Bodyguard

by Shirlee McCoy

  And then he’d met Esme.

  She was as innocent as his parents had been.

  He hadn’t been able to protect them, but he could protect her. Maybe that was the key to peace. Maybe he’d come full circle, facing a choice about how he wanted to move forward in life. Maybe instead of taking two lives like Reginald had, he was supposed to save one. Save Esme.

  Maybe.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said, and for the first time since he’d been assigned this case, he knew that it was true.

  “My family—”

  “Isn’t you.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Ian—”

  “You’re tired. How about we discuss this when you’re feeling more yourself?”

  “Meaning not crying?” she asked wryly, swiping more tears from her cheeks. “You did say you were opposed to tears.”

  “On you,” he responded, taking her hand and walking again, King trotting along beside them, “they look good.”

  She laughed, the sound husky and rough but still filled with warmth. “Better not say that, Ian. Next time, I might really let loose.”

  She was attempting to shove aside her grief and keep going with a good attitude. He’d never thought he could learn anything from a Dupree, but in the short time he’d known Esme, she’d taught him everything he needed to know about judging people on their own merit rather than on the merit of their family.

  “You could let loose a floodgate of tears and you’d still look like the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” he responded.

  “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “Then I guess you haven’t been around the right people,” he responded.

  She was silent for a moment, and then she smiled. Just a tiny little curve of the lips that made his pulse jump. “I guess running for my life has its perks.”

  “Like?”

  “A bodyguard who knows how to say the right thing at exactly the right time.”

  “You two ready?” Zeke called, striding toward them, Cheetah at his side.

  “I was ready an hour ago,” Esme responded.

  “Then let’s head out.”

  She released Ian’s hand and moved toward the door. He followed, more determined than ever to make sure she got to trial safely.

  EIGHT

  Esme didn’t speak as she climbed into Zeke’s oversize SUV. She didn’t say a word as the two men got their dogs into the back. Zeke climbed in the front. Ian nudged Esme into the center of the bucket seat, grabbing her arm when she would have moved all the way to the other side of the vehicle.

  “The middle is safest,” he said.

  She didn’t respond.

  She didn’t have anything to say. She’d been fooling herself, believing in a fantasy, convinced that Reginald had committed only one murder.

  One had been bad enough.

  One had been horrible.

  But he’d committed at least two more.

  She had no reason to doubt Ian’s story. She’d seen the truth in his eyes. She’d heard it in his voice. Apparently, Reginald had been killing people to get them out of his way for as long as he’d been running the family business.

  How many lives had he taken?

  And why was she telling herself that she was surprised, shocked, flabbergasted?

  Reginald wanted his own sister dead.

  He was working with Angus to make sure that happened.

  Hadn’t the FBI been telling her that for months? Hadn’t they brought up his name every chance they got? It wasn’t just Angus coming after her, it was Reginald. He was calling the shots and pulling the trigger.

  “Are you all right?” Ian asked, his voice a soft rumble in the silent SUV.

  “I will be.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you about my parents.”

  “Of course you should have.”

  “It could have waited.”

  “Until when? Something like that festers the longer it sits.” That was the truth. “Besides, I asked you. It’s not like you just tossed the information out at me.”

  “It still could have waited. Seat belt,” he said, and when she didn’t reach to snap hers into place, he did it for her, his hand brushing against her abdomen, the warmth of his arm pressing against hers.

  Comforting.

  Just like his touch had been, his hug, his hands brushing tears from her cheeks.

  Esme didn’t want to think too much about that. About how much safer she felt when he was around, about how desperate she was to have someone she could count on.

  She’d always been confident and had always known how to go after what she wanted. What she wanted right now was to be done with the trial and the testimony.

  A month wasn’t a long time.

  She could do anything for a month.

  Except maybe survive.

  She shuddered, the warmth of the summer air drifting in the open driver’s-side window doing nothing to chase away the chill that had settled deep in her bones.

  “Here,” Ian said, taking off his jacket and laying it over her, tucking the edges around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her collarbone and the side of her neck, lingering there. Soft and light and gentle.

  That should have been all. Just a simple touch. His hand there and then gone. She met his eyes, felt something arc between them, the jolt of it making her pulse race.

  “This is probably a bad idea,” she said, and he smiled.

  “What?”

  “Whatever we’re doing.”

  “Getting to know each other? We’re going to be spending a lot of time together in the next month or so. Understanding a little about each other will make that easier.”

  “You’re going to be staying at the safe house?” For some reason, that hadn’t occurred to her. It probably should have. Ian had been talking about the safe house, about being her bodyguard and probably a bunch of other things that should have clued her in. Probably would have if she hadn’t been so exhausted.

