by Jolie Day
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Epilogue
The Bodyguard
Romance Short Story
Jolie Day
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
The characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are completely fiction and are in no way meant to represent real people or places.
Warning: Only for readers 18+
Copyright © Jolie Day
All rights reserved
Jack Sinclair
Former soldier. Ex-convict. Aloof.
Since Jack was released from prison a month ago, he is keeping his head above water with the odd job here and there.
His probation officer convinces him to accept a job with Simon Beauchamp. The influential politician is expecting positive PR from helping ex-prison inmates start over.
Jack, on the other hand, wants only one thing: to forget.
Abigail Beauchamp
Politician’s daughter. Obedient. Searching.
Abigail is living up to all of the expectations her wealthy father places on her.
Nobody knows that her first and last attempt to escape from this gilded cage almost ended in disaster. Ever since that experience five years ago, she has been desperately trying to find the one who rescued her.
When she meets Jack Sinclair, it’s all over for her.
But Jack remains tough and dismissive. When Abigail is in danger, he has to decide if he will bank on safety or rise to the challenge.
Chapter 1
The Companion
Chapter 2
Two Birds with one Stone
Chapter 3
Blood, Sweat and Tears
Chapter 4
Plans for Revenge
Epilogue
Chapter 1
The Companion
“You can’t be serious!” Furious, Abigail Beauchamp stared at her father who was holding court behind his desk with a satisfied smile on his face. He looked exactly like what he was: A smug politician, who demanded that everyone comply with his decisions, including his family. Although calling it family was maybe exaggerated, because, since her mother had died five years ago, it was just she and her father.
“I don’t understand you, Abby-darling,” her father replied and looked at her with brown eyes that were apparently just like hers. “Aren’t you always the one who insists that everyone deserves a second chance? So why not this man?”
“Let me think,” she answered his question sarcastically. “Maybe because he was in prison? And not for tax evasion, but for murder.”
“It was manslaughter,” he corrected her gently. “That is different, and you know it. I had a long conversation with his probation officer. He thinks that Jack Sinclair is the perfect candidate to participate in the rehabilitation program I created.”
“Dad, it’s me, Abby. You are speaking to your daughter, not to a hypocritical admirer.”
“As if I could ever forget that,” Simon Beauchamp said lovingly. My hypocritical admirers, as you call them, are not crazy about the idea, by the way. That’s why I need to lead by example, darling.”
“If you must, then hire him to be your secretary, not my bodyguard.” Abigail nervously brushed a red strand of hair from her face. “Is this really necessary? I don’t need someone to watch over me.”
“Yes, because you hardly ever dare to leave the house,” her father retorted. “In any case, he would be your companion, not your bodyguard.” He was silent for a moment. “I really am quite concerned about you,” he said finally. “If you won’t tell me what scares you so much, then I need take matters into my own hands. I am your father, and I love you. But I will not stand by and watch you withdraw, more and more, from the world and hide here at Crescent View. Really, Abby – do you really think I am that horrible a father?”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she relented. When the wrinkle between his eyebrows got this deep, there was no use in arguing with him. Abigail knew the signs well enough, and wouldn’t waste any energy on a fight that was futile, anyway. “When is he arriving?” The more she was prepared for his ex-convict’s arrival, the safer she would feel. Her stomach churned when she thought about the upcoming meeting. A brutal, brainless type following her everywhere she went, didn’t exactly give her a feeling of security. But how could she make her father understand? She would have to tell him about what had happened five years ago. She definitely wasn’t going to do that.
“Tomorrow morning. His probation officer will bring him over so we can discuss the rest of the details.”
“Which details?” She looked at him, eyebrows raised.
Simon Beauchamp shrugged his shoulders uneasily. “He will need to have a place to sleep, and I thought he could stay in the old gardener’s house. Then he would be nearby if you need him, but he would also not be in the house.”
“Do we have to do this? I promise to go back to therapy if you will let this go,” she tried again, even though she knew better. Her father still believed that her mother’s death was to blame for Abigail’s state of anxiety, and had insisted on therapy. But not even Dr. Selby knew the real reason for Abby’s reluctance to leave her father’s company.
“Just get to know him a little first,” her father asked her. “Give him a month. If you still find him repulsive at that point, I will find another job for him.” He stood up and came out from behind his desk, to embrace his daughter. “You just can’t continue like this, sweetheart.”
Abigail lowered her head so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. Tomorrow then. She needed a plan, and she needed it fast.
The next morning, she awoke with a groan. She had tossed and turned half the night without coming up with a single plan for how to rid herself gracefully, but quickly, of this unwanted company. She ignored her stabbing headache and forced herself to get up. There were days when everything was too much for her, and it seemed like today might prove to be one of those. One look in the mirror didn’t improve the situation, either. Finally, when she was standing in the shower, letting the warm water run over her, she started to feel a little more confident.
