The Bride And The Bodyguard

by Anita Meyer

  The receiving line went smoothly and Jeff shook hands and hugged a seemingly endless string of well-wishers. Then suddenly the chapel was empty, quiet. Gran and Arthur slipped outside, joining the guests awaiting the newlyweds.

  “All clear,” Mac said, coming back into the chapel foyer. “The limo’s right out front with the door open and the motor running.” He clapped Jeff on-the shoulder and winked at the bride. “A quick dash through forty pounds of rice and you’re home free.”

  “Birdseed,” she corrected.

  “What?”

  “Birdseed. People don’t throw rice anymore. They throw birdseed.”

  “Since when?” Mac asked.

  “Since we started worrying about the environment,” Jeff said. “Throwing rice is ecologically unsound because birds and squirrels choke on it. Using birdseed preserves the tradition without endangering the wildlife.”

  “Well, nobody told me about it,” Mac grumbled. He patted his bulging pockets. “What am I supposed to do with all this rice?”

  “Make pilaf,” Jeff suggested dryly.

  Mac made a face. “Give me two minutes to get into position, then come on out.” He disappeared out the door.

  Jeff looked down at his new bride. As before, those dark eyes spoke volumes—alert, wary, apprehensive. She was skittish; understandably so.

  “You’ll have to forgive my brother,” Jeff said. “He has all the sensitivity of a three-bean salad.”

  A laugh bubbled forth—a rich, wonderful female laugh tinged with relief.

  Jeff smiled into her bright, shining eyes and fingered one of the white roses in her bouquet. “But if things get rough, he’ll be there for us.”

  He wanted to say something more, to promise her that they wouldn’t need Mac’s help, that everything would be all right. But he knew instinctively she would reject his assurances for what they were—feeble attempts to make her feel better. There were no guarantees, and they both knew it.

  Jeff opened the chapel door a crack and peeked outside. A blur of faces lined both sides of the concrete walk. “I hope you’re fast. That group out there means business.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I’m used to running,” she said firmly. “I can handle it.”

  Jeff didn’t miss the double meaning of her words or the careful way she seemed to choose them. “Good,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Then let’s do it.” His fingers closed firmly around hers, offering protection, but giving her the freedom to pull away if she wanted to.

  She followed him through the old wooden doors but paused at the top of the stone steps, scanning the faces in the crowd. Jeff shifted uneasily. He didn’t like her standing there, out in the open and exposed. But Mac had secured the area, and he trusted his brother’s judgment as much as he trusted his own. The time might come when he would give the orders and she would have to take them,but for now he could be patient, and wait until she was ready.

  Finally she turned to him and nodded slightly. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her skirts and bolted down the walkway, with Jeff matching her steps, stride for stride. A cascade of sunflower, cracked corn, and millet seeds showered them as they dashed to the waiting limousine.

  “Hurry,” Jeff said, swiping at the tiny pellets that clung to his clothes and hair. He helped her into the limousine, then jumped in behind her. Even after Mac slammed the door, Jeff could hear the birdseed pinging against the smoky windows of the white Rolls-Royce.

  He brushed some of the seeds off his suit and onto the floor, then settled back into the gray leather seat, eyeing his new wife. She flipped open a compartment concealing a fancy stereo system, and pushed the electronic scanner until the mellow sounds of an old Everly Brothers tune filled the car. Then she lowered the partition separating them from the driver.

  “Please drive around for a while,” she said. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to go to the reception.” She pushed another button and the divider panel whirred closed. Finally she turned in the seat to face him.

  “Mr. McKensie—” she began.

  “Jeff,” he interrupted gently. “Call me Jeff. No need to stand on formality now that we’re married.”

  “We are not married,” she stated flatly. “And just for the record, I wanted no part of this ridiculous charade.”

  Jeff eyed her curiously. “Then why did you agree to it?”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “Peterson gave me a simple choice-either I let him set me up in the Witness Protection Program with a new identity or I could sit in a jail cell from now until the trial. Some choice. No way was I going to be locked up ever again. But I didn’t know until last night that my new identity included this trip to the altar. If I had my way, I’d be out on the streets, not on display in a lace straitjacket.”

  So Arthur had manipulated her, too. Well, Jeff couldn’t blame him for that. Arthur was only trying to keep her safe. Now it was Jeff’s turn.

  “So, how much am I worth?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Money. How much is Arthur paying you to keep me alive?”

  Jeff looked at Ms. Caroline Southeby-Peterson-McKensie and blinked. She looked like the woman in the photo—all soft and delicate, like some medieval princess—but she sure didn’t sound like her, or act like her, either.

  And since when did photographs have voices and mannerisms?

  Jeff shook his head. Since his elaborate fantasies had taken over and robbed him of his common sense.

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” he answered bluntly, “which I’ll. split with my brother. Plus all expenses—his, mine, and yours.”

  Suspicion raised her brows. “That’s very charitable of you, considering you could make a lot more working for Augie Davis. I’m worth a half million—dead. And you and your brother are going to keep me alive for only twenty-five grand? Hardly seems fair.”

