Green Beret Bodyguard

by Carol Ericson

  All her resistance had been stamped out by that dirty footprint in her bathtub, but she should at least give it the old college try. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. You’re still shaky. You’re pale. You don’t need to be alone tonight.”

  The fluttering in her belly made her feel shaky again, but it had nothing to do with the break-in. Usually when a man tossed around orders, her hackles stood at attention. But her father had given orders to protect himself, never to protect her.

  How this man could worry about her when facing his own fractured life spoke volumes about his character. Even if he couldn’t remember his life as a hostage negotiator, those same protective instincts had charged to the forefront of his brain.

  “I’ll bunk on that bed of flowers.” He leveled a finger at the sofa. “Looks a lot more comfortable than the lumpy mattress at the hotel.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.” She wrinkled her nose. “Might be a little short for you.”

  “I’ll manage. Then I’ll be up and out of here early before you go to work.”

  “I’m off for two weeks. Several months ago, I planned a trip to the Bahamas with a couple of girlfriends, but with everything going on I canceled. Couldn’t cancel my time off, though.”

  The planes of Jack’s face shifted, hardened. She’d found it difficult through the night to gauge his feelings from his expressions. Perhaps his guardedness came from his memory loss, or maybe his profession had taken over even if he couldn’t remember anything about it.

  “Then you can relax and get some sleep. Any chance you have an extra toothbrush?”

  “Of course.” She backpedaled toward the hallway, reluctant to tear her gaze away from her savior. Crouching before the hall closet, she grabbed a new toothbrush courtesy of her dentist. Then she reached for the top shelf to retrieve a blanket.

  She returned to the living room and interrupted Jack sliding his weapon onto the coffee table.

  “I don’t think your intruder will return, but I’ll have a surprise waiting for him if he does.”

  Lola dropped the toothbrush next to the gun and placed the folded blanket on the middle cushion of the couch. “I—I’m glad you’re staying.”

  “It’s the least I can do since I probably led this guy to your doorstep.” Jack scooped up the toothbrush and shut the bathroom door behind him.

  She doubted that, since Jack denied being anywhere near the hospital morgue tonight. She’d drawn someone’s attention all by herself, or at least with the help of her globe-trotting brother.

  Lola sauntered to her bedroom, pulling the elastic band from her ponytail. She had no desire to step into the shower now. She dropped the ponytail holder onto the dresser and ran her hands through her hair.

  Studying her face in the mirror, she flattened out the crease between her eyebrows with the pad of her thumb. Did Jack Coburn expect her to help him recover his memories? Or would he be off following another path once he spoke to Emilio?

  The gaping emptiness she felt at that last thought made her sink to the foot of her bed. How had the man insinuated himself into her mind so quickly and so easily? She’d always been a sucker for a lost cause. And the vulnerability of Jack’s situation, combined with his tough-as-nails exterior, was a potent mix for her addled brain.

  She peeled off her clothes for the second time that night and slipped a nightgown over her head. She crawled between the covers and hugged a pillow to her chest.

  Groaning, she rolled to her side and punched the pillow. She’d given Jack a blanket but no pillow. The poor guy already faced a night of discomfort on that short couch. She scrambled out of bed and flicked on the hall light. A low light glowed from the living room, and Lola peeked around the corner.

  Jack, a pair of boxers hanging low on his hips, stood at the window gazing into the street below. As Lola tiptoed forward, a floorboard creaked, and Jack jerked his head up, a lock of black hair falling over one eye.

  “Thought you might need this.” She held up the pillow, willing her gaze to stay pinned to Jack’s face instead of wandering down the length of his hard, lean body.

  If Jack felt embarrassed about being caught in nothing but his underwear, his dark eyes burning into her very soul didn’t show it. He held her captive with that gaze, and she froze in the middle of the room, the pillow clutched in her hand.

  A current ran between them, strong and vibrant. If she went to him now, fell against his bare chest, it would be more natural than taking her next breath. Everything about him called out to her, demanded a response. Quick. Hot. Sure.

