Trusting the Bodyguard

by Kimberly Van Meter

  She tried not to shiver but her skin danced with goose pimples from the chill conditions and her nerves. She swallowed hard when a suit-dressed man, tall and lean with a polished air, walked into the room.

  “Hello, Marissa,” he said evenly, taking a seat and gesturing for her to do the same. When she’d reluctantly slid into the metal chair, he continued in a voice that was firm, authoritative, yet oddly soothing. “I’m Agent Hawker but you can call me Jeremiah. Do you know why you’re here?”

  Kidnapping was the easy answer but she’d seen enough crime dramas to know that she didn’t need to admit to anything without a lawyer present. Still, Jeremiah Hawker had a way of making her feel like he was on her side…even if she knew that was impossible. “No,” she finally answered.

  His slow, easy smile said I know you’re lying. “Let me help you out,” he began, unperturbed by her lack of cooperation. “Seems you took something that didn’t quite belong to you and possibly killed a man even though I suspect the circumstances were a bit on the extreme side. You lost your sister recently?”

  Marissa nodded, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. Jeremiah nodded in turn, sympathy in his stare.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” And the way he said it almost made her believe he meant it until he continued, “But even if we put aside the situation with Ruben’s cousin until we receive further information, you still took a child and that’s a crime. You understand that, right?”

  She compressed her lips together, hating Archer for bringing them here to face this smooth-talking executioner. “I want a lawyer,” she said.

  He smiled. “We’re just talking.”

  “And we’re done talking until I get a lawyer.”

  He spread his hands as if in surrender but she wasn’t that naive to think that he was giving in that easily. “Sure. We’ll get you a lawyer. I just wanted to give you an opportunity to make a deal but if you want to bring in the dogs, we’ll toss out the meat and see what happens next.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked, her brow furrowing. That didn’t sound like it ended well for the meat. “I have rights…I want to talk to Archer.”

  He sat straighter, his expression going from bland and soft to hard and unyielding. “Marissa Vasquez, you’ve broken the law. Even criminal scumbags like Ruben Ortiz have the right to their children until a court of law determines otherwise. It’s within our rights to prosecute you for kidnapping…” There was a but hanging on to the end of his declaration and she felt herself holding her breath. He stood, then shrugged. “But it seems Mr. Ortiz doesn’t want to press charges.”

  The blood in her face drained and she felt woozy. “What?”

  “Seems Mr. Ortiz has a bigger heart than you realized. Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. According to Mr. Ortiz, his cousin is fine and has since gone home to Puerto Rico. You’re free to go as soon as Mr. Ortiz is finished signing paperwork. You’re a lucky woman.”

  “He’s here?” she nearly gasped, fear pounding her heart like a drum.

  He waved away her question as he unlocked the handcuffs. “Downstairs in the public area,” he said. Tossing the cuffs on the table, the loud clatter made her jump and he winked. She drew back, unsure of what the hell kind of signals this man was sending her but fairly certain she wanted away from this place. He gestured for her to follow and she did, taking the elevator down.

  They exited the elevator and entered a quiet reception area. The hair on Marissa’s arms stood at attention as Ruben’s voice carried as he entered with Archer.

  They were laughing as if they were the best of friends—and it made her blood boil. Her gaze flicked to Archer, seething and uncomprehending of the scene in front of her—and then moved to Ruben, nearly flinching when he swiveled to catch her stare.

  His grin broadened and he opened his arms in welcome. She fought to keep from running in the opposite direction. She lifted her chin—fear was like a drug to Ruben and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction—and faced him, acknowledging him coolly.

  “Marissa…why have you done this foolish thing?” he asked, his tone gently chiding but the heat in his eyes burned with a promise of retribution. “We are like family, you and I. I was distraught with worry, cariño.”

  Marissa looked to Archer to gauge his reaction but he remained impassive, as if watching the reunion of complete strangers. Ruben continued as if she hadn’t silently rebuffed his attempt at reconciliation, saying, “Well, not to worry. You and the baby will come home. Where is my daughter, Agent Brant?”

