Secret Bodyguard

“So you can try to lamebrain me again? Not likely,” Jesse said, holding her down.

“If my father finds out what you’ve done—”

“What I’ve done? Something tells me kissing you would be way down on the list long after you breaking in to his office. Try again.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Why don’t you try to explain it to me.”

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in tears. “Let me up and I’ll tell you everything.”

He let go of her arms. Suddenly she made a grab for the canvas shoulder bag she’d been carrying that was now lying within reach.

She’s going for a weapon.

He grabbed the strap of the bag before she could and tossed it onto the edge of the sidewalk. Something inside shattered. The sound made him start as if it had been a gunshot.

She let out an oath and attacked him like a hellcat. He braved releasing her with one hand to lean out and snag the bag; it left a wet trail in the grass.

No weapon.

Just what appeared to be a broken baby bottle…

Secret Bodyguard

B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born in Houston, B.J. Daniels is a former Southern girl who grew up on the smell of gulf sea air and Southern cooking. But her home is now in Montana, not far from Big Sky, where she snowboards in the winters and boats in the summers with her husband and daughters. She does miss gumbo and Texas barbecue, though! Her first Harlequin Intrigue novel was nominated for the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice Award for best first book and best Harlequin Intrigue. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Heart of Montana and Bozeman Writers group. B.J. loves to hear from readers. Write to her at: P.O. Box 183, Bozeman, MT 59771.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Amanda Crowe—All she wanted was her baby daughter back and her freedom—until she met Jesse McCall. Then she wanted it all.

Jesse Brock McCall—The undercover cop set out to catch a mobster, but the mobster’s daughter had other ideas.

Susannah Crowe—The baby was missing, but had she really been kidnapped?

Gage Ferraro—Was he the grieving father he seemed to be?

J. B. Crowe—The mobster lived in a world where the only rule was to win. Even at the cost of his family?

Billy Kincaid—He left behind a legacy no one knew about.

Frank and Molly Pickett—They would have done anything for their only daughter.

Roxie Pickett—With everything she loved believed lost, she had nothing to live for.

Thomas Kincaid—The governor had his own reasons for wanting to eradicate mobster J. B. Crowe.

Mickie Ferraro—He lived by his only code of honor: greed and revenge.

Dylan Garrett—The former cop turned P.I. tried to warn Jesse what he was getting into, but Jesse wouldn’t listen.

To my Aunt Eleanor,

who took me to my first scary movie

and taught me what suspense was all about,

and to my Uncle Jack, the best of the Johnsons

and my first real hero.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

She’d sneak out tonight. He could feel it, the way he always could. A kind of static in the air. Something electric. Something both reckless and dangerous.

Jesse rubbed the cloth over the thin coat of wax on the hood of the black Lincoln town car. Reflections danced in the shine at his touch. He avoided his own reflection though, his gaze on the massive main house across the Texas tiled courtyard.

The curtains were closed in her window, but the air-conditioned breeze on the other side teased them coyly open allowing him to catch glimpses of her.

It was just like Amanda to have the window open in her wing of the air-conditioned hacienda. No wonder her scent moved restlessly through the hot, humid night. Tantalizing. Tempting. He breathed it in, holding it deep inside him as long as he could before reluctantly releasing it. Her music also drifted from her open window and hung in the thick air between the house and the chauffeur’s quarters above the garage. She had the radio on the local Latin station she listened to, the music as hot and spicy as the food she liked to eat.

He rubbed his large hand over the dark, slick hood, wondering if her skin felt like this. Smooth and cool to the touch.

When she came out, it was through the side door. He stepped back into the shadows, not wanting her to see him. At first he thought she’d take the new Mercedes her father had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday, but she headed for the separate garage on the far side of the house. He watched her stick to the shadows and climb into the older model BMW parked in the first stall.

Slumming it tonight?

He waited until she’d pulled away, her taillights disappearing down the long, circuitous, tree-arched drive of the Crowe estate before he climbed on his motorcycle and followed her at a discreet distance.

Hidden cameras recorded all movement in the house and on the grounds, which meant she couldn’t leave without being noticed. And yet the guard in the small stone building at the edge of the property that acted as the hub of the Crowes’ all-encompassing, high-tech security system wasn’t at his post as she and then Jesse breezed past.

Before she even got to the massive wrought-iron gate that kept the rest of the world out of the sequestered compound, the gate swung open wide as if she were the princess of the palace. Which, of course, she was.

He barely slipped through behind her before the gate slammed closed, staying just close enough on his bike as she headed for Dallas, that he didn’t lose her.

Night air rushed by thick and hot as he wove in and out of the traffic along the outskirts of the “Big D,” keeping her in sight ahead of him, just as he had all the other nights.

