The Bodyguard's Assignment

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The Bodyguard's Assignment Page 15

by Amanda Stevens


  When Grace was finished, he wiped her face gently with his handkerchief, then pulled her to her feet. “Come on, honey. We have to get out of here.”

  She trembled from head to toe. “I killed him. Brady, I killed someone.”

  “He would have killed you. You know that.”

  She put her hands to her face. Brady wondered if she realized they were bloodstained. He took her hands in his and drew them away. “You did what you had to do.”

  “I killed him with a pitchfork. Oh, God.” She closed her eyes, swaying. “All that blood—”

  “Grace.” His voice was harsher now. He had to get through to her. They had to get out of there. “Listen to me. He would have killed you. He probably would have killed me. You did what you had to do.”

  “I know, but—”

  “It’ll be all right. I promise.” He smoothed his hand down her hair, wishing he could take her in his arms, make her pain go away. But he knew from experience that the nightmares wouldn’t go away for a very long time. “There’s a truck outside. We need to get going.”

  She nodded numbly. Brady went first down the ladder, and when they were at the bottom, he tried to turn her quickly so that she wouldn’t see the dead man on the floor. But he was hard to avoid, and so was the blood. Grace began to shake violently.

  Brady wrapped his arm around her and guided her quickly toward the back of the barn. “The truck’s out back. I left the motor running, so it should be warm inside.”

  When they passed the foreman’s body, Grace whispered, “He didn’t do anything. He was killed for no reason.”

  “Just like hundreds of others have been. Drug trafficking is an ugly business, Grace. These men are brutal.”

  She nodded, but he couldn’t tell if his words were getting through to her or not. Outside, the wind had risen, and Brady could hear the clatter of a nearby windmill. He opened the truck door for Grace, and she climbed inside.

  Once he’d gotten in on the other side, she seemed to rally. She glanced around the cab. “Whose truck is this?”

  Brady hesitated, thinking she might not really want the truth. “One of the ranch hands.”

  “How did you get the key?”

  “I didn’t. I hot-wired it.”

  She glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her pale lips. “Hot-wired it? Where did you learn to do that?”

  “In my juvenile days on the street. Some of those bad habits come in handy now and then.” New vehicles were almost impossible to hot-wire, but older models, like this one, were a piece of cake.

  Brady put the truck into gear and they pulled away from the barn. Neither one of them spoke again until they got to the gate, and he stopped the truck to open it. Grace climbed out with him.

  “I’ll close it after you pull through.”

  He started to protest, but then shrugged. “Thanks.”

  The tires drummed over the metal cattle guard, and he watched in his rearview mirror as Grace wrestled with the gate in the wind. Finally she had it fastened, and she climbed back in, slamming her door.

  “All set.”

  “We’re off then.” Brady glanced at her worriedly. She still looked way too pale to suit him. He pulled a bottle from beneath the seat and handed it to her.

  “What is it?” she asked reluctantly.

  “Whiskey. I don’t have a cup, but the seal hasn’t been broken. The bottle’s clean.”

  She tried to twist open the lid, but her hands were trembling too badly. She handed the bottle back to him. “Sorry. I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

  “This’ll help.” He opened the whiskey and passed it back to her.

  She stared at the bottle for a moment, then turned it up.

  “Careful,” Brady warned. “You’re drinking on an empty stomach.” He could have used a belt himself, but until they got to where they were going, he had to keep a clear head.

  He glanced at her again. “There’s a place south of here no one else knows about. We’ll head for that.”

  “You’re not going to report back to your people?”

  “No. From here on out, we’re on our own, Grace.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her take another quick swig of whiskey.

  “Brady?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You were right. I have been holding out on you.”

  “I’m listening.” He was relieved to hear that her voice sounded almost back to normal.

  “Kane is threatening me.”

  “He’s using your mother, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but it’s worse that you thought. He has her. He took her from the nursing home, and I don’t know where she is. If she’s all right—” Her voice broke, and Brady saw her draw the back of her hand across her face.

