Her Reluctant Bodyguard

by Jennette Green

  Alexa’s face flamed, and she snatched her robe closed. “You pervert!” she hissed.

  “You’re the one exposing yourself to me.”

  “I was not! And…and,” she fished about for the most cutting remark she could make. “As far as TLC goes—in your dreams! You can’t even reach my radar screen.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Anger…or hurt? The thought that it might be hurt bothered her until he spoke.

  “That’s just the way I like it.”

  Now that hurt her. She curled her lip at him. “At least we can agree on something.” She spun on her heel and retreated to her room, slamming the door behind her. All thoughts of tea had disappeared. She felt agitated enough to burn through two more hours of work. No caffeine required.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Alexa decided to follow Colin’s advice. She would sightsee this morning, and attend the concert tonight. It was sweet of Colin to be concerned about her working too hard, she reflected. After all, he was the busy one. So many people wanted a piece of him. What must it be like to live in a fish bowl, where everyone recognized you?

  That reminded her of the incident in Paris. What if that deranged husband of the woman arrested in Paris had followed them here? Maybe today when they went sightseeing she should wear sunglasses, and maybe a scarf over her head. Or maybe a hat of some kind… Yes. She had just the thing.

  Alexa pulled her hair into a ponytail, threaded on a pink baseball cap, and slid her sunglasses onto her nose. Grabbing up her purse, she headed out.

  “We’re sightseeing, I assume.” Jamison appeared at her side.

  “Why, yes. How good of you to accompany me.”

  “Don’t have much choice, do I, princess?”

  She smiled. “I enjoy your company too, Jethro.”

  Alexa thought she heard a mock growl come from his throat, but couldn’t be sure. She smiled. All was right with the world. “Where should we go? You’re the expert.”

  “How about Montjuïc?” he suggested.

  “Perfect, and after that I’d like to shop on Las Ramblas,” she agreed.

  They took the Metro to the Plaça d’Espanya, and then climbed the steps to Montjuïc. Alexa loved the view of Barcelona. They spent the morning exploring the beautifully landscaped Jardi Botanic, and the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya.

  Afterward, they enjoyed a delicious lunch of paella in one of the cafés in the Poble Espanyol. Alexa learned the enchanting Spanish village was built for the 1929 World Fair. Varying types of architecture from different regions of Spain were depicted in the beautiful village. Alexa loved it, and she also enjoyed perusing the crafts made by local artists.

  After descending again from Montjuïc, she wanted to inspect the Magic Fountain. In her internet wanderings before her trip to Europe, Alexa had read about how spectacular its light and water show was. Of course, now it was daytime, and nothing spectacular was going on.

  “They’ll have shows on Friday night. We’ll come back then,” Jamison promised.

  Alexa was tired, and was glad to take the underground Metro back to the Plaça Catalunya, near their flat. The rest rejuvenated her.

  “Where are some good shops?” she asked, when they disembarked. “I want to buy souvenirs for my family.”

  Jamison led the way to the wide, main street, called Las Ramblas. It was like no street Alexa had ever seen before. The wide, center portion was a tree-lined, pedestrian walkway, while a narrow car lane bordered each side. She followed him through the throngs of people filling the middle section. Mimes caught her eye, and so did colorful stalls selling riots of blooming flowers, newspapers, and even pets, such as rabbits, tortoises, and birds.

  Alexa found several toys for her niece and nephew, but couldn’t find anything for her sister. Maybe a tablecloth—then she could give it to both Beth and Ted. She fingered a lacy, embroidered one. It cost the earth, but she knew her sister would love it. Capitulating, she bought it.

  Jamison stood nearby, testing yo-yos, while she finished up.

  Together, they walked away from the stand. “Why don’t you ever buy anything for yourself?” he asked.

  They had shopped together once at the Louvre in Paris. Funny he would remember that detail.

  “I don’t need anything. Maybe I’ll get a magnet later for my refrigerator.”

  He smiled. “Is that how you keep track of your travels?”

