Bodyguard (Den of Thieves, #2)

by A. M. Cosgrove

  “I promise that you will be the first person I call.”

  “Alright. I am going to hold you to that, you know. There will be no escaping me if you start going off the rails and you don’t ask for help.”

  “I am not going to go off the rails, Cat. You don’t need to worry quite as much as you are doing right at the moment.”

  “Fine, if you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Alright, I will check in with you later then.”

  “I look forward to it.” A smile crossed his face. No matter what hell went on around him, he could always take comfort in the friendship he had with Cat.

  He drove through the streets, wishing somehow she was going to be there with him. Not that he needed the support to do the job, but she was one of the few people who understood that even though the job came first, there were some things that even he had a hard time dealing with.

  Some things just brought back too many memories for him and made the job very difficult. Though they had not talked much about their pasts, he knew that she too harbored the same guilt and scars that he did. That they had gone in to do a job and they were the ones who had ended up damaged in some way. A way that would never completely heal.

  He shook his head and tried to clear away the dangerous thoughts that invaded his mind. He did not need them to surface now. Now he needed to focus on the task at hand.

  Bo turned off the highway onto the off ramp and headed into the heart of the city towards the hospital.

  He wondered what she was going to be like. She seemed like the strong, independent type. The file stated that she was one of the top prosecutors in the country and had one of the highest conviction rates around. That in itself would make a whole lot of the criminals that existed in every city very unhappy that she was around.

  It would make them happier still to know that she had been hurt and that would possibly give them a chance to finish her off in her weakened state.

  That was something that he was not about to allow. He had spent many years on protective detail in the army, protecting civilians and dignitaries alike. Even when he had come back home, he had continued to do the odd protection job until eventually the demons of his past had caught up to him and he found he could no longer do that line of work.

  That was when he had hooked up with the group at D.O.T.. It had been right up his alley. Just enough action that he didn’t get bored but no one other than his team had needed his protection.

  Until now.

  He only hoped that he would be able to live up to the job and not let the rest of the team down.

  Chapter 3

  Bo took a deep breath and got out of his Jeep. The wind picked up as he closed the door, sending a few leaves and a paper coffee cup bouncing across the parking lot.

  He pulled his jacket close and took a quick glance at the sky. The weather report said it might rain later on. Bo doubted the sky would hold another hour the way the clouds are gathering.

  Crossing the parking lot, he nodded to the security guard that was under the hospital.

  “Morning, Sir,” the man waved to him. “Morning.” Bo turned back and moved on.

  Bo hated hospitals. They were wonderful as far as the advances in medicine and the seemingly miraculous things they could do nowadays. However, woeful moans and sharp cries of agony brought back memories of his time in the war. He could still see the faces of the innocent victims caught up in a battle that wasn't their choice to fight. He remembered the mothers wailing over their dead husbands’ bodies, others begging him to take their child with him back to the Western world where things were safer. The look in their eyes was burned into his mind forever.

  “Are you going up?” the petite blonde asked, holding the elevator door open for him, smiling.

  “Yes. Sorry.” He cleared his throat, which had suddenly become dry.

  The door closed behind him as he stepped on and pushed the button for the fifth floor.

  “Family?” The woman spoke again as the elevator begin to move upwards.

  “No,” he answered a little too sharply and immediately felt bad about it.

  “Oh. Sorry,” she mumbled, the friendly light in her blue eyes fading as she looked down at her shoes.

  “No, I'm sorry I was rude,” he mumbled, feeling awkward. “I'm here to see a friend but I'm afraid I don't like hospitals that much.”

  “I'm not sure there is anyone who really likes hospitals.” Her face brightening again, “Well, maybe the doctors and nurses do at to some extent. I mean, they get to make people feel better and stuff.”

  Bo looked at her a moment, saying nothing, as the elevator arrived on his floor and he stepped out.

  “Have a nice day.” She beamed. “Well, as good as you can have.”

  “You too,” he mumbled and headed off down the hallway as the doors closed once again.

  Scanning the hallway, he could see two uniformed officers talking to each other at the end of the hall. He took a deep breath to re-center his mind before he approached them. He had a job to do and no good would come of him failing to be completely on point.

  “Good afternoon, officers.” Bo nodded at them as he came up in front of them.

  Bo noticed they both instinctively placed their hands on the butts of their guns.

  “Can we help you?” the taller one asked.

  “I'm here to see Miss Wood—-” Bo started to reply.

  “Miss Woods is not receiving visitors at this time,” the other man cut him off, his hand still on his weapon.

  “I understand that but I'll try it again—-”

  “Look, we don't want any trouble here, pal, so unless you’re family, you would do best to move along.”

  “Honestly, officers, I'm not looking for trouble—-”

  “Good. Then we'll be moving along then?”

  The back and forth with these two was making his head spin. The constant interrupting was irritating him. It was not a good combination.

