Bulletproof

Bodyguard

Kay Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

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.

He caught himself staring, imagining the view under different circumstances. If she turned around without picking up the boy first, he’d get a peek at the latest Victoria’s Secret had to offer. With a jolt he realized he wasn’t paying attention to a word she was saying.

“…we painted earlier this week, but I wanted to make sure the smell was completely gone.”

Marcus took in a gulp of air, attempting to clear the erotic images forming in his head. “Hmm. All I smell is ah…flowers?”

“Yes.” Cally smiled, completely unaware of where his thoughts had been. “That would be the potpourri.” She nodded at a silver bowl on the captain’s desk to his right.

“The bathroom’s through here.” She pointed toward the small hallway to his left; straight ahead was a queen-size bed flanked by small antique tables. “We just moved the armoire in today.”

He reassessed her as he took in the large cabinetry opposite the window. “You moved that yourself? Up those stairs?” He studied her slim build and tried to imagine her lifting the heavy antique. Even with a man helping her, it was a formidable job.

“Well, Bay and I did. I couldn’t have done it on my own. I can’t imagine doing any of this without the Wigginses. You’ll meet him and Luella tomorrow. River Trace simply couldn’t run without them. They’re amazing.”

“I’d say so.” He mentally struggled to get focused again.

“Let’s see. I need to get you more towels, and you need a brandy decanter.” She ticked the items off on her fingers.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a gift when you check in. Our special label. Homemade peach brandy. Not to be missed.” She stared straight at him—open and friendly, but it wasn’t a come-on. He knew that.

Facing him, she wasn’t holding the kid. Marcus locked his eyes on hers and willed himself not to look below her neck at that transparent shirt.

“Now…what else. Oh, yes. Since you’re up three stories here, the fire marshal insists I tell you how to get out in case the stairway is blocked during a fire.” She headed for the window seat.

Marcus swallowed hard when she bent over to pick up Harris and lifted the lid on the built-in seat. Her shirt rode up again revealing more of that creamy skin that he was suddenly very curious to touch.

“There’s a ladder here,” she said over her shoulder.

She reached for the jumble of metal and rope, and he realized he was staring again. He was going to get busted if he didn’t stop. He reached around her, accidentally brushing against her shoulder.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She startled. “Thank you,” she murmured, stepping aside. “You attach it by those handles to the window and then you can ease down to the roof.”

“Where do I go from there?” he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. Touching her had been a bad idea, a really bad idea.

Cally turned to look at him with a sober face and sparkling eyes. “You jump.”

He barked a laugh.

“Actually, you shimmy down to that sunroof on the second floor, and then you jump.”

“Does every room have one of these?”

“Oh, no. Yours is special. It’s the only one on the third floor. There are two staircases up to the second floor and a window in every bedroom. The fire marshal figures if worse comes to worst, everyone else can get out.”

Obviously she was struggling to keep a straight face.

“I see.”

“River Trace is the only residence to be converted to an inn in the county. The fire marshal had never done this before. I’m afraid he went a bit overboard. We barely talked him out of a sprinkler system. But I feel confident you will be safe during your stay.” The dimples were back. “I think the worst thing that would happen if you had to jump is a broken leg.”

“Hmm. We’ll hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Absolutely.”

A man could get lost in a smile like hers. Harris yawned widely as Marcus shut the ladder back into the window seat. “Someone is getting sleepy,” he said.

Harris was snuggling into her chest and clutching one of her ringlets. “Yes, I’d better put him to bed. I’ll be glad to get you something after I get him down.”

She was looking at Marcus again with those incredibly blue eyes, totally oblivious of the effect she was having.

“What would you like? A snack of some kind? Or I can fix you a sandwich? Whatever you want.”

She had no idea what she’d just said. Marcus swallowed. God, he didn’t usually get turned on by unintentional double entendres. “A sandwich would be great if it’s not too much trouble. But there’s no hurry. I realize you’ll have your hands full for the next few minutes.”

“It’s no problem at all. I’ll just put Harris to bed and bring up your sandwich. And those towels and that brandy.” She started toward the stairs before turning back. “How does roast beef on whole wheat sound?”

“Delicious.”

“It’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

Downstairs the deep gong of the doorbell echoed through the house.

“That’ll be my other guests. Let’s make that thirty minutes on the sandwich?”

“No problem.”

Cally nodded and headed down the steps. When the door closed, Marcus’s smile faded. He looked around the room, taking in the rich red walls and antique four-poster.

This was not the set-up he’d been expecting. Oh, it was quite a place all right. But it was not the proper way for this to go down. What in hell was he going to do about the widow and the kid?

