The Bodyguard's Assignment
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Helen nudged the briefcase toward her. “I got the money you asked for. As much as I could on such short notice.”
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” Grace told her. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
Helen’s brown eyes clouded. “It’s not the money I’m worried about. You’re in too deep, Grace. You can’t do this alone. You have to go to the police.”
“I can’t. Until I figure out who’s feeding Kane information, I can’t even trust the police.” Grace’s smile was strained as she glanced at Helen. “You’d better get going before someone sees us together. I don’t want to involve you in this mess anymore than I already have.”
Reluctantly, Helen stood. “Will you keep in touch?”
“If I can.”
“Be careful, Grace. Kane—he’s going to be even more dangerous now. As for Rialto and Calderone…” She trailed off with a shudder, her silence more eloquent than words.
LONELINESS welled inside Grace as she watched her friend disappear into the darkness. She was on her own now. There would be no further contact with Helen until Grace and her mother were safely out of the country. Maybe not even then.
Her plan was fairly simple. After the exchange was made, she and her mother would head for New York, to Grace’s father’s place. Harry Drummond had left them years ago to go chasing after stories halfway round the world, and he’d never looked back. But as successful as he’d become, as arrogant and coldhearted as Grace knew him to still be, she didn’t think even he could turn his back on them now. He had the money and clout needed to get them out of the country as quickly as possible, and Grace was prepared to use whatever trickery and coercion necessary to enlist his help.
Once Helen was out of sight, Grace rose with the briefcase and made her way through the café to the street. Outside, she paused, glancing in both directions before she headed toward the parking lot on McKinney.
In spite of the cold, the streets were crowded with the after-work crowd pursuing happy hour with a vengeance in the bars and cafés that lined the West End. Grace didn’t pay much attention when someone bumped into her. But when a hand grabbed her elbow, she gasped and tried to jerk away.
“Keep walking,” a masculine voice told her. “Don’t look back.”
Grace’s heart thudded against her chest. She had only a split second to decide what to do, but as she gathered her strength to fight back, the man’s hand tightened painfully on her arm, as if he’d intuited her response before she had.
“Don’t try it,” he warned. His voice was low and dangerous, edged with an unfamiliar drawl.
He was too large to be Kane. This man had to be at least six three, with broad, powerful-looking shoulders beneath a sheepskin jacket. Grace was a tall woman, but at five nine, she still had to struggle to match her stride to his.
His face was shadowed by the brim of a Stetson hat, but when she glanced up, she had the immediate impression of chiseled features. Of a strong jaw and a stubborn chin.
“What do you want?” she demanded, trying to cloak her panic behind bravado.
“You know what I want.” Almost the exact same words Kane had spoken to her on the phone.
Grace’s heart almost stopped. “What makes you think I won’t start screaming right here in the middle of the street?”
“That’s not your style, is it, Grace?”
The way he said her name…that voice…
Grace stumbled in shock. He hauled her up, grasping her arms in his hands as he steadied her. Their gazes met, and beneath the brim of his hat, gray eyes watched her coldly.
“Brady?” She said his name in wonder, almost afraid to believe it was really him. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I came here to protect you.” His voice was hard and grim, edged with bitterness as sharp as a knife blade.
“Protect me? But how did you know…” Her voice faded as the impact of the situation hit her. For five years, she’d waited for this moment. Waited for the chance to tell Brady Morgan how sorry she was for what she’d done to him. She had no idea where he’d gone off to when he left the police force, or what he’d been doing all these years. But staring up into his eyes, Grace realized that time hadn’t dimmed his feelings for her. He still despised her as much as he had the last time she’d seen him.
“How did you know where to find me?” she finished quietly.
“It doesn’t matter. We need to keep on the move. Someone may be following you.”
Grace started to glance over her shoulder, but his grip on her tightened. He turned her toward the street and started walking, pulling her along at his side.
“You said you came here to protect me,” she said breathlessly, trying to keep up with him. “Who sent you?”
When he didn’t answer, she slowed her steps, until he was forced to do the same.
“Who sent you, Brady? Why are you really here?”
“I told you. I’m here to protect you.” His voice was as frigid as his gaze.
“What does that mean?” she asked almost angrily.
