Her Bodyguard Page 12

  Now she was nearly twenty-eight and more experienced than she’d been back then, but the sensations rising inside her were exactly the same.

  His brows drew down in a frown, two pink spots appeared in his cheeks and he recoiled slightly, enough that she got the message. He’d noticed her reaction. And was embarrassed by it. He was pulling away.

  Chagrin sent heat flaring up her neck to her own cheeks. She tried to step backward, but the refrigerator door stopped her.

  His gaze darkened, intensified, and for one crazy second, she thought he might actually lean forward and kiss her. But he didn’t. He did what he should have done, what any gentlemanly bodyguard would do. He withdrew.

  And she plunged back into reality. Of course he wasn’t about to kiss her. That was her own wishful thinking.

  To keep from having to look at him, she bent down to pick up the orange juice and nearly bumped his head with hers.

  “Whoa! Careful.” He grabbed the juice and straightened, inspecting it for damage. “It looks okay, but we ought to pour it into a pitcher, in case there’s a slow leak.”

  “Right. Good idea.” Angela straightened, too, and sidestepped Lucas. “I’ll wash a pitcher. Want a glass?”

  He put the carton on the counter. “Not right now. I’m going to walk around, make sure everything’s okay. You keep the doors locked, and if anything happens, give me a call on my cell.”

  “What do you think might happen?”

  “Nothing. Just playing it safe.”

  “Sure.” She opened a couple of cabinets, making a show of looking for a pitcher. “I’ll get the rest of the groceries put away.”

  Lucas went out through the kitchen door and waited until she locked it behind him. He gave her a thumbs-up through the paned glass before he headed down the back steps.

  She watched him for a few seconds. The cuts and bruises didn’t detract from the harshly beautiful planes of his face one bit. His slight favoring of his sore right shoulder and leg didn’t make him seem any less capable or strong, either.

  It scared her to death to think about what could have happened had Lucas not been somewhat protected by the building’s door and walls when the car exploded. A shudder racked her body.

  He could have died.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lucas walked around the cabin, checking to be sure nothing looked out of place. In the small outbuilding the generator was working perfectly, and the diesel tank was nearly full. He and Angela could stay here all summer if they needed to.

  But staying here for one night, much less all summer, was a very bad idea. He’d already nearly embarrassed himself at the refrigerator when he’d stepped up too close, looking for the orange juice.

  When she’d turned unexpectedly, her breasts had ended up pressed tightly against his chest. So tightly that he’d felt her distended nipples through their clothes. His body had immediately responded, so he’d had to back away before she became aware of his lust.

  He wished he knew if her breasts’ taut peaks had been a reaction to his closeness or just a physical response to the collision.

  It didn’t matter.

  The hell it didn’t!

  He pushed his fingers through his hair and gave his head a shake, trying to rid himself of the dark delicious scent of chocolate that always surrounded her. Some day he was going to have to ask her how she managed to always smell like chocolate. Did she bathe in the stuff?

  He unlocked the kitchen door and stepped inside, where she was bent over, working to fit a six-pack of beer into the refrigerator. The sight stopped him in his tracks. That backside was easily the finest one he’d ever seen. His fingers twitched as he imagined how firm and curvy it would feel if he grabbed it right now.

  Cool air slid across his hot sweat-dampened skin, raising goose bumps and reminding him that her backside was none of his business.

  “Ah, summer in New Orleans,” he said. “Heat and humidity. Dallas is a desert by comparison.”

  “Any place is a desert by comparison,” Angela replied as she straightened, smiling. “Want a beer instead of juice? I need to get rid of two. They won’t fit.”

  “Sure.”

  She handed him one. “I’m going to have a sandwich. Want one?”

  He nodded as he popped the top and drank. Just then, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the display.

  It was Brad. Lucas needed to talk to him about several things, preferably without Angela hearing. So he set the beer down and headed for the back door again. “I need to take this,” he said to her. “Could you make me a sandwich? Turkey and Swiss. Mayo. No mustard.”

