Close Quarters With the Bodyguard

by Lisa Childs

Jocelyn choked and sputtered, her throat and lungs burning as she struggled to breathe. She reached up to tear that rope or whatever it had been away from her neck—but it was gone. Her hand bumped against a shoulder, though, and she opened her eyes to see a dark shadow leaning over her. She tried to scream, but she could make no sound but a rasp.

  “Shhh...” a deep voice murmured, his voice sounding nearly as raspy as hers. “You’re safe. It’s me. It’s me.”

  Landon! She sat up and threw her arms around him, clinging to him. She’d known she shouldn’t have left the hospital without checking on him. But she hadn’t wanted to put him in danger, too. She grasped his arms and pulled back. “We...” Her voice cracked, and she struggled to clear it. “We need to get out of here.”

  “He’s gone,” Landon said. “Whoever it was took off when I came in.” He reached for the phone on her desk. “I need to call down to Security—see if they saw him leaving.”

  “Did...did you see who it was?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “He ran out fast—so fast that he has to be long gone. I couldn’t get a good look at him, but he was big enough to knock me over.”

  She saw the blood seeping through the bandage on his neck and touched it. “Did he reopen your wound?”

  Using his free hand, he covered her fingers with his. “No. I’m fine. We need an ambulance, though. We need to get you to the hospital.”

  She grabbed the phone from his hand. “No. I’m fine.”

  “You weren’t breathing when I found you,” he said, and his voice was raspy again with emotion. “You need to be treated.”

  “I’m breathing fine now.” And while her throat hurt, she could speak even though it sounded hoarse. “I’m fine.”

  “You could have died,” he said. “You shouldn’t have left the ER without protection.”

  She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left without checking on you.” He’d saved her life over and over again, putting himself in danger every time. And she hadn’t even seen him after he’d been shot.

  “Why did you?” he asked, and his eyes darkened with pain.

  A twinge of regret struck her heart. She felt bad about hurting him. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Or you didn’t care...”

  She gripped his arms again. “No. I do care.” And maybe that was why she hadn’t wanted to see him—because when he’d been shot, she’d cared too much. Seeing that blood—his blood—spurt from the wound in his neck had nearly paralyzed her, she’d been so afraid. For him...

  If he hadn’t shoved her to the ground, she would have been shot, too. He’d saved her then, even when he’d nearly been mortally wounded. And not fully recovered from that wound, he’d saved her again.

  She slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders. “I care.”

  He chuckled. “But you don’t want to.”

  “No,” she agreed. “I don’t.”

  “Because you don’t trust me,” he said. “Even now...”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “I—I...”

  “You’re keeping something from me,” he said. “Something you told the chief in private.”

  Dubridge must have told him that or maybe Keeli had. Because if he’d talked to the chief, he would probably know what she’d told him. She doubted Chief Lynch was going to keep it secret, so it was going to come out soon anyway.

  She opened her eyes and studied Landon’s face, needing to see his reaction when she told him.

  “Luther Mills has a brother,” she said.

  He shrugged. “He probably has a few half siblings. His parents were never married.”

  “He has one who works for the Payne Protection Agency, and before that, he worked for the vice unit.”

  Landon’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What are you saying? That one of my friends is Luther’s brother?”

  “Tyce Jackson.”

  He laughed, but then the laughter stopped, and the grin slid away from his face as he must have realized it was a strong possibility. “It doesn’t matter if they are.”

  “Of course it does,” she said.

  He shook his head and flinched as his neck moved. “No. Tyce was even more determined to bring down Luther than the rest of us in vice ever were—even Clint. And Clint blames Luther for the death of his cousin.”

  She sighed. So Clint Quarters had had a personal reason for wanting justice—an even more personal reason than hers.

  Landon continued, “If Tyce and Luther are related, it’s by blood only. They weren’t raised together, and they are nothing alike.”

  Even while she admired his fierce loyalty, she wondered if he was just fooling himself. “Isn’t the saying that blood is thicker than water?” Then she grimaced as she remembered how the bullet had sprayed Landon’s blood around the parking garage. It had seemed like water then.

  How was he alive?

  How had he saved her life once again?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “You should have told me sooner,” he said. “Before you told the chief.”

  “And that’s why I didn’t tell you,” she said. “Because I knew you’d try to protect him.” Like his fierce loyalty, being protective was second nature to Landon. He had made the right choice to leave the River City Police Department to become a bodyguard.

  She only hoped that his new career choice didn’t get him killed—that protecting her didn’t get him killed.

  “I’m not protecting him,” he said. “I’m defending him. As a lawyer, you should realize the difference. And you should know that everybody’s innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Everybody?” she asked. “Even Luther Mills?”

  “Luther’s never been innocent,” he said. “If the rumors are true, he was just a kid when he killed for the first time.”

