The Bodyguard's Assignment

by Amanda Stevens

  “They had a pretty good season,” Brady said. “I miss the old Southwest Conference, though.”

  “That Stanley kid’s got potential.” Leni straightened and smiled down at Brady. “Nothing like you and Danny, though. Those were the days, huh, Brady?”

  Brady smiled. “We had some good times.”

  “The best.” Leni seemed reluctant to leave. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Brady,” she said softly.

  “See ya, Leni.”

  Once she’d gone, Grace leaned across the table toward him. “You used to play football for UT?” She and her mother had moved to Dallas when Grace was fifteen, but even a Yankee transplant knew what it meant to play football for the Texas Longhorns.

  “Mostly I warmed the bench,” he said dryly.

  “What position did you play?”

  “Quarterback.”

  That figured, Grace thought. He’d want to be in charge. “Were you any good?”

  “I had a decent arm.” He shrugged. “Steve Fuller and I were recruited the same year. Ever hear of him?”

  “Are you kidding?” Steve Fuller, who still played pro ball, was widely touted as the best quarterback ever to come out of the state of Texas—which said a lot. “I once interviewed him,” Grace said, remembering all that good-old-boy charm.

  “Then you know why I warmed the bench most of the time. I was his backup. The guy never missed a game,” Brady said without rancor.

  “That must have been difficult for you.” Brady wasn’t the type to relish sitting on the sidelines. In a state where football was almost a religion, it must have been especially hard.

  But he seemed more philosophical than embittered. “I was there on a scholarship. Football put me through four years of college. I got an education I wouldn’t otherwise have gotten. I did okay.”

  “Yes, you did,” Grace agreed. She couldn’t picture Brady playing pro ball, anyway. She couldn’t picture him as anything but a cop. “You told me once your mother died when you were twelve. What about your dad? Did he get to see you play football?”

  A shutter dropped over Brady’s expression. His gaze darkened. “My old man died the same year my mother did.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Grace wanted to reach out and touch his hand, make contact with him, but considering everything between them, it didn’t seem the right thing to do.

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” He finished his coffee. “It was his choice.”

  “His choice? You mean he—”

  “Killed himself. That’s exactly what I mean.”

  The words were almost matter-of-factly spoken, but there was nothing casual about Brady’s demeanor. He sat rigid, his jaw like steel. Grace had touched a nerve without meaning to.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, not knowing what else to say. “What happened? Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

  She thought for a moment he wouldn’t answer her. He gazed out the window, his gray eyes as bleak as the winter sky, the lines around his mouth as hard and unyielding as the West Texas mountains looming in the distant. “I guess the trouble started in Vietnam. He spent four years as a POW. He came home changed.”

  “They all did,” Grace murmured.

  “My mother used to say that he was like a different person. Before, he’d been happy-go-lucky, always wanting people around him. But I never saw that side of him. All I saw was the anger.” He paused, still gazing out the window. “He became a cop. I don’t think that helped matters. It’s a tough job under the best of circumstances. After my mother died, I guess he just couldn’t hold it together anymore. He beat up a suspect one night. Put the guy in the hospital. Did some serious damage. After the review board suspended him, he went home in the middle of the day, took out his service revolver, and put a bullet through his brain. End of story.”

  Brady’s gaze finally met Grace’s. She was startled by the darkness she saw there. The ghosts. It wasn’t the end of the story, she thought. It was only the beginning. Because Brady hadn’t told her everything. If his father had committed suicide in the middle of the day, then Brady had probably been at school. He’d probably been the one to come home and find his father’s body.

  The image burned into Grace’s mind. Brady, alone and frightened. Brady, needing someone and having no one.

  At least she’d always had Angeline.

  “Brady, I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I had no idea.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I never talk about this stuff. I don’t even know why I told you.”

  “Maybe because you’ve needed to tell someone for a long time.”

  “Don’t read more into this than what it is,” he said coolly. “We’ve been on the road a long time. I guess I’m a little punch-drunk.”

  That was probably true. On the other hand, Grace couldn’t help wondering if maybe he’d confided in her because he trusted her a little more than he professed. She couldn’t help hoping that was the case.

  Chapter Seven

  Brady wasn’t sure why he’d unloaded all that ancient garbage on Grace, but maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was getting so damned tired he couldn’t think straight. Which was a dangerous situation, considering. He’d taken out two men back there on the highway, but that didn’t mean Kane and Rialto wouldn’t send more. Brady had to be ready for them, which meant sometime in the very near future, he had to get some rest.

  But there was still the problem of Grace. He had no doubt she’d bolt at the first opportunity, but what he couldn’t figure out was why? What did Kane have on her? It had to be more than just a threat against her life. Grace wasn’t the type to run from danger. She was the type to embrace it.

  She came to an abrupt halt in front of the restaurant, gazing around. “Where’s the Land Rover?”

  “I gave it to Leni.”

  “You gave it to Leni?” Grace turned to him incredulously. “Why?”

  “Actually, gave isn’t exactly the right word. I traded her. For this.” He walked over to a dilapidated, red pickup and opened the door, waving Grace inside.

