My Biker Bodyguard

by Turner, J. R.

  It made sense, but Jess wasn't sure her idea couldn't still work. "What if I refuse to be named beneficiary? I mean, don't I have any say in who puts my name where?"

  "I have no idea if that's possible, but if you could," Agent Mordstrom said, "I don't know if it would be enough. He might eliminate you simply to stay on the safe side. This person is powerful enough and determined enough to hire men half a country away. This isn't a third-rate criminal we're up against."

  "If it's Grady, than you are. He's got more money than brains." Mitch muttered.

  "Who's Grady?"

  "You're step-uncle," Mitch explained.

  "Step-uncle?"

  Agent Davis flipped a page in the file and answered without looking up. "Your grandfather had a second wife who had a grown child from another marriage. The will clearly states that his ex-wife and her kin are not to receive any benefit from the estate."

  "Then why would you think Grady's behind this?" Jess asked Mitch, who looked at her with skepticism in his chocolate eyes.

  "I didn't say he was behind this. The LAPD have made him their number one suspect. Honestly, I don't agree. He's loaded already, even if he's a binge gambler. The theory is, with that much dough backing him, he could hire a team of lawyers to get the inheritance, if there are no remaining beneficiaries."

  Jess may have spent the last twenty-four hours suspicious of Mitch's intentions, but she believed him a heck of a lot more than the FBI. Even if he'd led her to think her mother was dead.

  C'mon, Jess, you did that all on your own. You wanted her to be dead, because that meant you never had to ask her why she left, or find out she didn't love you.

  She glanced at her father. His blue eyes studied the fake grain in the table top. Why couldn't you just trust me with the truth? She rubbed her face, held her bangs out of her eyes and said to no one in particular. "Okay, fine, how do we get out of this then?"

  "That's just what we'd like to discuss with you." Reanimated, Mordstrom's bound-up look faded. "We'd like for you to go into protective custody."

  "In Los Angeles." Mitch straightened, as if he'd waited for this moment.

  Davis sent him a glare. "We'd prefer you to remain in Milwaukee, Ms. Owen."

  "It's better if we go to LA," Mitch told her. "You'll have people who are actively working on the case looking out for you."

  "Mr. Conner, let me assure you, the FBI works wherever they are." Mordstrom was back to looking like cheeseboy again.

  "If it's really up to me, I'd rather stay in Milwaukee." Jess wouldn't count on having a say in anything anymore. It was too disappointing. But if they did give her the choice, she wouldn't leave her family. Leave them? "What about my dad, and the guys? What exactly does protective custody mean?"

  "It means locking you up for your own good." Her father shot the agents a disgruntled look. Jess hoped he didn't mean that literally. How strange would it be to fear prison all day, only to volunteer for it that evening?

  "Not at all, Mr. Owen." Davis tried to smile reassuringly, but the attempt faltered under her father's hard glare. "She'll be well looked after in our safe house."

  Jess frowned. "That means my family will be left to fend for themselves?"

  Mitch's jaw hardened. "It's not a priority for them."

  "Conner." Mordstrom sounded offended. "That's entirely inaccurate."

  "Is it?" Jess couldn't explain why she wanted to back Mitch up. Maybe the day's events, the kind where true colors really shone, the fact he'd saved her life, made her feel closer to him than she would have. "Will my father be placed in protective custody?"

  "No, no he didn't mean that." Davis corrected. "Your father will not be a target if you're removed from the home."

  "You can't guarantee me that." Jess crossed her arms. "I won't go without my father."

  * * *

  You tell him, Jess, Mitch thought, and leaned back in his chair. God, he could kiss her right now. She was back to the Jess he'd met the day before; strong, self-assured, and ready for anything. She held up extremely well for all she'd gone through.

  "Jess," Her father sighed heavily and Mitch wondered if the big biker could appear any more dejected. What a difference between father and daughter. Dan nodded to the agents. "They're right. You can't stay home and wait for someone else to come after you. You might not be so lucky next time."

  Jess narrowed her eyes. "I don't think luck had much to do with it, Dad. They'll show up if I'm there or not. We can't be sure they'll even know I'm gone."

