Trusting the Bodyguard

by Kimberly Van Meter

  ARCHER RUBBED AT THE GRIT in his eyes, afraid to catch even a moment’s rest while Marissa remained in intensive care. It’d been two days since he found her at the compound; two days since she fell into a coma.

  Jeremiah and Rico entered the room. Rico handed him a cup of black coffee. He grunted his appreciation. It was his fourth cup already.

  “How’s she doing today?” Jeremiah asked, his tone grave. “Any change?”

  Archer cleared his throat, feeling as if spiders had taken up residence in his trachea, and tried to repeat what the doctor had told him. “She’s stable but that bastard beat her pretty good. Broke a few ribs and the orbital bone above her left cheek.” His voice broke and both men gave him the courtesy of not mentioning it as he tried to continue but going down a laundry list of the injuries sustained by the woman he loved more than life itself wasn’t quite so easy. “Doc says when her mind is ready, she’ll come out of the coma.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “Sick piece of shit,” he muttered, promising, “we’ll catch him.”

  Rico agreed, looking as bothered as Jeremiah by the turn of events. Archer imagined the paperwork involved but couldn’t muster the appropriate response. Technically, this was his detail. He ought to be the one to file the lengthy reports, seeing as four thugs had ended up dying that night—none of whom were Ruben.

  “Any leads on where he might be holed up?” Archer asked, swallowing a mouthful of substandard coffee that was probably dirt in another life, yet grateful for the caffeine kick even if his burned out receptors were barely functioning at this point. “What about that club of his?”

  “We checked. Served a warrant to search the premises this morning. He wasn’t there and no one is talking,” Rico said.

  “Why would they? He’s got them scared for their lives and rightly so. The bastard wouldn’t think twice of gutting any one of them if they talked,” Archer said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a yawn cracked his jaw. “What about family? Mother? Father? Brother? Someone’s got to be related to that asshole. As much as I’d like to believe he crawled out from underneath a rock somewhere, he started off with family. Maybe if we find them…we can squeeze them a little for a change. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  “Any ideas what name I should look for? We already checked under Ortiz and came up with nothing,” Jeremiah said, his expression grim.

  “What does he pay taxes under?” Archer asked.

  “Ortiz. That’s the name on his social, too, but I can’t seem to dig up a corresponding birth certificate with that name.”

  “What about his juvenile record?”

  “Ortiz,” Jeremiah answered, indicating he’d already tried searching there but came up empty.

  Archer’s brain was sluggish and he hated being so weak when it was crucial that he remain sharp. He gave himself a shake and focused. He thought of Marissa. It was likely she knew if he went by another name but she wasn’t able to help them. Mercedes would’ve known but she was dead. It took him a minute to get there but suddenly a light in his head that started off rather dim began to glow like a beacon of hope. “Jenna’s birth certificate. Mercedes would’ve listed Ruben as the father. It’s possible she might’ve written down an alias rather than the name he’s become notorious for to protect her daughter.”

  “I’m on it,” Rico declared. “This could be the piece of the puzzle that we need. I’ll keep you posted. If I find out anything, you’ll be the first call. Oh, and one more thing, we flushed out the cop that was on the take. Too damn easy and not a lot of fun to squeeze. He squealed the minute we took him into custody. He also ratted out a low-level sergeant, too. All in all, not very satisfying but at least they’re paying for their bad judgment.”

  Archer nodded his thanks, glad to hear the news but too bone-weary to ask for details. He’d get those later. Jeremiah was an artist when it came to interrogation. He could imagine Jeremiah’s disappointment when the dirty cop caved before he could truly work his magic on the guy. Archer rubbed his face, then noted that Jeremiah appeared pensive as if something were weighing heavily on his mind. Archer didn’t have the energy to waste time pussyfooting around so he just asked. “What’s eating you?”

  Jeremiah sighed, his stare resting on Marissa’s still figure in the hospital bed, and Archer couldn’t tell where the man’s thoughts were wandering. “Listen, Arch, we have to talk,” he finally said.

