In Bed with the Bodyguard

by Lynne Silver

  “Sorry, Lance. That’s up to the feds, not me. I simply offered to lend a hand in this case.”

  Lance sat in the chair facing Sullivan. “She doesn’t know shit about her father and hasn’t spoken to him in eight months.” He mentally glued his ass to the chair. He wasn’t leaving until Sully picked up the phone and made the call to the FBI surveillance team and called them off.

  “Why should we believe you? You’re clearly biased and under the influence of her magic hoohah. All records show that Ms. Rose lived with her father alone from the tender age of seven until she left for college. Phone records from two years ago show almost daily calls between the two. She is the best lead to finding Stanley Rose.”

  Lance’s heart clenched at the head games Stanley Rose had played on his daughter. Poor Ari. No wonder she was averse to risking her heart to him. Her father had shit all over it without looking back. “Stanley Rose screwed her over, Sullivan. She had no fucking clue he was stealing the money. Her own trust fund is gone, thanks to him.”

  “Then all the more reason she should want to find her father.”

  “Trust me, she wants to find him more than anyone else, and if she knew where he was, she’d tell the FBI,” he said.

  “Would she?” Sullivan’s brow rose.

  “Hell yes, she would.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was infused with a sense of conviction and belief in Arianna. “Of course she would.”

  He waited for a response, but his boss had turned to check something on his computer monitor. “So you’ll do it? Call off the FBI?”

  Sullivan turned back to him with a frown. “Sorry, no can do. Everyone’s out for blood in this case. The president’s own brother-in-law lost money to Rose. But look on the bright side. You’ll be back at work next week and you’ll have the mental comfort of knowing your woman is being looked after by professionals. Won’t that give you some peace of mind? Didn’t you tell me someone’s been gunning for her? Playing pranks?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but we found him. Poor teenage kid turned himself in.”

  Sully chuckled. “A teenager? No shit? The kid evaded D.C. police and you for nearly two weeks. Tell him to send me his résumé in a few years.”

  With a view of Sully’s back, Lance realized he was fighting a losing battle. He stood to go. His boss was never going to make the call. “Fine, keep the feds on Arianna, but you’ll get nothing more from me. I’m there for Ari, period. I’m staying out of anything to do with Stanley Rose.”

  He turned to leave and missed his boss shaking his head and muttering expletives about delusional, lovesick bastards.

  Ari threw armfuls of shirts into the open suitcase without folding them. She had to get out of Lance’s apartment before he got home, but the large body filling the doorway told her it was too late.

  “What the hell is this? What are you doing?” Lance had returned from his meeting with Sullivan.

  Ari looked up from the suitcase on the bed rapidly filling up with her clothes. Darn it. She’d thought she had more than an hour, but Lance had arrived at the apartment earlier than expected. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing,” she said in what she hoped was an indifferent tone, although inside, her heart filled with unshed fat, salty tears.

  How had her day gone this terribly wrong? She’d left Carlos’s building full of energy and optimism. Now she felt surrounded by dark storm clouds and it was all thanks to the handsome man in the room. He might look like an angel, but she knew the truth now. He was a rat bastard. A two-faced jerk.

  “I can see you’re packing. What I want to know is why.” His censorious and autocratic tone lashed at her. “Didn’t your gallery hunt go well? Where’s Valerie?” Lance peered around the room as though looking for her best friend.

  “I’m leaving. Going to a hotel, like I should have done in the first place.” She focused her attention on the semi-packed suitcase, willfully ignoring Lance’s bewildered gaze. His hand caught her wrist, freezing it in place. She tried to shake free, but he inserted his body between her and the bed, leaving her no choice but to look at him.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Why? So you can report what I say back to your boss?”

  The sudden tautness in his face told her what she’d already known: that he was a sneak and liar. She was such a fool. How had she fallen for his pretty lies about love and trust?

  “How did you find out?”

  “That you’re a fraud and a bastard?”

