Bodyguard

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “A vest?” she asked. His hand was still against the perfect smoothness of her back. He didn’t want to move it, but he did. It felt like a caress, embarrassing them both all over again. And reinforcing this damned urge he was having to throw all caution to the wind and kiss her again.

  Harry gestured down at his body armor instead. “A bullet-proof vest.” He fingered the pair of bullets embedded there. “These things really work, you know.”

  “What made you wear it?” she asked. “I mean, a trip to the library and the grocery store …?”

  He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to lie, but she obviously hadn’t caught on yet as to the real situation.

  Christine McFall appeared, temporarily saving his ass. “We’ve got two perps, and they’re both too dead to talk about who sent them. Both carried ID—Ed’s running it now.”

  “Only two, huh?” Harry asked.

  She nodded. “They were both medium to slight build. It looks like your bodybuilding shooter got away.” She glanced at Alessandra. “We should get Mrs. Lamont back to the house, let her get cleaned up. And you should go to the hospital, sir, get yourself checked out. We’ve got enough manpower to handle this without you.”

  Enough manpower.

  Harry could see realization dawning in Alessandra’s eyes as she looked around once again at all the police and federal agents in the store, at all the official-looking cars in the parking lot.

  She looked at him, looked again at his vest before gazing searchingly into his eyes. “How did so many federal agents get up here so quickly?”

  She knew. A woman as smart as Alessandra had to have already figured it out. She just wanted to hear it from his traitorous lips.

  Harry glanced at Christine. “Give us a minute, will you?”

  Chris moved tactfully out of earshot as Harry cleared his throat. “This may be a time when you might want to opt not to hear the truth.”

  “You wore the bullet-proof vest because you knew this was going to happen,” Alessandra guessed. She was furious. “Didn’t you?”

  “Allie, it sounds a whole lot worse than—”

  “Didn’t you? It’s a simple question, Harry.” The tears—angry ones this time—were back in her eyes, about to brim over. “You either answer it yes or no.”

  He touched the side of her face with one finger. He couldn’t help himself. “Yes.”

  She nodded, pushing his hand away as she blinked furiously to keep her angry tears from falling. “All those agents—you were all just waiting for this to happen. You knew there would be a hit attempt, didn’t you? You knew because you were using me as bait.”

  Jesus, when she put it that way, it sounded terrible. Had he really done that? He had to look away. “Yes.”

  She pulled violently away from him, put two solid feet of space between them. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t it occur to you that this might be something I’d like to have a say in?”

  “We had a better chance of getting Trotta if you didn’t know anything about this. When we planned it … Allie, we didn’t know you wouldn’t try to warn him that this was a setup—you know, to get back on his list of friends rather than his list of people he wants dead.”

  “I could have been killed,” she said. “But that wouldn’t have been a big deal, would it, since then you’d have Michael Trotta on murder charges, instead of just attempted murder.”

  “As of right now, we don’t have Michael Trotta at all.” Christine was back, with Ed Bach at her side. “We’ve got nothing connecting the dead perps with Trotta. They’re not hired killers. They’ve both got rap sheets a mile long, filled with grocery store heists. As for your mysterious third man, you two are the only ones who saw him. Everyone both inside and outside the store only saw two shooters. We’re still canvassing, but it doesn’t look good. We can try going after Trotta based on your claim that you saw one of his men here today, but I don’t think we’re going to get very far with that in court, considering.”

  “I don’t fucking believe it. George gets shot, maybe dies, and we’ve still got nothing on this bastard?”

  Ed shook his head. “No one else saw this third shooter, Harry. We’ll have whatever bullets we can find, but you know damn well this guy’s gun is probably already long gone. We’re looking for a solid conviction. You know as well as I do we can’t get that with the two key witnesses being an agent bent on revenge and a woman who thinks Trotta’s trying to kill her. Even a court-appointed lawyer would leave the jury thinking reasonable doubt. The one Trotta can afford will leave them thinking they should try to convict you.”

  “At last report, George was hanging on,” Christine said quietly.

  “Great. He’s not dead. Yet. Did somebody call Nicole?”

  “She had a meeting down in Washington,” Christine said. “We haven’t been able to reach her yet. But she’s not going to be able to get a flight up here until tomorrow morning. I’ve already checked that out.”

  “She’s not married to him anymore,” Ed pointed out. “She may not want to come at all.”

  “Someone contact what’s her name,” Harry ordered. “Kim. That dancer George was seeing from the Fantasy Club.”

  Christine nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Alessandra stood up. “Well, this was certainly educational. Can someone please drive me back to the house? I need to take a shower.” She turned to Harry. “You’re obviously needed at the hospital.” She held out her hand and gave him one of those ridiculously cool royal smiles. “Good luck. I hope you enjoy your revenge—if and when you finally get it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Harry pulled himself painfully to his feet.

  “You may not be, but I am. I’m going back to the house to shower and pack my things.”

  Harry laughed, but then stopped when he realized she was dead serious. “What are you going to do? Just walk out of there? Ivo’s probably waiting for you. No, not probably. He is waiting for you. I can guarantee it.”

