by Sheryl Lynn
“Are you coming on to me, McKennon?”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Teaser chapter
Copyright
“Are you coming on to me, McKennon?”
“Yes.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Frankie lifted her head to reply. He kissed her lips. A soft tender kiss, the barest press of flesh to flesh.
His answer pleased her, but deepened her guilt. With her sister in danger she could afford herself no pleasure. “Bad timing.”
“In more ways than you know.” He pressed a finger to her chin and urged her to look at him. Feeling suddenly shy and strangely vulnerable, she resisted. “When we get your sister back, I’d like to take you to dinner.”
She cracked a smile. “What if I said you’re not my type?”
Chuckling, he curled his hand around the back of her head and drew her forehead-to-forehead with him. His embrace accomplished what reason could not. Hope feathered upward from deep in her belly.
“I’d like to get to know you better.” He kissed her again.
She couldn’t have resisted him if she’d tried. She explored the texture of his lips and tasted the sweetness of his mouth.
“Is it a date?” he asked.
She sensed in him the power to make her believe in loyalty and goodness again. “Sure,” she whispered. “It’s a date.”
Dear Reader,
Sexy and sweet, tough and tender. These are the men of ELK RIVER, COLORADO. The men who still stand tall and know how to treat a woman. The men whom Sheryl Lynn writes about with emotion and passion in her new duet.
You may remember the legendary Duke family of Colorado, whom Sheryl first introduced in a duet called HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY a few years back. These titles—#424 The Case of the Vanished Groom and #425 The Case of the Bad Luck Fiancé—are still available. Send $3.99 ($4.50 CAN.) for each title ordered, plus $.75 shipping and handling ($1.00 CAN.) to Harlequin Reader Service: 3010 Walden Av., Buffalo, NY 144269, or P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ontario L2A 5X3
And be sure to be on hand next month when ELK RIVER, COLORADO continues with Undercover Fiancé.
Happy Reading!
Debra Matteucci
Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator
Harlequin Books
300 East 42nd Street
New York, NY 10017
The Bodyguard
Sheryl Lynn
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
To my grandmothers, Evelyn Roberts and Alma Hawk,
gifted storytellers who inspire me to dream.
Love you, ladies.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Frankie Forrest—She’ll protect her baby sister even if it means going to prison or forsaking the man she loves.
J. T. McKennon—A bodyguard torn between doing his job and saving the woman he loves.
Penny Bannerman—She’s all grown up and loves her new husband to death.
Julius Bannerman—This playboy causes more problems dead than he ever did alive.
Max Caulfield—He wants his wife’s money, and too bad for anyone who gets in his way.
Belinda Bannerman Caulfield—Julius is her boy, and heaven help any woman foolish enough to get between her and her son.
Bo Moran—He’s about to make the score of his life.
Chuck and Paul Cashorali—Bumbling brothers who are crooks without a clue.
Chapter One
“Stop the wedding!”
Frankie Forrest’s cry echoed through the thin mountain air and towering pines. A blue jay screamed in raucous reply. As Frankie slammed the car door and lunged toward the chapel, she stepped on a patch of ice. Feeling herself sliding, she shifted her weight, overcompensated, lost her balance and fell onto her right knee. Her teeth clacked, jarring her skull.
Pain jangled from kneecap to hip. Stars burst before her eyes. Arms outspread, her back at an awkward angle, she lifted her face to heaven.
A very bad sign, she thought in dour superstition. Dark forces conspired to keep her away from her sister.
Wary now, she got to her feet. She gingerly tested her right leg. Her knee throbbed, but it bent the way it should and she could walk.
A long, white limousine idled in the parking lot. The exhaust formed crawling clouds. The driver most likely kept the interior warm for the bride and groom. Frankie shivered. It had been a mild forty degrees when she left her apartment in Colorado Springs, but here, at an altitude of eight thousand feet, the temperature hovered in the low twenties. She wore a fleecy sweatshirt, but the cold pierced the thick cotton and pricked her flesh. Her blue jeans might as well have been made of nylon net—already her thighs were tingling. She glanced toward the chapel. Its roof and spire were visible through the trees. She jammed a key into the trunk lock and gave it a hard twist. The trunk snapped open. She grabbed her parka and shoved her arms into the puffy sleeves.
Her sister hated this parka and urged Frankie every year to buy a new coat. Frankie had owned it since high school and hadn’t found another that felt as good. Its age showed in faded blue nylon, permanent stains and numerous small tears. She had repaired the big rips, but used whatever thread was handy, so clumsy stitches in black, white, red and green marred the ragged fabric. Penny called it the Frankenstein coat.
She noticed logos printed on the driver’s-side doors of two vehicles in the parking lot. A blue circle with a bugling bull elk, its rack of antlers overlapping the circle perimeter—Elk River Resort.
“Traitors,” she growled. She’d learned about the wedding only a few hours ago. A terse, anonymous voice on her answering machine had said, “Penny is marrying Julius at Elk River Resort today. Are you going to let it happen?” She’d be damned if she would let it happen.