  “Officers, while I understand that you are both just doing your job, if you would be ever so kind as to let me finish what I was saying, you would see that I do have a legitimate reason for being here,” Bo grumbled, trying to keep his temper from overflowing.

  “Really, and just what would that be?” the tall one sneered.

  “I've been asked to come here by Detective Stan Brookshire. The company I work for has been hired to protect Miss Woods upon her release from the hospital.”

  The two uniforms looked at each other and then back at Bo.

  “What is the name of the company that you work for? Shorty, I.D. him again,” relaxing a little.

  “D.O.T. Recovery.”

  “Recovery company?” The tension was back in a blink of an eye.

  “Listen.” Bo held up his hands. “We are a recovery company, yes, but we are helping Miss Woods as a favor to Detective Brookshire.”

  “Sure you are.” Suspicion and leeriness seeping into this voice, “Are you with the press?” Tallboy glared at him as Shorty turned away and spoke into his radio.

  “I completely understand where you guys are coming from. I wouldn't trust anyone either, given the circumstances. You guys are doing your jobs same as I am.” Bo took a deep breath, reminding himself that the officers, while slightly annoying, were only doing their jobs. “Once your partner confirms what I've told you, you will see.”

  His partner did not take his eyes off Bo. Minutes dragged on for what seemed like hours before Shorty returned to them and smiled.

  “He's clear.”

  Tallboy nodded and visibly relaxed his shoulders.

  “We are very sorry about that.” Shorty reached out his hand to Bo, “I'm Tom Glavine and this here is Joe King.”

  “Bo Jackson,” Bo reciprocated, shaking both men's hands.

  “Like that football player?” Tom asked, smiling.

  “Something like that.” Bo groaned inwardly. If he had a dollar for every time someone made that comment, he would never have t
o work another day in his life.

  “Anything we can do to help you?” Joe offered.

  “Nothing at the moment, but I'll speak to you once I've had the chance to introduce myself to Miss Woods.”

  “Of course,” Jim said, suddenly cheery and stepping aside to allow Bo to enter the room.

  He stepped into her room; the first bed just inside the door was empty. The curtains were drawn on the bed closest to the window.

  “Miss Woods?” Bo said, stepping up to the wrong person.

  “Who is it?” a woman's voice replied quietly.

  “My name is Bo Jackson, Ma’am. I'm from the D.O.T.; Detective Brookshire sent me.” Bo figured it was best to get it all out at once after his little run in with the officers out front.

  He waited for her to reply.

  “Now, if this is a bad time, I can come back a little later.”

  He could hear her sigh before she spoke.

  “I would rather you just not come back at all, but I highly doubt that is going to happen.”

  “I am sorry, Ma’am, but we both know that isn’t going to happen.”

  “I know,” the disembodied voice replied.

  Bo waited.

  “You might as well come in since I can’t get rid of you.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” Bo said, parting the curtains and stepping inside.

  He stopped. The picture they have been given had depicted a beautiful, strong-looking prosecutor, the kind of woman who cut you down with a glance.

  The woman lying in the hospital bed shared the same high cheekbones and the plump lips, but gone was the perfectly dyed hair and the tough as nails stature.

  She looked so helpless lying there, hooked up to I.V.s and monitors.

  “What? You act like you've never seen a woman lying in a hospital bed before.” While her body might have been temporarily rendered helpless, there was no missing the fire in her brown eyes.

  “My apologies, Ma'am,” Bo mumbled, momentarily losing his train of thought.

  “Mr. Jackson, We are going to be spending a lot of time together in the coming weeks, correct?”

  “Yes, as far as I'm aware, I will be with you until either they catch the person or the persons responsible, or until they believe the threat on your life has been neutralized.”

  “Whatever,” she waved her hand, “And since we are going to be spending time together, there is one thing that you're going to have to do for me immediately.”

  “Of course, what would you like?” He was confused briefly, but felt slightly curious as to what her request would be.

  “You really need to stop calling me ‘ma'am’.”

  *****

  Olivia stared at him. He was a good-looking man. Clearly he spent a lot of time at the gym, based on his well-chiseled figure.

  “Excuse me?” His deep brown eyes looked perplexed.

  “I said that you are going to have to stop calling me ma'am if we are going to spend the next little while together.”

  “Okay. Miss Woods—-” he started again before she cut him off.

  “Please, Olivia.” She held up her good hand, wincing slightly as she shifted, causing a sharp pain in her bad shoulder.

  “Olivia,” he repeated and stood there looking uncomfortable.

  “Have a seat, you look absolutely ridiculous standing there, looking like that.”

  He dutifully sat in the chair that the detective had been sitting in a short while before.

  “So,” she said to him, “Are we just going to sit here in silence or do you have things you need to talk to me about?”

  “Yes, I'm sorry I—-“

  “I get it. From what I've learned in the last ten minutes, being someone's bodyguard isn't exactly what you signed up to do.”

  He looked at her confused again.

  “Good ears. I could hear you getting through the good old boys out there.”

