Accidental Bodyguard (13 page)

“It's Carlos's people, isn't it? Let's get out of here.”

He swung his gaze to her when he caught the panic in her tone. She'd placed her right hand inside her purse, probably clutching the Glock. Of course she would assume the intruders were the Warriors, but he'd considered and immediately dismissed that idea. Even if the terrorists had tracked them and managed to arrive first—an impossibility considering the speed he'd driven—they wouldn't wait inside the structure. And they definitely wouldn't leave a light on to alert him.

No. The Warriors would have taken them out on the long driveway through the woods. That's what he'd have done.

“Relax,” he told her. “The intruder is likely a squatter who thought the cabin had been deserted.”

“How do you know?”

“For one thing, our headlights reflected off the taillight of a vehicle parked behind the cabin. It was too quick to determine the make, but your Warriors wouldn't be that careless.”

“They're not
mine
,” she muttered. “So what are you going to do?”

Good question. He might not believe the terrorists had found them, but another sort of danger could still be waiting inside. Maybe this was a squatter; maybe an old enemy. He grew up in this little burg, and most inhabitants knew he'd moved away. Plus, he'd been a deputy sheriff for four years. Could any of the perps he'd stuck behind bars think it would be sweet revenge to inhabit his home once released? A motivated felon could find the address easy enough. They might even vandalize the place just for fun. God knew what he'd find inside.

He needed to proceed with caution. And that meant with his weapon drawn.

“Wait here,” he told Claudia. He glanced to her lap. Her hand still rested inside her purse. “It's okay to be ready for trouble, but please don't have another panic attack and shoot
me
.”

Their gazes locked. Claudia gave a quick nod.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Always,” he replied, and stepped outside the vehicle into a stiff, chilly wind.

Moving fast and quiet, Jack circled to the back of the structure. He wanted to check out the vehicle first to gather possible information. Cold rain saturated his hair, and he noted a neatly stacked pile of firewood a few feet away from the back door. The shrubbery had been recently trimmed. His old Airstream trailer remained where he'd left it next to the shed.

The car parked on the concrete slab close to the back door was a two-year-old Chevrolet he didn't recognize. He memorized the license tag. Stooping low so he couldn't be seen, Jack tried the car's back door. Locked.

Still hunched over, he moved to the driver's door and edged it open without a sound. The overhead light came on and illuminated a half-full coffee cup with a lipstick smudge in the console facing the driver's seat. A pink sweater and a small collapsible umbrella lay in the passenger seat. A pine-tree-shaped car freshener dangled from the rearview mirror, but didn't mask the unmistakable stink of cigarette smoke.

Behind that lingering tobacco residue, he thought he caught a familiar fragrance. He tried to place the smell, but couldn't. He carefully shut the car door to cut the light, then stood and stared at the cabin's back door a mere five feet away.

After grocery shopping, he always pulled his vehicle back here onto the concrete slab because the small kitchen was just inside that sliding glass door. Maybe the intruder was hiding his—or more likely her—vehicle, or maybe she was taking advantage of that convenience.

One of his reclining lawn chairs—with a new cushion—sat on the slab next to a wrought-iron table. The table contained an ashtray full of rainwater and cigarette butts with lipstick on the filters. The interloper had rolled his gas grill out of the shed, too, as well as his outdoor fireplace. Anger churned deep in Jack's gut. The intruder had certainly made herself right at home in
his
fricking home.

He reached inside his drenched jacket and removed his gun from the shoulder holster. As he approached the sliders, his soaked running shoes squeaked. The rain had eased, but the wind remained strong. A curtain covered the sliding doors, shielding the interior. During the day,
his
view outside to the wooded backyard was one he'd always enjoyed.

He'd rejected the idea of an old lover moving in knowing he was in Miami. He'd never given anyone a key. Besides, all the women in his old life hated this rustic cabin.

He decided to go in the front door hard and fast—take the trespasser by surprise. If the invader was an ex-prisoner out for revenge, she'd definitely have a weapon.

