Guarding Him

by Kori David

  “Slide one out and palm it,” she said.

  A possible kidnapping, an armed woman in his arms giving him orders, and her hot breath in his ear was turning into the most erotic experience of his life. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He had the knife out of the lacy holster and managed not to stab himself. He was familiar with this type of weapon, as he was with a host of others, but this was the first time he’d encountered a woman with this kind of knowledge. It was hot. He tested the weight and palmed it, hiding it from sight.

  “If he gets us to a secondary location, we’re in trouble, so we need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Ian nodded and let her take the lead. He was curious to see where it would go. “What do you need me to do?”

  Nic nodded in approval and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “You’re going to be my backup. As soon as this limo stops, I want you out and ready to call the police.”

  Ian’s ego should have taken a beating, but he was far more interested in watching Nic. Besides, there was no way she was handling the driver on her own. The guy might have gray hair, but he looked like he kept in shape, and Ian was rapidly learning not to judge books by their covers.

  A quick check out the window showed a quiet residential street.

  Nic had one of her knives in hand as she slid off him and moved to the seat closest to the divider. Holding the button down, the window partition slid silently down. Nic said something very quietly to the driver, and then she moved. It was so fast that, had he blinked, he would have missed it. Ian lunged forward as the car screeched to a halt. He was in the seat next to his bodyguard as the limo finally stopped.

  Nic had the knife to the man’s throat, and his hands were clenched so hard on the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white.

  “Look, lady, I don’t have much money, but you can have what’s in my wallet.”

  “I gave you a specific route; where are you taking us?”

  Her voice was soft, but the bite of command was there, and the old guy wasn’t taking any chances. “The way you were looking at each other inside, I thought maybe you wanted to make out a little in the back.”

  “Maybe he’s just trying to get an extra tip,” Ian said. He was feeling bad for the guy, who was clearly terrified. His eyes in the rearview mirror were wide and pleading. The guy started to nod and then yelped as the edge of Nic’s knife nicked him.

  “Stop moving,” she hissed. But she didn’t move and didn’t release the guy. “Who paid you?”

  “Jamison Electronics, Ma’am. I’m just a driver.”

  “Reach very carefully into your pocket and hand your wallet to the nice man sitting next to me.”

  “Take anything you want; just don’t hurt me. I have grandkids.”

  Ian wanted to assure the man that Nic wasn’t about to rob him, but honestly, he wasn’t sure why she wanted the wallet. After a bit of fumbling, the man handed the aged brown leather wallet to him. He looked at Nic with eyebrows raised.

  “Take out his I.D., please, and show it to me.”

  He flipped it open and pulled the driver’s license from the plastic holder. It didn’t come easy and clearly hadn’t been removed for many years. Holding it up, the streetlights outside illuminated the California license.

  “Buford Andreas is your legal name?” she inquired.

  He almost nodded but stopped himself. “Yes, Ma’am. But I go by Andy.”

  “Are you armed, Andy?”

  “No, Ma’am. Company policy.” His eyes implored them both. Wide and scared, they were brown, but fear had made his pupils so wide they looked black. Because he was breathing rapidly, the vein in his neck, directly under Nic’s knife, strained and stuck out.

  “Some folks like making out in the back of limos. I guess they find it exciting, and I thought maybe you might be a couple like that. I was just giving you some time. I’m sorry, Ma’am, really sorry.”

  Nic removed the knife as fast as she had put it against his neck. “I believe you, Andy.”

  “Thank the sweet baby Jesus,” he breathed out.

  “Now, what happens?” Ian asked.

  Nic smiled, and this time it lit up her eyes. “Now, I drive us home. I’m not sure Andy is up to it just yet, and you give him a huge tip for the misunderstanding.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, Ma’am, but what just happened there?”

  “Let’s step outside, and I’ll give you some details.”

  In the middle of a very quiet San Francisco street, Ian found himself nonplussed while Nic charmed the pants off the old guy. She admitted to being Ian’s bodyguard and apologized for the knife, all the while holding the man’s own handkerchief to his neck wound.

  “I take security very seriously, Andy.”

  “I can see that, Miss Montgomery.”

  “Please, call me Nic,” she said. “And since we weathered that storm, I’d like you to be the only limo driver to and from the next several functions. I will pay you very well, my friend, but you have to promise not to say a word to anyone about who I really am.”

  The old guy nodded and promised not to say a word. Ian tipped the man several hundred dollars, and he seemed thrilled with the bonus. “I know every street in this city, Ma’am. I can make sure you get back and forth safely.”

  “A different route every time, Andy.” When he stuck his hand out to shake hers, she pulled him into a hug and kissed his wrinkled cheek. Andy, the limo driver, was her willing servant from that moment on. Ian could see the worship in his eyes.

  He never once asked where those knives came from.

  It was amazing.

  Chapter 6

  Saturday morning turned out cold and foggy. The wind blowing in off the Pacific was damp, but not too bad for a jog, especially for an avid runner. Nic’s eyes popped open at five a.m., courtesy of many years in the military. Even when she was dead tired, when 0500 hours hit, she was wide awake. Isobel had casually mentioned that Ian was a runner and liked to run every morning.