Chapter Two

As Gregor Williams pulled his rented Suburban into the drive of River Trace, the weight of the week pressed down on him. If his lawyers were to be believed, a hearing and indictments were in his future. But he shook off their dire predictions and took in the view before him. Starting now, Gregor had other plans.

The bed-and-breakfast was beautiful, although not to his taste. Surrounded by empty cotton fields, it looked like something out of Gone with the Wind—with three stories, red brick, white columns, black shutters and wrought-iron balconies. But what really interested him was how the house backed up to a lake. A setting sun bled along a drive lined with thirty-foot magnolia trees and live oaks that were closer to fifty feet. The secluded plantation home was absolutely perfect for his “project.”

“Let’s get inside. I’ve had all the fun I can stand today.” His tone invited no argument.

He glanced over his shoulder at the men he’d brought with him. Peter Sams, his second-in-command, was tall, rawboned, in his late forties and completely bald with a goatee. A bodybuilder and frighteningly strong, Peter had worked with him in some type of capacity for twenty years. First in the military, now for their private security company. Gregor knew Peter Sams almost as well as he knew himself.

A smaller but equally lethal black man was sitting beside Sams. Rob Johnson had joined their security team in Iraq right before the ill-fated mission that had landed them in their present legal troubles. But he’d proven his worth in that firefight. Gregor could trust his life to both of these men.

Gregor’s gaze fell on Frank Boggs next. Sams had found Boggs or rather, relocated his old military buddy. Boggs would be supplying them with everything they would need for the weekend.

He shifted uneasily in his seat. Johnson and Sams had both told him that they were afraid the man couldn’t cut it in the clinch. But Gregor felt Boggs could handle his end. The job wasn’t going to be that complicated. Besides, the payoff was irresistible. And in their present legal circumstances, absolutely necessary. Gregor had a strategy for making everything work.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror as he swung open the door and nodded. With iron-gray hair and cold blue eyes, he knew he looked formidable. The look was one he had cultivated over the years. He was fifty-two, but his six-foot frame looked like that of a much younger man.

This was his last mission, so to speak. Afterward, he would be retiring to some place tropical and out of the country—where the women wore thong bikinis and were more than willing to accommodate his…unique preferences. He could practically taste the piña coladas as he strode up the paved brick sidewalk.

“All right. Let’s do this,” he called over his shoulder.

The three men didn’t answer. Accustomed to taking orders, they simply swung open their car doors with military precision. Moments later they stood on the tremendous porch at the front of the bed-and-breakfast along with their boss.

Gregor growled, “Smile, damn it. You look like you’re about to face a firing squad. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

Tension rose along the back of his neck. The taste in his mouth no longer reminded him of the tropics. He focused on the large rush welcome mat as he rang the bell.

A stout-looking black woman in a maid’s uniform opened the massive paneled door with a smile. “Hello, Mr. Williams. It’s good to have you back again. Y’all come on in. Welcome to River Trace.”

Gregor dismissed his second thoughts and turned on the charm. “Hello, Luella. It’s good to be here. I’ve been dreaming about your collard greens and buttermilk biscuits for a month.”

“You’re puttin’ me on, sir.” Luella’s smile grew wider as she shooed them all inside like a mother hen. “Let me get you gentlemen checked in. You have perfect timing. I just got back from dinner. Did you have a pleasant drive?”

Gregor spoke for all of them. “Yes, we did. I’m looking forward to showing my friends the casino. We’re hoping to have a profitable weekend.”

Luella bustled her way over to the large antique secretary and proceeded with the paperwork and showing them to their rooms on the second floor. Gregor’s was the master bedroom with a fireplace and large sitting area. Luella was turning to go downstairs when he asked, “Is Mrs. Burnett home this evening?”

The big woman nodded. “Cally’s here. I believe she’s checking another guest in. She cooked up some hors d’oeuvres for you and the other gentlemen earlier if you’d like a late cocktail hour. Y’all come on down whenever you’re ready. I’ll take care of you.”

“None of your fried okra?” he teased. “I was really looking forward to that.”

“No sir, we haven’t picked any okra out of our garden this week. But if you like, I’ll have Bay do it in the morning and fix you up a mess of collards and some okra for dinner tomorrow night.”

Gregor nodded and laughed out loud, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “Oh, it really is good to be back at River Trace.” He was surprised to realize he truly meant that. “I’m looking forward to my time here.”