  She eyed the truck doubtfully. “You traded her a brand new Land Rover for this? Does it even run?”

  “Like a scalded dog, knowing Leni. She has a way with engines.”

  Grace stepped up on the running board and climbed inside, settling herself on the cracked vinyl seat. “Obviously, she’s not a bad businesswoman, either,” she muttered.

  When Brady had gotten behind the wheel and cranked the engine, Grace said, “Aren’t you afraid someone will come looking for the Land Rover? Won’t that put Leni in danger?”

  Brady pulled away from the restaurant without glancing back. “They’ll never think to look here, and even if they did, no one will recognize that Land Rover once Leni gets through with it.”

  Grace wrinkled her nose as she glanced around the ragged truck cab. “You may be right about that,” she said, and then they both fell silent as Brady accelerated onto the freeway.

  Rio Rancho was soon just a speck behind them. Ahead, weak sunlight glinted off rock, casting a reddish glow on the craggy face of the mountain. As the mist burned away, blue sky peeked from a thick drift of white clouds, but Brady knew better than to hope for a prolonged break in the weather. They were in for more sleet, but once they were safely ensconced in the cabin, the inclement weather could work in their favor.

  Grace seemed absorbed in the scenery, although there wasn’t much to see. Miles and miles of rocky plains dotted with scrub, mesquite, and cactus. He wondered what she thought of the rugged country. It was a far cry from city life, and even after five years, he still wasn’t sure he’d adjusted completely.

  Leaving the freeway behind, they turned south again on a two-lane state highway. Grace, reading a road sign, said, “Marfa. I’ve heard of that town.”

  “It’s where the movie Giant was filmed. Elizabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson. Ever see it?”

  “I watched it once with my mother. She had a
real thing for James Dean.”

  Brady caught the past tense and said, “Had?”

  Grace glanced at him, her gaze shadowed. “My mother hasn’t been well. She has Alzheimer’s disease.”

  “That’s rough,” Brady said with genuine regret. He’d met Grace’s mother once. She was a very special woman. “How long has she had it?”

  “Three years. Although who knows how long really? She’s had memory lapses for years, but nothing we thought was serious. Then three years ago, she started going out shopping and forgetting how to get back home. Sometimes even forgetting who she was. After the diagnosis was made, I persuaded her to move in with me so that I could keep an eye on her. But even though I cut back on my hours at the paper, I couldn’t watch her twenty-four hours a day. I still had assignments, interviews, deadlines to meet.” Grace sighed. “Six months ago, I had to put her in a nursing home. It’s a beautiful facility. Expert care. Private rooms. But it killed me just the same.”

  Brady had never seen this side of Grace. He didn’t know what to make of her. The woman he’d known five years ago had been ambitious and single-minded to a fault. He couldn’t have imagined her cutting back on her hours, turning down choice assignments, putting her career on hold to take care of a sick mother.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her now. He did. He could hear the pain and despair in her voice when she talked about her mother. He could see how deeply she cared. It was just that here was a Grace who was a stranger to him. A woman who could be even more dangerous than the other Grace, and that was the last thing Brady needed.

  Her glance seemed hesitant. “She liked you, you know. She only met you that one time, but she asked about you for a long time afterward.”

  Brady smiled. “I remember thinking when I first met her that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life.”

  Grace smiled, too. “I could tell you were smitten with her,” she teased.

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “She had that effect on everyone she met,” Grace said. “She was beautiful inside and out. She still is.” Her voice broke, and she turned quickly back to the window.

  “You’re like her in some ways, you know.”

  She seemed surprised by his words. “I’m not anything like her. I only wish I was.”

  “You have her looks. You have her passion for life.”

  She glanced at him reluctantly, her blue gaze brittle. “She would never have done to you what I did.”

  He shrugged. “We all make mistakes. No one’s perfect.”

  “Are you saying you forgive me?”

  He turned back to the road without answering. It was a question he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. Once he forgave Grace…once he no longer had her betrayal to use as a defense…

  He didn’t want to contemplate what might happen. He wouldn’t let himself think about the coming days and nights the two of them would spend together in a remote cabin. Cut off from civilization with no one else for miles around.

  The nights were cold and lonely in the mountains. How much easier they passed with a warm body to curl up against.

  “Does it?” Her voice was soft, but insistent.

  Brady rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

  Her sigh was heavy. “At least you’re honest.”

  Was he? Was he being honest about his feelings? He’d told Grace it was over between them, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “Do you live around here?” she asked suddenly, as if wanting to change the subject.

  He was more than willing. “Yeah, but we’re not going to the ranch.”

  “You live on a ranch?” She gave him a curious look, a reporter’s look. Now that was more like the Grace he knew. “You ride horses, herd cattle, all that kind of stuff?”

  “Yeah, as a matter-of-fact.” He smiled a little.

  “Seriously? I mean, don’t they have high-tech equipment to do the hard work these days? Helicopters and three-wheelers for round-ups? I thought cowboys were obsolete.”

  “Not on this ranch. We do it the old-fashioned way, for the most part.”

  “Why?” She sat up straighter in the seat. If she was faking her interest, she was a damn good actress.