  He probably thought she’d be sleeping, and he’d go alone.

  Nic figured she’d given his man-card a dent last night with her little knife-and-pony show, and now he’d want to prove that he could handle himself. And maybe he could, but she was paid to make sure nothing happened to him, and that’s what she would do.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. She wore gray sweatpants, a tank top, and a windbreaker. Ian was dressed similarly, with well-worn sneakers, and a disgruntled look on his face.

  “Morning,” he replied. “I guess we’re going jogging together.”

  Nic threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t sound so forlorn. I’ll keep up and even jog twenty paces behind, just so you can have the illusion that you’re all alone.”

  The muscle in his jaw flexed, so she knew he was clenching his teeth in frustration. “Do you normally jog the same path?”

  He nodded, “I suppose you want me to vary it?”

  “Not this first time. Run the same path and run as you normally would.”

  His eyebrow rose, “And if you can’t keep up?”

  The challenge was there, but Nic didn’t bother rising to the bait. She’d survived Army boot camp and thrived in the discipline and character-building provided. There was almost nothing that really got a rise out of her. She smiled and said, “Then you’ll get what you want. A run all by your lonesome.”

  “I have a feeling I’m about to be schooled again.”

  Nic shrugged. “I will do my best to keep up, but if I’m unable to, then I’ll meet you back here. What time do you usually get back?”

  “Six forty-five.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Are you stretched and have your cell?” When he nodded, she said, “Then, let’s get going.”

  Ian set a steady pace that Nic quickly copied. He had a pair of gray sweats and a red Harvard sweatshirt, and man did his ass look great. Customarily dressed in tailored slacks and dress shirts, it was nice to see the outl
ine of all those muscles he kept hidden. He’d forgone glasses for contacts again this morning, and she’d had a hard time focusing on anything but those slate-gray eyes. She’d never seen eyes quite like his. That’s what she told herself when she found she’d been staring too long. It was a novelty.

  He reminded her of Clark Kent. By day, tech nerd, but then contacts and some form-fitting clothes and, oh, Lord—Superman. No wonder a woman like Leigh Ashmore was threatening the competition. Not that Nic was competition in that way, but it made some kind of twisted sense.

  When she wasn’t ogling Ian, she watched the surroundings. Several miles later, she hadn’t seen much besides early morning deliveries and ordinary folks, bleary-eyed and clutching mugs of coffee out walking their dogs. A couple of people even waved and smiled at Ian. Clearly, this was his regular routine. It wasn’t until they were on their way back, going uphill, that she saw them.

  Two men, both with short blond hair and stocky builds—they weren’t doing anything obvious, but something about them snagged her attention. They stood in front of an older home with a “for sale” sign out front. The shorter one held a clipboard in hand and pointed upward, while the other one talked. Could’ve been a realtor and client or even someone paid to remodel the place, but the hair on the back of Nic’s neck reared up, and she always listened to those instincts.

  The black Mercedes parked in the alley between the homes was likely theirs, so Nic made a mental note of the plate as she passed. They were on the opposite side of the street and never once turned to look or watch Ian’s progress, but something about them bothered her. As soon as Ian turned the corner, Nic slowed up just a little. She made the turn but stopped, watching Ian jog on.

  When she turned back, the men were gone.

  Putting on a burst of speed, Nic ran flat out until she caught up with Ian, only slowing when she came abreast of him. “How about a race back to the house?”

  He was breathing steady, and his pace had been excellent, but she wanted to see what he could do after running for almost forty minutes. “Is this where you show me up?”

  Nic grinned. “Well, you’ve been testing me the whole way, so let’s see what you can really do.”

  Instead of answering, Ian shot ahead of her. Guess he needed to prove something to himself after all, and he was fast. Really fast. Nic turned on the speed and caught up with him, but he beat her to the front door. They were both breathing heavily, and Nic bent over at the waist.

  “You let me win,” he accused.

  “I don’t even let my niece win at Candyland.” She shook her head and worked on slowing her breathing. She was disgusted to see that he was barely out of breath. “Don’t worry; I’ll get faster.”

  Ian unlocked the door and went inside. Nic stayed out and pretended to tie her shoe. A quick sweep of the street didn’t show a black Mercedes or the two men, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. Maybe this was more serious than she’d given Isobel credit for because her inner warning system was on high alert.

  That feeling had saved her ass a couple of times during deployment and had saved her life during that last job. It was why she had a nasty scar instead of a plaque in the family mausoleum.

  * * *

  Francis “Frank” Leandro drove slowly toward the converted warehouse he and his brother were using during this job. The woman had taken notice of them, even if the target hadn’t. It was unfortunate—for her. Now they’d have to snatch her as well. It wouldn’t be all bad. His brother, Eugene, had been bitching about the forced captivity. The lithe redhead would give them both some relief from the boredom.

  “Who do you think she is?”

  Frank shrugged, “Probably his latest piece of ass. The boss said he changes women regularly.”

  “Should we make contact to make sure?”

