Undercover Bodyguard

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Mazy gets along with everyone.”

  “She’s not getting along with me. So, where’s your friend?” He glanced at Jarrod, at the otherwise empty hospital room and then turned the full force of his gaze on Shelby again.

  Yep. Dark chocolate eyes. Only they weren’t sweet, they were hard and intense.

  “I…didn’t call anyone. I didn’t think you’d actually come. You can just leave her…”

  “Where?”

  “Well…” Where could he leave her? “Just give me a minute to get changed and I’ll get her.” She tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.

  “It’s going to take more than a minute to get your head stitched up.” He edged her backward.

  “I’m not planning to have it stitched up.”

  “Shelby, will you please just let me get this done?” Jarrod asked, exasperated and not even trying to hide it.

  “Fine.” She walked back to the exam table, dropped her clothes and the coat on the chair beside it.

  “Don’t worry. You’re going to feel this first stick, and then you won’t feel a thing.” Jarrod leaned toward her, the needle pointed straight at her face, and she felt every bit of blood drain from her head.

  “You’re not going to faint, are you?” Ryder put a hand on her shoulder.

  “That would be preferable to the alternative.”

  “Which would be?”

  “Staying conscious for the entire horrifying procedure.”

  Ryder laughed, the sound rusty and gruff. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  “I guess that depends on which side of the needle you’re on.” Shelby winced as Jarrod shot her with the anesthetic.

  “That’s the worst of it, Shelby. Let’s give it a minute to take effect. So—” Jarrod turned his attention to Ryder “—were you at Maureen’s, too?”

  “Yes.” Ryder didn’t offer more than that, and Shelby wondered if Jarrod would take the hint and stop asking questions.

  He didn’t.

  “You work at the bakery with Shelby?”

  “Why would you say that?” Ryder asked, and Jarrod frowned.

  “Shelby said she was making a delivery when Maureen’s house exploded.”

  “Shelby was making a delivery.”

  “And you were with her?”

  “Is there a reason you want to know, Doctor?” Ryder asked as Jarrod lifted a needle and bent close to Shelby’s head.

  “Just curious. I was shocked to hear about the explosion and Maureen’s death. I’m just trying to figure out how everything went down.” Jarrod had the good grace to flush, his neck and cheeks going deep red.

  “That’s the job of the police and fire marshal. It may take a while for them to figure it out. The house is pretty much rubble. I’m not sure how easy it will be to piece together what happened.”

  “Did they find Maureen’s…Maureen?” Shelby asked, and Ryder nodded.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Poor Maureen.” The tears Shelby had thought were completely dried up began again, slipping down her cheeks as Jarrod worked.

  “If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t suffer. If the initial explosion didn’t kill her, the smoke overcame her so quickly, she didn’t have time to be scared,” Ryder offered, patting her back as Jarrod continued his slow, methodical stitching.

  “Dead is dead. She should be flying to New York right now, celebrating with her friends. Not lying in a morgue,” Shelby said, taking a tissue Ryder shoved toward her.

  “She’s celebrating in a different way.” Jarrod’s easy platitude did more to irritate Shelby than it did to comfort her. She knew Maureen was a Christian, but that didn’t make her death any less tragic.

  “I think, if given the choice, she’d rather be on the plane.”

  “Right,” Jarrod conceded, stepping back. “Okay, you’re all set. I’m going to send a nurse in with aftercare instructions. See your personal physician tomorrow. The stitches will need to come out in ten days.”

  “Thanks.” She stood on wobbling legs, grabbing the closest thing to her, which just happened to be Ryder’s arm. She jerked back, the spark of electricity that shot through her palm an unwelcome surprise.

  What was it about the man that made her heart race every time she looked in his eyes? That made heat shoot through her when she touched his arm?

  It certainly wasn’t his winning smile or charming personality. The guy looked like a carved statue of a Roman centurion, all hard angles and cold calculation.

  “I need to get changed,” she mumbled, turning away.

  “I’ll be right outside.” He stepped into the hall and closed the door.

  Alone, Shelby dressed quickly, pulling on her white polo shirt and the faded jeans that were just a little looser than they’d been when she’d broken up with Andrew. Ten pounds lost so she could fit into a fancy black dress. It all seemed futile now, the worry, the wondering if she’d look beautiful enough to make Andrew regret his lying, cheating ways, a waste of time.

  She sighed as she tied her lilac apron. Just Desserts’ insignia emblazoned on the front, it was the only uniform she required for people working at the bakery. It was Beulah’s favorite color and a nod to the grandmother who’d provided the funds to open the shop. Today, Shelby’s normally immaculate apron was soot marred and grass stained, splotches of blood mixing with the green-and-black mess, a modern painting that spoke of chaos and tragedy. She’d have to throw it away. No way would she ever get the stains out, and she couldn’t imagine wearing it without crying.

  Someone knocked on the door, and she pulled it open, expecting Ryder to be standing impatiently on the other side.

  “Hold your horses, big guy. I’m almost…” Her voice trailed off as she looked into the face of a stocky, middle-aged man.

