by Kay Lyons
“Where are you staying?” Lincoln asked.
“I found a rental on the island. A little garage apartment that suits my needs. The owner actually works in craft service,” he stated, using Hollywood’s term for caterer. According to Tom, his food truck made the rounds to wherever the filming took place, be it downtown outside of the small studio building or on location.
“Anyone interesting in the vicinity?” Marsali asked.
The question made him mentally picture Claire.
Marsali’s eyes widened and a smile curled her lips.
“There is.”
“Marsali, leave the poor guy alone,” Oliver said. “Otherwise the next time his number is up for us, he won’t take the assignment.”
Guardian Group rotated their guards periodically with no warning. It was to keep guards and their charges from getting too close and forming intimate attachments. Spending so much time together in tense or downright dangerous situations had a tendency to remove barriers faster than normal, which could be dangerous for everyone involved if the guard lost his or her objectivity.
“Who is she?” Marsali asked.
Denz glanced at her husband, who shrugged.
“You know she’s like a dog with a bone.”
“A dog? Really?” Marsali shot a tolerating glare at her SO. “I’d better be a cute one.”
“Always.”
Denz watched the byplay with amusement. “I never said there was a she, Mrs. B.”
“You didn’t have to. I’m good at reading people, and while you do a really good stone-cold, tough-guy expression, you slipped and I saw it. Now, who is she?”
Carter, Lincoln, and Mac as well as the ladies drilled him with their gazes. “Okay, fine. There may have been a surprise today.”
“Oh, do tell,” Marsali said, sliding an elbow onto the table to prop her chin on, waiting expectantly.
He shook his head at her antics. “The, uh, guy I rented the apartment from has a daughter and grandson who showed up to visit.”
“Oh, do you know anything else about her? How old is her son?” Marsali asked.
“I’d guess fifteen given his height, but I think he’s younger. Big kid, though. Needs to be in basketball.”
“Not married?” Marsali’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Couldn’t tell you,” he said.
“Was she wearing a ring?”
“Mrs. B, stop.”
Everyone laughed.
“I haven’t done anything,” she said, blinking innocently.
“You’re thinking it and…trust me, she’d say no. She had a lot to say about the fact I’ve got a bullet wound.”
“How’d she see it and know the sling wasn’t for a broken arm or something?” Eliza asked.
Realizing he’d dug himself a hole he was going to have to climb out of, he grabbed the water glass in front of him and wished the waitress would hurry up. “I’d just gotten out of the shower when I heard someone trying to get into the apartment. The owner had said people sometimes walk through the yards on their way to the beach just to see what they can steal, so I opened the door.”
“Naked?” Marsali asked, gasping.
Denz was well aware of the glares he was now receiving from the ladies’ male companions. “I had a towel.”
“Mmm, but where?” Eliza, the most ornery one in the group, murmured with a blink and a grin.
Eliza’s husband whispered something in her ear, and she waggled her eyebrows at him, eyes sparkling and a flirtatious look on her face.
“I was perfectly respectable considering I thought someone was breaking in,” he countered. Were all women like this? He hadn’t been around many in a setting like this one, but the questions had him squirming in his seat, something his boss wouldn’t be happy to see.
“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked, finally pausing by their table.
Denz stared up at the teenager like the lifeline she was. “Definitely.”
“We’ve got his,” Marsali said to the waitress. “It’s a business meeting, after all.”
Denz’s fingers gripped the menu until his fingers turned white. “I am not joining your database, Mrs. B.”
Marsali gave him the sweetest smile and cocked her head to one side.
“Hmm. Are you sure about that?”
Chapter 6
Claire left the house after her statement to her father about Tommy and hurried down the streets toward the ocean.
She reveled in the sand between her toes and the sound of the seagulls squawking overhead. Claire walked for quite a while, every step and breath an attempt to free herself of the anxiety and upset she carried.
She spotted shells and sea glass and shark teeth along her path but left them for someone else to find. They weren’t the treasures she searched for. No, what she desired was peace, guidance, and the discernment needed to know what to do next. Especially when it was abundantly clear her father still harbored more than his share of animosity and upset with her and her decisions.
After a while, she moved closer to the surf, drawn to it as she’d always been. There was just something about the ebb and flow of the water over her feet, the way her weight sank as the wave rolled back yet she stayed firmly in place.
She liked that feeling and let it happen a few more times until the sand anchored her. It wasn’t until then that she let go of the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, the kind that came from deep within and shuddered on the way out.
If she focused on the fear building inside of her, panic followed shortly thereafter. So she focused on the moment, on breathing, counting as she inhaled, held, and released several breaths.
It would be okay. Things would work out exactly as they were meant to. Everything would be fine.
It had been quite a while since her last trip to the beach. Funny how those who lived so close wound up too busy to enjoy the very location they worked so hard to live by.
Since she’d grown up here, then lived all over the US before being sent to Virginia Beach, one would think it would be a given that the beach was a daily occurrence, but life seemed to always interfere.