  “I heard that rumor, too,” she said. “I heard the person he killed was his father. Maybe Tyce Jackson’s father, too.”

  “So if anything, Tyce might want revenge against Luther,” Landon said, “not to aid and abet him.”

  She sighed. “Maybe you should have been a lawyer. You’re mounting a strong defense for your friend.”

  “Tyce is my friend,” he said. “But he’s my friend because he’s a good man. I know he’s not working for Luther. Not when he worked vice and not now. He’s working against him. Just like you are. Just like I am. That’s why we need to find who the hell’s working for him in your office. We need to find out who the hell just tried to kill you.”

  She wasn’t about to argue with him about that. “You’re right,” she said. “Let’s talk to the security guard.”

  Landon helped her up from the floor. Maybe she’d stood too quickly, for she swayed on her heels and nearly fell. But he caught her, sliding his arms around her to pull her close to his chest.

  His heart pounded so hard that she could feel its frantic beat. “Are you all right?” she asked him.

  He shook his head.

  “You left the hospital too soon.” Because of her.

  Because he’d been worried about her.

  “We need to go back,” she said. He’d just had surgery to repair the gunshot wound. She doubted doctors had released him yet.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “We need to go back for you to be treated.”

  And of course he would be more worried about her than he was about himself. Just as he supported his friend who’d obviously lied to him. And just as he protected her—with no concern for his own life or health.

  She felt that panic again that she’d felt when he’d gotten struck in the garage. That feeling that she was falling...but it wasn’t over a half wall to the pavement below. She was in far more than physical danger.

  She was in danger of falling in love with her bodyguard.

  He was shak
ing. He couldn’t stop shaking. He’d come so close to getting caught.

  How the hell was that damn bodyguard even alive?

  He’d seen the blood spurting out of him. He should have died. But like some avenging angel, he’d rushed to her rescue. He hoped Myers had been too late, though—too late to save her.

  She’d stopped fighting him. She’d stopped breathing. She had to have died.

  But if Landon Myers had come back from the dead, she might have, as well. So he waited on the street outside the building—deep in the shadows where hopefully no one would see him. He tilted his head, listening for the sound of an ambulance or a police car.

  If the bodyguard had been real and not a ghost, wouldn’t he have called for help by now? Wouldn’t he have tried to save her? And even if he hadn’t, the police should have been called...

  What the hell was going on?

  Then, after several long minutes of waiting, he saw them—standing in the lobby. Both of them. They were alive.

  Why the hell couldn’t he kill these people no matter how damn many times he’d tried?

  He reached for his gun—desperate enough to risk shooting at them again. They might have seen him—might have recognized him. He had to kill them.

  But before he could pull out the gun, his phone began to vibrate. Not his real phone but the disposal cell that only one person used to contact him.

  Luther Mills.

  Damn it. He couldn’t talk now. He could barely think for the fear coursing through him. What if they’d seen him?

  He’d pulled that hood up around his face again. He wore gloves. They shouldn’t have...

  But it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. Neither was missing Luther’s call, though.

  He stepped deeper in the shadows, into an alley between two buildings across the street from the district attorney’s offices. “Yes?” he asked in a low whisper.

  “It’s time,” Luther told him.

  He’d already been trying, but he didn’t want to admit that to Luther—not after the man had told him to back off from Jocelyn Gerber. Did every man she meet fall for the black-haired bitch?

  He shook his head. “So you want me to do it now?” He reached for his gun again. Maybe he’d give Luther the satisfaction of hearing the shots ring out...

  “Not that,” Luther said. “We have bigger concerns.”

  His stomach lurched with dread. Someone must have figured it out.

  Luther continued, “A couple of things have gone missing, but not the way I wanted them to. I’m pretty damn certain that they’re going to turn up at the worst possible time.”

  Like his trial.

  He knew that the eyewitness had already disappeared to some safe house nobody had been able to find. But now Luther was making it sound like the evidence tech had disappeared, as well. With the evidence?

  “So we need that little insurance policy we talked about,” Luther said.

  “What does that have to do with me?” he asked.

  “I need someone I can count on to carry this out,” Luther said.

  He didn’t feel any pride that Luther thought he could count on him. In fact, he just felt sicker, like the walls were closing in on him. Or maybe the bars.

  He did not want to wind up in a cell next to Luther Mills. But if he didn’t help him, Luther had enough on him to make damn sure he went down with the drug dealer.

  He sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Pick up that little insurance policy for me,” Luther said. “Make sure it’s known we have it.”

  Even though Luther couldn’t see it—or maybe because he couldn’t—he shook his head. “That’s too risky.”

  “It’s necessary,” Luther said. “Our insurance policy will be of no use if nobody knows we have it.”

  But Luther wouldn’t have it. He would. It was his freedom he was risking now. Luther had already lost his.

  But he was willing to pay dearly to get it back. And he needed money. Badly.

