Badlands (Hqn)

by Jill Sorenson

  “Kiss me,” she said, meeting his gaze. “For luck.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. She crossed her fingers and waited, pulse racing. When he realized she was serious, he glanced around to see who was watching. Her grandmother and Cruz were nearby, their backs turned. Her mother studied her cue cards on the other end of the stage, more than a hundred feet away.

  She didn’t know if he did it because she asked, or because he wanted to. But he stepped forward and lifted his hand to her face, indulging her request. His fingertips skimmed the side of her neck as he leaned in. She held her breath, longing for a tongue-tangling kiss. At the last second, he moved to the left, brushing his lips over her cheek.

  Chaste. Respectful. Distant.

  But when he retreated, she saw the heat in his eyes. The want.

  After they broke apart, her grandmother approached with Cruz. “Leslie can’t find Raven. I have to go look for her.”

  “Cruz can hang out with me,” Owen said.

  Penny didn’t challenge the arrangement. Babysitting wasn’t part of Owen’s job, but neither was kissing, and she’d only be onstage for thirty seconds. While her grandmother went to search for Raven, Owen chatted with Cruz, avoiding Penny’s gaze. His expression showed no indication that they’d just shared an intimate moment.

  Penny focused on the heavy curtains, her anxiety spiking. An innocent peck on the cheek was the most action she’d had in the past five years. She could still feel his mouth on her skin, his thumb against her throat.

  When the production assistant gave her the go signal, she glanced at Owen and Cruz. They both smiled at her encouragingly.

  Taking the plunge, she walked out on stage. The crowd stretched into infinity, red signs waving, a blur of excited faces. She continued toward her mark, terrified. Don’t trip. Don’t forget your lines. Smile.

  She reached the podium without incident. Gripping its comforting wood edges, she stared at the blinking red light on the center camera, aware that her image was being broadcast on a huge screen behind her.

  Smile.

  Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. There were no boos or rude remarks. Someone in the far corner whistled, causing a ripple of laughter in the audience. Then her tension eased, and she stopped worrying about flubbing her lines.

  She didn’t value the opinion of the bigots in the Freedom Party, a vocal right-wing minority. Let them criticize her wardrobe, her figure or her conduct. The only thing that mattered was getting through the introduction and moving on with her life.

  Channeling confidence, she leaned forward to start her introduction. Before she’d uttered a single word, an alarm sounded, splitting the air with high-pitched wails. She stepped away from the microphone, flinching at the loud noise.

  The stadium erupted into chaos.

  CHAPTER TWO

  OWEN HAD NEVER WANTED to be Penny’s bodyguard.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her. He’d give his life for her or Cruz in a heartbeat. He had self-defense training, rescue experience and an EMT certificate. After three years in prison, he’d learned how to read tensions in a crowd and anticipate violence. Even his entry-level position at Sierra National Park had been more dangerous than he’d anticipated.

  But private security wasn’t his field of interest, and he was a poor candidate for Penny, in particular. He’d had a crush on her for years. It was extremely difficult for him to focus on the surroundings instead of her. He found himself following her every move, studying her body language and facial expressions...imagining them together.

  In protective services, getting emotionally involved with a client was a bad idea. Engaging in sexual fantasies about her was downright stupid.

  She often tried to draw him into conversations with her, which didn’t help. He was already distracted by her beauty. He liked her voice, her animated gestures, her smile. Her personality was irresistible.

  And that kiss. Jesus.

  He could get fired for touching her. There were cameras all over the place. If Sandoval heard Owen was sniffing around his daughter, he’d cut him loose without the recommendation Owen desperately needed.

  Owen had developed a few coping strategies for keeping his cool around Penny. He avoided eye contact. He memorized her clothing details at a glance. When he had to look at her, he concentrated on her attire, not the body underneath. He treated her like an assignment, blanking his mind of their previous interactions.

  It didn’t always work, obviously. He was slipping.

