Bodyguard

by Shirlee McCoy

  It had taken a lot of distance and a lot of perspective for her to understand the truth. Brent had been more concerned about what he could get out of the relationship than what he could put in it. Esme had spent the years they were together trying to please him, because she’d thought that was how love was supposed to work. Give and give and give, because that was what the other person expected.

  But when she was with Ian, things flowed smoothly. Give and take. Back and forth. Exchanges of ideas and opinions without the need for either of them to be right.

  Being with him was as natural as breathing, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. Except that he made it easy to be herself. He didn’t ask for anything other than the truth. He didn’t expect anything more than her company.

  The old glider moved beneath her as she pulled her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  The house had gone quiet, the first and second patrol of the night over. If she listened carefully enough, she might hear one of the dogs moving restlessly. Other than that, things would stay quiet for a half hour and then grow busy again.

  In a few days, they’d be leaving.

  That was what Ian had told her.

  He couldn’t say where they were going. Just that it would be far away from the Everglades. Esme wasn’t sorry about that. She wanted to leave Florida and all the bad memories she had of it. Fortunately, she had some good memories now, though. Memories that she knew would always make her smile.

  Esme rested her head on her knees, closing her eyes for just a moment, drifting in the silence and the darkness, the hope of something new and wonderful nudging her into sleep.

  She dreamed of Angus. His sharp eyes and hard features. His skinny body and sinewy limbs. She dreamed of his hand in her hair, yanking her backward, tearing at her scalp, his lips pressed close to her ear, screaming words she couldn’t understand. In her dream she tried to run, her arms and legs refusing to cooperate. She could see a door. Knew that if she reached it, she would live, but she couldn’t move. She was trapped by his grip on her hair and by her fear.

  She tried to scream, but nothing but a whimper emerged.

  He yanked her backward, slamming her into a wall and shouting into her face. She could see the pockmarks in his skin, the burst spider veins on either side of his nose.

  She could see the hatred in his eyes, and, she thought, the evil. Panic-stricken, she clawed at his hand, trying to get him to release his hold, but that only angered him more.

  He tossed her away, his hand still in her hair, his fist slamming into the side of her head.

  She woke with a start, found herself on the floor, the gliding rocker bumping against her feet.

  She’d fallen. That was all. Nothing sinister or scary about that. She sat up, gingerly got to her feet.

  Nothing hurt. She was fine, but she felt uneasy, her skin crawling with the kind of fear she hadn’t felt since she’d arrived at the safe house.

  Somewhere outside, an owl hooted, the sound out of place and alarming.

  She crept to the window, breaking the rule that had been drilled into her, pulling back the shades and peering out into the darkness. The owl hooted again, and she was certain she saw a shadow move at the corner of the yard.

  Esme needed to get to Ian, let him know that someone was outside. They had to—

  Her door opened, and she screamed, the sound shrill and high and filled with terror. She ran at the shadowy form that stood in the doorway, head down, ready to ram right through him if she needed to.

  He caught her arm, and she knew the feel of the warm fingers against her skin, the gentleness of the touch.

  “Ian,” she gasped, and he pulled her up against his chest, whispered in her ear.

  “There’s someone outside. More than one person, I think. We’ve got to get out.”

  “Right.” She started to move past, but he stopped her.

  “We need to get out, but we need to be smart about it. There’s an emergency pack in your closet. Grab that and put on the waders that are sitting beside it.”

  She’d seen the pack.

  She’d even looked through it.

  She really hadn’t expected to have to use it, though.

  Heart thudding in her chest, she ran to the closet, shoving her feet into knee-high waders and slipping into a jacket and then the pack.

  Ian was still at the door when she returned, and he took her hand, leading her out into the living room. The lights were off, but she could see Julianne and Zeke standing near the kitchen, their dogs small shadows near their feet.

  No one spoke. Esme could only assume they’d had an escape route planned out before they’d ever brought her to the house.

  Ian urged her past his colleagues, down the hall that led to the back of the house and the rear deck. There was no way down from there. They’d have to walk around the front to escape.

  She was sure Ian knew it, but she wanted to remind him, because she really really didn’t want to be trapped on the deck, an easy target to whomever might be stalking them.

  She opened her mouth, would have spoken, but one of the dogs growled, the sound sending fear racing up her spine. Esme had heard King growl before, but she’d never heard Thunder or Cheetah make anything but happy noises.

  King...

  She glanced back. Saw no sign of the dog.

  “Where’s King?” she whispered, the words barely breaking the silence.

  “On the deck.”

  “He’s not barking.”

  “We don’t want our friends to know that we’re aware of their presence. He’ll only alert if they get closer.”

  “You said there’s more than one?”

  “I said I think there is,” he corrected.

  “Does that mean two? Three?”

