Bulletproof Bodyguard

Bulletproof

Bodyguard

Kay Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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 Fifteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Copyright

About the Author

Having grown up in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, KAY THOMAS considers herself a “recovering” Southern Belle. She attended Vanderbilt and graduated from Mississippi State University, with a degree in educational psychology and an emphasis in English. Along the way to publication, she taught high school, worked in an advertising specialty agency, and had a very brief stint in a lingerie store.

Kay met her husband in Dallas when they sat next to each other in a restaurant. Seven weeks later they were engaged. Twenty years later she claims the moral of that story is: “When in Texas look the guy over before you sit next to him because you may be eating dinner with him for the rest of your life!” Today she still lives in Dallas with her Texan, their two children and a shockingly spoiled Boston Terrier named Jack.

Kay is thrilled to be writing for Intrigue and would love to hear from her readers. Visit her at her website, www. kaythomas.net, or drop her a line at PO Box 837321, Richardson, TX 75083, USA.

To my big brother Tim, who started this whole adventure over dinner one night with the words:

“I’ve got a story for you…”

Thank you for helping me find the answers to all my questions about the Mississippi River, casinos, geography and snakes. But most of all, thank you for believing in me and encouraging my dream.

Prologue

Jackson, Mississippi November, six months ago

Sweat ran down Marcus’s back and sides. The heat was cranked up too high and the room was stifling. To top it off, the tape from his body mike was ripping out hairs every time he moved.

Asa had strapped the wire on too tight, but Marcus hadn’t complained. His partner had a lot on his mind. At the time Marcus didn’t think it would matter. He’d expected to be in and out in twenty minutes. He should’ve known better.

They were waiting on Donny Simmons to make the delivery, then Marcus could “say the magic words.” Of course, Donny was over an hour late, and Marcus was about to melt.

Half an hour ago he’d tried opening the window, but it was painted shut. He considered standing up and trying again, but couldn’t summon up the energy.

God, he wanted a drink.

He looked around the shabby little living room. The carpet was worn, stained and smelled awful. Marcus sat on it because the only available chair looked worse. There was an old console television at the far end of the room, but apparently it didn’t work.

He felt a prickling sensation along the back of his neck and couldn’t figure out if something was truly wrong, or if he was just paranoid. After all, he’d been hanging out with Donny and his friends for the past two months. Some of their paranoia was bound to have rubbed off. He tried to concentrate on something besides the greenhouse effect and chest-hair removal, but he wasn’t having much luck.

He knew his men outside weren’t in any better shape, except for the heat issue. It was thirty-two degrees and dropping. The weatherman had predicted an ice storm for tonight, but the front was moving in early. Sleet splattered on the window above his head.

Perfect. No wonder Donny was late.

Four patrol guys were in an unmarked car down the street, while a six-man SWAT team was crammed into a plumbers’ van parked next door. Marcus had been in that same van last week. The heater was broken, and he knew those men were freezing their butts off as the team listened in.

Up to this point there hadn’t been much to hear. Just some dopers sitting around smoking and waiting on a delivery. Three of them to be exact—Donny’s brother Charles, his girlfriend Janice and another small-time dealer named Billy.

Charles lay on a broken-down sofa, his back to the room. From his vantage point on the floor, Marcus had a clear view of his T-shirt. Underneath the winged motorcycle emblem, the shirt proclaimed, If you can read this, the bitch fell off.

Charming guy, that Charles.

Janice slumped in a broken-down recliner next to the sofa. Long greasy hair hid her face, and she held a cigarette in grimy hands. Billy fidgeted at the kitchen table, jumping up every five minutes or so to look out the window and pace around the sad-looking kitchen. Marcus wondered what he was on and how long he’d been up.

Mentally he reviewed the pre-raid briefing that had taken place earlier today. He had stood at the front of the conference room in the station house and pointed to himself, “I’ll be inside wearing these clothes. Please don’t shoot me.”

