The Bodyguard

by Sheryl Lynn

  He shifted and kneaded the flesh of her shoulder. He made a sleepy sound.

  He slipped a hand across her belly. Though hardened from martial arts calluses, his hand was smooth, rousing carnal memories. A slow melt left her shivering inside. Emotion rose in her throat and filled her chest. Her lower lids burned with trembling tears.

  “You awake, baby?”

  No one had ever called her baby before. She’d never realized she wanted anyone to call her such a silly pet name. A tear slipped hotly down her cheek. She dashed it away.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Her neck and facial muscles ached from suppressing tears. She didn’t know what was wrong. Except, for the first time in her life she felt thoroughly cherished. Their bodies meshed as if they’d been custom-made for each other. The sound of his heartbeat compelled her to snuggle, to listen and dream and envision a future with this man.

  This was more than sex. More than desire. McKennon gave her hope in a way nothing and nobody had ever before. His lovemaking left her soothed, relaxed and content. She thought about being thirty years old and how maybe it was time to settle down, have a family, to love...allow herself to be loved.

  Knowing he awaited an answer, she said, “I’m worried about Penny.”

  He petted her hair, separating the tangles with his fingers. “I know. Do you want to get up?”

  She did, but not for the reasons he assumed. She’d given McKennon more than her body last night. Natural caution had deserted her. Body, mind and soul, she’d held nothing back. She felt as if she’d been in a cage and now the door stood open. She hated the cage, but she feared freedom. Ambiguity tore her up inside.

  He shifted on the bed and turned on the bedside light. The brightness wounded her eyes, and she squinted. He maneuvered until he rested on an elbow and looked down at her. With a thumb he stroked first one lower lid than the other. The tenderness of his action made her want to cry again.

  “Regrets?” he asked.

  Odd word, that. It sounded stiff, somehow formal, and far away from describing her roiling, tumbled, jangled emotions. “No.”

  “Me, neither.” He stroked the ball of his thumb down her nose. “You’re incredible.”

  She turned her face away. Life had been ever so much simpler when she’d thought him a jerk.

  “What’s the problem, baby?”

  “It’s Penny. I’m having a good time and God only knows what kind of hell she’s going through.”

  “Feel guilty?”

  She feared looking directly into his eyes. She hadn’t the strength. “I guess.”

  “I can relate. I can’t even go to fast-food joints. Every time 1 think about cheeseburgers, fries and shakes I know what Jamie is missing. Doesn’t seem right to enjoy myself when he can’t.”

  She looked at him then. Oh, but his face was so beautiful. The hard jaw, the even features, the way his jungle-cat eyes seemed to glow. A softening occurred in her chest. “I used to think you didn’t have any feelings at all.”

  “I have loads.” He chuckled. “But I’m a manly man.”

  “That you are.” A wan smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re kind of scaring me.”

  “Why is that?”

  She moved a hand over his shoulder. Even in repose, his muscles were rock solid. In the old days, when she accompanied Max to the gym, she used to watch McKennon while he worked the bag or practiced his karate moves. She and every other female within viewing distance. “I have a bad habit of losing people I care about. My dad walked out after Penny was born. I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive. Mom died. My friends got married and had kids and we lost touch. Now Penny is missing.” She stopped before she began griping about Max.

  “I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He kissed her. His mouth tasted sleep-sour which she found delicious. Desire built, languid and hot, rippling through her body. When he touched her breast, an electric jolt made her jerk. “Nice rack,” he murmured, grinning wickedly.

  “Crude.”

  “Nice bosom, then?”

  In response to the way he rolled an erect nipple between his fingers, a low purr rumbled in her throat. “Bosom. Too prissy.”

  “Picky, picky. Okay, how about...great honkin’ hooters.”

  She’d never dreamed he possessed such a bawdy sense of humor. She laughed. He lowered his mouth to her breast and laughter died.

  A knock on the door startled a gasp from her. McKennon sat upright. She snatched covers over her nakedness. Annoyance tightened her forehead. She was thirty years old, for pity’s sake. If she wanted to make love with McKennon then who was to say she couldn’t?

