My Biker Bodyguard (21 page)

Jess fell to Mitch's side, her knees kicking up a cloud of
dirt as she reached for him. Blood oozed from the deep gash
that went from the outside corner of his eyebrow across his
scalp. His face had gone a strange shade of pale. Heart
hammering hard inside her aching chest, she swallowed past
her tears. "Mitch, I'm here."

He nodded, and grasped her hand. "Gimme a minute."
She wanted to yank him to his feet, to throw an arm
around him and force him to the nearest car, to get him to the
closest hospital. She settled on cradling his head in her lap,
though she wanted to scream for someone to help her, to get an
ambulance, to bring the police, the FBI, the Marines, anyone.
The blood continued to flow. Too much. She could hear
J.D., lecturing her on the finer points of tattooing,
"Nothing
bleeds like the head."
"Mitch, don't…you'll be all right." She couldn't stop her
tears, couldn't stop crying. She cast around for something to
staunch the flow of blood, but could find nothing. She took her
shirt off, balled it into a compress, and held it over the wound.
"Can you hold this, Mitch?"
He didn't respond, his eyes were closed. She had to get
help for him, but she couldn't leave him. His arm was heavy as
she tried to encourage him to take hold of the compress. A
harsh exhale from him drew her attention. When she looked at
him through her tears, his eyes had rolled to the back of his
head.
"Somebody! Help me! Please!" She screamed toward the
open doors, praying for a response. Knowing none would
come. She shook him as gently as she could. "Mitch. Stay
awake."
He opened one bleary-looking eye. "Hush, Jess. It's okay.
You're okay."
"It's not okay. You're shot."
"I am?"
"Yes. Help me, Mitch. What do I do?"
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
She wanted to laugh and cry and cry some more. Of all
the things for him to notice, her lack of clothing would be the
one. "I took it off to stop your bleeding. Can you hold it?"
He nodded, and pressed a hand, finally, to where she held
the already darkening fabric to his scalp. "Gonna leave a scar,
you think?"
She kissed his forehead and swallowed more tears. Oh, if
it was only a scar and he was going to be all right, she would
be happier than any girl could hope for. "I'll cover it with a
flying dragon. Or if you want, more black work tattoos."
"Whatever you think, Gorgeous."
She laughed through her tears. "Don't call me gorgeous."
He chuckled, then groaned. She tried to help him sit up.
The sound of sirens–far off, but coming closer–came to them
from the long drive leading up to the estate.
Help was on the way.
* * *
"I remembered what happened when he called to see if I
was doing all right." Beth sat against the sheets, looking
stronger than Mitch recalled ever seeing her. "I can't believe
he's dead."
Two days had passed since the fatal shooting in the stable.
Mitch still had a low grade headache sitting at the base of his
skull and the stitches on his scalp looked like something out of
a Frankenstein movie, with the bruising and swelling, but even
that had started to fade. Thank God he had a tough skull, or the
bullet could have done more damage than just leaving a furrow
through his scalp.
"I don't know how to thank you, Mitch, for all you've
done," Beth said after a moment of silence. "I wanted to leave
Jared much sooner, but when my father died…I guess it was
just too much to think about. He manipulated me so easily. I
feel weak, like I was when I first came home."
Tears stood out in eyes that were just as green, just as
beautiful as her daughter's. "It's not really my place, but I think
you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. You're free
now. Free from your father and Jared."
She brushed her tears back and smiled. "I guess I am. I
don't think it's all sunk in just yet."
"Give it time."
Beth nodded and fingered a fold in the blanket, as if trying
to muster up the courage to broach a different subject with him.
"I take it they've released you now?"
He nodded and absently touched the wound in the back of
his hand where the I.V. line had been removed just that
morning. "I guess I'm free, too."
"So you won't be staying on, with us, I mean? Ready to
move on to the next job?"
He wished Jess was there, to help him explain. It felt
awkward to talk about his relationship with Beth's daughter
when the pair had barely had time to get reacquainted. "I'm
retiring from the business. I've saved and invested well and
I'll…I'm leaving–"
Detective Larson chose that time to come into the room.
"Good morning Mrs. Kramer. Mitch," he said, turning to him.
"You're leaving?"
Mitch nodded. "Yeah. But what's happening?"
