Serial Passion: A Steamy Bodyguard Romance

by Kelli Walker

  I would have breathed a sigh of relief had that been the end of the email.

  But, it wasn’t.

  Regarding the media presence this has kicked up, I want you to know that we want your safety. First and foremost. However, we also have to take into account the safety of our patients. The other doctors we employ. The residential students who are still in school, learning in our safe environment. After speaking with the board on your behalf, we are offering you a month (four weeks from the timestamp on this email) of paid vacation. Until such time as the media settles down, you are to give no formal quotes on behalf of the hospital and you are to route all further questions through me. Once the media storm subsides, we welcome you back with open arms.

  Let me know you have received this email,

  Dr. Andrew P. Galley, President of New York Regional Hospital

  I flopped back down into the bed and sighed. It shouldn't have shocked me. In fact, it was almost necessary. The news was sinking its teeth into me now more than ever, and that type of attention wasn’t good for the hospital. I felt my stomach lurch with anger, though. I knew that email had been typed with more awareness than I wanted to admit to. Someone on that board knew about the threats. The voicemails. Possibly the letter delivered to my house.

  I should have known they would have figured it out eventually. All those servers in the hospital were regularly checked and monitored.

  I responded to the email with a quick, ‘Yes, I got it, sir.’. I couldn't be upset at it. I understood it. I even welcomed the hospital’s actions to try and keep everyone in their care safe. After all, that was what the Hippocratic Oath was all about. Doing harm to no one, no matter the cost.

  But it seemed as if that same oath was costing me my career.

  I didn’t have anything if I wasn’t working. Hell, my best friend was one of the full-time nurses on staff. My life was literally inside of that hospital. And I hated having nothing to do. If this was a month-long vacation to go travel, that would be different. But it was a month-long vacation being barricaded in my own home because the press wouldn't stop hounding me and the only place I’d ever sought solace didn’t feel it was safe for me to be there.

  I guess it was time to try out some new recipes in the kitchen.

  I sat up from my bed and stood up. I reached for my robe and tugged it over my body, tying it off around my waist. I slipped my phone into my pocket and went to go clean myself up a bit, then I headed downstairs. I already had ideas of what I wanted to make for breakfast running around in my head. I’d always wanted to try my hand as a hollandaise sauce. I wanted to try and perfect a nice poached egg as well. I came down the stairs with a deep sigh leaving my lips, heading straight for the refrigerator to sift around for my ingredients.

  But some mumbling from Rocco’s room caught my ear.

  I walked over to the double doors and stood against it. I wanted to hear what he was saying. Figure out who he might have been talking to. The rumbling was low. Almost like the hum of a car engine. It stopped the second I stood at the door, and I almost convinced myself that I hadn’t heard a voice at all. That I had actually heard a car outside humming off in the distance.

  Then, the door swung open.

  I jumped back, startled as the quick movement. And I saw Rocco standing there sliding a cell phone into his pants. He cocked an eyebrow, staring at me with a quizzical look in his eye. His gaze was dark. Hooded, underneath his brow. It cast a shadow over his features that made him look primal. Beastly.

  Intimidating.

  Yep. He was definitely in the right profession.

  “Do you want breakfast?” I asked.

  I watched him nod before he closed the door again. In my face. Retreating back into a room I had offered him like he owned the damn place.

  “Well, thanks for telling me what you want,” I snickered.

  I backtracked to the refrigerator and heard that low hum again. I tried to block it out as much as I could. I had no idea what he was talking about or who he was speaking with, but I figured it was someone he worked with. Possibly. Maybe the police.

  Wait, had something happened last night?

  I tilted my head closer to the door to try and figure out what was going on. I mindlessly scrambled some eggs, saving the fancy maneuvers and meals for a later date. I’d need to grocery shop soon anyway. I didn’t have nearly enough food to feed two full-grown adults for an entire month. I grew frustrated at my fruitless efforts to understand what he was saying and decided to distract myself instead. I reached for the bread basket on top of the refrigerator, standing on my tiptoes as the eggs sizzled off the stove.

  But something caught the corner of my eye.

  The bread fell on top of my head as I became distracted. I brushed myself off, my eyes falling onto the kitchen table against the back wall of the room. I felt uneasy as I looked at the piece of paper on top of the table. Sitting there, open-faced. Gazing up at the ceiling. I slowly walked over to it. I kicked loaves of bread out of my way, paving a path as my heart leapt in my throat. I stood by the table and looked over, scared of picking it up.

  And as my eyes scanned the letter, I felt my blood run cold.

  You can run, but you can’t hide. Your locked windows don’t mean anything to bricks. Your curtains don’t mean anything to heat sensors. I know where you are. And I know what you do. I also know what you did.

  I let out the breath I was holding and it fluttered the corner of the letter. And underneath it, I saw something else. Something that made tears rush my eyes. I slowly inched my hand out and peeled the letter away, revealing the contents of the mysterious object underneath.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I whispered.