  “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She glanced down the hall, surprised at how disappointed she was to see it empty.

  “Mr. Malone is speaking with the sheriff. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. I’m Fire Chief Timothy Saddles, Spokane County Fire Marshal. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. All things considered.”

  “It’s been a rough morning. I’m sorry to say your friend lost her life in the fire.”

  “Ryder…Mr. Malone told me you’d found her remains.”

  “We did. They’ve been sent to the medical examiner and will be released to the family once he’s finished.”

  Medical examiner? That made Maureen’s death sound less like an accident and more like…

  Murder?

  Shelby’s pulse jumped, her thoughts spinning back to those moments before she’d rung Maureen’s doorbell, back to the man with the sunglasses jogging away from Maureen’s street.

  “Is that common procedure? I thought the medical examiner only made rulings on suspicious deaths.”

  “Not really, ma’am. His job is to determine cause of death when an examination by a physician can’t determine it. In this case, we’re assuming the explosion killed the deceased, but assumptions don’t make for good investigations. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Mr. Malone said you were making a delivery to the deceased’s—”

  “Maureen.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The deceased was Maureen. A bestselling author, a mother, a good friend. I was making a delivery to her place because it was her birthday, and she had invited a dozen friends to go on a shopping trip to New York City. They were going to meet at her house, have some breakfast and then take a limo to the airport.”

  “My apologies if I sounded callous, Ms. Simons. What time did you arrive at Maureen’s house?”

&n
bsp; “At 5:25. Five minutes later than she had asked me to be there.”

  “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything different about the house?”

  “There was a guy jogging down South Hill as I was heading up it. I saw him come off her street.”

  “Plenty of people jog on South Hill,” Chief Saddles said as he jotted something in a small notebook.

  “I know, but he was wearing sunglasses and gloves. It struck me as…odd.”

  “Did you get a good look at his face?”

  “He was Caucasian. Medium complexion. Maybe five-ten. I didn’t see his hair. It was covered by a hood.”

  “It was a chilly morning. A hood and jacket wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Gloves, either, for that matter. We’ll ask around, though. Maybe he lives in one of the houses on 21st.”

  Maybe.

  But Shelby couldn’t help shuddering as she remembered the way he’d turned, taken a step toward her.

  “Do you know what caused the explosion?” she asked, trying to refocus her thoughts and get ahold of her wild imagination. He hadn’t followed her, hadn’t tried to harm her, hadn’t done anything except jog by and look, then turn and look again.

  As if he were memorizing her features.

  Trying to make sure he’d recognize her if he saw her again.

  “A gas leak in the heater. It looks like the heating unit cracked, gas escaped. One spark of electricity from old wiring and the whole place went up.”

  “A spark? Like from someone ringing the doorbell?” Shelby asked, cold with the thought. Had she killed her friend?

  “It’s possible. Either that, or Maureen turned on a light—”

  “All the lights were off. The only electricity was from me ringing the doorbell twice. It’s my fault, isn’t it? I killed her.” She dropped into a chair, her stomach sick, those stupid tears back again.

  “Of course you didn’t, ma’am.” The chief patted her arm awkwardly, and Shelby almost felt sorry for him.

  “Everything okay in here?” Ryder stepped into the room, his height and oversize muscles dwarfing the average-size fire chief, his dark gaze on Shelby.

  “You’re crying again.” He stated the obvious, and she frowned, irritated with him, with herself and with the fire chief, who hovered uneasily a few feet away.

  “Because I just realized I killed my friend.”

  “Ma’am, your friend may very well have been dead before the gas was ignited. The amount of gas it took to cause such a catastrophic explosion was enough to asphyxiate her while she slept.”

  “That really doesn’t make me feel any better, Chief.” But she stood anyway, refusing to meet Ryder’s eyes as she shoved his jacket into his arms. “I really need to get to work. Are we done here?”

  “Yes. Just give me your contact information, and I’ll call if I have any more questions.”

  Shelby spouted off her home address and her cell-phone number, and gave the chief the bakery’s address for good measure.

  “Will you call me once you have news from the medical examiner?” she asked.

  “Of course. You’ll probably hear from me in a day or two. If not, give me a call.” He handed her a business card, and she shoved it in her apron pocket.

  His findings wouldn’t change the fact that Maureen was dead, but they might ease some of the guilt Shelby was suddenly feeling.

  She’d felt the same way when Beulah had died alone in a hospital in Beverly Hills while Shelby sat in an airport in Seattle waiting for her connecting flight. She’d been trying to get to her grandmother after receiving a late-night call from the nursing home saying Beulah had had a heart attack, but all the trying in the world hadn’t put her where she needed to be when she needed to be there.

  And all the crying in the world couldn’t undo what had happened at Maureen’s house, because crying over spilled milk never got the mess cleaned up.