  “Because that’s the way Mitchell wants it.”

  “Mitchell?”

  “The owner. It’s a thing with him. Keeping the old ways and traditions alive. Ranching is hard work. Grueling work. But it also builds character, teaches you teamwork. Out here—” Brady swept his hand in front of the windshield, encompassing the vastness of the landscape. “You have to learn how to survive in a very basic way.”

  “I’d like to meet this Mitchell sometime,” Grace said softly. “He sounds like a very interesting man.”

  “He has his moments,” Brady agreed.

  He turned off the highway again, this time onto a rugged trail that lead straight across the plain toward the foothills of the mountains. As they began to ascend, the road became little more than two rutted-out tracks that ran parallel to a deep canyon carved from the red sandstone mountains. The shadows against the far wall deepened, making the gorge seem bottomless.

  The cabin where they were going was a good twenty-five miles from the highway, fifty miles from the nearest town of any size. Brady glanced at Grace’s silent profile. She seemed struck by the stark beauty of the landscape, but he wondered if she’d fully absorbed the gravity of the situation. They were literally in the middle of nowhere. No one to rely on but themselves. No one for company but each other.

  No one for miles around but the two of them.

  THE TRUCK shimmied to a halt beside a cabin that appeared to perch on the very edge of the canyon. Getting out of the truck, Grace scrambled over rocky barriers until she stood on the very rim. Her breath caught at the primitive beauty of the place.

  She gazed down into the deep gorge, peering through the shadows toward the bottom. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sound of rushing water, but everything else was silent. So quiet she thought they would be able to hear even the slightest noise miles away. The perfect place to hide.

  Brady came up beside her. “Pretty bleak out here.”

  “I think it’s beautiful,” Grace said breathlessly. She glanced at his profile. Beneath the brim of his hat, the shadow of his beard made him seem as tough and rugged as the landscape around them. He was a part of this country now. He belonged here more than he did in the city, and a part of Grace felt the loss even as another part of her became intrigued by the possibilities.

  She turned back to the canyon, staring across the yawning expanse to the boundless vista beyond. The land stretched forever, barren except for a few scattered cactus and agave that managed to survive among the rocks. The air was thin and cold, bone-chilling and yet exhilarating at the same time.

  Grace had never breathed air so crisp, witnessed a sky so blue, a landscape so vast. She had the sudden feeling that she was perched on the edge of the world, and that if she were the only one here, it would be the loneliest place imaginable. But with Brady by her side…

  “I’d like to write about this place sometime,” she said softly.

  “What would you write about?” He’d turned to stare at her, and his gray eyes seemed to be searching for something. Grace wasn’t sure what.

  She shrugged. “You, maybe.”

  “Not much to interest a reader there,” he said dryly.

  “You’re wrong,” Grace said. “A city cop moves west to become a cowboy. That’s a great story. I never even knew you could ride a horse.”

  He turned back to the canyon, his gaze scanning the distant side in a way that made Grace shiver. You could take a cop out of the city…

  “When I was a teenager, one of the big oil companies used to sponsor a bunch of us foster kids to come out to a ranch every summer to keep us off the streets. Teach us the value of hard work. Keep us drug-and gang-free. You’ve heard the drill.”

  “Was it the same ranch where yo
u live now?”

  “No. It was more like a dude ranch, but I learned how to ride there. Learned to appreciate the land. Wide open spaces. How to live with things I couldn’t change.” He glanced at her.

  “You can learn that in the city, too,” she told him. “It might surprise you how much I’ve learned in the last five years.”

  “Such as?” His eyes were as deep and shadowed as the canyon before him, his tone faintly challenging.

  Grace met his gaze. “I learned what’s really important in this world.”

  “You’re talking about your mother.”

  Fear tingled through her at the mention of her mother. The landscape suddenly turned threatening. Right now, standing on the edge of nothing, it seemed as if a whole world separated Grace from Angeline. “Her illness brought us closer together than we’d ever been. Made me appreciate the things she’d tried to teach me about life. Things like honor and loyalty. Integrity.”

  “Pretty words, Grace. Not much more than that, though.”

  “You still don’t believe I’ve changed?” His doubts hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

  “Actions speak louder than words. If you’d really changed, you’d do the right thing. You’d turn over that tape, give a statement to the police. Testify against Kane.”

  She drew a long breath, expelling it in a cloud of icy vapor. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “You’re keeping something from me,” he said grimly. “I’ve figured that much out.” He turned and started walking toward the cabin. “But until you get ready to talk, there’s not much I can do to help you.”

  “I’m never going to talk,” she said softly, to herself, but she’d forgotten how easily sound carried out there.

  He turned, his gray gaze magnetic. “Never is a long time. Especially out here.”

  THE INTERIOR of the cabin wasn’t as primitive as the outside. It was actually quite cozy, Grace decided, and under other circumstances, she might have found it romantic, with its rustic cedar paneling and huge, stone fireplace. Indian rugs warmed the plank flooring, and the brown leather furniture looked well-worn and inviting. A tiny kitchen was tucked in one corner, and a pine dining table had been situated in front of a window that looked out on the mountains.