The Bodyguard

by LENA DIAZ,

  He ducked away and hurried to the door.

  “You need stitches,” she said. “Do you have double vision? Are you hurt anywhere else? I heard a gunshot, but I—”

  He held one finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet.

  She nodded, letting him know she understood.

  He opened the door and peered into the hallway.

  A knife suddenly glinted in front of Carol’s face as a hand wrapped around her from behind, holding the knife at her throat. She sucked in a breath.

  Luke jerked around, his brows lowering in a thundercloud when he saw the man holding Carol.

  “How did you get in here?” Luke demanded.

  “That doesn’t matter,” the man rasped in Carol’s ear, his voice oddly distorted as if he was purposely trying to change it. “What matters is that I’ve got her. And I’m not letting her go until I get what I want.”

  Luke took a step toward them, but stopped and put up his hands when the knife bit into Carol’s throat.

  “Ease up,” he said. “Don’t hurt her.”

  “If you don’t want her hurt, then keep your distance.”

  Luke straightened and adopted a bored look. “What do you want?”

  “I want her to admit what she’s done.”

  “I haven’t done any—”

  “Shut up.” He jerked her hair.

  She gasped and strained against him, trying to ease the pressure on her scalp.

  “You’re a murderer,” he said in his thick rasp. “I know you had Richard killed. The only question is—who’s your accomplice? Who’s the one who actually shot the gun so you wouldn’t have to dirty your own hands?”

  “That other door over there,” Luke said, waving a hand toward the door at the back-right corner of the room. “That leads to a bathroom, right? A bathroom that leads to an adjoining bedroom? That’s how you got in here.”

  “Yeah, so? What does it matter?”

  “It matters a lot. It tells me you know this house just as well as Carol does. And it explains how you knew the security code to get in the front door. The only question is—which brother are you? Daniel or Grant?”

  Carol gasped.

  The man behind her swore and pulled his hand away from her throat. He shoved her toward Luke. She stumbled forward. Luke grabbed her and pushed her behind him, blocking her with his body as he faced the other man. Luke slowly backed up, pushing her along with him.

  The man standing on the other side of the room wasn’t holding the knife anymore. He must have tucked it into his clothing somewhere. But in its place was a gun—Luke’s gun. He must have gotten it away from him in the struggle downstairs.

  “You seemed tougher at the hospital,” Luke said, still backing up, “when you weren’t sucker punching anyone with a baseball bat or holding a gun on them. Why don’t you put the gun away, take off your mask and face me like a man, Grant.”

  The man cursed again. He yanked the ski mask off. Sure enough, Grant stared back at both of them, his face mottled red and furious. But he didn’t lower the gun.

  “How did you know?” he demanded.

  “It was a guess. I figured I had a fifty-fifty chance of being right.” Luke stiffened and looked off to his right, toward the open bathroom door. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  Grant jerked around toward the bathroom.

  Luke yanked the bedroom door open and lunged through the doorway into the hall, pulling Carol with him.

  An angry shout told them Grant wasn’t too far behind. He’d fallen for Luke’s distraction but not for long.

  “In here.” Luke opened a door and shoved Carol inside. But instead of following her, he closed the door, cocooning her in the darkness of the hall closet.

  Carol froze at the sound of his footsteps pounding on the wooden floor of the hallway. She squeezed her hands so hard the nails bit into her palms. Why hadn’t he come with her? She knew the answer. He was making himself the target, giving her a chance to get away.

  A shout sounded down the hallway. A shot rang out, sounding impossibly loud in the narrow confines of the closet. More footsteps pounded against the floor, running past the closet. What was happening? Was Luke okay? Was he hurt, shot, bleeding?

  The image of her late husband lying dead on the kitchen floor of the cottage filled her mind. But instead of his face, she saw Luke’s face, cold and pale.

  No! She had to help him. She twisted the doorknob, determined to find Luke. But she hesitated. He’d been emphatic about her not trying to help him if something happened. He’d made her promise to escape if at all possible, to go for help. It wasn’t as if she could just call the police. Her cell phone was in her purse, which was downstairs in her overnight bag. Luke had his phone, or at least she thought he did. But would he get a chance to use it? Or had it broken during the struggle with Grant in the foyer?

  What were her options? Driving Luke’s car was out. She didn’t have the keys. But Richard kept a car out back in the garage in case he ever visited the house. The keys would be in the garage, too, hanging in the cabinet with the same code to unlock it that was used for the front door. If she could make it out of the house without being seen, she could drive to town and get help.

  The image of Luke lying on the floor, bleeding, flashed through her mind again. All her adult life she’d made the wrong choices. She’d chosen the wrong man. She’d believed he was sorry every time he hurt her and she kept giving him chance after chance to change, until everything went so far she was too scared to even try to leave. And now here she was, faced with another choice. If she did what Luke had asked, she might be able to get help. But the nearest town was thirty minutes away. Round trip that was an hour, plus the time to find help, and the time to run to the garage and sneak out the car. If Luke was hurt, could he last an hour, or longer?

