Accidental Bodyguard (25 page)

For now, she'd make sense of her feelings by writing them out. Journaling had made her realize what a good person Jack was, which allowed her to trust her own judgment again. Too bad it had taken so long. Jack would never forgive her for doubting him.

After writing for a short time, she got that eerie feeling of being watched and glanced up. Jack's eyes were open and staring at her. Sporting a two-day beard, he looked more intimidating than usual.

He swung his legs over the bed.

Claudia tossed the book aside and moved to help him, but he rose effortlessly.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Like I need to piss,” he growled.

“Go for it.” She stepped aside and brightened the lights.

When he returned from the bathroom, he opened the refrigerator and peered inside with a sour expression. “Didn't you say something about groceries?”

“How about some chicken soup?”

“I'd rather have a steak.”

“Me, too. Can we risk going out?”

He shook his head. “Soup's fine.” He rummaged in her grocery bags, found a bag of potato chips and opened it with a vicious snap. Cramming chips in his mouth, he returned to the bed.

Ignoring his grumpy mood, Claudia added water to cardboard cups, stirred the contents, and placed the mixture in the microwave. Jack had reached that point of recuperation where the patient became ill-tempered, which would make their already tense situation worse. But big deal. He was alive.

“Time for an antibiotic,” she said, handing him a plastic water bottle and two pills.

“What's the other one?”

“For pain.”

“Just the antibiotic,” he said. “I need to stay alert.”

She hesitated. “What's your pain level?”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm fine.”

She knew better, but removed one of the capsules. He swallowed the remaining pill, downing all of the water in one long pull.

“What were you writing?” he asked, nodding toward the chair.

“I was bringing my journal up to date.”

“Why?”

“It helps me make sense of things to write them down.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Maybe I should start a journal so I can understand you.”

She nodded. She definitely deserved that jab. “Putting the words on paper made me realize that I can trust you.”

“About damn time.”

“I'm sorry I doubted you.”

He shrugged and stuffed more chips into his mouth.

“You're the best man I've ever met, Jack.”

The microwave pinged. Their dinner was ready. Claudia rose and removed steaming soup from the microwave. As she stirred, she knew Jack would never understand why she found it so hard to trust. He'd never lived with Carlos's poison.

“Do you still love your ex?” he asked.

She whirled. “What? How can you ask that?”

“Sometimes we love people even though we shouldn't.”

Wondering if there was hidden meaning in his words, she picked up the soup cups with terry-cloth towels. “I despise Carlos Romero.”

“Maybe he still loves you.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” She placed Jack's cup on the table beside him. “That's why he sent those goons after us.”

“Maybe the goons are no longer taking orders from him. Maybe they're worried he's going to flip on them for a reduced sentence.”

Claudia seated herself in the chair facing Jack. “That's a lot of maybes.”

“You must have loved him once.”

She shook her head. “I don't think I ever did.”

“So why did you marry him?”

Well, there's a question.
To delay her answer, she reached for the soup, but it was still too hot. “I have bad judgment when it comes to men. If I'm attracted, I let my hormones do the talking.”

He folded his arms. “What happened with me?”

“I was terrified of you,” she said. “Because I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

“You're a good actress. I thought you were Santaluce's mistress.”

“Oh? I suppose women usually rip off your clothes ten seconds after ‘hello'?”

“Usually,” he agreed.

“Wipe that smirk off your face and eat.”

“So when did you fall in love with me?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

W
ATCHING
C
LAUDIA
'
S
REACTION
, Jack rubbed the stubble on his face.

She raised her gaze and met his direct stare. “You remember me saying that?”

He nodded. “I remember.” The question was why he wanted to talk about it.

Claudia placed her soup on the table. “I thought you were too out of it.”

“Almost, but not quite.”

She looked away.

“How can you be in love with someone you don't trust?” he asked.

“One of the great mysteries of the world,” she murmured.

He remembered their first meeting, her cool reserve and his own vicious pull of attraction. Yeah, a total mystery.

She sighed. “As ridiculous as it sounds, despite everything, I was happy living with you in that cabin. Happier than I've ever been.”

He blinked and reached for his soup. “You like the cabin?”

“I felt like I belonged there.”

Jack let those words dangle in the air as he scarfed down the soup.
What? Three bites?
He scraped the bottom of the cup, doubting any chicken had died for this thin broth.

“How about a turkey sandwich?” Claudia suggested.

“That would be awesome.”

Jack remained silent as she prepared the food. He liked watching her efficient movements, probably developed from years of nursing. Hard to believe she'd felt comfortable in his cabin. He'd never met another woman who could stand the place, yet she claimed to have been happy there. And now she was taking care of him, even refusing to abandon him at the hospital. While he'd vehemently objected, deep down he'd been touched by her courage.

She claimed to love him. Could such love be real? Or just a result of forced togetherness and his protection?