  He touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across her jaw and then her lips, stopping the frantic words.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “However many there are, we’ll take care of them.”

  “Ian—”

  “It’s going to be okay,” he reassured her, pulling her in for a quick hug before slowly opening the back door. Carefully easing outside, he gestured for Esme to follow.

  She wanted to move with the same grace and confidence he’d had, but the waders seemed to catch on the old floor, and she nearly fell into the doorjamb.

  He caught her, his hands skimming down her arms and resting on her waist.

  “Careful,” he said, the word more breath than noise.

  She nodded but didn’t speak again.

  They were outside now, the full moon casting long shadows across the backyard. King stood a few feet away, his fur glowing gold in the moon’s reflected light.

  The canine didn’t glance their way as they approached. He didn’t move. She didn’t think he even blinked. His focus was on the back edge of the property and the deep shadows there. His ears were up, his tail stiff, his posture tense.

  Someone was there.

  King knew it, and he was ready to act if he received the command.

  Ian moved up beside the dog, offering a hand signal that broke King’s concentration. The dog trotted to the side of the house, scanned the area and headed back, nudging the back of his handler’s calf.

  “It’s clear. Let’s go,” Ian whispered, taking her hand and leading her to the area King had just left. He stopped at the deck railing, and she wasn’t sure what he thought they were going to do.

  Jump?

  She sure hoped not. It was twenty feet straight down, and she wasn’t all that great at landing. Even if she were, she didn’t think she’d manage to do it without breaking something.

  Ian slid out of his pack, unzipping the front compartment and taking out a harness. He motioned for King, and the dog loped over, waitin
g patiently while Ian hooked him in.

  “Ready?” he asked Esme, and she nodded even though she still had no idea what they were going to do.

  The way she saw things, as long as his plan involved escaping with their lives, she was good with it.

  He pulled something else from his pack.

  Rope?

  No. A ladder.

  She watched as he hooked it to the deck railing and let it fall over the side. It made a quiet whoosh as it unfolded, and she had about two seconds to worry that sound had carried to the back of the yard. Then Ian was up, the dog strapped to his chest, as he climbed over the rail and started making his way down the rope ladder.

  She was next.

  That much was obvious.

  She clambered over the railing, trying not to think about the twenty-foot drop as she started down the ladder.

  * * *

  Esme didn’t hesitate; she climbed over the railing and scrambled down the ladder like she’d done it a million times before. He helped her down the last two rungs, his hands light against her narrow waist, her pack knocking against his hands.

  He’d already released King from his harness and tucked it into the pack. They were ready to head around the front of the property. The dock was there. And the boat. If they were careful, they should be able to escape before their stalkers knew they’d left.

  That was good.

  What wasn’t good was the fact that there were at least two people wandering through the swampy area that surrounded the house. Even if the dogs hadn’t been growling and pacing, Ian would have known about the trespassers. He’d been awake and restless when he’d heard the first owl call. By the time he’d heard the second, he’d already gathered the team and put the escape plan into action.

  Ian and Esme out the back.

  Zeke and Julianne out the front.

  They’d gone over the plan dozens of times while they’d waited for Angus to strike.

  That was paying off.

  He heard the front door open, listened for the quick hard tap of feet on wood.

  There!

  Julianne and Zeke were heading for the stairs. If things went well, they’d be down in seconds, climbing into the SUV and taking off. Hopefully, leading trouble away.

  Ian and Esme would take the boat, rowing out far enough to be out of sight of the house before starting the motor. There was a campsite twenty miles away. Not a long trip, but hazardous at night. Julianne had figured it would take two or three hours to safely navigate. She’d have the SUV there when they arrived.

  From there, they’d head straight to headquarters in Montana, and then Esme would be flown out of the country.

  She wouldn’t like it.

  He knew it.

  He didn’t like it, either. The truth was, he’d wanted to argue for a different location. Somewhere close to headquarters, a place he might be assigned to keep her safe. He’d understood the practicality of Max’s decision. He knew that she’d be safer out of the country than in it. The Dupree crime family was a multi-limbed tree, its branches spreading through the United States. With the price on her head, Esme was too vulnerable. No matter where they hid her, there was a good chance she’d be found.

  Ian and Max had discussed it. They’d agreed. The only way to keep her safe was to get her out of the country. He cared about her too much to want anything less than her total security. Eventually, she’d return, and when the trial was over, he was going to make certain they were never separated again.

  First things first, though.

  He tugged her to the edge of the yard, urging her down into thick grass that was tall enough to cover them both. They crouched there, his hand on her forearm, her head brushing against his shoulder. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, wanted to remind her that he’d make sure of it. Instead, he pulled her closer, did what he would have done days ago if there hadn’t always been someone around; he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips. Soft. Easy. Tender, because that was how it felt to be around her.