  “I’m well aware of that. But somehow I think I’ll stay alive longer without the help of the FBI, thank you very much.” She turned to Christine. “Please, will you take me back to the house?”

  Christine looked at Harry. “Sir, you’re looking a little pale. You should go to the hospital. If your rib’s broken you’ll need to get it X-rayed and taped and—”

  “The only reason I’m pale is because you keep calling me sir.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Lamont can be convinced to stay at least until you return from the hospital.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Alessandra muttered.

  “Al, don’t make me order Chris here to tie you up and sit on you until I get back. Because you know if I did, she’d say ‘yes, sir,’ and that would really give me a rash.”

  Alessandra didn’t smile, she didn’t so much as move a muscle in her face, and he played one of the only trump cards he was holding. Drawing her away from the others, he lowered his voice. “Alessandra, have I ever lied to you?”

  “By omission. Yes, you have.” She pulled her arm free from his grasp.

  “Yeah, that.” He waved it away. “But whenever you asked me something directly, I answered truthfully. Whenever you needed an honest answer, you knew I’d give it to you, straight.”

  She didn’t say a word. She just stood there with her arms tightly crossed in front of her. She’d slipped her arms into the sleeves of his jacket. They were about three inches too long, not because her arms were shorter than his, but because her shoulders were so much more narrow.

  “If you still want to leave after I get back from the hospital, I’ll let you walk away,” he continued. “I’m giving you my word on that, okay? Just stay until I get there.”

  Alessandra gazed at him for several very, very long moments.

  In desperation, he pulled out his very last trump card. “Allie, I saved your life today. Do this, and we’ll call it even.”

  “I’m not sure it counts as saving a life
when you’re the one responsible for putting that very same life in jeopardy.”

  What could he say to that? Particularly when she was giving him the royal evil eye. “If those bullets had hit me in the head, I’d be dead right now. If I’d let you go back to Trotta when you wanted to, you’d be dead right now. Maybe this wasn’t the smartest scenario, maybe we should’ve told you what was up, but the fact is, by luck we’ve both been left with our hearts still warm and beating. Use that heart and show me a little mercy. Please.”

  She nodded grudgingly. Thank God. “I’ll wait. But you won’t convince me to stay.”

  * * *

  “Call for you, Ms. Fenster, on line three.”

  Nicole didn’t stop on her way to the ladies’ room. She only had fifteen minutes to pee and grab a sandwich and a Coke and get back into the conference room. “Take a message please, Bonnie.”

  “They say it’s urgent, ma’am.”

  Dammit, everything was urgent lately. “Take a message.”

  “One of the members of your task-force team has apparently been injured quite badly. A Christine McFall is on the line. She’s insisting she speak directly to you.”

  Nicole’s entire insides turned to ice as she stopped short. She turned back and took the telephone out of the receptionist’s hand. “Chris? Who’s been hurt?”

  “Nicki, it was George.”

  George. Oh, God.

  “We had a complete snafu,” Christine continued. “Several of the local teams weren’t where they were supposed to be and during the gunplay—”

  “Is he dead?” George. Please God, not George. Nicole turned away from the receptionist, knowing she couldn’t keep her anguish from showing on her face.

  “No, but he’s in surgery right now and—”

  “Is he going to die?”

  Chris was silent for a little too long. “No.”

  “Damnit, don’t lie to me, McFall.” Nicole kept her voice quiet and even despite the pounding of her heart.

  “He was shot in the leg. I don’t even think it’s broken, but the bullet hit a major artery and he’s lost a lot of blood. So, yes, there’s a chance he may not make it.” Chris paused. “I’m calling you as a friend, not as one of your staff. I think if you’ve got anything at all that’s been left unsaid, you might want to get up here.”

  Nicole felt tears rush to her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. God help her if anyone in this office ever saw her cry. “That was part of the trouble, Chris. There was nothing left unsaid.”

  She took a deep breath, hating herself for being so practical but knowing if she dropped everything and went to him, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. He wouldn’t not die just because she was there. And her reputation for being as reliable and emotionless as a machine would be severely compromised if she went running off to sit by the hospital bed of the man who had left her. “I’ll be back in a few days. Earlier if I can manage it.”

  “Nicki, he needs you.”

  “He divorced me. That seems to imply that he doesn’t need me. Please let me know if there’s any change in his condition.”

  “Yeah, right,” Chris said, frustration sharpening her voice. “I’ll give you a ring if he dies.”

  The line went dead, and Nicole handed the phone back to the receptionist, managing to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

  “You gave me your word,” Alessandra couldn’t keep her voice from quivering with anger. “You said you’d let me walk away.”

  “I am letting you walk away. I just happen to be walking away with you.”

  Harry opened the front door to the car and all but pushed her inside. She opened it again as soon as he closed it. “I don’t need your help.”

  The moon was only a sliver and his face was completely in shadow. “Can we argue about this after I get in the car and start driving? I’ve been banking on the fact that Ivo’s following one of the decoys I sent out the front door, but just in case, I’d like to get out of here without a hole in my head. Or yours.”

  Alessandra pulled the door shut.

  Harry tossed their bags in the back and climbed carefully behind the wheel. He started the car. “Thank you.” She stared straight ahead.

