"Well, defensive driving." Davis frowned, obviously realizing he was on dangerous ground, but unwilling to give in. "You just keep us in your rearview mirror."
"And you just keep up with me." Tires squealed on asphalt as she popped the clutch and shot them forward. Blue haze filled the air, obscuring the agents for a moment before they goosed their car onto the road.
Mitch couldn't help it. He threw his head back and laughed. "Damn, I take it back. You're not impossible, you're crazy."
She grinned at him before she whipped the wheel and plastered him to the door in a too-tight turn. "Thanks."
Forget gorgeous, sexy, and willing. He preferred sassy as hell. He'd gladly give up his reputation for that. What did it matter in the long run? People needed protection, the world was a dangerous place, and as long as it was, he'd have a job wherever he went.
Once they entered the on-ramp, Jess let the Mustang out full bore. He expected a cop to pull them over any second. Looking through the rear window, he didn't find a patrol car, but he did see Mordstrom and Davis, though small and about a half mile back.
Facing forward, he smiled at her. She was capable of anything. "Remind me to never piss you off."
* * *
Jess waited, her airline ticket clutched in her fist. Mordstrom and Davis hung back, one on each point of entry to the waiting area just before the gate. She couldn't walk through until her father got there. She couldn't leave without seeing him one last time.
"He'll come." Mitch shoved his hands deep into his pockets, as if now that their luggage had been checked, he didn't know what to do with his hands. She wondered too, if he regretted checking his gun into baggage. Mordstrom and Davis had kept theirs and she'd seen Mitch's envy.
Jess turned her attention back to the entrance. The constant watch of the agents, Mitch's suddenly overt surveillance of everything and everybody, proved how dangerous this was. Every brown-haired man that passed her became the man she'd shot in front of the diner. Every stranger without luggage, a ticket in hand, or some indication they were merely passengers of the same flight, raised her suspicions. A threat could come from anyone.
Although she'd never flown before, the idea of flying didn't frighten her as much as the idea that another passenger, or even the pilot, could be someone with enough smarts to get something lethal, but undetectable onto the plane. Someone who might be already waiting for his chance.
God, she wouldn't be able to eat or drink until they got to L.A., afraid she'd scarf poison or swallow acid or something equally awful.
"Relax," Mitch said, eyeing her. "He won't miss saying goodbye to you."
Jess hadn't been thinking about her father at that moment, but she nodded and exhaled. As soon as her lungs emptied, she saw them. She grinned and Mitch followed her line of sight.
He shook his head, a wide smile on his face. "Jesus, no wonder they're late."
Her father, Dirty Dan Owen, led a small army of blackleather clad, tattooed, and long-haired men through the airport. All ten wore matching expressions of doom and damnation. Airport security must have had a field day with all the metal gear hanging from jackets and jeans and wallets. She bet they'd been searched from head to toe. Every single man, down to skinny Trash and up to hulking Tiny, who made even Mitch look petite.
"Dad," she hollered and jogged to meet him. He'd brought a parade to send her off. How she loved him for it.
"There's my girl." He lifted her off her feet in a bear hug. "The guys heard what was up and wanted to make sure you got on board okay."
Jess kissed his cheek, her throat suddenly too small. "Thanks, Dad." Avoiding her tears, avoiding the moment that would come too soon, she turned to J.D. "You gotta watch out for him, take care of him. You know what he'll get up to if I'm not around."
J.D. nodded and slapped her father on the back. "He's in good hands, Jess, don't worry none. You just watch your back."
Trash came forward with a small bag in his hand. "Here, thought you'd like it for the trip."
She took it and looked inside. Her favorite candy bar and a pair of earrings rested on a comic book. She fished out the earrings, matching pink pigs with little leather jackets, and laughed. "Earrings?"
Trash shrugged. "I hear planes do weird things to your ears, thought a pair of hogs would help."
She laughed and hugged him, rubbing a knuckle into the top of his head as she did so.
"Ow!" he howled, but he grinned when he stepped back.
Tiny and Kooch surrounded her next. Tiny waved a finger in her face. "It gets dicey out there, you call us. We'll take care of everything."
