The Bodyguard

by Sheryl Lynn

  “For all his faults, Max isn’t a criminal.” Her appalling lack of conviction made her chest hurt. “Is he?” She turned back to face him. “You wouldn’t work for a criminal.”

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t. I’ve seen him stretch the boundaries, but never cross them.” He lowered his gaze.

  “How far does he stretch them?” She sat back and stubbornly crossed her arms. “Does he ask you to do... unethical things?”

  “He pays well.” His voice held a tinge of annoyance. “I get twice what I’d make working the same job anywhere else in the state. And yes, I need the money. Jamie’s care can cost as much as ten grand in a month. But he doesn’t pay enough for me to break the law. He’s never asked me to do anything illegal. He knows I wouldn’t do it.”

  Shame over getting him fired came rolling back full force. Her asinine action had lost him more than a mere job—he’d lost the means to care for his son. She passed a hand over her eyes. She knew exactly how it felt to go from a fat salary to a zero bank account balance.

  “I’m not scared of him,” she said. “He isn’t going to start planting evidence because of me.” She wished she meant it.

  “This situation—” he spoke slowly, as if testing each word “—is different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you, Mrs. Caulfield is a blamer. If her son’s murderer isn’t handed to her quickly, she’s going to blame the person closest to her.”

  “So he’ll hang me to get his wife off his back?” She waved both hands in the air. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” He arched an eyebrow. “Mrs. Caulfield’s net worth is somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred million dollars. Caulfield has a private jet, a fleet of cars, full-time servants, you name it, he’s got it. Mrs. Caulfield dislikes travel so now she can send him to attend to her business concerns. You know how much he loves to travel.”

  Sensing more, she waited. When nothing was forthcoming, she filled in the blanks herself. Max had never made a secret of his true ambition. He wanted to be filthy rich, rolling in it, able to snap his fingers and have people falling all over themselves to fulfill his every whim.

  “He has a lot to lose if Belinda turns on him,” she said.

  He nodded in reply.

  “He’ll lose everything?”

  “As far as he’s concerned, yes. He’s finalizing the sale of the corporation. If his wife cans him, he’ll have to start over from scratch. He’s desperate. It makes him dangerous. You have to stay away from him.”

  As she glared at the security expert, knowing him honest, loyal and ethical, a fierce joy rose in her belly, a fire fueled by righteous indignation. Max had gone too far when he tipped his hand to McKennon.

  “We’ll show him, won’t we?” She placed a hand on his knee. If the lobby weren’t full of people she’d have kissed him. Kissed him out of gratitude, but also because he had the most beautiful lips she’d ever seen. “You think he’s dangerous? Wait until you see me in action, McKennon. If he’s responsible for a single bruise on Penny, I will kill him with my bare hands.”

  “FRANKIE?”

  Startled awake, Frankie blinked furiously until Janine’s face came into view. Disconcerted, she struggled upright and looked around. Bookshelves covered one wall, and a corner desk held an impressive array of computer equipment. Framed art posters were arranged on the mauve-colored walls. Janine’s room, she remembered. She rubbed her aching eyes with the pads of her fingers. She hated waking up in strange places. She wished she were home in her own narrow bed, snuggling her own pillow and listening to Cat thump around grumbling over her refusal to jump out of bed at his bidding.

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost eight.”

  Groaning, she flung off the covers. “Why did you let me sleep in?” The expression on her cousin’s face finally sank in. Janine looked as if she’d been punched in the belly. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did they find Penny?” Chilled, she pulled on the sweatpants and socks she’d worn yesterday. She scrubbed her bare arms.

  “Nothing wrong...exactly.” Janine pulled a cord. Window draperies parted.

  Almost eight o’clock she’d said, but the world outside was as gray as dusk. Swathes of icy snow frosted the window glass as if applied with a cake spatula. Frankie hurried to the window and stared outside. Snow blanketed the earth. Pine trees bent under heavy loads. The low-slung stables were barely recognizable. The parking lot looked like a huge, dimpled comforter. Fat snowflakes drifted from the clouds, forming a moving curtain that turned the surrounding forest into haze.

