The Bodyguard's Assignment

by Amanda Stevens

  Her puzzled eyes met his, and she lifted her fingertips to her chin, as if trying to figure out what was going on. Slowly, Brady lowered his gun and put it away. He crossed the floor and knelt beside her chair.

  “Mrs. Drummond?”

  She cocked her head slightly, trying to place him.

  “I’m Brady Morgan. We met once. Your daughter, Grace introduced us.”

  “Grace,” the woman said softly and smiled.

  Brady nodded. “I’m going to take you to Grace. Would you like that?”

  Her fingers reached out to touch his face. Then her gaze lifted, and Brady realized, too late, that someone had come into the room behind him. Someone wearing soft-soled shoes. Nurse’s shoes.

  He had a glimpse of white as he spun, but the woman was quick. She crashed a crystal vase with all her might against Brady’s skull.

  GRACE STOOD near the reflecting pool on Elm Street, her gaze sweeping the area for signs of Kane. From her vantage, she could see the Grassy Knoll and the three-layered overpass beyond. She also had a view of the John F. Kennedy Memorial in the middle of Commerce Street and the lighted window of the Fifth Floor Museum, located in the building which had once been known as the Texas Book Depository.

  The Mavericks were in town, and the streets were littered with fans walking from dinner on the West End to Reunion Arena. The interstate was crowded as well, and Grace wondered if that would help or hinder her and her mother’s escape.

  Who was she kidding? she thought in despair. Without that tape, the possibility of getting out of this alive was almost nil. But she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t try. Her mother would have done no less for her.

  It was almost six o’clock, and Grace had seen no sign of Kane. Walking down Commerce, she crossed to the middle of the street. The memorial was a boxy structure with thirty-foot-high concrete walls, elevated slightly off the ground, and two narrow openings, north and south, through which to enter and exit. Inside, the cenotaph was sterile, devoid of ornamentation. A space designed for quiet reflection.

  Grace glanced over her shoulder, then stepped inside. Someone was already in there, gazing at the inscription on a slab of gray granite.

  When the figure turned, Grace gasped, “What are you doing here?”

  BRADY GROANED as he tentatively felt the back of his head. A goose egg had popped out at the base of his skull, but he wasn’t bleeding. At least, not much. Fighting off a wave of dizziness, he struggled to his feet.

  It was dark in the room, but light filtered in through the window, sparking off the bits of broken glass on the floor. Angeline was in bed, her eyes closed, sleeping peacefully.

  Brady felt her pulse. It was slow and slightly erratic. He wondered if she’d been drugged.

  Crossing to the door, he opened it a crack and peered out. He could see up the hallway to the lighted living room where a television played softly in the background. Delia Kane, still in her nurse’s uniform, paced the room, a cordless phone to her ear and his gun dangling from her other hand. Her voice rose in distress.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know where he is? Find him, for God’s sake!”

  A pause, then, “Look, I don’t care what you have to do, but you find my brother and tell him to get over here now. They’re both out, but I don’t know for how long. I’m not going to be responsible for this. I’m not going to be a party to murder—”

  She halted, as if she’d been interrupted. She listened for a moment, then slammed the phone down angrily. Turning, she strode down the hallway. Brady closed the door and lay back down on the floor. When she entered the room, she nudged him with her foot, then moved to the bed to check on Angeline. She placed the gun on the nightstand as she leaned over the sleeping woman. Brady rose silently and grabbed her by the throat, applying enough pressure to make her see spots as he brought the gun up to her temple. The woman struggled for a moment, then went slack.

  “Where’s Kane?”

  He loosened his hold to allow her to answer, but she shook her head. “I’m not telling you anything,” she gasped.

  “Then you aren’t much use to me.”

  Dragging her over to the closet, Brady pushed her inside, then shoved a chair beneath the knob. Instead of pounding on the door and screaming, the woman went absolutely silent. Her brother had taught her well, Brady thought grimly. The woman knew how to keep her mouth shut.

  Quickly, he picked up Angeline, but from the window in the living room, he saw a car cruise down the street. Before it had time to pull up outside, Brady had already reversed directions and headed for the back door. Angeline wasn’t as tall as her daughter, and she weighed hardly anything. Under ordinary circumstances, Brady could have carried her easily. But these were hardly ordinary circumstances. His knee had withstood too much stress in the last few days, and his arm was screaming in agony. On top of that, he had one helluva headache.

  “I think I’m getting too old for this,” he murmured to Grace’s mother as he carried her out of the house into the darkness.

  “SO…THE MESSAGE was from you?” Grace asked, still in shock at seeing her friend instead of Kane.

  Helen nodded. “I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t know how else to get in touch with you. I was so worried. I thought if we could meet, I might be able to help you.”