Which mask would she wear?
The innocent girl in a breezy summer dress, who needed to be protected from all evil? Also up for grabs were the seductive redhead. This was the role that Abigail hated the most, but she slipped into its skin disproportionately often. Most men were like putty in the temptress’ hands, and Abigail would do almost anything to get rid of this Jack Sinclair. Or should she settle for the role of the smart, but not overly attractive, politician’s daughter?
She sighed and tried to remember the last time she had been herself – Abby, who just wanted to have fun. That had probably been the evening when … she quickly pushed that memory to the side, and reached for the white dress with the red dots. She added a touch of make-up and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail. A smart young woman returned her gaze in the mirror. For now, it would do.
Of course it would be easiest if Sinclair were after money. In that case, Abby would have nothing against looting her mother’s considerable inheritance to get rid of him.
*****
When she opened the door hesitantly, she could already hear voices down below. It sounded like the probation officer was saying good-bye. A bright tenor voice wished “Good luck,” and a deeper voice answered with a curt “Thanks.” The front door clicked shut and she heard footsteps going towards the office.
She quietly closed the door to her room, and scurried downsta
irs. Eavesdropping wasn’t very ladylike, but the more she could find out about this guy, the better. If he and her father were alone, maybe her father would confide in him and tell him what he was really hoping for from Jack Sinclair’s services. Abby suspected that Simon Beauchamp had more up his sleeve than giving his image as a politician some credibility, or giving her a sense of security. There had to be more behind the ex-convict’s arrival.
She crept towards the office carefully and, through the crack in the door, she saw her father making himself comfortable in his executive chair. But before she could get any closer to the door, it swung open from the inside, and a man blocked her view of her father.
The first thing Abigail noticed were his long legs and the enormously broad shoulders that were covered by a worn leather jacket. You could see the well-defined muscles under his t-shirt, but he definitely wasn’t flaunting them. As her gaze wandered upward, she drew in a sharp breath.
She would have recognized those blue eyes anywhere. They looked down at Abby, angry at first, and then worried.
Abigail couldn’t get out a single word.
The man across from her seemed to have lost all words, too. His expression changed lightning fast from one of shock of recognizing her to one that was closed off and purposefully neutral.
For a split second, she wondered if she had been mistaken. The harsh look he was giving her right now was so different than in her memories. Her thoughts returned to that moment in the parking lot with a vengeance. She was lying curled up on the ground, knees pulled to her chest. The shock from the assault had left her body paralyzed, but when he had bent over her carefully, she had come back to life. Determined to sell her life as dearly as possible, she had rammed her fingers at his face, but he had taken her hands in his and talked to her in a calming voice. The scent that emanated from him – masculine, of leather, moss and wood – had calmed Abigail as much as his deep voice had. While he had kneeled on the ground, and had gently helped her sit up, bit by bit, she had been unable to tear her eyes off of his face. She had memorized every little wrinkle around his eyes, the sensual shape of his lips, and the dark five o’clock shadow around his strong chin.
It wasn’t a traditionally handsome face, at least not if you went by the standard of the androgynous faces on the covers of men’s fashion magazines. It was too distinctive and expressive for that.
For Abigail, it was the most beautiful face in the world. When he held her in his arms, she knew that nobody could harm her.
But then the guy who had ripped her purse from her, and had pushed her to the ground, had returned. He was not alone. Three buddies had approached her casually. They were all powerfully built, and wore the happy excitement that brainless thugs often do on their faces.
“Run and call the police,” the unknown ordered her as he stood up.
Abigail crawled a few feet until she was able to stand and run to her car.
What she did after that was something she had been unable to forgive herself for over the last five years. She fled and left him behind.
Thinking about what her father would say when the police brought her home made her panic. So did thinking about what would happen if the press caught wind of it. Her brain and body switched to autopilot as she drove away from the parking lot. When she got home, she showered, and, the next morning, she acted as if nothing had happened.
That was when Abigail’s retreat from the world had started.
After she had hidden at home and had read in bed all day, she had felt no need to go out of the house at all. One week after the incident, her father had asked her to accompany him to a donors gala. That was when she had her first panic attack. After a week at home, the world had seemed unbelievably large to her, and the radius in which she traveled became smaller and smaller. Her father didn’t notice that something was wrong until three months later. He forced her to go to therapy, with moderate success. At least, Abigail had to admit, she didn’t think she would die anymore when she left the protection of the house. She would probably have to deal with her heart pounding in her chest, and her body longing for escape, for the rest of her days.
And with the bad conscience that pulled at her, day in and day out.
