The Bodyguard and Ms. Jones Read online

“Mike?” Beth raised her eyebrows. “You two have met?”

  “Yes, before he passed out.”

  “And is there a Mrs. Mike?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Cindy stood up and brushed off her shorts. “Don’t start matchmaking, Beth. I mean it. Mike Blackburne is a professional bodyguard. He goes from job to job. He’s here because he doesn’t have a place of his own. I’m not interested in a man like that, and he wouldn’t be interested in me.”

  “I’m not saying you have to marry him,” Beth said, tilting her head so she could study Mike’s features more clearly. “I’m just saying that once he’s on his feet, maybe the two of you could—”

  Cindy cut her off. “I’m not that type.”

  Beth smiled slowly. “Honey, we’re all that type. It’s just that some of us get a little more of a chance to prove it than others.”

  “Cheap talk for a woman who’s been married to the same man for fifteen years.”

  “I know, but a girl can dream.” She touched Mike’s cheek with the back of her hand. “He’s burning up. If you’re serious about taking care of him, there’s no point in putting him in Grace’s bedroom. You’ll just have to run back and forth between the two houses. Let me go get Darren and the three of us can wrestle Mike into your place.”

  “That makes sense,” Cindy said. “I’ll take his things over.”

  “Be right back.”

  Beth left the house and crossed the street to her own place. Cindy heard her calling for her husband. Thank goodness it was Saturday. There was no way she could have moved Mike on her own.

  Cindy picked up the two duffel bags on the floor, went out the front door and cut across the green lawn. She walked down the driveway and into her own house through the back door.

  “Mommy, Mommy, is he really dead?” seven-year-old Allison asked. “Jonathan says he’s dead, but Shelby and I don’t believe him.”

  “He’s not dead, but he’s sick. He’s going to stay with us for a little while.”

  Jonathan eyed the duffel bags. “You think he’s got a gun in there?”

  Cindy clamped her lips together. The thought hadn’t occurred to her, but Jonathan could be right. “I think the two of you should stay out of the way for the next few minutes. Mr. and Mrs. Davis are going to help me bring Mr. Blackburne over here.”

  Allison’s big green eyes widened. “Where’s he going to sleep?”

  “In my room. It’s downstairs.”

  “Daddy won’t like that.”

  Cindy didn’t bother pointing out that Daddy had given up his right to complain when he’d walked out on his family nearly two years ago.

  “Daddy doesn’t care about us, stupid,” Jonathan said.

  “He does care, and I’m not stupid. Shelby says you’re stupid.”

  “At least I’m not dumb enough to talk to invisible people.”

  “She’s not invisible. She just doesn’t want mean boys like you seeing her.”

  “Children!” Cindy said loudly. “Please. No name-calling. I mean it.”

  They both looked at her. Cindy raised her gaze toward the ceiling. It was only the first weekend of summer vacation. It was going to be a long three months.

  “Sit,” she said, pointing to the floral-print sofa in the family room. They both sat.

  Cindy picked up the duffel bags, walked through the formal living room and into the master bedroom. After Nelson had moved out, she’d redone her room in cream and rose. The heavy oak furniture he favored had been replaced with bleached pine and lacy curtains. She put down the bags and, working quickly, she pulled back the decorative pillows and comforter, then smoothed the sheets. Thank goodness she’d changed them that morning.

  When that was done, she approached the two duffel bags. She hated to go through Mike’s things, but Jonathan had a point. She couldn’t keep a gun in the house with her children. Mike was a bodyguard. It made sense he might carry a weapon with him. Sending out a mental apology, she unzipped the first bag.

  Five minutes later, she knew that Mike Blackburne wore only button-fly jeans, had an eclectic taste in reading material, owned one pair of dress shoes and had a passport that had been stamped by every country she’d ever heard of and several that she hadn’t. But he didn’t carry a gun.