  That’s what Beulah would have said, and Shelby knew it was true. When Dottie had shown up on her doorstep, homeless because she’d been kicked out of Beulah’s Beverly Hills rental property, Shelby had let her live in her spare room, offered her a job at the bakery, made her feel like family, because she’d known it was what Beulah would have wanted. Shelby hadn’t been able to be at her grandmother’s side when she’d died, but she had carried on the legacy of kindness and compassion that Beulah had shown to the people in her life.

  She might not be able to bring Maureen back to life, but Shelby could press the fire marshal and the police to find the reason for Maureen’s death. It’s what Maureen would want. Complete disclosure. Absolute truth. Just like she always wrote in her true-crime books.

  The fire chief left the room, his shoulders stooped, his hair mussed. He’d probably been sleeping when he’d been called out to Maureen’s place. Shelby had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping much in the next few days.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Ryder cupped her elbow, led her through the quiet hospital corridor. Shelby didn’t bother telling him she needed to wait for aftercare instructions, because she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to go to the bakery, lose herself in the process of creating cakes and cookies and pastries.

  “Thanks again for bringing Mazy.”

  “I probably should say it wasn’t a problem.”

  “But it was?”

  “She chewed a hole in my car’s upholstery, so yeah, it was.”

  “I’ll pay you for the damage.”

  “You weren’t the one who chewed the hole,” he growled, but Shelby thought there might be a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

  “No, but I did ask you to give her a ride here.”

  “You asked. I said yes. I’m as culpable as you.”

  “I can pay for half of the repair cost, then.”

  “No need, but for future reference, when I say I’m going to do something, I follow through. I expect other people to do the same.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Not that she thought that she’d have any reason to.

  Dating was out of the question. Men were off-limits.

  If she wanted to remember that, she needed to stay far away from guys like Ryder.

  She would stay far away from him. As soon as she got Mazy out of his car.

  They stepped outside into the bright morning sunlight, the vivid blue sky and fluffy white clouds too beautiful for the ugliness of the day. Maureen would have been so pleased with the weather, the clear skies, everything about her fiftieth birthday. Mazy barked hysterically as Ryder led Shelby to his Hummer, and Shelby was sure she must know that her owner was dead.

  Poor little dog.

  “Be careful. She’s a menace,” Ryder warned as he opened the door.

  “Hey, girl.” Shelby pulled Mazy into her arms, doing her best not to cry again. Unlike her mother and sister, who always looked beautiful when they cried, Shelby looked like a mess and felt even worse when the tears flowed. Blotchy skin, bright red nose, raging headache. She was heading for all three.

  “Thanks again, Ryder. I’ll make sure to tell Dottie to keep you supplied with doughnuts and coffee when I’m not at the bakery.” She started to walk away, but Ryder snagged her hand, his palm rough and callused and way too wonderful.

  “You’re not planning on walking to the bakery,” he said, his forehead creased, fine lines fanning out from his eyes. He had long, golden eyelashes and dark gold hair, and he really did look like a Roman statue come to life. Sleek, hard muscles and strong lines. Beautiful in a very masculine way.

  “Yes, I am. It’s only two miles from here.”

  “Maybe I should rephrase that. You’re not going to walk to the bakery.”

  “Of course I am. I make deliveries here all the time, and when the weath
er is nice and the deliveries are small enough, I walk. It’ll take me a half hour, tops.”

  “Not if you pass out from your head injury on the way there.”

  “I haven’t passed out yet. There’s no reason to think I will.”

  “Listen, Shelby Ann.” Ryder sighed, obviously holding on to his patience with difficulty. “I was supposed to be at work a half hour ago. I have a meeting in an hour. I’d really like to be there. If I drive you to the bakery, I’ll make it. If I follow you to the bakery to make sure you arrive safely, I won’t. So, get in the Hummer and let’s get going.”

  “You don’t have to follow me.”

  “Yeah. I do. So get in.” He lifted her off her feet, plopping her onto the passenger seat with ease.

  “Hey!”

  “Move your legs,” he ordered, nearly closing the door on her when she didn’t move fast enough.

  “This is kidnapping,” she sputtered as he climbed in.

  “If I were going to kidnap you, I’d make sure the dog wasn’t with you when I did it. One hole in the upholstery is enough.” His bland reply almost made Shelby smile.

  “You’re a Neanderthal, you know that, Ryder?” she asked without heat as she fastened her seat belt. His hands had been on her waist, and she could still feel the imprint of his thumbs on her belly. Her soft haven’t-done-a-sit-up-in-ten-years belly.

  She cracked open the window, letting crisp morning air cool her flushed cheeks.

  “A Neanderthal, huh?” Ryder smiled as he drove through the parking lot, and Shelby’s pulse had the nerve to jump in response.

  “If the shoe fits…”

  “Did they wear shoes back then?”

  “They might have. Of course, even if they didn’t, a guy who picks a woman up and throws her in his car is still…” She lost her train of thought; a man at the corner of the hospital parking lot caught her attention.

  Dark glasses that glinted in the light. Hood pulled over his hair.

  Medium height.

  Medium build.

  As she watched, he pulled down the glasses, stared straight into her eyes, his gaze hollow and icy-blue.