  “And pictures.” She lifted her digital camera. A thought struck her. “Stand over there, so I can snap a panoramic of Las Ramblas.”

  “You don’t want a picture of me,” he objected.

  “Yes, I do. I have to capture the source of my greatest irritation. And contrast you with the bright, colorful local scenery.”

  His reluctant capitulation came through in the picture she snapped. “You’re pouting,” she complained. “Buck up.”

  He lifted the dark slash of his eyebrows and bared all his teeth in a mock smile. She snapped the shutter, but frowned. “Now it looks like you’re the big bad wolf and you’re going to eat me.”

  “Not exactly what I want to do,” he muttered.

  “You big baby. Pretend I’m someone you like. Or we’re somewhere fun, like Disneyland. And here comes Snow White and the seven…”

  She snapped a scowl that time. “What?” she complained.

  “You won’t give it a rest, will you?”

  “What?” She pretended ignorance.

  He abandoned his post. “You work to push me away.”

  “Isn’t that what our relationship is about?”

  “Yes. Push…and pull.” His dark eyes met hers. “But you don’t like the pull part, do you, princess?”

  Warm agitation stirred in her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Keep the walls up,” he advised. “That’s probably best for both of us.”

  They walked side by side as Alexa perused more open-air stalls. However, at several points the crowds were so thick that he fell in behind her as they snaked through the mass of people. During one of these times, Alexa wondered about the excitement in the air. What could be going on, on a Wednesday afternoon?

  Would Jamison know? Just as she turned to ask him, a hard hand grabbed her arm and something sharp poked into her kidney area. Terror electrified her mind. “Jamison.” Her voice sounded thin and whispery.

  “Don’t shout,” snarled a voice in her ear. “Or I’ll kill you.” The man smelled bad. He dragged her fast sideways, between two market stalls, and then toward the street. When she realized he was about to yank her into traffic, Alexa remembered basic self-defense and buckled her knees, collapsing to the ground. Now the man would be forced to drag her full weight.

  She hadn’t counted upon him sticking the knife under her ear. “Up! Or you’ll join Van Gogh’s fan club. Or…” he chuckled, and a nasty stench assailed her nostrils, “…I can stun you, like I did your friend. But I’d prefer you to walk.”

  The man had stunned Jamison? Horrified, she teetered back up on her high heels. How? When? Why wasn’t anyone noticing? But she was behind the stalls now, bordering the street, and the drivers looked straight ahead, paying no attention. Her abductor unexpectedly jerked her through traffic, and gained the sidewalk on the other side. He was surprisingly strong, and moved fast.

  “Let go!” Terror trembled inside of her. She dug in her heels, not that it accomplished much. Everything was happening so fast. “What do you want with me?”

  “Revenge. And leverage. Now shut up!” He yanked her onto a narrow side street. Tall buildings cast the lane into shadows. At this unfortunate moment in time, it was deserted, except for a car parked down the road.

  If she got in that car she would never go free again. She would die at this crazed man’s hands. Wouldn’t it be better to risk injury now, rather than certain death later?

  It seemed logical, so she screamed, long and loud. Although she knew little Spanish, she did know one word for sure. Dangerous. “Pe
ligroso! Peligroso!” she cried out. Then other words—a phrase her father had teased her with once—blurted out, “El hombre es loco en la cabasa!” The man is crazy in the head!

  He had already managed to drag her at least fifteen yards from Las Ramblas. Cars continued to roll down that road. No one slowed down. No pedestrians were on this side street. Did anyone hear her?

  The knife twisted under her skin, and she screamed in earnest, then. Alexa kicked his knee, then his instep, and pumped her elbows backwards. She made one good contact, and the air oomphed out of him. His grip loosened. Lunging free, she ran for her life toward the busy street. And slammed straight into Jamison. It felt like hitting a brick wall.

  His eyes looked faintly dazed, but his arms closed securely around her. “What happened?”

  “That man,” she cried out. “He tried to kidnap me!”

