Guarding Him

by Kori David

  It was well past midnight when Nic stepped out of Leigh Ashmore’s apartment. A quick scan of the street showed nothing but a light fog creeping in from the bay. It was colder in the middle of the night, so she wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d thought to bring a jacket. She’d needed to get out of that loft for a breath of fresh air, but she had no plans of leaving without her client.

  Drake and his team had arrived while Cody waited for his warrant and a couple of uniformed officers to show up. Isobel had been on the phone when she’d walked outside, and the old admiral looked both sad and excited to be a part of the hullabaloo. Leigh sat on the couch next to her uncle, crying her heart out. It was the ugly cry too—snot running freely, mascara making black tracks down reddened cheeks, mouth open, kind of cry.

  Ian had only stared at her and then turned an accusing look in Nic’s direction.

  It made Nic feel oddly guilty, that look—as if she’d betrayed him on a fundamental level. The feeling was ridiculous, but one she couldn’t shake. Nic shook her head. She didn’t owe Ian Jamison or anyone else an explanation of her life or family. Her life began when the Army took her in and made her into the person she was today. Her family consisted of her friends and teammates.

  The door opened behind her, but Nic didn’t turn. A warm jacket dropped across her shoulders, and his smell teased her nose. The shiver that coursed down her spine had nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with the man standing quietly beside her.

  “The virus I sent to her laptop was a big red ‘I’m guilty’ sign. She’s not getting off this time.” He sighed. “I’m ready to go home.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They walked easily down the street together until they reached Ian’s car. Neither one said a word as Ian drove home. Nic watched the streets for anything suspicious, conscious of the glances he sent her. She should be pissed that he’d taken off without any protection, but she understood the reason why. If her company were on the line, she’d have wanted a face-to-face confrontation too. The biggest problem was that she’d been worried. Not because Ian was a client and he wasn’t protected, but because Ian was becoming so much more than a client and Nic’s emotions were involved—whether she wanted it or not.

  They were in the house with the alarm set before Ian finally spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Nic turned to face him in the enormous front hall. The stairway was to her left, a way to escape the fight coming. “Tell you what, Ian?” Her voice was tired. She wanted sleep, and she wanted Lindsay to be okay. What she didn’t want was a midnight brouhaha with her client.

  “Who you really are,” he said. And there it was again, the wounded look on his face.

  “This is who I really am. Nic Montgomery, bodyguard with the K.A.W. Protection Agency. White female, five foot nine inches, athletic build, strawberry-blonde hair, and blue eyes. Army Major, retired. This is me.”

  “You left out heiress to one of the largest electronics companies in the world.”

  “And that bothers you?” She cocked her head to the side.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you worried I’ll steal your plans like Leigh? Or are you worried about the money?”

  Ian’s jaw clenched, and Nic watched the muscle jump. She didn’t think he even knew what he was mad about. Not really. Maybe it was the money because hers was a very old, very wealthy family, and that intimidated some men. She didn’t think Ian was the type to care, but clearly, it bothered him on some level.

  “You understood my plans, and your father owns the biggest competing company out there. My gut tells me that you couldn’t care less about my company or my money, but my track record with women isn’t exactly sterling. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  Nic nodded. “That is true. Your track record sucks.”

  Ian reached out, but Nic took a step back, keeping space between them. Once those plans were in and accepted, this job was over. If—and this was a huge if—they were going to have a relationship, it needed to be based on trust. But was that what she really wanted?

  “Nicolette,” he said. Her name whispered between them in the semi-dark, a plea, a sigh—a curse.

  “I left home at eighteen, Ian,” she found herself saying. “My father disowned me the moment I chopped off my hair and showed him my paperwork from Uncle Sam. I did eight years with the Army, and they became my family.” She pointed at her chest, chin held high. “I made my way without the name or the money, and I’m sure that pisses my father off to no end. I’ve been with Kei for the last two years, and those women are my people. I’ve seen my sister off and on, but I haven’t spoken to the great George Barrington-Montgomery in over ten years.”

  Nic smiled without humor. “I love my life. I wouldn’t trade it for some stodgy inheritance that I didn’t earn. I won’t be some porcelain doll that doesn’t have a will of her own like my sister. And I will never live in a place like this, Ian. I am not interested in either your business or your money.” She took a deep breath and told herself to be firm. “I am your bodyguard, and you can trust me with your life. That is what is real.”

  “You’re more than that, damn it.”

  She couldn’t deny the satisfaction his words caused. But these were dangerous waters to be in. There were still a couple of killers on the loose, and Nic needed to stay sharp. “I am a temporary employee at Jamison Electronics and a temporary person in your life. Then I will be assigned a new job somewhere else, with someone else.”

  He stepped forward again, “I don’t like the sound of that.” She must be more tired than she realized because he pulled her into his arms faster than she could move away. Refusing to fight them both, she laid her head on his shoulder. For just a moment, she told herself.

  “You don’t trust me, remember?”

  His chest moved as he sighed. “I do, even when I shouldn’t.”