MARCUS CLIMBED into the steaming enclosure and let the hot water pelt his face. He wanted to wash off the stink of the dive he had been in earlier. His contact had never shown, but he’d met with the people he came to see. Now he reeked of cheap liquor, cigarettes and God only knew what else. He was surprised Mrs. Burnett hadn’t noticed, but she’d been distracted by the kid.

Cally Burnett was unexpected. Curvy in all the right places, she intrigued him with that mane of auburn curls and big blue eyes, not to mention those lips that made him think of ice cream and X-rated movies. He shook his head. No more than five foot five, what there was of her was extraordinarily well packaged.

When she’d answered the door, he’d been almost embarrassed by his response. She looked more like the winner of a wet T-shirt contest than a mother and widow. But she certainly wasn’t his type. Forget about sex. It had been so long since he’d had an extended conversation with a woman who wasn’t a cop, a snitch or a victim—he wasn’t exactly sure what his type was anymore.

Not that his body’s response was any indication; it had no real discernment in these matters, especially given the timing. Celibacy was a bitch. Doing without wasn’t his first choice and had more to do with the fact that his love life had been nonexistent lately.

Marcus consciously pushed thoughts of the lovely Mrs. Burnett out of his mind. He had little time to himself to socialize outside of work, and he no longer got involved with the women from this side of his life. It was entirely too complicated and dangerous. Tessa had taught him that lesson the hard way.

He wished Gregor had picked different lodgings. This wasn’t going to be as clean as the man claimed. That worried Marcus for the widow’s sake as well as his own.

Gregor Williams was a dangerous man. Marcus suspected some mental instability. Boggs had confirmed those suspicions last week when he told a story about Williams “roughing up” a hooker in New Orleans. Later Asa did some checking and found the woman had been hospitalized. It should have caused quite a stir. But for some reason the woman didn’t press charges. With the high-profile job Gregor had in Iraq as a private security contractor, a significant amount of money must have changed hands to keep that incident quiet.

Marcus had met Gregor and his mercenaries for the first time a little over a month ago. Things had progressed rapidly from there, once they found out about his position at the casino. And tonight, he’d been at the Tonk where Gregor had spelled out his entire plan.

The bar sat on a gravel back road between two cotton fields. During the day it was hardly more than a shack. At night, with half-burned-out Christmas lights strung around the door, the Tonk looked like an old whore on Bourbon Street determined to sell her worn wares and show the world she still had what it took.

Marcus heard music blaring as he pulled into the potholed dirt parking lot. Three motorcycles and a half dozen trucks were haphazardly parked out front. A light crowd for a Saturday night, but it was early yet. Things didn’t start rocking here until after midnight.

The scent of spilled beer, stale sweat and cigarette smoke assaulted him as he cruised inside. The bikers were at the bar with a couple of women Marcus recognized from previous visits. The hookers working here on weekends were a sad lot. The Tonk was the last stop on the food chain. Marcus could never imagine being so desperate to get laid that he’d take up with one of these “ladies.” An STD or worse was in a john’s future. But, apparently, the women did a booming business—especially on a holiday weekend.

Manny, the owner—a massive black man with two gold front teeth and an attitude—was tending bar. Marcus gave him a nod.

Manny didn’t need bouncers in his place. Instead, he kept a sawed-off shotgun behind the counter and a snub-nosed revolver in his belt. Oh, fights might break out. But when Manny told you to leave—you left. The cops were never called.

Heavy metal blasted from the jukebox at the far end of the room. A few tables were scattered around a pool table on the opposite side of the bar, and a game was just starting. Marcus nodded to one of the players as he walked toward the far corner.

Four men sat at a scarred wooden table. Even in the darkened room, their buzz haircuts and perfect posture stood out. There was just no hiding that kind of discipline in a place like this.

“Hello, Gregor. Boggs.” Marcus sat without being invited.

The older man in the group spoke in a growl, “North, it’s about damn time.”

“Here I am, as we discussed.”

“Have you checked in yet?”

“No, I’m going over to the bed-and-breakfast after this.”

Manny sauntered over with a beer and set it in front of Marcus and nodded a greeting to Frank Boggs.

“Evening, Manny. Where’s Earleen tonight?” asked Marcus.

“That girl has done gone and got the flu. Said she might be in later. But she looks worse ‘n she usually does.” He paused a moment, his gold teeth disappeared, then winked again in the dim light. “She sure hates to miss the weekend tricks.”

Marcus laughed out loud. “Yeah, like you’d let that happen. Sure hope she feels better.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

Gregor waited until the man ambled back toward the bar.

“Who’s Earleen?” he asked.

“Manny’s daughter,” said Marcus.