  Eugene was ten years younger than Frank and a little slow. Their parents were older when they had kids and, in Frank’s opinion, meaner by the time Eugene came along. But the kid was strong, did what he was told, and was his only blood. If he liked to hurt people a little too much, then that wasn’t always bad in their line of work.

  “No, Eugene,” Frank said. He was the only one who had the patience to deal with him, especially since their folks had kicked off a couple of years ago. “We never make contact with the boss once we get the first payment. We are on our own, remember?”

  Eugene nodded. “I remember, Frankie. But it’s not like the TV shows, is it?”

  “Nope, it never is.”

  “The lady was pretty, wasn’t she? Do we get to play with her?”

  The gate opened, and the car rolled down into the underground garage parking. As a safe house went, it wasn’t bad. Frank had been in worse places. They had a stocked fridge, a computer connection, and a television set for Eugene. He waited to answer until they were inside.

  “Yes, we do, but I get to be first this time. You killed the last one before I had a turn.”

  Wringing his hands, Eugene pulled a face. “I didn’t mean to. She was just so soft. I liked it when she cried.”

  Frank had no problem with a little rape and homicide, but Eugene did some funky shit that freaked him out on occasion.

  Their dad was a crotchety old fucker who liked to use his cane on the boys. Eugene got hit so hard once that he went to sleep and didn’t wake up for two days. And when he did, he wasn’t right. Not the way he’d been before.

  Frank reached up to Eugene’s shoulder and put his hand there. His little brother was bigger than he was and had the strength of an ox. It never worried him; Eugene worshipped Frank. “I know, buddy. I bet she cried real good too. But I get to go first, okay?”

  Eugene nodded. “Do I get to watch again?”

  “Of course. It’s always more fun that way.” He pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge and handed one over. “Now, let’s focus on the job.”

  “Okay,” he said and went over to turn on the TV.

  Frank loved his brother, but he didn’t let him in on any of the planning. When he used the word “focus,” Eugene would go watch a show. It worked out better that way. The one time Frank had let Eugene plan a job, it had turned into a cluster-fuck. They’d had to leave so fast that Frank was haunted by the evidence he was sure they left behind.

  He shook off the negative thoughts and bent over his map. Marking Ian Jamison’s jogging route was easy; it was making sure he stayed true to it over the course of several days that was the hard part. This was the third day in a row that he’d gone the same way. The plan was to take him along the path somewhere and, once he was under control, have him turn over the data for the schematics his company was working on.

  That was supposed to be what happened to the secretary. Frank had been working a little blackmail on her for over a week, but then she’d gotten into that car accident and fucked up all his plans. She’d promised to bring him the data that day; in return, he wouldn’t harm that cute little grandkid of hers, but she’d gone and rammed the freeway wall. The stupid broad had probably been so scared that she lost control of her car.

  “Women drivers,” he muttered.

  “Did you say something, Frankie?”

  “Nah, watch your show.”

  Frank had no idea what the information was, and he didn’t care. All he needed to do was deliver the data, kill the target, and make sure the body was never found. With all the construction going on around the city, it would be a simple matter to bury him in a foundation that was about to get concrete. Or he could let Eugene have him.

  But then the clean-up might take days.

  Frank shook his head—better to find a nice construction site. That was cleaner and simpler. And then they’d have the money they needed to get out of the country for a while. Maybe head down to Mexico and go fishing off the coast. No one would mess with them there. And if some of the local girls went missing from time to time, well, who cared? It’d be blamed on the drug cartels. Everyone knew they were a problem.


  Mexicans went missing all the time.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Lying on his back, Ian could feel every bone in his back vibrate. The sweet woman who’d danced with him and flirted with everyone last night was gone. In her place was a red-headed hellion bent on killing him. The worst part? He was enjoying himself.

  “I thought I knew how to fight,” he said. He rolled to his knees and turned to face his nemesis. That he was letting her kick his ass was a novelty. He liked the feel of her hands on him, even if she was throwing him around. And, he wanted to see what she could really do while keeping it a secret what he could really do.

  She smiled at him and shook her head. “You learned classroom fighting. This is street fighting. All those fancy kicks and arm movements don’t do anything if someone really wants to hurt you.”

  “Clearly,” he said grinning.

  After their run, he’d made them both breakfast. She’d asked what he usually did on the weekends. Normally, he worked. But for some reason, he didn’t want to shut himself away all day. So, he’d had the bright idea of having her “teach” him some of her skills.

  Nic was very serious now, unlike her typical sassy self. She had on a gray T-shirt over black yoga pants and no shoes on. Her toenails were painted a pale coral color, and for some reason, Ian found it sexy. Toes were not sexy, but hers were, especially since he stayed at eye level with them.

  “You have to learn how to take a fall without hurting yourself, Ian. If you’re down, then you’re vulnerable to kicks and punches to the head. If you pass out, then you’re dead in a street fight. You have to be able to roll out of it and away from the kick that will follow the throw-down.”

  Nic dropped into a sitting position across from him. She didn’t have any make-up on, and she was one of the most unselfconscious women he’d ever known. “I’m impressed, you know. You don’t make the same mistake twice, and you’re willing to take some punishment from a woman to learn. It’s a rare quality.”