  “I would never steal from you or hurt you. Not intentionally. But, for some reason, I think it hurts your feelings that I don’t like your house.”

  That pulled a chuckle out of him. Nic leaned away from him to see his face. “I didn’t grow up poor, you know.”

  She cocked her head to the side, studying the self-deprecating smile and quick shrug of the shoulders. “But?”

  “But a big fancy house seems to be the thing to do. It’s a status symbol more than anything else. It’s societally expected.”

  Nic pulled away from the warmth of his body. She was too comfortable in his arms. “The only room in this whole place that actually has any personality is yours. I don’t think you even like this place much.”

  “I like my office,” he said. He looked around, nothing showing on his face as he scanned the lavish but bland interior of the first floor. “I use this house for entertaining and meetings that need to be away from prying eyes.” He laughed again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’d live at the office if Isobel would let me.”

  Nic smiled. The family was close, with the exception of Evan, who walked a step apart from the loving brood. Isobel was a tough cookie, but when it came to her genius baby brother, she was a fierce mother hen. “I’d love to see that fight.”

  “She’s scary when she’s angry,” he shuddered.

  Nic burst out laughing. Ian was finally relaxing around her in a way that he rarely did around others. He had a natural reserve that Nic liked picking at, but this version of her client was pulling at her. With his smile, bright eyes, and tousled hair, he made Nic want things that she never had before. She wasn’t that little girl who dreamed about her wedding day or planned her life. She was the girl who climbed trees and skinned her knees and ran off to join the Army.

  Ian Jamison made her feel gooey inside—girly. Nic didn’t know what to do to stop it. She’d tried, and the only option left was walking out the door and leaving this job—something she could never do. Nic had never quit anything in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now, which meant that her heart was in trouble—real
trouble for the first time in her life. Still, she couldn’t help wanting to know everything about Ian.

  “What kind of house would you actually like to live in?”

  “I haven’t thought about it,” he said. “I’ve been too busy building Jamison Electronics into a company that can play in the big leagues. This contract will put me there.” He motioned to the couch. It was one in the morning, but they were in a private bubble that Nic didn’t want to break yet.

  “What about you? You grew up in wealth and privilege and gave it all up. So, what would make you happy?”

  The urge to tell him that he made her happy was strong and completely impulsive. So, she ignored it and said, “I want a piece of land. Someplace that isn’t squashed up against a hundred other houses. I want to be able to go outside and yell or play music at top volume and dance naked in the moonlight if I want. I want to be able to breathe.”

  Ian had a slightly glazed look on his face, so Nic poked him in the shoulder. “Stop thinking about me naked.”

  His lips quirked, and his eyebrow lifted. Giving her a slow once over, he said, “No.”

  “Perv.” She shook her head because now she was picturing them both naked in the moonlight, doing things to scare away the little animals. What was it about midnight talks that made confessing your deepest, darkest secrets easier? Maybe it was because she was so tired but too tired to sleep.

  “What makes you happy, Ian? I mean, once you stop being an electronics megalomaniac.”

  They faced each other on the couch, knees touching, his arm out, not quite touching her shoulder. Her hands were in her lap, soft lamplight stealing away the dark. They were on the couch, and the worries of the day and sadness were muted. Instead, they were doing something old-fashioned by sitting together, talking about what they wanted in life. It was date-like.

  “I honestly don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair and then moved it back to the couch, this time touching her shoulder. He plucked at her sweater as he thought; she didn’t think he was even aware of what he did or what it was doing to her. The awareness between them never left but had softened, hiding in the shadows. “I like your idea of having land.” He wrinkled his nose a bit. “You don’t want a bunch of animals running around, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I like the idea of pets, but I don’t want to be a farmer. I want to travel for pleasure someday. I don’t want to run off and leave pets behind to be cared for by someone else.”

  “I imagine you traveled extensively with the Army.”

  She nodded, “But if I like a place, I want to be able to stay and explore, not be told I have to leave and where I am going next. The one thing I didn’t like about the Army.”

  “What about kids?”

  He’d stopped pulling at her sweater, seeming finally to realize what he was doing. While his expression was soft, it didn’t give anything away. “I don’t know about that either. I haven’t really given future progeny much thought. My life is rather transient at the moment.” She cocked her head to the side. “What about you? You want a house-full of little geniuses running about, taking everything apart to see how it works?”

  “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it much either. Until recently.”

  Nic took a deep breath. It was too easy to picture a little boy with Ian’s gray eyes or a little girl with his stubborn chin. Much too easy. She stood up, breaking the spell. “I think we both need sleep. You still have work to do for the presentation, and I have things to do as well.”

  “Nic—"

  She turned and walked up the stairs. These moments needed to stop. It was foolishness to foster his feelings this way, to allow these intimate talks. And, since her stern lectures weren’t working, the best thing to do was walk away.

  * * *

  Drake Page wasn’t sleeping either. It was clear to him that Leigh Ashmore wasn’t involved with the two killers that he hunted. She wasn’t as smart as she thought she was, and Chief Sanders had things well in hand before he left the scene.