  It was then Archer affected an apologetic expression as he said, “I’m sorry, we can’t release the child until she’s had a full physical by the pediatrician. Standard protocol. She’ll be in federal custody for a day or two and then we can release her to you, provided she’s given the all clear.”

  Ruben pondered this for a moment but it was all for effect. Marissa knew that Jenna was a minor inconvenience to him. She was the real prize. So she wasn’t surprised when he smiled and nodded as if he understood the protocol and was willing to abide by it. Of course, he was willing. It got Jenna out of his hair for the time being until he decided what to do with her. Marissa didn’t think for a minute that Ruben was suddenly pining to be a father.

  “I have my own home, Ruben,” she said clearly and there it was, the flash of rage she’d known was hiding under that slick exterior. But he banked it quickly in the presence of the federal agents. Since he was putting on an act, she thought she’d join in with her own Oscar-worthy performance. She offered a grateful smile. “I appreciate your offer. I’m sorry I worried you. I wasn’t thinking straight with the death of my sister so fresh. All I could think of was finding her dead body and it messed with my mind,” she said, putting a very subtle emphasis on dead body knowing he’d catch it even if no one else did. His stare narrowed but he countered with an indulgent smile.

  “All is forgiven. Just come home with me. Let me take care of you. It’s all I want to do,” he said. “It’s the least I can do. You know I cared deeply for your sister.”

  Bullshit. She caught herself seconds before the world flew from her mouth.

  “It’s settled. I have a car outside,” he said.

  Ruben, believing the matter finished, thanked the agents for the timely and safe return of the daughter he couldn’t give two figs for and, sliding his designer sunglasses onto his face, walked out the door.

  Archer moved to her, ignoring her look of open hostility and said, “If you’ll just come with me a moment, we’ll get you signed out.”

  She wanted to scream at him but she was tongue-tied by overwhelming sorrow that seemed to spill over her anger, as crazy as that sounded. Perhaps it was the fact that Ruben was likely to kill her—when he’d tired of her—and she didn’t want her last conversation with Archer to be one filled with hatred.

  He gripped her elbow and steered her solicitously to a desk with paperwork strewn about and as he bent down to show her ostensibly where to sign, he whispered, “I need you to listen. I only have a minute. Ruben can’t suspect a thing.” He pressed something small and hard into her hand. “Put these on. They’re wired.”

  He pulled away and she turned, giving him her back as she pretended to sign the paperwork and then glanced at what he’d put in her hand. They were tiny gold stud earrings. She trembled at the implication and her knees threatened to give out. Perhaps Archer hadn’t sold her out. He was trying to catch Ruben the only way possible. Suddenly she understood. Her brain worked quickly. “Jenna is safe?” she murmured.

  “As safe and secure as Fort Knox. He isn’t going to get anywhere near her.”

  Relief made her weepy but her troubles were far from over. In fact, she still might not make it out alive but at least Jenna would be safe and that was something she knew Archer would make sure of.

  She swallowed and caught the looks of Jeremiah and Archer, both intense in their regard, focused to the point of a sword. She whispered a p
rayer, and then she walked out the door to climb into Ruben’s awaiting Town Car.

  ARCHER BLEW OUT A measured breath, fighting to remain calm and relaxed until the Town Car pulled away.

  His gut roiled at the act he’d played with Ortiz, laughing at his lame jokes and pretending to believe Ortiz was sophisticated and charming when all he wanted to do was put his fist through the man’s face. Marissa’s silent terror and Jenna’s sweet face held him in check, forced him to focus on the big picture.

  He whirled on Jeremiah. “Control room,” he said, sprinting to a room on the left where the surveillance tools were kept.

  There was some static as they opened the channel and then the sound of Marissa’s and Ruben’s voices came through loud and clear.

  “Who knew you were such a good actor,” she said, her voice cutting.

  “I have many talents, cariño,” was all Ruben said in return. “And I’m very much anticipating showing you just how talented I am with many things. Did you know I can cook? No? I make homemade tortillas just like Mama. Fresh and warm from the oven…they’re to die for. Ah, but that’s nothing. Cooking a meal is simple. Throw in the right ingredients and you’re already halfway to success. No, my true talents are much harder to define, cariño.”