More eager to talk about legal business than to upset Beth
at the mention of her daughter's imminent return to Milwaukee,
and to avoid feeling like he was a kid caught with his hand in
the familial cookie jar, he waited for the detective to respond.
"Well, the clean up's all done at the estate. The security
guy, Pullman, he'll be all right. Already he's trying to break out
of the hospital and get back to work. Mrs. Kramer, you've got
yourself one loyal employee there."
She smiled in a curious way. One that had Mitch thinking
that maybe Pullman was more than just an employee to her.
Could that be what had sparked off Jared? Could he have
sensed Beth growing close to someone and mistakenly thought
it had been Dirty Dan?
"Thank you, detective." Beth offered Larson a seat by
waving toward a chair. He sat with a groan and a creak of
vinyl as she said, "I only wish that I could have remembered
sooner, been able to keep Jess from coming here."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. There's a few
things we want to make sense of. A few loose ends." Larson
flipped open his notepad. "When you were shot, we couldn't
find any trace of an intruder, just the broken skylight."
She nodded and sat forward. "Yes. Jared and I fought. I
fell trying to get to the door. Or he tripped me, it's still a little
hazy. But I remember he shot me and the sound was so loud. I
heard Mitch coming, running. Jared shot the skylight then. I
think to make his alibi sound good. Jess told me, last night,
that Jared said he planned to kill himself once I was…dead."
Mitch exhaled largely, rubbed the stubble on his chin.
That made more sense. If he hadn't been so cocksure that Jared
was an innocent bystander in all of this, he would have put it
together himself. The way Jared had carried on about losing
Beth, how he'd hurried to get to the phone and called an
ambulance, now appeared to be less about Beth being all right,
and more about his loss of control over the situation. "I'm
sorry I didn't put it together sooner. I should have."
Larson shrugged. "We always knew the scene was hinky.
Reason the FBI tried to finger you, Mitch. They thought you
were in on it, had helped out by leaving a hole in the security
grid."
"What about the confession we got outta Marlboro Man?"
Mitch said. "Punch was his name."
Larson nodded. "D.A. spoke with him late yesterday.
Word is, Punch was paid by Jared to name Grady if he got
pinched. The transfer went through electronically the day of
the shooting. Jared must have planned to off everyone or he
wouldn't have gotten so sloppy."
Jess came into the room, trailing that sweet vanilla scent
behind her, carrying the suitcase she'd brought with her from
Milwaukee. Her face was troubled, but cleared when she
realized Beth had other visitors.
"Hi guys. Detective Larson, I wasn't expecting to see you
again." Jess set down her suitcase and came to Mitch's side,
her hands in the back of her jeans. "I'm glad I get the chance to
thank you for helping my family, and for smoothing out things
with the feds after Mitch hitched a ride on that helicopter."
Larson waved a hand. "It was nothing."
"Heck it was." Mitch sat up. "She's right, you've got my
thanks for that too. I'd probably be brought up on charges if it
weren't for you."
Beth said, "Jess, you're leaving now?"
Jess went to the hospital bed and touched the rail gently.
"I've gotta get back to the shop and make sure things are all
right back home. But we'll talk on the phone and you can come
visit, like we planned."
Beth nodded and covered Jess's hand where it rested on
the railing. "I'll do that. Tell your father for me that I…hope
he's happy and I wish him nothing but the best."
"I will." Jess kissed her mother on the cheek. "I can't wait
to see you again."
"Me either. Doesn't seem as if we've had enough time,
does it?" Beth patted Jess's hand once. She pulled back to lift
herself a little higher on the bed. "I never did have a chance to
ask, but did your father ever remarry? I know that he was still
single last year, but just…I'm curious. I wouldn't want to step
on anyone's toes if I plan to visit."
"No, my father never remarried." Jess smiled. "But he
does have a girlfriend he's been keeping secret from me. I've
met her though. She isn't the drama queen type. Very laid
back. I'm sure you and she will get along just fine."
"Good to know. You be safe on your way home."
"I will." Jess turned to Mitch and raised an eyebrow.
"You ready?"
"Mitch is going with you?" Beth asked, her surprise
evident in the depth of her eyes.
Mitch cleared his throat and stood. "Yeah, well, y'know.