Only tonight felt different. Tonight, after all his waiting, something was going to happen. He sensed it, more aware of the woman he tailed than ever before. He couldn’t still the small thrill of secret pleasure that coursed through him. His heart beat a little faster.

Ahead, Amanda pulled over along a dark, nearly isolated street. He swung in behind a pickup parked at the curb and watched her get out. She glanced around as if worried she might have been followed. As if she had something to hide. He smiled to himself. Oh, she had something to hide all right.

Down the block bright red and yellow neon flashed in front of one of those late-night, out-of-the-way Tex-Mex cafés found in this part of Dallas. She walked toward it.

He waited until she was almost there before he pulled his bike back onto the street. As he cruised by, he saw her go to an outside table and sit down with a woman he’d never seen before.

At the end of the block, he turned down the alley and ditched the bike to work his way back toward the café on foot, running on adrenaline, anticipation and enough fear to know he hadn’t lost his mind.

He found a spot to watch her from the shadows, close enough he could see but not hear what was being said. She was crying. He could see that, crying and talking hurriedly, nervously. He’d give anything to hear what she was saying and wondered when his heart had grown so cold, so calculating. Mostly, why he believed that Amanda Crowe was lying.

Just over twenty-four hours ago, she’d called her father to tell him that her six-month-old baby, Susannah, had been kidnapped. Her story was that she and Susannah were alone in the ladies’ room of a large department store when a man burst in, knocked her out and grabbed the baby. No witnesses were in the room. Also no cops were called.

J. B. Crowe had insisted on handling the kidnapping himself and Amanda had gone along with him. In the Crowe compound, it was commonly believed that the kidnapping was part of some vendetta between Amanda’s father, J. B. Crowe, and Governor Thomas Kincaid. If you believed Kincaid capable of kidnapping. Crowe, on the other hand, was an altogether different animal, capable of anything. And, Jesse feared, so was his daughter.

Jesse watched her wipe her eyes as the waiter slid a steaming plate of food in front of her and thought about the man who’d fathered Amanda’s baby. Amanda hadn’t even kept him around long enough to give the baby his name. Not that Amanda needed a husband. She was a Crowe. She’d never want for anything. Nor would Susannah, for that matter, if she was ever found.

The other woman was talking now, squeezing Amanda’s arm, intent, leaning in so no one could hear even though there were few diners and no one at a nearby table.

Jesse wasn’t sure why or what exactly he didn’t believe. That Susannah Crowe had been kidnapped? Or that Amanda really was the grieving mother she appeared to be? Something just didn’t sit right. His gaze narrowed as he watched her. Amanda Crowe was lying. He’d stake his life on it. He smiled at that; he’d already risked more than his life just being here tonight.

She picked nervously at her food but the tears had stopped, her iron-clad control back, a steeliness in her that she shared with her father. Part determination. Part ruthlessness.

A baby began to cry. Amanda turned abruptly, almost spilling her water. A Mexican woman carrying an infant sat down two tables over from Amanda, pulled the baby from its carrier and rocked it, trying to still the shrill cry. Amanda turned back to her food, apparently mesmerized by what was on her plate.

A new thought struck him like a fist. Was it possible?

The waiter brought out an order to go for the woman with the baby. Amanda motioned for her check.

His pulse began to pound. The woman with the baby busily strapped the infant back into its carrier. He was too far away to see the baby’s face.

Amanda didn’t wait for her check. She got to her feet, tossed a bill on the table, hugged her dinner companion and rushed off toward her car.

But Jesse didn’t follow her. The woman with the baby started to leave as well. His mind roiled. What he was thinking didn’t make any sense, but with the Crowes, anything was possible.

He moved toward the café, not letting the woman with the baby out of his sight.

It was just some woman and her baby. No kidnapper in her right mind would bring the Crowe baby to a public restaurant. And wouldn’t Amanda have raced over to the table if she thought there was even a chance that the baby might be hers?

Unless the woman wasn’t the kidnapper. Unless Amanda Crowe had had her own baby abducted. But what kind of sense did that make?

The woman with the baby was leaving. He wove his way through the tables, his heart racing, as he hurried to cut her off.

She looked up, startled and a little frightened to see him. He glanced into the baby carrier, ready to grab both the woman and the child.

The baby was brown skinned, with a thick head of black hair and a pair of eyes to match. While close to the same age, the little boy looked nothing like Susannah Crowe.

He stumbled back, mumbling, “Sorry,” to the startled mother as she hugged the baby protectively to her. Whatever had made him think the infant would be Susannah? Because he was convinced Amanda had done something with her baby. Made it look like a kidnapping. But why?

Feeling foolish, he moved on through the café and out the back door to the alley. Amanda was gone. So was her companion. So much for his hunch. He was letting Amanda Crowe get to him. Letting her mess with his mind. A sliver of doubt worked its way under his skin, just as she had. What if he was wrong?