Everyone had laughed and then they’d gotten down to business. At noon the Honorable Judge Watson had signed a search warrant for the property and arrest warrants for Donny, Charles and Billy.

The plan was to wait for Donny to make the sale.

Marcus would say, “It’s all good.”

Things would roll from there.

The SWAT team would hit the front door, take down the suspects and Marcus would hit the floor. The patrol guys would stay on the perimeter. They should be able to do this with a minimum of fuss, without firing a shot and he hoped, without blowing his cover.

Key word being should.

Donny was normally quite punctual with his delivery schedules—very unusual for a doper. Likewise, every Tuesday at four o’clock in the afternoon, Billy was there for a pick-up. Naturally, this was the first time in two months the delivery had been late.

Marcus’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Donny’s Camaro pulling into the driveway. The muffler must be dragging the ground to make that kind of racket. He stood as the dealer hustled in the back door carrying a nylon duffel bag, but Marcus’s stomach clenched when he saw the woman with him.

Tessa. He’d been a fool to think he was protecting her by saying no. Instead, she was clinging to Donny like he was her ticket to the good life. And for the next few hours he would be, if he shared his product with her. She nodded coolly to Marcus, giving no indication she knew him beyond a casual bar-room acquaintance.

“It’s about time,” said Charles. “Where ya been?”

“Trying not to wrap my car around a tree.” Donny’s voice was high and screechy. “It’s slicker ‘n a greased pig out there.”

“Donny, you’re such a comedian,” sneered Janice.

“Bite me, darlin.”

“In your dreams,” she retorted.

“Cut the crap,” interrupted Marcus. “Let’s get on with this. I’ve got somebody waiting.”

“You and me both,” said Billy. He walked over to stand beside Marcus. “Let’s see the st…”

Boom. Boom. Boom. The battering ram slammed through the front door.

Damn, somebody screwed up. Marcus hit the floor. The SWAT team burst through into the living room with 9mm MP5s.

“What the f—” shouted Charles. His question was cut short as he fell off the couch.

Janice screamed. Donny hit the floor with Marcus. Billy pulled out a 9mm Glock.

“Police…Drop the weapon, you’re under arrest!” shouted Tanker, the SWAT-team leader.

Billy didn’t hesitate; he just grabbed Tessa and put the Glock to her temple. “You drop it, or I do her right here.”

“You got no place to run, man. The house is surrounded. Let her go.” Tanker’s voice was calm. His entire team was now in the living room pointing their MP5s at Billy.

Marcus was sprawled at Tessa’s feet, staring up at the Glock. She was scared, but looked at him with complete trust in her eyes. No way he was pulling out his own gun in this situation. That was a guaranteed way to get them both shot.

He’d suspected Billy was a speed freak, and right now he was pretty sure that the guy was “schitzing out.” Marcus figured they had about ten more seconds before Billy completely lost it and starting shooting. If he rolled hard, Marcus could knock Tessa out of the way long enough for Tanker to do his thing.

He glanced over at the SWAT leader, gave him an imperceptible nod and rolled—right into Tessa’s calves.

Tessa squealed and pitched backwards, away from the gun. Billy’s arm was shoved to the side when she fell. She was safe but Billy squeezed off several rounds as his hand came down. Tessa’s scream was cut short. Tanker ran forward and Billy was on the ground before the echo of the shots stopped reverberating around the room.

“Officer down!” shouted Tanker’s second in command. “Officer down!”

Marcus turned to check Tessa and see who they were talking about before he felt the pain sear along his shoulder. Fire raced up and down his arm, but his body felt as cold as the sleet coming down outside.

Well, hell. The crowded room darkened around the edges but the volume increased. Tessa lay still beside him, her eyes staring lifelessly at the yellowed ceiling.

NO! Something inside him died when he saw the gunshot wound between her eyes, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

Asa shouted for an ambulance and leaned over Marcus, blocking his view of the men huddled around her.

