Читать книгу Bodyguard Reunion - Beverly Long - Страница 14

Chapter 5

Thank you. She’d probably been less than a minute away from being choked to death and now she was calmly thanking him. “I don’t know what the hell you were thinking,” he said. Better that than tell her she’d taken ten years off his damn life. “I told you to lock the door. I assumed it was understood that you needed to stay behind it, stay locked in, protected.”

He was practically spitting his words. He took a breath, reaching for calm. Charity was watching them closely, obviously listening. The woman looked to be early twenties and she might be very pretty with a little more meat on her bones and those stupid piercings removed.

So their moms had been friends. That was nice, but given that Jules had never actually met Charity, wasn’t it a bit much that she’d immediately dropped everything to come to the woman’s rescue?

Of course it was. If it had been anybody else. But Jules was...a good person. Truly decent. Despite everything, he believed that. Once she’d realized that Charity was in trouble, she’d have wanted to help.

He could easily imagine the convoluted reasoning. Their mothers had been friends. Ergo, Jules’s mom would have wanted her to help Charity.

He knew, from the many conversations they’d had eight years ago, that the summer Jules was fourteen, she and her mother had been in a car accident. Jules had suffered a serious leg injury but survived. Her mother had died. It had been a devastating loss and Jules had confessed that most everything she’d done or accomplished after that had been because it would have made her mom proud.

Graduate at the top of her high school class. Proud mom.

Finish college in three years. Proud mom.

Go to graduate school and get a great job afterward. Proud mom.

So he wasn’t second-guessing her motivation to help Charity. None of that, however, made him any less angry that she hadn’t thought twice about the promise she’d given him to stay at the hotel.

She could have died. He’d blown every red light and totally disregarded any speed limit. But still, he’d almost been too late. She needed to understand that she’d been both foolish and very, very lucky.

So that she never did anything like it again until he could figure out where this threat was coming from and neutralize it.

“How did you know where I was?” she asked.

“Valet remembered the intersection. Once I got here, there was an old woman sweeping her sidewalk.”

“I didn’t think she saw me.”

“Old people watch what’s going on in their neighborhoods. She saw you come into this building. Otherwise, I’d have had no idea where to search.” He’d yelled at the old lady, asking if she’d seen a dark-haired woman in a blue sweater, and she’d pointed at the middle building. He’d wasted precious minutes on the second floor before he’d gotten to the third and heard Jules yelling for help.

He’d come through the door, knowing that he was going to kill whoever was harming her. He supposed he was lucky that he’d had to stop to keep her from dropping like a stone to the floor.

Otherwise, it would likely have gone very differently with the cops.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” he asked. Her neck was still red and he knew the bruising was coming. He’d feel a lot better if she was checked out.

“No,” she said. She looked at Charity. “Get your cat and let’s go.”

“But Bobby’s going to jail,” the young woman said. She reached for one of the half-full chip bags on the counter, as if the last fifteen minutes had solved all her problems.

“If charges are pressed, which I hope they are, he’ll still likely get bail,” Jules said. “He won’t be behind bars for long. I don’t think it’s in your best interest to be here when he comes back.”

“She’s right,” Royce said. He tried to ignore the heat that spread from his gut to his neck when Jules shot him a grateful look. He was mad at her. For so many things. Gratitude wasn’t going to sucker him in, make him forget.

“Who are you again?” Charity asked, likely irritated that it suddenly seemed as if it was two against one.

He glanced at Jules, wondering what she’d shared with Charity. Before he could speak, Jules jumped in.

“His name is Royce Morgan.”

“Okay,” she said dismissively. “But what’s with the two of you?”

Royce realized that the girl had not heard his introduction to the cops. From the corner of his eye, he’d seen her beat feet back to the bedroom and had considered that she was fleeing down the fire escape before she’d reappeared a minute later. He just bet that the girl had some drugs or other illegal contraband in the bedroom that she hadn’t wanted the cops to stumble upon.

“We can get into that later,” Jules said.

Charity shrugged, as if she really didn’t give a damn.

“You said earlier that you would need to find a place to stay,” JC said.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I was wondering if you’d consider staying with me,” Jules said.

