Bodyguard (38 page)

Shaun stared across the table at him. “You know about that?”

Harry nodded. “I know you’re not Kevin. I don’t want you to be Kevin. He was …” He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “He was one of those people who just always had it easy, you know? All his life. Everything was a piece of cake for him—school, sports, the social scene. He never had to fight for anything, and because of that, he was never particularly good at anything. If there was one thing I’d’ve wished for him, it was that he’d have had a little friction in his life. It’s easy to just drift along when
everything goes your way. But when you’ve got to stand up and fight—that’s when you become a man.”

He paused, waiting until Shaun looked up, until Shaun met his gaze.

“I see that in you, kid,” he continued. “You’re not afraid to look me in the eye. Hell, you’re not afraid to spit in my eye. And that’s good. I’m proud of you for that. I wish I’d been around to help with the fights, but you did more than okay on your own. And I hear you’re one of the best dancers in northern Colorado. I’m proud of that, too.”

Shaun pushed his chair back from the table and tossed his cereal bowl in the sink. He took a sponge and mopped up the mess on the table, stalling for time, afraid his voice would break, afraid of letting his father know how much his words had mattered. “Well, that was heart stirring, Harry, but two years is too long for you to be able to buy your way back in with one moving speech.”

“I know that,” Harry said quietly. “I know it’s not going to be that easy. But I’m a fighter, too, Shaun. And I’m telling you, we’re going in for counseling. I’ll contest the shit out of your petition for change in name and custody if I have to. I’m home, I’m sorry, and we will work this out, even if it kills us.”

Shaun fought the tears that came to his eyes, fought the hope that kept trying to grow inside him. “You don’t know how badly I want to believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t do this halfway,” Shaun told him, his voice shaking despite his attempts to hold it steady. “If you’re going to do it halfway, if you’re going to go back to New York next week or next month or even next year, just go now, okay?”

“I’m telling you, I’m not—”

“Right after the accident, right after Mommy and Kevin died, after we moved here with Marge, I couldn’t sleep at night,” Shaun told his father. “I knew you were in New York, hunting down the men who killed Mommy and Kevin. And I was so scared. I would just lie awake at night, making myself sick with worry that you were going to get yourself killed, too. I spent about a year nearly throwing up every time the phone rang, because I was so sure it was going to be the call telling us you were dead.

“But then I realized,” he continued, “that it really didn’t matter. Because you were already gone. The part of you that was Dad was killed along with Kev and Mom.” His voice broke again, and he stopped to take a deep breath and to clear his throat. “I still can’t shake this séance feeling I get every time I see you. It’s kind of like a scheduled haunting—a yearly sighting of a ghost from the past.”

“Ouch,” Harry said. He didn’t bother to hide the tears that were glistening in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Shaun said tightly. “It still really hurts me, too.” He rinsed out his cereal bowl. “So. If you’re going to exhume yourself and stick around, you better plan to stay until Em’s high school graduation. If you can’t do that, leave now.”

“I’ll be here when you get back from Denver,” Harry told him.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Shaun headed for the door. “Excuse me, I’ve got to go pack my overnight bag.”

“Break a leg, kid,” Harry said. “I love you.”

Shaun paused but didn’t look back. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

* * *

“Harry, wait!” He was getting into his car when Marge came out onto the porch. She came down the steps and along the concrete path. “I think you better come inside and hear this.”

“Can’t it wait? I was just going to get my stuff and check out of the motel and—”

“There’re about two dozen messages for you on the answering machine. I turned the phone off last night and let the machine pick it up because I’ve been getting prank calls from some of my students. I didn’t turn it on again until just now, and—”

Her words didn’t make sense. “Messages? For me? No one knows this number. No one knows I’m here.”

“It was someone calling from the Farthing FBI office. You should listen to the messages, Harry.”

The implications of her words literally rocked him back on his heels. Good thing his car was there or he would’ve fallen on his ass. Somehow, someone from the Bureau had tracked him here. But how? He pushed himself forward and ran toward the house.

“There were calls for you every half hour,” Marge continued, following him. “The last was just a few minutes ago. They say it’s urgent.”

