Guarding Miranda (16 page)

Brian! 

But what was he doing here?

“Brian?” She stepped toward a panel and flicked the switch that would flood the room with light. 

She blinked twice in the bright that followed but was relieved to see him sitting there, in the arm chair, smiling like the handsome devil he was.

She saw the holster he wore and the blue black handle of the handgun in its leather sheath. 

She was shocked, to say the least, by the presence of the gun...

She had no reason to be fond of guns.

Since her injury, they were scarier than ever before.

Yet she knew that this man would do her no harm.

“What are you doing here?”

“What, no hello?”

His black T-shirt was stretched over the powerful expanse of his chest and shoulders, the sleeves tightened around his thick biceps. 

The T-shirt was tucked into a pair of snug jeans with an evident bulge at the zipper that set her imagination on the run.

Here was a man of muscle, sinew and potent male virility.

 “Uhm… hello?”

“Hello again,” he said with a smile.

“Brian, you scared me half to death!” She held her hand over her pounding heart. “I was ready to grab a knife you know!”

“Sorry, love.  No harm meant.”

“What are you doing here?”

“There was a break-in at the Gundy’s.  Your room was, quite frankly, trashed.  Russ thinks it was done by the man who killed Richard, come to intimidate or silence you …or worse.”

“Why didn’t he call?”

“Your phone service isn’t hooked up yet.”

Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment.

Of course not.

She had known that.

“Well why didn’t Uncle Russ get someone to warn me you were coming over?”

“He didn’t want to frighten you any more than necessary.” Brian’s steel-eyed gaze held hers. “And he didn’t want to spook the town of friendlies either. He seemed to feel that every man, woman and teen who owned a gun would be taking shifts with their neighbors to keep watch over your front porch.”

She did get the sense that Waterhen looked out for their own.

She was getting another sense.

The sense that her Uncle Russ was being as much of a control freak as ever.

“Still, I don’t see why he had to send you up here, just to tell me that.”

“It isn’t just for my services as a messenger, Miranda.” Brian rose from his seat, to his full six feet and four inches. “I’m here to serve as your bodyguard.”

The laugh burst forth from Miranda’s lips with as much humor as surprise.

“Bodyguard?
 For me?
” She laughed again, this time until her stomach ached.  Brian watched her in silence, wondering what was so funny. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why?”

“I thought I’ve explained it already. Your Uncle Russ is certain you’re in need of my personal protection services.”

Miranda laughed again but her green eyed gaze lost all of its humor when she stiffened her back and readied a terse reply.

“Well, you can go back to San Francisco and tell my uncle that I’m quite all right, in no need of your
personal protection services
.”

“I’m sure he’ll beg to differ, just as I would.”

“
And I’m sure I’ll save him a small fortune by sending you back to California!
” She nearly shouted, the stubborn streak in her showing its vibrant color.

“Miranda, he has reason to believe your life is in danger. That Barry may be looking to finish what he started.” Brian’s voice was even but stern. “It’s a sentiment I share.”

“Well, then, it’s between me and the police and no concern of yours.”

“And exactly where are you going to find a policeman in these parts?” Brian made a sweeping gesture encompassing the region. “According to your uncle, there are no police in Waterhen.”

He intentionally didn’t mention the locally-affiliated community constable.

“Probably because Waterhen is so small and calm and quiet and peacefull that they don’t
need
any.”

Her unspoken statement was that she didn’t need any.

And that she didn’t need him either.

That she was safe.

That he should leave.

Brian frowned his displeasure.  “You know, I was expecting you to be grateful toward your uncle Russ, for him loving you enough to ensure your safety.”

“I’m grateful to him for far more than you could ever know,” she seethed, clenching her jaw. “But I’m quite safe here in Waterhen.  No one – not even Barry – would think to look for me outside of California, never mind this far North in a totally different country, a place as remote as this! That is, if it wasn’t just a random home invasion and Barry really
is
after me.”

“Given the state that your rooms were in, I’d say it’s safe to say that someone is looking for you and that their intentions are less than friendly.”

Her face softened, the hostility easing away into shock. “What happened to my rooms?”

Brian walked toward her, unwilling to be the harbinger of bad news but the only one in the position to do so. “Someone ripped your room apart, looking for something or looking for you.”

“How bad was it?” 

“Bad enough to warrant concern.  Picture frames were broken, drawers emptied, things scattered, clothing shredded, your mirror shattered, your dressers emptied unto the floor – that sort of thing.” He paused, to rake a large hand through his onyx colored hair. “Someone really took their rage out in that room.  And as for your Lexus...”

“What happened to my Lexus?”

“The tires were slashed, the windshield shattered by an axe, along with your headlights.  If it wasn’t Barry, thinking perhaps he should silence you before you can identify him to the police, then who was it?”

“Perhaps it was a random act of violence...”