His jaw tightened. “It means I’m taking you someplace where you’ll be safe.”
That stopped her cold. She jerked her arm from his grip. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me exactly what you’re up to.”
“What’s the matter, Grace? Don’t you trust me?”
His sarcasm stung, but Grace knew she had it coming. She lifted her chin. “Right now, I’m not in a position to trust anyone.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Was it her imagination, or had his voice softened? Hope trembled through Grace, and she closed her eyes briefly. She wanted to believe him. She wanted more than anything to have an ally, but her mother’s life was at stake. Brady Morgan had once been an honorable man, but five years could change a person.
So could betrayal.
She gazed up at him, hardening her resolve. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I can’t.”
“It’s not up for discussion. We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. Makes no difference to me.”
The insolence in his tone triggered Grace’s anger. “Oh, and just what are you going to do when I resist? Grab a fistful of my hair and drag me down the street? Throw me over your shoulder and carry me kicking and screaming into the sunset? Is that the reason for the Marlboro man getup?” Her gaze raked disdainfully over the hat and the sheepskin coat, the boots that made him seem even taller. “Are you trying to convince me you’d actually resort to such tactics?”
He gazed down at her, the gray of his eyes glittering like twin glaciers. “Looks like it’s going to be the hard way.”
When he reached for her, Grace instinctively flinched away. And at that exact moment, something buzzed by her face. A fraction of a second later, she heard the sound of the gunshot as the bullet crashed into the wall of the building behind her.
The next few moments were a blur. Grace realized she’d been shot at just as Brady lunged toward her. The two of them crashed to the ground, and the air rushed from Grace’s lungs. For an instant, the fact that the breath had been knocked out of her frightened her more than the sound of gunshots.
Gunshots. In the plural, her dazed mind finally absorbed. She and Brady were still being fired upon.
Shouts erupted on the street, and the scene became chaotic as frightened onlookers dove for cover. Someone screamed in agony as a stray bullet found a mark. In the pandemonium of thrashing bodies, Brady drew Grace to her feet and all but flung her toward the side of the building.
“Keep low,” he shouted as he shoved her roughly toward the alley between the two buildings. He flattened them both against the wall, and with his weapon drawn, he chanced a glance around the corner. A chunk of the building disintegrated over his head, and he grabbed Grace’s hand. “Run!”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Grace sprinted up the narrow alley beside him, her long legs pumping full throttle. She wasn’t trying to keep up with Brady this time. She was trying to outdistance him if she could. Bullets whizzing overhead could do that.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the end of the alley and a padlocked gate barred their way that Grace realized she still clung to the metal briefcase. Brady took it from her hand and tossed it over the fence. Then he easily scaled the mesh, reaching a hand down to pull her up. Her sleeve caught on a wire, and she ripped it loose, scrambling over the fence to land on her feet on the other side.
But Brady collapsed to the ground, clutching his knee and writhing on the ground in agony. “Run!” he gasped. “Keep going.”
Sparks flew from the fence as a bullet skimmed the metal. Grace ducked, grabbing Brady’s arm. “Come on!”
Flinging off her hand, he fired several rounds into the alley, the sound almost deafening. Grace recoiled, her ears ringing.
“Get up!” she cried. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Go,” Brady said. “I’ll catch up.”
He fired again as another bullet flashed against the fence. Grace lunged for the briefcase. She wasn’t about to leave it behind. The money inside would help her and her mother leave the country. Or at least, it would tide them over until she could contact her father.
She turned back to find Brady struggling to his feet. “I thought I told you to run.”
“We’re wasting time talking about it.” As another round hummed overhead, she grabbed Brady’s hand. This time, it was Grace who took the lead.
Chapter Three
By the time they emerged back on the street, sirens wailed in the distance. Behind them, panicked shouts and frightened screams melded with the sirens, the cacophony triggering a battery of memories for Brady, none of them good.
Putting away his gun so as not to frighten onlookers, he limped down the sidewalk next to Grace. He could feel her trembling, from fear more than cold, he was fairly certain, but she probably wouldn’t admit it. She’d always been a little too independent for her own good. And a lot too single-minded.