“Tessa?”

Asa didn’t answer immediately. “They’re working on her. Hang on, partner. Help’s on the way.”

Marcus saw stark fear in his friend’s eyes and was lucid enough to realize Billy’s stray bullets might have nicked something major in him. He felt a growing puddle of warm blood beneath him.

Asa never stopped talking as he peeled off his own sweatshirt, wadded it up and pressed the material against Marcus’s chest. “You did good, man. You’re gonna make Hodges’s day. There’s a boatload of drugs here. Should be some cash, too. You just stay with me. Okay?”

“Sure,” mumbled Marcus.

Asa was lying. Hodges was gonna be pissed at the way this had gone down. Not that Marcus cared what Hodges thought, he’d just screwed up so badly, there wasn’t anything his boss could do to make him feel any worse. Tessa was dead and he couldn’t tell Asa what that really meant. Marcus had to pretend she was no different from any other addict caught in the crossfire. Even now.

“I’ll be all right,” he whispered.

The room grew dimmer.

“You know, I almost passed out from the heat waiting on you guys. Better not tell Hodges, though, huh? I’d really like some fresh air.” Marcus could tell his words were slurring and he wasn’t making much sense. “I had this feeling something would go wrong…. You know that feeling?”

Then everything went black.

Chapter One

Murphy’s Point, South Mississippi Memorial Day Weekend Saturday, early evening

“Boat sink! Boat sink!” Harris splashed and water slipped over the side of the claw-footed tub into Cally’s lap.

“Of course it does when you have a tidal wave, sweetie.”

“Don’t want it to sink.”

“Then don’t splash so much, darlin’. It’s almost time to get out—two more minutes.”

Cally surveyed the flooded floor. She wasn’t sure but there was probably as much water on her as on the bath mat. Her son loved his baths. Of course, she’d need to mop up afterwards.

Still, this was her favorite part of the day. By now her inn-keeping duties were usually done until the following morning when breakfast was served, and she was free to focus on her son. But tonight her guests were running late, so she was getting a head start on the evening routine before they checked in to River Trace.

She would be sold-out with Gregor Williams’s group coming in for a gambling holiday, plus her new boarder, Mr. North. She’d never intended to take in a long-term resident, but McCay County was the only area of the state with a housing shortage in this depressed economy. Two hurricanes had recently swept the Mississippi coastline back to back, ravaging an area still struggling after Katrina.

Mr. North, one of the Paddlewheel Casino’s onsite bodyguards, was tired of making the hour-and-a-half commute to work from Jackson, and he was more than willing to live here until he could find a more permanent residence. She hadn’t met him yet. He’d done everything through e-mail, but she hoped he was pleasant. Even if he wasn’t, the money was too good to turn down.

She and Bay, the groundskeeper, had just finished his room today. They’d gradually been converting all the bedrooms in River Trace to guestrooms as the business increased. Moving that antique armoire up to the attic room had about killed them both. But they’d done it, all while Harris napped down here—compliments of her new high-tech baby monitor.

Cally still couldn’t believe she was living her dream of running a bed-and-breakfast in Murphy’s Point. Of course that dream had come at a crushing price. At twenty-eight years old, she was a widow with a three-year-old son.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Damn it. She hated to cry. It had been almost four years and the grief could still unexpectedly bring her to her knees. Sometimes the pain snuck up on her like this and grabbed her from behind. She didn’t have time for it.

“Boat sink! Boat sink!” More water hit the floor and splattered her shirt, shaking her from memories best left in the past.

“Okay, sailor. It’s time to abandon ship and get ready for bed.”

Harris giggled. “I bring boat?”

“Yes, darling. As soon as I dry it off.”

“Yay! Harris take boat to bed…to bed.”

Oh, the cry of my heart. “Now let’s get your pj’s on and brush those teeth.”

Bong. Bong.

