My Biker Bodyguard (10 page)

What did you do Mitch, go slumming in Milwaukee?
Was that it? She was all right to flirt with, to toy with,
when he didn't have all his rich friends around? She unpacked,
trying to distract herself from the emotional cyclone whipping
her into a good fury. She shoved her best clothing into
drawers, stabbed her two blouses onto hangers, slammed the
doors on the closet shut. She stormed about the room.
She hadn't brought enough to keep her busy and much too
soon, she was left with nothing to do but dwell on him. In a
full on fit, she kicked the bed frame. Pain burst into her toe
and she sat on the edge of the bed to nurse her throbbing foot.
I didn't ask for any of this.
Yeah, but she had to deal with it, didn't she? With a deep
sigh, she flopped backward on the bed and stared at the tray
ceiling. Okay, forget Mitch and her attraction to him. Forget
that phenomenal kiss. She wasn't meant for him. Hell, maybe
she wasn't meant for anyone. Worst of all, she had nothing to
do.
He'd given her no task to complete, no job, no work
assigned to her, not even a gun to protect herself with. She
frowned. In Milwaukee, she didn't think she could ever touch
the Magnum again. Even when they'd released her, she hadn't
asked for it back. Jack probably still had it. Jack.
My man-radar sucks.
She flexed her hands absently. As awful as shooting that
gunman had been, she very much missed the security the
weapon had given her. To depend on a man, on anyone, left
her feeling way too vulnerable.
If Mitch planned on running hot and cold, he could at least
give her a spare pistol or get her a new one. She could practice
while they waited for the killer to be caught. He owed her that
much. She could depend on cold steel. It didn't play games
with her heart.

Mitch relaxed at the table, happy they weren't in the
formal dining room where Beth had been shot. Amused, he
watched Jess eat. She waited for Jared to start each course,
finding the right fork, spoon, or knife to do the job from his
example.

To be honest, he'd hardly been able to keep his gaze off
her through the entire meal. Hair down, the red, gauzy blouse
drifting from the edges of her shoulders and low enough to
expose the shadow of her cleavage, she appeared made for their
opulent surroundings. Aside from a hint of that same tattoo
he'd glimpsed the night before and the small signs of her
discomfort, he'd never have guessed she hadn't been raised
under this roof.

Jared, between bites of tenderloin, waved his fork in the
air and continued to regale them with all that had happened
since Mitch left for Milwaukee. "They've been so disrespectful
Mitch. Could you please talk to that detective and make him
understand I'm not a suspect here?"