“Her father pimps for her?” Gregor asked. His growl had changed to a rumble.

Apparently, his few puritanical tendencies were highly offended at their conversation. He didn’t get it and Marcus decided not to enlighten him.

There were plenty of tricks turned in Manny’s Tonk but his daughter, Earleen, was not involved in that lifestyle. Manny probably didn’t know she’d ever even considered it and would kill the man who laid a finger or anything else on his daughter.

“Yeah, he’s a real prince. Giving her all the advantages,” said Marcus.

“A girlfriend of yours?”

Marcus smiled, but his stomach turned. He’d met Earleen several years ago when she was a runaway and contemplating turning her first trick on Farish Street in Jackson. Working Vice at the time, he’d almost arrested her. Instead, after hearing her story, he’d put her on a bus back home to South Mississippi.

Unfortunately, this audience wasn’t interested in the only “happily ever after” Marcus had ever seen while working that side of the street in Jackson, so he spun it a bit.

“I never kiss and tell, Gregor. Do you?”

Boggs snorted. The other two men smiled uneasily.

“You know the nicest people,” snarled Gregor, ignoring the question.

Marcus realized he was antagonizing his mark more than he should. He slid a manila envelope across the table. “Here’s the blueprint you wanted.”

“Have any trouble?” Gregor pulled out a small loose-leaf notebook and tucked the envelope inside.

“No trouble. The security personnel have access to all the wiring schematics in case there’s a problem with the generators or security system. Since I’m a bodyguard, I have access, as well.”

“I want to double-check these camera locations against the ones I already have.”

“No problem,” Marcus said. “What else?”

“What time will you finish work tomorrow?”

“Should be done around five-thirty or six. None of my whales are here till the weekend.”

“Good. We’ll make the final preparations then.”

Marcus nodded and made a conscious effort to ignore the beer in front of him. “Why the bed-and-breakfast? Wouldn’t a hotel have worked just as well?”

“Oh, you’ll like River Trace—fabulous location, beautiful setting, soothing water.” Gregor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. The other men stared at their drinks.

Marcus didn’t trust the answer but knew it was all he would get tonight. He pushed the bottle away. “All right. See you later.”

MARCUS SHIVERED. The water was turning cold. He stepped out of the shower, wincing when he grabbed too quickly for the thick white towel on the counter.

He looked down at the ugly red scar that ran along his collarbone. It’d been three months since he’d finished rehab, and the pain could still take his breath away. He’d better take a handful of ibuprofen before he went to bed, or it would hurt like hell tomorrow.

He wiped down the foggy mirror; chocolate-brown eyes stared back at him. Dark circles accented the lines underneath them. His wet black hair needed a trim. He had more gray there than he remembered.

His nose canted slightly to the left—the result of a bar fight when he was twenty. He certainly wasn’t twenty anymore. Tonight he looked every one of his thirty-nine years, or as Manny would say, “worse ‘n usual.”

Marcus dug around in his Dopp kit for the medicine, thinking about the Tonk’s owner and his daughter. Apparently, Manny had never delved too deeply into Earleen’s “walk on the wild side,” he was so glad to have his daughter home.

She’d recognized Marcus as soon as he’d walked into the Tonk—several weeks ago. By her account, she’d never told Manny how she got home from Jackson, or that Marcus was really a cop.

Marcus wasn’t sure if that was true, but she had been his best informant since he’d been in McCay County, and Manny hadn’t kicked him out of the bar yet. So that was probably a fair sign.

While Manny himself didn’t deal, drugs were sold in his place with surprising regularity. The Tonk was a hot spot for all kinds of sin in South Mississippi. Every undesirable, hood and petty crook within a three-hundred-mile radius eventually made their way through his bar.

Earleen had introduced Marcus to lots of people there, including Frank Boggs. Frank dated Carlotta, a friend of Earleen’s. That’s how this investigation had all started: one interesting conversation at the Tonk with Marcus doing what he did best—listening, blending in, talking when necessary.

When Boggs found out Marcus was a bodyguard at the Paddlewheel, he was anxious to talk about McCay County’s sole casino and what it was like to work there. The hell of it was Marcus had been at the Tonk that night strictly to hang before he went to work.

He’d needed to see for himself that Earleen was okay. That she was happy. Every once in a while he needed to see that he’d done something right when the cover was starting to get to him, even if he had to stay under to do it. So technically he wasn’t even “working” the job when the initial contact happened.

He ignored the fact that it said something dark about where he chose to spend his time these days. Even working undercover, he recognized he was not in a good place. But then he’d met Boggs and it only reinforced Marcus’s self-destructive behavior.