  He smiled.

  “Good you are human.” She smiled back.

  “Yes. We should discuss the plan for when you are discharged from the hospital.”

  She nodded and let out a sigh. She was hoping that whatever was going on was over and dealt with before the doctor thought about releasing her. She wanted to get back to work.

  “Ma’am?” His smooth voice cut through her thoughts.

  “Olivia,” she said absently, thinking about what she needed to get done once she got herself back to the office. Her mind was not on whatever it was he was talking to her about.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “No, I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

  “Bo Jackson, Ma-—Olivia.”

  “Bo. Good.” She would have to try to remember that.

  “Please don’t say anything about being related to the football player.” His face was serious but she could see a small twinkle in his eye.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad, she thought.

  “What were you saying, Bo?” she asked, pulling her mind back to the task at hand.

  “I was asking if you knew when they were thinking of letting you out of here?”

  “I don’t know. They haven’t said. Although, if I had my way, it would be sooner rather than later.”

  He nodded, “I understand.”

  She looked at him, trying to make out what he was all about. Quiet was the first word that came to mind. Brooding was another. She wondered what sort of a man would make recovery work his job.

  “So,“ she started in an effort to restart the conversation. The man was certainly not much of a conversationalist.

  “We need to find out when they are letting you out. As soon as you know, you will have to make sure you let me or one of the other members of D.O.T. know.”

  “You’re not going to be the one watching me the entire time?” She was sure the detective had said that there would be one bodyguard at all times.

  A slight tremor in her stomach began. If there were more of them, how was she going to be able to tell them all from one another? How would she distinguish the people sent to protect her from the people who might come to do her harm?

  “I am going to be the one with you most, if not all of the time. I only meant that if I was out taking care of things for your return home, and I was unreachable that you would be able to contact my associates in the meantime."

  "For a second there, I thought that I was going to have to deal with more than one of you."

  "I can assure you, one of us is more than enough."

  "You said that you are from D.O.T. Recovery. What sort of recovery is that, that would need that sort of specialty?" she asked, finally finding her way into the line of questions she wanted to ask.

  "We find things that people need finding, Ma’am."

  "What sorts of things would need finding that would employ people who could double as a bodyguard?" she pressed.

  "Sometimes things are taken by people who are less than scrupulous and we have to retrieve them and get them back to their rightful owners," he explained, looking at his hands.

  She watched him rub his hands together. His fingers long, his palms had a slight callous to them. Definitely a man who used the weight room at the local gym.

  "Sort of like pirates?" she asked quietly, still watching his fingers move slowly back and forth together.

  "Hmm?" he asked looking up, their eyes met. Her breath caught in her throat, as their eyes locked for a moment.

  "The people you have to track down, they are sort of like pirates?" She looked away at her own hands, immediately starting to pick at the tape on her I.V.

  "Something like that, I guess you could say." He was still looking at her. She could feel the heat of his gaze.

  What was he looking at? Surely she wasn’t anything to look at in the condition she was in at that moment.

  "Is it dangerous?" she asked, returning his gaze, hoping to make him look away, but he held her eyes.

  "Sometimes."

  She nodded and looked away again. Her m
ind was all fuzzy and she blamed the drugs that they had her on for the pain. It made her angry that she had so little control over her mind. She was not used to being out of control.

  "So, what do you do?" she asked, not looking up again, but fighting to keep him talking so she would have time to clear her head of some of the fog.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean for the company. What is your roll? Or are you simply just the hired gun?"

  He laughed.

  "You have a very odd perception of the way our company works."

  "Well, you just said that you are in a recovery business and that you fight against pirates, and that sometimes it gets dangerous."

  "I suppose I did, but how did you get that I am, as you called it, ‘a hired gun’ out of that?" His eyebrow raised in curiosity.

  "You are the one your boss sent to be my bodyguard, so I would have to assume that you are the one with the most skill and experience in protecting someone from danger."

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, she wondered if she had made him angry. Not that it really should have mattered to her, she honestly didn’t want him there in the first place, but there was something about him that had managed to disarm some of the hostility she’d originally had towards the idea.

  That was one of her biggest weaknesses. Inside the courtroom, she was strong and almost ruthless with her job, there wasn’t anything she wasn’t willing to do to make sure that justice for the victims was had. But the second she stepped out of the courtroom, away from her office, she had this soft side to her that left her feeling incredibly vulnerable.

  “I guess that is true,” he said abruptly.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she apologized, realizing she might struck a nerve.

  “Don’t worry about it. I really should get going,” he said, standing up. “I would like to head over to your apartment and have a look around and make sure it is safe and secure for you there.”

  “Yes, of course.” She swallowed hard, his short tone striking at her already frayed nerves. “My keys are in drawer there.”

  She motioned with her good hand to the side table.

  He reached in and scooped her keys out.

  “You really shouldn’t leave them so readily accessible when there is a threat on your life.” He glared at her.