THE UNLIKELY BODYGUARD

by Amy J. Fetzer

  She tilted a look at him and still couldn't decide. It was an almost too-dangerous offer. "Let me think about it."

  He released the breath he'd been holding. "Suit yourself." At least she hadn't said no. He would stick around, close, just the same.

  "How can I get in touch with you?"

  "I'll find you." He moved away from the car.

  "Mysterious men are pains in the butt," she muttered to herself, then heard him chuckle. She pulled the car door closed and started the engine. She warned herself not to watch him walk, that long, determined stride, his adorable behind. Except the urge took her. Oh, God, why didn't she just say no and forget the whole idea? Spend time with him, perhaps all alone in a valley, under his beneficiary?

  Was she crazy?

  Then it struck her that he'd invited her for reasons of his own, that he wanted her with him enough to tolerate her and ignore the desire racing between them. Did he know that with just a glance of those steely green eyes he transformed her into quivering mush? Though it was obvious that she had little effect on him, she thought depressingly. But she knew she had some effect. If he thought she believed he was just playing a game, he was the fool, not her. She'd felt the capped fire in him when he'd kissed her the other night, felt the hardness straining his jeans.

  Two days ago, Angel wanted her gone so bad he'd tried to scare her out of town.

  This morning, Angel wanted her body with the prowess of a determined lover.

  This afternoon, he'd been there to squelch anything Braiden had in mind.

  Now, he'd invited her into his domain. Why? After the past couple days, that was the last thing she expected. His contrary behavior confused the heck out of her and her decision to be a part of his farm—the thought was still laughable—was leaning toward the positive. What did she have to lose?

  Plenty, a voice whispered. Men like Angel, she knew, didn't do a damn thing without a good reason.

  As she drove away from the garden courtyard of stores, it occurred to her that she was considering spending a couple of weeks with the man and she didn't know his last name.

  Loaded down with more packages than any woman had a right to possess in one day, Calli's steps slowed as she neared her room, her face creasing with concern. The door was wide open and as she approached, fear skipped along her spine, tightening her muscles. She could hear voices. A police car, the door open, was parked beside her room. Radio noise crackled in the blistering heat. She set her bags down a few feet from the door and peered inside. She inhaled sharply.

  Her room was ransacked. Everything—everything—was trashed. Her gaze shifted to the two police officers making notes and the hotel manager. The little Asian man was wringing his hands. Both officers turned to look at her, and the manager, Mr. Wong, raced to her side, apologizing profusely. The maid had found the door open, he told her, and the room destroyed. She looked to the officers.

  And they looked back, one chubby and dark, the other blond.

  "I'm the tenant," she said, her gaze scanning the debris of her suitcases and clothes. The mattresses were overturned, the drawers raped, but most of her clothes appeared intact. A man in a pale sport coat was dusting the place for fingerprints. One cop asked for ID and she went back for her bags, offering it to him.

  "Who would do this? There wasn't much money in here." Not to do this kind of damage, she thought.

  "Did you have anything of value? Cash? Documents? Jewelry?"

  She nodded and moved to her cases, pulling them off the floor. She riffled in the compartments, sighing defeatedly, then held out a pair of diamond and ruby earrings, a gold bracelet and three rings. "All my cash, traveler's checks, bank card and two credit cards are gone." Damn, except for her checkbook and for the one credit card in her purse, she was broke. The officers exchanged a glance, then scribbled on their pads. "Everything else of value was with me, locked in my car."

  The chubby officer nodded and wrote.

  His partner, the blonde, tipped his hat back and looked at her at length. "Why would a woman who can afford Louis Vuitton luggage stay in a place like this?" He gestured to the plain, serviceable room.

  "It's clean and cheap, the only hotel with room service and the luggage was a gift."

  "But you drive a BMW."

  "Your point?"

  "That's a year's salary for some people."

  "And I'll be paying on it till I'm eighty. Surely you have other questions besides the make of my car, which wasn't here at the time."