She limped up the path to Sweet Pines Chapel. With each step her hurt and anger swelled. Penny knew exactly how Frankie felt about Julius and his family, and Penny knew why. Despite all her promises—her lies!—the brat had gone behind Frankie’s back and married that perverted loser anyway.
As she neared the chapel, she grudgingly admitted that winter was a good time to hold a wedding. She’d been to this chapel twice before, once for her cousin Ross Duke’s wedding and then again for her cousin Megan’s. Those weddings had taken place in the summertime when wildflowers popped through the forest floor, and the scrub oaks and aspens were bright green with leaves. Snow, however, turned the forest into a magical place, a study in charcoal with blacks, whites and grays brushed by green and framed by a porcelain sky.
Magical, that is, if this were a wedding that should take place. Which it wasn’t. If Frankie had any say in the matter, it wouldn’t.
A man stood on the chapel stoop. He wore a black cashmere greatcoat over a black suit. Black wraparound sunglasses shaded his eyes. Black hair glinted in the sun. She recognized J.T. McKennon and stopped dead in her tracks.
McKennon’s presence meant Max Caulfield attended the wedding. An image of her ex-fiancé’s smirking face swam before her vision, and her calves itched with the urge to run. Tom between saving her sister or sav
ing her dignity, she hunched inside the parka.
McKennon nodded. A slight gesture, noticeable only because she was so intently staring at him.
Determined that not even Max Caulfield could stop her, she continued up the path. McKennon stepped to the center of the chapel’s double doors. At the base of the steps she waited for him to open the door and welcome her inside. He stood as rigidly as a solider guarding a post.
“Move over, McKennon,” she ordered. “I’m stopping this charade.”
Swarthy and unsmiling, McKennon looked like a mob enforcer. Two years ago, when she’d first met him, she’d dismissed him as the tall, dark and stupid type. Tall and dark fit, but it hadn’t taken long to figure out he was in no way a stupid man. He had an engineering degree and was an expert in electronic security. He’d served with valor in the marines and for a while had operated his own martial arts studio. He was an expert marksman with firearms ranging from pistols to grenade launchers.
He possessed a dry sense of humor and an oddly appealing detachment from the world, as if he were an alien observing the natives. Frankie used to marvel over his cool head and objective world view—his mild temperament was so very different from her own hot-headed impulsiveness. Nothing rattled McKennon.
It looked as if that much hadn’t changed in the past six months. “I said, move, McKennon.”
“I can’t do that, Miss Forrest.”
She huffed. She kicked a chunk of snow. “You’re guarding the door? Who do you think you are?”
His aristocratic mouth thinned. “I have my orders. Nobody goes in.”
“She’s my sister! I have a right—”
“Especially you.” He folded his arms over his chest.
McKennon’s sunglasses reflected her angry image. From far away a jay screeched a mocking note. Frankie clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Her jaws ached. The corners of her eyes watered, and her cheeks felt brittle. She strained to hear what was happening inside the chapel. She couldn’t hear any music—another bad sign.
“Come on,” she pleaded. “We’re friends. You know me.” As soon as the words emerged she felt stupid. Of course he knew her, since they’d worked together for almost two years, but they were not friends. He still worked for Max, and Max had dumped her like yesterday’s garbage, which McKennon had witnessed in all its humiliating glory. They would never be friends.
Embarrassment settled like a lump of dough in her throat. Countless times she’d replayed The Big Dump in her head, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. She’d come to the conclusion that Max had insisted McKennon stay in the room because Max enjoyed making her crawl in front of an audience.
She climbed another step. She stood five feet, ten inches tall. Few men physically intimidated her. Unmoved, McKennon gazed down at her. She sized him up. He had five inches and at least sixty pounds advantage, plus, she’d seen him in action at the gym.
She lifted her chin in an attempt to look down her nose at him. “I want to speak with Max right now.”
“Mr. Caulfield isn’t here.”
One of Max’s biggest ego trips lay in having his very own, personal, trained ape following him wherever he went. McKennon’s quietly deadly presence made Max feel like a big shot. In dark moments Frankie imagined McKennon accompanying Max to the toilet, holding the newspaper for the boss while Max did his business.
“You’re lying. I know he’s in there.”
“No, he’s not.”
His calm assurance irritated her tattered nerves. “If Max isn’t here, why are you here?” She paused, but received no response. “Have a heart. You know what Julius is like. Penny can’t marry him. He’ll ruin her life.”
“I have my orders, Miss Forrest.”
His smooth baritone held a faintly lyrical hint of a Southern accent. Frankie imagined she heard a note of distaste. Perhaps he despised Max’s stepson, Julius, as much as she did.
Which didn’t matter, since he wasn’t moving. She backed off the steps and plunged her icy hands into the parka’s deep pockets. She peered suspiciously at his face and wished he’d take off the sunglasses. She didn’t believe him about Max not being here. Yet, it made no sense for McKennon to lie about something so obvious. “Did you screw up, and baby-sitting is your punishment?”