He urged her across Market, using one of the horse-drawn carriages for cover. They moved steadily beside it, keeping the carriage between them and the street. Brady kept hold of Grace’s arm, timing their stride to match the gait of the horse. As they neared the parking area where he’d left his rented truck, he pulled Grace into the shadows, glancing over his shoulder. He couldn’t see anyone following them, but he knew the shooters were still out there somewhere. He and Grace had to get off the street and fast.
“My truck’s just around the corner,” he said. “We need to get out of here.”
She nodded, too out of breath to reply. If they could make it to the truck, Brady knew he could get them out of here. He hadn’t lived in Dallas for nearly five years, but this had once been his town. He knew the back streets and alleys as well as he was coming to know the West Texas terrain. He wasn’t sure which turf was more dangerous.
They made a run for it, and after unlocking the truck, he and Grace scrambled inside. Brady started the engine, reversing from the parking space almost before the doors had slammed shut. Within moments, they were merging with traffic on Commerce.
Grace was silent for a change. Brady thought maybe she’d finally accepted the situation—he wasn’t leaving here without her—but when the interstate loomed ahead, she sat up and looked around in alarm.
“Pull over.”
He shot her a glance. “I don’t think so.”
“I mean it, Brady, pull over. Let me out.”
“Are you crazy? Have you forgotten what just happened back there?”
“We were both shot at. Innocent bystanders were hurt, maybe even killed.” Her pale blue eyes looked haunted in the light from the dash. “I haven’t forgotten. But I still want out.”
“Don’t be an idiot—” When he slowed for a traffic light, Grace opened the door. He grabbed her at the last minute, hauling her back in as he swung the truck to the curb. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
He shoved the gearshift into park as she struggled to free herself from his hold. “Damn it, Grace, calm down. What the hell’s the matter with you?”
She looked almost frantic, like a trapped animal trying to get free. “Let me go! I have to get out of here. I can’t go with you. I can’t leave the city. You don’t understand…”
Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away. Her struggles had ceased, but Brady could tell that she would still bolt at the slightest opportunity.
“I understand better than you think. You’re willing to risk your life for the sake of a story.”
Her eyes glittered, with anger or tears, Brady couldn’t tell which. But he assumed it was the former, because he’d never seen Grace cry. Not once.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said almost desperately.
“Oh, I know. I know better than anyone what you’re willing to do for a story.” When she tried to jerk free of his hold, his grip on her tightened. “These men are killers, and I’m not just talking about back there. They’re brutal and ruthless, and they think nothing of destroying lives. Do you remember the mass graves that were uncovered in Juarez last year? The college students who were mutilated in Matamoros ten years ago because they saw something they shouldn’t have? Men like Kane and Rialto did that, Grace, and they have to be stopped. You have the power to put them away, but you won’t because it would compromise your precious exclusive.”
He let her go in disgust, but the moment she was set free, she reached for the door handle again. Brady’s hand shot out and closed around her wrist, pulling her toward him, and for an instant, their gazes clashed—blue against gray. Her lips trembled, drawing Brady’s attention, and a memory whipped through him. He knew the feel of those lips, the taste of them. What they could do to him.
They’d once been so good together, he and Grace, but that had been a long time ago. Too much had gone wrong between them.
But as if to test his resolve, Grace lifted her hand to stroke his cheek, and her lips parted ever so slightly. She moved toward him, slowly, and then her eyes widened in shock as she felt cold metal replace Brady’s hand on her right wrist. In one swift movement, he clipped the other cuff to the arm rest.
Grace sat frozen in rage. “You son of a bitch,” she finally sputtered. “This is kidnapping.”
“You think?”
“You can’t do this.”
“I just did.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, then put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the street. Beside him, Grace yanked at the cuffs, her movements frenzied. “Give it a rest,” he said gruffly. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Like you care.”
Her face had gone pale with anger, making the blue of her eyes stand out starkly in the dash lights. Physically, she hadn’t changed much, Brady thought. She still wore her brown hair long, letting it curl naturally over her shoulders. The wind had whipped it about, and the tangled strands reminded him of how she used to look waking up in the morning. All that hair spilling down her naked back.
Her legs, still slender and shapely beneath her jeans, stirred even more memories. Grace’s legs had always been his downfall.