“Doorbell, Momma.”

“Yes, honey. I hear it.” One of her guests no doubt. She scrambled up with a wiggling, wet toddler in her arms. Great.

“Let’s see how fast we can get those pj’s on.”

After a couple of tries Cally gave up on the pajamas. They were sticking to the damp places on Harris’s back, arms and bottom.

“Well, let’s just get underwear on so you aren’t completely naked.” She slipped in a puddle as she stepped out of the bathroom and went down on the one knee that, up to that point, had been dry.

Bong. Bong.

“Coming, coming,” she muttered under her breath. “Keep your shirt on.”

“Not wearing shirt, Momma.”

Cally grinned in spite of herself. She passed the gilded mirror in the hallway and her blue eyes widened. How much water had Harris splashed on her?

Her thick hair, wavy under the best of circumstances, was now falling out of the bun on top of her head and curling around her face in ringlets. Her makeup was completely gone, except for that smear of mascara under her left eye. Her clothes were…soaked. And there was a large wet spot across the front of her blouse that made it practically transparent. Lovely.

Bong.

No time to change into dry clothes. She shifted Harris from her hip to her chest and clasped both hands under his bottom.

She glanced in the mirror again. At least she couldn’t see her bra through the shirt anymore because Harris now covered her like a blanket. She took a swipe at the mascara and snorted a laugh at the effort.

So much for first impressions.

MARCUS WAS RINGING the bell for the fourth time as the heavy front door swung open. The woman behind the massive oak-and-glass panel held a wet-haired toddler and looked as if she had just stepped out of the bathtub in her clothes.

Marcus started to reach out to shake the lady’s hand and realized she couldn’t let go of the child.

“Hi, I’m Marcus North. I think you were expecting me earlier?” He smiled.

The kid was wriggling and getting the mother’s shirt even wetter and more transparent as he turned around in her arms trying to get a look at the stranger. The woman brushed curly red hair out of her eyes. She smiled tentatively but her cornflower-blue eyes looked somewhat panicked.

“Hello, Mr. North. I’m Cally Burnett. Welcome to River Trace Inn. I’m glad you’re here.” She talked fast. “Come on inside. We’ll get you all checked in. I…” She hesitated as she looked down at her clothes, clearly uncomfortable at being caught unprepared.

Marcus attempted to put her at ease. “Did you fall in?” he asked with a straight face.

“What…? No…I mean,” she stammered and looked down again at her water-stained clothes as a genuine smile tugged at the edge of her lips. She had a beautiful mouth with twin dimples accenting the corners. “I know it looks that way but, actually, I only went wading.”

“They say one can drown in two inches of water.” He grinned back at her.

Cally winced and seemed to recover her smile, but the dimples were gone. “That’s about how much water is on the bathroom floor.”

“Well, he looks as if he certainly enjoyed putting it there.” Marcus turned his attention to the little boy who was openly staring at him with a confused look.

“Momma didn’t fall. She giving me bathed.”

Her mouth dimpled faintly. “Of course not, darling. We were just joking. Mr. North, this is my son, Harris.”

“Hi, Mr. Nowth.”

Marcus reached out his hand to shake Harris’s damp one. “Hi, Harris, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Let’s get you all settled. You must be tired after your drive.” Cally began the innkeeper’s patter as she brought him into the high-ceilinged living room and over to an antique secretary to handle the paperwork.

“No, not so much.” Marcus looked around the magnificent room, his undercover cop’s brain automatically taking note of and cataloguing details. From the front door he had stepped directly into a large living area with a baby grand piano at one end and a fireplace at the other. Soft moss-green walls made the grandeur much more comfortable than he would have thought possible.

Hardwood floors were covered with several different richly colored oriental rugs. Two loveseats from a bygone era nestled close to the fireplace. Beyond the sitting area on the right he glimpsed the dining room’s huge banquet table and antique sideboard. A large rose-crystal chandelier glowed dimly over the table that was already set for breakfast with heavy silver serving pieces and crystal goblets.

