by Dana Marton
A moment passed in silence.
“Then you told Lance about the money,” Greg said quietly.
“Oh, Greg. You didn’t.”
“Lance yelled at me just like Dad. I wished he’d go away, too, but it didn’t work. I wished it for a long time.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, blurring Greg’s face.
“What did you do?”
“Yancy helped.”
An insolent security guard who’d befriended Greg and gotten him into betting on street races. He’d been fired when their father found out, although Greg had begged and bargained for the man’s job for days and was as angry as she’d ever seen him when their father wouldn’t listen.
“You still see Yancy.” She should have known. Why didn’t she? She should have paid more attention to his friends.
“He protected me from people who made fun of me.”
“Did Yancy do something to Lance?”
“His cousin works at the ski lodge. He has lots of cousins.”
She understood at last. Greg had a problem with their father. And when their father died, the problem went away. Then he had a problem with Lance. And he applied the same solution. Then with Uncle Al. And now with Kayla.
Simple logic.
He was doing what worked in the past. It all made sense to his linear brain.
“Was that man who died in Vegas Yancy’s cousin, too?”
Greg’s face darkened as he nodded.
“And Uncle Al?”
“Yancy did that.”
Her brain was paralyzed. Think. Gain time. “Don’t you love me?”
Joey’s cell phone rang in his pocket. Again. Probably Nash. She forced her limbs to move, toward Joey and the gun at his hip, half out of the holster. She could only get one thing, the gun or the phone. Instinct told her it was too late to send out an SOS at this stage.
“I do.”
“Then please don’t do this. Joey is hurt. Let me help him.”
“I started. I have to finish.”
They’d learned that from their father. You always finish what you start. Always, he used to say. Greg had wanted the man’s love so desperately, everything their father said was gospel to him.
She kneeled next to Joey. “Wake up.” She touched the man’s shoulders, knowing Joey wouldn’t wake up, not ever. Then went lower as if checking the wound. And grabbed the gun, came up with it in her hand.
Shock and dismay reflected on her brother’s face. “You tricked me.” He sounded hurt and betrayed.
Exactly the way she felt. “I’m sorry, Greg. Please put the gun down.”
“The police will take me away if I don’t finish it. Yancy told me the police will do bad things to me and nobody can protect me.”
“I’ll protect you.”
But he shook his head stubbornly.
Just pointing the gun at him hurt. “Greg? Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.”
“I have to finish what I started.” His finger moved on the trigger.
The counter was too far. She was out in the open. No place to hide. No time to run.
Then Tsini attacked Greg.
A shot went off. Didn’t hit the dog. The bullet went into the marble-tile kitchen floor.
“Tsini!”
But the dog wouldn’t come to her. She was growling and holding on to Greg’s leg, pulling him away from Kayla. Greg took aim again.
The front door crashed open, Nash barreling through it like a speed train. A football player couldn’t have done a better job at plowing forward and leaping, tackling Greg to the ground.
And still Tsini was holding on to him.
“GO WASH your hands,” Nash growled at Kayla. He couldn’t stand the sight of her all bloody.
His heart had stopped when he’d broken down that door and saw her standing there, her hands and her face covered in blood, Greg pointing the gun at her. That goofy dog of hers was doing everything to distract him, Greg kicking her away.
She had a gun, but didn’t look like she could use it, not on her own brother. Hell, Nash couldn’t even take out the kid knowing what he meant to Kayla. He would have been willing to take another bullet to spare her that pain.
So he took the path of least violence. Welkins would have been damned proud of him.
“We’re done in there for now.” A cop was coming out of her bedroom.
The police were all over her apartment.
Nash nudged her forward. “Go change.” He watched her go, wanting to go with her. He never wanted to let her out of his sight again. Tsini followed her, nudging her leg.
“She’d be better off with a rottweiler. What’s a cotton ball like that gonna do when you’re in trouble?” The younger cop smirked to one of the paramedics.
And something inside Nash snapped. “Her name is Tsini.” He turned to the guy and gave him a narrow-eyed look. “She saved Miss Landon’s life today. She’s as fine a dog as they come. You could probably learn a thing or two from her.”