  From a distance an engine roared. A huge plume of shooting snow marked somebody operating a snowblower.

  “Where the hell did this come from?”

  Janine leaned back on one hip, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the wintry scene. “Better question, when is it going away? Yesterday they said four to eight inches, but we’ve got two feet of snow out there and drifts up to eight feet. The windchill factor puts the temperature in the minus teens.”

  “What about the roads?” She stared in amazement at the all-encompassing whiteness. Normally she loved snow, relishing any chance to go skiing. Right now it terrified her.

  “Chain laws are in effect, but the roads are still open. The wind died, which is good. The real problems are along the Front Range. This storm stretches from Wyoming to New Mexico. It hit Colorado Springs and Denver hard. The cities are all but shut down.”

  Frankie wondered if the kidnappers had a weather contingency plan. “When you say shut down you mean the banks, don’t you?”

  Janine nodded. “But look at it this way, if we can’t get out, then the kidnappers can’t get out, either.”

  Rapid knocking made Janine turn to the door. It opened and her brother’s dark head peeked around the jamb. “Everybody decent?” Ross asked, then entered without awaiting a reply. His gray eyes gleamed with excitement, and his smile was the first Frankie had seen in days.

  “We did it!”

  “Did what?” Frankie and Janine asked in unison.

  “We found Connie Haxman. She’ll get us the cash. Every dime we need.”

  The name struck a familiar chord with Frankie, but she couldn’t place it. She questioned her cousin.

  “Dawn’s friend. She’s on a cruise in the Caribbean. We finally got through to her ship. It took some doing, but Dawn is a champ when it comes to working through telephone mazes.”

  Frankie raised her eyebrows. Now she remembered. Ross’s wife, Dawn, had once been a wealthy woman, but a thieving ex-husband had left her practically penniless. Dawn’s friends were the wealthy scions of Colorado society. Connie Haxman was Dawn’s best friend—her extremely rich and apparently extremely generous best friend.

  “She’s going, to give us the money? All of it?”

  “She has her people working on it right now.”

  “I could kiss you!” She flung her arms around his neck and did just that. A big wet smack on his cheek. Laughing, he caught her around the waist and spun her in a circle. Her feet left the floor.

  “All right, you guys, we still have work to do.” Ever practical, Janine forcibly separated them. “I take it Dawn is handling the arrangements back in the Springs?”

  He clapped his hands once. “Right. Two FBI agents are going with me to collect the money. I should be back here by six o’clock.” He rolled his eyes. “Do those jerk kidnappers have any idea how much room three million bucks takes up?”

  Frankie cast a worried look out the window. “Can you get through? What if they close the roads?”

  “Never fear.” He clamped an arm over his belly and bowed in the manner of a royal gallant. “The latest weather report says this should stop by noon. If I need a snowplow the FBI will provide one. We’re a top priority. If all else fails the Colonel has friends in high places at Fort Carson. If a snowplow can’t get through, a tank still can.” He kept grinning. “But this storm is good news, Cuz. You know how f
reaked out the media gets over any change in weather. The only things you can find on any station are weather reports. Nobody knows about Julius.”

  Colorado weather could be a wicked thing. A blizzard one day, seventy degrees the next. Anybody with an ounce of sense realized that predicting the weather in the Rockies was an iffy proposition at best. Monkeys throwing darts at a weather map could probably do as well as the National Weather Service meteorologists. For some odd reason Colorado newscasters got excited about storms. Having never lived anywhere else, Frankie didn’t know if this was common amongst media types, or peculiar to the area. In any case, Ross was right. World war breaking out or the assassination of the president might override storm news coverage, but the kidnapping of a local girl would not.

  For the first time since her sister’s disappearance Frankie felt real hope. The lightness clung to her while she showered. Janine had left Frankie’s own clothing, clean and pressed. She never ironed her blue jeans and the creases amused her. Her belly rumbled with honest hunger.