Jack halted midstep when the curtains moved.

The porch light came on. The door slid open.

He raised his Sig Sauer in a two-handed grip.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“D
OES
P
OOKIE
NEED
to go pee-pee?” a female voice sang out, as if speaking to a demented child. “I don't think the nasty ole rain is going to stop.”

Jack tensed when a small white fluffy dog rushed outside. But the animal stopped, hopped in the air and backed away from him, barking furiously.

A plump female figure materialized behind the dog. “What's wrong with little sweetums?”

Jack recognized that voice.

When the intruder spotted him, she let out a scream that could be heard back in Miami.

“Mother.” Jack lowered his weapon.

“Jack!” She raised a hand to her heart. “You scared me halfway to hell and back.”

“What are you doing here, Mother?”

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “I thought you were going to shoot me.”

“I almost did. How did you get a key?”

His mother bent over and scooped up the still yapping dog. “Hush, Pookie. It's okay. This is your brother, Jack.” She lifted her gaze to his. “You scared her. She's usually very friendly.”

“A dog? Really? You brought a dog into my home?”

“Let's go inside out of the rain. I'll get you a towel.”

“Is there anyone else here?” Jack demanded.

She shook her head. The porch light glinted off her hair, and Jack realized she'd bleached it platinum. “I'm alone. I've been living here three months.”

A hundred questions tripped on the edge of Jack's tongue, but he held them. The danger was over, but Claudia would have heard his mother's zombielike scream and been terrified.

“I'll be right back,” he said. “Wait here.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Jack shot her a look.
The hell you're not.

He returned to his mother's Chevrolet and grabbed the umbrella. Hoping he didn't get shot for his trouble, he hurried back to the SUV to reassure Claudia.

She remained as he'd left her, wide-eyed with her right hand clutching the Glock.

“Jack,” she breathed when he approached her door. “Thank God. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Just royally pissed off.”

“Who is here?”

“My mother.”

She blinked. “Your mother?”

“You heard me.”

“Your
mother
?” Claudia repeated, as if she couldn't quite believe he actually had a mother. Yeah, well, Irene wasn't exactly a candidate for parent of the year.

Jack popped the small umbrella and held it up so Claudia could duck under its shelter. “Come on. Let's go inside. I need to find out what's going on.”

* * *

H
URRYING
TOWARD
THE
cabin now that the scare was over, Claudia realized the temperature had to be forty degrees colder here than in Miami. All she wanted was a bathroom. It'd been a long ride from south Florida with only one quick stop to pee.

She expected to find some sort of übermasculine cave when she entered Jack's cabin in the woods. She'd had in mind a hunting lodge, with the heads of shaggy beasts mounted on the walls, or at least some stuffed fish proudly displayed. Instead she found cheery prints of floral bouquets and glorious sunsets. A sofa and reclining chair were covered by patchwork quilts that appeared hand-stitched. A round wooden table covered with plastic bags of groceries sat outside the kitchen.

Jack glared at the furnishings as if he'd never seen them before. At least it was blessedly warm inside.

A fiftyish woman with bleached hair, wearing tight black jeans and a formfitting red sweater, stood at the back door smoking a cigarette. She turned her head to exhale the toxic smoke out a crack in the door, then leveled her focus on Claudia.

“Who's this?” the woman asked, tossing her cigarette outside. Claudia watched the glow of the still lit butt arc into the night.

“Mom. Please don't do that,” Jack said. “You could start a fire, and we're in the middle of a forest.”

“Oh, please. It's too wet out there for anything to ignite.” Jack's mom closed the slider and stepped forward. She held out her hand. “Don't mind my rude son,” she told Claudia. “I'm Irene Richards, the fire marshal's mother.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Claudia said, grasping Irene's warm, strong hand. “I'm Claudia.”

“Jack, did you get married and not invite your momma to the wedding?” Irene asked, a hurt tone in her voice.

“What are you doing here, Mother?” Jack demanded, ignoring her question. “And how did you get in?”

