The Bodyguard Read online

  Somehow, Frankie felt no surprise. Her entire chest ached as if she’d been walked on by an elephant. She slumped on the chair and sipped from the coffee mug.

  “Penny and Julius are spending the week in the Honeymoon Hideaway.” Elise settled on the chair next to Frankie. Despite four grown children she looked youthful, slim and beautiful. Her serene demeanor had a calming influence. Her soft hand touching Frankie’s arm chased some of the cold from Frankie’s soul. “Stay the night with us, dear. We can have a nice visit. I haven’t seen you in far too long. Tomorrow, you and Penny can talk.”

  She didn’t want to stay. She wanted to go home to her nasty old cat and sulk in peace. “Is she really pregnant, Aunt Elise?”

  Elise shrugged delicately and flashed a wan smile at her son. “The child shall have two parents.”

  Frankie groaned. “You don’t get it. None of you gets it. If she’s really pregnant then she’s in big trouble.”

  “Now, Francine, aren’t you being a wee bit melodramatic?”

  “What do you know about Julius? Did Penny tell you he’s been married before?”

  “Well, no. But divorce isn’t exactly shameful—”

  “It is in his case. He’s been married several times and he has kids. He doesn’t have anything to do with any of them. It’s all because of his mother. She won’t let anybody get between her and her baby boy.”

  Ross cleared his throat. His eyebrows raised in a skeptical quirk. “Julius is old enough to make his own decisions.”

  “He’s weak. His mother isn’t. She’s rich, spoiled and selfish. Julius always does exactly what she says. If she can’t buy off his wives, she scares them off.”

  “Come on.” Ross rolled a hand as if urging her to get to the punch line. “She can’t be that bad.”

  “She’s worse,” Frankie insisted. “Julius is weak, but Belinda is twisted. She’ll eat Penny alive.”

  “CHUCKIE?” Paul’s voice strained in the darkness. “I can’t see nothing.”

  Chuck paused with his shoulder pressed against the rough bark of a tree. He panted like a racehorse and his lungs ached. The trail where they’d parked the car was less than twenty feet away, but he felt as if he’d run a marathon. The lights of Elk River Lodge were visible through the trees. Still, on this moonless winter night, a blank world seemed to stretch away into eternity. The darkness squeezed him. An unconscious shudder rippled down his spine. What the hell was he doing?

  He focused a flashlight in Paul’s direction. The thin beam flashed over tree trunks and made the snow glitter like diamond dust. He found Paul’s face. Eyes bulging like boiled eggs, mouth wide-open, nostrils flared, the kid looked as scared as he sounded.

  “Easiest ten grand you’ll ever make,” Bo Moran had assured him.

  The job sounded easy the way Bo explained it. That was before, in the warmth of the bar while he ate big, greasy cheeseburgers and the jukebox played old Eagles songs. Now here he was in the middle of nowhere, tromping through snow, five minutes away from possibly making the biggest mistake of his life. And he’d dragged Paul into it. He was supposed to take care of Paul, not set him up for a fall that could land him in prison for the rest of his life.

  “Quit acting like a baby,” he whispered.

  “It’s dark, Chuckie.”

  “Of course it’s dark, you geek. We’re in the mountains.”

  Up ahead, Bo Moran made an impatient noise. Chuck’s shoulders tensed. Chuck had talked long and hard to convince Bo that his baby brother would be an asset not a liability. Paul had the mind of a six-year-old, but he was strong and quick, and he did anything Chuck told him to do, no questions. He wondered if it was too late to change his mind, get back in the car, return to the city and forget this mess. Maybe he’d even get a real job.

  “I keep hearing things, Chuckie,” Paul whined. “Bears.”

  “Ain’t no bears. Come on, kid, check it out. You can see the lodge right over there. Lots of lights. Bears don’t dig lights. Right, Bo?”

  “Yeah, no bears. It’s wolves that like light.”

  Chuck turned the light in Bo’s direction. The man’s deep-set eyes flared red, like an animal’s. Nearly swallowed by the army fatigues he wore, his head obscured by a fur-trimmed hood, Bo looked like a kid playing soldier in the woods.. Skinny, unkempt, with sunken cheeks and a pigeon chest, his mouth pulled perpetually in a sullen scowl, he appeared easy to dismiss. Chuck knew better than to dismiss Bo Moran. Around Bo Moran, Chuck’s skin always itched, his spine always crawled. He doubted there was much in the world Bo wouldn’t do—he doubted there was much he hadn’t done already.