Amanda had almost raced from the café at the sight and sound of the baby. But wouldn’t that have been the reaction of any grieving mother whose baby had been kidnapped?

The voice in the darkness startled him. He spotted two figures at the end of the alley in the shadows, one large, one small. He flattened himself against the rough rock wall, hoping they hadn’t seen him.

“You have to do this,” the man said quietly, urgently. “We have to do this. There is no going back now.”

Jesse had heard the voice somewhere before but couldn’t place it.

“Don’t pressure me,” the woman snapped back.

“I’ll do it. I just need more time.”

This voice Jesse recognized immediately. Amanda Crowe. But who had she met in the alley? And what did she need more time to do?

“We don’t have time,” the man said, sounding frustrated and angry with her. “Stop stalling. You know what’s at stake. Just do it. Get it over with. Tonight.”

Jesse heard the sound of hurried footfalls headed in his direction. He held his breath as the man stomped past him. In the light bleeding out into the alley from one of the open doorways, Jesse got a look at him. Even from the back, he recognized Gage Ferraro, the man who’d fathered Amanda’s baby.

He swore under his breath and waited, pressed to the rock wall, expecting Amanda to follow her former lover. After a few minutes when she didn’t appear, he glanced down the alley only to find she was gone.

He stood for a moment longer, thinking about what he’d overheard. What was Gage Ferraro doing back in town? The answer was obvious. The kidnapping. Gage and Amanda must have cooked up a plot to fleece her father. Jesse couldn’t imagine anything more dangerous. Or lucrative.

He headed down the alley to where he’d left his bike, amazed at this woman. Amazed even more that he still found her intriguing. And, against his better judgment, incredibly desirable. It defied logic.

A figure suddenly stepped out of a doorway a few feet in front of him, snapping him out of his troubling thoughts. Startled, he almost pulled the piece he kept at his back before he recognized the silhouette.

Five feet four inches of spitfire, Amanda Crowe stood with her hands cocked on her hips, her feet apart, her body language nothing short of enraged.

Physically, he could have taken her with one hand tied behind him. And lord knows he wanted to take her, all right. However, Jesse was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. If he touched her, he’d be dead before daylight.

Nor was he about to underestimate her. Quite frankly, he thought her as ruthless as her father. More so, after what he’d heard tonight. As she stepped closer, he could see her hair, thick and wheat-colored, cropped to her arrogant chin and her eyes, light brown with an edge to them that could cut like the shattered glass of a beer bottle.

Even if she hadn’t been J.B.’s daughter he’d have taken her seriously. But she was the pride and joy of the biggest mobster this side of the Rio Grande and messing with her was messing with more than trouble.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing spying on me?” she demanded.

Oh, she was something. Righteous and raging. He gave her his best grin, one that had gotten him out of a lot of tight spots. He might as well have spit in her eye for all the good it did.

“Does my father know you’re spying on me?” she demanded, raising one fine brow.

He wiped the grin off his face and glared at her. “What do you think?”

She regarded him, taking his measure and making it clear she found him wanting. Some people thought his dark looks intimidating, even dangerous. But it was obvious, she wasn’t one of those people.

“I think,” she said dragging out each word, “that Daddy made a mistake. Surely he can do better than sending a chauffeur.” She brushed past him, one soft, full breast grazing his bare arm, her scent lingering on his skin long after she was gone.

He stood, his back to her as she retreated down the alley. Slowly he released the breath he’d been holding, his body vibrating with a combination of lust and disgust. How the hell could he want a woman he so despised?

Had she known what she was doing just now when she’d brushed against him? Had she known the effect it would have on him? He shook his head and smiled wryly. If he was right about her, they were both playing dangerous games, risking everything. The difference was, she was a Crowe and the odds were always stacked in their favor.

He rubbed the back of his neck and stopped smiling, suddenly aware of that distinctive prickle along his spine, the one that warned him someone was behind him, watching him.

Had she stopped up the alley to look back? Not likely. The woman hadn’t given him the time of day since he went to work for her father several weeks before. No, he thought, as he quickly turned, his hand going to the small of his back and his piece.

But the alley was empty. And yet he’d have sworn someone had been there just a few moments before. Gage?

Paranoia. It went with the job. He walked to his bike, swung his leg over and started the motor. It purred in the hot darkness. He considered for a moment what J.B. would do if his precious daughter told him the chauffeur had been spying on her, lusting after her. But worse, if Jesse’s instincts had been right a few moments ago, then someone had been spying on him as well. Might even suspect what he was up to. That thought was enough to give him nightmares.

He cruised back to the Crowe estate, jumpy and irritable. The guard buzzed him in. He took the service road through the trees and went straight up to his apartment over the garage. On the way home, he’d invented a plausible story just in case he needed one, although in that case, he doubted he’d live long enough to tell it. But J.B. wasn’t waiting for him. Nor any of the mobster’s henchmen.