"I'm sure he's just doing his job." Mitch drank water,
ignoring his wine. "But I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks." Jared looked at Jess. "When Beth wakes up,
she'll be thrilled to hear you've come home."
Jess paused, glass floating in midair on the way to her lips,
then drank. She set the glass down carefully, as if afraid to
spill the burgundy liquid on the white table cloth. "I'm
surprised to be here. I didn't know about any of this until
yesterday."
"Beth said your father didn't want any contact between
you and her, but I had no idea he kept it from you all together."
Jared glanced to Mitch. "He should have told her, wouldn't
you say?"
Mitch didn't have a chance to answer.
Eyes fierce, Jess said, "My father did what he thought was
best for me. Which is a lot more than…." Her glance fell on
Mitch and she breathed deep. "I'm here now, that's what
matters."
Mitch nodded and swallowed a bite of bread. "She's right.
What are the docs saying?"
Jarred hung his head and shook it. "She's no better. She
just lingers on and on and won't wake up." He lifted his gaze,
settling it back on Jess. "I talk to her, you know. I tell her all
about what's being done, about how you were coming today.
They say people in a coma can hear, even if they can't
respond."
Jess gave Mitch a strange, weighty look over the rim of
her glass as she drank it dry. Jared refilled it for the third time.
"Did they know how long it'll last?" Mitch asked, shoving
the new potatoes around on his plate, his appetite suddenly
gone.
He knew what Jess wanted. Every time she became
stressed, she turned to him for more than simple comfort. He
had become aware of this in the bedroom, but he was on the
job, period.
"The doctors aren't sure," Jared said, drinking more wine.
"They're hopeful it won't be much longer."
"That's good," Jess said, though she sounded distracted.
"I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see you at our
table." Jared offered her a warm smile.
Mitch thought it looked more genuine than all the others.
A strange jealousy ran through him. He shrugged it off as
ridiculous.
Jared said, "Beth's waited so long to see you."
Jess delicately gulped more wine and Mitch hoped she
could handle it. She hadn't drunk anything at the cookout and
he had no idea if she could tolerate the amount Jared kept
pouring in her glass. She blurted, "Why didn't she ever visit
me?"
"She talked about it, but she was afraid that you wouldn't
see her. Your father gave the impression you didn't want to see
her."
Jess leaned over the table, shoved her plate out of the way,
a glazed look in her eyes Mitch prayed came from exhaustion
and not the wine. No telling what Jess would do if intoxicated.
Sober, she was a handful. Drunk? He didn't want to think of
what liquid courage might encourage.
"How did you meet my mother?"
Jarred chuckled. "Now you've gone and done it. We'll be
talking until the sun comes up."
Jess sat straighter, and blinked. "I'll tough it out."
When Jared tried to pour Jess more wine and start his
story, Mitch decided she'd had enough for one day and
interrupted. "It's getting late and I wanted to show her the
house yet. You can tell her how you met Beth tomorrow."
Jess looked relieved. "Yes, tomorrow sounds good. It's
been a hell of–of…." she stammered, "I mean, it's been a long
few days."
Jarred looked regretful, but nodded. "Yes, I understand."
He brightened. "Tomorrow we'll have breakfast outside and–"
"That's probably not a good idea." Mitch wondered if
Jared could get anymore lax. No wonder Pullman looked
exhausted. For a man whose life is threatened by association,
Jared didn't seem to be taking it seriously. Too much alcohol
could make a man this careless. He'd talk to Pullman, see if
they couldn't team up to keep Jared out of the liquor cabinet
and on task.
"Of course, how stupid of me." Jared apologized with a
sad smile. "You'd think with how awful it was when Beth
was…injured, I'd be smarter than that."
"Just be more careful." Mitch placed his silverware on his
plate and sat back. "It's getting late and we need to go on that
tour. You're free to join us, if you want, Jared. It couldn't hurt
for you to have a review."
Mitch stood. Jess rose with him, hand resting on the back
of her chair, one hip cocked. It suddenly struck him how very
similar to Beth she looked, in that pose, waiting for Jared to
speak. He'd seen the resemblance before, but here, it was
unmistakable.
Jared shook his head. "I've been over it forty times in the
last week. I'll be in my office if you need me."
"Thanks for dinner." Jess lifted her hand in a half-hearted
wave. "It was very good."
Jared glanced at her nearly full plate but didn't comment.
He stood. "I'm glad you enjoyed the meal, but we're family
now, there's no need to thank me."
"Oh." Jess sounded embarrassed and apologetic.
Jared left and Mitch ushered her out of the dining room.
Already his imagination had skipped ahead to vacant rooms
and darkened hallways. Too bad Pullman, doing the last
inspection of the perimeter, couldn't play third wheel.
Mitch wondered if he should bill Jared for the extra risk.
Wandering through the house, alone with Jess, was more
dangerous than dodging bullets.
* * *
Jess walked as close as she could to Mitch without
stepping on his heels. The wine helped her forget about her
anger, and remember her attraction. She wasn't finished with
him, not by a long shot. No way would she let him treat her
like a one night stand that never happened.
She snorted and when he gave her a curious look, she
shook her head and waved him on. He wore a black shirt,
slacks, and looked even more handsome, even more dangerous
in this informal uniform.
Why can't you be ugly?
Heat radiated from him, a balm of warmth against her
chilled skin. Her gaze fell to the wide belt around his hips. It
held a radio, a gun, and bulged with secret compartments. The
sort of thing a spy might wear, or one of those authority types
her dad always warned her about.
I want one
.
Jess pictured herself back in the parlor with a pair of tattoo
guns slung from holsters at her hips, the little compartments
filled with vials of ink and a sprocket set adding a touch of
chrome. She barely managed to suppress another snort. Oh
yeah, the wine had gone straight to her head.
Tipsy, she didn't know if she was coming or going. She
blinked hard to focus as he explained some thingamajig. Not
only had the wine released her inner lunatic, but it had killed
her ability to concentrate. She sighed with relief as they
entered yet another sitting room with sofas and a large fireplace
flanked by wingback chairs. Her relief ebbed as she saw the
tiny room he meant to take her into.
"This is the first floor saferoom. Once you get inside," he
pulled her into the closet-sized space, "hit this button."
He pushed the red button set into a metal panel. With a
buzzing electric hum, a door instantly dropped from a recess in