Stupid blind luck.

“So you like working at the casino?” Boggs leaned over the table with his pool cue to take his shot.

“Yeah. Just wish I could make more money at it.”

“Don’t we all. Lots of money there at the ‘Wheel.” Boggs sunk a ball in the right corner pocket.

“At the Paddlewheel?” Carlotta plopped down on the round serving table directly across from Frank, seemingly too drunk to care that others could see straight up her micro mini to a Brazilian wax.

Marcus nodded. “Most casinos make ten to twelve percent. The ‘Wheel makes about thirty.”

“Good God, what does that much money look like?” Boggs stood up straight, the pool game and Carlotta’s peep show forgotten.

“Oh, it’s quite a sight. There’s a special counting room, of course. A few times there’s been so much money they haven’t been able to count it fast enough.”

“So what did they do?”

“Put the money in plastic garbage bags until they get it counted.”

“You’re kidding me. Garbage sacks full of money?”

Marcus nodded. “Hell, an armored truck got stuck clear up to the axles once.”

“I don’t get it,” said Boggs.

“The weight. It wasn’t a muddy road. It just sank into the gravel because of the weight of the coins. They had to get a damn crane to haul it out of there.”

Boggs listened with rapt attention.

“Those two armored security guys were sweating bullets,” continued Marcus.

“How come? They got guns, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but most of the casino guys don’t,” said Marcus.

Earleen brought him his extremely watered-down drink, their little secret, and raised an eyebrow when he asked her to keep ‘em coming. She handed Carlotta a beer and whispered something to her, but Carlotta didn’t respond.

“All that money and no guns,” mused Boggs. “Sounds like they’re just asking for it.”

“The casino is too afraid of bad publicity, like if there was to be an incident, shooting a patron or something. The money’s insured against theft once it leaves the casino in the armored trucks.”

“Still…seems nuts to me,” said Boggs.

“Yeah, but you gotta understand. The Paddlewheel isn’t run by the ‘casino people’ from Biloxi, Tunica or Vegas. It’s been an experiment with unbelievable timing. Goes back to the storm. Some good old boys made an investment, along comes Katrina, and suddenly the Paddlewheel’s the only casino still online and their little gamble’s paying off an incredible return. They had no idea they’d ever be able to compete with the coast or Tunica—they weren’t even going to try. They just wanted to cash in on some of the local gambling dollars that were going out of town.”

Marcus leaned on his pool cue as he explained. Boggs hung on every word.

“Katrina took those big casinos out just as the Paddlewheel was getting started and people had nowhere else to go to gamble. The ‘Wheel earned itself a nice little reputation in the process. A boutique casino if you will. Some folks don’t like all the glitz and glam of the big casinos along the coast so they come up here, particularly some of the bigger spenders who like their privacy.”

“An awful lot of money to have so little security,” Boggs sat directly in front of Carlotta and took her beer. Marcus carefully chose his seat on her other side, to avoid getting an eyeful of her “attributes.”

“Oh, they have security. Metal detectors before you go inside and some of the finest manpower available.” Marcus thumped his own chest and grinned. “It just doesn’t have all the bells and whistles of the big boys’ systems.”

Marcus hadn’t told him anything that wasn’t common knowledge. Even the part about garbage sacks of money was already the stuff of urban legend.

Everyone knew the guards didn’t carry guns. It’s why the casino had to have those private bodyguards, especially on the big weekends. That was the casino’s legal loophole on who could have weapons on the job.

Frank continued to quiz him about his work, specifically security. Marcus answered carefully as the questions became rather pointed.

“You sound like you’re planning a robbery,” said Marcus.

Boggs laughed and shrugged. “Oh, you never know. I might have some ideas.”

Since then, there had been several meetings like the one tonight. He’d met Gregor soon afterward. Asa had been with him for that, but he’d been called back to Jackson last week. The aftermath of that damned Simmons case was still burning them both. Marcus felt it every time he thought of Tessa, while Asa was being put through the wringer by IA about money that had supposedly gone missing from the scene. Marcus wasn’t implicated directly—he’d been too busy bleeding out to lift evidence, but the higher-ups were definitely angling to make him guilty by association.

Marcus didn’t plan on testifying against his partner, no matter what they threatened. Asa had saved his ass more times than Marcus could count. But they had some issues to deal with when this was all over, starting with Marcus’s own confession about Tessa.

He was wiped—mentally and physically. And it was more than just the rigors of the past few weeks. He rummaged in his Dopp kit for a toothbrush as he stubbornly refused to face the obvious. He was on the edge of a burn-out. Maybe things would look better tomorrow.