  Jeff stared at her. If the lady had any feelings, she sure wasn’t showing them. Her voice sounded cool and distant and deathly calm. She talked about her life as though it was the business deal of the week. “There were other considerations,” he said slowly.

  “Like possible fringe benefits?” she asked. “Well, let’s get a few things straight. First of all, I want to remind you that this ‘marriage’ is in name only. Any displays of affection will be strictly for the public eye. Agreed?”

  “Absolutely,” Jeff said coolly. His princess had been displaced by an ungrateful wench, and he was more likely to take her across his knee than into his arms.

  “Second, there are no seconds. No second chances. If anything goes wrong, I’m out of here. Understood?”

  “Fine by me.” In fact, as far as he was concerned, she could leave right now. He would be more than happy to refund Arthur’s money. With interest.

  “And last, I sure hope you’re not one of those bozos who believes he’s a knight in shining armor, because I never believed in fairy tales. Bottom line—I take care of myself.”

  The Everly Brothers were done harmonizing, and she reached across the console to turn up the volume on the earthy voices of The Supremes.

  “Anything else?” Jeff asked.

  She turned to face him again. “No, that about covers it.”

  “Good. Now it’s my turn.” He jabbed the tuning button on the radio, cutting off Diana Ross and filling the limo with the unmistakable sounds of a harpsichord. “First of all, I consider this ‘marriage of convenience’ anything but. Rest assured, I won’t have any trouble keeping my hands off you.” Not anymore.

  She blinked but said nothing.

  “Second, I don’t believe in second chances, either. You get one shot in life. Either you make it, or you blow it. I’ve got plans for the rest of my life, so I don’t intend to blow it. And furthermore, there’s something more important at stake than money. It’s called honor. I gave Arthur my word. So you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, where I tell you, and in return, I’m going to keep you alive. Understood?”

  Tho
se damn eyes were the size of saucers, but Jeff couldn’t see anything more than shock registered there.

  “And finally, in deference to all the chivalrous men who still believe that helping a lady is the decent thing to do…” As gracefully as possible in the low-ceilinged car, he offered her a sweeping bow. “Sir Bozo,” he said, “at your service.”

  Caroline looked skeptically at the figure all but kneeling at her feet. The man was crazy. But then he’d have to be to go along with this half-baked, harebrained, idiotic…

  The twanging harpsichord ended abruptly and something akin to the “1812 Overture” exploded into the back of the limousine.

  Caroline nearly jumped out of her skin, much to the amusement of her would-be knight. He settled back in the seat and folded his arms across his broad chest, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The same mouth that just moments ago had kissed her and stolen her breath away.

  She pulled her heart out of the pit of her stomach and tried to shove it back where it belonged. Then, with a flick of her wrist she changed the radio station, exhaling a sigh of relief as The Platters began crooning a familiar song. She leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

  “You’re really into oldies, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Not as old as the stuff you seem to like,” she muttered.

  “Well, you look too young to know about that sock-hop stuff.” He punched the selector button back to the discordant music, then turned the volume up another notch. “Tchaikovsky,” he said, not bothering to keep the grin off his face. “Powerful stuff.”

  She bit back a wince as cymbals clashed all around her. “So you only listen to classics.”

  “That’s right,” Jeff admitted. “Real music like Debussy, Rachmaninoff, Ravel—”

  “Then allow me to return the compliment,” Caroline said smoothly. She flipped off the radio and closed the stereo compartment with a well-defined click. “You’re very well preserved for man who’s been around since Mozart.”

  His laughter was full and hearty. “Touché,” he said. The laughter died as suddenly as it had started. “Ordinarily I like a woman with a quick wit.”

  Ordinarily I like a man with blue eyes.

  “Mr. McKensie…Jeff…” Caroline struggled to find the right words. “It would seem that neither of us is particularly happy with this arrangement. Perhaps it’s not too late to get Peterson to change his mind. I can go back underground and you can go back…to wherever you came from,” she finished lamely.

  “I came from my law office,” Jeff said. “And as for Arthur Peterson, forget it. I guarantee, the man won’t budge.”

  Caroline opened her mouth to say something, closed it, then opened it again. “You’re a lawyer?” she finally sputtered.

  “Corporate securities,” Jeff said. He did a double take as she continued to stare at him. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Problem?” Caroline shook her head in disbelief. “Why should there be a problem? I’m entrusting my life to a legal-beagle paper pusher. Makes perfect sense to me.”

  A week’s worth of tension had built to the point of eruption and Jeff was ready to strangle the very person he had been hired to protect. “Listen, lady, the way I hear it, you set up the rules. No cops, no feds, no P.I.s…What did you think was left?”

  “How should I know? A professional bodyguard would have been nice. Or at least somebody with a little experience.”

  Jeff threw up his arms. “Well, hell, if you wanted references, why didn’t you say so? I’ve got tons of experience. I was hall monitor in the sixth grade, I’ve rescued at least half a dozen treed cats in my lifetime, and I was a school crossing guard for two consecutive years. Never lost a single kid.”