  She squared her shoulders. That wasn’t a chance she was willing to take. She knew this house. Every inch of it. She knew all its secrets, every connected room, every little alcove or storage place. There were panels in some of the walls both upstairs and down that no one would know about if they hadn’t been shown. She could well imagine Richard giving Grant the code to get into the house in case he ever wanted to get away or use the house for vacation. But there was no way Richard would share all the little secrets the house contained. Which meant she had an advantage over Grant.

  As she inched the door open, the uncertainty and fear she’d felt earlier were, amazingly, gone. She’d made her decision. And for once, she knew it was the right decision. If she died today, she would die as a strong, brave woman who was willing to risk everything to save a good man. That was far better than living the rest of her life wondering if she could have done something to help Luke.

  She poked her head out the door and looked up and down the dimly lit hallway. She listened intently, searching the shadows, but no sounds alerted her to anyone close by. No shadows separated themselves from the doorways or alcoves where decorative tables sat. Time to be brave. She yanked her heels off and discarded them in the closet. Barefoot, she could run across the wood floor upstairs and the tile floor below without making a sound. She hurried out of the closet and rushed toward the back stairs. She figured those would be safer because only someone in the kitchen would see her on those stairs, and then only once she got to the bottom. The front stairs were too exposed and could be seen from most of the main rooms on the bottom floor.

  She crept down the stairs, carefully listening for sounds of anyone who might be waiting for her. But everything was quiet. Too quiet. Where was Luke? And where was Grant?

  When she reached the last step, she looked around the kitchen. Empty. She hurried to the doorway that led into the family room. Again, she paused, looking out at the massive room, but she didn’t see anyone. Where had they gone?

  Across the room
she could see the foyer. With the front door standing wide open. Was it a trick? Was someone watching her even now, baiting her with the open door, the promise of escape?

  Where are you, Luke? Are you okay?

  She ducked back into the kitchen, debating her next steps. A weapon. She needed a weapon, something to defend herself with, or Luke, if it came to that. She ran to the butcher-block holder on the countertop and pulled out the biggest knife she could find. From tip to tip it had to be at least twelve inches long. The thought of wielding it against someone had her stomach twisting. She put the knife back and selected a smaller one, one that she could conceal the way Grant had. She would use it if she had to, but only as a last resort.

  She slid the knife blade beneath the sleeve of her blouse and held the hilt in her palm. For the most part, the weapon was hidden, but she could pull it out quickly if needed. Then she pulled a small cast-iron skillet out from a cabinet. About five inches in diameter, it wasn’t too heavy for her to hold, but it could do some serious damage if she had to swing it at someone’s head.

  That sickening image had her almost putting the skillet down, but she reminded herself there was someone else needing protection this time. It wasn’t just about her. She had to be brave, and if that meant she had to hurt Grant, then that was what she’d have to do.

  She crossed to the doorway again and looked into the family room. This time, she heard something. A taunting voice, low, familiar. And then a scream, quickly cut off. She blinked in confusion. The scream had sounded familiar, too. And it had sounded like a woman. Was someone else here?

  She stepped into the family room. Movement to her left had her spinning around, holding up the skillet.

  It was snatched from her grasp as Luke stepped in front of her, holding his finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet.

  She flung her arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug before stepping back. The look of surprise on his face had her feeling foolish. But then he pulled her close and hugged her back. He leaned down and pressed his lips close to her ear.

  “Glad you’re okay, too, but you should have stayed upstairs in the closet. Or better yet,” he whispered, “you should have gotten out of here and hid in the woods.”

  She shook her head and pulled back. “I’m not leaving you here alone. You’d better figure out a way to include me in your plans.”

  His brows lowered. “You promised.”

  “I know, but it wasn’t a promise I should have given.”

  He obviously didn’t like to hear that. He looked as though he was about to argue with her, when another noise reached them. It sounded like angry words, again, in a low, ominously familiar tone, followed by a loud thump, as if someone had been hit.

  “Where’s it coming from?” she whispered.

  He pointed to the door at the end of the family room, one that led into a room next to the foyer.

  He set the skillet down on a nearby end table. “I gave Grant the slip a few minutes ago and was going to come upstairs and get you. But then I saw him go into that room.”

  “The study,” she whispered. “He’s got someone else in there. A woman. He’s hurting her. We can’t leave her here.”

  His mouth thinned. “I know. Try to stay out of the way, okay? Can you at least promise you won’t jump out in front of a gun or something?”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  He grinned. “No, you’re not an idiot. You’re beautiful, maddening and utterly adorable, but never an idiot.”

  She grinned back.

  They hurried along the edge of the wall so the occupants of the study couldn’t see them. When they reached the doorway, Luke motioned for her to stay there.

  She nodded, content to trust that he knew what he was doing. If she saw an opening to help, she would. But he didn’t need to know that. After all, she didn’t want to distract him, as he’d said earlier.

