The Bodyguard & Ms Jones

Chapter Two

Mike opened his eyes because he could hear breathing. It was faint but there. In the moment before his vision focused, he wondered what he would see. Maybe a nurse. Certainly a stranger. He wouldn’t have been too shocked to see the devil himself. Instead, the person next to him was a child. A little girl.

“‘Morning,” he said and was pleased that his voice worked.

She wasn’t very tall or very old. He didn’t know enough about children to guess their ages, but figured this one was more than five and less than ten or eleven. She had short blond hair that was curly on the ends and big green eyes. She wore a ribbon in her hair—a blue one that matched her blue-and-white T-shirt. When she smiled at him, he knew exactly who she was—the daughter of that woman. Cindy Jones. The dimples were identical.

“I’m Allison,” she said. Her voice was faintly singsongy, and high-pitched. If he’d had a hangover, he would have winced at the sound. But surprisingly, the pounding in his head had reduced from a jackhammer pounding to a dull knocking and he was able to ignore it.

“Hi, Allison. I’m Mike.”

“Mommy says you’re hurt. That we have to be real quiet while you get better. Mommy said you fell off a building. You shouldn’t do that.”

“Gee, thanks.” Advice always came too late to do any good. He glanced around the room. This wasn’t his sister’s living room, and if his memory was working any better than his body, it wasn’t her bedroom, either. “Where am I?”

“Mommy’s room.” Allison held a doll clutched to her chest. Her green eyes regarded him solemnly. “She had to go to the store, and she asked me to watch you. You’ve been sleeping.”

“You’re watching me?”

She nodded. “I’ve never watched anyone big before.”

He wondered if Cindy had meant for her daughter to stand at his side staring. “You seem a little young to be baby-sitting.”

Allison dimpled. “I’m seven. Jonathan’s watching TV, and Mrs. Davis is watching us. She was here until a minute ago, but she had to go start her dinner. The front door is open and she screams across the street all the time. Mr. Davis has a seizure if his food isn’t on the table at six. But he has other ’deeming qualities.” She paused to draw in a breath. “Do you know what ’deeming means?”

“Sorry, no.” He didn’t know what she was talking about. Or why a seven-year-old had been left in charge of him. He also wondered what day it was and how long he’d been out. He’d arrived on Saturday morning. So today was... “It’s Sunday, right?” he asked.

Allison shook her head. “Tuesday. You’ve been asleep for a long time.” She tilted her head. “You say bad words in your sleep. And you get all twisted up in the covers. You had a fever, too. Mommy had to take care of you and I was very quiet.”

Tuesday? What the hell happened to Sunday and Monday? He couldn’t have been asleep that long. He reached up and rubbed the stubble on his face. Only the innocent stare of the child kept him from grinding out another bad word. He’d been out of it for over seventy-two hours. Then he wondered what else he’d said.

“Could I have a glass of water?” he asked.

She smiled. “I’ll get it.” She placed her doll on the bed and ran out of the room. “He’s awake, and he asked me to get him a glass of water,” he heard her call as she ran through the house.

Footsteps clattered on the hardwood floor. Mike tried to sit up. His body didn’t want to cooperate. He compromised, stuffing a couple of pillows behind his head so he could see more. He did a quick survey of the room. It was spacious, maybe twenty feet square, with a big bay window at one end. The walls were a pale pink, trimmed in cream. The light-colored furniture was large, but simply designed so the big pieces appeared more feminine. An armoire sat across from the foot of the bed. A dresser was next to that. Opposite the window was a doorway that led to a bathroom. Beside the door stood a highboy.

Someone approaching the room interrupted his inspection. The footsteps didn’t sound like Allison’s so he wasn’t surprised when a boy entered the room. He was bigger than his sister and looked older. Something tugged at his memory, the faint impression of the boy prodding him into consciousness.

The kid had blond hair like his sister, but brown eyes. The shape of his face was different, as well. He must look like his father. Mike glanced around the room again and wondered if Mr. Jones lived elsewhere.

The boy shoved his hands into his shorts pockets. “Can I see the bullet wound?”