First it was military life as a very young, very new wife with a baby on the way. Then an infant during a first deployment and the adjustments that had to be made as a single parent. Time passed quickly with that kind of busyness, and over the years and three tours, a lot of it was a blur.
A bigger wave headed her way, drawing her out of her pensiveness, and Claire braced herself, smiling when it made her lose her balance, and she wobbled with her feet entrenched in the sand. She tried pulling one foot out, but she was deep enough now that it was like wearing concrete shoes.
A broad hand appeared and gently latched on to her elbow. Claire gasped, lifting her head to find Denz staring down at her, looking every bit as handsome as he had earlier when he’d left for his dinner.
This time, however, he was dressed in running shorts, shoes, and a sleeveless shirt. Probably to cover the scars and bruising and not draw attention.
Staring up at him now, she realized his hair was a dark brown, not the black she’d thought it was when standing in the doorway wet, and his brown eyes were mahogany streaked with gold, rather than plain, boring brown.
“Still stuck?”
What? Oh.
She hurried to pull her feet from their sandy prison and stepped up out of the hole where she’d sunk. “Thanks.”
“No problem. How far did you plan on sinking?”
She shrugged. “If I’d had shorts on instead of capris, maybe a little more. How was your, um, dinner?”
Was it weird to ask a total stranger about his plans? It wasn’t like they had a connection other than two brief meetings earlier today.
“It was nice.”
“Oh?” Marcus Denz didn’t seem to be much of a talker, but then men in his line of work typically weren’t. Discretion was everything, and they tended to be guys who kept their emotions to themselves and suff
ered whatever the consequences of doing so.
Scott was the same, never sharing much of what he’d experienced during combat. Still, the nightmares and almost desperate spending to have nice things because, according to him, you only lived once, told her a lot in hindsight.
She wondered sometimes if Scott felt he had to live for the buddies he’d lost, the spending an outlet to get whatever he could while he was there to enjoy it. “Did it have anything to do with you being a bodyguard?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on something else.
“Yeah, actually, it did. Off and on over the last year and a half I’ve guarded a Hollywood celebrity. He’s a good guy and he’s settled in the area with his wife.”
“Oh, my word, you know Oliver Beck?” she cried, gaping up at him because she just couldn’t help it. “That’s who you mean, isn’t it? He married a girl I went to school with, and they live here and… That’s who you had dinner with tonight?”
He chuckled at her excitement but she couldn’t help it. She was a total fangirl. Always had been. Every girl in school had crushed on Marsali’s brother, Mac, and his college roommate, Oliver.
Claire had lost touch with high school friends once she’d gotten pregnant and married, but she’d gobbled up every news bite she could find about Marsali and Oliver’s romance in the last year.
Oliver Beck could actually act, and he looked good doing it. Throw in his down-to-earth personality, his rise to stardom, and him choosing Marsali over Hollywood, and what wasn’t to like? He was America’s golden boy and he’d married a Carolina sweetheart in a wedding still being talked about.
“Uh, it is. As well as some of their friends.”
“I have Marsali’s book on dating. I haven’t read it yet because, well, I’m not, but…I have it. For when I am, I mean.”
Yeah, that long-winded ramble ended awkwardly. But Denz seemed to take it in stride.
“Mrs. B has some good advice in there, especially the part about dating safety.”
“You’ve read it?”
Since it was a dating guide specifically aimed for good girls, she couldn’t help her surprise.
“Figured I should, all things considered.”
“Why do you say it like that?” she asked, catching a note of…something. Even though she wasn’t sure what.
“Like what?”
“You had a tone.”
“I didn’t have a tone.”
“You did. Okay, fine,” she said when his expression hardened a bit and she was afraid he’d clam up. “No tone. But what did you mean by the tone you didn’t have?”
She watched as his eyebrows formed a deep V as though he either struggled to keep a straight face or debated what or how much to say.
“Mrs. B is a really nice woman. But nice, sweet people tend to make easy targets, so I read it to see how much personal information she might have inadvertently included.”
“Oooh. I see. I hadn’t thought of it that way but it makes total sense. Is that why Oliver hired security for her?”
“I can’t speculate on his reasons.”
“Of course. I understand. I mean, with Carolina Cove being a tourist town, it leaves him open to constantly being seen and approached by locals and all of the visitors, which means going anywhere could be a huge hassle. Add Marsali’s growing popularity… Have they had issues while being here? Security issues?”
Silence followed her words and she bit her lip. “You can’t give specifics.”
“Right.”
“Got it,” she said, squinting up at him since the sun was behind him. “Still, it’s cool that you know them. I’d love to see Marsali again.” She inhaled. “Tide’s coming in,” she said, watching a wave roll over the dry sand higher on the beach. “I suppose I should get back and help Dad with dinner. If he’ll let me, that is.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind help. He’s let me pitch in a few times.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Why do you say it like that?” he asked, repeating her words from earlier.
