Her Bodyguard

by Mallory Kane

  “I don’t want to go out with someone else, Angela. I want you.”

  “Please, Doug. Don’t—”

  “Don’t try to deny it, Angela. We were perfect together. I felt it, and I know you did, too.”

  “No, we weren’t. Don’t make it more than it was. We went out three times. I’m sorry, but I have to insist that you don’t call me again. If I have to, I’ll change my number.”

  “Oh, Angie. You don’t want to threaten me. You’re just tired from all your exams. I’ll let you go to sleep. We can make plans later.” He laughed softly. “By the way, I really love you in red pajamas.” He hung up.

  Angela frowned at the phone as her brain processed what he’d just said.

  Love you in red pajamas.

  Oh, God. She looked down at the red silk pajamas she’d put on after her shower—put on right here in the bedroom.

  Her blood froze in her veins as the ominous implication of his words sunk in.

  Now you’re in bed.

  Love you in red.

  Her gaze flew to her bedroom window. The blinds and the curtains were closed. There was no way anyone could see in.

  She frowned as she looked around the room. Window, closet, bathroom doors, door to living room. There was no way he could possibly see, unless—

  The answer that hit her like a slap in the face was inconceivable. It couldn’t be, could it?

  “Oh, no,” she moaned. It was the only answer.

  “No, no, no.” Her breath caught and her scalp burned with panic.

  She wanted to scream. Wanted to vault out of bed and run. But if what she was thinking were true, he was watching her, waiting for that very reaction.

  With her skin crawling and her insides knotted with fear, she reached out as quickly and smoothly as she could and felt for the switch on the bedside lamp. It took several tries with her terror-numbed fingers before she turned it off.

  With the lamp off, the room was dark, except for the pale light seeping in around the window curtains. She stood on shaky legs, the hairs literally standing up on the back of her neck, and her shoulder muscles cramping.

  She felt like someone was right behind her, breathing down her neck, about to grab her.

  Moving slowly, as if it would keep her from being seen, she slipped out from under the covers and fled into the living room. For a few seconds, she just stood there in the dark while gigantic shudders shook her body.

  Finally, she turned on the overhead light. She’d rather be seen through the balcony doors by half the population of New Orleans than consider what her brain was telling her.

  “It can’t be—” she breathed. “Oh, God, what do I do?”

  Her brain felt as frozen as her blood. She couldn’t think of anything except the awful implication of Doug’s words. How had he—? Surely he couldn’t have—

  Yes. He could.

  She had evidence that someone had been inside her apartment. Not to mention her feeling that someone was watching her.

  And what he’d said.

  “Police!” she said aloud. “I’ve got to call the police.”

  Where was her phone? Staring down at her hands, she tried to make her brain work. She didn’t have it. That meant it was still in the bedroom. She’d dropped it, either on her bed or on the floor.

  She had to go back in there.

  “Oh, God, no. I can’t. He’s watching me!”

  ANGLEA WAS IN TROUBLE.

  Lucas jerked awake and almost tipped over his chair. He’d dozed off leaning back in it. “He’s watching me!” Her voice was pitched high with panic. “Got to call the police!”

  He blinked and focused on the monitor screen. She was standing in the living room in slinky red pajamas with her hands over her mouth, as if to stop herself from screaming.

  Oh crap! She’d found the cameras.

  How in hell—? He vaulted up, sending his chair flying across the room, and headed for the door.

  He bolted down the stairs four at a time and hit the street door running. He had to get to her before she called the cops.

  If the police came and found the cameras, a three-month suspension would be the least of his worries. His career would be over—hell his whole life. Not even Brad’s testimony would keep him from being thrown in prison.

  And if Angela hated him before, she’d despise him after this.

  He sprinted across the street and up the stairs, digging in his pocket for her key as he ran. With everything else that was about to explode, he sure didn’t want to wake up the whole building by crashing in her door.

  He unlocked the door and pushed on it. It barely gave, and he heard the creak of wood scraping across wood.

  Damn it! She must have blocked the door with a chair. He pushed as hard as he could against the wooden chair without shattering it.

  “Ange!” he called. “Angela, it’s me, Lucas.”

  “What—?”

  “Let me in, Ange.”

  “What’s—what are you doing here—?” Even though she was breathless and choked with fear, she got the chair moved and unlocked the door.

  He came bursting in and grabbed her by the arms. “Listen Ange, let me explain—”

  “Lucas, what are you—?”

  “Calm down. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Oh, Lucas! Help me!” She pointed toward the bedroom. “He’s watching me. He knew everything. It’s a camera—it’s got to be!”

  Lucas cringed, but then what she said sunk in. He’s watching me.

  She was pointing toward the bedroom. He didn’t have a camera in her bedroom.

  “What? No, not in the bedroom,” he said.

  She stared at him. “It is. You have to believe me. He knew I was in bed. Knew what I was wearing. He was—he was—”

  She wasn’t making any sense. “Okay, okay.” He pulled her close, to try to soothe her panic. “Shh. Let’s get you calmed down and then we can figure out what to do.”