  He released her hand and sat down heavily on the bed. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh? Did you, or did you not, spy on me for the FBI?”

  “Not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and amended it to “Not really.”

  She stared at him and narrowed her eyes. The bastard was still lying to her. Her arms crossed over her breasts and she waited for him to defend himself with more lies.

  “My boss offered to shorten my leave time if I aided the FBI.”

  “Well, that makes it all right, then.” She used her sarcasm as a protective cloak against more of his self-serving tales. “And what about—no, never mind.” She couldn’t ask about his declarations of love. To hear those had been lies would cut too deeply. She stepped over his outstretched legs to slam more clothes into her suitcase.

  “Ari, please stop packing and listen to me.”

  Desperation laced through his voice, rekindling the onslaught of pain once again. Every word out of his mouth stung like lemon juice poured over a paper cut.

  “I didn’t report anything. I told them I’d only report back if there was actual contact with your father, anything to give a clue to his whereabouts.”

  She froze her packing and turned to glare at him. “And you think that makes it better? It doesn’t change the fact that you were willing to spy on me, to…” She took a deep breath. “…To sleep with me to advance your career. No matter how you slice it, it makes you a whore.”

  They both fell silent.

  “Is that what you think of me?” Lance finally asked in a hoarse voice.

  “For all intents and purposes, right now, yes.”

  He rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled to the door of the room, pausing only to place something gently on the tall dresser. Her gaze followed him through the doorway, but then he turned back. “It all changed for me once I got to know you. It was real as hell for me. Still is and always will be. I never lied about loving you.”

  She stared after his retreating back, feeling the hot tears dripping off her chin onto the front of her t-shirt, then looked over to the object left on the dresser. A small box, tiny and black; the perfect size for an—ohmigod. She tiptoed over to it and ran a finger over the velvet, feeling the grain of the material on the pad of her finger. With a deep breath, she flipped open the lid and widened her eyes at a tiny emerald-cut diamond set in platinum that caught the light even in the box.

  It was perfect, the type of ring she’d select for herself, not that she was selecting rings anytime soon. She’d had no idea Lance’s brain had moved this far along the relationship ladder. She’d barely copped to loving him. What did this ring prove? Sure, maybe he loved her, but he’d proven not to be trustworthy. Like her father.

  She snapped the lid shut on the ring box, trying not to relive her earlier conversation with her FBI tag team. Why, oh why, had she thought to be friendly and bring them coffee? It only opened the door for conversation, a conversation that resulted in them revealing that Lance was a spy for them. She was such an idiot, especially when the agents had smirked at her and stated in surprised voices that they thought she knew Lance was double-teaming for the Secret Service and FBI.

  No, she hadn’t known, but she should have. What a fool she was. Of course he’d reported back to his superiors on her movements. Why else would he have checked in on her daily, and insisted she move in with him? And she’d allowed it. Idiot. Berating herself further was a waste of time. She had a suitcase to pack and an apartment to find. Maybe
Valerie and Jason would come back for the rest of her things so she’d never have to face Lance again.

  Ten minutes later, she zipped up the suitcase and attempted to heft it off the bed, but Lance moved silently into the room to face her. He eyed the suitcase as if it were a bomb about to detonate. “Help me?” She gestured to the suitcase. She could only get out two words over the massive lump in her throat.

  His brows raised. “You want me to help you run away? Nice, Ari.” The look on his face reminded her of one of the violent summer storms that came crashing through D.C. on hot afternoons.

  The lump in her throat magically changed to angry fighting words that flowed out of her. “Well, what did you think? That’d you’d flash a diamond and I’d forget that you’ve been lying to me for weeks? How can I ever trust you again?” She yanked at the suitcase and managed to tug it off the bed onto the floor, smashing her shins in the process.

  “Ari, do you know why I went to my boss today?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “To tell him I was done spying. I told him I wouldn’t do it anymore, and I told them you don’t know where your dad is.” Since she couldn’t hold her gaze on his eyes longer than a second, she kept her attention on his hands, which were curled into fists with white knuckles.