Kooch narrowed his eyes at Mitch. "Don't know why you want to go off anyway. We take care of our own."
"Thanks guys," Jess said, patting Kooch on the arm. "It's better this way all around." Turning to Tiny she said, "If I need you, I'll call."
"Don't forget." Tiny admonished, his long, dirty blonde hair fanning around his face as he bent and lowered his voice. "You watch out for that guy, he doesn't look like he could protect you from a cockroach."
Jess glanced over her shoulder, saw Mitch had heard and had thrust out his chin. She wanted to laugh, but wouldn't insult either man. To Tiny, she said, "I'll be careful."
Biker Bob, Sticky Joe, Louie, Mack and Chet all offered her their good wishes. The motley crew couldn't have surprised or touched her more. Their show of support made her wonder if she really was doing the right thing. California didn't seem like the other side of the United States, it seemed like another galaxy.
The kind of people that had one hundred and fifty million dollars were far from the sort she'd known all her life. Most of these guys didn't have a hundred and fifty bucks in their bank account. Well, to be fair, most didn't have bank accounts. Theirs was a cash-ready lifestyle.
"Thank you," Jess said again. She hugged Chet, the last and the oldest of the bunch, and definitely the most tattooed. Only his face had been spared the gun, and only because he was completely vain.
When he released her, she came face to face with her father. As if a telepathic order had been received, the others turned away and talked amongst themselves, giving father and daughter a moment alone, albeit in a sea of biker brawn. Jess didn't think she'd ever felt more safe. Am I doing the right thing?
Her dad's voice quaked. "Keep your head down and your eyes open, girl. Do whatever you need to get through this. And come home fast."
She nodded, unable to trust her own voice. He grabbed her again in a final hug. His noogie was half-hearted and turned into a gentle pat as their hug went on. She inhaled, trying to imprint his scent on her lungs for future need. Finally, the announcement that boarding could begin, eased them apart.
"I love you, darlin'."
His wet cheeks undid her. She hitched a breath and her vision blurred. She hated crying, though she'd cornered the market on it the last few days. "I love you too, Daddy."
He kissed her cheek and without wiping his face, he looked at Mitch down the length of his nose. "Anything happens to her…." He left the threat unfinished.
"Nothing will. I give you my word." Mitch said solemnly. The weight of his vow hung in the air for a heartbeat, then he urged Jess forward.
Among the chorus of gruff farewells, Jess followed Mitch into the gate, Mordstrom and Davis converging behind her. When she turned back for a last glimpse of her father, her line of sight was blocked by the agents.
It was official. She was on her own. Away from home for the first time since she'd left foster care. Away from her father for the first time since he'd been released from prison. Away from everything she knew, loved, and held dear. She was going to see a mother she didn't know, someone so cold and distant to her, Jess couldn't tell imagined memory from real memory.
In California she'd be alone. Her family would be strangers, the house wouldn't be hers, the lifestyle utterly foreign. With her mother in a coma, it would be far from the joyous reunion she'd imagined in her secret heart. She wasn't a fish out of water, bu
t an alien on the wrong planet. She had no one.
Mitch placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her past the ticket takers and onto the plane. Down the aisle, his hand, warm and safe and secure, behind her was a comfort. In all the craziness of the weekend, in the turmoil of the morning, she would never have expected to let herself want him. As they settled into their seats, she realized something unexpected.
She wasn't alone, she had Mitch.
Chapter Seven Mitch couldn't tell which of Jess's expressions had surprised him most. The thrilled look that replaced her heartbreak as the plane took off, her shock when she'd seen the waiting limousine, or her abject terror when they stopped in front of the estate. Any one of them reminded him of how out of her element she was. She looked how he'd felt the day he'd arrived from New York.
"Aren't you goin' to ring the bell? Or something?" Jess, chewing the stick of gum he'd given her, tilted her head back to see past the front steps to the massive oak doors.
"Or something." He guided her up the steps and touched a middle brick on the right. A security panel opened and he typed in his code, pressed his thumb into the reading pad, and spoke his name. "Mitch Conner."