  After Penny walked across the stage, Cruz tugged at Owen’s hand, pointing to a dark corner he wanted to explore. Owen might be biased, because he’d helped bring Cruz into this world, but the kid struck him as ridiculously cute. He had Penny’s honey-colored complexion and big brown eyes.

  Owen pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. He couldn’t let the boy wander off. There was a fleet of security personnel at this event, so he didn’t have to monitor the audience, but he had to stay alert.

  A second later, an alarm sounded, indicating an emergency that required immediate evacuation.

  Penny.

  He tightened his grip on Cruz’s hand and strode toward the podium to retrieve her. She was already on her way backstage. As soon as she saw Cruz, she bent down and picked him up, her face tense.

  The voice in Owen’s ear told him what to do: find the closest exit. He was familiar with the layout of the building. A production assistant waved a group of people forward. Owen placed his hand on Penny’s shoulder as they skirted around stage and lighting equipment. He looked for Penny’s mother but didn’t see her.

  The alarm continued to go off in loud, intermittent blares. He couldn’t hear any more instructions from his boss. Pressing the button on the microphone at his collar, he checked in. “Moving toward the exit,” he said, reciting their code names and basic location.

  They spilled out the door into a pavilion on the side of the main building. Audience members were emerging from multiple exits. Most of them headed west, to the area behind the convention center. It offered access to the harbor, parking lot and adjoining hotels. The production assistant went the same direction with the rest of the employees.

  Owen didn’t follow. Penny would get recognized in the crowd, and his team was prepared for this kind of situation. They had a driver waiting in the loading area in front of the building, ready to whisk them to safety.

  “To your left,” he said, squeezing her upper arm. It was early evening, just before dark, with good visibility. There were some random people milling around, along with a couple of photographers in casual clothes.

  Owen hated the paparazzi even more than he hated those Freedom Party rejects who criticized Penny for having a baby out of wedlock. At the last political event she’d attended, some jerk had thrown a water balloon at her, soaking her blouse to near transparency. Of course the cameras had flashed before Owen could remove his jacket to cover her. The photos had been posted everywhere online.

  He’d heard that one of the sleazy gossip magazines had offered to pay top dollar for a “crotch shot.”

  Over his dead body.

  Owen understood the public fascination with Penny. Her father was running for president. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, made relatable mistakes and survived one of the worst natural disasters in U.S. history. She expressed herself sincerely. It didn’t hurt that she had a movie-star face and a figure like a Victoria’s Secret model. With her long legs, dark hair and radiant smile, she was stunning. The media loved her.

  He spoke into his microphone once again to communicate their whereabouts, directing Penny toward the Cadillac at the curb. Secret Service had their own vehicles, so this one was used exclusively by Penny and her sisters. As they approached the car, Owen sensed a presence closing in on them. It was probably one of the photographers, hoping to get an angle up Penny’s skirt as she climbed into the backseat. He opened the back door, urging Penny and Cruz inside. Their driver, Keshawn Jones,
was at the wheel.

  Before Owen could glance over his shoulder to assess the threat, he noticed a rush of movement by the driver’s side. A masked man jabbed his fist through the open window, striking Jones in the neck.

  The next few seconds passed in a blur. Owen reached for his mic just as he was tackled from behind. His fingers never found the talk button. A sharp pain hit his midsection, radiating through his torso like a bolt of lightning. Not a gunshot wound or a knife laceration. Electroshock. He was incapacitated before he even collapsed.

  The man with the taser shoved him into the vehicle and climbed inside. Owen quaked like an epileptic. He couldn’t fight back or even resist. His body shook uncontrollably, and his thoughts scattered.

  He was vaguely aware of Cruz’s muffled screams as Penny tried to quiet him. Everything else was pain. Pain in his torso, where the device had struck him. Pain in his muscles, which had seized up. His face contorted into a grimace, and his chest tightened. The pain went on and on, never ending.

  Darkness edged in. Soon he’d be unconscious. Dead.