Until that moment, Mike had been able to ignore the pulsing pain radiating from his thigh. The memories crashed in on him. The ambush on the rooftop garden terrace, the madness in the assassin’s eyes, the sudden slowing of time as Mike had shoved his client to the ground and pulled out the Beretta he carried with him. The assassin’s first round had missed, the second had caught Mike in the thigh. Mike had shot the assassin, and had then been attacked by the man’s assistant. In the struggle, Mike had gone off the side of the building. He’d taken the assistant with him. The client escaped unharmed, the bill was paid and Mike was left to move on. Only this time it had been to a hospital instead of another job.

He shook his head to clear it and only succeeded in blurring his vision. The kid was still staring at him expectantly. What did he want? Oh, yeah. To see the bullet wound. “Not right now, sport.”

The boy’s mouth twisted with disgust. “My name’s Jonathan. I just want to look.”

Allison entered, carefully carrying a glass of water in both hands. Her pale eyebrows drew together in concentration. When he took the glass from her, she smiled proudly. “I didn’t spill any.”

“Thanks.”

He tried to sit up again, but he didn’t have a prayer. The spirit might be willing, but his body was still whimpering and broken. He tilted his head forward and drank the water down in four long swallows.

The liquid was cool and about the best-tasting drink he’d had in weeks. When he was done, he sighed and offered the glass back to Allison. Now both kids were staring at him, their mouths open, their eyes big.

“You drink fast,” Allison said.

“I guess,” he said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

“You ever kill anybody?” Jonathan asked.

Allison grabbed her doll and took a step back. Mike set the empty glass on the nightstand and looked at the boy. “No. My job is to protect people. I’m hired to keep my client safe.”

“But someone shot you.”

“It happens.”

“Was it a bad man?” Allison asked. Her voice was soft and concerned. She continued to keep her distance.

“Yes, he was bad,” Mike told her. “He’s in jail now. He can’t hurt anyone again.” For some reason, he wanted to reassure the little girl. He didn’t like seeing the fear in her eyes. He tried smiling at her. His lips felt dry and his face was tight. Still, it must have worked, because the wary expression faded and she approached the bed again.

“Shelby thinks you’re nice,” she said shyly.

“Who’s Shelby?” He glanced around searching for yet another kid.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Allison, don’t be such a baby. Stop talking about Shelby. She’s not real.”

The girl tightened her grip on her doll. She ignored her brother and leaned closer to Mike. “Shelby’s my bestest friend in the world. She doesn’t like Jonathan and won’t let him see her.”

Mike didn’t know what to make of this. He was saved from having to answer by the sound of a car pulling up the driveway.

“Mommy’s home, Mommy’s home.” Both kids went flying from the room. Their feet thundered on the wooden floor.

“Stop pushing,” Allison ordered.

“Then get out of my way.”

“Mo-om, Jonathan’s pushing.”

“Am not. Quit being such a baby.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Are, too! Allie’s a baby. Allie’s a—”

The voices were abruptly cut off when the back door opened. For the next few minutes, there were only low murmurs, then Mike heard the woman approaching.

She walked into the room and smiled at him. “I’m afraid to ask if you woke up on your own, or if the children are responsible.”

“I think it’s a little of both.”

She bent over the nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. After pulling out a thermometer, she shook it down and placed it under his tongue. She expertly took his pulse, then leaned close and studied his eyes. While she looked at him, he looked at her.

She was as he remembered her. Today she wore a headband to keep her hair off her face, but the color was still light brown and it fell almost to her shoulders. Her eyes were smoky green and the corners of her mouth tilted up. A red T-shirt clung to her breasts. White shorts hugged her hips and exposed long, tanned legs. She didn’t look like any nurse he’d ever had, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Your eyes are clear,” she said. She touched his forehead, then his cheek with the back of her hand. “You feel cool, too.” She removed the thermometer and studied it. “Normal. Finally. So, Mike, how do you feel?”

“Not bad for a guy who fell off a building.”

“You’ve been asleep for three days. According to your doctor, that’s exactly what you needed.” There was a shuffling at the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “Jonathan, Allison, your ride for swim team will be here in about fifteen minutes. Go get ready.”

