Bodyguard

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Did you do it when you had a price on your head?”

  She pressed her lips together and didn’t say a word.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” He led her to the passenger side of the vehicle. “You keep walking on this road, and someone else is going to find you. If it happens to be one of your uncle’s hired guns, you don’t have a chance of surviving.”

  “I’m not sure my chances are any higher with you,” she responded, but she didn’t walk away.

  Maybe she was too tired.

  Maybe the injury to her ankle was worse than she’d been letting on.

  Whatever the case, she stayed right where she was as he opened the door.

  “How about we discuss it on the way to the local police department?”

  “Ian...” She shook her head. “I believed your organization when I was told I’d be safe. They were wrong, and I can’t see any reason to believe you again.”

  “And yet you’re still standing here.”

  “Because I’m tired. I’ve been running for months, and I have at least another month to go before the trial. It’s hard to sleep when you’re worried someone is going to break in and kill you. Without sleep, it’s really difficult to make good decisions.”

  Her honesty surprised him, and he touched her arm, urging her to the open door. “I’ve had plenty of sleep. How about you let me make the decisions for a while?”

  She laughed without humor. “You’re very convincing, but I think I’ll pass.”

  “Then how about you sit in the SUV while I drive, and spend a little time thinking about what you want to do? It’ll be easier doing it in a safe place than it will while you’re out in the open.”

  “Like I said,” she responded, finally stepping away. “You’re convincing, but I’m going to have to pass.”

  “You’re a long way from the state line, Esme.”

  “I was a long way from Florida a couple of months ago. Now I’m here, and eventually I’ll be somewhere else.”

  “You agreed to testify,” he said, trying a different tactic. She was coming with him. There could be no other outcome, but he’d like her to think she’d been the one to make the decision.

  “I will testify.”

  “That’s going to be difficult to do if you’re off the grid and have no contact with us.”

  “Just because you can’t find me, doesn’t mean I won’t be able to find you. I’ll be at the trial.” A note of weary resignation laced her tone. “I’ll provide testimony that will put my brother in jail for the rest of his life.”

  “If you don’t—”

  “I know what will happen if I don’t. I’ll die. I may die anyway, but that’s okay, right? A member of the Dupree crime family dies, and no one in a uniform is going to mourn.” She started walking again, the limp more pronounced.

  “You’re not going to get very far with an injured leg.”

  “Ankle,” she responded. “And I’ll get wherever I want to go. Just let me, okay? Tell your boss and your team and the prosecuting attorney that I refused your help.”

  “I can’t.” That was the truth. He’d sworn to uphold the law. Just like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather, he’d always known he was going to be a cop. He’d worked the beat in Chicago, just like three generations of Slades had. And then he’d reached further, applying to the FBI, passing the physicals, the tests, the interviews.

  His father would have been proud of him.

  If he’d lived long enough to see it.

  “Why? Because I signed some papers that said I agreed to witness protection?” Esme asked.

  “Because you’re more vulnerable than you want to think you are,” he told her. “Because you’re injured and you need to see a doctor. Because your backpack is in my vehicle, and without it, you’ve got nothing.”

  She hesitated, her gaze darting to the Suburban.

  “It would be a lot easier for you to get where you’re going with that pack, right?” he continued, certain he’d finally found the key to getting her to cooperate.

  “Right,” she agreed. “So how about you give it to me, and we can both be on our way?”

  “How about I get you checked out at the hospital, and then I give it to you?”

  “Are you bribing me to get me to cooperate?” she demanded.

  “Yes,” he responded, turning back to the SUV, and to his surprise, she followed. He helped her into the passenger seat and closed the door.

  She was probably hoping to grab the pack and run, but he’d tucked it in next to King’s crate. She’d have to reach over the backseat to do it.

  That would take time, and he didn’t plan to give her that.

  He jogged around to the driver’s side and climbed in. She was already on her knees, reaching into the back.

  “Don’t,” he said, locking the doors and putting the vehicle into Drive.

  “What?”

  “Keep trying to run. It almost got you killed twice. The third time, you might not survive.”

  Pursing her lips, she settled into the seat, yanked her seat belt across her lap and didn’t say another word. Her silence shouldn’t have bothered him. As a matter of fact, he should have preferred it over conversation. She was an assignment, a job he’d been asked to take and that he’d accepted. No matter how much he hadn’t wanted to.

  He’d been after the Duprees since his parents’ murders.

  He and his team were this close to shutting them down.

  Esme was a means to an end, but she was also a human being. One who’d been through a lot. One who deserved as much peace and security as he could offer her.

  She shivered, pulling her hands up into the cuffs of her jacket. It had been hot the past few days, but she’d dressed to keep the bugs away—long pants, jacket, boots.

  “Cold?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  He turned on the heat anyway, blasting it into the already warm vehicle, wishing he could do more for her. Wanting to break the silence and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  She wouldn’t believe him if he did, so he stayed silent.