  “What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I guess I thought you were going to bring me there and leave.”

  “It would be difficult to be your bodyguard if I weren’t close.”

  “Right.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “I don’t really have an opinion.” Except that he was the kind of temptation she didn’t need in her life. That a few days with Ian could make her wonder what she’d ever seen in Brent.

  Who was she kidding?

  She’d spent a few hours with him and she was already wondering that.

  “Sure you do,” he said, and she frowned.

  “Then my opinion is that my parents would roll over in their graves if they thought I was staying in a house with a guy like you.”

  “You think they’d take issue with me?”

  “I think they’d have rather I stay in a house with a guy who looked like a toad, smelled like a troll and refused to shower regularly.”

  “No worries,” he replied. “I won’t be the only one there.”

  “And you couldn’t have mentioned that before I went on my rant about trolls and toads?”

  He chuckled, leaning back against the seat and giving her some breathing room.

  She should have been happy about that.

  Should have. Wasn’t.

  She liked having him close. He was a habit that could be easy to form and very, very difficult to break.

  “You have the coordinates for the safe house?” Zeke asked as he pulled away from the police station and onto the road.

  “Yeah. Hold on. I’ve also got another text from Max. He got a call from the local PD.” Ian pulled out his p
hone and leaned over, speaking quietly to Zeke for several minutes. Esme heard a few words. Something about blood and DNA and a jacket. She could guess what they were discussing, and she could have joined in, but all she really wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.

  For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t alone in the darkness listening to the sound of the Everglades, startling at every noise, pacing restlessly through the longest hours of the night. For the first time in weeks, she felt almost safe.

  She closed her eyes, drifting into half sleep, the sound of a cell phone jerking her awake again. For a moment, she thought she was back in Chicago answering client phone calls and text messages. She opened her eyes, reaching for her purse and her phone.

  No phone.

  No purse.

  Just Zeke driving the SUV, and Ian checking a text message, the blueish light from his phone deepening the hollows of his cheekbones, sharpening the angle of his chin.

  Whatever he was reading, it wasn’t making him happy.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, and he tucked the phone away.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “Which makes me worry more, so how about you just tell me?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he let out a frustrated sigh. “Just a message from an anonymous friend.”

  “Another one?” Zeke asked. “Did Dylan forward it to you?”

  “He forwarded it to the team. You should already have it.”

  “I really don’t like being kept in the dark,” Esme said.

  “This has nothing to do with the trial,” Ian reassured her.

  “But it has something to do with my family, right?”

  “In a roundabout way.”

  “Can you be any vaguer?” she asked.

  “Probably. If I try hard enough.”

  “You might as well run the situation by her,” Zeke interrupted. “Maybe she’ll have some idea of who’s sending the texts and why.”

  “What texts?” she asked.

  Ian took out his phone, pulled up a text and handed it to her.

  Word is that Mommy, Daddy and child have gone home.

  She read it twice, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, attempting to put it in the context of the trouble she’d found herself in.

  “Who are Mommy, Daddy and child?” she finally prompted.

  “Daddy is the leak I mentioned. The one who gave away your location in witness protection. He’s a rogue agent. He was working for your family.” Ian frowned. “Your brother and uncle, I mean.”

  Esme narrowed her eyes, noticing the change in his rhetoric, the careful choice of words. She’d have thanked him for it, but she was reading the text again. This time out loud.

  The words didn’t make any more sense than they had before.

  “Who are the child and the mother?”

  “Penny and Kevin. His girlfriend and child. We think he’s trying to get to his son. My suspicion is that he plans to take him and leave the country.”

  “What about the mother?”

  “That’s a good question,” Zeke said, his voice tight and hard. “I wish I had an answer. The fact is, the agent is my brother, Jake Morrow. He’s been on your brother’s payroll for a while.”

  “I’m sorry, Zeke.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. If we could figure out who Anonymous is, we might be able to track Jake down, make sure he’s stopped before he takes his son out of the country.”

  “We’re sure it’s someone who’s familiar with your family and with Jake. Do you have any ideas, Esme?” Ian took the phone, tucked it back into his pocket.

  “Me?” she sputtered. “I barely even know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’ve been getting messages like this for months. Whoever is sending them seems to be trying to help us track down Jake. Unfortunately, the vague references aren’t helping much.”

  “You think it’s someone who works for my brother?” she asked, sifting through her memories, trying to find one that might be helpful.

  There was nothing.

  She hadn’t spent much time with Reginald recently and the only vivid memory she had of him was his cold-eyed glare after he’d pulled the trigger.