  “Are you expecting someone?” She wondered where her clothing might be.

  “Not at this hour.” Renewed knocking made him grumble. He flipped back covers and swung his feet to the floor.

  Horrible scenarios filled Frankie’s head. Maybe it had snowed again last night and ten-foot drifts blocked the lodge doors. Or the kidnappers called to up the ransom amount. Or they’d found Penny and she was dead—she shook that thought away. “Where are my clothes?”

  He scooped clothing off the floor, tossing jeans and an inside-out sweatshirt to her. Clutching the clothes to her chest she scrambled off the bed. “I’ll wait in the bathroom.”

  “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s probably your aunt looking for you.”

  Frankie rolled her eyes. She felt like a little kid about to receive a lecture for being naughty. “Put on a shirt then.” She scooted into the bathroom and closed the door.

  She pawed through the clothing and found her panties, but not her bra. She imagined it laying on the floor in plain view of whomever visited. Muttering curses, she dressed.

  “She’s been chewing my ass since 3:00 a.m. I need something I can use, and I need it right now.”

  Max? Frankie pressed her ear to the door and strained to hear. What in the world was Max doing in this room?

  “What have you got for me? Tell me everything Frankie has said.”

  McKennon spoke too softly for her to hear, but Max had said enough to rouse ugly suspicions. She opened the door. McKennon wore his goon face, blank and hard. Max’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling. He raked his gaze over her body, and she knew what he saw. Tousled hair, a well-kissed face and bare feet. A woman who for one, brief, shining moment had imagined herself falling in love. He saw a total idiot

  Dismissing him, she focused her glare on McKennon. “What have you got for him?” Say something, she thought at him. Anything, something—tell me last night wasn’t a lie! “You’re still working for him, aren’t you? You’re setting me up.”

  Head down, he answered, “It isn’t what you think.”

  She knew what Max was capable of. Lying, sneaking, manipulating, distracting—apparently, she’d fallen for his tricks again. Apparently McKennon had learned much from the boss.

  Head high she stalked into the room. With all the dignity she could fake she gathered her remaining clothing. She pushed past McKennon and Max. Being so near to her ex-fiancé made her flesh crawl. Brushing McKennon’s arm broke her heart.

  “Frankie, wait.”

  Her back muscles went rigid. She kept walking. Get thee to a nunnery, girl, she thought. Men were scum.

  “OKAY, GEEK-AZOID,” Chuck said to Paul, “you keep her nice and warm. Right?” He tucked a blanket around the girl’s feet. He and Paul had wrapped her up in two flannel shirts, three pairs of socks and two blankets. Still she shivered. She hadn’t made a peep since they’d moved her from the cabin to the back seat of the Bronco. He suspected she was scared out of her wits. He didn’t blame her; he was shaking himself.

  Paul tugged a corner of blanket over the girl’s head. “Can’t let the hot leak out.” He grinned happily. “Snug as a bug, Miss Penelope?”

  The girl replied with a timid mewling sound.

  Chuck looked around for Bo, who had returned to the cabin to tote out the rest of their belongings. He leaned close to the gir
l. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to be scared. You’re going home this morning. Everything’s cool. Just be quiet and don’t let him hear you talking.”

  “She says I can come visit,” Paul said. “She’s gonna make me hot chocolate with marshmallows. And cookies!”

  “Shh, don’t let Bo hear you talking.” Chuck couldn’t help a smile. Paul hadn’t a clue as to what was really going on. “Remember now, you two, not a word.”

  He backed out of the Bronco and closed the door. He slapped his upper arms and stamped his feet on the icy snow. The sun had yet to make an appearance. The black morning sky bursting with stars and a sliver of moon made him feel small and out of place. Vegas—hot, dry, and alive with neon—kept sounding better and better. Especially now that his luck had gone into the upswing. Everything was still tooling along as sweet as candy. He couldn’t lose. By noon, he, Paul and a bag full of money would be zooming in the air toward Vegas.

  Bo brought an armload of sleeping bags to the back of the Bronco and shoved them inside. He closed the hatch.