  He wanted to think Esme had resigned herself to staying in protective custody. However, based on the fact that she’d spent the past few months on the run, he couldn’t.

  He dialed his boss, waiting impatiently for Max West to pick up. They’d spoken a few weeks ago, and Max had made it clear that he trusted Ian to do the job he’d been assigned.

  Ian hadn’t been pleased with the conversation. His past was his business, and he liked to keep it that way. The fact that Max knew about his parents’ murders didn’t surprise him. The fact that he’d brought it up had. The fact that he’d flat-out told Ian that he needed to focus on justice and forget about revenge?

  That still stung.

  Sure, Ian wanted to put an end to the crime family.

  Sure, he wanted to avenge his parents’ murders.

  Justice always came first, though. That was the goal. The joy of seeing his parents’ murderer sent to jail forever would simply be the bonus shot.

  “West here.” The team captain’s voice cut through the silence. “You have her?”

  “Word travels fast,” Ian mused, his attention on the dark road that stretched out in front of him.

  “It does when it involves one of the Duprees.”

  Esme tensed.

  “You’re on speakerphone, and she’s in the vehicle,” Ian cautioned.

  “How are you doing, Ms. Dupree?” Max asked.

  “I’d be better if your organization would leave me alone.”

  “I’m sure you know that’s not possible until after the trial.”

  “You’re assuming I’ll make it to trial, but at the rate things are going, that doesn’t seem lik
ely.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. We’ve got things under control.”

  She laughed, the sound harsh and tight. “Like you did a few months ago when I agreed to enter the program?”

  “Ms. Dupree—”

  “How about we hash this out once I have her in a safe location?” Ian cut in.

  “You’re going to try to bring her to headquarters, right?” Max asked. “She’ll be safer here than anywhere else.”

  “You think that’s wise? Jake knows the setup there. He knows the security strengths and weaknesses.” Jake Morrow had disappeared months ago. At first the team had assumed he’d been killed or abducted by the Duprees. The truth was a lot harder to swallow. He’d gone rogue and was feeding information to the crime family.

  “You’ve got a point,” Max said. “Tell you what. I’ll see if we have a safe house available somewhere close to you. Once I locate one, I’ll send a couple team members down to help with guard duty.”

  “I don’t need to be guarded,” Esme cut in.

  “That sounds good,” he said, ignoring her protest.

  She’d agreed to enter the witness protection program, which meant she’d agreed to following the rules set up to protect her.

  She was going to stick by those agreements whether she liked it or not.

  And maybe, while she was at it, she could point the way to her uncle. Angus Dupree had been free for too long.

  Ian wanted him behind bars.

  Once that was accomplished, the Dupree crime family would be defunct. That was his personal goal, and it was the best revenge.

  “Give me a half hour and I should have something set up,” Max said. “Where are you headed now?”

  “The regional hospital. Esme injured her ankle. We’re getting it checked out.”

  “That’s Big Cypress Regional Medical Center?” Max asked, probably staring at a map of the area, trying to figure out the easiest route there, as well as to the closest safe house.

  “Right.”

  “I’ll call for some local manpower. Angus is probably still in the area. He’s smart. He’s quick. He’s not going to give up easily.”

  “He’s not going to give up until I’m dead,” Esme murmured.

  “Or until he’s behind bars,” Ian added.

  “That’s the goal,” Max said. “What’s your ETA for the hospital?”

  “Twenty-five minutes.”

  “We’ll have someone there to meet you.” Max disconnected, and the SUV fell silent.

  Ian could have broken the silence.

  He could have offered more reassurances, made a few more promises about keeping her safe. If she’d been anyone else, he probably would have. But Esme was a Dupree, and he was a man whose family had been brutally murdered by hers.

  He needed to keep that in mind.

  Because he couldn’t afford to have too much compassion for her. He couldn’t afford to let himself see her as more than just the sister of the man he wanted to destroy.

  He scowled.

  Destroy was a harsh word. It was the kind of word that, if spoken aloud, would make other people think he was out for revenge. Maybe he was. Maybe that really was what this was all about. Maybe Max had been right to call him on it.

  In the end, though, he’d follow protocol. He’d use the law to get what he wanted.

  And Esme?

  She was part of that. An enemy by association.

  Whether she knew it or not.

  FOUR

  The hospital was little more than a small clinic sitting at the edge of a tiny town. One story. Brick. Probably built in the early seventies. There was a main entrance in the front, and Esme assumed there were several other doors around the sides and back. She could see two police cruisers parked near the curb, lights flashing brightly in the darkness.

  If that was the manpower Ian’s boss had called in, she shouldn’t have any difficulty escaping again. Once she had her backpack.

  She waited impatiently as Ian opened the back hatch and attached King to a lead. Ian had been silent for most of the drive, and she hadn’t bothered trying to make conversation.