He heard footsteps on the stairs and the sound of childish voices. “They don’t do anything quietly, do they?”

“Not if there’s a way to do it loudly.” She perched on the edge of the bed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have you awake. I’ve been worried.” Her skin was smooth and slightly tanned. When she smiled, there were faint lines around her eyes. He guessed she was close to thirty.

“Are you a nurse?” he asked.

She laughed. The sweet sound caught him off guard, and he felt himself smiling. It was the second time in less than fifteen minutes. Before now, he probably hadn’t smiled twice the entire year.

“Hardly. I teach math at the middle school.”

“Excuse me for asking, but if you’re not a nurse, what the hell are you doing looking after me in your house? This is your house, isn’t it?”

She leaned back against the footboard. After drawing one knee up toward her chest, she clasped her hands around her calf. “I’m friends with your sister Grace. She lives next door.” She tilted her head. He recognized it as the same move Allison had made. “Grace has lived here four years. If you’re her only brother, how come we’ve never seen you here before?”

“I don’t have much time to see family.” Grace was always inviting him. And she made him feel that she really wanted to see him. But Mike could never bring himself to visit. He’d always been a loner. It was easier, and in his profession, safer. “You still haven’t explained why you didn’t just dump me in the hospital.”

“I owe her. My kids get out of school about an hour and a half before I get home. Grace looks after them. She won’t let me pay her. I can only buy her so many lunches. When her husband found out he would be spending the summer in Hong Kong, she wanted to go with him. Then you got in touch with her. She didn’t know what to do. Going to Hong Kong was the opportunity of a lifetime, but you needed a place to recuperate. That’s where I came in. I said I would look after you until you were back on your feet.”

“Just like that?”

“Of course. She’s my friend.” She seemed surprised by the question, as if opening her house to a sick stranger was commonplace.

“What does Mr. Jones think about this?”

Her mouth twisted down at one corner. “I didn’t consult him. We’re divorced.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It happens. He left me for a trophy wife.”

She leaned forward slightly. The movement caused her shorts to gape slightly by her thigh, exposing a hint of white, lacy panties. Mike told himself he was a bastard for looking and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation.

“Trophy wife? You mean a woman he won somewhere?”

“Exactly. A trophy wife is younger, prettier, blonder. Now that Nelson is successful, he wants someone new to share that with. I’m surprised you’re not familiar with the phenomenon. It’s very prevalent in the suburbs.”

“I’ve never been in the suburbs before.”

“You’re in for a treat. It’s a different world here. One of four-door cars and families. This is the American dream in progress.” Her eyes brightened with humor. “I sometimes think I’m the ultimate cliché.” She shifted on the bed and sat cross-legged. It made his knees hurt just to look at her. She held up one hand and began counting off on her fingers. “I’m divorced, and I was left for a younger woman. I’m a teacher, a traditionally female profession. I live in a bedroom community, I drive a minivan, I use coupons and I have two-point-four children.”

He folded his arms over his chest and grinned. “Let me guess. The point-four child is Shelby, Allison’s imaginary friend.”

“You’ve met?”

“She’s met me. I wasn’t sure where she was standing.”

Their gazes locked. Something leaped between them. Something hot and alive—like electricity. Mike felt warm all over, even though he was practically naked under the sheet. His skin prickled and he had the strangest sensation of taking a step off a bridge, or a building. Only this time, instead of falling, he was suspended there.

Cindy’s green eyes darkened as her pupils dilated. Her breathing increased. He could hear the rapid cadence in the silent room. His blood quickened and he felt the second flickering spark of desire around her.

Then, as if someone had snapped his fingers to break the spell, it was gone. They both looked away. Mike didn’t know if Cindy was feeling the same sense of loss, but he noticed a splotch of color on each of her cheeks.

She cleared her throat. “The only difference between me and most women in my situation is that I got to keep the house. Aunt Bertha, bless her heart, died and left me enough money to pay down the mortgage, pay off Nelson and refinance. You can’t keep a place this big on a teacher’s salary.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he blurted out the first thing that came to him. “Why did you marry someone named Nelson?”

She laughed. “It’s a question I’ve asked myself again and again.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He wasn’t much of a husband. Good riddance.”