  “Probably,” Zeke responded. “My brother was really good at making connections. He knows a lot of people. It’s possible one of them is betraying him.”

  “I’ve never met your brother, so I have no idea if I’ve met someone who knows him.”

  “He went to a lot of your brother’s functions. You might have seen him there.”

  “I didn’t attend them.” Not the extravagant Christmas parties, the over-the-top New Year’s celebrations. Not even the birthday party he threw for himself every year.

  She sent him a card.

  She called him.

  She made small talk about things that weren’t important, but she never mingled with his crowd, because she’d never been comfortable in it. Violetta, on the other hand, had loved every bit of the lavish functions.

  “But my sister...” She began, and then stopped herself.

  “What about her?” Ian prodded.

  “She might know something about Jake. She loved going to Reginald’s parties. She enjoyed hanging out with his wealthy friends. I could ask her.” Of course, that would mean calling again. It would mean having another dead-end conversation that would make her feel horrible. She’d do it, though, because she wanted to put an end to all of this. She wanted her uncle and Reginald in jail where they belonged, wanted peace for herself, justice for the man who died and for Ian’s parents.

  “Your sister has been less than cooperative,” Ian said without a hint of judgment in his voice. He was trying hard to keep his opinion of her family under wraps, but his opinion was valid, his reasons justified. If she could help him, she would.

  “She might be more willing to discuss things with me. We’re family. That’s important.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt for her to try,” Zeke said, glancing into the rearview mirror and frowning. “We may have a tail.”

  “Since when?” Ian shifted, angling his body so he could look out the back window.

  Esme did the same. Not because she wanted to see danger coming for her, but because she wanted to be prepared for it.

  Headlights.

  Not close. Maybe six car lengths back.

  “They pulled onto the road two miles ago,” Zeke told him.

  “And they’ve been hanging back all this time?”

  “Yes. Pretty much the same distance.”

  “I’ll call it in,” Ian said. “See if we can get some local patrol cars out here. Turn off on the next road. I don’t want whoever is in that car to have any idea of where we’re going.”

  Where they were going seemed to be farther from civilization.

  Esme hadn’t been paying attention.

  Now she was.

  The town was behind them, pinpricks of light in the darkness. Ahead, there was nothing but an empty two-lane road. Thick marsh grass grew on either side of it. Farther away, a few trees jutted up toward the midnight sky.

  No sign of any houses.

  No business.

  No golden arches spearing up from the landscape.

  “If I can find a side road, I’ll turn. Otherwise, we need to prepare for a rear attack. They seem to be picking up speed.” Zeke accelerated, the SUV speeding around a curve, the headlights behind them disappearing briefly and reappearing again moments later.

  “They’re closing in,” Ian said grimly as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.

  Esme didn’t think calling the police was going to do much good. The SUV was racing at a dangerous speed, and their pursuer was still closing the gap between them. She could see that as clea
rly as she could see the stars in the dark sky, the marsh grass sweeping sideways as the SUV passed.

  “Hold on,” Zeke said so calmly Esme wasn’t prepared when he took a hard turn. She slammed into Ian, her shoulder pressing into his arm.

  They bounced over a rut, and his arm slipped around her, holding her in place as the SUV hit another rut and another.

  “Are they still behind us?” she asked, trying to free herself so that she could look.

  He held her in place, his arm a steel band around her shoulders, his grip firm without being painful.

  “Not yet,” he responded, finally releasing her.

  He had his gun in hand.

  She hadn’t realized that.

  Hadn’t realized how fast her heart was beating, how terrified she was. Not until she looked out the back window and saw the car. It was still on the main road but doing a U-turn, heading back the way it had come. Searching, she knew, for the turn.

  “Looks like we’re at a dead end.” Zeke stopped the SUV and hopped out. No panic in his voice. No fear. He moved quickly and efficiently, grabbing a pack from the back, releasing the dogs.

  Ian opened his door, letting the scent of briny water and decay fill the vehicle.

  “Come on.” He reached for her hand, tugging her out onto muddy earth. If they’d gone any farther, the SUV would be sinking. As it was, they were stuck. Going back would mean running straight into their pursuers. Going forward was impossible.

  They’d have to walk out.

  Run out.

  Walking would do diddly-squat for any of them. She tracked the movement of the car as it crawled along. It wouldn’t take long for the driver to find the road they’d taken. It would take even less time for him to find their SUV.

  “We need to get out of here,” she said, her voice too loud and tinged with a hint of desperation.

  “We will.” Ian snagged a pack from the back of the SUV, hooked a lead to King’s collar and tossed his jacket into Esme’s arms. “Put that on.”

  She didn’t argue.

  The faster she cooperated, the faster they could get moving.