  “No, you have to call the police. My phone’s in there. I couldn’t go back in there—I couldn’t.”

  “I know, sugar, I know.” He slid his palm up her back and cradled her head. Her warm breath stuttered against his neck as her arms slipped around his waist. For a second, he was lost in the sensation of her soft, firm body pressed against him.

  Then she pulled away. “Police,” she muttered. “We’ve got to call the police.”

  Lucas forced his brain back to his problem. He needed a couple of minutes to think. To figure out why she thought there was a camera in her bedroom. And he needed to get her terror under control—fast.

  “Come on,” he said gently, leading her to the kitchen. “Let’s get you a glass of water. Sit down.” He quickly fixed a glass of ice water and handed it to her.

  He watched while she drank it. Her pale cheeks had regained a little bit of color by the time she’d downed about half of it.

  “That’s good.” He sat on his haunches in front of her. “Now tell me why you think there’s a camera in your bedroom, and who you think put it there.”

  She choked a little on the water and coughed.

  “Shh. It’s okay. Take your time. Is the bedroom camera the only one you’ve found?” Some protector he was. She was terrified and his first thought was to cover his ass. He held his breath, waiting for her to answer.

  “The only one? Oh, my God. Do you think there are more?”

  “No.” He took the glass and set it on the table, then held her hands in his. “No. Shh. I was just checking. You said he called you. Who?”

  “Doug Ramis. He called me and he knew I was in bed. And then he said he liked me in red pajamas.” Her cheeks lost color again. “He could see me, Lucas! He could see me. How else would he know? Please! Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he couldn’t see me. I can’t believe anybody would do that. It’s so perverted.” She shuddered again.

  Lucas couldn’t quite sort out what she was talking about, but he did hear her say, “It’s so perverted.”

&
nbsp; She was going to despise him. “Who’s Doug Ramis?”

  “I dated him a few times. Three. Three times. He thinks we’re—” she gestured aimlessly “—soul mates or something.”

  Could he be the bland guy who’d been hanging around her building? Lucas made a mental note to show her a photo of him.

  “Maybe he’s seen your pajamas before? Maybe he was just guessing?”

  “No! No. Of course he hasn’t seen my pajamas.” For an instant, indignation overcame her panic. “He couldn’t have just guessed. He. Saw. Me.”

  “Okay, shh. Here. Finish your water.” He handed the glass back to her, then looked toward the bedroom. “You turned the light off?”

  She nodded. “So he couldn’t see me.” A brittle laugh escaped her lips. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  “No. I’m going to get your phone. You said it’s in there?”

  She nodded. “I dropped it on the bed.”

  “Do you have any idea where the camera might be?”

  “No.” She shuddered. “I never thought about where it was.”

  “That’s okay. Wait right here.” He rose and started toward the bedroom.

  “Lucas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How—how did you show up just in time?”

  That took longer than he thought it would. She was too smart. He put on a grin. “Hey, sugar. That’s what knights in shining armor do, right?”

  His lame joke didn’t earn him a smile. Her chocolate eyes went wide and something he couldn’t identify shone from their depths.

  He went into the bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the light from the living room. He wished he had an infrared light, so he could see without being seen through the camera. But he didn’t, so he stood still until his eyes adapted to the darkness. He wasn’t about to turn on the light and risk the guy seeing him.

  He felt around in her bed for her phone. To his body’s delight and his brain’s dismay, the sheets were still warm from her heat. He took a deep breath, hoping to tamp down his body’s automatic response. But he only succeeded in filling his nose with the scent of chocolate. He shook his head. That had to be his imagination.

  His fingers closed around the phone and he pocketed it. Staying low, he swept the room with his gaze. If there was a camera, it would be positioned on the wall opposite the bathroom. At least that’s where he’d mount it.

  It was damned hard to see with only the dim light from the curtained windows, but he scrutinized the chest of drawers and dresser that sat against the wall.

  A decorative clock hung on the wall above the chest. He looked from it to her bed to the bathroom door. That would be his choice for the best vantage point. He carefully took it down and opened the back.

  And there it was. Lucas stared at the familiar shape. It was state of the art, almost as sophisticated as the ones Dawson had loaned him. He didn’t see a microphone. So it was visual only.

  Anger hit him like a hot blast of wind. The slimy skunk who was spying on her deserved to spend the rest of his life in prison for stalking. Quelling his urge to smash the clock and the camera inside it against the wall, he pried the camera loose and lifted it out using his handkerchief. He made sure the clock still worked and then repositioned it on the wall.

  “Try to spy on her now, you bastard!” he muttered as he pocketed the camera and headed back into the living room.

  “Did you find it?” She met his gaze. “You did!” Her hands covered her mouth again. “There really was a camera.”

  Lucas wiped a hand down his face. “This Doug guy—that’s who you were talking about, isn’t it?”

  Talking about?”

  “When you said another stalker, it’s him?”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  Son of a bitch.

  Angela was under a double threat. Not only was she in danger from a Chicago crime boss who wanted to use her as leverage against her ADA brother, but she was also being stalked by an obsessed ex-boyfriend.

