Undercover Bodyguard

by Shirlee McCoy

  Be there by 5:20 a.m., Shelby. Not a minute later. Our flight leaves at 8:30, and the girls will be showing up on my doorstep at 6:00 expecting a birthday breakfast to die for.

  Maureen’s words rang in Shelby’s ears, anxiety simmering in her stomach as she peered into the narrow window beside the door. Nothing. Not even a hint of movement.

  Concerned, she rang the doorbell again and heard something. A muffled sound that came from deep within the house.

  And then the world exploded.

  Glass sprayed from the windows to either side of the door. Heat blazed from flames that shot from somewhere.

  Everywhere.

  Another explosion, and she was flying, spinning, hurtling through space. Away from the burning door. Away from the shattered glass. Away from the lightening morning and deep blue sky. Flying and whirling into darkness so black and deep she knew she’d never escape it.

  TWO

  The force of the explosion knocked Ryder Malone from his feet. He went down hard, his thigh cramping, his pulse racing, a thousand memories trying to drag him into the past. He ignored them, jumping to his feet and running across the grass that separated him from Shelby Simons. Pretty, amusing, uncomplicated Shelby Simons. Owner of the only bakery in town that knew how to make a doughnut right.

  Owner of the sweetest smile he’d seen in years.

  She intrigued him. Her quiet joy, her easy humor, the comfortable way she interacted with the people who entered her bakery, all those qualities set to a backdrop of quiet beauty and stunning blue eyes.

  Now, she lay facedown on the ground, bits of shingle and wood falling around her like glowing confetti. They coated her back and her thick dark hair, covered the ground around her prone figure. Flames shot from broken windows on either side of the thick wood door she’d been standing in front of. A few inches to the left or right, and she’d have been sliced to bits.

  He brushed an ember from silky curls, felt the pulse point in her neck. It beat slow and steady.

  Alive.

  No time to check for injuries. Not with the fire raging out of control and the house groaning beneath the onslaught of flames.

  He scooped her up, racing back across the yard as another explosion rocked the house. It threw him to his knees, but he kept his arms tight around Shelby’s soft, limp body.

  Neighbors spilled from their homes, frantic cries mixing with the roar of the blaze that consumed the beautiful Victorian, the sounds background noise to Ryder’s racing thoughts. He’d seen explosions, felt them, lived through them. He hadn’t expected one in Spokane. Not on a sleepy spring morning.

  “Shelby?” He brushed thick hair from her cheek, and she shifted, her eyes slowly opening.

  “What happened?” She gasped, coughing on the acrid fumes that poured from the burning shell of the old house.

  “Some kind of explosion.”

  “Explosion? Maureen!” She shoved away, jumped to her feet and ran straight back toward the inferno.

  He snagged the bow of her apron, pulling her to a stop, and she swung around, her eyes wide with horror. “Maureen is in there.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for her now,” he said truthfully, and she yanked from his hold, spun away, running toward the house again.

  He followed, heat searing his cheeks as flames whooshed through the roof and windows, consuming wood and melting wiring, the scent suffocating.

  “Shelby! She’s dead. There’s nothing we can do to help her,” he shouted, grabbing her apron again.

  “She’s my friend. I have to try.”

  “And kill yourself in the process? I can’t let you do that.” He wouldn’t let her do that, but she turned, tears trekking down her cheeks, leaving white trails in her soot-stained face. A large knot peeked out from beneath silky curls near her temple, the swollen flesh surrounding a deep cut that oozed blood. She didn’t seem to feel the pain of it. Didn’t seem to know she was hurt.

  “It’s her birthday, Ryder. Her fiftieth. She can’t be dead.”

  He touched her cheek, tried to make her see the futility of the situation. “People die on their birthdays all the time.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean Maureen is dead. Maybe she survived the explosion. Maybe she’s upstairs, trying to find a way through the smoke and flames. I can’t just stand here and watch her house burn around her.”

  “Shelby—”

  She’d turned away again, racing around to the back of the house, dark hair glowing gold in the firelight.

  He followed, his thigh aching, the memories threatening to overtake him.

  Smoke.

  Flames.

  His comrades consumed by it.

  Ryder consumed.

  He shoved the images down deep, refusing them the way he had so many times in the six years since an explosive device had taken the lives of four of the ten navy SEALs who’d been sent to hunt a high-level terrorist in Afghanistan.

  Fire licked along the facade of the house, blazing across the back-porch roof, snapping and crackling as it ate its way up wood posts. Engulfed, the back door offered no hope of entry, the shattered windows only serving as a conduit for black smoke and red-gold flames to pour out.

  Death had come calling, and it had taken every living thing in its path.

  Shelby stopped in her tracks, her face lit by flames.

  “She really is dead, isn’t she?” she asked quietly, the words barely carrying over the fire’s crackling hiss. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with blood and soot, but her voice was steady, her gaze direct.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s her birthday.” She repeated the information as if doing so would somehow change what had happened to her friend.