He tried to remember the last time he talked with a woman. Just talked. Not as a prelude to sex, or because they were working together. Except for his phone calls with Grace, he didn’t know that he ever had.

“What about you?” she asked. “Ever married?”

“What makes you think I’m not now?”

“Because you would have gone home to her instead of coming to Grace’s.”

“Good point. No, I’ve never been married.” It wasn’t his style. He didn’t believe in getting that close.

“And you’ve always lived in the city?”

He nodded. “I had a place in New York for a while, then I got a lot of work in Los Angeles. I kept an apartment there until it was damaged by the earthquake a couple years back. Since then I’ve been working steadily and haven’t found anywhere I liked.”

She stood up. He couldn’t help watching the graceful way she unfolded her legs. He’d dated a couple of models while he was in New York, but he didn’t like their bony torsos and straight legs. Cindy’s calves and thighs curved as if trying to lead a man astray while tempting him to paradise. He grimaced. He was thinking some strange thoughts. Maybe he’d fallen on his head harder than he’d realized.

“You live a very odd life, Mike Blackburne. You’re about to get a crash course on how the other half lives,” she said. “Welcome to the world of children and Middle America.”

A car honked. She walked to the door and yelled, “Allison, Jonathan, your ride is here.”

The two children ran down the stairs and over to her. She bent down and kissed them both. “Be good.”

They called back that they would, raced across the floor, then slammed the door shut behind them. Cindy drew in a breath. “Ah, blissful silence. You hungry?”

At her question, his stomach rumbled. “I guess so,” he said.

“I’ll make you some soup.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Think you can manage to get to the rest room on your own?”

He eyed the door. “Yeah.”

“I have chicken soup with round noodles, noodles shaped like dinosaurs and alphabet noodles.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Obviously you’ve never had to feed children.”

“I guess not. You don’t have any plain flat noodles?”

“Sorry. They’re not exciting enough.”

She was right. He had entered a strange and different world. “Surprise me.”

* * *

Cindy set the soup bowl on the tray, shifted the water glass over and stared at the crackers. Dry toast might be better. She hesitated for a moment, then figured the man was unlikely to finish what she’d brought him, as it was. She picked up the tray and headed for the bedroom.

Mike was back in bed but sitting up this time with the sheets and blanket bunched around his waist. His hair had been brushed, although he still needed a shave.

“You look pale,” she said.

“I just about had to crawl on the return trip but it was worth it.” He pointed to the bowl. “What did you decide?”

“Dinosaurs. I thought they would make you big and strong.”

The look he shot her told her he wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. She bit back a grin. Better for her if she kept him a little off-balance. Having Mike Blackburne in her house wasn’t doing much for her equilibrium.

She settled the tray over his lap. The wooden legs held it up off his thighs. “Would you rather have juice than water? I didn’t think coffee would be a good idea. You need sleep more than anything, and I don’t have any decaf.”

“I don’t drink decaf,” he said, picking up a spoon. “The taste of coffee is bad enough, but at least it has caffeine. If it doesn’t keep you up, why bother? Water is fine.”

He dipped his spoon into the bowl, then stared at the miniature pasta dinosaurs floating in the chicken broth. After a shrug, as if to say “What the hell,” he downed a mouthful.

“Tastes the same,” he admitted.

“What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe little crunchy bones?”

She smiled. “Tomorrow, when you’re stronger.”

While he ate, she moved around the room, opening the drapes, then smoothing the folded comforter at the foot of the bed. Anything to keep from staring at Mike. It had been easy to take care of him while he was only semiconscious. She’d awakened him enough to get him to swallow his pills and make him drink water, but they hadn’t actually spoken before. Sleeping, he’d been good-looking. Awake, he was sinfully handsome and dangerously intriguing.

In an odd way, he reminded her of Nelson. The statistics were the same. Both men had brown hair and brown eyes, and were six feet two inches tall. However, that’s where the similarity ended. Nelson’s face was ordinary. Glasses hid his eyes, which were his best feature. Her ex-husband was pale, slightly flabby, at least he had been the last time she’d seen him naked, and had the beginnings of a bald spot on the top of his head. His chest was furry to the point of making her wonder if his family tree held the evolutionary missing link.