  Chuck shifted his attention between Bo and Paul. Now that he and Paul were in, they stayed in. Life in prison would be a sweetheart deal compared to what Bo would do if crossed. “He’s just messing with you, kid,” he said. “Ain’t no wolves. Nothing bigger than squirrels around here. We’re almost there. Let’s go.”

  “I can’t see nothing. I wanna go home.”

  A heavy breath deflated Chuck’s chest. Paul stood over six feet, four inches tall and had a body a pro wrestler would envy, but he acted like a little kid. Chuck wondered if maybe he babied his baby brother too much.

  Chuck grabbed Paul’s arm. “Hold on to my coat. Stick with me.” He kept his voice low. “And quit your griping. You’re gonna tick off Bo.”

  “I’m cold.”

  Chuck fished in his pockets for the silk ski masks Bo had provided for the job. Thin, but warm, they were guaranteed not to itch. “Put this on.” He waited until Paul fumbled the black mask onto his head. He helped him get the eye holes lined up properly. “Better?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like the dark,” Paul whispered in reply.

  He cast a worried glance in Bo’s direction. “There’s worse things, kid. Trust me on that.” He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “If you’re really good, I’ll make you a milk shake, okay? Peanut butter. Your favorite.”

  Paul grinned behind the mask. “Okay!”

  Praying Bo hadn’t heard that idiotic exchange, Chuck focused the flashlight forward and tromped onward through the snow.

  “I RESPECTFULLY TENDER my resignation...” J.T. snorted and tossed down the pen. He crumpled the sheet of paper into a ball. A hook shot dropped it neatly into the waste can. It settled atop the other crumpled papers in the can.

  He shoved away from the desk. Resting his elbows on his knees, he glumly surveyed the room. On the top floor of the lodge, it was small but luxurious. Tatted doilies on the dresser and folk art on the walls gave it a homey air. The bed dominated the room, looking like a gigantic pastry beneath its European-style down comforter. A bed in which he hadn’t slept well last night.

  When he hadn’t been brooding about how much he hated his job, he’d been brooding about his son. Spending the week baby-sitting a pair of honeymooners wasn’t the dumbest job he’d ever had, but it ranked right up there in the top ten. It meant he couldn’t see Jamie, and that he resented deeply.

  His thoughts kept traveling back to the other day when he’d visited Jamie. Dr. Trafoya, Debbie, the head nurse, and a neurologist had triple-teamed him, seeking permission, again, to remove Jamie’s feeding tube. Sweet Jamie, so shrunken and still, only half the size of a normal six-year-old, lost in a coma’s black hole.

  “Even if he awakens, Mr. McKennon,” Dr. Trafoya had said, “his brain is permanently damaged. He’ll be forever an infant. He’ll never speak or walk or recognize you.”

  Maybe the good doctor believed that crap, but J.T. didn’t. They had said Jamie would never breathe on his own, either, but when they took him off the respirator he’d breathed just fine. He responded to physical therapy to keep his limbs from atrophying. Sometimes he opened his eyes, and once he’d even made a noise which to J.T. had sounded very much like “Mama.”

  The doctors and nursing staff at Carson Springs hospital gave Jamie excellent care, and he understood they feared Jamie suffered for nothing. J.T. knew better. Miracles happened e
very day, and he had a lifetime to wait for one.

  He wanted to see Jamie now. He liked visiting in the early-morning hours when the hospital was quiet, and he could spill out his heart in peace. He checked his watch. The sun wouldn’t rise for hours. No telling when the newlyweds would be up and about, but it would take two hours to drive to the hospital and two hours back. He’d be missed.

  “I hate this crappy job,” he muttered.

  Technically, his job title was security systems engineer. After Caulfield married Belinda, J.T.’s duties had shifted. Since Caulfield now devoted the majority of his time to his wife’s interests, J.T. had hoped he’d be promoted to head the corporate office. Instead, Caulfield had appointed him head of private security. He was qualified as a bodyguard and he was competent to keep thieves and vandals off the Bannerman estate, but he didn’t like it.