Jess is…a little hard headed, but I finally sweet-talked her into
giving me a chance."
"My, my, my," Larson said. "Guess the feds weren't so far
off the mark."
Mitch smiled at Larson. "Shut up."
"Well, now, this is something new," Beth said. The slight
frown on her brow disappeared as she turned a pleased smile
on Jess. "You couldn't have picked a better man. I'm sure he'll
take excellent care of you."
Jess's own smile faltered a tad. "We'll take care of each
other."
"Of course." Beth clasped her hands together. For a
moment, Mitch saw the vulnerable side of Jess under that gaze.
The side that had made itself clear to him how very alone Jess
was, surrounded by her father's friends and none of her own.
"You'll have to come out and visit us, Beth. Really. We'll
make sure to visit you."
"I know you will." Beth shook herself a little. "There's so
much to do! I can hardly think of everything I've been wanting
to get done and haven't, without a little thrill going through me.
To think, the world is my oyster, my daughter has been
returned to me, and she's looking at a happy future. Never
would have dreamed that such great things could happen to me
and my family."
"Me either," Jess said with a smile. She leaned into
Mitch's side when he put his arm around her.
Larson stood. "Thank you, Mrs. Kramer, for your help in
the investigation." He turned to Mitch and Jess. "I'll wish you
both the best in Milwaukee. Mitch, you get back to town, look
me up. Anytime. Right now, I gotta go do a load of
paperwork." He paused, holding the door open. "Ain't life
grand?"
Mitch nodded. "It sure is."

"Now don't go bustin' her up," Dirty Dan said. "Just got
her right as rain and I don't want no pansy-assed Californian
blowin' her tranny on her first ride."

Mitch straddled the big Harley, keys in hand and smiled.
"Don't worry Pops, I'll take good care of her."
Dan grunted and squinted at him. "You better."
Jess knew he meant more than the motorcycle. Straddling
her own hot pink Harley Davidson, she was ready to go and
didn't want to wait around any longer to be on their way. From
the look on her father's face, he was winding up for another
lecture on the merits of staying close to home. Thankfully, J.D.
saved her.
He clapped Dan on the shoulder and said, "C'mon
Pops
,
we got a party waiting. Tiny's about to show Beth where he
got that Geisha girl tat."
"Oh God, Dad, you better go save her. That's a whole lot
more than she's ready to see." Jess chuckled. Tiny wore that
particular tattoo on his left butt cheek. Dan came between her
and Mitch where they sat on their motorcycles and gave her a
hug. She said, "We'll be fine. I love you. Now go on."
She waved to him as he started back to the cookout.
Behind him, Trash waved to her from across the parking lot. A
whole chorus of farewells rose in the afternoon sunshine.
Mitch looked at her, his face creased in a huge smile.
"You ready, luscious?"
"Honey, I been ready all my life."
He winked at her. "Don't call me honey."
She laughed as he leaned close and kissed her on the lips,
zapping her with the promise of what would come that night
when they were finally alone again. "You can be my biker
bodyguard anytime you want."
"Anytime?"
"Yeah, if you can keep up." Jess slipped her sunglasses on
and turned the ignition on her Harley. She let it rip and roar for
a moment before leading the way out to the main street.
On the back of each of their motorcycles waved two black
flags with white lettering. On Mitch's the word "Just" and on
hers, the word "Married" waved in the wind as they rode off on
their cross-country, sight-seeing honeymoon far, far away from
her backyard.

Don't kick. Don't move.
Sara Stark dug her fingers into the dirt edge of the chasm.
Her flashlight lay shattered somewhere far below her dangling
legs. Utter blackness amplified each rasp of breath. Drake
should be here, not back in Houston sitting behind a desk. No
way would he sweet-talk himself out of this one.
The packet had been waiting for her at the airport. A
simple mission: penetrate an abandoned mine and find a stolen
medallion. Drake said no guards, said it was an in-and-out
operation, an easy job.
Easy my ass.
With a grunt, she pressed one heel against the side of the
opposite boot. A blade clicked open from the boot's toe and
she buried it in the dirt wall, giving her the leverage needed to
boost herself onto solid ground. Grey light filtered forward
from the depths of the catacomb passages, carrying with it the
echoing shouts of Mexican guards. They shouldn't have had
any interest in stopping her, yet they'd almost killed her.