Christ, how they’d found him didn’t matter. What mattered was that if the FBI had managed to track him here, Michael Trotta wouldn’t be far behind. Jesus, he had to find Allie.

“Get Shaun and Emily into the car right now. Don’t pack, don’t do anything. Just get into the car and go.” Harry shouted up the stairs. “Shaun! Emily! Get down here right now! Time to go.” He took the wad of cash he always carried from his pocket and handed it to Marge. “Buy whatever you need, but don’t use a credit card. Don’t stay in the hotel where you’ve got reservations. Don’t go to Shaun’s audition—”

“What?” Shaun said, coming down the stairs. Emily was right behind him, still in her pajamas, her hair tangled around her wary face.

“Just go to Denver, go to the FBI headquarters there,” Harry continued. “Demand protection—tell them who you are and that I’m afraid Michael Trotta might try to use you to get to Allie. Her real name’s Alessandra Lamont, and Trotta wants her dead. He’s got a two-million-dollar contract on her head.” He turned to Shaun. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

“You said you were quitting!”

“I am,” Harry said, “but someone forgot to tell Michael Trotta that.”

“I don’t goddamn believe this!”

Harry caught Shaun’s arm, pulling him out to Marge’s car. “Please,” he said. “I need you to help me. Trotta will grab you and Em and kill Marge without blinking just to prove to me that the threat is real. You need to go now. Don’t stop, go straight to Denver—do you understand?”

Shaun nodded, his face pale as Marge helped Em with her seat belt.

Harry pulled his son into his arms for a quick hug. “I’ll be right behind you with Allie, and I’ll explain everything when we get there, okay?”

Shaun’s arms tightened around him. “Be careful, Dad.”

“I will.” He leaned into the car and briefly touched Em’s hair. She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

“Is Allie the president?” she asked.

Harry didn’t get a chance to answer, didn’t get a chance to even guess why the hell Em had asked that.

Marge pulled out of the driveway, and he ran into the house to call the Farthing office and find out what the hell was going on.

Allie walked into town, hoping she’d find Annarose Gerty before she left the supermarket. She’d gone to
Mrs. Gerty’s house to tell her she was going to have to cancel their tentative plans for dinner tonight, but the elderly woman wasn’t home.

Under normal circumstances, Allie wouldn’t change her plans, but this was hardly normal. She suspected that after his conversation with Shaun, Harry was going to need the company of a friend. Badly. Mrs. Gerty would understand.

And Allie—fool that she was—would end up back in bed with him tonight, redefining the word friend. She sighed.

She was going to have to tell him. She was going to have to just say it. I love you. And then he could help her deal with it. But not yet. Not until he got his relationship with his kids under control. It would be cruel to drop yet another emotional neutron bomb on him now.

She briefly closed her eyes, praying that Shaun wasn’t tearing Harry into completely unrecognizable pieces.

She spotted Hunter lying calmly on the sidewalk outside the market, loosely tied to a parking meter. Good. That meant Mrs. Gerty was inside and—

Allie’s blood ran cold.

Whenever she’d heard that expression in the past, she’d assumed it was an exaggeration.

It wasn’t.

Her hands and her feet actually tingled from the sensation, but somehow, somehow she didn’t stop dead in her tracks. Somehow she kept walking even though Ivo was there, across the street, in front of the dry cleaners.

Ivo. Michael Trotta’s hired gun. Unmistakably tall, with unmistakable cheekbones and completely unforgettable eyes. He was getting out of a black luxury sedan with four other men. They split up, each going in a different direction, Ivo heading directly toward her.

* * *

“Oh, sweet Christ,” George said. “Are you telling me that this is the first you’ve heard of this? That no one from the Farthing office notified you before this?”

“They still haven’t notified me,” Harry ground into the phone. “I tried calling the number they left on the machine, but the fucking line’s fucking busy. I have to find Allie. Just tell me—fast—how bad is it?”

“Bad,” George told him. “We tracked you down through—”

“The court records,” Harry supplied. “The petitions that Shaun’s lawyers filed. They’re all public record. Shit, I knew it. I knew there was something wrong, something I should’ve realized. Goddamn it!”