What would it be like to move home and live in the cabin permanently with Claudia? Nurses were in demand everywhere, right?

He shoved away those thoughts.

“Maybe this will improve your mood.” Claudia presented him the sandwich.

“Another big maybe.” He took a huge, satisfying bite.

She aimed the remote at the television. “I want to watch the news.”

She climbed into the bed on his good side, leaving distance he didn't like between them, and arranged pillows to lean against.

The lead story dealt with worries over a possible freeze and damage to orange groves. The shoot-out in Marion County came next. A police spokesman—not Chuck—claimed the roadblock had been designed to catch fleeing felons. But the reporter dangled questions about who these mysterious felons were.

The section ended with, “Dead men can't answer questions.”

“Amazing.” Claudia muted the sound. “They act like they feel sorry for the bad guys.”

“Because of the mystery surrounding who they are. Chuck bottled it up tight, giving us time to get somewhere safe.”

She shook her head. “The media will keep digging until they unearth something.”

“By then you'll have testified.”

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“Are you getting cold feet?”

“No. Definitely not.” She looked toward the window. “But I am sick of hiding.”

Jack followed her gaze. Nothing to see thanks to the curtains. Yeah, he was tired of hiding, too, but some sick part of him didn't want this journey to end. After he delivered Claudia to Miami, would he ever see her again?

“And what if the Warriors find us?” she asked.

“Come here.” He raised his arm, inviting her to move closer, pleased she didn't hesitate.

With her head resting on his shoulder, he said, “It's unlikely they'll find us by Thursday. They suffered a huge loss and have to start over.”

“I'm sorry, Jack,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the fragrance of her hair. “For what?”

“Getting you involved, getting you shot, not trusting you. For everything.”

“I'm not sorry.”

“You're not?”

“Not for everything.”

“Yeah.” He felt her smile even though he couldn't see it. “Some things were great.”

As he stroked her hair, he knew by her tone that she alluded to their lovemaking—which, no question, had been beyond spectacular—but he was thinking more of hikes through the forest to the gun range, easy conversations about nothing special, quiet evenings they'd shared with his mother and how Claudia had helped repair that bond. Her willingness to help around the cabin. Her courage.

Was that love? His momma said he didn't know what love was.

Did he even believe in love? Had he ever seen a relationship work out?

With a sigh, Claudia raised the remote and turned on the sound.

* * *

A
T
FIRST
LIGHT
Thursday morning, her ever-present holster hidden beneath a sweatshirt, Claudia hurried toward the Navigator, constantly surveying the area for trouble. When she got close, she breathed a sigh of relief. Although covered with dust, the SUV remained where she'd parked it. The engine turned over on the first try. Had her luck changed?

Alone in the sparse motel room, she'd endured four tense days with her gladiator, hoping he'd forgive her, maybe admit he loved her, too. But that was a pipe dream. They played a lot of cards, read, watched horrible TV, suffered through restless nights, but didn't do much talking.

What was there left to say? She loved him, but he didn't love her. He was her protector, her bodyguard, and that's as far as it went. So there wasn't any hope for them. He hadn't made love to her, but he'd been shot. Or at least that's what she told herself. She'd been too afraid of rejection—or too proud—to initiate anything herself.

He'd watched her constantly with those intense green eyes, making her feel nervous and wonder what he was thinking. She didn't ask. They were like polite strangers.

But they weren't strangers anymore.

He was healing nicely, although he wouldn't be swimming any laps or performing marathon push-ups for a while yet.

When she backed up the Navigator to their motel room, Jack tossed their meager possessions inside before she'd come to a complete stop.

“I'll drive,” he said.

Claudia slid to the passenger side and snapped on her seat belt.

“Any trouble?” he asked as he accelerated onto the all but deserted highway.

“Nothing,” she said.

“We've seen the last of the Warriors,” Jack said confidently. “At least for a while.”

“Maybe.” After the shoot-out in Marion County, the story had remained on the evening news for days. Her name had emerged, and law enforcement had stomped down hard on the Warriors, bringing in at least twenty members of the group for questioning. Two had been arrested for obstruction of justice. In Miami, a jury had been seated in Carlos's trial. Opening arguments started today.

All she had to do was make it through one more night. Then she could start her life again.

A life without Jack. Whenever she remembered that, a hollow space inside her grew larger.

If only she'd realized what a good man he was sooner. She released a sigh. But would that have mattered? She couldn't make him love her.

“What?” Jack said.

Snapped out of her depressing thoughts, Claudia noticed they were headed south on the Florida Turnpike. “How should I disguise myself to enter the courthouse?”

He shot her a glance, a smile playing on his lips. “Is it true blondes have more fun?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“You're about to find out.”

* * *

I
N
ANOTHER
NONDESCRIPT
motel room, this one in North Miami, Jack stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Unsmiling, eyes wide, Claudia stared into the bathroom mirror at a woman with short blond hair.