  “This can’t wait?” Archer asked, somehow knowing this conversation had been coming, probably since before the situation with Marissa. The past three years had been rough. Not just on the job but personally. In a way he welcomed this conversation. It would force him to deal with the things he’d been putting off for a long time.

  “It can but not long. The General wants you to reevaluate your commitment to the team.”

  He expected it, saw it coming even, but when it was put in his face, he bristled. “My commitment? I didn’t realize my commitment was ever an issue. In fact, for the past three years my life has been the job. How can a person get more committed than that?”

  “It’s not that and you know it. You’re a good agent. Fierce, determined and fearless. Just the kind of guy we like on the team but your heart left a long time ago.” Jeremiah let that sink in. And it did.

  Archer let his gaze stray to Marissa and he couldn’t deny what Jeremiah was saying. His heart had left. It went with the woman he was praying over as he stood silently waiting for her to open her eyes. He absently smoothed the coarse blanket thermal over her bottom half and wondered if he ought to bring a softer blanket from home.

  “If she doesn’t make it…”

  “She will. She’s strong.”

  “It’s my fault she’s lying here. We never should’ve used a civilian for a job like this.”

  “No. It’s Ruben Ortiz’s fault,” Jeremiah corrected him. “And he’s going to pay for what he’s done to her and so many others. We got him. And we’ll find him. It’s what we do. But in the meantime, take a moment for yourself and really think about what you want. Your life doesn’t have to be all about the job. It never did. That was your choice. And I think you’ve been paying for that choice for a long time.”

  “What else do I have?” Archer asked, his tone mocking. Hell, he knew Jeremiah was giving him some solid advice but right now he was too damn messed up to hear the entire message. He didn’t want to hear it. “I’ve got the job and the job’s got me. Period. I’m not cut out for backyard barbecues and birthday parties. Do you think I can just flip a switch and suddenly become a family man like she wants? Like she deserves?” The last part came out sounding desperate and he couldn’t hold Jeremiah’s knowing stare. There was no judgment there, just friendship, yet Archer felt he was being picked apart from all directions. “Why don’t you tell the General that if he wants to fire me then he knows all the right paperwork he has to file. Until then, back off. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t make this personal,” Jeremiah said, exasperated.

  “Is there any other way to take it when you’ve been politely asked to quietly get the hell out? Oh, sure, you wrapped it real nice in some bullshit packaging about my heart not being in the job any longer but we both know what this is really about. Kandy. And now Marissa. Two screwups in rapid succession of each other. I get it. And if you think that I don’t want to have a redo every single day for both of these women you’re sadly mistaken. But suggesting that I call it quits is just insulting after all the time I’ve put in with this agency.”

  “No one’s asking you to quit, you hotheaded jackass,” Jeremiah retorted in a dangerous tone, his eyes flashing with all the pissed-off ire of a man pushed to the edge of reason. “If you’d shut up a minute and just listen to what I’m saying, you’d realize I’m right and you’re being a dick. You want to throw away your life, content to wallow in self-imposed misery and teenage-girl angst, go right ahead, but don’t try and blame others for when you’re determined to keep your head stuck up your ass.”


  Archer and Jeremiah stared each other down, two men who were equally matched in strength and brawn but at the moment Archer knew Jeremiah had him beat in the brain department. He also knew Jeremiah had called him on his pity-party and there was nothing he could do but just take his licks. He didn’t have to like it, though. “You done?” he asked, sour and still pissed-off but moderately chastised.

  “Just about,” Jeremiah stated. “You’ve got paperwork to file. Don’t forget. This ain’t high school and I ain’t your girlfriend. So, file your own damn report.”

  “It’ll be on the General’s desk by morning,” Archer said and Jeremiah responded with a curt nod before turning to leave. Just as he reached the thresh-old, Archer offered the man what he should’ve given him a long time ago. “Thanks, man,” he said softly. “I owe you.”