  “Thanks. You can drop it on the blanket.”

  “Huh?” Lola blinked her eyes as if fighting her way out of some erotic dream.

  “The pillow.” He pointed to the couch with a surprisingly steady finger. “You can put it on top of the blanket.”

  With decidedly less steadiness, Lola tossed the pillow onto the couch. Whoa. Seemed she’d been indulging in that little fantasy all by herself. She drew in a deep breath and flashed a bright smile. “Good night, Jack.”

  Lola strode to her bedroom, putting as much space between him and her heated imaginings as possible. Before she scurried into her room and slammed the door, a last wisp of the dream floated down the hallway as she heard her name in a whisper full of longing and desire.

  JACK STRUGGLED OUT OF HIS dream to escape the gunfire and danger, which permeated every dream he had. He wanted to hold on to the flickering images that populated his dreams, convinced they represented scenes from his past life. But the sense of menace that overshadowed these nighttime visions always sent him scrambling to the surface of his consciousness.

  He kicked at the blanket twisted around his calves. He must’ve been thrashing his legs in an attempt to flee his enemies…or was he running toward them? He never could figure out that part.

  Clear of the blanket, he collapsed against his makeshift bed and buried his face in the pillow. Bad idea. He’d had a tough time falling asleep last night inhaling Lola’s scent from her pillowcase. The exotic, musky perfume she wore had invaded his senses, teasing him, titillating him…making him hard.

  If her perfume could do that to him, he’d better hit the road…today. Now.

  “Good morning. You’re awake?” The object of his olfactory fantasy floated into the living room, a silky floral robe shimmering around her shapely legs.

  Her tousled hair and sleepy eyes did nothing to dampen his desire. He cleared his throat to make sure he didn’t growl at her. “I’m awake. Did you sleep okay? Not nervous?”

  Her gaze slid to the gun on the coffee table. “I slept fine. You?”

  The shadows beneath her eyes told a different story, but he intended to play the same game. “Yeah, I did.”

  Tightening the sash on her robe, Lola edged into the kitchen. “Are you a coffee drinker?”

  “Uh-huh.” He needed something to sharpen his focus and turn his thoughts away from imagining how Lola’s lips would taste. A cold shower would do.

  “Would you like some breakfast? Eggs? Toast?”

  “Coffee and toast is good.” Jack bunched the blanket around his waist and pushed up from the sofa. “Is it okay if I take a shower? I’m anxious to see Emilio, if he’ll meet with me this morning.”

  Her lashes swept down and she turned toward the coffeemaker. “Of course. There are clean towels in the hall closet to the right of the bathroom door.”

  Five minutes later, Jack ducked his head beneath the water…warm water. He scuffed his foot against the footprint, a stark reminder of Lola’s precarious position. His gut twisted at the thought of bringing danger to her doorstep. But maybe her brother had already done that.

  He dressed in yesterday’s clothes, not that he had a huge wardrobe selection at his cheap motel, and returned to the kitchen, where Lola had set out a cup filled to the brim with steaming coffee.

  She scraped butter across a piece of toast. “I for
got to ask how you take your coffee.”

  “Black.” He blew on the dark brew and slurped in a sip. “No café Cubano?”

  “I’m actually not much of a coffee drinker.” She poured some milk into her cup and stirred. “But my parents made a ritual out of their morning coffee.”

  That had been enough to send her scurrying in the other direction. Lola seemed to want to distance herself from her parents, but she obviously didn’t feel the same way about her brother, Gabe.

  She shoved the plate with buttered toast in his direction, and he finished it in about one minute. He had to get out of here. He’d imposed on her long enough.

  He brushed the crumbs from his fingers onto the plate. “Do you think Emilio Diaz will be in his office this morning? I’m going to show up without calling first to take him by surprise.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “You don’t need to do that.” He’d liked having a partner these past twelve hours, but it was time to go solo again. He didn’t want Lola mixed up in his business. Hell, he didn’t even know what his business was.