  “That’s it, buster. I don’t need you or your sarcasm.” Caroline slammed a button on the console and the privacy window began to open. “Stop the car!” she yelled to the driver. “Now!” She threw the bridal bouquet in Jeff’s face and ripped open the door, not waiting for the car to stop.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Jeff wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her back, then slammed the door closed with his free hand.

  “Let go of me, you.. .you…” She struggled to break free, but his powerful arm tightened like a vise, crushing her against the hard wall of his chest.

  “Take us to the reception,” he barked. He hit the console button, closing the glass on the wide-eyed driver.

  Caroline continued to struggle, but her efforts were futile. As soon as the car was again under way, Jeff released her and pushed her back into the seat.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” he warned.

  “I was just about to tell you the same thing,” she snapped. “That caveman routine may work on some women, but not me. I won’t be bullied or manhandled by anyone, especially some hotshot attorney playing James Bond.”

  “Look, lady, it’s your call. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Baby-sitter, jailer, husband—it’s all the same. You’re still stuck with me. From now until the trial, I’m going to be your shadow. You won’t be able to hiccup without my knowing it. So you might as well get used to it, princess.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What?”

  “Princess. Don’t ever call me that again.”

  He opened his mouth to answer with some fancy quip or ribald comment, but the pain in her eyes stopped him cold. She was serious. Dead serious. And every self-respecting knight knew a battle line when he saw one.

  Caroline clenched her fist until her nails bit into the palm of her hand. Damn, why had she agreed to this? It was bad enough going alone. Now she had someone else to worry about—someone who had never lived on the streets in his life. Who was protecting whom in this crazy mess?

  “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice harsh and strained.

  “The easy way,” she answered. “Since I don’t have much choice.”

  His grin was one the Cheshire cat would envy. “For better or for worse,” he quipped.

  She shot him a warning look as she straightened the crown of flowers in her hair. “Don’t get any ideas, McKensie. This is a temporary truce.”

  He reached down and retrieved the bouquet of roses and freesia. “Here,” he said, offering her the slightly disheveled flowers. “You’d better hang on to these. You’ll want to throw them again later.” That wicked smile still danced across his face.

  She snatched the flowers out of his hand. In the back of her mind a small bell dinged, signaling the end of round one. He might have won this one, but she knew how to go the distance.

  “It’s show time,” he said as the limo stopped. “Ready?”

  The car door opened and Caroline smiled at him—not a forced, awkward grimace, but a full-blown, sunlight-bright smile that warmed him all the way to his toes.

  “Wow,” he whispered. “When you smile like that you really do look like a prin—a lovely medieval maiden.” He climbed out, then turned and offered her his hand.

  She accepted his help and stepped out of the car, her smile never wavering. “Don’t get excited, Sir Bozo,” she said, her voice pitched for his ears only. “It’s not for you. It’s for them.” She inclined her head toward the small crowd that waited outside the reception hall.

  Jeff waved to the laughing, cheering crowd. Then, without a word of warning, he drew the lady into his arms. One arm slipped around her waist, holding her tight, while his free hand traced the curve of her cheek and jaw, caressed the soft skin of her neck, fingered the silky hair at her nape.

  She squirmed but he held fast, and her movements only served to bring her body into closer contact with his. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said as he nuzzled the soft skin at her ear.

  He raised his head and looked into her dark, smoldering eyes. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s not for you.” His head dipped again, his mouth zeroing in on her lips. “It’s for them.

  At the back of the crowd,
a man smiled and cheered with the rest. Wedding receptions were such heartwarming events—especially when he would be a cool five thousand dollars richer for making a single phone call.

  Chapter 3

  Mac tapped his spoon against the crystal glass and a hush fell over the room. He stood and raised his goblet high in the air with one hand while making a Vulcan hand sign with the other. “A toast to Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson McKensie,” he said. “May they live long and prosper.” A swell of cheers and the clink of glasses echoed as the guests toasted the newlyweds.

  Caroline sipped her champagne, then pushed the food around her plate with a fork. No doubt most brides were too nervous or too excited to do more than nibble at the reception. But the happy, laughing pretense was another matter. Small talk was out of the question. It took every effort just to keep a smile fixed rigidly in place, and she had the aching jaw muscles to prove it.

  The band of shimmering gold encircling her finger caught the light and she stared at it as though she had never seen it before. The wedding ring was supposed to be a promise of eternal love. Instead it felt cold and heavy. Or maybe it was her heart that felt cold and heavy in the midst of all this gaiety.

  “Caroline?”

  Jeff’s voice was low, close to her ear, and the hair on her neck stood on end. Slowly she turned to face him.

  “I spoke to you three times.” His voice echoed the concern etched in his deeply tanned face. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she lied. “It’s just…” She felt the intensity of his concentration and couldn’t remember the last time anyone had listened to her that carefully.

  Caroline mentally shook herself. Who was she kidding? She knew exactly the last time someone had listened to her as if what she said really mattered.

  Brian had.

  And the memory of her brother only served to remind her how very much she had lost.

  “It’s just what?” Jeff prompted.

  “It’s just that I would like to get this over with so I can get on with my life,” she said irritably.