He tore his gaze away from her and tried to concentrate on the road as he entered the on-ramp of the freeway. Grace didn’t utter another word until they were heading west on I–30, toward Fort Worth. She stared sullenly out her window. “Where are you taking me?”
“I told you. Someplace safe.”
“Would you care to be a little more specific?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters!” She turned in the seat to face him, her expression earnest and desperate, her blue eyes dark with fear. “I can’t leave Dallas, Brady. Please. Just take me back. I’ll be okay. I know how to take care of myself.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He scowled at the road. “This isn’t about you anymore. It’s way beyond that. I was sent here to protect you until you can testify against Kane and possibly Rialto, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. With or without your cooperation.”
She sat back against the seat, looking drained. “Who sent you? You’re not a cop anymore. What are you? FBI? DEA?”
“Something like that.”
“That’s what you’ve been doing for the last five years? And here I was thinking you’d turned into some kind of cowboy.”
He spared her a brief glance. “I have.”
She gave a short laugh. “Brady Morgan, a cowboy? I find that hard to imagine.”
“A lot of things are hard to imagine,” he said bluntly. “For instance, after what happened five years ago, I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t be as eager as I am to put Kane away for good. But then, justice was never particularly a concern of yours, was it, Grace?” He sensed her tension, and almost immediately regretted his harsh words. But sometimes the truth hurt.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said quietly. “Not anymore. People change in five years.”
“Don’t kid yourself.”
She gave a defeated shrug. “If you could turn yourself into a cowboy—you, a tough-guy cop who grew up on the streets—why can’t you believe I could be redeemed?”
THEY’D LEFT Fort Worth sometime ago, heading in a southwesterly direction on I–30. Traffic thinned once they got out of the city, but a light rain began to fall, and the way the temperature was dropping, Brady was afraid the highway would soon become a mess.
He glanced at Grace. She’d fallen asleep a few minutes earlier, overcome with exhaustion, he suspected. She probably hadn’t slept for two days.
He’d been pondering her question for the last several miles, and he thought he knew the answer. Why didn’t he believe that she could be redeemed? Simple. Because actions spoke louder than words.
If she truly had changed, she wouldn’t think twice about turning over that tape to the police, about giving testimony that would put a ruthless drug dealer behind bars. But she wasn’t willing to do that, and so Brady’s conclusion was the obvious one. She was still the same conniving reporter she’d been five years ago. She was still willing to sell her soul for the sake of a story.
He’d been well rid of her for the last five years, he thought grimly. Now, if he could just survive the next five days with her.…
GRACE HAD no idea how long she’d been dozing, but she would awaken sporadically, shivering with cold. She was finally warm now, almost cozy, and she snuggled deeper into the folds of the blanket.
Not a blanket, she realized groggily. Brady’s coat. He’d taken it off and placed it over her, and she wanted to savor that act of kindness. Wanted to believe that he was coming around, but she knew it was wishful thinking. He thought she was refusing to testify because she was holding out for a story. She might have done that once, but not now. She did remember Juarez. She did remember Matamoros. But most of all, she remembered Dallas, five years ago. She wanted to do the right thing, but her mother’s life was at stake. Grace could do nothing to jeopardize her mother’s safety, not even confide in Brady.
Maybe he could help her, and maybe he couldn’t, but what he would most likely do was notify the authorities, whoever he worked for. And then Kane would know she’d talked, and Angeline would be killed. Maybe that would happen, and maybe it wouldn’t. But Grace wasn’t willing to take any chances, especially since she had no idea who Brady worked for. What she had to do now was get back to Dallas. Anyway possible.
She studied Brady’s profile through slitted eyes as she pretended to sleep. A cowboy. Who would have thought it?
His coat smelled of mountain air and wood smoke, and Grace, city-born and raised, was surprised to find that the scent stirred something primal and feminine inside her. She pulled the coat more tightly around her.
He’d removed his hat, too, and she saw that he still wore his hair short, just long enough for a woman’s fingers. His jeans were the kind that rode low on his lean waist and fit deceptively snug over long, muscular legs.
When Grace had known Brady five years ago, he’d driven a sports car, in keeping with his undercover image, but he looked at home behind the wheel of the truck. She could suddenly picture him on horseback, looking rugged and sexy. Fiercely masculine.
A cowboy, she thought in wonder. Who would have thought it?
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