Читать книгу My Bodyguard - Dana Marton - Страница 8

Even with her heart doing backflips in her throat, she had enough presence of mind to lock the door behind her exactly as she had found it. Then she took off down the hallway. She didn’t make it to the end room.

As Sam turned back, she could see the tops of the heads of the men who were coming up. The cleaning closet seemed her only option. She practically hurled herself inside.

The space was dark and tight, smelling like bleach and citrus-scented cleaning solution. She stayed still, not daring to make any noise. The door didn’t block much. She could hear everything the two men were saying.

“Saw the blonde? Man, she’s stacked. Wouldn’t mind if she tripped and fell on top of me.”

“What’s stopping you from tripping and falling on top of her?” The other one laughed.

“Her husband is here.”

“I bet Philippe had her already.”

“So what?” The first guy sounded annoyed. “He’s the boss. He always gets what he wants.”

Dissent in the ranks? She stored the information for later. They never knew what could come in handy down the road.

A door opened and closed, then she could no longer hear the men. How long should she wait? Would they stay wherever they’d gone, or would they be coming back in a few seconds? She was prepared to act like an Oscar winner if she was caught, but it would have been much better for her and the mission if she made her way out of the mansion unseen.

Sam emerged from her hiding place with caution. The hallway was empty. She made her way to the back bedroom as fast as she could.

She pushed the door open and whispered, “Philippe,” to play out her role of hussy-in-search-of-illicit-pleasure, but nobody was in there. Looked like the men had gone to the gym. She let out the breath she’d been holding, then she was through the room and out on the balcony, lowering herself into Reese’s waiting arms.

“Everything okay?” He didn’t look pleased at having had to stay behind.

“Found his office. I’ll have to get back in there again.”

“He’s right. Enough is enough.” A stranger’s voice came from around the corner. The next second, one of Philippe’s men, Roberto, rounded the building, talking on his cell.

She pressed against Reese and lifted her mouth to his, keeping her eyes open only enough to see the guy slow in her peripheral vision.

Reese didn’t miss a beat. He let his lips linger. She was getting familiar with the feel of them, not exactly at ease but not scared stiff, either. He got hold of her hand and moved forward, pulling her behind him. They went only as far as the nearest hammock, where he fell back into the comfort of the ropes and pulled her on top of him.

Oh.

She held on as they swayed, feeling awkward, the urge to flee coming on.

He must have felt her body stiffen because he went completely still. “So this stepfather of yours, he’s still alive?” he whispered, his voice low and tight.

What did it matter? “No.” Her lawyer had told her that. Since she’d been underage at the time of her arrest, the court had attempted to reach her mother and the man she was still married to on paper. Her stepfather was gone. Her mother couldn’t bother to come to her arraignment or her trial, even though a parent who pledged to resume supervision could have eased her sentence.

A few silent moments passed, then he ran a calming hand down the back of her arm, adjusting his body to balance them, to make her more comfortable. “Is Cavanaugh’s goon still here?” The way they were positioned, he couldn’t see for himself.

She looked from the corner of her eye. “Standing and staring.”

“Might as well relax. We could be here for a while.”

He linked his arms behind her waist. Oddly, it didn’t make her freeze in terror. She was getting used to him, to his touch, to his scent, beginning to accept the idea he meant no harm. That she was able to relax around him, something she hadn’t been able to say about another man for nearly a decade, took her by surprise each and every time.

He was different from any guy she had ever known. She didn’t want to think about that, wasn’t ready to consider the implications.

“I didn’t get far,” she whispered, needing to return her thoughts to the job. She’d mapped a single hallway—didn’t even get to search the office, nor go downstairs to those doors Cavanaugh hadn’t shown her earlier.

“Yeah, but you hit pay dirt. I’m guessing we’ll find some interesting things in Philippe’s desk when we get the chance. We know where it is now. We know what’s in the room, the layout.”

“I saw two guys who were up there to use Cavanaugh’s private gym. Can’t remember seeing them before, but we probably haven’t seen all his goons yet. They seem to be working in shifts.”

“Glad they didn’t see you.” His hot breath tickled her ear, so she shifted position, setting the hammock swinging again. Shoes crunched gravel underfoot. Roberto was moving on.

He seemed to be an important member of Cavanaugh’s security team. He was always visible, always watching, making his rounds. He seemed to take himself as seriously as if he were part of the Secret Service.

Sam lifted her head and looked around. “Should I try to get back in now?”

“Not tonight.” Reese sat with her. “It might look too suspicious if we got caught loitering this close to the house twice in the same night. We have the whole week to get what we want. Let’s not blow anything the first day.”

She slipped out of the hammock and he came after her, looped his arms around her waist. She made herself relax against him and held the pose, allowing him time to check for any danger.

None of Cavanaugh’s men were in sight.

“Let’s go down to the beach,” he said as he broke away and took her hand. “We’ll see what we can find out about Philippe from his friends.”