  Jeremiah paused but didn’t turn. “You don’t owe me anything. We’ve all been where you’re at sometime in our lives. Why else would we be in this job?”

  Archer nodded and nothing more was said between them. There wasn’t a need.

  MARISSA FOUGHT TO OPEN her eyes but it was slow work. There was mud weighing them down and it seemed they weren’t functioning properly. But she wouldn’t give up. She was tired of this dark place where she floated on a breeze she couldn’t feel and her mind became increasingly foggy with the details of her life. There was someone precious she needed to return to, someone who needed her in equal measure, yet she couldn’t picture the person’s face or remember their name. Frustration welled in mild spurts—it took too much effort to call more energy than the most basic requirement—and she tried harder to focus. But focusing brought sharp pain and that caused her to retreat, desperate to evade the agony parading up and down her body without mercy. Except this time, she faced the pain head-on, baring her teeth against the barrage of sensation searing along nerve endings and burrowing into bruised flesh. Bits of memory rushed to her mind and she cringed, once again tempted to run away but somehow she sensed that if she continued to hide, she might never return to what she’d known before. And so she fought through the mud, the agony, the memory and the temptation to hide, to finally open her eyes and keep them open.

  Her vision, blurred and unfocused, tried to distinguish the shapes in the room. She could make out machines, a window, a television in the corner. And then, curled in a pink convertible chair, one that went from a recliner to an uncomfortable bed, a man sprawled snoring lightly. She blinked slowly, still trying to make sense of her world and her place in it. He was too big for that chair, she thought muzzily. He’d probably suffer a stiff neck when he woke. And then as the bits of memory came together more quickly like pieces of a puzzle snapping together she knew the man’s name and it fell from her lips in a hoarse whisper.

  But it fell on deaf ears. Archer was dead to the world. She closed her eyes and slept, only this time, she refused to let herself return to that dark place. This time, when she slept, it was simply that—sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  IT WAS LATER THAT afternoon that Marissa finally truly awoke. Archer was thumbing through a magazine, not quite seeing the words nor caring for the pictures, just doing it for the sake of doing something before he lost his mind, and he realized she was stirring. The doctor had told him about involuntary movements but there was something about the sound of her movements that told him they were done with a conscious mind. Perhaps it was the breathy moan of pain or the slow slide of her legs under the blanket as she switched position for the first time without the benefit of a nurse doing manual exercises to avoid bedsores. But when he lowered the magazine, he caught the slow flutter of her eyelids and nearly wept.

  He rose on shaky legs, not even realizing the magazine had dropped from his fingers, and came to her bedside. He couldn’t speak. He’d imagined what this moment would feel like and all the things that he would say to her—how much he loved her, how devastated he’d been that she’d been hurt, how sorry he was for putting her in danger—but as he stared into those brown eyes he’d come to treasure above all things, all he could do was drink in the sight of her.

  He wasn’t sure if she saw him clearly, there was still a slightly dazed quality to her scrutiny, and when she blinked the action was slow and labored as if it took a great amount of energy to accomplish so small a task.

  Her gaze roved his face, resting on the bridge of his nose, the cleft of his chin, the scruff on his jaw, and then returned to his eyes, and he felt himself falling into the rich, dark chocolate pools of her eyes.

  A grief so raw and bereft replaced the pain he read there and he wondered with trepidation where in her mind she had retreated to and what she’d come back with.

  And as the grief rolled into another emotion he felt the tide turning against him. Without words she asked him, “Why didn’t you come for me?” and he wanted to explain how he’d tried to find her but he’d been hamstrung by correct procedure…that he wasn’t John Wayne and he couldn’t do as he desperately desired, which was to ride in guns-blazing to rescue her. The reproach in her eyes mingled with the glaze of pain that coated her stare as her eyelids fluttered closed and she slowly turned away from him.

  The breath hitched in his chest and he struggled to keep the tears from spilling. She was right. He had no right to hope that she’d accept his excuses for why he hadn’t prevented her from being assaulted or why he’d agreed to use her as bait. None of it mattered.

