Wild About The Bodyguard

by Tabitha Robbins

  He liked Sammy. Cared about her. A lot. It made sense then that he would want her to go and follow her dream. God willing, hers would have a happy ending. And one day, hopefully, he’d find a way to truly move on, too.

  They spent the rest of the day, and night, aboard that kick-ass boat–grazing on supplies, sipping champagne and, later, downing coffee while Chase taught Sammy how to play Five Card Draw. When she’d pulled four of a kind first up, and then a royal flush, he knuckled down and got serious. Turned out she was either extremely lucky or needed to work in a casino–maybe not for the house.

  Eventually they got naked and made love again–at first teasing and laughing. Later, smooth, tender and molten-lava slow. There was no downside to being close to this woman. He wanted to know every inch of her until he could close his eyes and create the perfect image in his mind. And he wasn’t talking solely about her body. At one point, with the moon rising and the cabin filled with shifting shadows cast in from the water, he’d spent an age studying the lines of her cheeks, her chin. Her eyes seemed to talk to him when no words were needed.

  The sun wasn’t long up the next morning when they moored back in the dock and Chase drove Sammy home. She leaned across to kiss him goodbye–soft and unnervingly sweet. She didn’t mention when they might catch up again.

  Chase wasn’t halfway down the road when he gripped the wheel to stop from reaching for his cell and phoning. He needed a diversion to save him from looking like a fool. Soon after, he parked and then walked through the sleek revolving door of a building located in the Financial District.

  As Chase entered his cousin’s office, Leo put down the phone and got to his feet. “Something wrong, buddy? You look like hell.”

  Chase fell into a seat and spilled his guts. He told Leo how he’d tried to help a woman solve a decade old case, how they’d gotten close, and how she’d let him know that she was moving on...was leaving.

  Chase ended, “First off, I didn’t want to get involved, but then...you have to meet Sammy. It was never meant to be more than that...a case.”

  Leo had sat the whole time, winding an elastic band around his fingers. “So, you’re okay with her calling it quits?”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “What’s wrong with going after her?”

  Chase pushed to his feet and moved to the window. “She’s not after a relationship. She’s after fame. She’s not serious about us.”

  “And you are?”

  Chase thought about it. “One day I want long-term,” he said. “I want to be a dad, a good one, like my father was to me.” Like Will had been to his son. “Right now Sammy has her sights set on Hollywood and that doesn’t leave much room for the PTA or chickenpox.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says experience.” Chase crossed his arms. “A long time ago, Mom had a friend who’d enjoyed some success in the movies. After a dry spell, she gave up on red carpet invitations and married a middle-aged architect. A ten-week honeymoon in Europe, two kids and a lake full of 80 proof vodka later, that woman snarled to everyone about the shit way her life had turned out. I was only a kid but I can still see her slumped in our kitchen, racoon-eyed and blubbering on about how that waitress part in Forrest Gump had been written for her.”

  “The architect stuck it out?”

  “DUI bailouts. Offers to buy his wife her own business. A generous, ultimately broken soul. When her spirits and health spiralled out of control, he had to consider the kids.”

  Leo caught the time on his watch. “I have a meeting in five. But how about we chow down somewhere later. I’ll phone Taylor.”

  Chase nodded. Shrugged. “Sure. We’ll catch up.”

  Later that morning—over soldering glass pieces together—Chase cleaned up and went into work. In his office, he recoiled from the paperwork stacked on his desk. Instead he wandered around the various areas of his club.

  Pure mathematician Professor Bails was deliberating over a chess move with another long-term patron, retired oilman Rusty Coogan. In the gym, renowned vintner Morris Wessex was grunting and pumping iron, while the Olympic-sized pool enjoyed the dedicated company of swimming legend Keith Bredman.

  No unexpected twists or gun-slinging action here—and, hey, praise God for that. As much as he’d enjoyed working with Sammy on her little case, he’d never forgotten why he’d gotten out of that business. He’d lost a friend.