  He had his work cut out for him now. He’d given her a throw-away answer to her question of how he’d shown up just in time, but as Brad had said earlier, Angela was smart—and quick.

  She’d ask him again, as soon as she was over the worst of her fear.

  And what was he going to say?

  Sugar, your brother sent me here to protect you from a hired hit man. The deranged ex-boyfriend is just a bonus. You know, lagniappe. Oh, and by the way, I’ve been watching you through hidden cameras, too.

  “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’ll work.”

  Chapter Four

  Angela frowned at Lucas, trying to make sense of what he’d just muttered. “What did you say? What will work?”

  He looked surprised. “Nothing. I need to get you out of here.”

  “Out of here? But where?”

  “Someplace where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “I can’t—” She looked down. She had on a little satin pajama set that wasn’t fit for going out in public. Not even at night in the French Quarter. “I need to change clothes.”

  “Okay, but make it fast.” He nodded toward the bedroom.

  Angela swallowed. “You got rid of the camera?”

  “I’ve got it with me. I’ll give it to Dawson to check out.”

  “Where was it?”

  “In the clock over the chest.”

  “In the clock.” She nodded, hardly able to believe what she was hearing—what she and Lucas were talking about. Doug Ramis had put a camera—a camera inside her apartment. In her bedroom.

  He’d watched her.

  Revulsion and fear made her scalp burn.

  “You can go in and get some clothes now.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Want me to go in there with you?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “No. I can do it.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Brat, you don’t have to prove anything to me. Just tell me what you want and where to find them.”

  Brat. His other childhood nickname for her. Fraught with all the reasons she had to do this herself. Neither he nor Brad had ever thought she was capable of handling anything on her own. What they obviously didn’t realize was that it was because of them that she could take care of herself.

  She shook her head, a deep breath fueled her determination. “No,” she said firmly. “No.”

  He studied her for an instant, an odd little smile lighting his expression, then he nodded.

  She forced herself to walk steadily through the door, but no amount of determination could stop her from looking at the clock. Or from shuddering. Again.

  She grabbed underwear, Capri pants and a short-sleeved top, and went into her bathroom. Lucas had assured her that the camera aimed at her bed was disabled, but it didn’t matter. There was no way she could undress in that bedroom. Ever again.

  She ran to the bathroom, changed in record time and rushed back to Lucas’s side. “Ready?”

  She grabbed her cell phone and stuck it in her purse with shaky hands. “What about my things? I’ve got a test Monday.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Right now we need to get you someplace safe.”

  “But—where are we going?”

  He sent her an unreadable glance. “Not far. You’ll see.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.

  “Lucas, how did—”

  “No time right now, Ange. If your boyfriend shows up, I don’t want him to see us.”

  “Don’t call him that,” she said stiffly.

  He stopped and looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

  To her surprise, once they were outside, Lucas didn’t herd her toward a car. Instead he pulled her with him across the street, where he unlocked the door to the abandoned building that faced her apartment.

  She dug in her heels, the hot fear washing over her again. “What is this? Why are we—?”

  Lucas slid his arm around her waist and urged her inside
. “Come on. It’ll be all right.”

  Stunned by all that had happened in the past half hour or so, Angela let him guide her inside. He used the same key to unlock a door at the top of the stairs and then stood back for her to enter ahead of him.

  She walked into a darkened room lit only by one large window that faced the street. And her apartment.

  It was the window she’d studied earlier, fantasizing that there might be a sinister figure lurking behind it.

  Was that sinister figure Lucas?

  Then she saw the table and the array of computers and monitors lined up in front of the big window. Beyond the glass, not fifty feet away, were her French doors.

  Lucas had left the light on in her living room, and she could see everything, crystal clear. She stared in horror as the full implication of what she saw sank in.

  “Oh, God,” she muttered. Her knees went weak and she had to steady herself with a hand against the wall.

  Behind her, she heard him shift. When she looked at him, his expression was sheepish and his cheeks were pink.

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on here? This looks like—?” her throat closed up. She couldn’t even form the words.

  Lucas opened his mouth, but apparently he was having trouble speaking, too, because nothing came out.

  Angela tore her gaze away from the window and looked at the monitors lined up on the table. And moaned.

  “Wh-what is this?” she asked, but he didn’t have to answer. It was obvious what she was looking at. There on the screens, in high definition, were her kitchen, her living room, the building’s lobby—

  Her hands flew to her mouth as the meaning of everything she was looking at, everything that had happened, finally coalesced into a clear, cohesive picture. She gasped and gulped in air in huge sobs.

  Dear God, Lucas was watching her?

  “Y-you?” she stammered. “It was you? Spying on me?”

  “No, Ange. Not—not really.”

  “Oh, God. But Doug knew—what I was wearing. How?”

  “Ange, come here.”

  His voice sounded like it was coming through an echo chamber, barely discernable over the sawing of her breaths. “No,” she mouthed.

  “Here. Sit down. You’re hyperventilating.”