  She hoped to find McKennon in the kitchen.

  She met him in the hallway outside the room. Flattered he’d sought her out, she smiled. He wore a dark red cable-knit sweater. The color complemented his eyes, making them jewel-like. Her insides did a funny little dance. “Good morning.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “What brings you all the way up here?”

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Mrs. Duke is power cleaning the guest wing. She moved me to this floor.”

  She stopped fluttering. “Oh.”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Just fine,” she muttered. When would she learn? She’d never had any luck in the romance department. Even if McKennon were remotely interested in her as a desirable woman, now was not the time or place.

  He touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong. Everything is going right for a change. Did you hear? We’re getting the money.” To answer his questioning look, she told him what Ross and his wife had been able to accomplish.

  “That’s great.”

  His smile was so genuine and warm Frankie feared she might melt into a puddle on the carpet runner. She scowled at the ridiculous yearnings piling up within her heart. He hadn’t meant anything when he kissed her, and if he was kind, it was because he was a kind man. He probably fed stray animals and helped old ladies across the street.

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Her irritability made her wince. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t like her. Passing a hall mirror, she glimpsed wet hair already springing into unmanageable corkscrews. A man like McKennon need only look at a woman and she’d be his. Why should he bother with a too-tall, graceless, big-mouthed, bad-tempered carrot-top?

  “Hmm,” he murmured. “Nothing. That can only mean you’re angry with me.”

  At the top of the stairs she turned to him. “I’m not mad.”

  “You look angry. You sound angry.” He cocked his head, a gesture appealing in its boyishness. “I thought we were starting to become friends.”

  “Yeah,” she said, unable to hide her self-disgust. “That’s us, best buds.” Uncomfortable with the conversation and uncomfortable with him, she took the stairs down two at a time.

  In the kitchen, Kara stood next to a table, looking as quivery as a hunting dog who’d just flushed a covey of quail. Elise and Janine were seated, but they stared wide-eyed at an FBI agent.

  “What is it?” Frankie asked. She sensed danger.

  The FBI agent answered. “The kidnappers called, Miss Forrest. They’ve made their demands.”

  “They said forty-eight hours,” Frankie protested. She turned on McKennon as if he held some power over the course of events. “It hasn’t been forty-eight hours.”

  Everyone, hurried to the dining room turned command post. Frankie imagined that with the blizzard the kidnappers’ plans had changed. She prayed they’d changed for the better.

  The Colonel awaited them in the dining room. Arms behind his stiff back, he presented a sterner countenance than usual. Agent Patrick didn’t look as crisp as she had before. There were bags under her eyes, and her face, devoid of makeup, appeared haggard. She’d probably catnapped on one of the cots set up against a wall. Used coffee cups littered the table.

  “How do we get Penny back?” Frankie asked.

  Agent Patrick nodded at a man who sat in front of a large reel-to-reel tape player. He had a pair of headphones hanging around his neck. The agent pressed a button and the reels began to turn.

  “Julius Bannerman here,” a man said, his voice edged with appropriate tension. “Do you have my wife?”

  “Mr. Bannerman,” a stiffly mechanical voice said, “take notes. I will not repeat myself—”

  “Do you have my wife? I want proof she’s still alive.”

  “—you will leave Elk River Resort at exactly 6:00 a.m. tomorrow. You will drive directly to Eleven Mile reservoir on Road 247. You will drive at twenty miles per hour until you reach Road 59. You will continue on that road at twenty miles per hour until we contact you. You will be entirely exposed, Mr. Bannerman. If there are any signs of any cops in the area, if there is a plane or helicopter flying overhead, we will kill your wife. Once you hand over the money you will receive instructions on how to find your wife. Thank you.”

  A soft clack, then the agent posing as Julius said, “Wait a minute, I want proof my wife is alive. Let me speak to her. I didn’t understand. What...damn it.” He spoke to a dead connection.

  The agent shut off the machine.