“Me and Scarlett,” he murmured.

His shoulder ached like a bitch. The medicine hadn’t kicked in yet. He wanted a Scotch, but knew he wouldn’t want to stop with just one.

Cally had forgotten the homemade brandy she’d told him about when she brought up the sandwich. He was grateful for that. At this moment he might not be able to handle the temptation.

Instead, he brushed his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and dropped the towel before crawling between the cool, soft-as-cloud sheets. He stared at the ceiling fan. Moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains, throwing odd shadows on the far wall. The bowl of dried flowers and spices perfumed the air along with the faint hint of fresh paint.

It wouldn’t be much longer. Gregor’s plan was already unfolding. His strategy was disturbingly simple and that made it brilliant. In three days the Paddlewheel, the newest casino in Mississippi, would be robbed. And there wasn’t a damn thing Marcus could do, unless he helped with the crime.

Chapter Three

“Nooo…No! Help me!”

Marcus sat bolt upright in the bed.

“Bears go away, bears go away!” The child’s voice was shrill.

Marcus looked around as he tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. It felt like the kid was crying next to his ear. As he fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp, he spied the red lines dancing up and down on what he assumed was a baby monitor.

“Momma, help! Momma, help me!”

He flipped on the lamp and shook himself awake, puzzling over what the monitor was doing in his room until he vaguely recalled Cally saying something about finishing up the room today.

She must have left it then. He glanced at the clock. He’d been asleep for less than half an hour.

“Momma, plea…se help me.” The little voice was sobbing softly, pitifully.

Marcus wasn’t sure what to do. He could always just turn the damn thing off and go back to sleep. He was dead tired. But without the baby monitor, he wasn’t sure if Harris’s mom could hear the crying or not.

“Bears go away, please go away.” The boy’s cries were low and pleading.

Marcus had heard that tone of desperation in other people’s voices before. He’d had to turn those voices off without helping more times than he could count. It had been a requirement for the job.

He’d never mastered the art of being able to do it and not care. God, he was tired. His life felt so…empty.

“Momma…please…help me.”

Swinging his legs out of the bed, Marcus sighed heavily and reached for his jeans. He couldn’t turn off the monitor and go back to sleep. That voice would haunt him in his dreams.

CALLY SHOVED THE casserole for tomorrow’s breakfast into the refrigerator and turned to survey the mess in her kitchen. It wasn’t too bad. Only a few dishes needed to be washed before she went to bed.

The large combination kitchen and family room with its stone floors, brightly colored hooked rug and rag-rolled yellow walls was her favorite place in the house. Chambray-blue tile matched a loveseat and large upholstered rocker, both arranged by a generous fireplace.

She spent most of her day here—either cooking for her guests and sideline catering business or playing with Harris. She liked getting as much of the inn’s breakfast prepared beforehand as possible. That way she could eat with her son before she served the inn’s clientele.

She’d been stepping out of the shower when she remembered that she hadn’t made tomorrow’s ham-and-cheese casserole for breakfast. Her hair dried on its own in a riot of curls while she cooked. Maroon 5 was turned up on her earbuds. She shimmied and danced in place, singing along about a wake-up call as she washed dishes.

The guest buzzer rang insistently along with a blinking light, startling her into silence. The doorway from the kitchen to the rest of the house was locked at night so the chime rang here and in her bedroom for guests to call her after hours. She turned off the iPod, tightened the belt on her robe and opened the door.

Marcus North, all six feet three inches of him stood there in half-zipped jeans and bare feet. His denim shirt was unbuttoned—dark hair and a washboard abdomen registered. She looked up from this impressive view with some regret and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Unfortunately in the past, she’d dealt with single male guests who thought a young widow innkeeper was fair game—part of the bed-and-breakfast’s à la carte menu. She hoped her new boarder wasn’t suffering under the same misconception.

“Yes, Mr. North?”

“I…ah…heard the baby crying over the monitor in my room and wasn’t sure if…”

“Oh my gosh, I left that thing in your room this afternoon. I’m so sorry. Did he wake you—”

She took in his tousled dark hair, her eyes dipping down to the unbuttoned shirt again, and interrupted her own question. “Of course he did. Let me go check on him. He has nightmares.”

She dashed across the kitchen to the hallway leading back to her private rooms.

“I’ll be right back!” she called over her shoulder.

MARCUS FOLLOWED her toward the hallway and stood at the entrance debating what to do. He turned to the large picture window at the far end of the family room. In the moonlight, he spied a boat dock.