“The Colorado team was supposed to set up protection,” George told him. “Surveillance. The whole thing. Another trap with Alessandra Lamont as bait. Jesus, I’m going to kill Nicki. Harry, we already leaked your location to Trotta. The son of a bitch is completely out of control. It doesn’t make any sense, but he just raised Alessandra’s snuff price to three million. If his guys aren’t already there, they’ll be there soon enough. Christ, the agents from the Farthing office were supposed to be ready for them.”

Harry didn’t say good-bye. He just hung up and ran.

Allie’s heart was pounding so loudly, she couldn’t hear the sounds of the cars going past in the street.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Ivo pause, waiting for the traffic before he crossed.

He was heading toward her.

She put her head down and hunched her shoulders, the way Harry had taught her.

Oh, Lord, how could he have found her here? Harry had been so convinced that they were safe.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him look directly
at her. She saw him look again, harder, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The sky was a deeper and darker shade of blue than she’d ever seen in New York. The morning sunshine was hot on her face, the air fresh and clean, the spring day beautiful. It was a perfect day and she drew in one breath after another, well aware that each could be her last.

Dear Lord, she didn’t want to die.

Ivo pivoted slightly so that he was heading directly for her, his hand reaching beneath his jacket, probably for his gun.

No, she didn’t want to die.

And she saw him.

Hunter.

Tied to a parking meter directly in front of her.

He stood up when he saw her coming, tugging at his leash. He only barked once, but once was enough to expose the razor sharpness of his teeth.

Still Allie didn’t let herself shy away. She fought all her instincts to flee and went toward the dog, knowing that this animal, the object of her most terrifying childhood nightmares, had the power to save her life.

And dear Lord, she wanted to live.

She knelt next to Hunter, wrapping her arms around the big dog’s neck, closing her eyes as he brought his enormous mouth with his enormous teeth toward her face.

He licked her. His tongue felt funny and rough, and as she opened her eyes, he seemed to be smiling at her.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ivo turn away. He knew Alessandra Lamont was more afraid of dogs than anything in the world.

What he didn’t know was that Alessandra was more afraid of him than she was afraid of dogs.

She hugged Hunter more tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He licked her ear.

She stood up and gave him one last pat on the head, trying to make it look casual, trying to make it look as if she patted dogs’ heads every day of her life. And then, moving slowly, using Alice Plotkin’s hunch-shouldered, shuffling walk, she headed in the opposite direction from Ivo.

She made it down past Renny Miller’s Garage, down almost all the way to the corner of MacDouglas Street.

She would’ve kept going, would’ve been free and clear, but then—

“Yoo-hoo!”

Oh, Lord, no. Not Mrs. Gerty.

Allie didn’t turn around. She dropped her head lower and shuffled a little faster.

“Yoo-hoo! Alice!”

This was why Harry had wanted her to take a name like Barbara. Barbara didn’t sound anything like Alessandra. Barbara was completely different. Barbara was safe.

Allie stopped at the corner, praying that the light would change so that she could cross. Promising God that if He let her live, she would change her name to Barbara.

“Yoo-hoo! Allie!”

She saw her blurred reflection in the big glass window of Bodeen’s Pharmacy, saw Mrs. Gerty waving, saw there was no one on the sidewalk between them. Allie.

She saw that Ivo had turned, saw him now start toward her, reaching again beneath his jacket, moving at a trot.

And Allie didn’t wait for the traffic light. She turned down MacDouglas Street and ran for her life.

Harry saw Ivo first.

He was running down Main Street, gesturing, and
Harry quickly spotted at least two other men across the road. Ivo was telling them to get the car, and Harry knew he had to move fast.

Then he spotted her.

Allie, running down MacDouglas as if she were going for Olympic gold.

Harry turned the corner just as Ivo did.

Ivo drew his gun, stopping short to balance it with both hands and draw a bead on Allie.

Harry did the only thing he could. He went for the intercept, driving his car right up onto the sidewalk, blocking Ivo’s aim.

The bullet hit his car with a thunk, and Allie looked over her shoulder in alarm. But her alarm quickly turned to relief as she saw it was Harry behind the wheel.