Bulletproof (Unknown Identities #1)

by Black, Regan

  Her words certainly weren’t.

  “How can you be so sure? You don’t even know if your contact is a man or woman.”

  “I stand by the assessment. I understand people.” She shifted in the seat. “Most of the time I’m right. In fact my contact mentioned you.”

  “Now that’s impossible. I didn’t kill the poor bastard on the bike.” Irritation and frustration twisted inside him... but it was the fear slithering across his skin that had him second guessing himself and the situation. “I was with you.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  He glared at her, wondering how she did it. For years he’d felt nothing, been numb to anything resembling humanity or the emotional investment that came along with it. How did he manage to cross paths with the one person capable of tearing down his carefully constructed walls?

  But he hadn’t just crossed her path. This situation wasn’t that clean. He’d been planted in the middle of her path by a man he wouldn’t trust to give him correct change for a dollar.

  He cleared his throat. Any and all information mattered at this point. “Your contact mentioned me?”

  She nodded. “I was promised a name, but got a locker number. The contact said ‘John will know the rest’.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Filtering out crazy is part of the job. My contact sort of died – or according to you didn’t die – before anything else could be said.”

  “Sounds to me like your contact is sending you on a wild goose chase. John is a common enough name. Are you sure nothing else was said?” That grab had been so well staged, maybe she’d forgotten something in the adrenaline rush.

  “I’m sure,” she said, pulling out her phone.

  “Put that away,” he ordered. “In fact, take out the battery.”

  “I need my phone.”

  “You can get a new one. They could be tailing you with the GPS.”

  “My sources know this number.”

  He struggled for patience. “Are you expecting another story to break in the next hour?”

  “No, but –”

  The woman was too stubborn. “Take out the battery. For now. You can check with your sources when we reach a safe location.”

  “Fine.” She popped off the protective case and slid the battery from the back of the cell phone. Dropping the separate pieces into her bag, she said, “There must be something on the news already. Am I allowed to turn on the radio?”

  “Yes.” The woman was a trial. “For all the good it will do.”

  “People wouldn’t ignore two dead bodies on the same block in a town like Sudbury.”

  “One body. I told you your contact is not a victim.” He waited while she skipped through a few stations without catching any breaking news. “You’re an optimist.”

  “Not even close,” she said, dismissing the theory with a wave and a glimmer of a smile. “I’m a reporter.”

  “One who’s managed to piss off someone important.”

  The smile that had so quickly brightened her face disappeared in a blink. “It goes with the job.”

  “Tell me what you’re working on.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he corrected, holding up a hand when she tried to argue. “This is not negotiable. My job is to keep you safe. Knowing the potential enemies increases your life expectancy.”

  “My stories usually piss off people. I tell the truth. You’d be surprised how many people don’t like that.”

  “I imagine the people who get exposed unwillingly,” he suggested.

  “Make me the bad guy if it helps you sleep better. I’d be out of a job if people would treat each other with respect and dignity, but they don’t and the public deserves to know who they’re doing business with.”

  “And since you were doing business with someone you claim mentioned me, I deserve to know the truth about this damned story of yours.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “That puts us on even ground, Ms. Bennett, but it’s clear you need me.”

  “Look, the trust thing isn’t personal,” she said gently. I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Color me relieved,” he mocked gently, echoing her earlier words.

  “Still, you could have staged everything that just happened in Sudbury to scare me.”

  “Believe me, if I wanted to scare you, there are easier methods. All of them far more direct.” He checked the mirrors before aiming a hard look at her. “None of them require playing outside during monsoon season or taking a knock to the head.”

  * * *

  Amelia suppressed the automatic shudder. This guy had a knack for throwing her off balance. A technique she was sure he’d nurtured during his professional career. Whatever else he wanted from her, her trust was something she couldn’t give. Not fully anyway. She wasn’t even going to try and analyze what he’d just said. Somehow she had to regain control.

  “Why would my contact mention you?” Getting this discussion back on track was first up. In the past few minutes she’d been trying to figure out how her contact could have known she’d hired a bodyguard. And more than that, how the contact would know the name of her bodyguard.

  “Make a gut call. Is your contact a man or a woman?”

  There he went, trying to lead again. “Why?”

  “Humor me.”

  She wasn’t about to admit she didn’t have enough clues to sway her gut one way or the other. “What does gender have to do with him or her knowing about you?” She felt his eyes on her, but she kept her gaze on the wet, dreary road ahead of them.

  “Not even a guess?”

  “Again,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “it doesn’t matter. Information is information. Gender ambiguity is one more layer of protection for my source.”

  “You don’t know.” He sighed, flexing his hands on the steering wheel. “Ms. Bennett, you have no idea how few people know anything real about me. Your source used my name for a reason –”

  “It’s a common name,” she tossed his argument back at him. “Where are we going?”