“Possible but not likely.  Not a single item was disturbed or stolen outside of your room, besides a vase in the lobby.  It was an act of violence directed at you.”

Miranda shuddered despite the warmth of the room.

“I see.” She gave a long, steadying sigh as she processed the upsetting information. “Have the police got any leads?”

 “No. Your Uncle Russ thinks that it was Barry, the man who killed Richard and shot you.  I’m inclined to agree with him.”

Miranda’s heart lurched at the drop of her fiancé’s name. 

She felt as though the assault upon her room, her vehicle, had been assaults upon her very person.

She felt mildly faint and very ill...

“It still doesn’t warrant your presence here,” she insisted, her hands clenching into fists.

“Damned right, it does!” He growled. “Unless you’d like this Barry character to finish the job he started when he shot you the last time!”

At the mention of the wound, her shoulder began to ache, as though memory of the incident had provoked it into pain.

Brian watched the changing expressions on her face.  “Now, I’m staying, aren’t I Miranda?”

“Fine.” She surrendered. “You can stay.”

“Am I to take it you’ve come to your senses?” He grinned at her but she was in no mood to grin back.

“You can take it any damned way you like,” she snapped, as viciously as she could manage. “I really don’t care.”

Glaring at him the way she was, she couldn’t help but notice how virile masculinity was stamped into every line, every curve of Brian’s physique. 

Even now, at his most relaxed, the smile of satisfaction on his face, there was a fierceness to him that she had never noticed in other men. 

Realizing that she was staring, Miranda looked away.

“There are two guest bedrooms,” she began to say. “One through there and one up there.  Which would you prefer?”

He stared down at her porcelain pale face, into green eyes that were softened by something he could not name. 

He saw the signs of her submission, her downcast gaze. 

Her submission would do, for now.  

He suspected that she would not co-operate in other ways, that she would likely rebel against his being there.

“I’ve already put my things in the guest room up there.” He uncrossed his strong arms. “Thank you.”

“I need a drink.” Miranda said flatly, heading for her uncle’s well-stocked liquor cabinet. “A strong one.”

She opened the cabinet wide to reveal several bottles of liquor. “Brian, can I interest you in a whisky, scotch, vodka, rum or gin?”

“Maybe later.” He replied, clearly amused by her invitation. “Look, Miranda, I know you’re not too happy with my presence here -”

“- you’re right,” she said, pouring herself a hefty vodka. “I’m not.”

“Well, then, let me clear the air between us.  I’m here to do a job, perform a task and that task is to protect you to the best of my ability.  I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible but it is imperative that you abide by my advice.” Brian paused, before launching into the part he knew she was going to hate. “Rule number one-”

“Rules, huh?” She glowered at him.

“-is simple: wherever you go, I go.  You aren’t to leave without letting me know where you’re going, so I can accompany you.”

“Wonderful!” She seethed, closing the liquor cabinet.

“Rule number two is: always abide by rule number one.  To ensure you comply, I’ll take care of your car keys for you...”

“Like hell you will!” She snapped, wheeling around but it was too late. He was already dangling the keys from one huge, burly hand.

“It’s for your own good, Miranda.”

She stomped toward him, until she was face to face with the towering bodyguard, one angry palm extended, “You can kindly give me back me keys.”

“No. I can’t.” 

“I’m not going to run away like some foolhardy teenager.”

“Consider me your chauffeur from here on in.” He jiggled the keys a moment before tucking them into his jeans.

“Fine!” She snapped, stalking to the fridge to add a splash of ginger ale to the half glass of vodka. “Just so you know, I’m going to watch a DVD.  Care to accompany me?”

It was more of a dare than an invitation, from the tone of her voice.

She was handling the transition rather well, he figured.

“Certainly.” He followed her into the living room. “So where were you, anyway?”

“The community potluck supper.”

“A potluck?” He laughed. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to mingle with the locals.”

“I happen to like the locals. A lot.” She paused and viciously added: “You know nothing about me, Brian.”

“On the contrary, I know quite a lot.”

He considered the size of a certain red satin bra with lace trim, upstairs…

“Like what?” She challenged.

“Like that you’re innocent of all the accusations the newspapers are making.  You weren’t involved in any way with Richard’s drug dealings.”

Her eyes narrowed with anger as she beheld him. “How perfectly ignorant of you to automatically assume he’s guilty of the charges!”

Now was not the time for Brian to tell her the truth, as much as part of him wanted to tell her what a vile bastard her fiancé had been.

Instead of confessing all, he instead tried to be compassionate and said: “You must have loved him very much.”

“I did love him, I still do.  With every fiber of my being, every part of my soul.”

“Then he was a lucky man.” Brian supposed, with a startling pang of jealousy churning inside of him. 

He knew himself too well to ignore the simmering irritation he felt at her admission.