River Trace backed up to one of the many half-moon lakes left when the Mississippi River had changed its course over the years. However, this lake was unusual in that it connected to the Mississippi when the water was up. During the flood season, as it was now, a boat could freely travel from the lake to the river and back again.

He looked out over the water and heard a door open down the hall.

Harris’s voice echoed around the corner. “Momma, Momma…the bears.”

“I know, sweetie, I know. The bears are all gone now. Momma’s chased them all away.”

“Momma, they…they…” Harris started to hiccup. “They so big.”

“They’re all gone now, honey. Shhh.”

“I called and called but you didn’t come.” Harris continued to weep and hiccup. Marcus’s heart clenched. No matter what, he’d made the right decision coming downstairs.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t hear you. I’m here now. Let’s get you a drink.”

“Want a—a—…ple jui—ce.”

“Then that’s what we’ll get.”

Marcus heard them start down the hallway and realized he’d been blatantly eavesdropping again. He headed to the refrigerator and was pulling out the apple juice when Cally came through the doorway carrying Harris.

She stopped.

“Your hands are full,” he said in explanation to her raised eyebrows. “Where’s a cup?”

She nodded toward the dish-drainer. “He likes the one with the purple leopard spots.”

“All right.” He felt Cally’s eyes on him as he filled the brightly colored cup and handed it to Harris.

“Thh—ank you.” He hiccupped.

“You’re welcome. Are you okay, big guy?”

Harris nodded, sniffed and stared at Marcus as he drank his juice. Cally swayed back and forth in the timeless manner of women with babies in their arms. Her oversize terrycloth robe fell to her ankles and her hair was a mass of curls around her shoulders. She shouldn’t have been attractive to him with her blue-eyed girl-next-door looks. He’d always gone for slightly exotic-looking women in his past, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her standing there in the kitchen.

“I don’t know how to apologize for all this. We don’t usually treat guests quite so shabbily.”

“It’s no problem. I’m just glad we saved Harris from those bears.” He smiled at the kid, glad to have something else to focus on.

“Well, you’re certainly being a good sport. Harris and I appreciate it.”

At the mention of his name, the boy raised his head. “Rock Harris sleep.”

Cally smiled. “All right, baby, we’ll rock.” She and the boy settled into the upholstered rocker by the fireplace. “Want some coffee? I just made some decaf.” She nodded toward the counter.

He started to refuse, then looked at the woman rocking her child in the darkened room. Light from the full moon shone on her curly hair and Harris’s face. They looked so clean and…normal was the word that popped into his mind.

Marcus hadn’t experienced anything related to normal or clean in what seemed like forever. Even the people he guarded at the casino generally needed his services because they weren’t the most upstanding of characters. There was usually a reason someone would want to harm them.

His undercover work placed him with the underbelly of society. He didn’t want to think about how that was changing him. He’d been under too long—losing touch with the things that reminded him who he really was.

He nodded. “Sure, why not?” He didn’t want to leave Cally, her son or their small slice of normalcy just yet, and he felt a ridiculous spurt of pleasure that he had an excuse to stay longer.

“Cups are in the cabinet by the stove. Shortbread cookies are in the blue canister.”

“You want anything?” he asked.

“Refill my cup, if you don’t mind, and I’ll be fine. It’s there by the sink.”

Cally rocked and hummed tunelessly while he located the cookies and put some on a plate. Her voice was soothing and he found himself sinking into it like the boy draped across her chest.

He leaned over to set the cup of coffee by her rocker and caught the lush scent of her hair—exotic and spicy. It was a punch to his gut and another kick to his long-dormant libido that had his head spinning.

She looked awfully angelic to smell so erotic. Not at all what he’d expected from watching her rock the boy.

Harris was almost asleep. Feeling like an awkward teenager who has suddenly found an empty seat next to the head cheerleader, Marcus sat on the loveseat.

“I am so sor….”

He interrupted. “Please don’t apologize again. It’s all right.”

“He’s been having these nightmares for over a month. I can’t figure out where they came from. Goldilocks is the closest we’ve come to a scary bear story.”

“It’s amazing how their minds work.”

“Do you have children?”

“Nope, never been married.”

“Oh, they’re quite an adventure. As you can tell from the evening you’ve had.” He could tell she was smiling in the darkness.

“It must be a challenge, raising one by yourself?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Yes…It’s been difficult…and wonderful at the same time.”

“How old was Harris when his father died?”

As soon as the words were out, Marcus wished them back. This wasn’t what he wanted to be talking about. It was only going to make things more difficult.