  It was a picture. Of me. I was standing on the porch with Rocco looming in the doorway, watching over me as I drew in a deep breath. I had stepped out after dinner last night to get a breath of fresh air. To breathe in the sounds of a city that had barricaded me to a block of brownstones. I dropped the letter and took a step back, feeling woozy on my feet.

  Someone was watching me.

  Closely.

  I felt myself stumble back before a pair of hands gripped my arms. I felt my back fall into something strong as my head tilted up. I saw Rocco’s face, his eyes staring at the letter as he cradled me against him. I felt my breathing speeding up as a chair raked across the hardwood floor. Rocco guided me to the chair. He pressed his hands onto my shoulders, urging me to sit down. I followed without a second thought. The room was still tilting and I couldn’t stay on my feet. Shock. I was in the first stages of shock.

  I had to get it under control before my heart rate plummeted.

  I felt a cool glass of something fall against my palm. I wrapped my hand around it and opened my eyes, watching water dance around the edges. I felt a thick set of fingers fall to my neck. Callused. Heavy. Yet, gentle in how they hovered. I slowly panned my gaze over to Rocco, watching his head nod with the erratic beat of my heart.

  His free hand pressed itself underneath the glass in my hand, guiding it to my lips as he clocked my heart rate without a second thought.

  “Did it come this morning?” I asked.

  I took a long pull of the ice water as Rocco nodded his head.

  “Have you notified the police?” I asked.

  His fingers fell from my skin, slipping against my vein as he nodded his head. I ignored the tingling sensation that fell down my neck. The last thing I needed was to be reminded of how long it had been since a man had touched even the most common parts of my skin.

  Much less the most delicate.

  I brought the glass of water back to my lips and chugged it. I needed to get it into my system. I needed to take deep breaths through my nose. The world finally stopped tilting as Rocco stood up, then took his place behind me as I sat. I finished the water. I chewed on the ice. I made any excuse I could to not stand up. Rocco might have been a silent man. An annoying presence. But now, I was grateful he was there. I was grateful he had been the one
to find that letter instead of me.

  I was grateful he had been there to catch me before I passed out in the middle of my kitchen.

  I set the glass down on the table and cleared my throat. “I’m making scrambled eggs, some toast, and some bacon. Would you like some?”

  I stood up and turned to face him before he nodded.

  “Good. Okay. It should be ready within the next twenty or so minutes,” I said.

  And then, I watched Rocco sit down at the table. Was he going to join me for this meal?

  I decided not to question it. Right now, his presence was the only thing that made me feel safe. That reassured me this endless tunnel of darkness had an end. I whipped us up two plates of breakfast, then brewed a pot of coffee and set it in the middle of the table. I rushed around the kitchen, keeping myself busy with getting us napkins and creamer and forks. Anything to keep my body occupied. Anything to keep my mind occupied.

  Anything to keep myself distracted.

  I sat down at my plate and felt his eyes on me. I connected my gaze with his and watched him look me up and down. Studying me. Taking me in. He stabbed at his eggs before bringing them to his mouth, then his gaze dropped back to his place.

  The man was as mysterious as they came. But, he was all I had.

  The least I could do was try to make us less miserable if we were going to be cooped up.

  Rocco

  “We need to work with the police to speed this up, Matthew. I’ve been at this house for three solid days. If the police need our lab connections, then so be it. But there is no way these letters are being hand-delivered without some sort of fucking fingerprint or DNA on it,” I said.

  “And the police chief has reassured me they’re working as quickly as they can. In the meantime, Sheriff What’s His Face has given me some leeway to pursue avenues while you’re guarding our client,” Matthew said.

  “His name is Sheriff Kowalski. And what kind of leeway are we talking about here?”

  “Yeah, I’m never going to remember that. And the kind of leeway that has allowed me to already go to and search the prison where Skylar Lane was being held.”

  “That’s some decent leeway. Find anything interesting?” I asked

  “I talked with the guards who were with him around-the-clock and checked the logs for visitors. Because, apparently, death row inmates can still have visitors. I took that list of people that have come to visit him and well as took statements on what the guards could remember about them. You know, how they interacted with Mr. Lane. Was it positive? Negative? Shit like that.”

  “Let me guess. You’re cross-checking it with individuals that were close with Skylar Lane while he was still living life on the outside,” I said.

  “You know me well. I’ve got a small list of names that meets both of those standards. People he knew on the outside that came to visit on the inside. Scarily enough, there’s more people he never knew that came to visit him while he was jailed away, if you can believe it.”

  “Save that list. There is a small possibility we’re looking at a fanatic. I don’t want to rule out a suspect like that just yet.”

  “Duly noted. I’ll keep it on hand. In the meantime, I’m running background checks on all of the connections that meet both parameters I set. I’m focusing in on extended family members first. Friends. Those who would have been closest to Mr. Lane,” he said.

  “None of that would make sense, though. That man’s family were his first few victims. His mother. His father. His two sisters. They were his trial runs. If anything, he would have pissed off extended family members on both sides of his family. Not made a connection with someone who wanted to defend his life with their last breath,” I said.

  “You never know how the mind of a person works. Psychology is a tricky thing, Rocco. And something like this can do a hell of a lot to a person. Like you don’t want to rule out fanatics, I don’t want to rule out the family because we want to believe the most ruthless serial killer of our generation came from a family of upstanding citizens.”