  “I know. Come on.” He took her arm, urging her to the front yard. Two explosions had already rocked the house. There might be another, and he didn’t want Shelby anywhere near the building if there was.

  Three fire trucks were parked at the curb, firefighters hooking a hose to the hydrant across the street. The ordered chaos of the scene strummed along Ryder’s nerves, making him anxious and antsy. He’d wanted a couple of doughnuts and some coffee, and he’d gotten trouble instead. Not a good morning. That was for sure.

  He hurried Shelby across the street, and a tall, thin firefighter stopped them there, his gaze jumping from Ryder to Shelby.

  “You okay, folks?” he asked.

  “We’re fine, but my friend Maureen…” Shelby didn’t finish.

  “Is she inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyone else in there that you know of?”

  “No. She lived alone.”

  “Okay. We’ll do what we can to find her, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “I know.” Shelby offered a watery smile, and Ryder’s heart constricted, the feeling both surprising and uncomfortable. He’d noticed Shelby and her sweet smile every time he’d gone into her bakery, but noticing wasn’t the same as feeling something for her.

  And he was feeling.

  Sympathy, concern, curiosity about the woman who seemed both strong and vulnerable.

  “I’m going to send an EMT over. You need to get the cut on your head looked at.” The firefighter hurried away, and Shelby put a hand to her temple, fingering the lump that still oozed blood.

  “It doesn’t even hurt,” she said, shivering as she looked at her bloodied fingers.

  “Shock will do that to you. Here.” Ryder shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, his knuckles brushing the silky flesh beneath her jaw as he adjusted the collar.

  She stilled, something flashed in the depth of her eyes. Fear? Anxiety? It was there and gone too quickly for him to read.

  �
��Thanks. I’ve never been so cold in my life. I guess that’s another thing sho—” Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening as she caught sight of his side holster. “That’s a gun.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re carrying a weapon.”

  “Right.”

  “But…why?”

  “I’m in the security business. I protect people and property.”

  “You’re a bodyguard?”

  “A security contractor.”

  “Which is the same as a bodyguard.”

  “If you want.”

  “What I want is to go back to last night and insist that Maureen spend it at my place.”

  “It would be nice if life had a do-over button, Shelby Ann, but it doesn’t.”

  “I know. I just wish that I’d had a chance to save her.” She swayed, her face colorless. He slid an arm around her waist, motioning to the EMT who was making his way toward them.

  “Ma’am, why don’t you sit down and let me have a look at your head?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’re bleeding, and you may have a concussion.” The EMT used gloved fingers to probe Shelby’s wound, and she stiffened.

  “Ow!”

  “Looks like you’re going to need a few stitches. The doctor may want to do a CAT scan to rule out any fractures or brain bleeds. Let’s get you transported to the hospital and see what’s what.”

  “I really don’t need to go to the hospital,” Shelby protested.

  “You really do,” Ryder responded, urging her onto a stretcher that had been wheeled over by two other EMTs.

  “But—”

  “Just relax, ma’am, and let us do all the work.” They rolled her away as she continued to protest.

  Ryder figured he’d have a chat with the fire marshal and then find a place to buy some coffee, eat one of the protein bars that he kept in his glove compartment and get on with his day.

  He scanned the mass of people fighting the blaze, searching for the one who might be in charge. A dog yapped from the bushes at the edge of the yard, but he ignored it, focusing on the task, determined to follow through on his plan.

  “Wait! Stop!” Shelby’s cry sent adrenaline pumping through him, and he turned.

  She hung over the side of the stretcher as she whistled and called to something. If she leaned any farther, she’d fall on her head. The EMTs seemed helpless to stop her.

  Ryder was not.

  He covered the ground between them quickly, grabbing her arm and hauling her up. “Are you nuts? You’re going to break your neck!”

  “That’s Mazy. I’m sure of it.” She pointed to the edge of the yard.

  “Mazy who?”

  “Mazy. Maureen’s dog. She’s probably scared to death. Come here, Mazy. Here, girl,” she called, leaning over the side of the stretcher again.

  “Cut it out before you kill yourself!” He grabbed her arm again. Hauled her up again.

  “But—”

  “I’ll go look for the dog. You stay put.” Disgusted, he tramped across the yard, following the sound of yapping dog until he found a little white puffball cowering in the bushes. It looked more like a piece of fluff than a dog, but he picked it up anyway, ignoring its rumbling growl.

  “This her?” He held the puffball out for Shelby to see, and she teared up.

  “Yes. Poor thing. She must be so scared and confused.”

  “I’ll take her to the shelter. She’ll get good—”

  “No! The other dogs will eat her alive.”

  She had a point. To a bigger dog, Mazy would probably look like a tasty morsel. “I can leave her here. Maybe Maureen had family or friends who will come and get her.”

  “You can’t leave her here. She’ll be—”

  “Scared and confused?”

  “Yes.” She offered a half smile. “Listen, I hate to ask, but could you bring her to the hospital? I’ll have someone meet us there and bring her to my place. That way, she won’t run off while she’s waiting for rescue.”

  Bring the dog to the hospital?