  The nurse entered, a worried frown on her face. “I heard the monitor go off. Is she awake?” she asked him as he backed away.

  “She’s in pain. See that she isn’t hurting,” he said just as a tear escaped and ran down his cheek. And then he split. She was in good hands. She didn’t need him any longer.

  MARISSA HADN’T NEEDED to see Archer leave her room to know he was gone. Her mind was numb but her body was alive with knives of misery piercing her battered flesh until the nurse put in a Demerol drip following the doctor’s examination. She’d suffered in silence as he shined light in her eyes, checked her vitals, questioned her to determine her mental acuity, and finally determined it was safe for her to rest.

  Apparently, there was a chance for a relapse in coma patients but since her coma seemed to be caused by the trauma her body suffered, the doctor felt she was a low risk. Still, a nurse checked her every hour, popping her head into the room to ensure she was still in the here and now instead of floating off into her head.

  Seeing Archer by her bedside, clothes rumpled as if he’d slept in them for days and a haunted look in his eyes ringed by fatigue, she knew he’d never left. Her gaze wandered to the pink chair in the corner and knew that was where he’d slept. She imagined him forcing down hospital food and chugging coffee.

  Yet, even as the knowledge soothed her, a part—likely the part that was ravaged and beaten—demanded to know why it all had happened.

  She’d known such relief the moment Archer had pressed those tiny studs into her palm and realized she wasn’t alone. Her confidence had given her courage until the point she knew—right about when Ruben took a five-barbed whip to her bare back—that Archer wasn’t coming for her. Her courage melted like ice cream in the hot sun and she was left with pure, unadulterated fear. She stank of it. And when she couldn’t see out of either eye and her back wept blood, she’d finally broken down and begged for Ruben to stop but he was in a frenzy, his labored breathing sounding like a man in the throes of an orgasm, and she gagged on her own vomit.

  Marissa closed her eyes against the horrid memory of that night and wondered if she’d ever be free of the stain.

  “MARISSA’S AWAKE. I WANT a guard posted at her door,” Archer said, going into Jeremiah’s office. “I don’t want to take any chances. Ortiz might have an informant in the hospital to tip him off if she wakes up.” He was probably feeling pretty safe with Marissa still in a coma because comatose patients didn’t make good witnesses on the stand but with her coming around…well, Archer wouldn’t put it past the man to try and tip t
he scale in his favor.

  “How’s she doing?” Jeremiah asked.

  Archer swallowed, still seeing that haunted, wounded expression in her eyes as she looked at him. “Not a doctor but she seems to be doing all right.”

  Jeremiah knew better than to press and moved on. “We’ve got a lead on your guy.” This served to perk Archer up a bit. Jeremiah pulled a folder and removed the copy of a birth certificate. “You were right. Mercedes named the father of her baby as one Ruben Sandoval. Rico did some checking around and it just so happens Ruben Sandoval owns a modest home in Richmond.” He double-checked a slip of paper on his desk, adding, “You up for a drive to 1414 Jubilee Court?”

  Archer turned on his heel and said over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the car.”

  JEREMIAH AND ARCHER eyeballed the humble three-bedroom bungalow located in the Larkwood Estates subdivision and noted the pretty flower boxes hanging on the front windows and the sound of children playing in their yards. It was the picture of suburbia.

  “Why would Ortiz hide out here?” Archer wondered, scanning the area for anything that appeared suspicious or out of the ordinary aside from the two federal agents sitting in their car in the neighborhood. “This is a far cry from the compound. You’d think his hideout would be something more like the one he lived in.”

  “Unless he bought this place for someone else. Like his mother,” Jeremiah suggested as they exited the car. He grinned at Archer. “Let’s go see if Mama’s boy is visiting.”

  “With pleasure,” Archer growled.

  “Oh, and try not to shoot anyone. There are kids all over this place,” Jeremiah said under his breath as they ascended the three short steps to the front door. A Bless All Who Enter plaque hung from a nail and white lace curtains covered the side window.