“You can’t stay with me.”
“You expect me to drive away and leave you bleeding?”
“I’ll be in a hospital.”
“I’m not abandoning you, Gladiator. Forget it.”
“Damn it, Claudia. Stay with the plan. Drive to Orlando. Find a motel, something cheap, out of the way. I’ll give you cash.”
“Shut up, Jack. It’s not happening.”
She pulled under an overhang and braked. To his right were glass doors with Emergency Room in huge block letters.
“I’m not getting out of this truck unless you promise to drive away.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You need medical attention.”
“I won’t get it unless you leave.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He struggled to hold on to his anger, and realized he was struggling to hold on to consciousness.
“I love you, Jack,” she said softly. “I’m not leaving you.”
She loved him? When did that happen? He shook his head, trying to focus. She’d called him Gladiator. What was that about? His eyes drifted closed, and he forced them open. He had to stay alert. He had to convince her. She had to listen to him. But his thinking was so damn fuzzy he wanted to tell her he loved her, too.
“If they find me, they find me,” she said. “I don’t care anymore. You’re more important.”
“No,” he said.
“You’ve done all you can, all anyone could do.” Shaking her head, she said, “Don’t you see I can’t leave you here alone? I couldn’t live with myself. Because of me, you’re vulnerable now, too.”
Jack knew if she went in that hospital with him, she’d die. He knew it in his bones. Or was that more fuzzy thinking?
Why couldn’t he think straight? Must be all this crap about love and gladiators.
“I’m getting out of the car now,” she said, her hand on the door handle. “I’m coming around to help you inside.”
“You’ll have to fight me.”
“Jack, please. Be reasonable.”
“Could you stitch me up?”
She paused. “I could, yeah. The bullet passed through cleanly, didn’t do a lot of damage. But I don’t have anesthetic. Or nothing strong enough, anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I know you think you’re Rambo, but come on.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” He closed his eyes. “I’m Rambo.” Too bad Rambo was slipping under.
“It’ll hurt like hell,” she said. “And there’s the risk of infection.”
“Antibiotics are easy to get.”
“Yeah, they are.” She sighed. “Too easy. I have some tetracycline.”
Relief flooded him as he realized she was wavering.
“Maybe we could try it,” she said, obviously thinking aloud. “Considering what we’ve been through so far...”
“Drive away, Claudia. Find a cheap motel. There’s cash in my wallet.”
* * *
JACK AWOKE WITH a start. He grunted, jerked upright. What the— His left side throbbing with pain, he began an assessment. A dark room. Unfamiliar. Musty.
He reached out with his right arm, searching for his weapon.
“Shhhh.” A calming sound. A cool hand cupped his forehead. He looked into the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. Kind eyes, worried. Claudia.
And everything came slamming back.
Cursing, he collapsed back onto the lumpy bed. They were in a motel. Kissimmee. Definitely a dive from the smell of things. He closed his eyes, remembering the haze of Claudia helping him out of the truck, wrestling him into bed, making him swallow pills, drowning his arm in alcohol.
God, that had stung, but much worse came next. She’d sutured his wounds with amazingly steady hands.
She’d been right. It had hurt. Still did.
The mattress dipped as Claudia sat beside him. He opened his eyes.
“Take this,” she said, and held out a glass of water and a capsule. Suddenly parched, he popped the pill and drank every drop, recalling that sometime during the night she’d lifted his head, softly encouraging him to drink cool water.
He lay back down, relishing the feel of the cool sheets, and realized he was naked but for his briefs. She’d stripped him.
“How do you feel?” she asked, taking the glass.
He held up his hand and made a rocking motion, surveying the darkened room. The blackout curtains were drawn tight, light barely filtering in around the edges. She’d propped a chair underneath the doorknob to prevent anyone from breaking in. A small microwave sat atop a mini refrigerator. Coffee machine. Television. Your standard cheap motel room.
To his right a digital clock on a cheap nightstand read 10:45. Had to be a.m.
“Is it Saturday?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Yeah. You slept through the night. Fitfully, but you slept. Best thing for you.”
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
“Not much.”
He noted she’d strapped on her shoulder holster, the Glock in place. His own weapons were laid out on the opposite nightstand. She’d created an arsenal and stood ready to defend him.
He hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. At least not until he regained his strength. How much time did they have before the Warriors found them?
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Too soon to tell.”
“What’s your pain level?”
“You don’t want to know. Bring me up to speed. What’s been going on?”
“I registered under Louise Clark with my fake ID,” she said, shoving uncombed hair off her forehead. “Paid cash for five days in advance. I told the clerk me and the hubby planned to do all the theme parks, but you had food poisoning.”
He grunted. Good cover story.
“I went out once for groceries, and parked the Navigator in a location hidden from the street maybe a half mile away. I walked back. They’ll have to look hard to spot our vehicle.”