  He scowled at the road, trying to ignore the throbbing in his arm and focus on the problem at hand. It was worse than he thought. The likelihood that Grace’s mother was still alive wasn’t all that great. She had to know that. “When did this happen?”

  “The same morning I witnessed the murder. After I’d called the police from Burt’s office, I went back home to my apartment. Kane called me on my cell phone. I don’t even know how he got my number.”

  Cell phone numbers weren’t that hard to acquire, if you knew how to go about it. Neither were unlisted numbers. Especially if Kane had someone on the inside working for him. “Did he let you talk to her?”

  “No. All he said was that he had people in places I couldn’t begin to imagine. If I talked to anyone, including the police, he’d know it. And he’d kill my mother. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I trusted you, but I didn’t know who you were working for, and I was worried that someone in your organization might report back to Kane. And Brady—” She turned to face him. “I was right to be worried. That man back there…he knew you. He called you by name. He told the foreman he was looking for you.”

  Damn, Brady thought. He could no longer deny the leak was coming from his end. All they could do now was find a place to try and regroup.

  “Yesterday at the cabin…you thought I’d made a phone call. I didn’t,” Grace said. “But I did get my voice mail. I had a message from Kane. Saturday, Dealey Plaza, 6:00 p.m. That’s all he said. Tomorrow is Saturday, Brady. I have to get back there. I can’t miss that meeting. My mother’s life depends on it.”

  “Are you sure the message was from Kane?”

  “The voice was garbled, but who else could it be? He said he’d be in touch. He said he’d set up an exchange. The tape for my mother. Who else would have left me that message?”

  It was a trap, of course. Grace wasn’t just smart, she was street-savvy. She had to know the chances of Kane letting her mother go—of him letting Grace go—were nil. If she went to that meeting, she’d be walking into an ambush.

  There was no way Brady could allow that. He had to keep her as far away from Dealey Plaza as possible on Saturday, but she was right about one thing. They did have to go back to Dallas. That tape was the way to lure Kane out into the open.

  “All right,” he said finally. “We’ll go back to Dallas. We’ll get the tape. We’ll deal with Kane only…we do it my way. Agreed?”

  She started to protest, but then thought better of it. Brady didn’t buy her submission for a moment. He could almost read her mind. Once she got back to Dallas, the rules would change. He knew her better than she thought he did, which kept him for the time being at least, one step ahead of her.

  THE SECLUDED cabin Brady pulled up to looked hardly more than a tumbledown shack. Grace got out of the truck and stared at it doubtfully. “Who owns this place?”

  “I do.”

  “You?” She glanced at him in surprise. “Why?”

  She sensed more than saw his grin in the darkness. “Because it’s remote. Because no one knows about it but me. I like to come out here to be by myself. Do some thinking.”

  Grace hesitated to point out to him that he could go almost any place in West Texas and be by himself. But this pla
ce was even more remote than the other cabin. They looked to be in the middle of the desert, with nothing but the silhouette of low-lying hills to break the endless horizon. The countryside seemed almost alien to her. “We must be close to the border,” she said, gazing around.

  “Just a few miles south of here.” He nodded toward the hills. “There used to be a big ranch house just over that first hill. That’s why we’ve got electricity out here. When the house burned, the owner sold out. I got the property for a song, but I haven’t had time to rebuild.” He shrugged, unconcerned. “The cabin suits my purposes anyway.”

  He unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. The light was a bare bulb suspended from the ceiling. Brady turned it on by pulling a string connected to the socket.

  The harsh lighting did little to alleviate the primitive interior. There was no furniture to speak of, just a wooden table and two chairs, a gas cookstove, an ancient refrigerator, a porcelain sink, and a stone fireplace.

  The place was freezing on the inside. Grace shivered as she gazed around.