Mike was broad and strong, tanned with rippling muscles that made her wish he never had to put a shirt on again. His smooth skin made her fingers tingle and her palms itch. He had a strong nose and a square chin. He could have used a couple more inches of hair—she wasn’t fond of the military cropped cut—but what was there was thick enough to make him the star of a shampoo commercial. Altogether, he was an impressive male specimen and she didn’t know what on earth she was going to do with him. Fortunately, except for helping him get well, nothing was required.

“I unpacked a few of your things,” she said, pulling open the top drawer of her dresser and taking out shorts and a T-shirt. “I thought you might like to get dressed.”

“That would be great. Maybe later.”

When she turned around to look at him, he’d already set the spoon down and was leaning against the pillows. He’d finished all the soup and two of the crackers.

“Do you want some more?” she asked.

“No. I’m weaker than I thought.”

“You’ve been through a lot. What with being shot and all.”

He rubbed his chin and grimaced. “You got this funny look on your face when you said that.”

“Said what?”

“Shot.”

“Not many people around here have much experience with that. We don’t get a lot of terrorist activity in the suburbs.”

“It’s not a lot of fun.”

“You’ve got painkillers,” she said, walking toward one of the duffel bags. “Do you want one? And please, don’t try to be macho and impress me. I’ve got children, I’m immune.”

“Yeah, okay.”

She dug around for the pills, then shook one out onto her palm. “You know, I find it fascinating that you travel with so little luggage. Do you have things in storage somewhere?”

He took the pill from her and downed it with a single gulp of water. After wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he shook his head. “No furniture or anything. I have my work clothes. Suits, shirts, that sort of thing. I dropped them off at a cleaners in L.A. and he keeps them until my next job. But I don’t need a whole lot.”

“You’re just like my dad. He traveled light, too. If something was too much of a bother, he didn’t want it around. It was one of the reasons we never had a dog.” She leaned against the footboard post and folded her arms over her chest. She knew men like Mike traveled light emotionally as well as physically. “One day his family got to be too much bother, so he left us behind, too.”

Mike grimaced. “That’s one of the reasons I never married. In my line of work, it’s a mistake.”

“You never wanted a home life? Something stable, something of your own?”

“Nope.” His brown eyes held hers. “Not my style.”

In her heart, she knew exactly what Mike’s style would be. He had the looks to turn any woman’s head. He would seduce her easily, then move on. He seemed nice enough to issue a warning first, but women too often believed they could change a man, maybe even make him want to stay. Cindy knew better.

“My stepfather was just like my dad,” she said. “I guess my mom was attracted to the type.”

“Where did that leave you?”

“Alone.”

“Is that why you’re a teacher with two-point-four children?”

“I guess so. I wanted them to have what I never had. A stable home life. Two parents who really cared about them. I was determined to marry someone sensible. Unfortunately, I picked Nelson.” She moved closer to him and reached for the tray.

“Better luck next time,” he said.

“Right.” Next time she was going to do the leaving so it wouldn’t hurt so much. “You’re looking pretty tired. Why don’t you try and get some rest?”

Mike shook his head. “I was going to tell you I’m fine, but I can’t keep my eyes open. I appreciate this, Cindy. I’ll get out of here tomorrow.”

“Don’t be foolish.” She started walking toward the door. “According to your doctor, you’re going to be here for at least another week. You haven’t been any trouble. Besides, it’s summer vacation. Having you around keeps the kids from being bored.”

She turned back to him. Mike was sprawled out on the pillow, already asleep. A short lock of hair fell over his forehead. His tanned torso contrasted with her pale sheets. The bed and linens had been purchased since the divorce, so Mike was the first male to sleep there.

“Ah, Cindy, you live a wild life,” she told herself as she walked into the kitchen. “What would the neighbors think if they knew you had a nearly naked man in your bedroom in the middle of the day?”

The way her luck with men ran, Mike was about as good as it was going to get. She was fooling herself when she said she planned to be the one leaving next time. There wasn’t going to be a next time. It was so much easier not to get involved at all.