Necessary Risk (Bodyguard) (24 page)

Dust trembled in the air as silence descended over the room.

“Shallow breaths,” whispered Sean. He lifted his head, his eyes frantic with worry. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, dizziness rocking her. “I…don’t think so.” She could barely get the words out around her racing heart. If it didn’t slow down soon, it would explode, shattering just like the chandelier. Her stomach felt as though it were filled with cement. She reached up to touch Sean, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Are you OK? Something hit you.”

“I think it was a small piece of the wall. I’m OK. Let’s sit up.” He pulled the white pocket square from his tuxedo jacket and handed it to her. “There’s a lot of dust. Breathe through this.”

She pressed it to her mouth, still taking shallow breaths. Across the room people slowly stirred, rising from the floor and from underneath tables. She saw Jack sitting on the floor about a hundred feet away, looking dazed, with blood trickling from one ear. Her own ears still felt as though they were packed with cotton.

Sirens erupted in the distance and she jumped, the sound jarring in the stunned silence of the ballroom. She knew it was stating the obvious, but she needed to say it out loud to try to make it sink in.

“Those were bombs.”

Sean nodded. “I counted seven, all from different points around the room. Probably little pipe bombs.”

“They didn’t feel little.”

“No.”

The sirens wailed closer and Sean helped Sierra to her feet, his eyes raking over her. And then he pulled her into his arms, cradling her against him. “We need to get you checked out by a doctor.”

“I’m OK, Sean.”

“Most injuries from bombs aren’t from shrapnel or debris, but from the concussive wave of pressure the bomb creates. It can cause internal bleeding.”

“Fine. But only if you get checked out too.”

Several more pieces of the wall and ceiling fell around them, kicking up more dust. Around them, huddled women were crying, and a man lay on the floor moaning, clutching his head. Ian approached, covered in dust but otherwise OK.

“I’m going to stay and help,” he said. “You should get her out of here.” Sean nodded and tucked Sierra against him, joining the crush of people flowing out of the ballroom.

“He’s staying to help? Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked, slipping her hand into Sean’s as they descended the stairs with everyone else.

“He’s a former Special Air Service medic. He knows what he’s doing.”

She merely nodded and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

“I just want to go home,” she said, her mind still reeling. Less than fifteen minutes ago, she’d been in that conference room with Sean. It felt as if it had happened hours ago, days ago even. It was as though the bombing had destroyed any concept of time.

“As soon as we get you checked out by a doctor, I promise I’ll take you home.”

After what felt like an eternity, they pushed out into the cool night air, red and blue lights bouncing off every surface, the road clogged with police cruisers, ambulances, and fire trucks. A huge black truck marked “LAPD Bomb Squad” was parked front and center, lights flashing. Paramedics were triaging people, sending the obviously injured directly to the hospital, and checking out others on the scene. A young Asian guy in dark-blue paramedic scrubs approached them.

“You guys OK?” he asked.

“I think so, but we were close to a couple of the blasts.”

Nodding, the paramedic tipped his head toward an ambulance with its doors open. He quickly checked them over, taking their blood pressure while he checked their eyes and ears. He held out his hand to Sierra.

“Squeeze my hand,” he said, and she did. He did the same with Sean.

“Any pain in your chest or abdomen?”

They both shook their heads no, and he had them take several deep breaths while he listened to their chests with his stethoscope.

“You guys seem OK. You experience any symptoms, like light-headedness, shortness of breath, vomiting blood, swelling of joints, or unusual pain or bruising, go to the emergency room. Are your ears ringing?”

They both nodded.

“It should pass. If it doesn’t, see your doctor. You’re free to go, but the police will likely contact you for a statement. They’ll probably be in touch with everyone on the guest list.”

Taking her hand, Sean led her away from the chaotic scene. The streets in the immediate vicinity of the hotel were closed, and traffic was jammed on the open streets around them.

“You OK to walk a little?” he asked, tracing his thumb over her knuckles. She nodded numbly. Walking a mile or two until they could get a cab or get someone to pick them up would be far from the worst thing that’d happened to her today. Sean led them northeast up South Figueroa Street, the crowds thinning and the traffic opening up more with each passing block.

“We were just in a bombing. Someone bombed the gala. Someone tried to kill everyone.” Her voice sounded distant and robotic, especially when mixed with the metallic ringing still buzzing through her ears.

“I don’t know if the intent was to kill, or to scare and make a point. I didn’t see anyone with any shrapnel injuries. Normally when you make a pipe bomb, you fill it with all kinds of dangerous shit, like BB pellets, scrap metal, nails, screws, broken glass.”

She nodded, taking that in, concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other and on the solid comfort of Sean’s hand around hers. She sucked in a shaky breath, and she knew the adrenaline was wearing off. Something clenched in her chest, and she started to sob.

Without a word Sean stopped and pulled her into his arms, holding her against him. “You’re OK,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You’re OK, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” She felt his lips graze the top of her head, which only made her cry harder.

“You could’ve been hurt,” she managed to choke out, but saying the words out loud only made her cry harder. It made them that much more real. “Or worse.”

“Hey.” His voice was gentle, and he tipped her chin up. “I’m OK.”

She sniffled, trying to catch her breath, knowing how irrational it was to cry over something that hadn’t even happened. He’d protected her, and they were both OK. Both safe.

“I really, really want to go home. I just want to have a shower and crawl into bed. I don’t want to be out here, in the open.”