Charity chewed on the nail on her right index finger. “Why would I do that?”

“It will give you a chance to think about alternatives. I’m in town for just a few days, so it wouldn’t be for long, but it might save you a few bucks.”

Royce wasn’t happy. He’d known Charity for about ten minutes, but the impressions were forming fast. She didn’t choose her friends well and she had terrible manners. She’d not offered one bit of thanks to Jules for trying to save her ass.

He didn’t relish the idea of her being around. But if the alternative was that Charity would be staying in some dive and Jules would feel the need to visit, that was even more unacceptable.

Charity shoveled in a big handful of chips. “I don’t know. There shouldn’t be any more danger,” she said, talking with her mouth full. “And it’s not like we’re friends.”

“We could be friends,” Jules said. “Please, I’d really like to do this for you.”

Charity shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

As far as rocking endorsements, it fell a little flat. But there was something not quite right. Charity’s words and tone were mildly accepting but her eyes seemed brighter, as if she might really be excited about the offer.

Maybe the kid was more scared than he’d given her credit for.

Jules smiled at Charity. “Go get your cat. I’ll feel better when we’re out of here.”

When Charity was back in the bedroom, he spoke quickly. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“I’m grateful for your discretion,” Jules said, her voice low. “I’ll tell her what’s going on but not just yet. But, Royce,” she said, her voice a little sharper, “please understand that while I respect your opinion, I make my own decisions.”

He shook his head. “You might be the CEO, but right now, I’m in charge of your safety. You need to keep your head in the game. This just seems a little hasty.”

“I have the ability to offer her some temporary shelter, to give her a chance to get her act together. I think my mom would have wanted me to do that.”

Bingo. It was always going to come back to that.

“Fine,” he said.

“But for now, I don’t want her to know what’s going on. That I need protection.”

Great. She not only wanted to tie his hands, she wanted to put a bag over them. “That won’t work. If she’s staying with you, she’s going to have to understand the rules.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I’ll tell her that you’re providing security. That’s it. Nothing about the letters, nothing about the car that may or may not have been aiming for me. I don’t want her getting frightened and running away.”

“You seem to be really concerned about a girl you just met. I understand that your mom was friends with her mom, but—”

“Please, can we talk about this later? I just want to get out of here.”

The plea pulled at his gut. Jules looked tired, and he realized that while she had dismissed her need for medical care, the attack had still taken a toll on her. “Fine. Let’s make tracks.”

* * *

Make tracks. That took her back. Way back. To eight years ago. She’d been working and living in Manhattan.

It had been crazy busy at work, where she was already a senior director at Geneseel Drugs after just three years on the job. For weeks, she’d been working day and half the night, too, tying up the loose ends of yet another acquisition of a smaller, less profitable competitor. When friends planned the inevitable Memorial Day get-together, she’d declined. They’d been relentless.

“It’s the first summer holiday,” they’d said. “You have to come.”

She’d finally agreed and walked the six blocks through the financial district. She didn’t need directions. She was as familiar with that part of the city as her own neighborhood. She’d gone to a private high school close by and every day after school, she’d walked to her father’s office, where he’d been an executive vice president at one of the largest banks in the city.

He made a good salary. That was obvious. Maybe not when she’d been a young child, but once she’d gotten into middle school and high school, she’d always known that her dad probably made more money than the dads of her friends.

Music lessons. Dance lessons. Club soccer. European vacations. Whatever she’d needed or wanted, he’d worked hard to provide it for her.

Because he hadn’t wanted her to miss her mother. She had, of course. But she’d tried to never let him know how much. Hadn’t wanted to add to his pain.

By the time she’d arrived at the rooftop bar that warm windy spring night, the party was in full swing. She’d chatted and mingled and downed two glasses of wine on an empty stomach. Almost burped it back up when she caught a glimpse of Royce across the room and he smiled at her.

He was simply the most handsome guy she’d seen in a long time. He had presence. That was the only way to put it. Tall, certainly over six foot, and solid with wide shoulders and a broad chest. He was casually dressed in a gray T-shirt, faded blue jeans and scuffed motorcycle boots. She could see the edge of a tattoo on his right bicep, all swirly lines and irregular shapes. He was drinking a beer.