  "We have to consider all possibilities of why they chose your room. Your car makes you a mark for a perp," he said, and she decided that was a reasonable explanation. He asked the time she left, if she locked up, who knew she was here, if she had any prescription medications, then he gestured to the manager. "Mr. Wong said there was a man with you the other night?"

  Her gaze snapped to the manager and he flushed red. "Yes, but he wouldn't do this."

  "How long have you known him?"

  Calli bent to pick up her clothes off the floor, hastily stuffing her lacy lingerie back in the drawers. "We'd just met," she had to admit. One-night stand. She saw it plastered across their faces.

  "I see. And his name?"

  "Angel."

  The blond officer looked at her expectantly, pen poised. Her lips pressed into a tight line. "I don't know his last name."

  "Griffin."

  She and the officers turned toward the door. The hotel manager paled and mumbled something in his native tongue.

  There he was, her personal bad penny, his shoulder braced on the cracked door frame, arms folded over his chest as if he'd just happened by. Damn, if Angel wasn't the most arrogant, infuriating man.

  "Gabe," one officer said, smiling as he crossed the room, holding out his hand.

  Calli moved to stand in front of Angel, folding her arms across her waist while the officer shook his hand. The officer was obviously surprised to see him. Interesting.

  "Gabe, huh? And that's short for?" she urged, staring at him from beneath finely arched brows.

  "Gabriel."

  Angel. Gabriel. She let her gaze slid down his body and back up. "How … contrary."

  His lips quirked. And her heart skipped an entire beat.

  Gabe Griffin. Now, why did that sound familiar? Maybe she had heard one of the people in the bar call him that?

  The officer glanced between them. "You know anything about this, Gabe?"

  "Why would he?" Calli said in a taut voice. "He doesn't live here. Never stayed here." Her accusing gaze shot to the hotel manager.

  "Miss Thornton has a tendency to run with the wrong crowd, Mike."

  Her head snapped around, her blue gaze pinning like a blade. "Does that include you?" He was always in the right place at the right time, she thought, suspicious.

  The officer smirked. "Knows you well enough, huh?"

  "She thinks."

  "Get out, Gabriel." She just wanted to knock that smug smile off his face. It had I-told-you-so written in every chiseled curve. "I have to question him, ma'am."

  "Do it on your own time, then. I want a copy of the report and I will let you know if anything else was stolen." She glanced at the room. "At this point, I'd say if they were looking for something more than money, it wasn't here."

  The man dusting for prints closed up his case and Gabe was forced to step inside to let him pass.

  "You mentioned things locked in your car. Would that be of interest?"

  "I don't see how. Other than a gas credit card, a Visa and tip money in my purse, there's only my formula journal."

  The officer's eyebrows lifted, his expression questioning.

  Calli sighed. "I'm a chef. Executive chef for Excalibur Confections." Gabriel's brows rose into his forehead and she enjoyed the moment. She had the feeling there wasn't much that impressed him. "The journal contained my most recent recipes."

  The officer's expression was condescending enough to infuriate her, but only another chef would know what that book
was worth. It was why she kept it with her. But the fact that the officer didn't add it to his notes annoyed her. She rubbed her temple, a headache brewing. It was another half an hour before they left, and in that time Angel stood outside the door, talking softly with the officers. They all kept glancing at her as she called in her stolen traveler's checks and cards and returned the room to order. The hotel manager had a maid clean away the fingerprint dust and change the sheets, and he told her there would be no bill for her to pay. She smiled, assuring the little man that she wasn't going to sue because of his lack of security. He left, relieved.

  "Ma'am," the blond officer said, stepping just inside. "I suggest you not stay here tonight. They might come back."

  Her gaze shifted past him to Gabriel and his look dared her to rebel. She nodded and the police left.

  Calli plopped down onto the edge of the freshly made bed and stared numbly out the window, a strange anger building in her. She felt violated and abused. Though nothing was ruined that she couldn't replace, she hated the sensation swimming in her veins. She wanted to beat the heck out of a punching bag for about an hour.