  Mitch rested his elbows on the table. Now it got good. The agents had argued fiercely against Jess going to L.A., but he'd gained their agreement, at least, to consider the idea when he'd offered to let Jess decide for herself. Now, he had just the trump card he needed. "I'm sure the FBI would be interested to find out if you're being watched. They could arrange surveillance on your home, see if anyone shows up. Your dad will be protected, and if they find out you went to L.A. you'll draw them away from your family."

  She studied him, dragging a hand across the back of her neck, considering. Her gaze fell on her father and her obvious reluctance to leave him registered in the darkening of her eyes.

  "Ma'am," Davis said. "I have to advise you against traveling at this time. There's no guarantee that you'll be safe during transport."

  She stiffened slightly. Mitch held his breath. If the agents managed to play on her family loyalty, he'd lose. But if they pushed her too hard, she might rebel.

  Jess nodded at him, but her gaze remained on the agents. "Mitch is right. They'll send someone else after me and if I'm here, then my whole family is at risk. Unless you agree to do that surveillance thing Mitch suggested."

  "We ain't afraid of no one." Dirty Dan thrust out his beard. "You don't worry about us, girl. You do what you think is right. Listen to them. You ain't gonna be safe travelin' either. To me, one's just as bad as the other."

  "I'm sure the FBI will provide an escort to L.A. for Jess." Mitch grinned in triumph, he couldn't help it. He had no doubt she would agree. To the agents, he asked, "How about it?"

  Dread rolled off Jess in waves. The agents scowled at each other, then Davis looked down the table, glaring a moment harder at Mitch, before giving his full attention to her. "I'm sure we could arrange that. But a safe house, here in Milwaukee, is your only real option, Ms. Owen."

  Jess smacked the table with both her palms and jumped, as if she'd done it with more force than intended. "Fine, L.A. it is. Now, why don't you guys go do whatever it is you do. Go make arrangements or something. I want to talk to my dad. Alone."

  Mitch wanted to chuckle, but managed to suppress it. The agents had pushed too hard. Instead, he stood, pushed his chair in. He waited for the G-men to gather their files. They finished their grumbling, and left. He'd hound them and make sure everything went down the way it should. Never again would he leave the details to others, even if it meant he'd be a thorn in their side. He could be thorny when the situation called for it.

  Before he left, he put a hand on Jess's shoulder and bent to whisper in her ear. "Don't worry, Cupcake, it's going to be okay, you'll see."

  He patted her, intending to leave, but she grabbed his hand and gazed at him, her ire a mere shimmer over the amusement in her eyes. "Don't call me cupcake."

  She released him and looked away quickly, as if she'd embarrassed herself. Mitch smiled as he stepped out the door. She'd been through a hell of a lot in one day, but she hadn't lost her sense of humor. Maybe everything would turn out okay. He spied the agents nearing the end of the long corridor and hurried to catch up. Things wouldn't get okay on their own. He had work to do.

  * * *

  "We don't have much time Dad. If you love me at all, don't drag this out. Just tell me the truth, and quickly, before they come back." Jess folded her arms on the table and waited, feeling the uncomfortable emptiness in the room.

  "I didn't want to do it this way, but okay, here goes." He heaved a deep breath, stood, and dragged Mitch's chair clos
er to her. He sat like a man ready to give testimony. "Maybe I should start with how I met your ma."

  Jess held her breath, anticipating every word, every detail. All her life she'd wondered, but had never said much, afraid to send her father moping about for days, as he did whenever the subject of her mother came up.

  "We met at a bar. She'd just dropped out of college and was all broke up about how her dad had cut her off." He tugged on his beard and stared at the table. "I never believed they were really rich, just kinda well off, y'know? Her dad only came once, after you were born, and he showed up in a limo. By then though, your ma was gettin' pretty heavy into the junk and I was doin' the fencin' to help pay the bills."