“Would you like something to drink, Claudia?” Irene asked.

Claudia decided ignoring questions must be a genetic trait.

“I have some white wine. Or bourbon. Or I could make a pot of coffee.”

“Talk to me, Mother,” Jack said.

Irene grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the wooden table, shook one out, and picked up her lighter.

“Don't light that in here,” Jack warned.

Irene sighed and slammed down the lighter. “All right. Calm down.”

“You'd better not have been smoking inside this cabin.”

“I know better than that. I always smoke outside.”

“Tell me how you got
in
side. Did you break a window?”

“Getting in was easy. I made a copy of the key years ago.”

“Why?”

Irene shrugged. “You're my son. What if you needed me?”

Claudia really needed to pee, but was too fascinated by this conversation to miss a word. Why was Jack being so hateful to his mom? Of course he'd been shocked to find her here—especially considering the clandestine reasons for their arrival and how she complicated their mission—but he ought to be glad to see her. He acted as if she was his mortal enemy rather than his mother.

“If I needed help, you'd be the last person I'd call.”

Claudia stifled a gasp, and Irene seemed to deflate at his words. She collapsed into one of the chairs surrounding the table.

“Don't be cruel, Jack. Not in front of your new wife.”

“She's not my wife.”

Irene glanced at Claudia. Knowing what it felt like to be interrogated by Jack, she gave his mom a nod and a reassuring smile.

“I know you're disappointed in me, son, but I'm still your mother.”

“Just tell me why you've moved in to my house without an invitation.”

After a long moment, Irene raised her chin and held his gaze. “Because I had nowhere else to go.”

That statement hung in the room like a deadly but odorless gas. The only sound was the steady beat of raindrops on the roof.

Claudia searched Jack's face for some subtle sign of softening, but couldn't get a read on his thoughts. This was a whole new and disturbing side of her gladiator, one not quite so heroic.

Deciding now was a good time to defuse the tension, Claudia stepped forward. “Um, I could really use a bathroom.”

“Down the hallway,” Jack said in a flat tone. “Door on your right. I'll get our luggage out of the car.”

When he jerked open the front door, a cold wind rushed inside the cabin, ruffling the plastic grocery bags on the table and chilling her arms. When the door slammed, the turbulence calmed.

“I guess he's still a bit pissed at me,” Irene murmured into the silence.

“It's been a long day,” Claudia said. What else could she say? She'd like to give this sad woman a hug, but wasn't sure about Irene's reaction. Whatever she'd done in the past, it had to be horrible. Jack didn't want her here, and her presence definitely complicated their plans.

Irene brightened. “Have y'all had supper? I made my famous chili today. Jack loves my chili.”

“Sounds delicious.” Wondering about the next surprise the universe would toss at her, Claudia opened the bathroom door and a small white dog leaped onto her legs.

“Well, hello there,” she cooed, only then remembering the angry barks while waiting in the car. She'd envisioned a huge Rottweiler, not a tiny mop.

Grinning, she bent down to pet the animal. “Did your mom lock you in here to avoid the fireworks?”

The dog licked her face as if it'd been smeared with a favorite treat, then padded into the living room, ears erect and tail high.

When Claudia reentered the living area, Jack wasn't there, but her duffel bag and a few boxes sat inside the front door. Irene stood by the stove stirring a pot while sipping a glass of white wine. An enticing fragrance of chili pepper, tomatoes and garlic wafted through the room, reminding Claudia that she hadn't eaten much lunch. Homemade chili did sound good.

“You want some pinot grigio?” Irene asked holding up a green bottle. “Finest vintage—made just last week.”

“Sure,” Claudia said. “Thanks.”

“Have a seat, honey.” Irene placed a plastic wineglass on the table, scooped up the grocery bags and transferred them to a kitchen counter.

When Claudia sat at the table, the white dog jumped into her lap and curled into a small ball of fluff.

“That's Pookie,” Irene said, pouring the wine.

“Quite the watchdog.” Claudia stroked the dog's soft fur, and Pookie released a contented sigh.