  "Damn."

  "This could have been because you've been seen with me." He was thinking of Tiny and Dee.

  She looked up at the first words, her gaze narrowing. Pain sharpened in her head. "Are you saying you run with the wrong crowd, Mr. Griffin?"

  He smirked, bracing his shoulders against the wall near the open door. "I've made a few enemies, and this week, so have you." Enough for someone to drug her one and only drink, he thought. And try to drag her into a limo.

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. This could have been random, and you know it."

  "Do I?"

  "Yes." But she didn't sound confident. How was she supposed to know who Gabriel Griffin, town bad boy, had ticked off lately? And what about Murdock? How did he fit in? She couldn't begin to wonder why she or her stuff was suddenly so important.

  "There was more here to steal than cash," Gabe observed.

  "But fencing it would bring attention. A quick turnover, isn't that what a thief wants?" Her eyes accused and he straightened.

  "You think I did this?"

  "No," she said, bowing her head. "No." There were too many other suspects; Murdock, Dee, Tiny, or some petty thieves who didn't know what they wanted.

  Above her head, Gabe's face colored with guilt. If he'd had the chance, he would have done it just to get Daniel's private memo back. The fact that he was unscrupulous enough before he met her and that her mere presence redirected instincts he'd lived by, warned him enough to consider taking back his earlier offer.

  But he didn't. It was reckless, he knew, and he moved to stand in front of her. She kept staring at her hands. He tucked up her chin till she met his gaze. His chiseled mouth tilted in a wry smile. "I told you so."

  She jerked her chin from his grasp. "So you did." She hugged herself, glancing around her, and had the strange urge to shower. Calli wanted out of here. She was nearly broke till Monday, only a gas credit card and a Visa left, which was nearly maxed out till she could transfer some money on to the bill. And she'd already discovered that cashing a check in this town was like giving blood. The traveler's checks would be expressed to her on Monday at the least. She stared at her lap.

  She could call Daniel, have him wire her pay, but pride kept her from that. Or she could go home. No, she thought, heading to the company suite in Acapulco and letting Excalibur Confections pamper her was the most logical solution.

  She looked up.

  She did have a choice.

  Angel's.

  Now that was dangerous.

  And deep inside she wanted some. Mexico was easy. Being around Angel was not. She met his gaze and marshaled some courage to say the words, words that would cross the line between safe and sound … and hazardous … to her body and soul.

  "Does your offer still hold?" The words stuck in her throat like dust. In her head, the nuns were screaming at her foolishness. But she wanted out of here and away from this place as soon as possible. It still felt like a crime scene.

  He hesitated before answering. "Yeah, it holds."

  "You don't sound so sure."

  "Just wondering if you can handle it."

  "Don't you mean, handle you?"

  He held her gaze. "Scared?"

  Now it was her turn to hesitate. "No."

  He shrugged, noncommittal, and Calli had the feeling he was smirking under that bland expression. Going with him was wild, reckless and maybe even stupid. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."

  Gabe nodded and tried not to show his relief that the totaled room was reason enough to push her to decide. Now if he could just figure out who'd done this. Murdock, who was a corporate raider, hadn't the time to do it himself, according to the sources Gabe had contacted after leaving Calli. But then, he didn't know the man's connections in this town or to Daniel that well. Yet. But the first thing Gabe was going to do when he spoke to Daniel was ream him for not telling him his "little ol' dessert company" was the infamous sword-in-the-sweet kind.

  He observed her as she stood and stepped around the edge of the bed toward the dresser.

  "Maybe you'll tell me how you got that nickname?" she said.

  Gabe frowned. Her voice sounded strained.

  "Calli?"

  "Hmm?"

  She was stuffing clothes into the cases with a speed that surprised him. She wouldn't look at him, gathering cosmetics from the bathroom, then dragging garments from the closet. But he caught her expression in the freshly cleaned closet mirror.

  "Look at me."