  “That everything?” Chuck held out a hand. “Toss me the keys, man, and let’s get this monkey house rocking.”

  “Take the Buick. You’re making the pickup.”

  Chuck cocked his head one way then the other. He and Bo had gone over the maps until Chuck had memorized every road and trail in the area. The plan was simple. Pick up the cash, hand off the girl, and split, rich and happy. “Why are you changing the plan?”

  “Ain’t changed nothing. This is the plan.” Bo’s smile looked ghastly in the wan yellow illumination from the Bronco’s interior light “Don’t worry about your brother. I’ll keep him safe.”

  A sick sensation weighted Chuck’s gut. He should have known. Bo hadn’t let Chuck convince him to bring along Paul. Bo had known all along that Paul made the perfect hostage. Now, if by chance, the doof had called the cops, Chuck would get popped, not Bo. Torture with rubber hoses and hot irons couldn’t make Chuck drop a dime on his own brother. A perfect plan. For Bo.

  “That’s a hot car, man. I don’t want to be cruising in a hot car.”

  “The old lady hasn’t opened her garage in ten years. Nobody knows it’s hot.” He fished in a deep coat pocket and brought out a tiny cellular telephone. He handed it over.

  Chuck stared at the black unit the size of a cigarette pack. He tried not to stare at the bulge the nine-millimeter formed in Bo’s coat pocket. Bo also carried a shiv with an eigh-tinch, razor-sharp blade. He was notorious for his skill with a knife.

  “Soon as you get the cash punch in star one-two. That’ll hook you up with me.”

  Heat climbed the back of his neck and over his scalp. He stiffened against his temper. In a fight Bo would either cut him to pieces or shoot him dead. Then he’d kill Paul. If Chuck got popped by the cops, Bo would kill Paul. If Chuck ran with the money, Bo would kill Paul.

  He glanced at his baby brother. The big goofball grinned like a hound dog eager for a car ride.

  “If I smell a cop,” he said, “I ain’t doing it.”

  “If you smell a cop, buddy, call me. We’ll send our boy his wife’s right hand in a box. Now go.”

  Chuck cleared snow, ice, tree branches and debris off the old Buick. Despite being over twenty years old it was in great shape. Driven by a little old lady to and from church, he thought with a grim smile. He wrestled the door open. The bench seat felt like a block of ice. He turned the key. The engine roared to life. He glanced at the Bronco. Paul waved happily. Chuck tossed the telephone on the seat beside him and opened the map. A big red X marked the pickup site.

  With the headlights on high he maneuvered the big car toward the road. Snowdrifts bogged the wheels. Both hands on the wheel, cussing Bo Moran, he slipped, slid and plowed through the snow. He couldn’t even see the driveway so he steered between the trees. Gravity aided the car in the downhill trek, but the big engine groaned as the car fought through drifts. Rooster tails of snow flared behind the spinning wheels.

  By the time he reached the asphalt he was shaking and sweating, but so cold his teeth chattered. He turned the heater on full blast.

  Snowplows had cleared a single lane. Asphalt gleamed wetly under the headlights. Chuck touched the accelerator, and the car heaved forward, but the rear end skidded. “Slow,” he muttered, heart pounding. “Steer into the skids, keep the wheel straight. Okay, old Buick, old friend, nice and easy.” He’d spent most of his life in Nevada and California. Neither state offered much opportunity for practicing winter weather or mountain driving. Uncaring if he reached the rendezvous point late, as long as he reached it, he puttered along at twenty miles an hour.

  With every mile his confidence grew. The old Buick lacked four-wheel drive or even front-wheel drive, but it hugged the road like a boat on water. By the time he reached the forest service road he took one hand off the wheel and turned on the radio. It took some fiddling, but he finally found a country and western station with minimal static.

  The road climbed into the forest. Thickly growing trees blotted out the faint light from the rising sun. He whistled along with a Garth Brooks heartbreaker. Up ahead the headlights shone into open space, which meant a sharp turn. He took his foot off the accelerator and allowed the incline to slow the car. He made the turn at a scant fifteen miles an hour. The old Buick handled like a dream. He patted the dashboard.