  Outside, he answered the phone. “Brad.”

  “Lucas. Everything going okay down there?”

  Something was wrong. He could tell by the tone of Brad’s voice. Had Ethan told him about the explosion? “Everything’s fine here. Why?”

  He could hear Brad’s shaky breath even through the phone.

  “Brad? What’s wrong?”

  “That rat bastard Picone tried to kidnap Ella.”

  Brad’s younger daughter. The six-year-old. “Is she all right?”

  “Scared half to death. But not as scared as Sue and me. God, Lucas. Wait until you have kids. You can’t imagine. A guy attacked the policewoman as she was putting Ella into the backseat. He knocked her down!”

  Lucas’s mouth went dry. He sank to the steps. “Son of a bitch. He didn’t get to Ella, did he?”

  “The officer drew her weapon and winged him before he was able to.”

  “Thank God. Is he in custody?”

  Brad took another shaky breath. “Yeah. But Ella hasn’t stopped crying. And neither has Sue. And I’m damn close myself.”

  “What about Dawn?” Brad’s other daughter. The nine-year-old. “Where was she when the guy tried to grab Ella?”

  Behind him Lucas heard a gasp.

  Damn it.

  He hadn’t heard Angela open the kitchen door. He stood and turned.

  Her face was white as a sheet, her eyes were wide, and her hand flew to her throat. “Did something happen to Ella? Or Dawn? Are they all right?” Her words sounded strangled.

  “Angela, keep your voice down. They’re fine. Go back inside.” He caught her arm, but she wrenched it out of his grasp.

  “Luke!” Brad’s voice shouted through the phone. “Don’t tell Angela what happened. She’ll be terrified.”

  “I heard that. I’m not afraid. Let me talk to him.” She reached for his cell phone. He had to hold it out of her reach.

  He caught her arm again. “Once you’re inside,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t want anyone hearing us.” He guided her firmly up the steps and into the kitchen, pushing the door closed with his hip.

  She whirled on him. “You were out there.”

  “I wasn’t yelling.”

  She huffed and stiffened. “Give—me—the—phone.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Listen to me. Do not tell him where we are. Do you understand?”

  “Why—?”

  “Do? You? Understand?”

  She nodded.

  Angela’s conversation with her brother was a long one. Before it was over, she had sat down at the table. She’d grabbed a paper towel to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, and she’d told Brad all about the car bomb. The way she described it, Lucas had nearly been killed.

  He set his jaw and busied himself by making a couple of sandwiches and drinking his orange juice.

  Then he heard Angela say, “Where?” She paused. “Well—”

  He whirled and scooped the phone out of her hand. “Brad,” he said. “Sorry, but I can’t tell you where we are. And this call has gone on way too long. I don’t know how high-tech the Picone organization is, but you said Picone’s youngest daughter was a tech whiz, and I’d rather not take any chances. I’m turning off my phone and we’re moving. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Wait, Lucas,” Brad demanded. “What happened? Was there real
ly a bomb?”

  “Let’s just say you owe me a vintage Mustang Cobra and a bottle of Excedrin Migraine.”

  “Damn it, Luke. Picone put a bomb in your car? I’ve got closing arguments Monday, but after this morning and now this, I’m about ready to throw the trial.”

  Angela overheard him. “Don’t you dare!” she cried. “Tell him we’re fine, Lucas. Tell him to put that lowlife away for good!”

  “Did you hear that? Ange is just fine right here with me. I’m hanging up now. You need to talk to me again, call my cousin.”

  He heard Brad say, “Which one?” as he cut the connection.

  He glanced at Angela. “You okay?”

  She pushed her hair back from her face with both hands and squeezed her eyes shut for a couple of seconds. “Okay? You want to know if I’m okay?” She gave a short laugh, a high-pitched, hysterical sound, and shook her head.