The taunt failed to move him.
She tossed him a glare of pure disgust and went in search of another entrance to the chapel. The tiny building, built of logs and stone, contained a native-stone apse and a double row of pine pews. She walked completely around the building, but the stained-glass windows were too high off the ground for her to see through or even to pound on. She debated throwing rocks at the windows to catch the attention of the people inside, but the windows were handcrafted antiques, and if she broke one, she’d never be able to replace it. The door was her only hope.
McKennon watched her stomp her feet to clear snow off her boots and jeans. Goon, she thought hatefully. Nothing but a hound, following orders.
Then a solution occurred to her. She filled her lungs with winter air and let rip with her loudest, most blood-curdling scream.
McKennon jumped like a burned cat. “Stop that!”
“Help!” she hollered. “Rape! Fire! Murderers! Help! Help!”
McKennon bounded down the steps. His speed startled her. Men his size rarely moved so fast. She darted away and screeched loud enough to bring down the heavens. McKennon lunged for her left arm; she danced to the right Too late, she recognized a feint. He snatched her right wrist in an iron grip.
“Ra-a-a-ape—”
He twisted her against his solid body and slammed a gloved hand over her mouth. His chest heaved against her back. “You’re acting outrageously, Miss Forrest. Stop it.”
She called him every filthy name she knew, but his hand effectively muffled the words. The leather glove tasted unpleasantly metallic. She slammed a foot down, aiming for his instep, but he anticipated the move and she struck gravel. The arm around her chest could well have been carved from oak. He practically lifted her off the ground. She fought to regulate her breathing. No easy task considering that the cold had stuffed up her nose. She snuffled desperately and hated him even more.
“I have orders. No one interrupts the wedding. Not even you. Do I need to contact the police?”
She mouthed murderous threats against the leather glove. She squirmed, attempting to slip from beneath his arm, but he held her tighter, crunching her rib cage.
A commanding voice rang from the chapel door. “What is the meaning of this?” Her uncle, Colonel Horace Duke, decked out in a black tuxedo, his silver hair shining, glared at the scene below. “Francine? Is that you? Mr. McKennon, unhand my niece at once.” The Colonel closed the door firmly behind him.
As soon as McKennon removed his hand from her mouth Frankie yelled, “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Colonel! But first, stop the wedding!” She managed to wriggle one arm free and rammed her elbow into McKennon’s gut. His surprised woof gave her a small measure of satisfaction. She sprang away from him, whirled and put up her fists. “I’ll get you for that, you big bully.”
He tugged his lapels and used a knuckle to slide his sunglasses higher on his nose.
The Colonel marched down the steps. “What are you doing here, Francine? The latest report showed you deployed to Europe.”
“Europe?” That gave her pause. The farthest she’d ever traveled had been camping trips to Arizona, Utah and New Mexico. “What would I be doing in Europe? Oh, never mind. Let me into the chapel. I’ve got to stop the ceremony.”
The Colonel placed a hand on her arm. “They’re speaking their final vows. You can’t interrupt.”
Taking on McKennon was one thing, but the Colonel, her late mother’s brother, was another matter altogether.
“If Penny said I was in Europe, she lied. I can’t believe she roped you in. Let me inside the chapel. Then I’ll explain everything.” She beseeched him with her eyes.
Organ music fille
d the still, mountain air, the bass tones rumbling through the heavy doors. Frankie groaned and covered her eyes with a hand. When the colonel took her arm and hustled her away from the steps, she made no protest.
Penny and Julius, legally wed—her worst nightmare had just come true.
The chapel doors were flung wide. Seconds later, a bride and groom appeared. Frankie took in the bridal gown, yards and yards of creamy silk encrusted with glittering crystals and gleaming pearls. A headdress rose from the bride’s pale hair like a frothy crown trailed by an endless swath of pearl-dotted tulle. For a disconcerting moment Frankie felt she’d made a horrible mistake. No way could Penny have come up with a dress like that on such short notice. But no, that was Penny, looking radiant. She seemed to glow.
Frankie felt certain the top of her head was about to blow off.
Penny’s smile switched off like a blown lightbulb. Next to her, slick as an oil spill, Julius Bannerman clutched his bride’s elbow. He smiled greasily at Frankie.
Frankie knew McKennon always carried a sidearm, and wondered if she could get it away from him. Spending the rest of her life in prison seemed a paltry price to pay in order to rid the world of Julius Bannerman.
Behind the bride and groom, the Duke family gathered. Aunt Elise and her children, Janine, Kara and Ross and his wife, Dawn, were dressed in full finery, a further indication that this wedding had been no mere impulse. The Dukes—traitors all!—had helped Penny.
“I do not believe this,” she said, each word clipped.
Aunt Elise hurried to the fore. Arms outstretched, she skipped down the steps toward Frankie.
“Francine, dear! I am so glad you were able to return home from Europe. Penny said—”