  “I’ll get a fire started,” Brady said. “Meanwhile, I do have hot water out here, believe it or not. There’s a bathroom of sorts, if you want to get cleaned up.”

  She gazed down at her hands and saw the dried blood. Her stomach quivered sickeningly.

  The tiny bathroom Brady showed her was almost as rustic as the rest of cabin, but it did have running water, a toilet, and a sink. The shower was handheld, with a drain in the middle of the floor. By the time Grace was finished, she’d managed to get everything wet, including her clothes, which she’d kicked into a pile in the corner.

  Wrapping a towel around her, she opened the door to find that Brady had left a stack of clothing on the floor. She dressed quickly, shivering as she drew on the flannel shirt—his, obviously—a pair of boxer shorts—also his, she hoped—and a pair of thick socks.

  Brady was at the stove, stirring something in a pan. He glanced up when she joined him, his gaze taking in her borrowed getup. “Didn’t figure any of my jeans would fit you,” he said, turning back to the stove.

  “You keep clothes out here?” She glanced around, still unable to imagine Brady spending time in this place.

  “Yeah, but they keep disappearing. Sometimes people coming over the border stumble onto this place and break in. They take the clothes, and whatever else I’ve left lying around. Razors, toothbrushes, you name it.”

  “I found a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” Grace said. “I hope you don’t mind that I used it.”

  He shrugged and flashed her a grin. “I’ve got another stashed around here somewhere. I’ve gotten pretty good at finding hiding places. Lucky I put away a can of soup or two.”

  He removed the pan from the stove and carried it over to the table. “Hope you like chicken noodle.”

  Grace didn’t think she could put anything in her stomach, but she also knew that if she didn’t eat, she’d only get weaker. And that wouldn’t do. She’d need all her strength tomorrow.

  Brady fished out another spoon from a drawer. “All the bowls have walked off,” he said. “Dining will be very informal this evening.”

  They ate the soup right out of the pan, and the nourishing broth and noodles managed to restore Grace’s appetite. After the first tentative bite or two, she ate with relish.

  Afterward, she washed the pan and spoons in the sink while Brady had his turn in the shower. “You probably shouldn’t get your arm wet,” she’d admonished, when he’d headed for the bathroom.

  He glanced over his shoulder, his expression ironic. “That’s the least of my worries right now.”

  Still, Grace was concerned. His injury wouldn’t be life-threatening if treated properly, but all she’d been able to do was clean away the blood and use a piece of her shirt for a bandage. Nothing had been sterilized. It would be a miracle if infection didn’t set in.

  She didn’t know how he managed to keep going. How he’d climbed down on that ledge in the canyon to get her. How he’d driven the four-wheeler back to the cabin to get their coats. How he’d faced down a mountain lion, hot-wired a truck, and helped her keep her sanity after she’d—

  Grace didn’t want to remember what had happened in that hayloft, but she knew she would never forget. Her sleep would be haunted for a long time to come, and if it hadn’t been for Brady, she might have really lost it back there.

  But he’d kept her going. He’d kept himself going. And now, hurt arm and all, he was going to help her save her mother.

  Only one problem there, though. If Kane knew that Brady was at that drop tomorrow, he’d never show. Angeline wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Grace drew a long breath. She needed Brady to help her get back to Dallas. But once they were there, she’d have to find a way to meet Kane on her own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  While Grace had been in the shower, Brady had laid out sleeping bags in front of the fireplace. She climbed into one now, settling herself into the folds as she stared at the ceiling. The cabin was finally warm, and she felt almost cozy. The flickering fire, combined with the whiskey, made her grow drowsy, and she’d just drifted off when Brady came out of the bathroom.

  He climbed into the sleeping bag beside her and settled down with a weary sigh. Grace raised herself on one elbow. “Brady?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I found a first-aid kit in the kitchen. I think we should put some disinfectant on your arm. I’m worried about infection.”

  “It’ll be fine. Let’s just get some sleep.”