  A motor roared. Her captor’s tires screeched, and he pealed away from the curb. Jamison took off running, pulling out his cell phone, but by the time he reached the end of the block, the car was long gone. She caught up, heart pumping. “Did you get a license plate?”

  “A partial.” He turned away and spoke rapid Spanish into his phone.

  Did he have the police on speed dial in every country, she wondered. And apparently he spoke fluent English, French, now Spanish, and certainly Italian, too. What other unlikely depths lurked in this unassuming man?

  Jamison flipped his phone shut. “The police will do what they can.”

  “Are you all right?” Alexa blurted. “Did he stun you?”

  Grim lines etched Jamison’s mouth. “I saw him coming out the corner of my eye, so he only got a piece of me. I woke up lying between two stalls. I’m fine.”

  Alexa found this hard to believe. She certainly did not feel fine, and she hadn’t been shocked unconscious. “Jamison, are you sure?”

  “I’ve got thick skin.”

  Somehow, Alexa doubted this. It must have showed in her expression, for he offered a small smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Let’s get you back to the flat.” He retrieved her purse and shopping bag from the sidewalk, where she had dropped it.

  “We don’t have to go. I’m probably safer now than I was before,” she objected, taking both from him. Although she felt shaken up, she didn’t want to break down like last time. “Let’s walk around a little more, if that’s all right with you.” Maybe that would firm up the jelly in her limbs.

  He looked at her closely, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Not exactly, but I don’t want to dwell on it.” She crossed back to the center, pedestrian aisle of Las Ramblas.

  “You have blood on your neck.”

  “What?” Her fingers flew to the spot where the knife had poked her. Blood came away on her fingers. Unwanted tears burned then. It was too much.

  “Sit down.” Jamison directed her to nearby chairs.

  Her lips wobbled. “I think I’ve got a bandage in my purse. Maybe that sanitizing gel, too.” With trembling hands, she dug through her purse, finding the items. The bandage was one of those round, useless ones.

  “That ought to work.” Jamison took them from her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Patching you up. Sit still.” He dragged a chair to face her.

  Alexa shivered, teeth chattering gently. She thought about saying she could do it herself, but didn’t. It felt good to have him care for her. She felt vulnerable right now, and Jamison’s touch soothed her soul.

  He took his handkerchief and wiped off the extra blood at the point under her chin, and then dabbed on the alcohol sanitizer. Alexa flinched at the sharp burn.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, and gently affixed the bandage.

  “Is it bad?” she wanted to know. “Will I have a scar?”

  “No. It’s a pin prick.”

  Alexa shivered harder now. Jamison’s large, warm hands took hers, calming her, stilling the shakes. More tears burned in her eyes. She didn’t want to be afraid. She didn’t want that horrible man to ruin her day.

  “Did you get a good look at him?” he asked quietly.

  “No. He was behind me the whole time. But he was tall, and he stank. I remember that.” She gave a choked laugh.

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “He wanted revenge…and leverage. I think he was the man from Paris. He probably wanted to take me hostage so they’d let his wife out of prison.”

  Jamison nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll tell the police later.”

  Teeth still chattering a bit, Alexa said in a small voice, “I’d like to go home now.”

  “All right.” He helped her up. “Let me carry that.” He reached for the shopping bag.

  She did not protest. Silently, he walked her home. Alexa felt fragile, like she was about to shatter into pieces, but refused to break down. She was all right. The man was gone.

  But when would he be back? That was what really scared her.

      

  That evening, Alexa sat in the front row of the concert. Her nerves had finally settled from the incident that afternoon. When she had returned to the flat, Colin had called, clearly upset, and asked if she was all right. His concern touched her, but she had assured him that she was fine.

  Physically, anyway. After she hung up, she had holed up in her room and prayed for peace and deliverance from the suffocating fear.

  The verse from Isaiah 41:10 had helped soothe her soul. “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

  The verse comforted her. God was with her. And Jamison had been on the scene within seconds. He would never have allowed the man to drag her into his car. She believed this, deep in her soul.

  Afterward, she worked on the book.