  She hadn’t wanted to discuss her family and what they were capable of. She hadn’t wanted to rehash the same tired conversation she’d had every time she’d spoken to a federal agent. They wanted to remind her of the crimes her brother and uncle had committed. They didn’t want her to forget her obligations.

  She’d been surprised that Ian hadn’t done either of those things. His silence had been a welcome relief, the heat that he’d turned on for her chasing away the chill that she shouldn’t have been feeling.

  It was nearly ninety degrees outside, but she’d still been cold.

  He’d noticed, and that shouldn’t have mattered to her, but it had. It had been weeks since she’d had another human being around, months since she’d spoken to any of her friends. She’d never known loneliness before. Now it seemed it was all she had.

  One day, one night, after another.

  Just Esme and her thoughts, alone in whatever squalid little dive she could rent for cheap.

  Her door opened, and Ian leaned down, met her eyes. “Do you want me to get a wheelchair?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No,” he responded, his voice much kinder than she’d expected or wanted. “You’re not. But you will be. Eventually.”

  And for some reason, that made her throat tighten and her eyes burn. It made her want to cry all the tears she hadn’t cried in the weeks after she’d entered witness protection.

  He offered a hand, and she took it, allowing herself to be pulled from the vehicle. He had her pack over his arm, and she reached for it. “I can take that.”

  “I’ve got it,” he responded, shifting his hand to her elbow, his palm warm through her thin jacket.

  “I’m not so badly hurt that I can’t carry my own pack and walk unassisted,” she muttered.

  “I wouldn’t want you to injure your ankle more.”

  Right. Sure. The way she saw things, he was probably trying to keep her from running.

  It still felt good to have someone nearby, though.

  She hated to admit that.

  She hated that she was enjoying the warmth of his hand, the comfort of his company.

  She’d been part of a couple for so long, it had felt strange to not be. To wake up in the morning knowing she wouldn’t need to call Brent, text him, wish him good morning or ask him about his day.

  He could have entered witness protection with her.

  They could have gotten married and made a new life together. Maybe they would have, if Brent hadn’t been so adamant about staying in Chicago. He’d made certain that she knew that he wasn’t going to follow her into witness protection, that he wouldn’t give up his life and his friends and his church group to be with her while she waited to testify. He’d also made certain she’d understood that he wouldn’t be waiting for her. That if she went into witness protection, they were over. The wedding they’d been planning, the one that they’d sent out invitations for, that she’d bought a gown for, that she had a venue and flowers and cake for, wouldn’t be happening.

  If you leave, we’re done, he’d said, and she’d almost thought he was joking. They’d been standing in a small conference room at FBI headquarters in Chicago, and she’d been given the offer of protection in exchange for her testimony. Six months wasn’t that long. Not for two people who were in love. Well, apparently, she and Brent hadn’t been in love, because he’d told her that six months apart was too much to ask.

  For a split second, she’d considered suggesting that they move the wedding up, get married by a justice of the peace and go into the program together.

  But then she’d thought better of it, because sh
e hadn’t wanted to spend her life with a man who hadn’t been willing to sacrifice a little time, a little convenience, a little of his own desires to help her do what she knew was right.

  The FBI didn’t know any of that.

  They didn’t care.

  Faux concern about her ankle wouldn’t make her think they did.

  She reached the double doors that led into the clinic and opened them, limping into the air-conditioned lobby. After days of being out in the heat and humidity, it felt like she’d walked into an icebox. Her teeth were chattering, her arms covered in goose bumps as she approached the receptionist.

  Her wallet was in the backpack. Along with her ID, her insurance card and her cash. Not just one ID. Several. The real her. The person she’d been in witness protection. The woman she’d become when she’d run.

  “Sign in. We’ll call you back shortly,” the receptionist said, barely looking up from her computer.

  She signed her real name—there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of reason to do anything else. Angus knew she was in the area, but he didn’t know she was injured, had no way of knowing she’d come to the hospital. Plus, he wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t come after her when there were so many police around. He’d wait for a time when she was on her own again.

  She rubbed the chill from her arms and settled into a chair. She thought Ian would follow, but he walked to the reception desk, leaning down and saying something that Esme couldn’t hear. He took out his wallet, flashed what she assumed was his badge and jotted something on the sign-in sheet.

  The receptionist eyed him as he turned away. She looked surprised and interested. Maybe because of the dog or whatever Ian had told her. Maybe because of him. He was a good-looking guy.

  Better than good-looking. Dark hair. Light brown eyes. Tall and muscular. He looked like the kind of guy who could handle whatever came his way. The kind who could be depended on, who could fight his battles and everyone else’s.

  He must have sensed her gaze, because he met her eyes, offered a smile that made her heart flutter.

  Fatigue was getting the best of her.

  That much was obvious.

  He crossed the room and sat beside her, his gun holster peeking out from beneath his jacket. “It shouldn’t be long,” he said.