  “Fine. Then go ahead and get it done. But, make sure you track their whereabouts. If anyone stands out to you, start running cross-checks. See where they’ve been the past few days. If any of them are near the hospital or near this brownstone, I want to know everything about them,” I said.

  “Roger that.”

  “Also, get someone from our tech department to pull security footage from the prison. If they have anything recorded in their backlogs regarding these visitation rights Mr. Lane had, I want to see how he interacts with them individually. I want to find anything that can help the police speed this up in any way. Because with the way things escalated with that note a couple of days ago, it’s making me nervous.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re working as hard as we can. Don’t worry about us. I just wanted to make sure we were all staring down the same end of the barrel here,” Matthew said.

  “These notes are too close and too personal. I don’t like the way this is feeling,” I said.

  “Taylor, I hear you. We’ve got this.”

  “You rarely call me by my last name.”

  “You rarely lose your head. The hell’s got you so bent out of shape? Because I know it’s not just a note,” he said.

  I raked my hand through my hair and thought back to the last meal I’d shared with Dr. Jones. The breakfast she made after finding that note. I liked how eating with her felt. But more than that, I liked the way her body felt in my grasp. Not good. Definitely not good. I’d put myself in a compromising position and it was growing harder to focus.

  “Earth to Rocco. Do I need to send someone else down your way and relieve for a little bit?” Matthew asked.

  “Actually, yes. Let’s place another man during the day just outside her front door. I want people to see that she’s guarded,” I said.

  “That might taunt whoever’s doing this. You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “If this person is wanting to keep their hands clean like I think they want it, posting someone outside the door will give them one less way to deliver those letters. It locks the house down a little more, which means getting messages to Dr. Jones is going to be harder.”

  “Which means you stand a better chance of catching something that could be of use.”

  “Yes. We lean into them. They lean back,” I said.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll send someone over immediately.”

  “Thanks, Matthew.”

  “Anytime, Rocco.”

  I hung up the phone and slipped it into my pocket. The excuse I gave him was only partially true. Yes, having someone at the door provided the added benefit of leaning on the mysterious letter-giver. But, it also gave me another set of eyes. Which meant I was less willing to let mine wander. I came out of my room and started my morning hike around the premises. I walked downstairs and checked the door, making sure it was locked. I walked back up the stairs and checked the windows in the kitchen to make sure they were locked. I made my upstairs, checking all of the doors and windows to make sure they weren’t compromised in any way.

  And Dr. Jones’ soft hums came from the bathroom.

  I heard the water running with her shower, but her sweet voice poured through the door like melted butter. I jiggled the knob of the other guest bedroom and sighed when I found it still locked. Good. Everything was as it should be, which meant I could give Dr. Jones her space. I started back down the hallway, gripping the top of the banister and swinging myself around it.

  But as my foot hit the top step, the bathroom door flew open.

  Steam bellowed out of the bathroom, wafting against my face. And when Dr. Jones walked out into the hallway, she was clad in nothing but a towel. A fucking piece of microfiber wrapped around her body. Her body was still dry, save for the condensation on her skin. Her wavy blonde hair tumbled down her back. My eyes fell down her body as she stared at me. Her body was barely covered in the towel she held against her. She had toned legs. Smooth legs. Sp
arkling legs with strong calves and thigh lines that disappeared underneath the hem of the towel. Her brown eyes were wide. The yellow accents of her brown orbs twinkled as I followed her gaze. She was staring just as hard at me. Her eyes danced around me, taking me in the way I took her in.

  And when I looked down, I realized I was shirtless.

  I bit down onto the inside of my cheek to keep myself from complimenting her. To keep from telling her how sexy she looked. My eyes bounced between my chest and her face, watching her watch me. Her eyes slowly raked up to my face. I watched her cheeks flush. I watched that red trickle down her neck, disappearing behind the top of her towel.

  A towel I wanted to rip straight from her body so I could see the whole of her luscious form.

  I noticed the freckles on her nose and cheeks. How they darkened as her rosy tint deepened. It was endearing. Cute. It gave her this innocent glow about her. She had her lips parted in shock, breathing raggedly through them. As if she was struggling the way I was. I felt weak against her stare. I felt haggard in her presence. My eyes fell down to her chest, giving into a need I tried to overpower.

  I had to swallow down a groan when I saw the perfect outline of her nipples puckered against that fucking towel.

  “I forgot my bathrobe,” she said.

  I watched her point to her bedroom as her voice blanketed my ears. Sweet. Velvety. Like hot caramel being poured over a frozen banana. I nodded at her before forcing myself to walk down the stairs. Forcing my legs to move despite the painful erection growing against my pants. My lockdown was finished. There was no reason for me to be upstairs. The bathroom had no window to check, which meant I didn’t need to go in there and look around again. Thank fuck. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to walk into that bathroom without thinking of her, naked and wet in that damn shower. I made my way down the stairs quickly, listening as Dr. Jones slammed her bedroom door closed behind her.