  She exhaled the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. A week ago, her neighbor Grace had asked her to look after her older brother while he recovered from his injuries. After all Grace had done for her, Cindy was pleased to finally have an opportunity to pay her friend back. At the time, however, she hadn’t thought looking after Mike would turn her life upside down.

  Beth stuck her head in the room. “Darren’s ready, if you are.” She pointed to the bed. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “Upstairs in the guest room.”

  “You are so conventional. As my only single friend, I count on you to allow me to vicariously experience the thrill of the mating game. I must tell you, I’ve been very disappointed in your performance to date.”

  Cindy pushed her friend from the room. “I’ll try to do better.”

  “Starting when?”

  Cindy ignored her. As they passed her children, she said, “We’ll be right back.”

  When they were outside, Beth leaned close. “Are you going to take his clothes off?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Can I watch?”

  “I thought I might ask Darren to do that.”

  Beth pouted. “And you call yourself a friend.”

  Cindy led the way into Grace’s house. Darren was already raising Mike into a sitting position. Even unconscious he looked dangerous. His brown hair was short, with an almost military cut. His muscles were powerful, his body as much a weapon as any firearm. All he owned fit into two duffel bags. She was willing to admit he might be handsome, but he was also lethal. Not just because he knew how to kill, but because he knew how to leave. Cindy had learned early in life that men who left were the most dangerous of all.

  Chapter Two

  Mike opened his eyes because he could hear breathing. It was faint but there. In the moment before his vision focused, he wondered what he would see. Maybe a nurse. Certainly a stranger. He wouldn’t have been too shocked to see the devil himself. Instead, the person next to him was a child. A little girl.

  “‘Morning,” he said and was pleased that his voice worked.

  She wasn’t very tall or very old. He didn’t know enough about children to guess their ages, but figured this one was more than five and less than ten or eleven. She had short blond hair that was curly on the ends and big green eyes. She wore a ribbon in her hair—a blue one that matched her blue-and-white T-shirt. When she smiled at him, he knew exactly who she was—the daughter of that woman. Cindy Jones. The dimples were identical.

  “I’m Allison,” she said. Her voice was faintly singsongy, and high-pitched. If he’d had a hangover, he would have winced at the sound. But surprisingly, the pounding in his head had reduced from a jackhammer pounding to a dull knocking and he was able to ignore it.

  “Hi, Allison. I’m Mike.”

  “Mommy says you’re hurt. That we have to be real quiet while you get better. Mommy said you fell off a building. You shouldn’t do that.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Advice always came too late to do any good. He glanced around the room. This wasn’t his sister’s living room, and if his memory was working any better than his body, it wasn’t her bedroom, either. “Where am I?”

  “Mommy’s room.” Allison held a doll clutched to her chest. Her green eyes regarded him solemnly. “She had to go to the store, and she asked me to watch you. You’ve been sleeping.”

  “You’re watching me?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never watched anyone big before.”

  He wondered if Cindy had meant for her daughter to stand at his side staring. “You seem a little young to be baby-sitting.”

  Allison dimpled. “I’m seven. Jonathan’s watching TV, and Mrs. Davis is
watching us. She was here until a minute ago, but she had to go start her dinner. The front door is open and she screams across the street all the time. Mr. Davis has a seizure if his food isn’t on the table at six. But he has other ’deeming qualities.” She paused to draw in a breath. “Do you know what ’deeming means?”

  “Sorry, no.” He didn’t know what she was talking about. Or why a seven-year-old had been left in charge of him. He also wondered what day it was and how long he’d been out. He’d arrived on Saturday morning. So today was... “It’s Sunday, right?” he asked.

  Allison shook her head. “Tuesday. You’ve been asleep for a long time.” She tilted her head. “You say bad words in your sleep. And you get all twisted up in the covers. You had a fever, too. Mommy had to take care of you and I was very quiet.”

  Tuesday? What the hell happened to Sunday and Monday? He couldn’t have been asleep that long. He reached up and rubbed the stubble on his face. Only the innocent stare of the child kept him from grinding out another bad word. He’d been out of it for over seventy-two hours. Then he wondered what else he’d said.