  “Using my name was probably an attempt to scare you or distract you from the story you’re trying to tell.”

  She didn’t like him noticing her fear, but she really didn’t like how he ignored her question. “The story I will tell.”

  “How will you decide if anything you’re told is relevant?”

  “I verify the facts.” She turned to face him, ready to read every twitch of his face, any telltale reaction in his body. “Do you know about locker thirty-one?”

  He shook his head slowly, the picture of serenity. “No.”

  His body said he was telling the truth, but he was lying. She was sure of it, despite the lack of any physical indicators. Trusting him might be out of the question, but her instinct and intuition never failed her.

  “Would you know something about that locker if I agreed to share something about my story?”

  His response didn’t change. “No.”

  Her curiosity piqued, she considered her options. He might be an expert in protection and security, but she was an expert at ferreting out the whole truth of a matter.

  “Can we go back to Sudbury now and get my car?”

  “No.”

  “Soon?”

  “It’s a big risk.”

  She bit back a frustrated reply. The few belongings she’d salvaged from her apartment were in her trunk. “Are you suggesting we just leave it there indefinitely?”

  “You parked illegally. It won’t stay there long. We need a place to lay low. Some place safe where you can tell me what the hell you’re working on.”

  “John, how much can the story inform you about the threat?” She understood the logic, she just wasn’t ready to share. “Based on my experience last night and this morning, it looks like you’re safer if you don’t know anything.”

  “To keep you safe, I need to have some idea of how your enemy will attack.”

 
She pressed her lips together, determined to keep her cool. Last night looked bad at first glance: the violation of an intrusion, vandalism, and the dire warning painted in blood. But if John was right and someone was watching her, they’d chosen to create that havoc when she was away from home. There’d been no danger to her personally, despite Bernie’s panic and the presence of Boston’s finest.

  Today, however, getting nearly kidnapped... if she thought about it too long she’d freeze up. She just couldn’t let it get into her head. Doubt was a reporter’s worst enemy. She knew what she had in this story. Not the potential awards, though she wouldn’t turn them down if they came her way. No, this story would rock the public perception. It could very well mark an important shift in government policy. She refused to let it go because a few cowardly politicians didn’t have the courage to admit their mistakes.

  “If you can keep the wolves away for forty-eight hours I can get the story done and Bernie can run it.” But she had to find that locker first.

  “And then what? You can’t be so naïve that you believe the people you’re reporting on will let it go even after you break whatever it is.”

  “When the story is out it will be too late to silence me and too obvious if they try.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  He was entitled to his opinion, but it didn’t change her mind. The public deserved to know exactly what agenda the senator was pushing forward.

  “If the idea of telling the story brings out teams like the one that just missed,” he added, “I’m not looking forward to who comes at you next.”

  “Well there’s one thing we have in common.”

  “What’re you going to do about this locker thirty-one thing?”

  ‘John will know the rest’. The words echoed in her mind. Knowing her bodyguard by name almost before she did, meant someone was digging too thoroughly through her life. She glanced at her purse, wondering if they were tracing her cell signal or if they’d put a ghost program on her computer at the office.

  “If you really don’t have any idea about it, I guess you’re probably right.” She kept her voice light. “It must be some kind of misdirection.”

  His silence intrigued her. She waited, but he didn’t offer up anything helpful.

  So good at reading people, this man kept her off balance. She wanted to blame it on something simple like his startling green eyes or the obvious strength in every line of his body. But she knew herself better than that. The secrets shadowing his gaze and the temptation to lean against his hard body kept her feeling like she was walking a tightrope over a fiery abyss.

  “The target of my story may not know it,” she said, focusing on the matter at hand, “but resorting to murder only makes me want to dig in deeper.”

  “More the fool.”

  “Exactly! If the locker is a red herring, I’ll go back and take a closer look at the earlier information. We should stop by the office for my laptop.”

  “No.”

  She was so tired of hearing that word. If she stopped every time things got sticky she wouldn’t have a career. Without her career, life would be... she dropped the pointless and uncomfortable line of thought in favor of the story.

  “I need my computer.” She had the thumb drive, but the most recent searches were on her laptop at the office.

  “You’ve got a smart phone.”

  “One you won’t let me turn on.”

  “Once I take care of the GPS you can use it again.”

  She didn’t quite believe him. “I can’t write my story on a smart phone.”

  He slid that sideways look her way and changed lanes, taking the exit toward the airport. There were lockers at the airport. “Where are we going?”

  “We’ll dump the car and then buy you a computer.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It would be like starting at square one.” Only a white lie there. Her source had taught her how to better assess her search results and had set up a secure cloud storage system. At least she thought it was secure. “I don’t do ridiculous, John Noble.”

  A muscle jumped at his jawline and his neck turned red. As reactions went, it was more than she thought bodyguards were supposed to show. At least according to what she’d learned when she’d done that story. They were supposed to be present, but not intrusive. Alert, without telegraphing emotion or concern.