The two were smart enough to hear the warning in his tone and simply nodded, slinking away from him.
He drew a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen, to the body bag two men were lifting onto the stretcher. He reached for Joey’s shoulder and squeezed it through the black plastic. “I’m sorry, Joey. I’m sorry, man.”
“The job is what the job is,” the older cop he knew from the other morning said, coming up behind him, his voice full of understanding.
Nash watched as the men carried Joey out, stood there until the door closed behind them.
The job was what the job was. This was what they’d signed up for. They all knew that at any moment a bullet could be coming. He wished he’d been here. He wished he could have done something. Joey had taken the job because of him.
“You need to come in to have that bullet taken out, sir.” One of the paramedics came back to bug him.
They’d come for Joey, but there hadn’t been anything anyone could have done to help. Determined to save someone as long as they were on location, they took turns trying to browbeat Nash into going down to the ambulance with them. Fat chance.
“You want to torture me, you’re going to have to do it here.”
“I can’t do that, sir. I’d lose my job. A doctor will have to see you at the hospital.”
“Give me that kit. I’ll take the damn bullet out.”
The man took a step back. “You can’t do that, sir.”
“Wanna bet?” But he wasn’t in the mood to push it. Joey was dead. Another good man gone. Another good friend. And Nash took it hard.
The job was what the job was.
But he wasn’t sure he wanted the job anymore.
Not that long ago, he’d thought he was nothing without the agency and the guys. His heart had been black and dead. He needed that one connection to normal life. Then Kayla brought a change he’d been slow to recognize.
He wondered for a moment if Welkins’s connections were powerful enough to engineer a whole new past for him. One that would pass media muster.
Truth was, he wanted to go to more dog shows with Kayla. He’d be damned if he knew where that left them. If she were half as smart as she looked, she should refuse to do anything with him.
He should make sure she was okay, then walk away without embarrassing himself. But no, didn’t look like he had that much sense. Because before the day was out, he was determined to tell her how he felt about her. He was a warrior, after all. He wasn’t going out without one last battle.
BY THE TIME they made it back home from the police station and the hospital, Kayla was drained emotionally and physically. The police had identified the man Nash had shot at some abandoned factory. Yancy. He’d been the one fleecing her brother and putting ideas into his head. Yancy had known that to get to serious money, he had to remove the family from around Greg. And Greg had been only too easily led. She’d gotten the best lawyers money could buy for Greg, but they still couldn’t get him released on bail. She would keep
trying. He needed to be someplace where doctors could help him, not in jail.
His actions had just about killed her inside. But she couldn’t hate her brother. She’d loved him too much for too long for that. She wanted to help.
She collapsed on a barstool, looked to the front door that miraculously worked again. She would have to thank Stanislav. He must have pulled some strings to get help up here in a hurry. Nash had done a number on the frame when he’d kicked it in.
He was at the phone, ordering food—minestrone soup and fettuccini Alfredo for two. And a steak. “That’s for Tsini,” he said, then opened a bottle of red wine and poured her a glass. “Drink.”
“You’re going to spoil her rotten. How is the arm?”
“How are you?”
“I’m still having trouble taking it all in. I should have known.”
“How could you? I should have known. I looked at everyone but him. He was a kid. He loves you.”
“In his mind, there’s no conflict with that.” She hung her head and sniffed.
“Hey. We’ll figure this out.”
We? She looked up in time to see him cross the kitchen, favoring his bad leg. “Did you hurt your leg, too?”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t. He’d probably pulled it when he’d leaped on Greg, crashing to the floor with him. “Why didn’t you say anything at the hospital?”
“I had all the prodding I could take.”
She thought of the new scar that would be added to his old ones. “You were lucky with that land mine,” she observed. She hoped that old injury wasn’t aggravated.
“Unlike Pounder,” he said under his breath, his face darkening.
