Regardless, hiring a bodyguard for her due to couple of newspaper-clipping-and-paste threats was ridiculous.
“Daddy, don’t you think you’re going a bit overboard? Why would anyone possibly want to hurt me?”
Her father gestured to Rosa, his personal servant who dogged his every step, for another drink. “You don’t achieve my level of success without making a few enemies, Sapphira.” He shot her a dark look. “Furthermore, I’ve heard rumblings about your recent activities--“
A dart of panic landed in her chest. He couldn’t have-- She’d been so careful--
“--and Cindy Ward’s father, in particular, is displeased.”
Sapphira felt a tremulous smile of relief slide over her numb lips. So he didn’t know about her work. Thank God. “Cindy’s a vital asset to Belle Charities,” she told him. “She’s got a wonderful way of making people open their wallets for a good cause.”
He snorted. “That way is called blackmail, Sapphira. She threatened to out her own brother, for pity’s sake.”
Too true, she knew, feeling a grin slide across her lips. Cindy Ward was the perfect Atlanta socialite. A proud member of the country club, she shopped at all the right stores, attended all the right parties and kept up with every bit of dirt.
On everybody.
She was stubborn, opinionated, big-hearted and generous. She was also one of the best friends Sapphira had ever had.
“You’re not going to change my mind about this, Sapphira. I’ve already contacted an agency and have arranged for your care. A security specialist will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning.”
She gulped. “Tomorrow morning?”
“That’s right. I’ve contracted Ranger Security. They’ll be looking into the matter, tracing the source of the letters, and will provide twenty-four hour security.”
Twenty-four hour security? Surely he didn’t mean-- “What do you mean twenty-four hour security?” she asked, a big ball of dread bouncing in her gut. They’d have to file reports with her father, chronicle her comings and goings. She swallowed the nausea creeping up her throat.
“Exactly what I said,” he told her, frowning. “Round the clock care.”
“A round the clock baby-sitter? Because of two little letters?” she said, her voice escalating with outrage. She reached for her hand-sanitizer--aka her fix--and vigorously rubbed it into her palms.
“You’re the intended target of those two little letters.”
She had to admit when she’d seen them she’d gotten a bit of a chill. Your daughter’s in danger. Sapphira’s not safe. Still... A twenty-four hour bodyguard?
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes, Sapphira. I’ve researched the local security companies. Ranger Security is at the top of their field. Every agent is a former Ranger. They’re smart, competent and trained in lethal force. You’re completely safe in their hands.”
She wasn’t worried so much about being safe as she was being watched. If her father had gone to the trouble to hire a bodyguard, no doubt that bodyguard would be making regular reports to her dad.
Not good.
She’d worked hard to cover her tracks, to make sure that her father hadn’t found out just have far she’d taken Belle Charities. He was under the impression that she and few friends got together over manies and pedies and doled out a small portion of their allowances. If he had any idea that she’d turned it into a multimillion dollar charitable organization--complete with an underground staff she managed--as well as her regular trips into the inner city to mentor unwed mothers, he’d not only freak, he’d cut her off.
The realization made her stomach lurch.
She had too many people depending on her to let that happen. Programs in place that provided scholarships, food, medical care--the things she personally financed with her so-called salary. She couldn’t let them down.
Wouldn’t.
Furthermore, what about Carmen? She was due any day now and Sapphira had promised to be in the delivery room with her. How was she supposed to attend OB visits and birthing classes with a freaking bodyguard in tow? She rubbed more sanitizer into her palms. Good grief, what a nightmare.
Though she’d tried to stay focused on providing help and keeping an emotional distance, something about Carmen Martinez had inexplicably tugged at Sapphira’s heartstrings. Petite yet fierce, Carmen was smart and hard-working, resourceful and funny. At seventeen she was awfully young to be a mother, but despite her circumstances looked forward to it all the same. There was a maturity in her that one didn’t often see in one so young, a wry but resigned wit at her dire circumstances. No family--her foster parents had kicked her out when they’d discovered the pregnancy--no support and no boyfriend. Evidently the college boy--one whose family Sapphira knew rather well--who’d positively adored her before her pregnancy suddenly remembered he had a girlfriend and couldn’t be burdened by a baby.
Too bad, Sapphira thought, eyes narrowing. There was nothing to be done at the moment, but the instant the baby was born, she planned to make sure the father was named in a paternity suit. In fact, she planned to personally cover the attorney’s fees.
When she’d first decided to mentor, Sapphira knew it had been her way with coping with her own unplanned teenage pregnancy. Though it seemed like a lifetime ago and though she’d lost her baby early on, she’d never completely gotten over the paralyzing fear of being pregnant at such an early age and losing her baby...
Losing her baby, despite the wrath and ridicule she would have faced from her parent’s, had broken something inside of her. She’d been seventeen, in love in only the way a teenager could be--wide-eyed, whole-heartedly, head over heels to the point of destruction. A whispered promise, a bottle of wine and an “I love you” later, she’d parted with her virginity without protection and month later both her period and the boyfriend were MIA. She’d been so panicked, so ashamed, but so hopeful over her baby. She might have been young, but she’d loved her baby from the minute she’d seen the positive sign on her home pregnancy test.