  “Stop calling me that. I am not your darling.”

  “I will call you what I please,” Ruben countered and it wasn’t hard to hear the thread of malice weaving its way through his silky voice even over the wire. “And it pleases me to call you this. You are mine, Marissa.”

  Archer clenched his fists to keep from snarling, trying to stay in control of himself.

  “Steady, Arch,” Jeremiah warned, sensing the tension building. “We’ll get him. He has no idea she’s wired. He’ll slip and then we’ll get him.”

  Archer grunted an agreement, not trusting that he wouldn’t snap at his friend.

  Marissa’s voice came on again. “I don’t belong to anyone, much less you, Ruben.”

  Ruben chuckled. “That’s where you’re wrong. Because I have something you want more than anything in the world. Something you’re willing to kill for. I admire that in a woman. Your fire and passion mirrors my own. We are meant to be together and now that your sister is no longer between us—”

  A loud crack of a palm slapping flesh resounded through the wire and Archer knew Marissa had slapped Ruben. A wash of pride went through him. That’s my girl, he thought, wishing he could’ve seen the man’s face. That is until Ruben said, “You will pay for that, and so much more, cariño. This will be fun. So much more fun than what I did to your friend Layla. That was child’s play compared to what I have in store for you.”

  “Sick bastard,” Marissa said, her voice tight with pain. “Let go of me.”

  She gasped and Archer jumped to his feet, ready to get in the car and go after them right now, but Jeremiah caught him and gestured for him to stop. “He’s not really hurting her and we don’t have anything that will keep him behind bars for any longer than it takes his lawyer to rip through the processing paperwork. This is serious. Keep it cool, Brant.”

  Keep it cool? He glared at Jeremiah. If it were someone he cared about in that car he wouldn’t be so calm and collected. He’d be wanting to rip the guy’s head off, same as Archer felt right now. Damn it! But Jeremiah was right. They had to play it straight, otherwise, Marissa would never be free of that man’s shadow and Jenna would likely go back to him.

  “All right…but I swear to God, Jeremiah, if he so much as harms a hair on her head, I will personally put a bullet into his brain and I won’t lose sleep over it.”

  In spite of Archer’s vehement declaration, Jeremiah smirked, saying, “Yeah, imagine the paperwork on that screwup. It’ll make the situation with Kandy Kane look like first-grade homework. Listen, I hear you, but I can’t have you going all John Wayne on me. That’s how people die. You don’t want that. I know you don’t. So don’t make it happen. Be cool. Be straight. And everyone will walk away happy.”

  Archer looked away as he shoved both hands through his hair before he could acknowledge the solid advice his friend was giving him. But, hey, he wasn’t a Mr. Nice and go-by-the-book kind of guy, so he said with a shrug, “You know I’m still going to kill him.”

  Jeremiah laughed. “Yeah. The General made me promise to give you the spiel so he didn’t have to. If it comes down to that, I’m a hundred percent behind you, man. The world isn’t going to miss one less Ruben Ortiz. He’s one sick piece of shit.”

  If Jeremiah knew just how bad Ortiz was…he might’ve shot the guy himself. The guy had an itchy trigger finger when it came to bad guys. It was one of his more endearing qualities.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MARISSA RUBBED HER wrist where Ruben had gripped her, twisting until she felt the bones cracking together, and shot him a dark look, full of the hatred she had for him.

  “Ah, that fire.” He chuckled. The sound of throaty appreciation tinged with lust made her shudder. “But now we must talk business. There have been some unfortunate situations since you left and at first I was very angry. Oh, so angry. I wanted to do very bad things, cariño. But now that you are home again…I’m feeling generous.”

  “I’m not going home with you. I have my own place.”

  He waved her statement away. “Your home is with me.”

  “You can’t make me give up my apartment,” she maintained stubbornly, trying to contain the tremor that was starting at her knees.