the ceiling and punched into its track in the floor. She felt the
impact on the bottom of her feet, but it was nothing compared
to the impact of being completely alone in the red-glow of
emergency lights with her bodyguard.
He went silent. No longer did he explain switches and
buttons and monitors, no longer did he bug her to pay attention,
he simply stared at her.
"This is where you'll go, if anything happens. Once the
door goes down…." He raised his hand, then dropped it, a look
of regret in his eyes. "When the door goes down, no one can
come in, unless you let them in."
"And if I want to let them in?" she whispered. She
stepped into his space and captured his gaze with her own.
"How do I open the door for them?"
The double meaning left her vulnerable, waiting for him to
accept or reject her invitation. How had she gotten herself here
again? She didn't have to wait long. Mitch drew closer, his
head dipping, a smile on his tempting lips. At the last moment,
he reached around her and flipped something on the wall. The
door whooshed back into the ceiling. Disgruntled and unable
to be fully angry in the glow of his grin, she frowned.
"Like that." He straightened, and although his smile didn't
fall, it never got as high as his eyes either.
The moment broken, she fought to listen, to ignore her
embarrassment and the effects of the wine as he went through
the emergency procedure and the different ways she could get
help from inside the room.
He showed her the radio that went directly to the security
station, a telephone, and the different monitors showing each
room with an emergency beacon. If all else failed, she could
activate the beacon, letting people familiar with the system
know she was in the saferoom and needed assistance.
He sounded almost mechanical as he went through
everything, as if he'd memorized the manual overnight and
wanted to make sure even the smallest details were covered.
Great, Robot Mitch. Flip a switch and you got hunk
extraordinaire, flip it again, and you get the Encyclopedia of
home security
.
"If all that doesn't work, the house is probably on fire."
Mitch said.
Startled from her thoughts, she gaped at him. "Fire?"
"Yeah, if there's a fire, you're screwed." He nodded to the
steel walls. "Your goose would definitely be cooked in here."
Appalled, she inspected the walls and ceiling. There had
to be some way out. "Are you serious?"
"No. I'm not serious." When she just stared at him, his
grin widened. "Gotcha."
For a beat, she debated kicking the living crap out of him,
then a chuckle burbled up from her chest that she couldn't
contain. She smacked his arm playfully. "Y'know you're a
jerk, right?"
He pulled back, laughing. "Hey, don't beat up the
bodyguard."
She squared her shoulders and poked him in the chest.
"How about you pay me for protection? Then I'll lay off."
Some of the humor left his smile. "Now you're into
extortion? What's next, racketeering?"
She gave him her best flirty smile. "I'm into whatever you
want me to be into."
"Stop that Jess." Angry, he went out the door.
Following him, infected by his anger, she refused to let
him get off that easy. What? Now that the tables were flipped,
he couldn't hack it? "Stop what, Mitch? How about you stop
it? How about you tell me why I'm fair game in Milwaukee,
but out in L.A. you act like I'm some disease!"
He spun around and shoved his hands deep into the
expensive looking trousers. They made large fists inside the
fabric. "I just want you to stop…stop getting under my skin,
dammit!"
She froze. "I get under your skin?"
He rubbed the top of his head without answering and
backed up to lean on the edge of the sofa, arms folded across
his chest. "Listen, I'm not about to play games with you. I
think you've been through enough of that."
Overcome by an unexpected wave of gratitude, any
lingering anger fled. She hadn't known how badly she'd
wanted to hear him acknowledge that it had been wrong to
keep secrets from her, that she hadn't deserved it. "Thank
you."
He nodded. "But that doesn't mean what I got to say is
gonna be easy to hear. You can't have it both ways."
"I understand." She braced herself and found it easier to
focus when dread filled her brain instead of lust. If she wanted
to know the truth, demanded to know the truth, then she'd have
to accept the responsibility of hearing the truth. No matter how
bad it was.
"I can't do this with you right now. This thing we got
goin' between us." He waved a hand between them. "I want
to, believe me I do, but it's not safe. Not until you and your
family aren't in danger."
"I'm so sick of this guy and I've only been living with it
for three days." The last traces of wine-haze left her. Cold,
clear frustration wiped it out. "How the hell did my mother
take it for so long? Why isn't this guy caught yet?"
"He's overseas, hopping around from one island resort to
the next. He's a gambler, they do that. Especially if they don't
want to be easy to track down."
"He's running? Can't they figure out where he's going
next?"
"We don't know if he's running from us, or if he's running
from someone else. The games he frequents are planned to be
hard to find, you gotta be connected to a crew before you get
in. It's not as easy as you'd think."
"If he's on the run, from us, or because of some damned
poker game, how'd he arrange to have my mother shot and send
someone after me? Does he have a contact?"
Mitch quirked one side of his mouth in a half-smile.
"You're quick, you know that? Larson and I think this contact
is someone who either worked for your grandfather, and is still
working for the company, or joined soon after your mother
took over. They'd have access to everything–itineraries,
financial records, the whole shebang."
Jess couldn't believe she'd never asked where all those
millions of dollars came from. "What kind of company are we
talking about?"
"They own Weston Jewelers–mostly a chain out here on
the coast, but the bulk comes from their investments in real
estate. The old man bought early and bought wise."
"Weston?"
"Your mother's maiden name."
"God, there's so much I don't know." Jess shoved her
loose hair over one shoulder, trying to think. "Do you know
how weird it is not knowing a thing about your own mother?"
"No, but I know what it's like not to know a thing about
your father." He shrugged. "We all got our stuff to deal with,
Jess. Don't mean the world's gonna stop turning, or the sun's
gonna stop shining, or bad guys are gonna stop bein' bad. The
only thing we can do is get through it."
She couldn't imagine a life where she'd never known Dirty
Dan Owen–a mother, yes, a father, no. It occurred to her that
she'd been a girl, raised by a man, and he'd been a boy, raised
by a woman. It felt strange that they each lacked what the
other had, as if they were designed to be one half of the same
whole.
"All right," she said, "I get that. But it doesn't make it any
easier on either of us."