Even hopeful and afraid, she’d felt alienated from everyone. Telling her parents would have been a nightmare and facing Ella, her beloved nanny, heartbreaking. Nicky? Out of the question. Unfortunately, she’d lost the baby--it had been Ella who’d found her, weeping and bleeding on the bathroom floor...and her life had never been the same.
Mentoring had been her way to help, to manifest the change she’d gone through as a result of that experience and Carmen... Well, Carmen reminded her a lot of herself.
“I don’t have a problem with the security, Dad,” she finally said, careful to keep the panic out of her voice because he was so shrewd he’d surely recognize it. “But I don’t want a stranger spending the night in my home.”
“You’re welcome to move back into the main house--where I can protect you--until the threat is neutralized,” he offered, knowing full well it was out of the question.
The sprawling Greek Revival mansion her father had built in honor of their heritage had always been too big and impersonal to her. In fact, from the time she’d been a little girl she’d hated it. Even her room had felt too large and many a night she’d dragged a pillow and blanket into her walk-in closet and spent the night on the floor. They’d always made a joke of it, but Sapphira preferred intimate spaces.
Frankly, she’d preferred her nanny’s quarters and had spent more time at Ella’s than at home. She’d loved it so much her father had built a replica of Ella’s small cottage for her next door to her beloved friend after Nicky had died. The older Cajun-French woman had always been more like a grandmother to her than hired help and Sapphira knew Ella loved her regardless of her paycheck. True, Ella had been reimbursed for caring for her day to day needs when she was growing up, but Sapphira knew she’d genuinely cared for her all the same. She’d always been able to draw comfort from that, to know that she was loved unconditionally.
When she’d gotten too old for a nanny and had heard her par
ents discussing the need to let Ella go, Sapphira had become inconsolable. She’d always had a strong bond with her nanny, one that she knew her mother had resented. Clarise Stravos had kept insisting that Ella had to go, but thankfully her father had taken pity on her and kept Ella on in a household management capacity.
Her mother had never been particularly...motherly. She wasn’t affectionate, didn’t want her clothes being mussed with hugs. She’d always kept her children at a polite distance, preferring to take them out to show them off during dinner parties, then eagerly shooing them away the moment the ooo’ing and ah’ing had subsided. She might have been her biological mother, but she’d never been truly there for her.
She’d never been a Momma.
No, Ella had been and was her rock, had nursed her through the chicken pox, scraped knees, first heartbreak, second heartbreak, and even third heartbreak, Sapphira thought wryly, not to mention the miscarriage. She’d been a soft shoulder to cry on when she’d lost Nicky and the rest of her family. “Come here, ma cher,” she’d said. “Everythin’s gonna be all right.”
And she was the only person who knew exactly what she did with her time and money. And why.
“Ella’s right next door,” Sapphira pointed out, knowing it was a weak argument.
Her father snorted. “Ella’s an old woman. She can’t protect you.”
“We live in a freaking fortress,” she told him, exasperated. A ten foot stone fence surrounded their estate, as well as a gate at the only entrance to the property. Her father had a top-notch, high-tech security system complete with motion detectors and closed-circuit cameras. “Short of a person parachuting onto the grounds, I’m safe here, Dad.”
“You’ll be safer with a bodyguard. End of discussion, Sapphira,” he said, picking up his newspaper. And just like that, she might as well have vanished. She felt her jaw ache and narrowly avoided grinding her teeth.
Furthermore, it might be the end of the discussion, Sapphira thought, bristling at his oh-so-gallingly-familiar autocratic tone. But it sure as hell wasn’t the end of the battle. She might not be able to change her father’s mind, but she could certainly play the spoiled debutante to the point that her bodyguard would want to quit. If there was one thing she’d learned as a Stravos captive it was how to outmaneuver a master.
Bring on the former Ranger, she thought, warming to her plan as she fed Trixie a bite of kibble.
She’d be his worst freakin’ nightmare.
ABOUT RHONDA RUSSELL
A New York Times best-selling author, two-time RITA nominee, Romantic Times Reviewers Choice nominee, and National Readers' Choice Award Winner Rhonda Russell writes hot romantic comedy for Harlequin Books and Firefly Press, her indie press. With more than forty-five published books to her credit and many more coming down the pike, she's thrilled with her career and enjoys dreaming up her characters and manipulating the worlds they live in.
Rhonda previously wrote as Rhonda Nelson, but getting married necessitated a name change. She and her husband (aka The Sweetest Badass in the World) and their menagerie of pets happily make their home on a 166-acre farm in the middle of nowhere in a small town in Northern Alabama near the banks of the Tennessee River. If you’d like to see videos of baby ducks, spoiled turkeys who like to ride in the car, guineas who think they’re turkeys, then be sure to check her out Facebook Page Author Rhonda Russell.
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