  John was reserved, intimidating when he chose to be, but she could see the tension in his face and shoulders. He didn’t seem to care at all about intruding in her process.

  He was quiet until he exited the Interstate and joined the slower traffic headed to the airport.

  “What’s ridiculous is you thinking life can go on without any adjustment on your part,” he said.

  “I’ve adjusted –” she began, but he cut her off with another hard look.

  “Do you want to live?”

  She blinked at his brusque question and the strain evident in the rigid set of his entire body. The black shirt and slacks, the gun on the seat between them, suddenly brought her precarious situation into stark relief.

  Get it together, girl, and do the job.

  Still, the affirmative answer she knew he expected lodged in her throat.

  “Well?” he barked.

  She jumped. But still unable to vocalize the simplest reply, she waited until he glanced her way and nodded.

  “Are you finally ready to admit you’re scared?”

  “No.” See how he liked getting those single syllable answers.

  “I thought you were smart.” He pushed a hand through his wet hair. “Let me spell it out again. If we go back to your office, to your car, to your apartment, you’re dead.”

  Finally something she could argue against. “Are you that bad at your job?” When he spared her a glance, his eyes were ice-cold.

  He aimed the car for the rental car return lanes. “I’m good enough to see the reality. For a reporter who prizes the truth, you’re showing a remarkable affinity for denial.”

  “I’m just supposed to go along with your plan, no questions asked?”

  “It would be in your best interest.”

  “But –”

  “And it would be in the best interest of your story. You are in danger.”

  “I know,” she whispered, watching the signs for the airport. Admitting it was one thing, accepting it something different. The bodyguard idea was supposed to be a balm for Bernie. She’d never expected the direct attacks. He was right, though she hated being dependent, she didn’t think she could finish this without him. “I’ll cooperate.”

  She watched his hands relax on the steering wheel as he pulled the car into the correct lane. Body language was as important a resource to her as any verbal statement. More important at times. Times like this when she interviewed someone less than eager to cooperate.

  “Is there an umbrella around here?”

  Amelia looked around, leaned back and checked the back seat. “Maybe the trunk?”

  “Got a scarf?”

  “No. Is the locker here at Logan?”

  She watched the muscle jump in his jaw again.

  “Give it up. The locker is bogus.” He put the car in park and cut the engine. “Do you know who owns the airport?”

  “The city?”

  “Probably. It doesn’t matter.” He tucked the smaller gun into the holster at his ankle.

  “Then why ask?” When he looked at her, she shivered at the grim intensity on his face.

  “Today you own it. There are cameras everywhere, there’s probably more than one already on us. We’re going to use that to your advantage.”

  She stared at him.

  “When I get you somewhere safe you are going to tell me about your story. You’re going to tell me who and what you need to do to get it written.”

  “On one condition.” His glare made her hesitate. “Do what you have to do to my phone, but I’m going to need it.”

  Was that a real smile fighting with the corner of his mouth?
It had charming potential.

  He held out his hand and she dropped the pieces of her phone into his callused palm. This was the hand of a man who worked hard. A man who did more than follow clients around town or practice marksmanship at the firing range.

  “What else do you do besides protect people?”

  He poked at the pieces for a minute, then reassembled the phone and waited while it rebooted. “I’m not your story, Ms. Bennett.”

  Even this early in their acquaintance, it was too late for the formalities to maintain an effective distance.

  Besides, her instinct shouted that he was wrong. Oh, he wasn’t this story and mysterious red herrings disguised as locker numbers aside, she didn’t think he had any ties to the senator’s misdeeds. But the man had secrets and layers she wanted to uncover. Desperately.

  It required a certain level of self-awareness and not a little courage to realize her curiosity stemmed more from a purely feminine place she didn’t typically acknowledge. A place she wasn’t sure she’d possessed. Until John Noble stole her breath just by showing up this morning.

  “Condition met,” he said. When he’d changed the settings on her phone to his satisfaction, he handed it back to her. “Send your boss an email or text message that you have what you need and you’ll turn in the story tonight.”

  “But –”

  “Do it.”

  Chapter Five

  Amelia sighed, momentarily defeated. She supposed the message would either bring out more people to kill her or call them off. “Are you hoping for a challenge or a break?”

  He applied his signature silence until she finished sending the message. “Now let’s get moving. Stay by my side and do not hesitate if I give you an order.”

  She quirked an eyebrow and gave him a mock salute. “I promise.”

  He grunted, the sound all kinds of ominous.

  They left the car and walked toward the small shuttle bus headed for the departure terminals. When they were seated he laced his fingers with hers and rested their joined hands on his knee.

  “I suppose there’s a point to this,” she said under her breath.

  “To ensure they think you’re stupid parading about in front of so many cameras.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “And that I’m seducing you to keep you in line.”