  He laughed quietly, the sound as velvety and soft as the darkness that surrounded her. “The silent treatment. That’s very original. No one’s ever done that before.”

  He kept the lights off as he pulled onto a dirt road. It wasn’t until he turned onto the state highway that he flipped them on.

  This car was just too small. She was practically sitting on his lap. The two bucket seats were separated only by a parking brake. Their shoulders were so close, they were almost touching. And Harry drove with his hand resting on the gear shift, his fingers mere inches from her knee.

  Alessandra couldn’t believe she’d let him kiss her.

  Let him? Dear Lord, she’d done more than simply sit back and let him kiss her. She’d nearly inhaled him.

  Yes, she’d been seriously shaken by the violence, but that was no excuse. The sad truth was, she’d wanted to kiss him like that for days.

  Of course, that was before she knew he was a complete and total liar. Before she knew he’d do anything—sacrifice anything and anyone—to get his twisted, pathetic revenge on Michael Trotta.

  She’d kissed him thinking he was that rare animal, a completely honest and forthright human being. She’d kissed him thinking foolishly, childishly, that he was someone worth kissing.

  He shifted in his seat, reaching up to touch the bandage that had been wrapped around his chest, and she knew he was uncomfortable.

  “Were your ribs broken?” She couldn’t keep from asking.

  “Just one.” He glanced at her. “But one’s enough.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly.

  He’d come back from the hospital knowing she’d already made up her mind. She was out of there, out of the Witness Protection Program for good. He hadn’t seemed surprised when she informed him of that.

  He’d apologized again and asked her to reconsider several times. The fourth time she’d told him flatly that she was leaving Cow Pattie, New York, that very night, he’d made a few phone calls and changed into a pair of worn denim jeans and a plain black T-shirt.

  It was a very different look for him, much more in sync with his personality and looks than the wrinkled suits. The jeans were loose fitting, yet they managed to show off his muscular body. He wore sneakers on his feet and a baseball cap over his untamable hair. The fashion statement was completed by a lightweight distressed-leather bomber jacket. It worked. As angry as she was at him, she had to admit that he looked about as good as she’d ever seen him.

  Harry cleared his throat. “Here’s the deal, Al. We’re both on the same side. We’ve both got the same goal, although I know you’re still mad at me, so you don’t want to see that. But it’s a fact. You want to stay alive, I want you to stay alive. What we need right now is for you to acknowledge the fact that I fucked up,” he said flatly. “The whole agency fucked up. You’re right and we were wrong. You should have been informed. You should have been allowed to decline the dubious honor of acting as bait to catch a scumbag.” He glanced at her. “There’s nothing I can do to change the past, but I can change the future. I’m going to take you to a place I guarantee will be safe, and I’m going to show you what you need to do so you don’t stand out in the crowd once you get there.”

  “How can you guarantee that place is safe? And how do I know you’re not just going to set me up again as soon as we’re there?”

  He took the ramp onto Route 84, heading west. He eased the car into fifth gear and then turned to look at her in the dim dashboard light. “Because my children live there. You better believe there’s no way in hell I’d lead Trotta’s men to the town where my children live.”

  “But what if someone else on your task force decides to let Michael know where I am?”

  “No one else is going to know where you are,” he
told her. “I’m sure as hell not gonna tell them.”

  “But I thought you said your kids lived with your sister. She shouldn’t be too hard for anyone to find.”

  “She’s my stepsister,” Harry said. “Actually, she’s not even really my stepsister. She was almost my stepsister. Her father and my mother lived together for about eight months. They were supposed to get married, but it didn’t work out. Marge was twelve and I was seven, and … she was good to me. We stayed friends even though our parents didn’t. After Kevin … after … you know … I needed someplace safe for Shaun and Emily to go. Marge was living out in Colorado, and she came through for me. Nobody I worked with knew about her. I’ve been careful, and the kids have been safe since then. Not even George knows where they are.”

  Alessandra was silent for a moment. “And you don’t feel compelled to report my whereabouts to your boss?”

  “Hey, I’m on vacation for the next month. I don’t have to report anything to anybody.”

  Vacation. He was spending his vacation helping her.

  He glanced at her again, as if he could read her mind. “I figure I owe you one,” he said quietly.

  “I’m not sure I can trust you, Harry.”

  He nodded. “I know. Let me get you as far as Colorado,” he said. “I’ll show you how to disappear, and once we’re there, if you want to vanish, you can just vanish.” He looked over at her. “Do we have a deal?”

  Outside the windows of the car, the night was dark. Alessandra could see Harry’s blurred reflection, watching her. She didn’t exactly have a lot of options. She sighed, wishing he had been the hero she was looking for, wishing that ambush had been as much of a surprise to him as it was to her.

  “You still haven’t tried to set the past behind us,” he pointed out. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what a sorry-assed son of a bitch loser I am, so we can start moving forward?”

  She glanced at him.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let me have it. Full power.”

  “You’re … such a jerk.”

  “What, are you kidding? Jerks cut you off when you’re driving. They steal your parking space. They don’t nearly get you killed. You can do better than that.”