Resting against the wall, her breath still harsh, she
evaluated her options. She was too tired to outrun them and
without a flashlight, they'd catch her before she fumbled her
way to the exit. The Tazer on her belt might help, if they didn't
take her down before she could zap them all. She needed an
edge, an element of surprise.
Bare earthen walls emerged from the ink around her as the
guards closed in. Support beams rose up each side of the
passage and abutted a thicker one above. The big beam offered
some hope. The shaft was narrow enough, if she worked fast
and ignored her weariness, she'd have the edge she needed.
Sara sucked in the dank odor of moldering lumber and
leaned forward. Palms pressed against the wall in front of her,
legs braced on the wall behind her, she worked her way up
spider-style until her back brushed the ceiling. Hidden behind
the beam, knees locked, arms burning from the pressure, she
waited and tried not to sweat.
They called her awful names in Spanish. With luck,
they'd fall into the hole for that alone. But flashlights, jostling
in the hands of running men, lit every surface, including the
grubby edges of the hole.
Great, if they see me, I'll be nothing but a glorified piñata.
Luck was not on her side. They slowed, their lights
illuminating the broken blackness in the floor. Five to one,
each armed with made-in-America M2 Brownings.
Just perfect.
Not terrible odds, but it could have been better. A tremor
ran through her arms and she silently cursed Drake again.
Where the hell was the Intel on this job? Someone better have
some damn good answers. This wasn't in her job description.
The guards leaned over the chasm, searching for her.
From her vantage point, the pieces of her flashlight were small
on the bottom of the wide cavern beneath. Better the light than
her, she supposed, and better to act now before her limbs gave
out. She released herself.
The rush of air from her descent was their only warning.
Twisting in midair, she planted the sole of each boot into the
backs of two guards. The pair plunged headfirst into the crater
with matching cries of surprised fear. She landed, rolled, and
flipped to her feet.
The remaining three whirled on her and Sara drove her fist
into the center guard's nose. He windmilled on the precipice
for a scant second, then dropped in to join his pals. The
shorter, stocky
hombre
on her left reacted faster than the
stringbean on her right.
A roundhouse kick to the side of Stocky's head kept him
from raising the muzzle of his weapon. Stringbean didn't lift
his M2. His thin, incredibly strong arms grabbed her in a bear
hug. They plunged against the wall in a cloud of hair oil, gun
oil, and rank cologne.
Air exploded from her lungs with a woof. Dirt sifted over
them. She went limp, pretending more than her sense of smell
had been injured. He grinned, proving the ploy worked.
Just give me an opening.
Playing the frightened female, she slumped further down
the wall. He taunted her with a lurid comment and a slimy
smile.
Thank you.
She brought her knee up in a hard, quick thrust. His
mouth curled into a small 'o' of surprised pain. A gurgling,
high-pitched whine whistled from his throat. He fell to his
knees, clutching the crotch of his khaki pants.
Satisfied, she yanked the Tazer from the back of her belt
and delivered a jolt that would keep him immobile for fifteen
minutes. He collapsed, face down.
Stocky howled with blind rage behind her. She turned,
sidestepped him easily, and touched the Tazer to his back. His
momentum propelled him headfirst into the wall. He landed on
the outstretched arm of his partner.
She exhaled a relieved breath. Smiling, she said, "You
two make such a cute couple."
Unable to move, they only stared at her with anguished
eyes. The Tazer nestled back in her belt, she patted the
drawstring bag tied over one hip. The medallion hadn't
appeared to be worth much–neither for the effort it had taken to
steal and hide it here, nor the expense of hiring her to find it.
Despite the perplexing interference of the guards, she'd
succeeded and the client would be pleased. On the other hand,
Drake would not be happy to see her. Boss's son or not, he had
a lot to answer for.
From the bottom of the cavern, the three guards yelled for
help. She plucked a flashlight from the floor and shined the
beam into the hole. In Spanish she explained their
compadres
would recover soon and rescue them. She wriggled her fingers
in a cheerful wave. They raised their M2's and uselessly fired
as she moved out of range.
In the following quiet, she chuckled and called, "It's been
a slice, gentlemen."
Sara left the mine with the treasure and a grin.