  Grace felt as if her whole world were crashing in on her. Her legs almost buckled, and Helen grabbed her arm, supporting her as she pulled her into a corner, away from a group of tourists that had entered the memorial.

  “Grace, what is it?” Helen asked desperately. “What’s happened to you? You look terrible!”

  “I thought the message was from Kane,” she said weakly. “It didn’t sound like your voice and Kane wants the tape—”

  “You brought the tape?” Helen cut in urgently. “You have it?”

  Something in Helen’s demeanor, in the excited gleam of her dark eyes, alarmed Grace. She stared down at her friend. “No. It’s hidden. I’m not stupid enough to have it on me.”

  Helen’s eyes flickered for a moment as her grasp tightened on Grace’s arm. A man detached himself from the group of tourists and came toward them. He wore a long overcoat, and one of his hands was stuffed in his pocket. As he approached them, Grace could see his face, and recognition flickered through her. She couldn’t place him, but she knew she’d seen him before.

  “Does she have it?” His tone was low and menacing. Grace knew his voice, too. He was the man who had been in the warehouse with Kane the night he murdered Alec Priestley. The man she thought was Stephen Rialto.

  In a heartbeat, everything Grace had ever heard about Rialto flashed through her mind. Brutal, brilliant, cold-blooded. The hopelessness of her situation stole over her, threatening her courage.

  She gazed at Helen in horror. “Why?”

  She ignored Grace’s question. “She doesn’t have the tape on her. She hid it. She didn’t say where.”

  “Oh, she’ll tell us.” The man stepped closer to Grace, taking her arm and bringing it behind her. When she would have cried out, he jammed the barrel of a gun, hidden in his pocket, in her side. “Won’t you, Grace?”

  She gritted her teeth, willing her courage. Tossing back her head, she said, “I deal only with Kane.”

  “Kane’s dead. Your mother’s dead. It’s just you and me, Grace.”

  A wave of blackness swept over Grace. The man grabbed one of her arms and Helen the other. They began to lead her out of the cenotaph.

  Dead, Grace thought numbly. Her mother couldn’t be dead. He was lying to her.

  But as she glanced up at the man’s cruel profile, she knew that he was not.

  “Where are we going?” she asked weakly.

  “You’re going to take us to that tape. And if you decide to scream or make a scene, I’ll shoot you dead where you stand.”

  “You’re going to kill me anyway,” Grace said breathlessly. “Why should I make it easier for you?”

  “Because I can make
it easy for you, or I can make it…fun. It’s your choice.”

  She shuddered, envisioning the methods of torture he would employ. “How can you do this?” she implored Helen desperately. “This man is a killer. He destroys lives. Why are you helping him?”

  “You shouldn’t have to ask me that question,” Helen said coldly. “You know all about ambition, Grace. What a person will do to get what she wants. You’re not so innocent.”

  Maybe Helen was right, Grace thought in despair. Maybe she was getting exactly what she deserved.

  Outside, the cold air helped clear her senses. Grace glanced around, wondering what to do. They were going to kill her. She had no doubt about that. But if she screamed, drew a crowd, innocent bystanders could be hurt. If she didn’t—

  Several feet away, another group of sightseers had gathered around one of the granite markers set in the sidewalk, about fifty feet from the memorial. A man stood at the back of the group, towering over the others. Grace’s heart began to race. Brady!

  “Which way?” the man demanded.

  Grace nodded down the street, to the pay telephone under which she’d fastened a blank tape. “That way.”

  He was still on one side of her, Helen on the other. Grace had to resist the urge to glance over her shoulder and see if Brady was following them.

  At the pay phone, Grace said, “Here. It’s taped underneath.”

  “Don’t tell me—you were going to call Kane once you and your mother were safely away and tell him where the tape was. Kane would never have let you walk away.”

  He gave her a little push toward the phone, and Grace knelt, unfastening the tape. She glanced down the street. She couldn’t see Brady, but she knew he was there, waiting for an opportunity, a clean shot.

  She held the tape out in her hand, and as Helen moved to take it, Grace grabbed her and lunged. They tumbled to the ground as the man fired. Helen had been struggling with Grace, but she suddenly went limp, a deadweight on top of Grace.

  The man lifted his gun again, but before he could fire, Brady shouted, “Kruger!”

  Kruger, not Rialto—

  He spun to fire, but Brady was quicker. He shot twice, and the man fell to the ground beside Grace.

  She struggled to free herself from Helen’s inert form. Brady helped her as pandemonium erupted on the street.

  Grace was shaking all over. She looked down at her bloodstained clothes, then back up at Brady. “My mother’s dead,” she whispered. “She’s dead.”