  Nobody spoke. Frankie scowled at the tape player. She’d never heard such a weird voice in her life. It swooped up and down, each word clipped. Emotional inflection ranged from deadpan to a shout. “That’s it?” she asked no one in particular. She turned her disbelieving gaze on the agent in charge. She supposed she’d seen toe many movies where the kidnappers put the man paying the ransom through hoops. “Nothing else? That was a recording, wasn’t it?”

  “In reality,” Agent Patrick said, “it’s effective. The area surrounding the reservoir is fairly flat and open. The mountains around the reservoir are full of roads and trails. The unsubs are picking the time and place for the exchange.”

  “Where did the call come from? Did you trace it?”

  “It’s a cellular phone. The signal didn’t last long enough for us to fix the position. We did get a lock on the number, though, and will trace the owner shortly. The phone unit is probably stolen.”

  “Modern technology,” Frankie muttered. “Don’t you love it.” She glanced at McKennon, taking strength from his rock-solid presence. “I’ll do it. I’ll deliver the ransom.”

  “No,” Agent Patrick replied. “That’s an unacceptable risk. We have a trained agent who resembles Mr. Bannerman. He’ll make the drop. We will do absolutely nothing to endanger your sister. Her safety is our number-one priority. Apprehending the suspects takes a distant second.”

  “Oh, please! The kidnappers know who Julius is and what he looks like. They tucked him into bed, for God’s sake. If you send in a ringer they’ll know he’s a cop.”

  “Miss For—”

  “You know I’m right! So let me go. I’ll tell them Julius chickened out. I’ll explain who I am. They won’t be threatened by me.”

  “No.”

  She held out her hands, beseeching her uncle. “Tell her, Colonel. She has to let me go.”

  “Impossible, Francine. We cannot risk your life.”

  “What about Penny’s life?”

  “You will have to trust us, Miss Forrest. We know what we’re doing. We’ve done this before.”

  Turning a slow circle, Frankie searched every face, seeking any sign of insurrection amongst the law officers or support from her family. Nobody met her eyes. Penny’s fate was entirely out of her hands.

  Chapter Seven

  Frankie hated waiting. In bank lines, she fidgeted; put on hold on the telephone she often lost her patience and hung up; traf
fic tie-ups made her seethe in frustration. On this snowy day while trapped inside the lodge, she had no choice except to wait. Wait for Ross to return with the ransom money, while praying the snow and ice on the roads didn’t block his way, and wait for tomorrow when Penny was returned.

  She tried hanging out in the dining room, but Agent Patrick made it clear that Frankie would have absolutely no input about delivering the ransom and recovering Penny. Consistently rebuffed and made to feel unwelcome, she withdrew. She offered to help her uncle in snow removal, but he had employees to operate snowblowers and plows. The Colonel gave her a shovel to clear snow off the lodge’s front porch and steps. That didn’t take long, even with pausing every few seconds to look for Ross’s return. She attempted to help Elise, but her aunt merely gave her a distracted look and said, “It’s so sweet of you to offer, dear, but unnecessary. Kara and I are taking care of everything.” Frankie sought out Janine. Her cousin buried her worries in piles of bookkeeping. After enduring murmurs and vague replies to her attempts at conversation, Frankie gave up.

  Unable to bear the worst-case scenarios her restless mind kept conjuring, she sought out McKennon. She found him in the kitchen. Seated at the table he held a cup of coffee in one hand. He frowned at a yellow legal pad. The soft tap, tap, tapping of his pencil against the table top formed an underlying rhythm to the noise of two young men in the process of dismantling the huge stove.

  McKennon noticed her as soon as she entered the room. Still tapping the pencil, he watched her approach. She noted a list of names on the legal paper, written in his spare engineering-style printing.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  “Other than being as useless as a fireplace in a pickup truck, okay.” She sat on a chair next to him. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to remember everyone who visited Julius in the past six months. He had an interesting little hobby, and one of his visitors might have gotten an idea from it.”

  She scanned the list of names, but recognized none of them. “What hobby?”