She didn’t expect him to tell her more, but he said, “Bobby Smith—Pounder—and I were on the Korean border finishing up an op, tying up loose ends. Then all of a sudden Melena Milo shows up with a camera crew in the middle of nowhere. Big celebrity, thinks she can do anything she wants. Daughter of Milan Milo, the famous producer.”
She nodded. She knew both of them.
“Her godfather is a four-star general.”
She didn’t know that.
“So, next thing we know, we’re ordered to help her with her pet project, filming the locals and the troubles they face. And she insists on filming in this patch of woods that was full of craters. The week before, a couple of kids were blown to pieces there. And I tried to talk her out of it, but she got to me.”
Probably seduced him, Kayla thought and burned with jealousy. Melena was famous for always getting what she wanted, one way or the other. She would have gone after Nash, big-time.
“She got to Bobby, too. We’d kind of had a rough morning. So there we are, readying the place for her. And one of us made one bad move. And one second later, my leg was cut to shreds. Bobby was dead.”
“And Melena got an award.” She remembered the documentary. Neither Bobby nor Nash were mentioned.
“It was a long time ago.” He came up behind her and put his arms around her. Held her without a word until the food arrived. Then he fed her. And while Tsini was gulping down her steak, Nash carried Kayla to bed.
“I don’t even have the strength to wash my face.” And she definitely didn’t have the strength to watch him walk away. Her family had been decimated. Her core team had all but disappeared.
But instead of leaving her, he lay next to her on top of the covers and pulled her into his arms. “Give yourself a break. You’ll shower in the morning.”
That sounded good. His arms felt wonderful around her. She might not want to move, ever. He’d faced as many losses as she had, if not more. He had his own issues with trust. Had made his own mistakes. She felt that he understood her. She could be Kayla Landon, the person, with him, not her celebrity persona the rest of the world knew.
She snuggled against him. “You saved my life. Again.”
“That was the job. Have to earn my keep. And you saved mine back in Vegas. So I owed you one, anyway.”
“I love you.” God, why did she have to say that? The words just slipped out. She had no control over her emotions tonight.
Nash’s arms tightened around her. “I love you, too. I’ve been waiting all evening to tell you that. Just so you know, I’ll probably be fired for getting personally involved here. And if not, I’m going to quit. I’m ready for a new start. Maybe we could start a new team, the two of us.”
“Wait. You love me? You love me back and you’re just telling me now? Casually?” Her heart raced as she turned to him, disbelief mixing with utter pleasure.
He gave a slow grin, his eyes fast on her face, his gaze heating. His hand stole up her arm, caressing her skin, infusing her with warmth. “Women love a man of mystery,” he said.
Epilogue
CELEBRITY FLASH JOURNAL
Software Millionaire Marries Popcorn Princess
In the ongoing saga of the Landon family, Landon Enterprises CEO Kayla Landon married software millionaire Nash Wilder in a small private ceremony yesterday. Sources in the know suggest that before his rise to fame and fortune, Wilder might have worked for Miss Landon in a bodyguard capacity. However, this tabloid scooped them all by obtaining legal documents of Mr. Wilder’s past, which seems a tad more boring than that.
That’s right. Mr. Wilder was apparently nothing more glamorous than a computer geek, working at the same no-name company since college. That would certainly explain his acumen for picking tech investments.
Again, some people suggested that the reason for no media photos of the wedding is that Mr. Wilder’s ex-commando friends ran the event like a veritable black op. However, our publication would never endorse that sort of sensationalist, make-it-up-as-we-go journalism. And we predict that piece of reporting will be withdrawn by next week, this time with an apology.
One tidbit had been correctly reported, however. The bride’s brother, Greg Landon, was released from a treatment facility to attend the wedding.
And, last but not least, the strangest rumor of all…A guest apparently let it slip that the groom even danced with the bride’s dog at the wedding?! Too much champagne? Go to our Web page and let us know what you think.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4659-5
THE SOCIALITE AND THE BODYGUARD
Copyright © 2010 by Dana Marton
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*Mission: Redemption
*Mission: Redemption
*Mission: Redemption
*Mission: Redemption
†Defending the Crown
†Defending the Crown