  He especially didn’t like the real reason he’d been stuck with this particular duty. Julius didn’t need a bodyguard. He was too much of a bug to have real enemies. Bottom line, Mrs. Caulfield needed a spy. He suspected that for the first time in her life she’d met her match. Cute little Penny Forrest held the power, as no other woman before her, to drive a solid wedge between Mrs. Caulfield and her darling boy. The old lady wasn’t going down without a fight.

  J.T. understood, somewhat. He’d go to the ends of the earth and back for his son. He supposed every parent was the same. Still, he resented the hell out of having to use his time to gather ammunition for the old witch to use in a war against her daughter-in-law.

  Caulfield asked too much this time. J.T. turned back to the desk and snatched a fresh sheet of resort stationery. He wrote down the date and a polite greeting, then stopped. He could not quit his job.

  He wandered to the wide bank of windows. He pressed his forehead against the icy glass, staring into the darkness below. Resentment deepened, blossoming with spiny petals.

  Money, it always boiled down to money. “No good thing ever comes of anything done solely for money,” his wife used to tell him, usually with a grin while she tried to figure out yet one more way to stretch their already-squeaking budget. Nina hadn’t cared about cars or fancy houses or new clothes. All she’d cared about was loving him and loving Jamie. When she’d been alive, he hadn’t cared about money, either.

  Now money meant everything. Money meant more time to wait for Jamie’s miracle.

  Caulfield paid too well for J.T. to even consider quitting. He had no choice except to resign himself to baby-sitting newlyweds and collecting information for a paranoid woman with no life of her own.

  Shaking away the dour thoughts, he showered, shaved and dressed in jeans, boots and a wool-lined flannel shirt. Despite the early hour he hoped he could rustle up a cup of coffee.

  An employee ran a vacuum cleaner in the lobby’s lounge. A sign on the front desk asked guests and visitors to ring a bell for service. A whiff of coffee aroma caught his attention. He followed his nose to the source. Near the doorway to the dining room a table held a large coffeepot, mugs and a plate of freshly baked muffins.

  The vacuum cleaner stopped. A woman spoke softly. In the dim light he hadn’t noticed the woman seated in the lounge. He recognized the red curls belonging to Frankie Forrest. He paused in the shadows, uncertain if he wanted Frankie to see him. Guilt tightened his gut.

  He still carried a nasty taste in his mouth over the way Caulfield had treated her. In his opinion, Caulfield never had any intention of marrying Frankie. He had played her the way he played all women. He doubted if Frankie knew Caulfield had been seeing other women while supposedly engaged to her. She wasn’t the type to suffer a philanderer.

  And now this. For the second time he’d been party to her humiliation. Self-loathing mingled with hatred for his job.

  Hell with Caulfield, he decided. He had an opportunity, in some small way, to make up for the past. Frankie deserved that much.

  He filled two mugs with coffee. The dark, rich aroma made his belly rumble. He picked up two muffins, too.

  Frankie watched him make his way through the arrangements of potted plants, sofas, club chairs and low tables. “Oh, it’s you,” she said dryly. She looked him up and down, her expression neutral. “I didn’t recognize you without the goon suit.”

  Her insult took him back to the good old days. When they worked together, she used to bait him like a kid poking a stick at a caged bear. He’d liked it. She’d made him laugh.

  He set a mug of coffee in front of her. “Hungry?” He offered a muffin. She shook her head. Slouched on the chair, shoulders hunched, she looked tired. He wondered if she’d slept at all. He peeled the wrapper off a muffin and inhaled the spicy scent of apples and cinnamon.

  “So, how’s Max doing these days?” Her tone was too carefully casual.

  He wanted to make her happy by telling her Caulfield had gained weight, was losing his hair and Belinda was making him miserable. Except, that would be a lie. Caulfield was having the time of his life. “Okay.”

  “I guess...marriage agrees with him?”

  He lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He bit into the muffin. Rich and heavy, it tasted as good as it smelled. Head down, he watched Frankie from the corner of his eye. Slashes of eyebrows framed her strikingly pale eyes. Strong cheekbones and a square jaw gave her face interesting angles. Even seated and still she vibrated with energy. He liked her mouth. Some might say it was too wide for her face, her lips too full, but he appreciated the supple mobility and the sensual depth of color.