He totally looked as if he could kick some butt.

And the immediate attraction she felt was hard to ignore. But she did, giving him just a brief smile in return before turning her attention back to the woman she was chatting with. The woman had noticed her interest, however, and confided that he was recently back from serving overseas, and a friend of a friend.

And she’d had a crazy desire to talk to him. But she didn’t. Her breakup with Bryson was too fresh. She wasn’t ready. Intellectually she knew that.

Even though her body was practically humming at his blatant sex appeal.

Forty minutes after arriving, she was on the curb, waiting for a cab to take her back to the office, when the storm broke and pouring rain hit.

Out of nowhere, a big umbrella appeared, held by the man from the party. Up close, he was even better looking. “Tough night to be making tracks,” he said with a wickedly sexy smile as the wind threatened to rip the umbrella out of his grasp.

“You don’t look like the type to carry an umbrella.” It was a stupid thing to say but the only thing she could think of.

He laughed and a shiver of heat had run up her spine. “Belongs to the bar.”

“Don’t you need to give it back?”

“I will. Tomorrow.”

They shared a cab and when he asked her to have dinner with him, she said yes. Maybe it had been the wine, maybe it was the storm. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she didn’t want to go back to her office, she didn’t want to go home to her empty apartment, and she rather desperately wanted to have dinner with him.

A relative stranger. Friend of a friend. Not likely a serial killer.

The thoughts had tumbled upon one another until she’d been nodding yes. She thought dinner might be awkward but it wasn’t. He spoke proudly of his years in the air force and made it seem as if it really wasn’t a huge deal to have served in both Afghanistan and Iraq. He talked of the people he’d served with, the people they’d helped, even the enemy. And she ate her pasta and felt like a Lee Greenwood song, simply proud to be an American.

She talked of her work, the intricacies of acquisitions, the theatre she’d seen the previous week, and showed him pictures on her cell phone of her best friend’s little girl, who at eighteen months had her very first tutu.

She told him about Bryson Wagoner. Not much because she figured it bad form to talk to one man about another. But he’d asked if she was currently seeing anyone and she’d confessed to breaking off the relationship after Valentine’s Day, when he’d tried to propose.

They lingered over coffee and dessert, and like a crazy person, she thought about inviting him back to her apartment. But finally, when the restaurant was shutting down, he hailed down a cab and carefully put her inside, with just a casual peck on the cheek.

And she realized that she might have just had the best night of her life and it wasn’t going to happen again. At the last minute, she pressed her business card into his hand.

It had taken him two days to call, two frantic days of jumping every time her office phone rang only to be disappointed. She didn’t tell anyone about him. Didn’t want to admit to her esteemed colleagues that she’d been duped by some guy or that it simply hadn’t been as special as she’d built it up in her mind. At least not for him.

She’d been practically shaking when his call had finally come in. She’d—

“I’m ready,” Charity said, interrupting her memories. She was holding the cat cage and it was swinging as Hogi turned circles in the small space.

“Great,” JC said. What was important now was that Charity was coming home with her. They would get a chance to know one another, to become friends.

A chance to find the truth.

She reached for the doorknob but Royce beat her to it. “I’ll go first,” he said. “Keep close behind me. Do exactly what I say when I say it.”

“Fine,” she said. She made a deliberate attempt to relax her jaw. Her poor teeth did not deserve to be mashed together. She managed to smile at Charity. “Doing okay?” she asked.

“I guess,” the young woman said. “Are you some kind of cop?” she asked Royce.

“No,” he said.

“Royce is part of my security detail. Goes with the territory of being a CEO,” JC said, making her tone light.

“Cool,” Charity said. “I’m kind of hungry.”

“We can get lunch at my hotel,” JC said, happy that the young woman didn’t have more questions.

“Is there a pool?” Charity asked, her eyes big, looking more like a little girl than a woman old enough to be living with an abusive boyfriend. JC thought longingly of what it might have been like to have Charity live with her, like a real little sister.

“Of course,” JC said.

“Not going to be any damn swimming,” Royce said. “Let’s go.”