  Owen didn’t realize the man with the weapon was still stunning him until he stopped, taking the device away from his side. The door slammed shut, and the vehicle accelerated. Owen slumped over, his cheek mashed against the leather seats. The worst of the pain receded, but the twitching continued.

  “You didn’t have to tase him that long,” someone said from the front seat. “You almost killed him.”

  Even in his fractured state, Owen recognized the voice.

  It was Shane. His older brother, who’d just been released from prison. Shane must have pushed the driver aside and taken over.

  “He’s still alive,” his attacker said. Then kicked Owen in the ribs for good measure.

  Owen hardly felt the added insult, though he struggled to fill his lungs with oxygen. Cruz wailed in dismay, asking about Owen and sobbing his name repeatedly.

  “Mommy, Mommy, what’s wrong with Owen?”

  “Shut that kid up.”

  Owen lifted his head to speak to Penny. His vision was blurry, his mouth slack. When he tried to speak, a string of saliva dribbled from his lips. “M’okay,” he mumbled, forming the words for Cruz’s sake. “I’m okay.”

  Penny looked horrified. Maybe he should have saved his breath.

  The man put away the taser and cuffed Owen’s hands behind his back. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His muscles felt like jelly. He wiped his chin against the fabric of his jacket. Lethargy drowned out most of his embarrassment.

  “He’s okay,” Penny murmured to Cruz, rocking him in her lap. “He’s hurt, but he’s going to be okay.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the hospital,” she said immediately. “Owen needs a doctor.”

  She knew what was happening. Of course she knew. She wasn’t dumb. Even he knew, and his brain was fried.

  “What happened to him?” Cruz asked.

  “He had a seizure.”

  “A seizer?”

  “Seizure,” she corrected. “Shaking you can’t control. This man is helping Owen so he doesn’t hurt himself again. Isn’t that right, Mr....?”

  “Dirk.”

  “Mr. Dirk.”

  It was a bullshit name, but it was a bullshit story. Owen should have been more careful approaching the vehicle. In his haste to get Penny and Cruz away from the paparazzi, he’d delivered them directly to...

  The kidnappers.

  He couldn’t believe Shane was involved in this. He couldn’t believe Shane was here. His brother had been living at a halfway house in Northern California. It went without saying that this violated the terms of his parole.

  “The kid wasn’t supposed to be with her,” Shane said.

  “What do you want to do with him?”

  Penny tightened her arms around Cruz protectively.

  “I can’t drop him off on the street corner,” Shane replied.

  “Maybe he’ll double our take,” Dirk said.

  Owen rested his forehead on the edge of the seat and tried to recover his wits. His stomach churned with nausea as he sorted through the fuzzy details. Penny was the target of this crime, not Cruz. The disappearance of two Sandoval family members would be noticed and investigated at once.

  Despite the mix-up with Cruz, this kidnapping appeared to be an organized effort. The fire alarm must have been rigged. They’d known Penny had been about to take the stage. They’d known she had a single bodyguard—him—and not an entourage. They’d been following her. Waiting for an opportunity to strike.

  The ease with which they’d executed the plan appalled him. With lucidity came regret. He’d failed to protect Penny and Cruz. Failed on every level. He’d been tricked, overpowered and stunned into submission.

  Cruz had a booster seat, but Penny didn’t put him in it. Her arms were wrapped tight around him, her jaw clenched with determination. If anyone tried to take him from her, she’d claw their eyes out.

  As the car went around a sharp corner, Owen slid towards Dirk. He wasn’t trying to challenge him in any way, but he couldn’t prevent his body from listing that direction. He had no control, no anchor.

  Dirk gripped the back of Owen’s shirt and slammed him facedown on the seat. Straddling his thighs, he ripped off Owen’s communication device, which was hanging from his collar, and tossed it out the window. Then he checked him for weapons.

  Owen gritted his teeth against the feel of another man’s hands on him, diving into his pockets and thrusting between his legs. He didn’t like incidental contact. Getting groped while he was restrained and vulnerable sent him over the edge.