  Brady took hold of her arms. “No, Grace. She’s alive. She’s back at the hotel. She’s going to be fine…Grace, did you hear what I said?”

  Sobbing, Grace collapsed into Brady’s arms.

  THEY WERE MOVED to a secure suite with armed guards outside the door. A doctor was brought in to treat Angeline and to make sure Grace hadn’t sustained any serious injuries. Everything had happened so quickly once the police arrived, Grace and Brady had become separated. He’d had someone take her back to the hotel while he talked to the police. She suspected he was also calling Mitchell Forbes.

  Angeline was still sleeping, but the doctor had assured Grace there would be no lasting effects from the drug she’d been given. A nurse was with her round-the-clock, and after sitting by her mother’s bedside for almost an hour, Grace finally tore herself away to shower and change clothes.

  Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, she crawled into bed and had just drifted off when she heard her bedroom door open and close softly. A shadow moved stealthily across the room toward her.

  “It’s me,” Brady whispered.

  “I was hoping you’d come.”

  He sat down on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. Drawing her to him, he wrapped his arm around her and Grace closed her eyes, relishing the feel of him, the warmth of him.

  “The man I shot was John Kruger,” he said after a moment. “He was a DPS agent assigned to a drug task force in Houston. We don’t know how long he’s been working for Kane and Rialto, but we think he ultimately answers to Tomaso Calderone.”

  “And Helen?” Her friend’s betrayal was still a deep ache inside Grace’s heart.

  “She and Kruger were lovers, the best we’ve been able to piece together. You must have gotten a little too close with some of your research, so Kruger became acquainted with Helen in order to keep tabs on you. After a while, she was willing to turn on you. I’m sorry, Grace.”

  “I guess in some ways it serves me right,” she said sadly. “Payback is hell, as they say.”

  He tightened his arm around her. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. None of it.”

  She sighed deeply. “Did you find Kane?”

  “Yeah. He’s…dead.” He didn’t elaborate, leaving Grace to imagine the condition in which the body had been found. John Kruger had been systematic. Other than Grace and the two bodyguards, who were now dead, Kane was the only one who could have placed the DPS agent in the warehouse that night.

  She shuddered. “So what happens now?”

  “Kane and Kruger are both dead, but that doesn’t mean the danger is over for you. You’ve destroyed the alliance between Rialto and Kane. You’ve hurt Rialto’s business. He’s not likely to forget that.”

  Grace sat up in bed, staring at Brady. “You’re saying my mother and I still have to disappear. We have to assume new identities, give up everything.”

  Brady’s gaze seemed deep and unfathomable as he gazed back at her. “It’s already being taken care of.”

  Grace got up from the bed and walked to the window to stare out. What were her choices here? She and her mother could leave the country and disappear, or they could enter the Witness Protection Program. Either way, she would never see Brady again.

  He got up and came to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Your file will be classified at the highest level, but if security is ever breached, it’ll show that Sara Granger and her mother, Eileen, are living in Portland Oregon.”

  “Portland,” Grace whispered. So far away.

  “And I’ll go back to the ranch. Back to Texas Confidential, which is where I belong. Only, this time, I’ll be going back with my wife.”

  Grace whirled, stunned. “Your wife?”

  He smiled down at her, and her heart began to hammer almost painfully. “Your wife, Brady?”

  “My wife, Catherine, and her mother.” He lifted his hand to rub his knuckles down her face, and Grace caught his hand, holding it to her cheek.

  “Tell me this isn’t some cruel joke.”

  “You know me better than that.” He drew her into his arms, holding her tight. “Although maybe I’m being a little too confident. Maybe I should ask first.” He paused, his gaze enigmatic in the light from the street. “Will you marry me, Grace?”

  She closed her eyes, reeling with emotion. “Oh, God, Brady, I never thought…I never dreamed…” She trailed off and gazed up at him solemnly. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive. I told you once what’s done is done. The slate is wiped clean. We have a chance to start all over again. And I do love you, Grace. You have to know that.”

  “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

  “I think I have some idea. We belong together. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again. I promise you that, Grace.”

  “Don’t you mean Catherine?” she teased.

  “Might take awhile to get used to that,” he said, pulling her toward the bed. They lay down side by side, still folded in each other’s arms. “Cat. Cathy. Caty. Or just plain Catherine. What’ll it be?”

  “I don’t care.” Grace sighed happily. “At the moment, the only name I’m interested in is Mrs. Brady Morgan.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he agreed.

  And then for a long time, they didn’t say anything at all.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Amanda Stevens for her contribution to the Texas Confidential miniseries.
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  ISBN: 978-1-4603-5036-2

  THE BODYGUARD’S ASSIGNMENT

  Copyright © 2000 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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  *The Kingsley Baby

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