  He bit into the muffin, savoring the texture. An idle thought clipped the back of his brain—holding Frankie, making love to her, would be as exhilarating as racing down a mountainside. Her body would be long and lean, muscular, but soft in the right places. He’d plunge both hands in that mass of fiery hair and hang on while he ravished that incredible mouth. Disturbed, he wondered about himself. He hadn’t been interested in any woman since his wife died.

  “So, uh, have you...talked to Penny?” Still the too-casual tone as she pulled the coffee mug to her face as if to hide her expression. She stared at the floor.

  “No, sorry. I’m just the hired goon.”

  “Right,” she muttered.

  “What are you doing with yourself these days?” he asked, though he knew the answer already. Two months ago Caulfield had ordered J.T. to find out where Frankie lived and where she worked. He had assumed the boss needed her graphology skills and was conceited enough to think she might come back to work for him. After turning in his report, though, Caulfield never mentioned her again.

  “Just working,” she replied. “What about you?”

  “Just working.”

  She grinned. “A couple of working grunts. Real exciting.”

  J.T. liked her smile. He also liked her bare face. At the office she’d worn far too much makeup for his taste. Her skin was creamy with a light dusting of coral freckles along the ridge of her cheekbones. A funny urge filled him to reach for her face, to test her skin to see if it was as soft as it looked. He broke a piece off the muffin.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “Doing my job.”

  “Yeah, right. Since when does Max give a rat’s behind what happens to Julius?”

  “It’s not my place to ask questions.”

  “ ‘Ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do or die.”’

  She leveled a glower at him that struck him as both funny and sexy. Beautiful mouth. He imagined kissing her would be like riding a shooting star.

  “Serious now,” she said. “Is there some kind of threat? Is Penny in danger?”

  Only from her nutty mother-in-law, he thought, unable to hold her gaze. Guilt raced through him again, leaving prickly trails on his nerves. “No danger.”

  “I don’t believe you. Max doesn’t do anything without a reason. Tell me the truth, why are you playing bodyguard? I have a right to know.”

  “I swear,” he said, “no threats, no danger. My presence is nothing more than
an ego trip. Julius gets to look like a big shot for his bride.” The not-quite-a-lie tasted sour.

  “Figures.” She set down the coffee mug. “I forgot my watch. What time is it?”

  He turned his left wrist. “It’s 5:47 a.m.”

  “Penny’s an early riser.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t doubt for a second that Frankie would go charging into the honeymoon cabin, invited or not. “Don’t disturb them, Miss Forrest.”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life of my own. I need to talk to Penny, then get back to town. I’m wasting my time hanging around. Thanks for the coffee.” She jumped to her feet and snatched up the parka that lay across another chair.

  He pondered the particulars of his job description, uncertain as to whether guarding a body meant preventing the bride’s agitated sister from barging in on the honeymooners. Frankie might take a swing at Julius. She’d done it before, after he’d made a crack about what kind of wedding present she ought to give Belinda. She’d given him a bloody nose. He wondered if part of the reason Julius married Penny was to get even with Frankie. Julius’s capacity for spitefulness rivaled his mother’s.

  He watched her long-legged stride carry her across the lobby to the rear entrance. At the office she’d always worn suits with tailored jackets and short skirts that showed off a pair of world-class legs. He missed looking at her legs, though her pert backside in the tight jeans made a worthwhile show.

  He grinned at his unruly thoughts and the stirring low in his groin. It occurred to him, with some discomfort, that he hadn’t harbored lustful thoughts in a long time. Despite being only thirty-five years old he lived like a prissy old man. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything even resembling fun. Between Caulfield’s demands and taking care of Jamie he didn’t have much of a life at all.

  He downed the remains of his coffee in one long smooth swallow and rose to follow her.

  As soon as he stepped outside, icy air slapped his face. Gooseflesh rose on his arms and back, itching against his woollen shirt. Noting the speed with which Frankie traveled the gravel path to the Honeymoon Hideaway, he decided to forgo running upstairs for a coat.