by Lisa Childs
She’d seen his concern earlier, his fear and guilt that she might be falling for him. That her crush had become serious. It had, but that was her fault, not his. Wasn’t it typical for a woman to fall for the man who kept saving her life?
It had to be some kind of occupational hazard of being a bodyguard. Kind of like getting blown up or shot at...
They had just stepped into the stairwell when the shots rang out, pinging off the concrete walls. Hart covered her body with his as he drew his weapon. Then he pointed his gun down the stairwell and fired back.
After the shots stopped reverberating, footsteps echoed throughout the stairwell as the shooter ran away. An outside door opened, an alarm sounding.
“Go after him,” Wendy said.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
When Hart started down the stairwell in pursuit, she saw the blood. It wasn’t hers. Hart had been hit.
She ran after him, calling out, “You’re bleeding.”
Whatever his injury, he moved quickly, until he got to the door at the bottom. Then he paused and she caught up with him.
Blood oozed from a deep scratch on his cheek. Either a bullet or a piece of the concrete block that the bullets had chipped had struck him. She reached out. But before her fingers could touch his wound, he pulled back.
Then he turned his focus on that steel door, staring at it like he hoped he could stare through it.
“It could be a trap,” he said.
She shook her head. “He had no time to set any explosive devices outside. He would have blown himself up with the way he ran out of here.”
She suspected he might have been hit, as well. The farther she’d descended the stairs, the more blood she’d seen. Droplets turning into small pools. Hart hadn’t been injured badly enough to bleed that much, so at least one of Hart’s bullets must have struck him.
But being injured didn’t make him any less dangerous. In fact, she had once found a dog at a crime scene that’d been shot, and when she’d tried to help it, it had, out of fear and desperation, attacked her. She had a scar on her forearm where his teeth had torn her skin.
“Open that door slowly,” she advised Hart.
“You said it shouldn’t be rigged,” he reminded her, his brown eyes narrowed in skepticism.
“Not with explosives,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not waiting to shoot your head off the moment you step outside.”
Hart nodded then pushed her firmly behind him as he pulled open the door. He ducked low, so if the bomber shot at him, the bullet would whiz over his head.
Predictably, one did, striking the concrete wall behind them. Thankfully it didn’t ricochet, just chipped the cement, raising a cloud of dust inside the stairwell.
“I don’t like this,” Hart murmured.
“Of course not,” Wendy agreed. “Who the hell enjoys getting shot at?”
“He’s holding us in here,” he said. “He might have set a bomb inside the stairwell, sometime before Nikki had noticed the van in the lot.”
Wendy glanced up. He was right. It was a possibility. If the guy had set it on a higher floor, the whole thing could collapse on them.
Hart must have realized the same thing because there was a sense of urgency in his deep voice when he said, “We need to get out of here.”
She nodded.
“On my count, we both start firing our weapons,” he said, his palm pressed flat against the steel exit door.
She nodded again even as she swallowed hard. Since she didn’t want to accidentally shoot an innocent person, she would just aim high.
But when Hart pushed open the door, he kept his body between hers and the outside, not even giving her a chance to fire her weapon.
He barely got a chance to fire his weapon before he fell onto the sidewalk leading to the parking lot. He had been hit this time, and it wasn’t with just a chip of concrete. He’d been hit with a bullet.
“Hart!” she screamed as she followed him out. Standing protectively over him, she raised her weapon to fire it, but no more shots rang out. She was safe, but her bodyguard was down.
“Hart! Hart!” She dropped to her knees beside him and silently prayed that he would be all right.
* * *
Hart cursed as he pushed himself up from the sidewalk and pain radiated through his leg. It shook and threatened to fold beneath him as blood ran down to pool in his boot.
“Sit down,” Wendy said. “You’re making it bleed more.”
Hart didn’t give a damn about his leg right now. The bullet must have just grazed the fleshy part of his thigh. While he was bleeding, the blood wasn’t gushing out of the wound, so no artery had been hit.
What about Wendy?
“Are you all right?” he asked as he glanced around. Where the hell had the shooter gone?
Other Payne Protection bodyguards ran up now, guns drawn. Maybe they had scared him off.
“You were supposed to wait for backup to come to your room,” Nikki admonished him.
“And get blown up in the hotel?” He reached for Wendy, grasping her arm to lead her farther from the structure in case it exploded like his SUV had. But he had to lean heavily against her and he wondered who was leading whom.
“River City PD bomb unit is coming out,” Nikki assured him. And the parking lot was filling with guests, so an evacuation must have begun.
“We have to get him to the hospital,” Wendy said. “He could bleed out.”
“I’m fine,” Hart insisted, but he had to say it through teeth gritted in agony. His thigh burned, the pain radiating from the wound.
“You need medical attention,” she insisted. Then she ignored him and turned to Nikki and Lars. “Can you get a vehicle?”
Nikki nodded at her husband, who turned and ran toward the parking lot. His long legs ate up the distance and within seconds an SUV squealed to a stop at the end of the sidewalk.