He couldn't tell if she liked it or was horrified. The cut might be a little ragged, but not bad. He'd picked a dye to make her hair as light as possible. He wasn't sure how he felt about the change himself. She was Claudia, but somehow different.

With glasses, even her ex wouldn't recognize her.

She turned her head one way, then the other. “If you get bored with the protection racket, you can always start a new career as a hairstylist.”

“You think?”

“You're a man of many talents, Jack,” she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

A knock had them both whirling toward the door. Jack approached with a weapon drawn and moved the curtain.

He tucked the gun in his waistband.

“Pizza,” he reported, opening the door. They'd decided to splurge on hot food for the first time in almost a week, but elected to order in. Just in case.

He placed the warm box in the center of the bed and lifted the cover. Steam floated into the air, releasing the fragrance of garlic and sausage.

Grinning, Claudia approached. “That smells divine.”

Jack grabbed a slice, took a bite and nodded.

Still not used to the strange blonde he'd created, he watched Claudia as they scarfed down the pizza. He'd heard of men getting turned on when their wives or girlfriends changed hair color, but not him. He preferred the old Claudia and wondered how long it would take for her natural color to grow back. He hoped not long.

Then, with a stab of pain to his gut, he realized he'd never know.

His appetite gone, he tossed his slice back into the box and glared at her.

Claudia raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“I need some air.”

He was out the door before she could object. He needed to move. That was the way he always made sense of things. She wrote; he moved. He waited until she resecured the lock before walking toward the warehouse area behind the motel.

The night was cold, but he began to jog, causing the holster to thump against his side. He'd be sweating before long.

He and Claudia danced around his need to forgive her. Why couldn't he let it go? Some bit of pigheaded male pride? She'd apologized countless times, and the truth was he understood why she hadn't trusted him. Carlos Romero had made her afraid of everyone, not just him. He'd made her fear life.

Why couldn't he tell her, make things right between them?

His mother claimed he was the most stubborn person on the face of the earth. Maybe she was right. Hadn't it taken him three years to forgive her?

Claudia wouldn't wait three years. No woman would. So he'd lose her, and the thought of living without her made him want to break something. He'd gotten used to her smile, having someone to think about, work with,
be
with.

Maybe it was because he'd never been in love before and didn't know how to handle the power of that emotion. So he ran like hell from it.

He'd never felt this way about any other woman. Was he afraid of those feelings?

Damn right he was afraid. And running.

He stopped, placed his hands on his knees and inhaled deeply. She called him her gladiator, like he was brave enough to fight lions barehanded.

She was wrong.

He didn't even have the courage to fight for their love.

* * *

“I'
LL
BE
AT
the courthouse in an hour,” Claudia told Reese Beauchamps, her gaze on Jack, who paced the room, obviously ready to go, anxious to finally be rid of her.

“Someone will meet me, right? And you'll have the clothes, size eight? Thanks.” She disconnected and handed Jack his phone.

“Security is in place?” he demanded.

“He claims an army of FBI agents will meet us.”

Jack nodded. “Good. Are you nervous?”

She placed a hand on her uneasy belly. Nervous? She was a pathetic wreck, but not about testifying. She'd be in a room full of people and safe for the first time in weeks. But Jack would drop her off at the courthouse and drive away. She'd never see him again.

“I just want it over with,” she whispered, unable to meet his penetrating gaze.

He stepped toward the door. “Then let's get moving.”

“Right,” she said with a quick nod.

The morning was cold and dark when they exited the motel. They rode in silence. Claudia tried to plan what she'd say on the witness stand. That was what was important, why she'd met Jack in the first place. Hyperaware of him alertly navigating the streets of Miami, constantly checking the rearview mirror, all she could think about was how empty her life would be without him in it.

She'd been nourishing a faint hope that he'd say something to her about what would happen after the trial—but what? He simply didn't love her enough, or maybe not at all. Not the way she loved him.

She surely didn't want to suffer through some embarrassing conversation about what a great gal she was, but how she just wasn't the right woman for him, how he wished her all the best.

So it was better this way. The break should be clean and quick. No last minute recriminations. He couldn't help who he was. She'd get over it. Or anyway, she hoped so.

He'd been her bodyguard, and he'd completed his mission. She was still alive to testify. That's all he signed on for. She should be grateful to him for that.

The sun hadn't yet risen when Jack braked to a stop in front of a boxy seven-story building. Seven or eight suited unsmiling men and women waited on the sidewalk.

“Do you see Beauchamps?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. Willing herself not to cry, she turned to Jack and took a deep breath. “Thanks for everything.”

“You're welcome.”

“I'll never forget you, Jack,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke his name.

He smiled. “I know.”

Claudia gripped the door handle, a prick of anger breaking through her regrets. Arrogant, insufferable male.
He knows? Damn him.