  He stopped abruptly and adjusted the bandana on his head. "Nope, I gotta be honest with you. I was doin' the fencin' because she and I were in deep. She got into meth, and I got into everything. Maybe that was the difference–never met a drug I didn't like, but I never met one I liked more than beer. With your ma, though, that stuff ate her up. Took her over. By the time I went to prison, she'd started runnin' with whoever had the goods."

  He studied the floor, swallowing hard. "If I'd known she'd leave you alone like that, I woulda done something."

  Jess touched his hand. How could she stay mad at him now? She'd been ready rip him up one side and down the other for lying to her, but he'd only been avoiding this pain. "It's okay Dad, it wasn't your fault. You may have messed up, but you did the right thing. If it weren't for you, I'd have had no family at all."

  He shook his head, but his fingers tightened around her hand. "You don't remember, though. I thanked God you'd forgotten, and now I gotta tell you, so you'll understand."

  His gaze was filled with so much regret, so much heartache, she wanted to tell him to be quiet, not to speak any painful words. She didn't want to hear, or feel them.

  "You were only six. She left on a Friday, as far as they could tell. Monday, you didn't show up for school, and then Tuesday, and Wednesday, too. The school called the cops, said your ma was in violation of some truancy thing, that she'd been warned before. So they found you. Alone, at home." His beard bobbed as he scraped his lower lip between his teeth. "After five days. Then they put you in that hell-hole of a foster home. I had to do visits there at first, and I ain't never seen a harder woman in all my life."

  Jess tried to force a memory of all this. Only shadows of the past rewarded her efforts. They danced away before fully revealing themselves, taunting her with half-memories and glimpses of odd, meaningless images. A stuffed bear with a missing ear, a scrawny cat with a crooked tail, a child with brown pigtails and an orange dress–but nothing of this woman he talked about, and nothing about being alone.

  She shuddered, shoulders shaking as if a chill wind had tickled the base of her spine. Alone. The word resonated in her, made her stomach clamp tightly down, made her heart thud once, very hard, against her rib cage. Maybe she remembered more than she could admit even to herself. "I don't remember this. Bells are ringing, but nothing concrete."

  He frowned. "You remember enough. You're shaking."

  She shrugged, and her shoulder jittered. He was right. "I'm fine, don't stop. Tell me how this is all part of what's happening now."

  "Okay," he said slowly, drawing the word out as if he hadn't yet made up his mind. Then, as if deciding he wanted to get it over with quickly, his words came in a rush. "Your ma started writing about five years ago. She said she'd gotten into NA, cleaned up, and had to make amends for what she'd done. I was still pretty pissed at her and just tore up the letters."

  "My mother wrote to you? All this time?" She let go of his hand and pressed back into her chair. "Did she write to me?"

  He took so long to answer, she ran out of breath and had to exhale. He nodded. "She wrote to you, in the beginning, asking me to pass along the letters. But I called her up and told her not to contact you."

  "Why did you do that?" Jess tried to keep her voice below a shout. "Why wouldn't you let me decide?"

  "Because you didn't remember, Jess, and I never wanted you to. Besides, you and I both have seen how easy it is to fall off the wagon. She did a number on you and I wouldn't give her a chance to do it again."

  "And when were you going to tell me about this? When was I going to find out that my mother didn't just forget me, that she wanted to know me too?"

  He didn't answer her.

  Eyes blurry with unshed tears, Jess threw her hands up in frustration, and spun her chair away from him. Her throat felt thick. "Dad, I'm not a kid anymore, all right? You don't need to protect me from the truth all the time. I'm not some naive hick, either. I know the score." For chrissakes, I shot a man today.

  "Maybe I shoulda told you," he said. "But you were still in school when the first one came and after all that time passed, I didn't know what to say, or how to tell you."

  Jess couldn't decide to scream, cry, or find a nice cozy bed to nest in for a month. The never-ending day didn't show signs of getting any shorter. She glanced at her dad. His gaze pleaded for her understanding–and her forgiveness.

  Who am I fooling, of course I'm going to forgive him. The choice was a foregone conclusion and why she bucked at the idea didn't matter in the long run. It would be a waste of worry.

  Worst yet, she needed him to love her, to get a hug and be told everything would be okay. They'd been through tougher times.