  “Hey, old girl, want a trip to Vegas?” He laughed out loud. For the first time in his life his luck was holding.

  Still laughing, he braked lightly on the downhill.

  The Buick skidded. He pumped the brake and felt the brakes catching, but the car didn’t slow. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He didn’t dare take a hand off the steering wheel to turn off the heater. Forest and mountain climbed to his right. Nothing but treetops lay to the left. He tried the brake again and felt the car sailing on ice. He turned the wheel bard, uncaring if he crashed into the mountain.

  The big Buick sailed into nothingness.

  Chuck watched the headlights skim trees and sky. Tree branches cracked and crashed. The Buick’s nose aimed for the ground. It tipped, throwing Chuck against the driver’s door. He heard impact.

  Then nothing.

  Chuck’s eyelids fluttered. He knew he’d been unconscious, but not for how long. Utter blackness surrounded him, and for a moment he feared he’d gone blind. He grew aware of a pale green light emanating from the radio. A commercial announcer cheerfully hawked a vacuum cleaner. The Buick’s headlights glowed as if underwater.

  I’m alive, he thought, and laughed. Blades of pain rocketed through his skull. The laughter trailed into a groan. He made as if to reach for his forehead, but his arm refused to move. He struggled, but the steering wheel trapped his right arm against his thigh. Every movement made his head throb and scream.

  The damned engine continued to purr along at a soothing idle. Heat from a vent blew onto his face. His legs ached, with his knees feeling as if they’d been hammered. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he looked around. The bench seat had jammed forward at a skewed angle and trapped him beneath the steering wheel. He could see his right arm, but he couldn’t feel it.

  “Thanks a lot, Bo,” he grumbled. Grunting, wincing, he finally managed to reach the interior dome light. The Buick was buried in tree limbs and snow. Snow piled halfway up the cracked windshield. It completely covered the driver’s window.

  He struggled to free himself from the steering wheel, but he was crunched up at an awkward angle. He couldn’t work up enough leverage to push against the floorboards and shove the seat back. His legs tingled with impending numbness.

  He tried the door. The latch worked, but no amount of pushing budged the door. He began rolling down the window. An avalanche of loose snow poured onto his lap. He quickly rolled the window back up.

  “Telephone!” he exclaimed. He searched for the cellular unit. There it was on the passenger-side floor. Its microdot indicator light showed it was activated and ready to call for rescue.r />
  He couldn’t reach it.

  A rumbling noise caught his attention. A vehicle on the road above! He tried to reach the radio to turn it off, but missed by a scant few inches. He blared the horn until the piercing noise brought tears of pain.

  “Help!” he yelled. “I’m down here! Help me! Help!”

  When he stopped holding the horn he heard only the radio. Alan Jackson sang a love song to a Mercury. He honked the horn again and again and again and again.

  Somebody had to come. His life depended on it.

  Paul’s life depended on it.

  FRANKIE STOOD as close to the agent monitoring the radio as he would allow. The faux Julius had left the resort at exactly 6:00 a.m. As per instructions he’d driven directly to the reservoir and picked up Forest Road 247. He’d reached Forest Road 59 ten minutes ago. He kept up a running commentary about everything and every person he saw.

  Nobody in the dining room spoke. Elise and the Colonel held hands. Ross sat between Kara and Janine. FBI agents monitored radio links to the men and women staking out the mountain roads.

  “...passing a logging truck with our guys. No signal from them. No sign of civilian traffic. Damn it! This is like driving on a skating rink. Lots of ice up here, people. Nasty.”

  Feeling she was being watched, Frankie glanced toward the doorway. McKennon stood there. Sorrow filled her chest and left her aching. She’d been a fool. An utter, naive, trusting, idiotic fool. He’d told her exactly what Max wanted and how he meant to get it. She’d filled in the blanks with foolish imaginings.

  Countless women before her had survived one-night stands with manipulative jerks. She could, too. She dragged her attention off him.

  “Mile seven,” the Julius stand-in said, “nothing. I haven’t seen anybody except our guys.”

  Frankie shifted her glare to Agent Patrick. “Maybe the kidnappers see our guys, too.”