Wendy had become more Hart’s crutch than his assignment as she led him to the vehicle.
Nikki rushed forward and pulled open the back door. “Stay low,” she told Wendy. “We don’t know that he’s out of the area yet.” Then she spoke to her husband through the open driver’s window. “Make sure you aren’t followed.”
Lars chuckled. “Who? Me? Not going to happen...”
But the shooter had followed someone to the hotel. Hart had carefully watched his rearview, so he didn’t think he was the one who’d been followed. Since he hadn’t noticed the white van a couple of other times until it was too late, he couldn’t swear it hadn’t been his fault, though.
“Get in,” Wendy urged him.
As she helped him into the back seat, Hart grunted with pain. But before he could give in to the stream of curses burning in his throat, his cell began to ring. It was probably Parker, going to blast him like Nikki had for not waiting for backup. But when he pulled it from his pocket, the screen showed Unknown Caller.
A sick feeling in his stomach, he clicked to accept and asked, “Who is this?”
“Daddy?” a familiar soft voice asked, wobbling with emotion.
His sharp tone had probably frightened her. He deliberately lowered it. “Is this my best girl?”
She giggled and replied, “Yes.” Then she paused for a moment before asking, “Or is Winnie your best girl?”
“Winnie is...” He glanced over at her. Her red hair was tangled around her face, which was pale with fear. For him...
She hadn’t been that frightened for herself. The way she’d followed him out of the hotel...
She could have been shot. He was actually damn surprised that she hadn’t been. And damn glad...
“Winnie is a woman,” he said. A strong woman.
And a passionate one. But he wouldn’t allow himself to think a
bout what had happened in that hotel room before Nikki’s call. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on how he’d crossed that line again with Wendy even though he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t.
But he hadn’t been able to resist her.
She leaned forward and whispered to Lars to hurry to the hospital. The SUV lurched forward as Lars pressed hard on the accelerator and the vehicle squealed off.
Hart flinched as the sudden movement jarred his wound, but he held back a grunt. Then he assured his daughter, “You’re my best girl.”
“You sound funny, Daddy,” his daughter remarked.
She knew him well. For so long they had been all each other had had. But now there were the Thompsons.
He changed his voice into an imitation of one of her favorite cartoon characters and replied, “I am a funny guy.”
She giggled.
Then he asked, “Are you having fun, honey?”
She proceeded to tell him about all the fun they were having—the games they’d played, the cookies they’d baked—and his heart began to throb and ache more than his wounded leg. She hadn’t been gone very long at all, but he already missed her so damn much.
Lars must have driven fast because they were at the hospital before Felicity had finished talking to him. Wendy reached for the door handle, but he grabbed her hand and stopped her.
The shooter might have followed them. Or he might have beaten them to the hospital and was waiting for another try at taking out Wendy.
“Hey, baby,” he said into the phone. “I have to go now, but I will talk to you soon. I love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, Daddy.”
He had to brace himself to click the disconnect button. He hated to let her go, hated that he had to be away from her right now.
But she loved Winnie and wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. And he felt the same...about not wanting anything to happen to her.
Felicity was the only female he would ever trust enough to give his heart.
* * *
The bad feeling that had gripped Parker for days had eased somewhat when the hotel had been found to have no explosives inside it. But Hart had still been hurt. And Parker rushed through the sliding doors of the hospital, anxious to find out how he was doing.
Lars was always easy to spot given the way he towered head and shoulders over everyone else in the waiting room. He stood next to a smaller woman, not Nikki, though. This woman’s curls were bright red, not Nikki’s auburn. And Parker’s sister had never looked at him the way that Wendy Thompson did as he approached. His steps slowed somewhat as he saw the anger burning in her green eyes.
“How is he?” Parker asked. Was the injury more severe than the through-and-through Nikki had assured him it was?
“Not very damn good, thanks to you!” Wendy said, her voice sharp with the fury he could see in her eyes.
Lars shook his head. “He’s going to be fine. He’s getting some stitches and a pair of crutches. He should be out soon.”
“And when he comes out here, you need to fire him,” Wendy persisted.
Parker narrowed his eyes. “For what?” As far as he could see, she was unscathed. “You’re not hurt. He saved your life. He’s doing his job.”
Damn well. All the members of Parker’s carefully chosen team had proved to be excellent bodyguards.
“Doing his job is going to get him killed,” Wendy said, and now her voice cracked. And tears rushed in to join the anger in her eyes.
“It’s the risk we all take,” Lars told her, his deep voice soft with sympathy.
“But he has a child,” Wendy said. “And he is all that child has.”
Parker flinched. She was right. He knew it.
“He’s a great bodyguard,” Wendy said. “But this assignment...”
Her.
“It’s just too dangerous,” she continued. “Luther Mills is too dangerous.”
“That’s why you need a bodyguard,” Parker argued.
She nodded in agreement. “A bodyguard, yes. But not Hart. Anyone but Hart. The next time the bullet might not go through him without hitting anything vital. The next bullet or explosion could kill him. That’s a risk that I’m not willing to take.”