As he slipped his key into the lock, he noticed the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from under his door. Cautiously, he turned the key.

The piece of paper appeared to be a photocopy of a newspaper article. Frowning, he picked it up, pushed open his door and reached for the light switch. The headline leapt off the page: Infant Abandoned Beside Road.

He stepped into the apartment, locking the door behind him and read the story.

A baby had been discovered in the wee hours of the morning north of Dallas along a dirt road. The abandoned infant’s parents hadn’t been found yet. Police were making enquiries.

Could the baby be Susannah Crowe? Had Amanda and Gage abandoned the baby beside a road and pretended the infant had been kidnapped?

He tried to imagine a woman that cold-blooded. Amanda Crowe, he reminded himself, was a mobster’s daughter. This mystery baby could be Susannah.

He glanced at the name of the town in the article. Red River, Texas? He’d never heard of it. There was no date on the article. Nor any way of knowing in what paper the story had run.

Why had someone put it under his door unless they wanted him to know what had happened to Susannah?

A thought rattled past like a freight train. If someone really did have information about Susannah Crowe, why tell the chauffeur? Unless—

His heart jackhammered and he felt oddly light-headed. Unless someone knew why he’d followed Amanda tonight. The same someone he’d sensed in the alley earlier? Someone who knew exactly what Jesse was doing here.

He moved to the window and parted the curtains, startled. Amanda’s light was on in her room and she was standing at the window, staring in his direction as if waiting for him to look out. Had she put the article under his door? A cry for help. Or a dare? Catch me if you can. Was she that sure he couldn’t?

Her light snapped off.

He stared at the dark window, wondering what the hell was going on, suddenly terrified of the answer.

Chapter Two

Amanda stood in the dark, telling herself Jesse couldn’t possibly know. But he’d been in the alley. He might have overheard her and Gage. She tried to remember exactly what had been said. Nothing about Susannah. At least not by name.

And even if Jesse did suspect something, what could he do about it? Go to her father with his vague suspicions? She realized with a start, that was exactly what he would do. Her father’s men would do anything for him, including spy on her. Jesse was no different.

In his simmering dark-eyed look she’d seen more than raw hunger. She’d seen contempt. His look said he knew her. Knew her every secret. Her every thought. Could see into her heart and see things that repulsed him.

Damn the man! She tried to calm herself, but couldn’t still the shaking inside her. How dare he judge her, let alone track her down like a dog? Did he hope to get something on her he could use to get closer to her father? Or something to use as leverage to get her into his bed?

She understood men like him only too well. He’d take advantage of any opportunity. Had she given him the one he needed? She’d been so careful. Everything so deliberate, so calculated. She had tried to think like her father. The thought made her shudder. But she was her father’s daughter, wasn’t she?

Her father, she thought grimly. It would be like him to tell the chauffeur to follow her and report where she’d gone, whom she’d met. But why the chauffeur when J.B. had an assortment of trained thugs?

It definitely raised the question: had her father asked Jesse to follow her tonight? Or had Jesse done it on his own?

She hugged herself, fear making her weak at the thought that her father might know what she’d done. Had she messed up somehow, left a trail that would lead back to her and eventually destroy her?

Worse, she knew she’d passed the point of no return. She couldn’t turn back now. It was too late. She had to go through with it. To the end.

She shuddered at the thought of how it could end. Especially now that she had Jesse after her. Across the courtyard she could see the window of the chauffeur’s quarters clearly from her room. He’d turned out his lights as she had. Was he looking out just as she was? Staring at her as she’d often caught him doing before?

She trembled, aware that more than fear and anger coursed through her veins tonight. As she pressed her fingers to the cool glass, her body ached for something she knew she’d never had, something she couldn’t even put words to. This ache had nothing to do with her baby daughter or the trouble she was in and everything to do with the sultry Texas night and the man across the courtyard. How stupid she’d been to brush against him. Taunting him had been a very big mistake.

She hadn’t expected to feel anything when she touched him but revulsion. But he’d made her long for release, a powerful, purely physical need that ignored what also simmered between them, mutual contempt and mistrust. Worse, he made her feel vulnerable.

Crowes never let themselves be vulnerable. Ever.

She’d have to do something about him. Something drastic. After all, she was her father’s daughter. And he’d taught her that the world revolved around her. She could have anything she wanted. Do anything she wanted. It was the unlimited credit card that came with being his only child—and a daughter, at that. And she’d never needed that credit line more than she did right now.

She forced all thoughts of Jesse Brock from her mind and concentrated on a much more pressing problem. Her father. If he had ordered the chauffeur to follow her, then did he know something or was he just being protective?