“He hadn’t been born. We didn’t even know I was pregnant.”

Marcus listened intently, still marveling at the direction of their conversation. She stopped speaking for a moment, caught up in the memories, he supposed.

“I think the hardest part has been realizing all the things that his father will never see. Harris’s first steps, his first haircut, his first little-league game, high school…”

The sadness in her voice didn’t reflect self-pity. Unexpectedly, Marcus felt a longing well up inside for something besides the sexual attraction that was coming to life here. He couldn’t name it—contentment, maybe. Whatever it was, the absence was worrisome.

“We’d been trying for a year to have a baby. I think that’s why it bothers me so much…that he never knew.”

Her voice wavered and she inhaled sharply. “Jamie and I had a lot of dreams. The most important one came true when Harris was born. It amazes me sometimes that after all that’s happened—life can still be good.”

Marcus listened to the creaking of the chair as she rocked on in silence. He heard Harris’s breathing change as the child drifted off to sleep and found himself identifying with Jamie Burnett. A man who had missed out on his dreams.

Sometimes—when he allowed himself to think about it—Marcus felt that he was missing out on life because he was dead inside.

Could I change? Sitting with this woman in the moonlight, he wanted to believe that it wasn’t too late for him.

Cally interrupted his thoughts, “Mr. North, I can’t believe I just told you all that. It’s got to be more than you ever wanted to know. You are very easy to talk to.”

He smiled grimly. Listening. It’s what he was good at.

“So…what about you? Have you always been a bodyguard?

He hesitated. Now the deception would have to start. “No, not always.” He knew he was being evasive, but found himself not wanting to lie to her.

“I’ve done a little of everything. But I like security work the best.”

She nodded and didn’t push. “So do you like working at the casino?”

“Oh, I’m enjoying it. The people are interesting. It’s good pay. I like the hours.”

“What time will you be going to work in the mornings?”

“It’ll vary. All depends on what time my big clients, the whales, are coming in. This week I’m working the night shift, so I don’t have to go in until the afternoons. I’ll be monitoring security when I don’t have a specific client to do one-on-one work for.”

“Tomorrow we’re serving breakfast in the dining room at nine. If you’d prefer to eat in your room, I can have Luella bring you a tray.”

“No, I’ll come down for breakfast. That casserole I saw in the fridge looked good.”

She smiled. “Specialty of the house.”

Marcus sat a moment longer even though he knew it was time to leave. He wanted something that he had no right to ask for. Maybe if they’d met in a different place, under different…normal circumstances.

His timing was disastrous as always. Hell, she’d put him out on his ass and call the police if she knew why he was really here.

“Well, I’d better get this guy to bed. Thanks again for your help. Aren’t you glad you got the room with so much privacy?” she teased.

“Nothing like it,” he laughed. “Goodnight, Mrs. Burnett.”

“Please, after all this, call me Cally.”

“All right, Cally. I’m Marcus.” He reached out and shook her hand again.

He wasn’t expecting it, but when he touched her, a jolt of awareness shimmied up his fingertips and settled in the vicinity of his chest. He barely stopped himself from stepping back. He was surprised at the struggle he had making eye contact.

When he finally forced himself to look at her—wanting to see if she was affected in any way—she was glancing down at her son. He took a deep sip of air. The slice of normalcy was over. It was past time for him to leave.

Harris opened sleepy eyes. “Momma, rock more.”

“Okay, baby, but in your room.” She stood in the doorway with the child cradled in her arms. Once more, Marcus felt that unnamed longing well up inside his chest.

“See you in the morning, Marcus. Thanks again.”

“Goodnight, Cally.”

He cruised up the attic stairs to his room to hear the rocking chair creaking over the forgotten baby monitor. He stared at it a moment debating over whether to tote it back downstairs. Cally was singing to Harris.

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” He remembered how she looked with Harris draped across her shoulder, moonlight shining on her hair and the boy’s face.

Nope, he needed to stay far away from Cally Burnett tonight, or he might do something he’d regret. He was doing this job by the book, no matter what.

I’m saving my career. What else is there? Too keyed up to sleep but knowing he had to at least try, he slid into bed and turned off the light.

He was reaching to turn off the monitor when her voice stopped him. “If that mockingbird don’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

It was more than the wanting her physically; at least he was pretty sure it was. Hell, he was too tired to puzzle out the mess at this point.

Her voice rolled over him like an ocean wave and he exhaled as the muscles in his jaw began to unclench. He left the monitor on and stacked his hands behind his head. He’d turn it off when she finished the song. He closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with Cally’s lullaby in his head.

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