For his daughter’s sake? Or for hers?
It was obvious that Wendy Thompson cared about Hart. Then, of course, even Parker had heard the rumors about her crush on Detective Fisher. That crush had apparently become something more. Just for her or for Hart, too?
Hart might not appreciate what Parker was going to do, but he had to acknowledge that she was right. Hart could no longer be her bodyguard.
Chapter 18
Hart’s throat burned from all the shouting he’d done. Not because he was in pain, although his damn leg continued to throb. Maybe he shouldn’t have refused the painkillers. But he hadn’t wanted any drugs to affect his ability to carry out his assignment.
“You can’t just take my job away,” he protested.
Parker, in the driver’s seat, glanced over the console at him. “You still have a job,” he assured him. “I’m not firing you.”
“You fired me from this assignment!”
Parker uttered a weary-sounding sigh. He was probably tired of arguing with him. Not that he’d argued much. He’d just reminded Hart that he was the boss and this was the way it was going to be.
“You’re injured,” Parker said.
He snorted. “Like you and every other Payne Protection bodyguard hasn’t got hurt and still continued to do his or her job.” He’d heard the stories—the legends—about his boss and coworkers.
“You have a child,” Parker said, as if Hart needed reminding.
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t put myself in danger the way you are right now,” Parker pointed out.
“Taking this job for the chief—that puts you in danger, too!” Hart quipped. “You don’t think Luther Mills wouldn’t love to take out every damn one of us?” He had probably put out a hit on every one of them as well as the people involved in prosecuting him.
“He’s not going to have the chance to take you out,” Parker said. “You’re going to go be with your daughter. You can help protect the Thompsons.”
Hart shook his head. “No.”
“You don’t want to be with Felicity?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “But I don’t want to leave Wendy alone and unprotected.” He’d promised her father that he would protect Ben Thompson’s daughter like Ben Thompson had promised to protect his. Hart would not break that promise.
Parker glanced at him again, his eyes narrowed. “You think I would leave her alone and unprotected? Of course I assigned someone else to protect her.”
“Lars?” he asked. They’d both been gone when he’d hobbled out on his crutches to the waiting room. His heart had plummeted in his chest when she hadn’t been there. “I can’t believe she went along with you removing me as bodyguard.”
Parker’s voice was low and quiet when he replied, “It was her idea.”
Hart jumped as if his boss had shouted. It was her idea.
She didn’t want him any longer.
“You’re injured,” Parker repeated. “You need to either take some time off or to take an easier assignment, like protecting the Thompsons.”
Hart shook his head. He didn’t believe they were in danger any longer. Luther wasn’t trying to threaten and intimidate Wendy anymore. He was outright trying to kill her. He wanted her gone.
“Where is she?” he asked.
Parker sighed. “What does it matter?” he asked. “You’re not going there.”
“Work,” he said. “She must be at work...” He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. No civilian is allowed to go into the police lab.” He hadn’t been able to go inside with her; he’d had to stand gua
rd in the hallway.
“Nothing happened to her when you were outside the lab,” Parker reminded him. “Nobody’s going to try anything inside the police department.”
Hart was not so sure. He had this sick feeling in his stomach. “I don’t know...” He shook his head. “Luther’s getting desperate enough to try anything.”
And being desperate made Luther Mills more dangerous than he had ever been.
“She’ll be fine,” Parker assured him. “Nothing will happen to her.”
His promise rang hollow. They both knew that he had no way of guaranteeing her safety.
Luther had someone on the inside of the River City PD. Or maybe even several someones. That meant it wasn’t just possible that one of them would get to Wendy; it was probable.
Unlike Parker’s, Hart’s promise to her father had not been hollow. He fully intended to keep it. It didn’t matter that Parker had removed him from the assignment. Hell, it wouldn’t matter if he fired him.
He was going to protect Wendy Thompson, even if he died trying.
* * *
Woodrow was frustrated as hell. He’d spent weeks trying to figure out who the leak was within his precinct. It couldn’t have been just that rookie cop who had tried to kill the eyewitness.
There had to be someone higher. Someone with more inside information. The district attorney’s office was working on finding their leak. But with the district attorney on maternity leave, Woodrow had to trust that her subordinates would be able to handle the investigation.
Hell, they couldn’t be doing any worse than he was. He needed to find his. So he’d called in a reinforcement.
Woodrow’s stepson and former FBI colleague sat across from him, across the desk from the one he used to sit behind as the former acting chief of the River City Police Department. Hell, Woodrow had been the one who’d recommended his best FBI agent for the job of cleaning up the corruption in River City.
At that time Nick had been using Rus as his last name. He hadn’t changed it to Payne until his family had accepted the illegitimate child of Nicholas Payne Senior. With black hair and bright blue eyes, he looked just like his late father and his brothers. Woodrow’s bride, Penny, had been the first to accept him, of course. Her heart was so big, but in Nick she had also found a kindred spirit. The guy, like her, was legendary for his uncanny ability to just know things.