  Another scream sounded from inside the room, oddly muted, though.

  She pressed her hand to her throat.

  Luke’s jaw tightened and he looked into the room. He stiffened, then hurriedly disappeared through the doorway.

  Carol waited, but when he didn’t immediately return, she crept forward and peeked inside. When she saw what Luke had seen, the knife she’d been holding concealed in her left hand fell from her numb fingers and clattered to the marble floor.

  * * *

  LUKE HAD JUST reached the chair where Grant was sitting, when he heard the sound behind him and knew Carol had come into the room. His heart broke for her, but at the same time he couldn’t help her, not yet.

  Grant didn’t move in spite of the noise Carol had made. Instead, he held his head in his hands and wept. Luke rushed around the edge of the chair and grabbed the gun that Grant had placed on the end table. Grant lifted his head and gave him a bleary-eyed look.

  “Go ahead,” he rasped. “Shoot me. It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Where’s your knife?” Luke demanded, pointing the gun at him.

  Another scream sounded from the tableau playing on the big-screen TV at the end of the room. Luke winced and forced himself not to look. He’d already seen more than he’d ever wanted to see when he entered the room.

  “The knife,” he prodded. “And for the love of God, turn the TV off.”

  Grant fumbled on his left side for the knife he’d apparently tucked into the cushion.

  A whimper escaped from Carol.

  Luke couldn’t stand knowing what she was seeing. He couldn’t wait for Grant to find the remote, either. He turned his gun and fired at the TV. The screen cracked and went dark, a burning smell rising through the room. Luke didn’t care if the entire house burned down. At least Carol wasn’t seeing the recording of herself anymore, being beaten and raped by her former husband.

  Grant handed the knife to Luke. “I’m sorry, Caroline,” he called out. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  She crossed to the TV and took the video card out of the player beneath it before facing him. She clenched the card in her fist. “It was my shame, my burden, to share or not to share. And neither you nor Daniel ever made a secret of your dislike for me. I had no reason to think you would believe me, or help me, if I told you about Richard.”

  He wiped his eyes that were still streaming tears. “You were a waitress. We thought you married him for his money. But that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t have helped you if we’d...” He shook his head. “I didn’t know. And after Richard was killed, I assumed you were behind it, that you’d paid someone to kill him. And once I heard about the will, I figured you must have switched the wills so you’d get all his money.”

  “Why did you break into the house back in town last night?” Luke asked, risking a quick glance at Carol to see if she was okay. She was pale, but holding her own.

  “I broke in because I knew Richard had those recorders all over the place. He was always paranoid like that. I was going to get the cards and watch them to see if any of them showed Caroline talking to someone about killing Richard, or talking about the will.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter now. I don’t care that you killed him. He deserved it for what he did to you. God, I’m so, so sorry.” He covered his face with his hands again.

  Carol’s face had gone ashen as he spoke. “What other recorders?”

  Luke held the gun on Grant and crossed the room to stand by her. “Answer the question.”

  Grant wiped his eyes and collapsed against the back of the chair. “Richard showed me one of the recorders once, a long time ago, at his office. He was trying to catch someone he thought was guilty of sharing corporate secrets with one of his competitors. He joked that he should use them at home, too, to make sure the staff wasn’t helping themselves to the silver when he wasn’t around. When I was visiting the mansion once, I searche
d the guest room I was in just to see if he was serious, and I found the camera hidden in the top dresser drawer—just like the camera hidden in his desk drawer at work. I always figured he had them in every room after that.”

  Luke reached out his left hand. Carol threaded her fingers with his and he gently squeezed.

  “Carol isn’t the one who had your brother killed,” Luke said. He felt more than saw Carol’s gaze on him. “I don’t need to see the recordings to know that.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He nodded. “Grant, my phone’s broken. Do you have a phone?”

  Grant reached into his back pocket.

  Luke stiffened. “Slowly.”

  Grant carefully pulled out the cell phone.

  “Put it on the coffee table in the center of the room and then sit back down.”

  Grant did as he was told. When he was a safe distance away, Luke picked up the phone and handed it to Carol. “Will you call 911?”

  She made the call, gave them the address, then sat on one of the couches with Luke, facing Grant.

  “I think you made up that story about thinking Carol was behind your brother’s death,” Luke said. “You’re the one who killed him. And you killed Mitch. Did you come here to kill Carol, too?”

  Grant’s eyes widened and he vigorously shook his head. “No, no, no. I swear. I would never hurt anyone. I didn’t bring a gun with me here. I only took your gun away so you wouldn’t shoot me.”

  “Right. And those were warning shots you fired at me.”

  “They were! I only came here to talk. I wanted the truth from Caroline.”

  “People who want to talk don’t break into other people’s houses and hit them over the head with a baseball bat.”

  His face flushed red. “I just wanted to overpower you so I could get your gun away and make you both sit down. I admit, I probably went about it the wrong way. But you have to understand. I thought she’d killed Richard, or had him killed, so I was afraid for my own life, too.”