  Ruben startled her when he leaned in very close. She instinctively drew back but the seat prevented her from going far. His eyes gleamed with delighted cruelty and she wondered if the man had lost his mind. His hand snaked up to grip her chin hard. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. “I can make you do anything I choose. I could whore you out like I did your sister, peddling that sweet flesh to the dirtiest men who ever crawled out of the East Side for a six-pack of Budweiser or I could make you dance at the club, showing your pretty tits and ass for a dollar.”

  She struggled against his grip and this time she couldn’t keep the shake from her voice as she said, “You’ll have to kill me. I’ll never be your whore. Not for anything.”

  He laughed.

  Marissa felt chill fingers of dread climb her back as Ruben smiled, pleased with himself and the situation.

  “Wrong. You see, I hold all the cards. Have you forgotten you killed my poor cousin Manny? He died a terrible death, cariño. Bleeding out from the gut is a painful way to go.”

  She stammered, “You said he was fine and living in Puerto Rico.”

  He chuckled. “Of course I did. I couldn’t very well tell the feds that his body was feeding the fish in the East Bay, now could I?” He sighed as if he were genuinely touched by sorrow for his cousin’s death but then shrugged. “He died with honor. I sent a large amount of money to his mother for her loss. She understands and all is well.”

  “It was self-defense,” she whispered, trembling. “He hit me…he was going to…” rape her. But she couldn’t finish, the words were stuck in her mouth. Swallowing, she managed to protest weakly, “But I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just trying to keep him away from me.”

  “I understand and I forgive you,” Ruben said, false generosity oozing from his tone. She glared, not willing to let him think for a second she accepted his poisonous goodwill.

  “You could’ve taken him to the hospital. He didn’t have to die.”

  She remembered the slick slide of the knife as it plunged in Manny’s stomach, blood gushing from the wound like a red, spurting fountain, spilling and staining the carpet as he fell in a heap to the floor. She could still see his wide-eyed stare, uncomprehending as he grabbed the handle protruding from his belly. And then she’d taken the baby and ran, too terrified of what she’d just done, too blind with the pain of her busted face to be fully aware of the consequences of her actions.

  Ruben tsked. “Hospitals are no good. They ask questions. No, Manny died for a good cause, to prote
ct the family. He would’ve wanted it that way.”

  “You’re a heartless bastard.”

  “No,” he disagreed easily. “I have too big a heart, I think. See, I should kill you for what you’ve done. Honor demands that I snuff out that pretty light in your eyes but I can’t…not yet, anyway. I have too many plans for you and I. Plans I’ve waited a long time to put into play. Do you know every time I made your sister squeal like a pig in heat when I was pumping into her I was thinking of you? How much I wanted to taste your body, feel you beneath me. You gave me a taste, cariño, but it was not enough. It would never be enough. You are mine. And if I find out anyone else has touched you, I will peel his skin from his bones. Do you hear me?”

  Marissa shrank away from him, the urge to get away nearly overpowering. He caught her revulsion and his expression turned ugly. “If you don’t start showing your gratitude for my kindness to you I will do something you don’t like.”

  “You mean killing my sister and my friend Layla weren’t enough? You think that’s not going to stick with me for the rest of my life?” she spat.

  “Your sister brought on her punishment. Nobody takes what’s mine!”

  “You never wanted Jenna!”

  “She’s mine!” he roared as if that were some kind of legitimate justification for beating Mercedes while she was pregnant, throwing her down a flight of stairs and then nearly forcibly dragging her to the abortionist when she refused to kill her own baby. “If I want to train her to be a whore just like her mother, it’s my right to do so! Mercedes thought a little piece of paper would keep her safe from my wrath and her stupidity earned her a bullet. I pray you don’t make the same mistake, cariño.”

  “And what of Layla? What did she do?” Marissa said, tears streaming down her face. Ruben reached over to wipe away the moisture and she jerked away.

  He licked at the salty moisture on his thumb and Marissa nearly gagged. “Your friend was no longer useful. And I couldn’t very well let her go. She was a mess.” He shook his head regretfully. “A bloody, torn-up mess. She would’ve gone straight to the cops and not even my influence there would’ve allowed me to walk away from that. But her blood is on your hands. If you hadn’t run, she’d still be alive. It’s your fault, Marissa. You have blood on your hands, too.”