  And he was responsible.

  Chase stopped at the cafe to grab a coffee and mull some more.

  Just as Sammy wanted to move on from her past, he would love to truly move on from his. But whenever he tried to close that particular door, guilt would swell up and that deadening sense of helplessness, and anger, crept in.

  This coming week, he’d planned to track down David Green in connection to his whereabouts on the night Sammy’s ring had disappeared. He wanted to know about his deadbeat brother’s whereabouts, too. Whether or not Chase could ever prove anything, he longed for an excuse to get in that slime-ball’s face. He wanted to look Hurley Green in the eye and then…

  Well, then he wanted to shoot him.

  Just like Hurly had shot Will.

  Finished his first cup of coffee, Chase was asking the waiter for a refill when he heard his name and swung around. Wearing a crisp button-down shirt and silk bowtie, Judge Garfield stood before him, beaming and rocking back on his heels, looking like he wanted to slap Chase on the back.

  “You’re a wily one,” Garfield said, joining him. “I never thought I’d live to see the day. My wife certainly approves.”

  The penny dropped. Garfield was talking about the anniversary party and welcoming patrons’ partners.

  “It was my P.R. manager’s idea,” Chase admitted.

  “Tessa’s been around a while. The former owner respected her. Clearly, so do you. She’ll go a long way.” Garfield pulled out some mints. “How are R.S.V.P. numbers?”

  “People are coming.”

  “Barb went out this morning to find a new dress. She has a wardrobe full,” he smiled fondly, “but you know women.”

  Chase had to bite his inside cheek, the impulse was suddenly so great. Garfield had mentioned his wife, Barb–that was his in. But Chase could imagine the reaction if he asked about that ring. Garfield was a nice enough guy, and he might be acting friendly enough now. However, commonsense suggested that this private man would not take kindly to queries regarding his wife’s jewelry collection. Particularly when the query related to a crime.

  Garfield’s eyebrows knitted. “Have you seen anymore of her?” When Chase blinked, the older man explained. “The lass who tore around here in a waiter’s suit a couple of weeks back. She was after me, wasn’t she? My man had noticed her hanging around the gates of the property.”

  Chase’s jaw dropped. All this time and Garfield knew? No point trying to deny it now. “The situation that day was quickly contained.”

  “I saw you marching her out.”

  Chase grinned. “You’re observant.”

  “Judges are paid to be. What did she want? She told you, didn’t she?”

  Chase swallowed.

  Oh, shit. Here goes.

  “She wanted information concerning your wife and a piece of jewelry. A ruby and pearl ring surrounded by an unusual setting resembling a pair of lips.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I know it. My wife doesn’t wear it often. Not the type of thing that complements Chanel, necessarily.”

  “That woman owned a similar piece. It was handed down through many generations. Unfortunately her ring was stolen ten years ago.”

  Garfield’s face hardened. “She thinks my wife’s ring and hers are the same?”

  “She only knows that her ring was a family heirloom. And it’s missing.”

  Garfield’s words were measured. “I remember the day my wife came home with it. Not ten years ago. Perhaps eight. The gold is twenty-four carat and the stone is exquisite. She was thrilled to have negotiated a very decent price.
No appraisal certificate attached, but, in this instance, she didn’t mind.”

  Chase was busy calculating. Eight years, not ten. An expensive piece that was acquired for a bargain price.

  “You wouldn’t happen to remember the name of the establishment that sold your wife the ring.”

  “Wouldn’t recall if you spelled it out for me.”

  Chase’s stomach dropped. “I see.”

  “But my wife’s memory is a steel trap.” Garfield was already drawing out his cell. “I’ll ask her.”

  Chapter 13

  When Chase contacted her later that evening and said he wanted to collect her after nine, Sammy wasn’t surprised. What set her aback was his insistence that she wear something dark that covered both arms and legs. And the fact that he said he’d spoken with Garfield.