  “You’re not keeping me in the dark.” She dropped her plate into the sink where it clattered. “Whatever Emilio has to tell you, I want to hear.”

  “You already know what he has to tell me. You heard it all from him six months ago before you hired me.”

  She hunched over the counter, her hair slipping over her shoulder. “I want to be there when you find out. You might start remembering. You might start remembering something about Gabe.”

  “I work alone, Lola.”

  “Really?” She snorted. “How do you even know that? How do you know you don’t have partners somewhere? I can be your new partner.”

  Her words caused a jolt to his brain, and his coffee sloshed in his cup. Partners? He’d never thought of that before. It sounded right. It felt right.

  “It’s not necessary.” It had probably cost Lola enough to ask a favor from one of her father’s associates. She didn’t have to relive that.

  She smacked the counter. “It is necessary for me, Jack. Besides, once Emilio learns Eduardo Famosa’s daughter wants to see him, he’ll be more likely to let us in. I’m your golden ticket.”

  Who was he to argue with a golden ticket?

  An hour later, Lola swung her car into an underground parking structure in Miami’s financial district. She snatched the parking ticket from the machine and tucked it into her purse. “Emilio’s office validates.”

  “What business is Diaz in?”

  Lola shrugged as she eased into a parking slot. “Real estate, property management.”

  What business did a property manager have with a hostage negotiator? Did Diaz have connections to the CIA? Jack glanced at Lola and decided to keep a lid on his questions…for now.

  He followed her into the building, taking a deep breath of clean air after the exhaust fumes in the parking structure. The slick elevator whisked them up to the tenth floor a lot faster than the elevator in Lola’s building could’ve managed it.

  Lola stopped in front of a door with gold lettering on the front: Diaz and Diaz Property Management. Tapping the sign, Lola said, “Property Management,” as if she had something to prove.

  Nodding, Jack pushed open the door and ushered Lola through first. Knots tightened in his belly. Would Diaz be able to tell him something that would lead him home? And why did the thought of discovering his true identity gnaw at him?

  A young woman with flashing dark eyes and cherry-red lipstick looked up from her computer monitor. “Can I help you?”

  Jack opened his mouth, but Lola nudged his back and stepped in front of him. “Is Mr. Diaz in?”

  The woman’s gaze trailed over him and then flicked back to her computer screen. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but can you tell him Lola Famosa is here to see him?”

  The receptionist widened her eyes and then her heavily mascaraed lashes swept down. “He’s on a conference call right now, Dr. Famosa, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” Lola’s lips tilted up in an encouraging smile she might bestow on one of her patients, and the receptionist clicked a few keys on her computer.

  The woman obviously knew about Lola, who seemed to be a minor celebrity in the Cuban community. While Lola shunned most things associated with her father, she didn’t seem to be above using the family name to get what she wanted. Jack didn’t judge her for that, especially since she wanted the same thing he wanted right now.

  The receptionist typed several more words and waited, hands hovering over the keyboard. One more response and she swiveled around to face them. “Go right in.”

  Jack took two steps forward and pushed open the door to the inner sanctum of Diaz’s office.

  The well-dressed man behind the desk rose, his smile dying on his face when confronted by Jack. Diaz braced his hands on his desk and jerked his chin toward the door. “Close it, Lola.”

  When she snapped the door behind her, Diaz let out a long breath. “Jack Coburn. I heard you were dead.”

  “Much exaggerated.” Jack spread his arms wide. “But I need answers or I will be dead.”

  Diaz’s dark, bushy eyebrows shot up to his bald pate. “What’s this about, Lola?”

  “Jack has amnesia. He needs your help.” She extended a hand. “Gabe needs your help, Emilio.”

