He shoved away those thoughts.
“Maybe this will improve your mood.” Claudia presented him the sandwich.
“Another big maybe.” He took a huge, satisfying bite.
She aimed the remote at the television. “I want to watch the news.”
She climbed into the bed on his good side, leaving distance he didn’t like between them, and arranged pillows to lean against.
The lead story dealt with worries over a possible freeze and damage to orange groves. The shoot-out in Marion County came next. A police spokesman—not Chuck—claimed the roadblock had been designed to catch fleeing felons. But the reporter dangled questions about who these mysterious felons were.
The section ended with, “Dead men can’t answer questions.”
“Amazing.” Claudia muted the sound. “They act like they feel sorry for the bad guys.”
“Because of the mystery surrounding who they are. Chuck bottled it up tight, giving us time to get somewhere safe.”
She shook her head. “The media will keep digging until they unearth something.”
“By then you’ll have testified.”
“Maybe,” she whispered.
“Are you getting cold feet?”
“No. Definitely not.” She looked toward the window. “But I am sick of hiding.”
Jack followed her gaze. Nothing to see thanks to the curtains. Yeah, he was tired of hiding, too, but some sick part of him didn’t want this journey to end. After he delivered Claudia to Miami, would he ever see her again?
“And what if the Warriors find us?” she asked.
“Come here.” He raised his arm, inviting her to move closer, pleased she didn’t hesitate.
With her head resting on his shoulder, he said, “It’s unlikely they’ll find us by Thursday. They suffered a huge loss and have to start over.”
“I’m sorry, Jack,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the fragrance of her hair. “For what?”
“Getting you involved, getting you shot, not trusting you. For everything.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“You’re not?”
“Not for everything.”
“Yeah.” He felt her smile even though he couldn’t see it. “Some things were great.”
As he stroked her hair, he knew by her tone that she alluded to their lovemaking—which, no question, had been beyond spectacular—but he was thinking more of hikes through the forest to the gun range, easy conversations about nothing special, quiet evenings they’d shared with his mother and how Claudia had helped repair that bond. Her willingness to help around the cabin. Her courage.
Was that love? His momma said he didn’t know what love was.
Did he even believe in love? Had he ever seen a relationship work out?
With a sigh, Claudia raised the remote and turned on the sound.
* * *
AT FIRST LIGHT Thursday morning, her ever-present holster hidden beneath a sweatshirt, Claudia hurried toward the Navigator, constantly surveying the area for trouble. When she got close, she breathed a sigh of relief. Although covered with dust, the SUV remained where she’d parked it. The engine turned over on the first try. Had her luck changed?
Alone in the sparse motel room, she’d endured four tense days with her gladiator, hoping he’d forgive her, maybe admit he loved her, too. But that was a pipe dream. They played a lot of cards, read, watched horrible TV, suffered through restless nights, but didn’t do much talking.
What was there left to say? She loved him, but he didn’t love her. He was her protector, her bodyguard, and that’s as far as it went. So there wasn’t any hope for them. He hadn’t made love to her, but he’d been shot. Or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been too afraid of rejection—or too proud—to initiate anything herself.
He’d watched her constantly with those intense green eyes, making her feel nervous and wonder what he was thinking. She didn’t ask. They were like polite strangers.
But they weren’t strangers anymore.
He was healing nicely, although he wouldn’t be swimming any laps or performing marathon push-ups for a while yet.
When she backed up the Navigator to their motel room, Jack tossed their meager possessions inside before she’d come to a complete stop.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
Claudia slid to the passenger side and snapped on her seat belt.
“Any trouble?” he asked as he accelerated onto the all but deserted highway.
“Nothing,” she said.
“We’ve seen the last of the Warriors,” Jack said confidently. “At least for a while.”
“Maybe.” After the shoot-out in Marion County, the story had remained on the evening news for days. Her name had emerged, and law enforcement had stomped down hard on the Warriors, bringing in at least twenty members of the group for questioning. Two had been arrested for obstruction of justice. In Miami, a jury had been seated in Carlos’s trial. Opening arguments started today.
All she had to do was make it through one more night. Then she could start her life again.
A life without Jack. Whenever she remembered that, a hollow space inside her grew larger.
If only she’d realized what a good man he was sooner. She released a sigh. But would that have mattered? She couldn’t make him love her.
“What?” Jack said.
Snapped out of her depressing thoughts, Claudia noticed they were headed south on the Florida Turnpike. “How should I disguise myself to enter the courthouse?”
He shot her a glance, a smile playing on his lips. “Is it true blondes have more fun?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You’re about to find out.”
* * *
IN ANOTHER NONDESCRIPT motel room, this one in North Miami, Jack stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Unsmiling, eyes wide, Claudia stared into the bathroom mirror at a woman with short blond hair.