The screen flashed: RECOGNIZED
An audible click came from the door and it slid sideways, disappearing inside the wall. Mitch touched Jess's elbow and gestured her through.
She spoke in a tone reserved for chapels and churches. "My mother lives here? Who'd she marry? The King of Timbuktu?"
"Do they even have a king?" Mitch grinned at her and shrugged. "It's Beth's money, remember, she didn't marry into it."
"That's right." Jess sighed, her gum-chewing momentarily suspended. "It's just still so hard to believe."
Mordstrom and Davis, shadowing them like a pair of mute spooks, followed them inside. They'd kept a respectful distance throughout the entire trip. Mordstrom had sat up front in the limo and although Davis rode in the back, he'd kept his nose buried in a file.
Mitch thought it was strange. They hadn't been this quiet since the moment he'd met them. Maybe it was sour grapes over not having their way. Or perhaps, now that their duty was official, they'd turned into unflappable soldiers of the great U.S. of A., like those guards in England that wouldn't even blink if you dropped trou and mooned them.
Pullman, head of security, appeared from the back of the wide central staircase. With twelve guards under his command, he ran a good crew, but Beth's shooting had shaken him. Mitch had talked him out of resigning, barely. Now, eyes sunken from little sleep, his hair not as well kept as Mitch remembered, Pullman smiled in a genuine glad-to-see-you greeting.
"Hey Mitch," he said. "Is this the daughter?"
Speaking as if she wasn't there had nothing to do with Pullman's manners. He was on the clock and needed to know her identity–the slight wasn't meant to be rude. Still, Mitch didn't like the way Jess stiffened and snapped her gum. Yet it was much better than the pig earrings. He smiled at the memory. She had said, "Now I know why pigs don't fly–they don't do jack up here."
He had been glad to see the pair disappear into the paper sack. He didn't want her cute, he wanted her hot and willing. Startled by where his thoughts had gone, he rushed to introduce her and break the uncomfortable silence.
"This is Jess Owen, Jess, this is the head of security, Max Pullman." He turned to her. "We'll take you on a tour together in a little while, show you where the saferoom is, and get you familiar with the security system."
Mordstrom, who'd been standing silently behind them, cleared his throat. "Mr. Pullman, we'd like to debrief you on what's happened here since we left. We'll want to know who's come and gone, who's called in and out, and any other activity you've monitored."
Pullman frowned. "I'm on top of things. Your pals have gone through it all. Everything's up to snuff."
Davis nodded. "Yes, but we need to know, for our own information."
"Gotcha," Pullman said, obviously relieved his competence wasn't being attacked. "Leave no stone unturned, that sort of thing." He looked at Mitch. "See you later, and welcome back."
Mitch inclined his head and remained silent as Pullman gestured the agents forward. "We'll start with maintenance and delivery surveillance. No one gets inside without a thorough check. The president himself would rest easy here."
Jess snapped her gum furiously, palms splayed across of the back of her hips as the men disappeared toward the security station in the back of the house. The limo driver deposited their suitcases in the foyer and she turned. "Thanks."
The driver tipped his hat. "You're very welcome."
He left. Jess raised a brow at Mitch. "Now what?"
"Now we find Jared. He's got to know we're here. Every room's got a security panel that sounds when the front door is opened and if you look on the monitor, you can see who's coming. I'll show you how to work it later."
"Was all this here when my mother was shot?" Jess checked out the walls and floor, as if she could see the wires webbing the house in their security net.
"No." Mitch scowled, wishing with all his might that it had been installed. "The security panels were here, but out of date."
"Now they're all up to date?" Jess followed him through the wide foyer into the receiving parlor.
"Yep, Sugar-pie. You're snug as a bug in a rug."
She pulled the gum from between her teeth and daintily dumped it in the gold wastebasket set beneath the mail table. "Don't call me sugar-pie."
"Are you going to keep saying that?"
"You keep calling me baby names, and I will." She didn't smile. Her nervous gaze swept the room. "How big is this place?"