  She stopped and sighed, staring down at the garment bag. Slowly, she tipped her head back and met his gaze.

  The haunted look in her eyes felt like a kick in the gut. "What's wrong?" he said in a soft voice.

  She scoffed. "Like you'd understand." Her lower lip trembled, and briefly she caught it between her teeth.

  As if approaching a wounded animal, he moved across the room. "You'd be surprised."

  Her shoulders moved restlessly, then, after a few false starts, "I'm angry. Angry at myself for even coming here, at these people who felt justified," she said through gritted teeth, "to trash my room and touch my things." Her voice picked up volume and speed. "And I'm mad at you for being right, dammit!"

  "You feel like you've been invaded, worked over as if someone beat you with a bat."

  "Yes," she cried, sinking onto the mattress and staring at her hands.

  Gabe kept a distance, propping his rear against the dresser and folding his arms, yet aching to wrap them around her. "Privacy isn't easy to keep, huh?"

  "You know—" she tilted her head and glanced at him, then at nothing, her voice distant "—I tried for years to get some. When I was a kid it was always a line of beds, communal bathrooms, communal meals. Never an inch of space I could call my own." She laughed to herself, wiping at the tear moving down her cheek. "You should see my apartment, one person in a three-bedroom place. Sometimes I sleep in one of the empty rooms just because I can."

  Gabe understood that. His own place was bigger than he needed and far enough away from neighbors that he didn't have to worry about an invasion. "I stayed in this house once that had twenty-seven people in it." She looked up at that and the words spilled from him without thought or hesitation. "Every hour of every day there were at least a dozen people in the living room, hung-over, drunk, smoking something illegal, or just looking for a place to crash. We called it the 'House of What.'"

  She frowned. "Why?"

  "Because whenever anyone said something, everyone would look up, dazed and confused, and say 'Whaa?'" He made a sloppy, slack-jawed face and she smiled.

  Well, he had a sense of humor.

  "How long did you live there?"

  "Never. I was one of those looking for a place to crash."

  "Oh." What did she really know about this man? "Didn't you have a home?"

  "No."

  "That's it, just '
no'?" When he didn't respond she said, "I was raised in a Catholic orphanage."

  His smile was barely there. "Figures."

  "And you?"

  He met her gaze and for the first time Calli saw raw emotion flicker there. It made her heart crack and bleed. "Nowhere."

  She took a step. "Angel?"

  "Don't call me that!" came the bitter snap.

  She reared back, her eyes wide. "Gabriel will take a little getting used to," she said softly, bravely moving closer. Oh, my, she thought, he has more wounds than she had a right to know. "Or do you prefer Gabe?"

  Gabe wasn't going to admit that he liked hearing his name on her lips, that he'd actually thought about it enough to anticipate it. "Either is fine." He hesitated. "Just not Angel." It reminded him of an ugly time and he didn't want that part of him touching her. He pushed away from the dresser. "You ready?"

  She looked suddenly nervous. "I suppose." She stood and shoved the garments into the bag, then zipped it shut.

  "I hope you have some work clothes in there."

  Her nose tipped the air. "Don't you worry about it." Then her brows knitted. "I won't be slopping pigs or anything like that, will I?"

  "It's possible."

  She made a face, then asked, "Are you going to pay me?"

  "No."

  She cocked her hip, her hand planted there. "Then what's the point?"

  "Just keeping my enemies and whoever did this—" he nodded to the room "—away from you."

  Tough guy cares, she thought with a hidden smile. "I'm getting the short end of the deal here."

  His chiseled lips quivered with an almost smile. "Looks like it."

  In that instant Calli realized she'd never seen him smile, not a full-blown, happy-to-be-alive smile. "You want a cook, don't you?"

  He met her gaze. "Yes."

  "I'm a chef, Gabriel."

  It struck him, the sound of his name on her lips, sultry with a slight Southern drawl. It took a second to recover. "You haven't seen my kitchen."

  She didn't like the sound of that. "Now that we're on the subject of requirements, I think we need a few rules."