  Diaz narrowed his eyes and then glanced down at the red light blinking on his phone. “I have to finish this conference call. Meet me across the street at that coffee place, Havana Grounds. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Jack’s eyes met Lola’s and he nodded once. They exited Diaz’s office and took the elevator to the lobby this time. As Jack held the glass door to the street open for Lola, he asked, “Do you think he’s meeting us outside his office because of me? Does he fear me for some reason?”

  “I think he just missed his coffee.” Lola pointed across the street at Havana Grounds, a blue-and-white-striped awning shading a few tables outside.

  Lola stepped into the crosswalk and waited for an oncoming car to slow to a stop before proceeding across the street. Her boots clipped on the asphalt, and Jack admired the view from behind as he followed her. The skinny jeans stuffed into high-heeled black boots hugged her hips and slim legs. Her dark hair, loose this morning, cascaded down her back, a contrast to the bright red sweater she wore.

  No wonder his insides churned at the thought of returning to his real life, if that life included a wife and a family. How could he have such a powerful attraction to someone else if he were already married?

  Lola scraped a chair back from the small wrought-iron table. “Is this good? This way we can watch out for him.”

  “What do you want?” Jack jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll go inside and order.”

  “I’ve had enough coffee this morning. Could you please get me an herbal tea, something without caffeine? And if you’re up for it, I suggest the Cuban coffee.”

  Jack ducked into the coffeehouse and returned outside gripping a tray with a pot of hot water, a teacup and saucer, and the small demitasse cup for his Cuban coffee. He could use something strong and bracing about now. He didn’t know what to expect from Diaz. The man acted as if he didn’t trust Jack.

  He inhaled the vibrant aroma of his coffee and took a sip, the sweet, dark liquid pooling on his tongue. “Is your tea okay?”

  Lola swirled the tea bag in the hot water a few times while squinting at the label. “It’ll do. So what happens when Emilio tells you all about Jack Coburn? Do you go home, wherever that is?”

  Would she care? “Of course, I’d go home, get treatment, maybe figure out whom I could trust.”

  “A-and then you’ll contact me and tell me everything you remember about Gabe?”

  Her concern lay with getting her brother back home. Jack took another quick sip of coffee. This time the syrupy concoction scalded his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. “I’ll let you know what I r
emember about your brother.”

  “Look, there’s Emilio.” Lola sat up and brushed her hair from her face.

  Jack glanced over the rim of his cup to the sidewalk across the street. Emilio, short and dark, with a cell phone pressed to his ear, charged to the curb with a quick step. As he strode into the crosswalk, he glanced up at the coffeehouse and raised a hand.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noted a fast-moving vehicle barreling down the street. He cranked his head to watch the black SUV move like a shot toward the crosswalk.

  The car didn’t even slow down before it plowed into Diaz and sent his body flying into the air.

  Chapter Five

  Lola’s scream melded with the squeal of tires from the SUV.

  Jack dropped his cup, and it cracked against the saucer, spewing brown liquid all over the table. He pushed back, his chair banging to the sidewalk.

  He twisted his head around to follow the SUV, but it had already turned a corner, disappearing from view. A crowd of people was forming around the inert figure crumpled in the gutter.

  Lola had jumped to her feet, both hands clapped over her mouth, as if to hold in her scream. She tripped over the chair on her way to the street, and Jack grabbed her arm to steady her.

  She clutched Jack’s hand, her eyes dark and wide in her pale face. “Oh, my God. We have to go to him.”

  Jack shouldered his way through the people encircling Diaz’s body, blood oozing from the back of his head. “Let her through. She’s a doctor.”

  Lola fell to her knees beside Diaz, and Jack crouched beside her. She felt Diaz’s pulse. “He’s still alive.”

  Diaz’s eyelids fluttered, and he moaned. With surprising strength, he gripped Jack’s arm. Jack leaned forward, putting his ear next to the man’s moving lips.

  “Sparrow, sparrow, sparrow.”

  “Sparrow?” Jack squeezed the man’s hand. “Like the bird?”

  Diaz screwed his eyes shut and pursed his lips together. With great effort, he pushed out one word. “Prospero.”