  So, he prowled his hotel room. It looked the same as they always did, with bland colors and a moderately comfortable bed, a small fridge with overpriced drinks, and a coffeemaker that yielded a single cup of coffee at a time, not enough for a man that bled caffeine. The desk and wall were covered with crime scene photos and sticky notes. His briefcase lay closed, all contents displayed. He was a visual thinker, and he studied the wall as he paced. The serial killer was escalating. The one controlling him wasn’t as neat and tidy as usual. Not that he wasn’t careful, but the bodies were too close together on this job.

  Drake knew only one of them was a true monster, the stuff of nightmares, even if the other one killed on occasion. He figured the controlled one was an older relative, maybe a father or brother. He’d been chasing these two for a couple of years now, off and on, when they popped up on the radar. They’d been active for about ten years by the time he got the case. He wanted them behind bars—for study, if possible, dead if not.

  He threw himself on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. The profile he knew by heart, what he didn’t know was when they were going to make the mistake that got them caught. Maybe it would be with the next body. That body would be Lindsay Clarke.

  “Goddamn it,” he growled.

  Drake lay there, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t have to give Kei Whyte the news about her employee. It was a false hope because the two men he was after would never let her live. It was only a matter of finding the body and praying for even the smallest mistake.

  And he’d have to work fast once he did because Kei was also a trained killer and she wouldn’t suffer those two to live after what they’d done to Lindsay. She’d kill them both without hesitation, and the last thing Drake wanted to do was come between her and revenge. He’d done it once before and had a scar to show for it.

  * * *

  The dark room held nothing but trophies. Some had once been alive, and some were printed victories. None of them brought joy to the person in the room. Nothing brought joy after the “kill,” not that he’d ever killed anything in his life. He didn’t operate that way. The biggest thrill for him was in the destruction. Big game hunters could be paid to kill for him, bringing him the prize. Women could be used and thrown away as if they didn’t matter, breaking their spirits in the process. Companies could be seized or broken with the right manipulation.

  It was a game.

  Sitting alone in the dark made him feel powerful. Knowing he could make a call to give life or death made him feel—something. Normally, he didn’t feel much of anything. Oh, he’d felt hatred, jealousy, and even lust. Those primitive emotions were powerful and drove him to live the way he did. Hatred felt good. And he’d made that call—verdict death.

  Because he hated Ian Jamison.

  And he wanted him destroyed—him and his whole family.

  Jamison electronics would be another trophy for his room. Another conquest. Then he’d move on to something else for as long as he could.

  Chapter 18

  Ian had managed a couple of hours of sleep before his dreams got out of control, and he jerked into wakefulness, slick with sweat, and a raging hard-on. An ice-cold shower did the trick for his body, but not much for his emotions. Nicolette Barrington-Montgomery was on his mind, whether he was asleep or awake. He was bordering on obsessed, and that had never happened to him before. His company, his inventions were his world, not women.

  But Nic was different.

  After he’d dried off, he threw on some workout clothes and went downstairs. The morning jog that was part of his routine was ignored; he’d use the gym in the house instead. He didn’t want Nic in any danger because he was stubborn about his independence. The smell of fresh coffee and the hope of seeing his bodyguard led him into the kitchen. The coffee was there; she wasn’t.

  Ian wondered how she slept. He also wondered if he was in her dreams the way she invaded his. If she’d been in his bed this morning, the way his dream ha
d led him to believe, then he’d know the answers to all his questions. Plus, a few more. Like how she tasted and what she looked like sleep-tousled and loved thoroughly. His sweats tented.

  “Damn it,” he cursed.

  “Oh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Nic said, rounding the corner and coming into the kitchen.

  Ian shuffled closer to the counter, hiding the effect this woman had on him. It was fucking ridiculous that he’d reached this mature age but couldn’t stop the reaction of his body around her. He might as well be back in high school for all the control he had. She wore sweatpants and a long gray shirt that hung down to mid-thigh. The white straps of her sports bra peeked out of the neck of the T-shirt, looking sexier than lace on another woman. He used to think he was all about the finer things in life—his car, his clothing, his home, his women. But, Nic in workout clothes, no make-up, with her hair tousled as if she’d run her hands through it in lieu of a comb was about the best that he could imagine his life could get.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she asked when the silence had gone on a little longer than he’d intended. She smiled at him as she refilled her own coffee mug.

  “I thought I was alone.” It was an awkward and lame thing to say, but quite honestly, he was at a loss for words.

  “Talking to yourself is a sign of senility.” Taking her cup of coffee, she walked back out of the kitchen.

  Ian gave his body a moment, and when it wasn’t quite so obvious that he was a walking erection, he followed her. She set up in the living room, at the window seat that overlooked the brick wall of the neighbor’s home. He frowned, never realizing that there wasn’t a view of anything beautiful from any of the windows of this house. “The view really sucks from that seat,” he found himself saying.

  She shrugged. “The light is good. It’s not foggy for once, so the sun feels nice and warm coming through.” Her laptop was open, and she tapped keys and watched something intently.