“We should be far enough away now. I’ll call Zack to come get us. I don’t like our chances of getting a cab right now.” She nodded and sank down onto a bench in front of an office tower. They’d made it about six or seven blocks from the hotel, and it was as though they’d entered an entirely different world. A world where an explosion hadn’t just happened. Traffic slid by around them, the street brightly lit. A few pedestrians walked down the sidewalk, talking or listening to headphones. A bus rumbled by, its brakes squealing as it pulled to a stop across the street. The sky glowed an eerie blackish orange, lights shining from the office tower behind them. Everything felt so absurdly normal.

She hated that normal was now absurd.

“Zack’s on his way.” Sean sat down on the bench beside her and pulled her into him. She went willingly, craving the solid comfort of his body.

“Do you think this was Sacrosanct?” she asked, tucking her head against his chest.

“They’d be the most likely suspects, yeah.”

Sierra’s phone buzzed from inside her clutch, which had only survived because she’d had it in her hand when Sean had pulled her to the ground. She pulled out her phone to answer it, not caring about the cracked screen, but her hands were still shaky, and she managed to spill the clutch’s contents at her feet.

Including the condoms.

She let out a small laugh as Sean scooped them up and handed them back to her with a raised eyebrow. “You were more optimistic than me. I only brought the one.” He smiled that lopsided smile she loved so much and she let out another laugh, louder and stronger this time. He pulled her in and kissed her temple, holding her as she answered her phone and assured her mom she was OK.

Despite everything that’d happened, with Sean’s arms around her, she felt better than OK.

She felt safe, and whole.

*  *  *

Sean and Sierra piled into Zack’s Jeep, Sierra slipping into the back while Sean folded himself into the front passenger seat. Before he even had his seat belt on, all three of their phones began buzzing at the same time. A bolt of adrenaline coursed through Sean, snapping his spine straight, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, it was a notification from the house’s alarm system, indicating it had just been triggered. He’d known he was taking a risk having Zack come and get them, but he’d been so desperate to get Sierra home that he’d gone ahead with it.

“Drive.” Sean nodded grimly at Zack, who floored it, and then turned in his seat to look at Sierra.

“The alarm?” she asked, her face pale. His gut twisted as hot, prickling anger flooded him. He hoped whoever had broken in was still there when they arrived so he could beat the shit out of them. Sierra was his, and he was damn well going to make whoever was behind this pay.

He nodded and reached a hand back, giving her leg a squeeze.

Almost twenty long minutes later, Zack pulled into the driveway, and the front door stood wide open, the alarm shrieking.

“Sierra, stay in the car with Zack.” Before she could protest, he pulled his Glock out of its holster and made his way toward the house, eyes darting into every corner, looking for movement in every shadow. Sean stepped cautiously into the house, his gun raised in front of him. Nearly every single light was on, and immediately Sean saw what had happened.

Sierra’s house had been trashed. He sucked in a breath as he surveyed the carnage of the living room. The leather couches had been gutted like fish, stuffing spilling out of them. A pile of feathers lay on the floor beside a slashed throw pillow, now sadly deflated. Several lamps had been smashed, and the floor was strewn with broken shards of glass and ceramic. Moving into the kitchen, he saw that all the windows facing the backyard had been smashed, glass and splinters of wood littering the counters and floor. Each white cabinet bore a different epithet in bright-red paint.

BITCH
.

SLUT
.

WHORE
.

MURDERER
.

And across the surface of the island:
SHUT
YOUR
MOUTH
.

Quickly he went through the house and cleared the rest of the rooms, ending with Sierra’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and he pushed it the rest of the way open, his gun trained directly ahead of him.

A distinct coppery scent hung in the air, and, stomach churning, Sean flipped on the light. He inhaled sharply at the sight before him.

Sierra’s bed was covered in guts. Entrails. Organs. Intestines. Many of the parts looked far too large to be human, making him suspect someone had hit up a butcher shop for castoffs. Breathing through his mouth, he checked out the closet and the master bathroom.

Anger ripped through him, and he paused, closing his eyes and trying to get a handle on his temper. He wanted to hit something, or someone. He wanted to smash things, to punch a hole through the wall. He hated that she’d need to come in here and see this. What fucking good was his protection if he couldn’t protect her from the horror of seeing her house trashed and vandalized?

With a heavy heart, he headed back downstairs, knowing that whoever had done this was long gone. They’d be on the security camera footage, but Sean wouldn’t be surprised if they had been wearing masks. They weren’t dealing with inexperienced amateurs who were likely to expose themselves or do something stupid like leave fingerprints. He signaled for Sierra and Zack to come in the house.

She stepped inside, Zack right behind her, and she erupted as she laid eyes on the damage, a string of curses that would’ve made a trucker blush flowing from her mouth. She blew out an angry breath and balled her fists, her mouth a thin, tight line. “I’m so sick of this garbage. I’m sick of it! Goddammit!” She kicked at a slashed ottoman.

“The cops should be here any minute,” said Zack, his face tight with disgust and anger as he looked around the trashed living room. “Fuck. This is my fault.”

“No. I called and asked you to come pick us up. This isn’t on you.” If anything, this was on Sean.

“Clearly they were watching the house and waiting for the opportunity.” Zack shook his head, his hands on his hips.

“Do you think they’ve been watching the whole time?” Sierra’s face was pale as she stared at the slurs written on her kitchen cabinets.

“It’s possible.” Sean came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Sierra, I’m sorry, but there’s damage in your bedroom too.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide. He felt the tremble course through her, and he tightened his grip on her.

“I want to go see.” Without another word she pulled away from him and made her way up the stairs, her skirt clutched in her hands.