“Oh there you are, Abigail,” her father’s voice brought her back to reality. At least he hadn’t called her Abby-darling, and she knew she should be thankful for at least that much. Jack Sinclair stepped back into the room and held the door for her. “May I introduce? This is Jack Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair, this is my daughter, Abigail.” Simon Beauchamp cleared his throat. “I was just in the process of explaining to Mr. Sinclair here, that he will not be my bodyguard but yours.”
Abigail threw her father a disgruntled look. Aha, so the companion had turned into a bodyguard, after all. Simon Beauchamp realized his mistake and at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
“Hello,” Jack Sinclair said and held out his hand.
Abby thought her heart would burst. Would he say something, or let on, that they had met before? She took his hand and was reminded of how soft the fingers were with which he had held her. Just when she thought she might faint from fear, he spoke.
“I am sorry, Mr. Beauchamp,” he turned to the politician. “But nobody said anything about watching your daughter. I thought you needed my services as a personal protector.”
Simon Beauchamp look at him, his eyebrows raised. The irritation in his voice was unmistakable. “Does that mean that you are saying thank you, but no thank you?”
Jack Sinclair nodded. “I really am grateful to you for wanting to give me the opportunity,” he glanced at Abigail coldly, “but a job as a nanny is not what I signed up for.”
“My dear Mr. Sinclair,” her father tried again, “I can assure you that entrusting you with my daughter should not be seen as underappreciating your skills in any way. Abby has been struggling for some time now, to move freely outside the house. The reason, however, why I need a competent bodyguard for her is this.” He reached into a desk drawer and brought out a stack of papers.
Abigail took a step closer and looked at her father questioningly. What had he not told her? She felt, more than actually saw, Jack Sinclair’s eyes flew to her face. His look made her blush. When this awkward meeting was over, she urgently needed to talk to him alone.
“Anonymous letters?” His voice sounded neutral. “Have you contacted the police? … No,” he immediately answered his own question. “The police would have taken the letters with them.”
“Rest assured, young man, that I do have a little common sense,” Beauchamp answered. “These are copies. The originals are with the police, of course. They, however, have made it very clear that there is nothing they can do as long as the bastard only makes threats.”
“What kind of letters are these? Why didn’t you tell me about this, Dad?” Abigail cut in. She took a page and held it carefully between her fingers, as if the contents could poison her. The sentence she read was as short as it was shocking.
I will kill you, slut.
Now she also understood why her father was under the assumption that she and not he was the target of the threat. Her father was many things, but slut was not one of them. The thought almost made a crazy giggle pass over her lips, but she was able to suppress it with effort. “When were you thinking of telling me that a crazy person has it out for me?”
“Abby-darling,” he began, and seemed to be at a loss for words for the first time since he had sought a career as a politician. “You are not well to begin with, and I was afraid that you would retreat even further.”
She shrugged.
“When did the first letter arrive?” Sinclair’s voice told her nothing, but Abigail thought she saw tension, but also a spark of interest, in the way he held himself.
“About six weeks ago. Ever since then, every day. It’s always just that one sentence. Sometimes it varies slightly, but the core message is always the same.”
With core message, he probably meant
that the unknown person wanted to kill her, Abby thought sarcastically. His behavior wasn’t the only thing that had changed since he had to vie for the goodwill of the voters. His language had changed, too.
“And before you ask: They come by mail. No fingerprints, regular paper that you can buy in any supermarket. The same is true for the ink and the printer.” His resigned expression spoke volumes as he continued: “The police now send a patrol car over once a day, and that’s that. That’s why I need you. I can not, and will not, take the risk of anything happening to my daughter.”
Abigail exhaled the breath she had been holding sharply. “Please, Dad. Just let him go. I will be fine without a babysitter.”
Now Jack Sinclair turned to her. “Tell me one thing – is there any reason why someone would want to hurt you?”
The correct answer was that nobody had a reason to have a grudge against her. Nobody except the man whom she had left behind in a parking lot in the middle of the night five years ago. Her life was complicated, and, in a certain way, it was also restricted, but she had always tried to be a good person. The conviction that you would reap everything you sowed was deeply rooted in her. This had earned her sympathetic smiles at best, but also the mean comment here and there. Grow a thicker skin, be tough, that was how she was supposed to be, at least if her father and his party colleagues had their say.
Jack Sinclair was still waiting for her answer. “There might be someone,” she whispered and looked right at him. Desperate, she tried to signal to him that she needed to talk to him, just the two of them. He seemed to understand, because when he turned to face her father again, his face didn’t reveal anything. The difference from the man who had held her and protected her was shocking. He appeared to be completely devoid of any emotion. Before he could say anything, Simon Beauchamp jumped back into the conversation. “Abby, is there something I should know?”