  “Could I have a glass of water?” he asked.

  She smiled. “I’ll get it.” She placed her doll on the bed and ran out of the room. “He’s awake, and he asked me to get him a glass of water,” he heard her call as she ran through the house.

  Footsteps clattered on the hardwood floor. Mike tried to sit up. His body didn’t want to cooperate. He compromised, stuffing a couple of pillows behind his head so he could see more. He did a quick survey of the room. It was spacious, maybe twenty feet square, with a big bay window at one end. The walls were a pale pink, trimmed in cream. The light-colored furniture was large, but simply designed so the big pieces appeared more feminine. An armoire sat across from the foot of the bed. A dresser was next to that. Opposite the window was a doorway that led to a bathroom. Beside the door stood a highboy.

  Someone approaching the room interrupted his inspection. The footsteps didn’t sound like Allison’s so he wasn’t surprised when a boy entered the room. He was bigger than his sister and looked older. Something tugged at his memory, the faint impression of the boy prodding him into consciousness.

  The kid had blond hair like his sister, but brown eyes. The shape of his face was different, as well. He must look like his father. Mike glanced around the room again and wondered if Mr. Jones lived elsewhere.

  The boy shoved his hands into his shorts pockets. “Can I see the bullet wound?”

  Until that moment, Mike had been able to ignore the pulsing pain radiating from his thigh. The memories crashed in on him. The ambush on the rooftop garden terrace, the madness in the assassin’s eyes, the sudden slowing of time as Mike had shoved his client to the ground and pulled out the Beretta he carried with him. The assassin’s first round had missed, the second had caught Mike in the thigh. Mike had shot the assassin, and had then been attacked by the man’s assistant. In the struggle, Mike had gone off the side of the building. He’d taken the assistant with him. The client escaped unharmed, the bill was paid and Mike was left to move on. Only this time it had been to a hospital instead of another job.

  He shook his head to clear it and only succeeded in blurring his vision. The kid was still staring at him expectantly. What did he want? Oh, yeah. To see the bullet wound. “Not right now, sport.”

  The boy’s mouth twisted with disgust. “My name’s Jonathan. I just want to look.”

  Allison entered, carefully carrying a glass of water in both hands. Her pale eyebrows drew together in concentration. When he took the glass from her, she smiled proudly. “I didn’t spill any.”

  “Thanks.”

  He tried to sit up again, but he didn’t have a prayer. The spirit might be willing, but his body was still whimpering and broken. He tilted his head forward and drank the water down in four long swallows.

  The liquid was cool and about the best-tasting drink he’d had in weeks. When he was done, he sighed and offered the glass back to Allison. Now both kids were staring at him, their mouths open, their eyes big.

  “You drink fast,” Allison said.

  “I guess,” he said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

  “You ever kill anybody?” Jonathan asked.

  Allison grabbed her doll and took a step back. Mike set the empty glass on the nightstand and looked at the boy. “No. My job is to protect people. I’m hired to keep my client safe.”

  “But someone shot you.”

  “It happens.”

  “Was it a bad man?” Allison asked. Her voice was soft and concerned. She continued to keep her distance.

  “Yes, he was bad,” Mike told her. “He’s in jail now. He can’t hurt anyone again.” For some reason, he wanted to reassure the little girl. He didn’t like seeing the fear in her eyes. He tried smiling at her. His lips felt dry and his face was tight. Still, it must have worked, because the wary expression faded and she approached the bed again.

  “Shelby thinks you’re nice,” she said shyly.

  “Who’s Shelby?” He glanced around searching for yet another kid.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Allison, don’t be such a baby. Stop talking about Shelby. She’s not real.”

  The girl tightened her grip on her doll. She ignored her brother and leaned closer to Mike. “Shelby’s my bestest friend in the world. She doesn’t like Jonathan and won’t let him see her.”

