?”

  “No.” She leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips.

  He smiled. “Then I guess you won’t have any objection to marrying me—assuming I pull through.”

  After a moment’s stunned hesitation, she said, as convincingly as she could, “Of course you’ll pull through.”

  He coughed weakly. “Exasperating wench. Will you marry me or not?”

  She took his face gingerly between her hands. “Yes.” She kissed him again. “Yes.” And again. “Yes. I’ll marry you. Happy?”

  “Very happy.” He smiled, his eyes unfocused. “Deliriously happy.” His eyelids lowered.

  “Jamie?” She shook him. “Jamie?”

  He murmured something.

  “Jamie? What was that?” Closing her eyes, she concentrated, and heard the words in her mind as clearly as if he had said them out loud. I love you, darlin’.

  From several blocks away came the shrill wail of sirens. “I love you, too,” she whispered, holding Jamie tight and rocking him in her arms. “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  * * *

  THE OLD RED bicycle squeaked rhythmically as India pedaled it through the streets of Dunmore, reveling in the warm June breezes, fragrant with salt and seaweed. Jamie had been right, she mused as she wound her way through the bustling Irish fishing village and along the circuitous lane that led to the inn she had called home for the past week. He’d said that coming here would be like stepping back in time. That was why he’d wanted to bring her here—so they could escape together to a simpler, more innocent time, if only for two weeks.

  She rode for some distance through emerald green pastures, enjoying the scenery and letting her mind wander. I’ll make a pot of tea, she thought, smiling in anticipation. The room came equipped with an electric kettle and all the makings—although she’d used the last of the tea that morning, and would have to get some more. At last she rounded the final curve in the road and saw the inn at the end, its thatched roof gilded by the low afternoon sun. She parked her bike in front and went in.

  “Mr. Leary?” she called from the lobby.

  The innkeeper appeared in the entrance to the pub, a darkly paneled room off the lobby in which there were always three or four locals sharing a pint. “Good afternoon, Dr. Keegan. And what might you be needin’?”

  “Some tea, if it’s not any trouble.”

  His wife came down the stairs bearing a stack of clean towels. “Captain Keegan asked me for tea not ten minutes ago. Said he wanted to have a pot ready when you came in.”

  “Really? He must have read my mind.”

  Mrs. Leary smiled knowingly. “Husbands and wives get that way after a bit, dearie.”
>
  Mr. Leary snorted. “They’ve only just got married, Fiona. They’re on their honeymoon.”

  She scowled at him. “It doesn’t take years if they’re really soul mates, Paddy.”

  Her husband grunted and returned to the pub as India squeezed past Mrs. Leary and sprinted up the stairs. She opened the bedroom door and shut it behind her, blinking. In the middle of the small room, on a linen-draped table, sat a pot of tea, a creamer, a platter of sandwiches, a bowl of strawberries and a glazed cake. Looming over the table, his head nearly brushing the low, beamed ceiling, stood her husband, setting out cups and plates.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s some spread. Is that supposed to be a snack?”

  His admiring glance swept over her body, clad in a snug T-shirt and bike shorts. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

  She stepped into his arms. “My strength? What for?”

  “For this.” He closed his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply, his hands roaming possessively over her body. “And this.” Scooping her up easily, he laid her on the high brass bed with its plush feather mattress and eased down onto her, thrusting his hips so she could feel the hard swell beneath his jeans.

  She said, “I’m surprised you’ve got any strength left for this, after the past week.”

  Chuckling, he reached under her T-shirt to deftly flick open her bra and cupped a breast. He lightly fingered her nipple, igniting a hot little spark of desire within her. “I’d have to be dead not to have the strength to make love to you.”

  He had almost died, she reflected as she studied his face, the face she had grown to love with such all-consuming passion: the midnight eyes, the boyish grin, the Roman nose now saved from perfection by an interesting bump about halfway down—a souvenir courtesy of Alden Lorillard. The internal bleeding from his chest wound had nearly cost him his life, after all. When they’d finally let her in to see him after the surgery and transfusions, he told her the only thing that had kept him hanging on was the fact that he’d get to marry her if he lived. Thinking about how close he’d come to dying made her shiver.