A grand staircase ran parallel to the room on the opposite end by the piano. A hallway lay straight ahead that seemed to go toward the back of the house, and rooms connected off each end of the living room.

“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Burnett. How long have you lived here?”

“A little over eight years.” She looked up from the registration book. “This was my husband’s family home. His greatgrandfather built it at the turn of the century.”

“Oh, so it doesn’t date back to the Civil War.”

“No,” she laughed softly. “Although I’m afraid the Chamber of Commerce wishes it did. They wanted to suggest that perhaps William Faulkner slept here. But the sad fact is nothing of historic significance has ever occurred at River Trace.”

“Except raising the Burnett family of course.”

Her dimples reappeared.

“So do you and your husband run the bed-and-breakfast?”

Again, her smile faltered. “No, my husband died almost four years ago. I run River Trace myself with the help of Bay and Luella Wiggins.”

Now it was Marcus’s turn to wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

She shook her head and looked back down at the paperwork. “That’s all right. It…it happens all the time.” She stopped writing to look up at him directly. “I know you don’t know what to say.”

Marcus nodded gratefully, feeling that he was definitely losing his social skills. He wondered what had happened to the husband.

As if reading his thoughts, Harris piped up, “Daddy dwowned…but not in bathtub.”

Cally gaped at the child in shocked surprise. Marcus groaned. No wonder his earlier comment about drowning had caused such an unusual reaction.

“That’s right, honey.” She recovered herself and held him close as she patted his back and looked into his eyes.

“He lives in heaven with angels.”

“Um-hmm,” she murmured, still staring into the boy’s face.

“Lulu says so. Bay, too.”

“That’s right, baby. That’s right.”

She gazed at Harris a moment longer, continuing to cuddle him and took a deep breath. He laid his head on her shoulder. Marcus shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with his eavesdropping. It usually wouldn’t bother him, but in this case, it was extraordinarily awkward.

She seemed to sense his discomfort. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he knew what that meant. I mean we’ve talked about it, but…” She stopped, blushed a deep pink, clearly at a loss for words.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

Her forehead creased, “About?”

“About…the tub.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “You must be wondering after all this.”

Her hand fluttered about Harris’s back but her voice was cool and composed. “My husband was in a boating accident. He was duck-hunting and putting out decoys when the boat capsized. His waders filled with water and he drowned.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“I am, too.” She sighed. “But life goes on.” She looked at the little boy in her arms and gave him a squeeze. “Here’s the proof.” Harris giggled sleepily. “Let me show you to your room. It’s right up these steps.” Marcus followed her to the grand staircase. Their feet were silent on the carpeted steps.

“Your room was originally an attic when the house was built. At one time it was a nursery. Now it’s definitely the most secluded spot at River Trace.”

At the top of the second flight, Cally turned left and led him past several rooms toward the back of the house. Her hair had come out of its pins and was trailing halfway down her back in ringlets. Marcus watched as Harris opened and closed his fists around one of the curls.

The outline of her bra strap was clearly visible through the wet shirt. It was lacey, pink and distracting the hell out of him. She turned right and paused at another landing.

“I thought since you were going to be here a while, this would give you more privacy. You have your own bath and there’s another stairway here if you prefer. It was originally a servants’ stairway. And if you’ve had a really long day…” She didn’t finish the sentence as she pointed toward the antique one-man elevator.

“It still works?” he asked.

Cally nodded, opened a door and led him up a narrow stairwell. He could see how the location would have been perfect for a child’s nursery.

“We just finished getting it all together today.”

Marcus stepped up into the room behind her. She crossed another oriental rug and sat Harris down on a wide window seat. As she leaned over to close the window, he got an unexpected but rather spectacular view of her butt in the water-soaked jeans. Her wet shirt had ridden up and he could see a line of milky-white skin along her back.