  Mike didn’t know what to make of this. He was saved from having to answer by the sound of a car pulling up the driveway.

  “Mommy’s home, Mommy’s home.” Both kids went flying from the room. Their feet thundered on the wooden floor.

  “Stop pushing,” Allison ordered.

  “Then get out of my way.”

  “Mo-om, Jonathan’s pushing.”

  “Am not. Quit being such a baby.”

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “Are, too! Allie’s a baby. Allie’s a—”

  The voices were abruptly cut off when the back door opened. For the next few minutes, there were only low murmurs, then Mike heard the woman approaching.

  She walked into the room and smiled at him. “I’m afraid to ask if you woke up on your own, or if the children are responsible.”

  “I think it’s a little of both.”

  She bent over the nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. After pulling out a thermometer, she shook it down and placed it under his tongue. She expertly took his pulse, then leaned close and studied his eyes. While she looked at him, he looked at her.

  She was as he remembered her. Today she wore a headband to keep her hair off her face, but the color was still light brown and it fell almost to her shoulders. Her eyes were smoky green and the corners of her mouth tilted up. A red T-shirt clung to her breasts. White shorts hugged her hips and exposed long, tanned legs. She didn’t look like any nurse he’d ever had, but he wasn’t about to complain.

  “Your eyes are clear,” she said. She touched his forehead, then his cheek with the back of her hand. “You feel cool, too.” She removed the thermometer and studied it. “Normal. Finally. So, Mike, how do you feel?”

  “Not bad for a guy who fell off a building.”

  “You’ve been asleep for three days. According to your doctor, that’s exactly what you needed.” There was a shuffling at the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “Jonathan, Allison, your ride for swim team will be here in about fifteen minutes. Go get ready.”

  He heard footsteps on the stairs and the sound of childish voices. “They don’t do anything quietly, do they?”

  “Not if there’s a way to do it loudly.” She perched on the edge of the bed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have you awake. I’ve been worried.” Her skin was smooth and slightly tanned. When she smiled, there were faint lines around her eyes. He guessed she was close to thirty.

  “Are you a nurse?” he asked.

  She laughed. The sweet sound caught him off guard, and he felt himself smiling. It was the second time in le
ss than fifteen minutes. Before now, he probably hadn’t smiled twice the entire year.

  “Hardly. I teach math at the middle school.”

  “Excuse me for asking, but if you’re not a nurse, what the hell are you doing looking after me in your house? This is your house, isn’t it?”

  She leaned back against the footboard. After drawing one knee up toward her chest, she clasped her hands around her calf. “I’m friends with your sister Grace. She lives next door.” She tilted her head. He recognized it as the same move Allison had made. “Grace has lived here four years. If you’re her only brother, how come we’ve never seen you here before?”

  “I don’t have much time to see family.” Grace was always inviting him. And she made him feel that she really wanted to see him. But Mike could never bring himself to visit. He’d always been a loner. It was easier, and in his profession, safer. “You still haven’t explained why you didn’t just dump me in the hospital.”

  “I owe her. My kids get out of school about an hour and a half before I get home. Grace looks after them. She won’t let me pay her. I can only buy her so many lunches. When her husband found out he would be spending the summer in Hong Kong, she wanted to go with him. Then you got in touch with her. She didn’t know what to do. Going to Hong Kong was the opportunity of a lifetime, but you needed a place to recuperate. That’s where I came in. I said I would look after you until you were back on your feet.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Of course. She’s my friend.” She seemed surprised by the question, as if opening her house to a sick stranger was commonplace.

  “What does Mr. Jones think about this?”

  Her mouth twisted down at one corner. “I didn’t consult him. We’re divorced.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It happens. He left me for a trophy wife.”

  She leaned forward slightly. The movement caused her shorts to gape slightly by her thigh, exposing a hint of white, lacy panties. Mike told himself he was a bastard for looking and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation.

  “Trophy wife? You mean a woman he won somewhere?”