  The SUV’s engine roared. Tires squealed.

  He backed away, his heart thundering, his pulse racing. Not with fear. With longing for all the things he hadn’t been looking for but had found in Esme. He could see her through the darkness, her face pale, her eyes wide.

  “What was that?” she whispered, her fingers touching her lips.

  “A promise.”

  “Of what?”

  “Tomorrow and the next day and the next,” he said, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke.

  Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, the sound chilling Ian’s blood.

  That was the signal he’d been waiting for. The one that told him the enemy was on the move.

  Beside him, King growled, a long low warning that Ian wasn’t going to ignore.

  The SUV pulled out of the carport, headlights flashing on the ground a few feet away. There. Gone. Julianne and Zeke were doing their part.

  It was time to do his.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered, pulling Esme through the thick grass and boggy water, the roaring engine masking the sound of their retreat.

  They made it to the dock easily. He climbed onto it, pulling Esme up beside him, King growling and barking, trying to tell him something that took just a few seconds too long for Ian to figure out.

  By the time he did, it was too late.

  Angus was there, rising like a wraith from the boat, a gun in his hand.

  Ian reached for his firearm.

  “Stop,” Angus said calmly. “I’ve got nothing against you, Ian. It’s Esme I have a problem with.”

  “I’ve got a problem with you, too,” Esme retorted. “So I guess the feeling is mutual.”

  “Shut up,” Angus snapped. “Get in the boat.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?” She was baiting him, trying to keep his attention. Maybe so that Ian could act. Or maybe so that she could.

  He felt her shift, thought she might be planning to dive off the dock and into the swamp. She probably figured she’d have a better chance there than she would with her uncle.

  Or, maybe, she thought she’d draw Angus’s gunfire away from Ian, give him a chance to pull his gun and end the fight.

  Ian wasn’t going to let her do it.

  He gave the command, and King took off, sailing through the air, knocking into Angus with so much force the other man went down, the gun going off as he landed.

  One shot, but it was followed by another. This one coming from somewhere near the house. King was snarling, teeth around Angus’s wrist, shaking it so hard the gun flew out of his hand and landed somewhere beside the dock.

  Ian didn’t have time to go after it.

  A bullet whizzed by his ear, coming so close he thought he could feel the heat of it. He dived for cover, taking Esme with him, rolling off the dock as more bullets flew.

  They landed in soft wet earth, and he covered her with his body, holding her in place when she tried to stand.

  Suddenly, King was beside them. He’d disarmed Angus, and he was back, ready to do more.

  Ian raised a hand, giving the command to apprehend, and King took off again, racing toward the house and whoever was firing the weapon.

  Ian heard the growls and snarls of the fight, heard a man cry out in agony. There were no high-pitched yips from King. Which meant he wasn’t being hurt, and that he’d taken the gunman by surprise.

  Another human yowl, and the night went silent.

  No noise but the soft lap of water against the shore.

  “Is it over?” Esme mumbled against his chest. “Because you’re suffocating me.”

  “Sorry.” He backed off, caught the unmistakable coppery scent of blood, saw black rivulets of it running down Esme’s arm.


  “You’ve been hit,” he growled, pulling off his jacket and pressing it against the wound.

  She pushed his hand away.

  “I’m fine. Go help King.”

  “King can take care of himself.” He knew that for a fact, was certain the dog was already on his way back. He glanced around, searching the shadows for Angus. The guy had disappeared, but that didn’t mean he was gone.

  “Really.” She stood and took a step away. “I’m okay. Call your dog back, and let’s get in the boat and get out of here.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen.” Angus moved out of the shadows of an old mangrove tree, a gun drawn and pointed, hand bloody from his fight with King. He’d obviously been carrying a second weapon. Something Ian would have checked for if he’d had the opportunity.

  Ian reached for his Glock, freezing when Angus pointed the revolver at Esme’s head.

  “Don’t,” he said conversationally. “Not unless you’d like to see her die.”

  He let his hand fall away, let Angus think he had the upper hand.

  “That’s better,” the older man said, grabbing the back of Esme’s jacket and yanking her toward him. He slammed the barrel of the gun into her temple, and she winced, her reaction making Ian want to pull his Glock and take a chance that he could fire before Angus.

  It was too big a risk, though. If he timed it wrong, she’d be dead.

  “Now, take out the gun and toss it in the water. Slowly. Try anything funny, and Esme’s brains will be splattered all over the swamp.”

  “Ian, don’t do it. He’s going to kill me anyway,” Esme pleaded.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said, looking into her eyes, willing her to calm down, to trust him. “I promise.”

  “Right. And promises mean so much,” Angus sneered. “Toss the gun. Now.”

  Ian pulled it from the holster, looking straight into Esme’s panicked eyes as he did exactly what he had been told.