  Nothing compared with the unbelievable time she and Chase had shared on that boat in the bay. The hours they’d spent laughing, talking...making love...

  No getting away from it. She was falling for the guy. Not only was Chase Wild bone-meltingly sexy, he was switched on and fun—and thoughtful—and they just got each other. But when she’d explained that she was leaving for L.A., he might have cautioned her regarding safety, but he hadn’t exactly laid his heart on the table...begged her to stay. She was glad that he hadn’t—and a little sad about it, too.

  Tonight would he say anymore about her plans to leave?

  Chase collected her at nine p.m. Pulling the vehicle out from the curb, he explained.

  “When Garfield mentioned his wife, I had to ask. She acquired it eight years ago.”

  “So someone else had the ring two years in between.”

  “I asked if he remembered where she’d gotten it.”

  “And?”

  “He had no clue.”

  “None?”

  “But his wife remembers everything.” Dressed all in black, like her, Chase grinned across. “I’ll take you there.”

  Sammy clasped her hands in her lap.

  After her mom had passed away, time seemed to lose context. Somehow she’d scrambled through and had made graduation. Six months into college, she was managing her grief and had taken to heart her mother’s wishes for both her girls. Always find the joy.

  Her biggest joy was amateur theater, helping out behind the scenes as well as losing herself on stage. She was good with figures–she understood them. But her true calling was putting on a show—and staying here meant limiting any chance of success.

  Laycee was happy with her shop. Jay was pumped about law school. Ann owned a successful business and was happily married. Sammy owed it to herself to chase her dream, which meant packing up and moving on...and, if tonight didn’t reveal any more information, putting her search for that ring behind her.

  Hell, it wasn’t the ring she wanted back so much as her family–her mom. That failed audition had been a wakeup call. She had to put her efforts into what counted now.

  Chase drove to a part of town that a person with any street smarts wouldn’t touch after dark. He stopped in front of a decrepit shop. In the hazy light, Sammy couldn’t make out the signage. Down the street, a couple of dudes were eyeballing the luxury car that didn’t fit.

  “What was Mrs. Garfield doing in this neighbourhood?” she asked.

  “Maybe you’ll get the opportunity to ask her one day.” Chase shifted the car into drive and cruised on. “It must’ve been empty for years.”

  “Which means another dead end.” She was almost relieved.

  “We can still have a look around.”

  “Like how? By breaking in the front door?”

  “No. Breaking in the back door.”

  She saw a grin hook his lip. He was serious.

  A few moments later, they were parked in a back lot and exiting the car. A lonely streetlight smeared a hazy glow over the area. Edging forward, Chase surveyed the space, particularly the building’s eaves, Sammy guessed for security cameras or alarms.

  The rear entrance was housed within an alcove and cloaked in darkness. Inching forward to the right of Chase, Sammy felt something sticky and light crackle over her face. Yelping, she jumped a mile into the air. Chase gripped her arm.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered. “We need to be quiet.”

  A violent shudder tore through her. “Spider web.”

  He crouched down to inspect the locks and then opened the bag he’d brought along. She heard a click and then a circle of light appeared on the door.

  He handed the flashlight over. “Keep the light on that spot.”

  A few minutes later, he’d cracked both locks. She darted a look around the darkened lot as he turned the tarnished knob and pushed the door open. Taking the flashlight, Chase entered first. Sammy tiptoed in, close behind.

  The flashlight’s beam arced left, right, and then up and down the narrow, low-ceilinged corridor. She winced at the smell as stale air stuck in her throat.

  They walked past a couple of empty rooms. No furniture or shelves. Then the corridor seemed to narrow; probably imagination but this place made Sammy’s skin crawl. She was about to tug the back of Chase’s shirt–tell him that she wanted to leave–when he turned right into a room and the light disappeared.

  She bolted in after him.

  There was a desk, a filing cabinet and packed boxes set into piles. Chase fished out and handed over a second flashlight before opening the cabinet’s squeaky top drawer. Sammy moved to the desk, which was bare other than a layer of grime. She opened each desk drawer: an empty stationery tray, a blank notebook, more dust.