He couldn’t tell if she liked it or was horrified. The cut might be a little ragged, but not bad. He’d picked a dye to make her hair as light as possible. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the change himself. She was Claudia, but somehow different.
With glasses, even her ex wouldn’t recognize her.
She turned her head one way, then the other. “If you get bored with the protection racket, you can always start a new career as a hairstylist.”
“You think?”
“You’re a man of many talents, Jack,” she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
A knock had them both whirling toward the door. Jack approached with a weapon drawn and moved the curtain.
He tucked the gun in his waistband.
“Pizza,” he reported, opening the door. They’d decided to splurge on hot food for the first time in almost a week, but elected to order in. Just in case.
He placed the warm box in the center of the bed and lifted the cover. Steam floated into the air, releasing the fragrance of garlic and sausage.
Grinning, Claudia approached. “That smells divine.”
Jack grabbed a slice, took a bite and nodded.
Still not used to the strange blonde he’d created, he watched Claudia as they scarfed down the pizza. He’d heard of men getting turned on when their wives or girlfriends changed hair color, but not him. He preferred the old Claudia and wondered how long it would take for her natural color to grow back. He hoped not long.
Then, with a stab of pain to his gut, he realized he’d never know.
His appetite gone, he tossed his slice back into the box and glared at her.
Claudia raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“I need some air.”
He was out the door
before she could object. He needed to move. That was the way he always made sense of things. She wrote; he moved. He waited until she resecured the lock before walking toward the warehouse area behind the motel.
The night was cold, but he began to jog, causing the holster to thump against his side. He’d be sweating before long.
He and Claudia danced around his need to forgive her. Why couldn’t he let it go? Some bit of pigheaded male pride? She’d apologized countless times, and the truth was he understood why she hadn’t trusted him. Carlos Romero had made her afraid of everyone, not just him. He’d made her fear life.
Why couldn’t he tell her, make things right between them?
His mother claimed he was the most stubborn person on the face of the earth. Maybe she was right. Hadn’t it taken him three years to forgive her?
Claudia wouldn’t wait three years. No woman would. So he’d lose her, and the thought of living without her made him want to break something. He’d gotten used to her smile, having someone to think about, work with, be with.
Maybe it was because he’d never been in love before and didn’t know how to handle the power of that emotion. So he ran like hell from it.
He’d never felt this way about any other woman. Was he afraid of those feelings?
Damn right he was afraid. And running.
He stopped, placed his hands on his knees and inhaled deeply. She called him her gladiator, like he was brave enough to fight lions barehanded.
She was wrong.
He didn’t even have the courage to fight for their love.
* * *
“I’LL BE AT the courthouse in an hour,” Claudia told Reese Beauchamps, her gaze on Jack, who paced the room, obviously ready to go, anxious to finally be rid of her.
“Someone will meet me, right? And you’ll have the clothes, size eight? Thanks.” She disconnected and handed Jack his phone.
“Security is in place?” he demanded.
“He claims an army of FBI agents will meet us.”
Jack nodded. “Good. Are you nervous?”
She placed a hand on her uneasy belly. Nervous? She was a pathetic wreck, but not about testifying. She’d be in a room full of people and safe for the first time in weeks. But Jack would drop her off at the courthouse and drive away. She’d never see him again.
“I just want it over with,” she whispered, unable to meet his penetrating gaze.
He stepped toward the door. “Then let’s get moving.”
“Right,” she said with a quick nod.
The morning was cold and dark when they exited the motel. They rode in silence. Claudia tried to plan what she’d say on the witness stand. That was what was important, why she’d met Jack in the first place. Hyperaware of him alertly navigating the streets of Miami, constantly checking the rearview mirror, all she could think about was how empty her life would be without him in it.
She’d been nourishing a faint hope that he’d say something to her about what would happen after the trial—but what? He simply didn’t love her enough, or maybe not at all. Not the way she loved him.
She surely didn’t want to suffer through some embarrassing conversation about what a great gal she was, but how she just wasn’t the right woman for him, how he wished her all the best.
So it was better this way. The break should be clean and quick. No last minute recriminations. He couldn’t help who he was. She’d get over it. Or anyway, she hoped so.
He’d been her bodyguard, and he’d completed his mission. She was still alive to testify. That’s all he signed on for. She should be grateful to him for that.
The sun hadn’t yet risen when Jack braked to a stop in front of a boxy seven-story building. Seven or eight suited unsmiling men and women waited on the sidewalk.
“Do you see Beauchamps?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. Willing herself not to cry, she turned to Jack and took a deep breath. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll never forget you, Jack,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke his name.
He smiled. “I know.”
Claudia gripped the door handle, a prick of anger breaking through her regrets. Arrogant, insufferable male. He knows? Damn him.
Reese jerked open her door as Jack said, “Good luck.”