  “Sure, I’m fine. My six-year-old niece is seeing and experiencing things no one, much less a child, should ever have to go through. My brother is half crazy with fear for his family, just because he’s trying to do the right thing. And I’m—I’m running for my life with—with a—with you!”

  Lucas heard the disgust in her voice and saw the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. To her mind he’d brought her nothing but trouble from the moment she’d first seen him.

  He’d promised Brad he’d protect her, but he hadn’t done a very good job of it. Sure, she was unharmed, but danger had come way too close to her twice now, and that was two times too many.

  “Angela, you’ve got to trust me. I swear I’ll keep you safe. You heard Brad. He’s got closing arguments tomorrow. No matter what he decides to do, it’ll all be over in a few days.”

  “Not if he decides to stop the trial.”

  “Come on, Brat. You know your brother. Do you really think he’d stop the trial, even if he could?”

  She paused for a second, then shook her head. “No. He can’t. It’s not in him.”

  “That’s right. And once it goes to the jury, it won’t take them any time to convict Picone. You know Brad didn’t prosecute Picone without knowing full well that he had enough to put him away.”

  She nodded, beginning to look less panicked.

  “He’ll be in prison—probably in solitary confinement, where he won’t be able to talk to anybody, and all of you will be safe.”

  She stared at him, hope dawning in her brown eyes, then fading immediately. “Can you guarantee that?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  At that moment, Lucas wished he could lie and make her believe what he himself didn’t fully believe. But he knew her almost as well as he knew himself, and he knew, even if he could say the words, she wouldn’t believe them.

  “Ange, I’ll protect you with my life. It’s all I can offer. I will die before I’ll let anything happen to you.”

  A little color returned to her face, and she nodded and wiped at her eyes.

  At least he’d reassured her a little. “You want a sandwich?”

  She shook her head wearily. “Maybe later. Are we really moving to another location?”

  He shook his head. “No. I was just being careful. This is the best place for us. It’s nice and isolated, and yet we get good cell phone service because we’re within thirty miles of New Orleans.”

  She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t really listening to him. “Is it okay if I take a shower and lie down for a while?” she asked.

  “Sure. Go ahead. There should be hot water by now. Take the master suite. The big bedroom at the front of the house, across from the living room. You’ll be comfortable there.”

  “Oh.” She stopped. “I don’t have any clothes. I guess I’ll have to put these back on.”

  “No, you won’t. Mom always kept some clothes here. I’m sure Aunt Edina and others kept clothes here, too. You’ll be able to find something to fit you. If all else fails, there are some men’s and boys’ clothes in some of the drawers.”

  She nodded. “Great, thanks.” Then she looked at him and shook her head. “Wait. What am I doing? I’ll stay up. You’re the one who needs to sleep. I don’t think you’ve slept in two nights.”

  He grabbed the rest of his sandwich and his glass of juice and sat down at the table. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. We can pick up satellite here. I might watch a little TV while I eat. We’re going to have to go to bed and get up with the chickens, because once the sun goes down, I don’t want the lights on.” He paused. “Ange, don’t open the blinds. And don’t go out on the deck, okay?”

  She glanced back at him. “I won’t. Lucas—”

  “Yeah, sugar?”

  A tiny smile lightened her serious countenance. “Thanks.”

  He nodded and saluted her with his glass. “No problem, Brat. No problem at all.”

  He listened until he heard the bedroom door open and close, then he got up and splashed cold water on his face. He was tired. And sore. But he had the rest of his life to rest and heal.

  He’d be damned if he’d sleep until Angela was out of danger.

  ANGELA CLIMBED OUT of the shower and wrapped herself in a big white towel and blew out a long breath. She felt so much better now that she was clean.