  Chase wasn’t having any more luck. As he swiped a palm beneath the files of the second cabinet drawer, Sammy crouched down to bust open a mouldy cardboard box.

  “What precisely are you hoping to find?” she asked, praying there weren’t any creepy crawlies as her fingers dipped inside.

  “Any intel relating to the owners, suppliers, stock.”

  She held up her first find. “So, old books no good?”

  Its cover was a worn green-grey featuring a rudimentary gold-embossed sketch. Chase crossed over. As he knelt down, Sammy carefully opened it up. The smell of mildew wafted up, evoking a long ago memory. As a kid, she’d once found two boxes of old books in the basement of their building. But not this kind of book.

  Shining her light on the page, Sammy skimmed words in her head. It was a story written by an omnipresent narrator who had enlisted a mistress to help develop sexual positions. The accompanying black and white drawings were explicit.

  Edging closer, Chase flipped a couple of yellowed pages. “She was accommodating of her master in every sense. She relished the hours spent at the foot of his bed and welcomed the collar he lovingly placed around her throat.” He grunted. “Sadomasochism is so retro.”

  She’d scooped out another book with a circle on the cover. Sammy recognized the title. The copyright said first published in France. “This was a bestseller in its day.”

  Chase had pulled a pair of cufflinks out of the box and rattled them under her nose. “Used for play, not crime.”

  She looked around the dingy room. “So this was a sex shop. Nothing against anyone wanting to provide a service, but I can’t see my ring fitting in here.”

  “The ring was once owned by a courtesan. A jewel circled by gold lips.”

  Sure. The lips were suggestive, but who knew the ring’s original owner?

  She moved to a different box. More books. Some old comics. A few early last century photos. And…

  She pulled out a long string of pearls. “You think these are real?”

  “Couldn’t say. Also can’t say where they’ve been.”

  Sammy dropped them back into the box where they settled with an exotic rattle.

  “This all too kinky for you?” he asked.

  “I’ve read stories.”

  He helped her to her feet, and then theatrically pulled her hard against him. “Are you turned on by the idea of being a man’s sexual plaything?
”

  “Works both ways. How about a man belonging to a woman?”

  With a teasing growl, he rubbed his lips in a circle over hers. “Depends on the woman.”

  When his palm ironed down to the small of her back and urged her pelvis in against him, she hummed out a smile at the feel of the bulge pressing against her belly. She cupped his jaw, dragged her fingers up to his temples and then back through his hair as his mouth opened over hers.

  When their lips finally drew apart, she’d almost forgotten where they were. She ran a fingertip over the cleft in his scratchy chin. “What do you propose we do?”

  “I suppose heavy petting is out of the question.”

  Here with the dust and spiders? She shivered. “Not happening.”

  He glanced around. “Let’s go through the boxes properly. I’ll finish with the filing cabinet first.”

  She was examining a dangerous looking metal device when Chase made an encouraging sound. Slapping the grit from her hands, she joined him. He was pushing to his feet after retrieving papers from the bottom filing cabinet drawer.

  “A personal note,” he said, angling the torchlight closer to the paper. “I’m finished. Dump the rest. See you tonight. Annalise xo”

  Sammy grabbed the note at the same time her heartbeat began to thump. She was smiling, almost laughing out loud, it was so ridiculous.

  “This is a crazy coincidence,” she murmured, checking out the handwriting, particularly the name. “My sister’s name is Annalise. Everyone calls her Ann.” Then the connection faded up, fully formed, and she groaned. Oh God. “Everyone except Rick.”

  Chapter 14

  It was so freaking simple, Chase wanted to kick himself.

  Right off the bat, he’d suspected the sister and then had dismissed the notion for a more likely suspect. This was pretty damning evidence, but still the question remained. Who was the brain behind the operation? Who had been the mastermind and who had been convinced to stage a theft and run with the money?