  Especially now. The longer Jocelyn Gerber lived, the closer she would get to discovering that he was the one helping Luther. Then he would need that money to escape before he was the one she was prosecuting next.

  “Okay...” He murmured his agreement.

  And Luther chuckled. “As if you had a choice.”

  He had one—but it involved giving up his freedom. Jocelyn Gerber didn’t offer immunity in exchange for evidence. That was why she couldn’t get any of Luther’s crew to turn against him.

  No. The only way he would get immunity was to kill her and get away before anyone figured out what he’d done.

  Chapter 18

  Landon swiped the key card through the hotel room door and pushed it open. He pressed his back against it to hold it until Jocelyn walked past him. Then he closed and locked it.

  “We’re safe here,” he assured her as he flipped on the lights. “I made sure nobody followed us. Not even the backup...”

  They hadn’t caught up with him, though. He suspected they’d gone to her house instead to look for her there. Or maybe they were busy protecting the judge’s daughter since Tyce had probably been removed from that assignment.

  He didn’t give a damn who the hell his friend was related to; he knew Tyce Jackson was a good man, one who could be trusted with anyone’s life. But Jocelyn didn’t trust Tyce or anyone else at the Payne Protection Agency right now but him. That was why he’d agreed to her request that nobody know where they were.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice still raspy.

  The line around her neck was still a deep red and even more swollen than when he’d found her not breathing. He shook his head. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “I should have brought you to the hospital instead of a hotel.”

  Her lips curved into a smile. “You’re the one they would have kept. I’m sure you left against doctor’s orders.”

  He hadn’t even bothered to wait to receive doctor’s orders, much less follow them. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

  “So am I,” she said.

  “I don’t know how long you were gone...” His voice cracked as he thought of that moment when he’d felt no pulse.

  He touched her neck now, just above the swelling. And he felt her pulse leap beneath his fingertips. He uttered a sigh of relief.

  “So you haven’t just saved my life,” she said as she stepped closer to him. “You brought me back to life.” She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “Thank you,” she murmured against his mouth.

  That kiss jolted him to his core, sending a rush of desire and some other—even stronger—emotion coursing through him. The gunshot wound to his neck and the subsequent blood loss had made him feel so weak—even lifeless. But she...

  He lifted his head and murmured, “Now you’re the one who’s brought me back to life.”

  Tears rushed to her eyes, making the blue glisten with moisture. She blinked furiously, but a few drops spilled over and trailed down her cheeks.

  He lifted his hands to her face and wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why are you crying?” She had every right to cry, but she’d been so brave—so strong.

  “I don’t want to cost you your life,” she said. “I don’t want you to die because of me.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. “It won’t be because of you. It’ll be because of Luther and whoever’s working for Luther.”

  “You really don’t believe Tyce Jackson could be...?” she asked.

  A slight grin tugged at his lips. “You just can’t stop yourself.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “From cross-examining a suspect,” he said.

  “You’re not a suspect,” she replied.

  He arched a brow. “Really?” he asked. “When you found out one
of my best friends could be Luther Mills’s brother, you didn’t wonder about my allegiance? You didn’t worry that I had been recruited to work for Luther, too?”

  Her silky skin finally flushed with color. “I was shocked,” she admitted. “I didn’t know what to think or feel at that point.”

  He flinched. But he wasn’t surprised that she’d doubted him. And he really couldn’t blame her. He struggled with trust, too. As a cop, he’d seen too damn much—had been lied to too damn many times—to easily trust anyone.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  He sighed. “I want you to trust me,” he said. “I want you to trust the other bodyguards, so you don’t run off by yourself again.” He forced himself to step back—to move away from her. “But I can understand why you can’t. Hell, maybe you’re right to trust no one.”

  Because he had failed her. His attraction to her had caused him to lose focus. He’d saved her life, but she never should have had the close calls that she had. That was his fault.

  He had to fight this attraction—he had to stay focused—for both their sakes.

  For both their lives...

  His rejection stung. But Jocelyn could understand why he was upset with her. She’d nearly gotten him and herself killed too many times.

  Because she couldn’t trust...

  He’d done nothing to make her doubt him. It was clear he’d had no idea that his friend might be related to Luther Mills. Her pride and her heart stinging with that rejection, she’d retreated to the bathroom. She’d needed to shower and clean up. But she had nothing but the robe over the back of the door to wear. They hadn’t gone back to her house. She had no bag—no essentials. Not even any makeup or a comb.

  Her face looked so pale and washed out. The dark circles beneath her eyes were the only color on her skin, except for the angry red mark around her throat.

  What had the man used? A tie? A rope? She peered closer into the mirror and saw no fibers. It must have been a tie. But it had been too dark for her to see it, to identify who might have been wearing it earlier that day.

  The door rattled beneath the tapping of a big fist. “Are you okay in there?” he called out.