  His eyes glistened. "I'm so sorry, Jess."

  Pain flowed through her, old scars ached. She turned abruptly in her seat and flung herself at him. He'd been ready and caught her in a bear hug. He patted the back of her head as she sobbed against his shirt.

  They might have stayed like that for eons if the door hadn't opened behind her. She straightened quickly and wiped her eyes. They burned, were puffy and raw. She was done, over, finished, kaput. She had nothing left.

  Jess focused on who'd come in and found Mitch staring at her with apology in his brown eyes.

  "Everything's arranged and we can get going whenever you're ready."

  She looked away and stood, drying the last of the damp from her face. "I'm ready."

  Her father rose and put an arm around her shoulder. She realized that very shortly she'd be leaving for California. The first real time she had ever spent away from him.

  A zillion worries and fears raced through her mind as they followed Mitch down to the first floor. This might be the last time I see my father. They stepped out of the building. Although the sun hadn't fully set yet, the world suddenly seemed a much darker place.

  Chapter Six Mitch looked at himself in the mirror. The hotel had been his idea, but now he wished he'd suggested a convent. Of course it was his fault. He'd demanded to stay close, to be in the same room with her when at all possible.

  After Jess had packed a suitcase and he'd grabbed his gear, they'd driven south, followed by the FBI, and found a motel near the freeway. He'd secured the room and headed straight for the shower, pausing only to strip off his coat and holster.

  Now, his face dripping with water, his eyes looked and felt like hot coals in his head. He couldn't bring himself to walk out of the bathroom.

  The double they'd chosen for the night was clean, but that's where anything good ended. The big room was too small, and the double beds were too narrow and set too close together. It would have been an adequate room, with plenty of space, if Jess hadn't been out there. She made him sexually claustrophobic.

  Through this long, hot and hard day, he'd wanted, needed, to make some gesture of comfort, but he'd stopped every time, afraid she wouldn't welcome it. She might be tough, even stubborn and outspoken at times, but he'd never met a woman more in need of a friend.

  She was like some kid's doll left in the mud; you naturally wanted to pick it up, clean it, and tuck into a safe bed every night. And that was why he couldn't walk out of the bathroom. Offering her friendship and comfort brought him too close to that line he couldn't cross. Not for her safety, and not for his.

  He
ran icy water in the sink and splashed it over his face and head. He would need a haircut again soon. Hot-bodied, he kept his hair close-cropped, cool and comfortable for California temperatures.

  Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. They would meet Dirty Dan and the guys at O'Hare. Dan's idea. He wanted to make sure Jess got to the airport safely, despite the fact that Agents Dumb and Dumber were staying in the next room and would escort them all the way to California.

  Mitch dried his face, stared at the tiny, still wet bathtub and decided against spending the night crammed in there like a sardine. With a grimace, he opened the door and stepped into a darkened room. Only the bathroom light kept him from waiting for his eyes to adjust.

  Jess lay beneath the blankets on the far bed, her back to him. Curled up, she looked small, hardly grown. Not exactly the brave and bold figure she'd been that morning. His chest tightened with the need to go to her, but he managed to ignore it.

  But for how long?

  Shirtless, still damp, he took his gun from the holster he'd draped over the back of the desk's chair and got a new clip from his bag. Her shorts and pink top lay across her suitcase. The sight of that discarded clothing almost changed his mind about the bathtub.

  Instead, he checked the window and door, confirming all the locks were secure. He stowed the gun and clip beneath his pillow, shut off the light, and sat on the edge of the empty bed. He unsnapped his jeans, but left them on.

  Self-control was something he'd cultivated, not been born with. Living in the moment had taught him that without an idea of where you were going, you started down one wrong road after another, until you found yourself knocking on hell's door.

  For him, the road ended when he'd wound up on the bad end of a deal gone sour. Framed for a lost pick-up that had disappeared before he had gotten the order to fetch it, he had been shot in the leg and told to make good or die. He'd been lucky, earned himself time by gaining respect early on. Two weeks later he'd made good and left town. He'd learned how to get money, save it, and use it to buy a future.