  “That’s nice, Lance, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve been sleeping together, and all the while, you’ve been under orders to report details back to the feds. It’s so sordid.” She couldn’t look at him anymore. “I knew it would end like this. I knew I couldn’t trust any man.”

  “You can trust me, Ari. I swear.” His hands changed from fists to open palms, pleading, pointed in her direction.

  She shook her head and dragged her suitcase a step to the door. “No. I can’t do this right now. Let me go, Lance.” Her skin felt as if it would shatter if he tried to touch her, and her knees threatened to buckle under her.

  He’d moved to block the doorway, and she attempted to push past him, but he stood like a wall. “Don’t go, Arianna.”

  She tried to push past him again, but the suitcase acted like an anchor. “Lance, don’t do this. I’m leaving.”

  Their eyes met, and finally he stepped aside, grabbing the suitcase to carry it downstairs to her car. It was hard to tell through her own tears, but it looked as if his eyes were glossy with tears also. She walked a few steps behind, biting her lip against saying anything more. In her current state of mind, she couldn’t guarantee that she’d reject his apologies, and she needed to.

  “This is good-bye, I guess.” She slipped around Lance and entered the car without once looking him in the eye again, scared of what she’d see. He stood by the hood of the car staring down at her as she sat holding back sobs while huddled in the driver’s seat. His shadow fell on the car like a menacing dark cloud, which obviously mimicked his mood. Her own body felt weak and insubstantial, as if she couldn’t harness the energy to lift her hands onto the steering wheel and control the car.

  With great effort, she lifted heavy, shaking hands to turn the key, then drove one block before she pulled over to the side of the road. The dividing white and yellow lines on the street blurred from behind a curtain of tears, making driving hazardous.

  She’d let Lance into her heart, knowing how vulnerable she was post-Dad scandal. If she had a psychiatry degree, she’d tell herself that her vulnerability made it easy for Lance to worm his way past her defenses. After all, he was a worm. A few more sobs escaped, then she took a deep breath and merged back into traffic on the road to who knew where.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Where’s Valerie tonight? I thought you always stayed home nights when you didn’t have to sleep at the station,” Lance said, toying with his sweating bottle of Newcastle.

  “She’s busy with Arianna,” Jason said. “Or am I not allowed to say the name?”

  Next to him, their friend, Sam Cooper, grinned.

  Lance shrugged, although Jason’s casual reference to his ex hurt like hell. “We’re over. Her name doesn’t mean anything.” Maybe if he said it enough times, his heart and brain would believe it.

  “But you bought a ring? What the hell happened?” Jason asked.

  He scowled at his bottle. “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.” At least not with someone who knew how great Arianna was. The front legs of the wooden chair rose off the ground as he sat back and splayed his legs in front of him. In this corner of the room, he was mostly buffered from the crowds lining up at the bar. His navy suit fit right in with the crew of twenty-somethings talking animatedly over Coronas after work. None guessed he was a shark among them, the only one packing heat or capable of taking another human down with his bare hands.

  Jason had invited him and their mutual friend, Sam, for Thursday happy hour. Actually, invited was a stretch. More like ordered. Lance had only agreed to come tonight because Jason’s watering hole of choice was one where he wouldn’t know anyone. Perfect. He’d blown off fellow-agent invitations to other bars closer to Sixteenth and Penn, knowing he was only going to take more ribbing on his brief but failed relationship with Stanley Rose’s daughter.

  He should’ve listened to them and his gut from the start. He was the only idiot in the world not to have seen this coming. Him, a law enforcement agent, and Arianna Rose. It had disaster written all over it. Everyone knew it. Everyone except him.

  He’d been back at work exactly one week, and he was miserable. Everything he’d thought he wanted no longer satisfied. Distraction and irritability ruled the day; not a good thing when his life and the president’s life relied on his attention to detail. If he kept it up, he was due for a meet-and-yell with Sullivan.