FBI agents surrounded her and escorted her into the courthouse. She watched the Navigator drive away, but events didn’t allow time to feel sorry for herself. She was introduced to two female agents who swept her into a bathroom where she changed into the clothing they provided as they barraged her with questions about where she’d been and what she’d been doing. She met with Reese to review her testimony until it was time for court to begin. She was his first witness.
Even waiting for her testimony in a chilly conference room, the agents kept at her with questions about the Warriors, her time on Collins Island and how she knew Rodolfo Santaluce.
Then everyone looked up at a knock on the door. It was time.
Claudia’s first impression of the courtroom was that every seat was filled. And every pair of eyes watched her as she walked up the center aisle toward a black-robed female judge who sat behind a huge elevated desk, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. After a clerk swore Claudia to tell the truth, she seated herself in a comfortable chair, took a deep breath and stared into the handsome, angry face of her ex-husband who glared bullets at her. Big bullets.
She raised her chin and glared back. She wasn’t frightened of Carlos anymore. Because of Jack, she knew what real love was, and she’d never loved this black-hearted terrorist.
Reese rose from his chair and strode to a lectern.
She followed his movement, her gaze flickering over the crowded courtroom, landing on a tall man standing in the back.
Jack.
Her stomach lurched. He met her gaze and gave her a thumbs-up.
Jack had stayed to watch her testify. He hadn’t driven out of her life.
As that wonderful knowledge registered, Reese said, “Please state your name for the record.”
She did so, still holding Jack’s gaze as he mouthed, “I love you.” Her heart slammed against her chest. Had she imagined that, wishing the words into existence? She narrowed her eyes, trying to be sure.
“Do you recognize the defendant sitting at the defense table?” Reese demanded.
Claudia switched her focus to Carlos, took a deep breath, and said, “That’s Carlos Romero, my ex-husband.”
* * *
JACK LISTENED TO Claudia’s testimony for over three hours. She answered Beauchamps’s questions clearly and without hesitation. The jury believed her. Even the judge seemed impressed with the details in her journal.
Two hours in, the defense team looked ready for a three-martini lunch. He got it why the Warriors wanted her dead. Claudia’s testimony booked Romero a seat in prison for the rest of his life.
Beauchamps flipped his notepad shut. “That’s all I have, Your Honor.”
The judge checked her watch. “Now is a good time to break for lunch. Bailiff, please escort the jury to the cafeteria. Everyone back by one.”
Her gaze glued to his, Claudia stepped down from the witness stand. Jack moved to meet her, but was blocked by a burly uniformed guard.
“Hold it there, pal.”
“No,” Claudia said, hurrying toward him. “Let him through.”
And then she was in his arms. He gathered her close, breathing in her sweet fragrance.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she said, her voice muffled by his embrace.
He pulled back and cupped her flushed face between his hands. “No way. I still owe you a karate lesson.”
She gazed up at him questioningly, her blue eyes swimming with
tears. “Only one?”
Wanting to kiss her, he traced her full lip with his thumb. “One won’t be enough.”
Still searching his eyes, she asked, “Can we go back to the cabin?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Say it, Gladiator,” she whispered.
Of course he had to say it. He glanced around the room. At least twelve suited men, no doubt FBI agents, watched their reunion. Jack placed his mouth next to her ear.
“I love you, Claudia ‘Louise Clark’ Goodwin. I love you no matter what your name is, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
One month later
TEMPTED TO PINCH herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream, Claudia smiled at the reflection of Jack’s mother in the mirror. Dressed in wedding finery, hair perfectly coiffed, they both looked absolutely fabulous.
She and Jack were getting married in the cabin’s backyard—by none other than Sheriff Chuck Wheeler—in two minutes. Her family waited out back with the other guests, but she’d chosen Jack’s mother for her matron of honor.
Irene’s expertly made-up face crumpled, and she collapsed onto the bed. Pookie, wearing a pink sequined sweater, jumped into her lap.
Claudia turned. “What’s wrong?”
“It was me,” Irene said, pushing the dog away.
“What?”
“I gave away your location. I couldn’t help myself and told my friend Alice about you. She’s the biggest blabbermouth in the state.”
Claudia sighed. Irene had to pick my wedding day for true confessions?
“There’s no way to know that, Irene. These guys were very good.” And done for. After Romero’s conviction, any remaining Warriors had dispersed.
Irene dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
“And it could have been Marsali Winthrop.” Marsali had been questioned, and it turned out she’d cooperated with the Warriors because they were blackmailing her, threatening to tell her husband about past indiscretions, some of which would affect her prenup agreement.
“I almost got everybody I love killed,” Irene said.
“But you didn’t.” The haunting sounds of a harp began to echo through the cabin. Claudia held out her hand to Irene. “It’s time.”
Accidental Bodyguard Page 27