The air left her lungs in a huff. “It’s just…he doesn’t usually let anyone help. The kitchen has always been his domain, even when my mom was alive.”
“Maybe he thought chopping all of those veggies might help my dexterity,” he said, flexing the hand of the injured left arm.
“No sling?”
“Not at the moment.”
Which meant what? “Going against doctor’s orders?”
“Not exactly.”
Uh-huh. “You know—”
“It’s hard to run while wearing a sling,” he said. “And it’s nearing the end of the time required to wear it. Now can I ask you a question?”
“You rescued me from death by sinking sand, so sure. Ask away.”
“What’s the deal with you and the garage apartment? I mean, I’d think staying in the house would be the norm when a kid comes home to visit her parents.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, you’d think.” She inhaled and exhaled in a rush, wishing the salty breeze would carry away her frustration. She’d known dealing with her dad wouldn’t be easy, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be as strained as it was.
“If it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sure you noticed the tension between me and my dad.”
“Some.”
“Yeah…well, my dad and I haven’t gotten along in a lot of years because he didn’t want me to marry Tommy’s father. When I did, well, that was that. In his words, he washed his hands of me.”
“Ouch. Tough to hear but you can’t believe things said in anger.”
“Maybe,” she mused. “But then,” she said, giving the words a dramatic flair she didn’t feel, “I had Tommy and we brought him to meet his grandparents for the first time. I thought we’d be in the house, too. In my old room, where I was today. Instead my poor Mom met us at the car with tears in her eyes and told Scott to take our bags up to the garage. In anticipation of our visit, my dad had finished the upstairs of the garage. We’ve stayed there every trip since.”
It was an embarrassing story to tell because her father had literally finished the apartment to keep her and Scott from sleeping under the same roof as him. But the story was hers all the same.
“I see. Will your husband be joining you? Should I try to find another place to stay?”
A slow huff left her and she shifted her gaze to the water. “No. No, there’s no need for that. Scott was… He was KIA. Baghdad.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. Dad didn’t like Scott, although I don’t think he would’ve approved of anyone at that stage of my life, but when I told them I was getting married at seventeen and that I was pregnant, Dad lost it. Did the whole I forbid you thing. So, the eve of my eighteenth birthday, Scott helped me sneak out of my room, and we ran away to get married.”
“Wow. I bet that went over well with Tom.”
She turned toward the stairs leading over the dunes, and they silently fell into step beside each other. “About how you’d think, especially since we were banished to the apartment afterwards. I suppose it was a bit dramatic, but we knew we’d never get his permission, and we couldn’t wait. Didn’t want to wait, especially since Scott was already through basic and about to be stationed. To get military housing, we had to be married so…”
“What happened then? After you snuck out and got married, I mean?”
A smile formed and she couldn’t stop it. “We went on a week-long camping honeymoon in a state park since it was all we could afford. Yes, I am that woman who spent her honeymoon in a tent. But once the week was over, we went home to face my parents.”
Her laugh belied the drama of the time. All she had to do was close her eyes and she could see the fury on her father’s face. And the disappointment. “Yeah. There was a lot of yelling, then silence. And it’s been tense ever since.”
“That’s a long time to hold a grudge, especially if you stayed together. Was i
t something specific Tom didn’t like about your husband?”
“You mean other than getting his seventeen-year-old daughter pregnant?”
“I imagine most fathers would feel that way.”
Maybe. But her pregnancy wasn’t the worst of her father’s upset. No, according to Tom Blanchette, Scott had no common sense.
Thirteen years later, she now understood why her father had felt that way at least from a financial standpoint. Still, one thing she knew not to do over the years was to ever say anything derogatory about Scott to her parents. Ever.
But somehow it seemed her dad had known the entire time. “I should get back. Enjoy your walk.”
“Actually I’m headed that way myself. Do you mind if I walk with you?”
“Oh, uh, no. That’s fine.”
The climb up the stairs from the beach always left her winded after crossing the soft, shifting sand. When she made it to the top, she paused along the outcropping to spray her feet with one of the hoses and donned the flip-flops she carried.
“Ready?” he asked when she finished.
“Yeah,” she said, turning to side-eye him when he placed a hand at the small of her back as a crowd of people approached. He placed himself a bit toward the middle of the walkway, forcing the group to go single file, and the gesture struck her as…protective?
Once in the clear, she glanced up at him and decided that maybe they’d gotten off on the wrong foot due to the apartment mess. “I’m sorry for what I said today. About your job. What you do is important, obviously,” she said, lifting her hand to indicate his injury.
“It’s just not for you.”
“I’m not a factor in the equation,” she said, feeling his gaze on her face. “But no. Every time Scott deployed, I had insomnia until he came home.”
“You know, you could just as easily get killed in a car accident.”
“I suppose that’s true. But that doesn’t change the extremely high level of danger some professions have.”
“Meaning mine.”
“If it fits.”
“So you’re saying if I wasn’t a bodyguard, you’d date me?”