  “Come on. It’ll only take a minute.”

  He gave another weary sigh as he tossed back the sleeping bag and sat up. He was shirtless, and the jeans he wore rode low on his hips. Firelight flickered over the muscle definition in his arms and shoulders, and for a moment, Grace was mesmerized by the tautness of his stomach, the sprinkling of hair that arrowed beneath the waist of his jeans. “Make it quick,” he said irritably, snapping Grace’s attention back. “We need to get some rest. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  What was probably going to be their last day together, she thought with a pang. She tried not to dwell on the inevitable, but instead, on the task at hand. She got up and turned on the light. Brady got up and brought the bottle of whiskey from the table. He took a long swig as she set to work.

  She tried to make it quick, but his arm was a mess. The wound didn’t appear deep, but it was nasty-looking, with jagged edges where the flesh had literally been ripped apart.

  Shuddering, she dabbed at the wound with a saturated cotton ball, and the moment the disinfectant came into contact with raw flesh, Brady sucked in a sharp breath. “Damn, Grace. Maybe you should just shoot me instead.”

  “Sorry.” She glanced up apologetically. “I know this hurts.”

  “Just get on with it,” he said through gritted teeth. He took another pull on the whiskey bottle. Grace noticed the contents were well below half. How much of the damage had she done herself?

  She set to work again, and this time, when she tried to touch the cotton ball to his arm, Brady jerked it away.

  “I didn’t even touch it yet!” she said impatiently.

  “Yes, you did. You touched it plenty. I’m good to go. Let’s just get some rest.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said in exasperation. “How can you have survived everything you’ve been through in the last couple of days and be such a baby about this?”

  “Because you’re making it worse,” Brady said darkly. “My arm felt fine until you started messing with it.”

  “Just hold still.” Grace, cotton ball poised in her hand, rolled her eyes skyward. Wasn’t that just like a man? Stoic through flying bullets, mountain lions, and assassins, but try putting a little medicine on an injury and they acted like two-year-olds. It amused her a little to realize that Brady Morgan—cop, cowboy, undercover agent—was no exception.

  “Just give me another minute,” she murmured, dabbing the wound quick
ly. She taped on a gauze bandage. “There. That’s the best I can do under the circumstances.”

  “Thanks,” he said dryly.

  When she got up to turn off the light, he grabbed her hand. “Not so fast.”

  “What is it?”

  “That cut on your head could use a little attention, too.”

  “What?” She lifted her hand to her forehead. After everything else that had happened, Grace had forgotten about the scrape she’d gotten earlier that morning. Other than the occasional twinge, it hadn’t bothered her. “It’s just a scratch.”

  “It’s more than that, and besides, we have to worry about infection. Let’s put a little disinfectant on it, just to be on the safe side.”

  She stared at him suspiciously. “What is this, revenge?”

  “Just being cautious.” Brady got a fresh cotton ball and dabbed it with disinfectant. Before he even touched Grace’s forehead, she drew back. “What’s the matter?” he said. “Not afraid of a little disinfectant, are you?”

  She gritted her teeth, just as he had. “Okay. Do it.” He touched her gently, but the medicine set the cut on fire. She grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long drink.

  “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, smart aleck.”

  He grinned. “But now we’re both germ-free, we can get some sleep.”

  He got up and turned off the light. When he’d gotten settled again in the sleeping bag, Grace said, “Brady?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “For the disinfectant?”

  “For everything. You saved my life earlier.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know, Grace. You handled yourself pretty well. I’m beginning to think you may have been better off if I’d left you in Dallas.”

  She turned to gaze at him in the firelight. “Meaning?”

  “The trouble started when I came on the scene.”

  She sighed, turning her head to stare at the ceiling. “No. The trouble started when I went to the warehouse that night. I’m not naive. I know Kane intends to kill my mother and me. Once he has the tape, he’ll come after us. That’s why we have to disappear.”

 

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