  She glanced at her underwear hanging on the towel rack and dripping onto the wooden floor. There was probably a washer and dryer somewhere in the house. She couldn’t see Lucas’s prim and proper mother staying here without all the comforts of home. But she’d undressed before she’d thought about it and she hadn’t wanted to dress again in her dirty clothes to go ask Lucas. So she’d rinsed them out in the sink.

  Her shirt and Capris were dirty too. She’d worn them for the past two days. There was no way she was putting them on her clean body. So she fastened the towel around her body and went exploring for clean clothes.

  A walk-in closet was filled with pants and tops, all of which were too small for her. On the other hand, the men’s clothing was much too big.

  She rooted around in the dresser among sweaters and too-small panties and bras, and finally came up with an orange print caftan. It was a little short, but at least it covered her and wasn’t indecently tight. On the floor of the closet was a pair of flip-flops that fit fairly well.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. Not too bad. At least she was covered until her underwear was dry. Later she’d find a pair of pants and a shirt.

  Once her hair dried she’d be almost presentable. She tousled it with her hands. There wasn’t a hair dryer in the bathroom, which surprised her. She couldn’t imagine Lucas’s mother letting her hair air-dry.

  Speaking of air-drying, she squeezed water off the ends of her hair and fluffed it again. It would be a cloud of waves once it dried. Not the worst thing that had—or would—happen to her this week.

  She folded the comforter down to the end of the bed and turned down the blanket and sheet. The white sheets smelled fresh.

  She climbed into bed and settled back, sighing. She knew Lucas had lied when he said he wasn’t tired. The toll his injuries had taken on him was clearly outlined on his face. Lines of pain dug furrows between his nose and mouth, and the corners of his lips were white and pinched. But he was trying to be the big brave protector, and she appreciated that.

  She swore to herself that she wouldn’t rest for more than an hour. Then she’d find him and make him take a nap while she fixed something for dinner.

  With a yawn, she relaxed and closed her eyes.

  For about two minutes.

  Long enough for the image of her niece Ella to rise in her mind—Ella watching as a bad man attacked the woman who was trying to keep her safe.

  Angela sat bolt upright. Panic seized her chest and wouldn’t let go. Panic and a hot, terrifying claustrophobia. Her lungs felt paralyzed. She kicked off the covers and launched herself off the bed.

  Sweat pricked her forehead and the back of her neck. She had to ge
t out of there. Even with the air conditioner, it was too hot, too close, too terrifying.

  Her hands clutched at her chest. Everything that had happened hit her at once. Doug with his gun, the faceless man out there following her, blowing up Lucas’s car, men trying to kidnap her nieces—

  Desperately, she gasped for breath. The knotty pine walls were closing in. As she cast about wildly, her gaze lit on the double doors that led out to the cypress deck.

  The late afternoon sun shone through the trees, making pretty, delicate shadows on the gray, weathered wood. Beyond, the sparkling water of Lake Pontchartrain reflected the fading sunlight like cool ice crystals.

  She rushed over to the doors and flipped the latch. She needed to breathe in fresh air, to feel the cool lake breeze, just for a few minutes.

  When she threw open the doors, the air off the lake lifted her hair. She closed her eyes and sucked in a lungful. It helped.

  Stepping out onto the deck, she took in the familiar area around the cabin. The shell driveway that circled the entire house, the worn path that stretched into the woods in one direction and down to the lake in the other.

  On the deck were two Adirondack chairs and a glider made of the same weathered gray cypress as the deck. She thought about sitting for a while, until her heart and her brain stopped racing. But the path toward the lake enticed her.

  Pleasant childhood memories replaced the dreadful images in her brain. She recalled running along the path as a child. It had seemed endless, winding back and forth down the hill toward the muddy banks of Lake Pontchartrain. She recalled the crunch of shells and gravel under her feet, the faint brackish smell of the air, growing steadily stronger as she’d approached the lake.

  She and Brad and Lucas had played on the warm, smooth boards of the old pier and had sat with their legs dangling and fished with old-fashioned cane poles using crickets for bait.