“Good.”
“I talked to the prosecutor, but called the pay phone at a coffee shop near his office. I got the number before I went to Collins Island.”
“In case something like this happened,” Jack guessed.
“The trial still starts Monday, but Reese won’t need me until Friday at the earliest. I’m supposed to check in again on Thursday.”
Jack nodded. Thursday. Could they hole up in this room until then?
“I picked up a copy of an Orlando newspaper. The shoot-out in Marion County is front-page news. As we suspected, two people in the truck died. Chuck is banged up, but okay. He went on camera for the evening news last night. One of his deputies is in critical condition.”
“Damn,” Jack muttered. “Who?”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember the name. I think it’s in the article, though. I saved it for you. I’m so sorry, Jack.”
“Any mention of you?”
“Not me or Carlos. Or you or your mom.”
“Chuck managed to keep it quiet.”
“For now,” Claudia said. She yawned, but tried to hide it with a hand.
Jack reached out with his uninjured arm to touch her leg and was rewarded with her first smile. Even in the dim light he could see her eyes glittered with tears.
“You did good, Claudia.”
* * *
CLAUDIA CLASPED HIS cool fingers with both of her hands, hating the pitiful little sob she couldn’t suppress. She stared down to where they were joined. Her two hands couldn’t cover his one big one.
Every muscle in her body tingled with exhaustion, as if stretched beyond breaking. Last night had been horrible, never-ending. She’d bee
n terrified that Jack wouldn’t regain consciousness, that she’d made the worst mistake of her life by not forcing him into the ER. Worse than marrying Carlos.
But he was okay. A tear dropped onto her wrist.
She blew out a breath. Get a grip, girl. You fall apart now when the crisis is over?
“You should get some rest,” Jack whispered.
“I’ll sleep after I change your bandage. I need to check for infection.”
Reluctantly, she released his hand and rose. “Close your eyes.” She turned on the lights, wincing at the sudden brightness.
When she returned to Jack, he asked, “Where did you get medical supplies?”
“A pharmacy next to the grocery. Sorry, but this will hurt.”
“Do it,” he said.
Trying to be gentle, Claudia removed the bandage. She’d seen neater sutures, but these weren’t too bad. The wounds were healing nicely. No sign of infection. Plus, Jack wasn’t feverish. No doubt her gladiator had the best immune system in the known universe.
On a good day, he could probably deflect bullets. That thought made her smile as she rebandaged his shoulder.
“Something funny?” he asked.
She looked into his green eyes. “I was just thinking what an amazing body you have.”
His mouth twitched. “Sorry, honey. Not tonight. I’ve got a headache.”
She laughed. A real laugh, the first one in months, God, maybe years. It broke some tension wound tight deeply inside her, became a release that she couldn’t control. She kept hooting until her stomach hurt, until her eyes swam with tears.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “It wasn’t that funny.”
But his words only made her laugh harder. She collapsed sidewise on the bed. Oh, my God. She was cackling like a witch and couldn’t stop.
“What exactly are you laughing at?” Jack demanded.
She rolled onto her back and tried to control her mirth, but chuckles kept hiccupping out. “I don’t know.”
“Claudia,” he said quietly.
She inhaled deeply and pushed herself up to face him, trying to suppress another fit of giggles.
“Come here.” Jack extended his good arm, and she crawled across the bed to snuggle up on his uninjured side.
“Sorry,” she murmured, her head on his shoulder. But she wasn’t really. Her ludicrous laughing fit had turned off a stress switch, if such a thing existed. Right now she didn’t care if Carlos’s Warriors found her. Curled up next to Jack, touching him, everything seemed okay.
After a moment, she asked, “Am I hurting you?”
“You’re fine.” He laid a hand on her hair and stroked lightly. Her eyes drifted shut, his breathing steady under her ear.
“So are you,” she murmured. Oh, so very fine.
She smiled at her thoughts, but the giggles didn’t return. As she drifted off she thought she heard Jack mutter something, but was too sleepy to struggle to comprehend.
She awoke in darkness. No light was visible around the edges of the curtains. Jack slept beside her, his breathing regular. She touched his arm. Cool. No fever. Thank God. He had to be better because he’d gotten up at some point to kill the lights.
She turned to read the digital clock. Nine thirty. She’d slept away the day beside Jack, not even bothering to remove her holster.
Careful not to disturb him, she climbed out of bed and stretched. She found a soda in the refrigerator and took a long cool drink. Refreshed, she grabbed her journal from her duffel and moved to a chair close to the door where she could angle the light away from Jack. They’d missed the six o’clock news, but maybe they could learn something at eleven.
For now, she’d make sense of her feelings by writing them out. Journaling had made her realize what a good person Jack was, which allowed her to trust her own judgment again. Too bad it had taken so long. Jack would never forgive her for doubting him.