“Oh, she's ferocious,” Irene agreed.

“Where's Jack?” Claudia asked.

“He said he was going to check the perimeter, whatever that means.”

“In the rain?”

Irene shrugged. “I don't think he wants to remain in the same room with me, but doesn't have the heart to throw me out. A walk is his way of cooling off.”

Walking in this cold rain should accomplish that. Claudia took a sip of the chilled wine and doubted this particular bottle cost anyone ten thousand dollars.

“You two seem to have some issues.”

“You could say that.” Irene issued such a deep, throaty laugh, it created a series of nasty coughs.

Claudia narrowed her eyes at the sound. Jack's mom needed to quit smoking ASAP.

“Are you okay?” Claudia asked.

“I'm fine.” Irene blotted her eyes with a paper towel and took a sip of wine. Then she opened a wooden kitchen cabinet and began stowing her groceries. “My son has a lot of good traits, but he isn't the forgiving type.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Claudia said. “I'll remember that.”

“How long have you two been dating? I'm thinking not long, or you'd already know that.”

Claudia took another swallow of wine to give her time to think. How should she answer that question? Of course they had to tell Jack's mom something, but what? Definitely not the truth.

“You can't remember?” Irene asked.

“I haven't known Jack all that long,” Claudia said.

“I see.” Irene stood on her tiptoes to place a box of shredded wheat on the highest shelf. “The last thing he said to me—in his meanest tone—was not to tell anyone about you guys being here.”

“
Please
don't,” Claudia said. “That's why he got so mad when he found you here. He didn't want anyone to know he'd come home.”

“Why?” Irene stood flat-footed and faced Claudia.

“Don't tell her anything you don't want everyone in the fricking state to know,” Jack boomed from the front door.

Claudia started at his harsh tone, and turned to see him remove a yellow rain slicker, shake off water and place it on a hook outside the front door. His hair was dripping, but because of the rain gear he wasn't soaked through as she'd feared.

Irene opened a closet and tossed Jack a dry towel. “Did you find any monsters?”

“All clear,” he replied, and used the towel to dry his hair.

“So what's going on here, Jack?” Irene asked. “Is Miss Claudia on the run from something?”

“We came up here for a vacation,” Jack said. “To get away. That's all you need to know.”

“People don't drive to north Florida in February for a vacation. Especially not during a cold snap.”

“Let it go, Mother.”

Irene glanced at Claudia. “Most likely you're not running from the law, though. Jack don't truck with nothing illegal.”

Claudia waited for Jack to respond. What would he tell his mother about her? Jack folded the towel into neat quarters, then strode across the room and sat at the table between Claudia and his mom.

“Why don't we focus on our real problem?”

“What's that?” Irene asked.

“How I'm going to muzzle you.”

Irene placed a palm flat over her heart. “I swear I won't tell anyone you're in Dunnellon.”

“I wish I could believe you, Mother, but history has taught me otherwise.”

For the first time, Claudia caught emotion in Jack's voice, and she decided his mom had done something really awful to him. She must have said the wrong thing to the right person at the worst possible time for him to behave this way.

He placed the towel on the table. “There's only one way to be sure you don't spread the word to everyone you know.”

“What's that?” Claudia asked.

Jack didn't look away from his mom. “Take away her phone.”

“My phone?”

“Okay,” Claudia said, making a T with her hands. “Time-out. The chili is hot, it smells yummy and I'm hungry.”

Irene had set out two bowls, so Claudia ladled steaming chili into them for herself and Jack. Hoping food would put him in a better mood, she set a full bowl and a spoon in front of him, poured more wine for Irene and sat to eat her own supper. She needed energy.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Irene took long pulls on her wine, staring at the table. Jack concentrated on his meal as if it were the last one he'd ever have.

“This is delicious, Irene,” Claudia said finally.

“Thanks,” Irene mumbled, and shot Claudia a grateful look.

“Isn't it good, Jack?” Claudia prompted.