  He frowned at the little beast, and he was pretty sure it frowned back, but Shelby was waiting, her eyes big and dark with concern, and no refused to make its way past his lips.

  “Okay, but if she chews the upholstery in my truck, she’s toast.”

  “Mazy has good manners. She’ll behave.” Shelby smiled the same sweet smile she greeted him with every time he walked into her bakery, and his pulse jumped, his blood warming.

  He’d dated plenty of beautiful women during his time in the navy. After his injury and recovery, he’d been more selective, dating just a few women before he’d found Danielle. Gorgeous, driven and strong in her faith, she’d been the kind of woman he’d thought he could make a good life with, but after two years of dating, the relationship had felt hollow, Danielle’s clawing, grasping need to get ahead putting a wedge between them.

  He’d wanted a cozy home in the suburbs of New York City, a few kids, maybe a dog. She’d wanted a high-rise apartment in Manhattan, no kids, no pets. Nothing but work and money.

  In the end, they hadn’t found a way to make their goals mesh.

  When he’d broken up with her, he hadn’t bothered looking for another relationship. Ryder had had plenty of opportunity to find The One. But he hadn’t, and he figured she wasn’t out there.

  But Shelby appealed to him, everything about her soft and warm and inviting. No matter how much he’d tried to ignore her, he couldn’t. Four months of visiting her bakery, and he was no closer to understanding why.

  She was pretty, sure, but that wasn’t it.

  When he looked into her eyes, it was like looking into her soul, and Ryder wanted to keep on looking.

  He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

  Wasn’t sure if he should think anything about it.

  He’d come to Spokane to open another branch of his company, Personal Securities Incorporated. One year, that’s what he’d planned to devote to setting things up. In eight months, he’d be going home to New York City. He didn’t have time to get involved in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure he would have wanted to if he did have the time.

  But he couldn’t seem to stay away from Shelby and her quaint bakery and easy smile.

  He frowned, the dog whining and wiggling as the sirens blared and the ambulance sped away.

  THREE

  No way was Shelby ever going to let Dr. Jarrod Estes sew her up. She’d dated the man for about two minutes after she’d found Andrew and Stephanie kissing outside of Andrew’s apartment building. One date with the most sought-after bachelor at Grace Christian Church, because Shelby had wanted to feel as if she wasn’t the biggest loser on the planet. One date had been plenty. Jarrod had spent more time checking his text messages than talking to her, and Shelby had decided there and then that she was done with the dating scene.

  Done.

  Finished.

  No more men.

  Ever.

  She’d made some lame excuse about leaving an oven on at the bakery and excused herself halfway through the entrée. Now the man she’d ditched on their first date was coming at her with a needle.

  “Really, Jarrod, I don’t think stitches are necessary.” She eased off the exam table, her bare toes curling against cold tile, the acrid scent of smoke wafting from her hair.

  Smoke from the explosions and fire that had killed Maureen.

  Tears clogged her throat, but she’d already cried so much that her eyes were hot and dry.

  “Shelby, I know you’ve had a tough morning, and I know you’re anxious to get out of here and take some time to grieve, but you do need stitches.” Jarrod dropped the ne
edle back on the tray, glanced at his watch and sighed. “Tell you what, why don’t I call Dottie and have her come to hold your hand?”

  “Do not call Dottie.” That was the last thing Shelby needed.

  “How about one of your friends, then? Someone from church? Jasmine or Faith?” He leaned forward in his chair, a hint of impatience in his tone.

  “I wouldn’t want them to drive all the way here. Besides, I’m opting out of the stitches. I’m sure my head will heal just fine.”

  “It’s going to scar,” he warned.

  “I can think of worse things.” She scooped up her clothes and the jacket Ryder had thrown over her shoulders. Since Jarrod didn’t seem keen on leaving the room, she’d find a restroom and change there. Sure, Ryder had said he’d bring Mazy to the hospital, but Shelby had seen the look in his eyes, and she figured he was about as likely to follow through as she was to let Jarrod stitch her up. She hadn’t even bothered calling someone to come get the dog.

  The only good man is a dead husband with a good life-insurance policy.

  Another one of Beulah’s truisms. One Shelby’s mother and sister wholeheartedly believed. Shelby had tried to believe something different. She’d opened herself up to love, tried to create what Beulah and her mother had insisted was impossible—forever with a man who loved her for who she was.

  Tried twice times, actually.

  Once in college.

  Once with Andrew.

  Both had been disastrous.

  She didn’t plan to try again.

  “Thanks for everything, Jarrod. See you at church Sunday.” She yanked the door open, colliding with a rock-hard chest.

  “What’s the hurry, Shelby Ann?” Broad hands grabbed her waist as she caught her balance.

  She knew the voice, the hands, the dark chocolate eyes that stared into hers.

  Ryder.

  Her heart jumped in acknowledgment, her body humming with an awareness she knew she shouldn’t be feeling. “You came.”

  “I said I would,” he responded, frowning slightly. “Is your friend around here somewhere? That dog and I aren’t getting along, and I want her out of my car ASAP.”