  Now she felt safer, and glad to be out. Colin had ordered extra security for the concert tonight, so she had no reason to fear.

  If only she had gotten a glimpse of the man who had attacked her. For the hundredth time, Alexa struggled to remember details about her captor who had stayed hidden behind her. But all she had glimpsed was a tall, thin man with stringy gray hair. He must be the husband of the woman who had attacked her in Paris, she reasoned. Surely by now Interpol would have tracked down his name and maybe even his passport photo.

  Unless he had worn a disguise. Alexa put this disturbing thought from her. At least she had escaped. Again, she thanked God that Jamison had been close. He would have rescued her in any case. She was certain of this.

  Jamison. Her gaze strayed to him as the concert began. He stood at stage right, in the wings, near the curtain. He was hidden from most people, but her position close to the stage afforded her a good view of him standing with his shoulders straight, and hands clasped in front of him. Clad in his inimitable black, as usual. She knew he carried a gun, but didn’t know where.

  Colin kicked off the concert with one of her favorite love songs, and her gaze riveted upon him. The invigorating music revived her spirits. Again, she marveled at how easily his charisma spilled off the stage. He held the audience in the palm of his hand.

  Colin threw her a wink. Alexa’s heart swelled like an adolescent schoolgirl’s. She couldn’t control her silly smile. It was as if the homecoming king flirted with the lowly brainiac. That’s what she had been in high school. Tall and gawky, and unsure of her place in the world—especially with boys. It was nice how maturity and confidence had smoothed out most of those problems. And Colin liked the woman that she had become.

  Unlike Jamison. Her gaze strayed to him, who still stood, unmoving, in his corner. What had he been like in high school? He was smart, obviously, if his gift with languages was any indication. Had he been involved in sports? It was hard to imagine. He struck her as more of a loner than a team playing, backslapping sort of a guy.

  Colin sang one heart-melting song after another, and her gaze kept drifting between him and Jamison. Colin wa
s obviously a huge success in life, but she admired Jamison, too. He had an important job, to be trusted as the best in the world to keep a famous star safe. Even more impressive, he was the chief of Colin’s security team.

  Speaking of bodyguards, Mart strolled by, patrolling the stage. He gave her a finger wave, and she grinned, feeling ridiculously giddy and important. Again, she felt like a teenager with access to her favorite star’s world—actually, dead center in that world! It was a heady feeling.

  She scanned the huge hall, noting the extra security that Colin had hired. A few men would remain with them throughout the tour because of the continuing threats that Colin had received, coupled with the attacks on her. Alexa had noticed two extra bodyguards shadowing Colin ever since Paris. Since Jamison was sidelined, protecting her, the new ones were obviously necessary. She wondered if everyone would be glad when she left, so things could go back to normal. Jamison would, no doubt.

  She felt a prickling awareness and glanced sideways. Jamison’s gaze was upon her. No finger waves from him. Just an impassive face.

  Of course, she knew very well the fire that simmered in him. She sent him a bright grin.

  He looked away, as if uncomfortable. That made her smile wider. She enjoyed getting under his skin.

  The little imp in her danced to life. What could she do to disturb him more? She should behave herself, of course. But the temptation to irk her bodyguard overwhelmed her more sensible inclinations.

  Her brain buzzed, watching Colin. She loved these songs! Unconsciously, she swayed to the music. Meanwhile, she cast quick glances at Jamison, waiting for him to seek her out again. If he would.

  Colin moved across the stage, heading for the exit, when finally Jamison’s gaze flickered her way.

  Grinning, she puckered up and blew him a juicy kiss.

  Jamison stared at her, and then actually looked over his shoulder. Seeing no one, he shifted his shoulders and looked away, obviously uncomfortable.

  Alexa giggled, feeling an unholy glee. Maybe she was acting like a silly adolescent, but it felt good—especially after feeling so fearful for most of the afternoon. Why should she have to bury every ounce of fun under a load of adult guilt? Over nothing, in her opinion. It was harmless fun.