  Missing Arianna was like an itch in the middle of his back he couldn’t reach: always with him and irritating as hell. He knew she was okay from speaking with Jason, but he wanted to see her for himself. “Sorry I’m not better company,” he said.

  “It’s okay. It’s kind of fascinating to see you like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You always have your shit together, especially with women. You don’t let any of them affect you, and, boy, do they want to. When we first met, I was jealous of you, figuring you were a much better fit for Valerie, yet you didn’t want her. Now I see that it wasn’t Valerie you didn’t want. You didn’t want to get serious with any woman.”

  Sam kept silent, but was obviously listening intently to the conversation, turning his head from Lance to Jason as if watching a tennis match. Damn FBI agent. He’d refused to say one word about Arianna, claiming he owed his loyalty to her, as they were old high school friends.

  Lance shrugged, uncomfortable with Jason’s analysis. He’d been accused of that kind of aloofness before, although mostly from people who knew him as Lance Brown of the MarketFresh Browns. Arianna was the only person who’d managed to get under his skin and ruffle his feathers; yet another reason he was better off without her. He’d been forging reasons, lies, to comfort himself with her absence. Or maybe they weren’t lies. Maybe it was evidence of why he needed to let his misery go and move on.

  “Maybe you should call her,” Jason said. He tilted his head. “Have you tried before?”

  “No. I figured I’d give her a cooling-off period to get over her anger, but now…? I don’t know. I think she hates me and certainly doesn’t trust me. What can I say to counter that?” He took a long pull of his drink and surveyed the room. “Maybe I need to get back in the game.”

  “What do you mean?” Jason asked uneasily. Damn happily married man.

  “The dating game. I haven’t had—well, you know… since Ari walked out. Maybe I need to get laid.”

  His friend eyed him dubiously. “Less than two weeks ago you had a ring, ready to propose, and now you want to go pick up women?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Sam looking uncomfortable at his mention of dating other women. He frowned, knowing he was coming off as an ass, and guessing that anything he did tonight Sam would report back to Ar
i, even if Jason didn’t. Maybe it was the four beers, maybe it was the pain of Arianna’s absence, but he couldn’t make himself care. He pointed at Sam. “Don’t look so smug. Someday, some woman is going to knock you on your ass, and don’t come crying to me for sympathy.”

  “I’ve been on my ass since I was fifteen,” Sam muttered. “You haven’t seen me crying, right?”

  Lance didn’t understand Sam’s cryptic comment and he shrugged it aside. “I’m going to need to start dating sometime; why not tonight?”

  Jason leaned back in his chair and gestured widely to the room. “I’m trying to be your friend here. Not Valerie’s husband. Not Arianna’s friend. Your friend. If you think sleeping with some girl will help you, then have at them. They’re all legal, but don’t expect me to approve, and I can’t promise not to tell Val.”

  “Fine.” He polished off the last warm drops of his beer and stood up, swaying slightly. Women of all shapes and sizes clustered the room in groups of two or more. Some nursed longneck beers and others opted for sexier, more colorful drinks in fancy glasses. Ari would be one of those girls. He needed someone different, a beer drinker—maybe the brunette in the boring black suit Arianna wouldn’t be caught doing laundry in.

  He took a breath and walked up to the brunette and her friend, but vicious guilt stabbed him as if he’d be cheating on Arianna. He turned around and headed back for the table.

  Jason nearly knocked his beer bottle over from laughing. “Smooth, Lance. Really smooth.”

  “Shut it,” he said, and shot a triumphant look at Jason when the two girls made their way over to the table anyway. Not that he particularly wanted them there, but he still had it.

  “Ladies,” he said with a curt nod.

  “Grab a chair.” Jason winked at him, stood, and pulled out one of the chairs.

  Lance remained seated, but the other girl didn’t seem to notice his rudeness and sat down anyway.

  “Hi. Do you mind if we join you? I’m Jennifer and this is my friend Harper.” They gazed at him from behind the brown glass bottles of their drinks, coy smiles on their lips.