He saw the house as she must see it. The parlor was a pastel version of a Victorian palace. High backed chairs flanked an ornate fireplace. Gold and bronze Persian rugs covered the floor, the wood gleamed and all the paintings in their gilt frames glowed. A far cry from Tattoo's and Tails and the drunk tank.
Mitch said, "There's fourteen rooms on this floor, ten on the second, and if you count the attic, six others on the third. Plus about a half-dozen or so outbuildings. Not that large, but roomy enough."
She rubbed her arms worriedly. "God, this place is huge."
"Hey," he said, cupping her shoulder. "It's gonna be all right. Remember, this is all part of your inheritance. You break something, you've already paid for it."
When she did smile, it was tight and didn't touch her eyes. "I told you, I don't want the inheritance."
Mitch dropped his hand with regret and discomfort. He had to stop torturing himself. "I know, but that was before."
"Before?"
"When you thought you'd already inherited."
"You mean when I thought my mother was dead." She said flatly.
He nodded, then shrugged. "Fact is, we'll probably get the guy before you get the inheritance."
"You mean before my mother dies." Her tone was downright cold now.
"Look," Mitch sighed. "I'm tryin' to point out that it could be years, maybe decades before it's yours, and by then, there won't be any danger in accepting it."
Her eyes remained icy. "It still feels like blood money and I don't want any part of it."
Mitch stared. He hadn't really understood the depth of her conviction before. Could he have refused the fortune? He didn't think so. But then again, he didn't have any family to worry about. His mother died years ago and he'd never known his father.
He thought of Dirty Dan and Jess. To love and be loved like that, had to be something wonderful. Maybe he wasn't as lucky to be free of family obligations as he'd thought. Yet Jess didn't seem to want any obligation to her mother, or her mother's money.
"What?" Jess asked, one eyebrow quirked. "You expected to find a gold-digging diva in a tattoo parlor?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "I was just thinkin' how unexpected you are."
"Don't call me unexpected." But the dimple revealed her pleasure in the compliment.
"Why? It's not a baby name."
"No
, but flattery-to-get-you-somewhere won't work either." Her mouth twitched with amusement.
"Too bad." He stepped closer, ignoring the cacophony of caution in his head. If this was a test, then maybe, just maybe, this test had nothing to do with restraining himself, but learning how to let go. "There's more where that came from."
Jess stood absolutely still, breathing gently between parted lips. She swayed forward and he lifted a hand to pull her close. "Mitch, you're back." Jared said from the door.
Mitch turned around, startled. Jesus, he snuck up on me. What if he'd been a hired gun? He stepped away from Jess. He'd just failed the test. He had to be more careful. Even with the extra security, he couldn't let his guard down. "Hello, Jared."
"You must be Jessica. I've heard so much about you." Jared came forward in a nimbus of whiskey. Arms out, palms down, he grasped both of Jess's hands. "It's good to finally meet you."
Jess smiled. "Are you…Mr. Kramer?"
"Call me Jared." He released her hands.
She grinned. "And I'm just Jess."
"Welcome, Jess." Jared glanced at Mitch, the question in his eyes. "I see you two are already fast friends."
Mitch kept his expression bland. Jess shifted from one foot to the other. When he glanced down, her cheeks were pink. He scrubbed the short hairs on the back of his head. "It's been a long few days."
"Oh, yes, where are my manners. You two must be exhausted" Jared waved a hand in a polite plea for forgiveness. "Mitch, I've had the blue room turned down for Jess. I'll make sure the chef knows we've got two extra for dinner tonight. I visited Beth and talked to your detective friend today. I've been so busy, I forgot to let everyone know you were coming."
Jared backed toward the door. "Go ahead, don't be shy. If you need anything, Jess, just ask Mitch. He knows his way around here. I look forward to dining with you. It was a pleasure to meet you."
Jess gave a tiny wave, looking a little confused. "It's nice to meet you, too."
Jared left. They were alone, again. And he was about to show her to her bedroom. It struck Mitch that the roles were reversed now. It was he who'd take her through the house, knowing every step of the way they'd end up in a room with a bed. An empty room with a bed. No one to keep him in check, to keep him sane. He hoped he survived.
My Biker Bodyguard Page 9