  He’d been held down before. Cheek smashed against the cold tile, wrists trapped in a cruel grip. He didn’t want to travel to that dark place again. It was locked inside his memory, never to be revisited.

  Dirk dispensed with Owen’s jacket and relieved him of his cell phone, pepper spray and tactical baton. He also found Owen’s money clip and confiscated it. “This rent-a-cop doesn’t even have a gun.”

  “I told you he wouldn’t,” Shane said.

  “What kind of bodyguard doesn’t pack heat?”

  Plenty of them. Some security experts used weapons, others didn’t. Owen was trained in self-defense and close combat. His top priority was escorting members of the Sandoval family to safety, not getting into shoot-outs with assailants. He was also a convicted felon, so he couldn’t own a gun. Being armed wouldn’t have made a difference in this situation, anyway. He’d been incapacitated before he’d had a chance to react.

  With a derisive grunt, Dirk continued the search, running his hands along Owen’s thighs and circling his calves. He finished the pat-down, but the violation wasn’t over. Dirk pinned Owen to the seat with his body weight, taking an aggressive rear-mount position. He slanted his forearm across the back of Owen’s neck, putting his mouth close to his ear. “I heard you were a little bitch in prison.”

  Owen clenched his jaw, not responding to the dig. It was a common insult for ex-cons; Dirk had no idea what he’d done inside. He was just trying to make Owen mad. Owen refused to give him the satisfaction. Dirk’s opinion meant nothing to him.

  Penny was another story. Owen didn’t want her to see him like this. When he glanced at her, she was watching them. She’d cradled Cruz’s head to her chest to prevent him from witnessing the disturbing scene. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

  He closed his, feeling like a loser.

  Fifteen minutes ago, she’d begged him to kiss her. For luck, she’d said, gazing up at him. He’d been floored by the request, but he’d also understood what prompted it. She’d needed an escape, a brief distraction. He’d fantasized about kissing her—really kissing her—a thousand times. The temptation to plunder her mouth was hard to resist. But he’d acted the gentleman, not mussing her pretty, painted lips.

  In that fleeting moment, he’d fooled himself into believing he was good enough for her. In this one, he felt absolutely worthless.
>
  “Quit fucking around,” Shane said to Dirk. “I don’t want to get pulled over.”

  Dirk climbed off Owen and returned to his seat, adjusting a black handkerchief around his neck to cover his face. His baseball cap and casual clothes made him resemble a member of the paparazzi, but his powerful build suggested otherwise. Owen pegged him as a recent parolee.

  When Owen was capable of moving, he dragged himself upright and settled into the space beside Penny and Cruz. He couldn’t help them escape, but he could put his body between them and danger.

  They were on the freeway. Shane sat behind the wheel, wearing a motorcycle face mask. Keshawn Jones was handcuffed in the passenger seat. He appeared to be suffering from the effects of electroshock, too.

  Cruz twisted around in his mother’s lap, studying him with solemn brown eyes. “Are you better now, Owen?”

  “Much better.”

  “Why do you need those han’cuffs?”

  “I don’t have control of my arms yet. I might hit someone.” He glanced at Dirk, his fists clenched behind his back.

  “Can I hug you?”

  Owen was touched by the request. “Sure,” he said, clearing his throat.

  Cruz let go of Penny and put his small arms around Owen’s neck. He was a chatty kid, always full of questions and bouncing with energy. Penny encouraged him to be nice and mind his manners, but she also let him run wild when he needed to. She didn’t try to smother his natural rambunctiousness or dole out harsh punishments. Owen respected Penny for raising Cruz with a gentle hand. It was clear the boy had never been mistreated in any way.

  Cruz was so unlike how Owen had been at this age. Affectionate and expressive, quick to cry or laugh. Unselfconscious, unafraid. The way a child should be. Owen’s gaze met Penny’s over the top of the boy’s head. He saw some of the same qualities in her.