After writing for a short time, she got that eerie feeling of being watched and glanced up. Jack’s eyes were open and staring at her. Sporting a two-day beard, he looked more intimidating than usual.
He swung his legs over the bed.
Claudia tossed the book aside and moved to help him, but he rose effortlessly.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Like I need to piss,” he growled.
“Go for it.” She stepped aside and brightened the lights.
When he returned from the bathroom, he opened the refrigerator and peered inside with a sour expression. “Didn’t you say something about groceries?”
“How about some chicken soup?”
“I’d rather have a steak.”
“Me, too. Can we risk going out?”
He shook his head. “Soup’s fine.” He rummaged in her grocery bags, found a bag of potato chips and opened it with a vicious snap. Cramming chips in his mouth, he returned to the bed.
Ignoring his grumpy mood, Claudia added water to cardboard cups, stirred the contents, and placed the mixture in the microwave. Jack had reached that point of recuperation where the patient became ill-tempered, which would make their already tense situation worse. But big deal. He was alive.
“Time for an antibiotic,” she said, handing him a plastic water bottle and two pills.
“What’s the other one?”
“For pain.”
“Just the antibiotic,” he said. “I need to stay alert.”
She hesitated. “What’s your pain level?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”
She knew better, but removed one of the capsules. He swallowed the remaining pill, downing all of the water in one long pull.
“What were you writing?” he asked, nodding toward the chair.
“I was bringing my journal up to date.”
“Why?”
“It helps me make sense of things to write them down.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Maybe I should start a journal so I can understand you.”
She nodded. She definitely deserved that jab. “Putting the words on paper made me realize that I can trust you.”
“About damn time.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you.”
He shrugged and stuffed more chips into his mouth.
“You’re the best man I’ve ever met, Jack.”
The microwave pinged. Their dinner was ready. Claudia rose and removed steaming soup from the microwave. As she stirred, she knew Jack would never understand why she found it so hard to trust. He’d never lived with Carlos’s poison.
“Do you still love your ex?” he asked.
She whirled. “What? How can you ask that?”
“Sometimes we love people even though we shouldn’t.”
Wondering if there was hidden meaning in his words, she picked up the soup cups with terry-cloth towels. “I despise Carlos Romero.”
“Maybe he still loves you.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” She placed Jack’s cup on the table beside him. “That’s why he sent those goons after us.”
“Maybe the goons are no longer taking orders from him. Maybe they’re worried he’s going to flip on them for a reduced sentence.”
Claudia seated herself in the chair facing Jack. “That’s a lot of maybes.”
“You must have loved him once.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I ever did.”
“So why did you marry him?”
Well, there’s a question. To delay her answer, she reached for the soup, but it was still too hot. “I have bad judgment when it comes to men. If I’m attracted, I let my hormones do the talking.”
He folded his arms. “What happened with me?”
“I was terrified of you,” she said. “Because I wanted you from
the moment I saw you.”
“You’re a good actress. I thought you were Santaluce’s mistress.”
“Oh? I suppose women usually rip off your clothes ten seconds after ‘hello’?”
“Usually,” he agreed.
“Wipe that smirk off your face and eat.”
“So when did you fall in love with me?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WATCHING CLAUDIA’S REACTION, Jack rubbed the stubble on his face.
She raised her gaze and met his direct stare. “You remember me saying that?”
He nodded. “I remember.” The question was why he wanted to talk about it.
Claudia placed her soup on the table. “I thought you were too out of it.”
“Almost, but not quite.”
She looked away.
“How can you be in love with someone you don’t trust?” he asked.
“One of the great mysteries of the world,” she murmured.
He remembered their first meeting, her cool reserve and his own vicious pull of attraction. Yeah, a total mystery.
She sighed. “As ridiculous as it sounds, despite everything, I was happy living with you in that cabin. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
He blinked and reached for his soup. “You like the cabin?”
“I felt like I belonged there.”
Jack let those words dangle in the air as he scarfed down the soup. What? Three bites? He scraped the bottom of the cup, doubting any chicken had died for this thin broth.
“How about a turkey sandwich?” Claudia suggested.
“That would be awesome.”
Jack remained silent as she prepared the food. He liked watching her efficient movements, probably developed from years of nursing. Hard to believe she’d felt comfortable in his cabin. He’d never met another woman who could stand the place, yet she claimed to have been happy there. And now she was taking care of him, even refusing to abandon him at the hospital. While he’d vehemently objected, deep down he’d been touched by her courage.
She claimed to love him. Could such love be real? Or just a result of forced togetherness and his protection?
What would it be like to move home and live in the cabin permanently with Claudia? Nurses were in demand everywhere, right?
Accidental Bodyguard Page 26